till the end of the world

by suhoya

Summary:

Honor and loyalty is what they preach. Shame and hypocrisy is what Denji struggles with.

Notes:

wakagashira: clan’s first lieutenant, right-hand man under kumicho’s commands, runs and manages businesses

kashira: ‘boss’

kumicho (or oyabun): clan leader, head boss, highest rank. the patriarch

 

* * *

I want you to love me

like it's the end of the world

no one else above me

nobody else you prefer

‘cause we got this thing I wanna trust

even if it falls apart

* * *

 

 

Another endless, cold evening.

He had grown used to it, but still it numbed his limbs and made his teeth clatter in his light, agonizing sleep. With nothing but the partial blessing of a thin, beer-stained blanket and the fleeting memory of a broken electric heater, he rolled his body in pain against the somewhat soft floor, urging for some ghostly warmth.

In the silence of the shabby room, some distant steps seemed to approach at the other side of the door. By the wet, sticky sounds on the ground, it must have been raining. Perhaps it still was.

Several loud knocks made him jolt and rise his upper body.

“Don’t open the door,” his father warned immediately, as if he’d been waiting for them.

His head hurt, but not in the way it hurt while he was lying down. It felt as though a blunt, heavy gong had hit him in his scalp with a sudden laugh. He grimaced, and his half-lidded eyes gazed upon the several empty beer cans by his father’s side.

Right. It had been a tinplate gong as usual. He very well remembered the cold, metallic feeling.

The knocks from outside didn’t cease.

“We know you’re there. Open or we’ll knock it down.”

He grasped his blanket, but not out of fear. His father raised his hand, silent.

“Open,” thud, “the fucking”, THUD, “DOOR.”

It sounded like thunder, which echoed in his brain like a storm.

His father stood up slowly and in cautious steps, he opened the door.

What followed the glimmering lights from outside happened so quickly that he almost didn’t breathe. One man jumped on his father while the other broke into the room at gunpoint. They didn’t look inside, as their dreadful faces were too focused on glaring at his father.

“You ignored our last warning, you piece of shit,” the man spat while holding him by his collar threateningly.

“I-I- don’t—” he didn’t recognize his father’s voice at all. Actually, it reminded him of his own. Childish, defenseless, terrified.

“Let’s finish this, I don’t have the fucking patience to listen to more of his bullshit,” said the other man a few steps back, pointing the gun at his direction.

Then, in the blink of an eye, his father reached for his pocket and raised his hand curled in a fist, gripping a knife which aimed at the man’s head.

“Hey--!” the man with the gun jolted.

From behind, in the dark, he watched the scene as if he’d been paralyzed. As something that didn’t belong to him, which he couldn’t take part in – just observe and wait for the inevitable. Whatever happened in their room splashed in his body every single time, with nothing but endurance and shattering hope.

But this time, perhaps thanks to not being the one on the receiving end, his brain tickled, his body seemed to respond, and his thoughts dragged him by instinct.

He charged against his father with all his might, latched his short arms around his hips, trying to seize him despite the idea of it being ludicrous. There was shaking, several gasps and curses, which were eventually followed up by a couple of audible, rough, sticky sounds, very close to him, from above, which eventually put an end to it all.

In a matter of seconds his father’s weakened body stopped wrestling and jerked in inhumane spasms, accompanied by a revolting sound of gurgling in his hoarse, miserable voice. Still wrapped around his waist, his body seemed to weigh heavier and heavier, so he backed off, arms down in defeat as he saw his father drop to his knees and collapse on the floor.

The faint, dim night lights of the alley snuck through the door and displayed looming shadows over the two men standing before him – now free from his father’s figure.

“Shit. Not another orphan.”

With tired eyes, he glanced over his father’s motionless body on the mats, in an awkward position, but similar to the ones he’d seen him battling with plenty of days and nights. This instant, though, he felt some sort of uneasy relief. The damp, darkened spots of beer on the floor were slowly being covered by a fresh, crimson hue leaking from his father’s neck.

“You’re such a bad boy, kid. Look what you’ve done,” one man stepped closer and showed him his father’s knife on his hand, now stained in red.

“Hey, come on, let’s go. Leave him.”

“Why?” the man’s mouth was covered in cuts and scars, and his dark lips curled in an atrocious way, showcasing his best interest and cruel intentions. “We should put him to good use.”

“What? You wanna make him carry his debts? I don’t think the oyaj—”

“What do you think he’s gonna do on his own?” the horrific man was shorter than the one holding the gun, now he just realized, and seemed to exert more authority. Even surrounded by the dark, he could make out his scary, preying eyes, which wouldn’t stop leering at him. “Better with us than with serpents.”

“Man, I—I don’t like him. Look at him. A son of such man can only mean trouble.”

“He’s just malnourished, nothing that some meat can’t heal…” he licked his lips and threw another obscure sneer at him.

The taller man sighed in defeat. “Are you blind? He’s beaten up. That fucker actually beat his son. He’ll end up the same. It’s in their blood.”

“Guess we did him a favour then.”

Under his eyes, the man had taken the shape of a monster, highlighted by the lights outside, looming over his broad back and threatening posture. He walked forward, slowly, and knelt right before him. So close that he could smell his putrid stench of tobacco.

“I do have a soft spot for blondes, though.”

The standing man clicked his tongue while the other didn’t take his eyes off him for a second.

The boy shivered, for the first time, not due to the cold.

 

·

 

·

 

·

 

·

 

·

 

 

“Hey.”

 

Thud.

 

“Hey, whore.”

 

Thud, thud.

 

“Denji, wake the fuck up.”

 

A rough grip of his hair pulled him out of slumber like the sharpest of poles piercing him from top to bottom.

“Was gonna slap you hard but who wanna spoil such a tragic face even more.”

Denji opened his only functioning eye, some dried tears stuck in its corner, only to be met with Shibata smirking while hovering him.

Denji stared at him, the drowsy remnants of his vivid nightmare still lingering in his head. At least, he had been pulled out of it before reexperiencing worse events.

“Asshole,” Denji spat, “I was having such a nice dream and now I’m welcomed with your stupid face again.”

Shibata’s grip on his hair grew more tightly, yanking Denji’s head up over the back of the couch, and displaying the tension in his neck and jaw in full view.

“We can arrange that. If you turn around, you don’t hafta see me.”

Ugh. It had been many times with Shibata already, but he was rough and efficient, just like Denji needed.

“Who the fuck let you in in the first place?” judging by the lack of light outside the office windows, he must have been sleeping for at least one hour.

“As if I needed permission,” he mouthed, flashing his snarky teeth, ready to sink in Denji’s flesh.

He was right about that. That was Denji’s fault in the end, allowing to meet up with him too often, but the truth was that he was the best fuck around the clan brotherhood that wasn’t too troublesome to deal with. Shibata thought he had Denji eating out of his hand, but it was definitely the other way around.

“Right,” Denji replied, voice still dry and gruff after his horrible nap. “Then get into it before I fall asleep again, jerk.”

Shibata chuckled, deeply amused by Denji’s familiar provocative tone.

“I love it when you treat me like you’re not desperate for me to fuck you.”

“I really am not, that’s the point. It’s you who keeps coming back here for my ass.”

“Yeah?” he mocked, and with his other hand groped and rubbed Denji’s bulge so hard that it made him blurt out a whine, “Then who is your dick already awake for?”

The grip on his hair had turned so tight that Denji’s thoughts simply channeled straight to his groin. Throbbing and craving to get taken care of.

“The 6’2’’ oyabun who was fucking me damn good in my sleep. Wonder if you can ever top that.”

“Jesus,” Shibata snapped, visibly riled up now, just the way Denji enjoyed, “sometimes I really wonder how you made it to lieutenant while being such a bitch.”

Denji grinned with his perfectly rehearsed, alluring fangs which drove every single one of the men who came his way crazy. It was his defying conceit and his irresistible position of power awaiting to be sullied which they couldn’t escape.

“Be thankful you can still fuck this bitch. I might get tired soon if you’re so slow.”

Said and done. Shibata pulled his hair again and assaulted Denji’s neck without warning. He sank his teeth in, nibbled on his tender skin, alongside a flick of his slick, playful tongue. Denji received it with a loud moan and his hips jerked in response, claiming to be attended as well.

“Before I go bald,” Denji uttered, his eye squeezed shut due to the grip, “may I turn around?”

Shibata released him and leaned back. Denji’s face was already flustered, gaze drunk with lust and lips parted. His disheveled hair just painted a new layer of degeneracy in what commonly formed these usual, secret encounters.

“How can you look more appetizing than an expensive whore," Shibata pointed out, dragging the words in his pure disdain at the same time he placed his thumb into Denji's mouth.

Denji took it in gladly, a cheeky smirk shaping up at the crease of his lips, while his tongue brushed Shibata’s calloused skin generously.

“Who says I'm not expensive? Nothing of mine is free.”

“Yeah, I know that,” his finger pressed further into Denji’s mouth, sliding up and down his tongue, clashing against his teeth, scraping with his nails. "You suck me dry every fucking time, and not precisely on money.”

Denji opened his mouth wider, sticking out his tongue while his eye and lips teased the worst display of vanity. Shibata cursed almost inaudibly, finally grabbing Denji by the hips and pushed him around.

“At long last, some real action.”

“You’re such a whore, Denji, you bring the worst out of me,” Shibata fumbled around Denji’s waist to get hold of his belt at the front, trying to unbuckle it while his crotch rubbed anxiously against Denji’s ass.

Denji leaned forward, over the backrest of the couch, spread his arms and arched his body. He was more than ready to be fucked to oblivion, but what he most enjoyed was the anticipation.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m so evil,” Denji babbled while grinding his ass along Shibata’s packed pants. He had such a good long dick that his mouth foamed at the memory of it, “I’m waiting for my punishment.”

Denji’s pants fell to his knees on the couch, and Shibata grabbed his underwear and pulled down as quickly as his shaky hands let him.

Denji noticed and couldn’t waste the chance to keep teasing.

“Careful where you pull so hard. Don’t wanna end up ripping your dick off just because you can’t hold yourself.”

“Shut the fuck up already,” he snapped, and with his right hand he shoved three of his fingers into Denji’s mouth.

Denji grunted because of the unexpected, not because he didn’t take them gladly. As soon as he started licking and sucking them, the warmth of Shibata’s cock rubbed the cleft of his ass, up and down and achingly slow. A desperate moan escaped his mouth, clashed against Shibata’s fingers and travelled down his spine.

“That’s right, that’s all I wanna hear,” Shibata’s voice had grown gruff and low, just the way it always did when they fucked. “Moan like the bitch you are. Like you really want.”

Denji didn’t enjoy the way he took his time with the dirty talk. Once he felt the bareness of his flesh grinding his own, game was on and he had no patience for anything else but feeling his cock deep within.

“Come on,” he urged, words stumbling over the fingers in his mouth, already soaked and bitten.

Shibata still didn’t do as he wished, and pushed two fingers at once inside his hole. Denji’s knees jerked and his body squirmed.

“Don’t fucking finger me, stupid,” Denji groaned, yet still impossible to drown the fact that he liked it by the way his already agitated breath and hardened dick easily gave it away. “Just shove it in.”

“Wanna hear you beg for it a little more. I don’t get to do that so often.”

Denji was so clenched and fucking dry that Shibata’s ruthless fingers felt like razors. He couldn’t help but moaning every time they rubbed his insides in and out.

“See? Music to my ears.”

“Fuck,” Denji gasped louder when he felt them so deep that they tickled his right, sweet spot. “Shit. Shibata—hurry up already.”

“There it is, the begging.” He really was basking in Denji’s desperate state. “You asking for my cock?”

“No,” Denji moaned as Shibata inserted a third finger that stretched him too wide for his own good.

“You lie like you really mean it. Which riles me up even more.”

Shibata thrusted his fingers in at a hectic pace and Denji couldn’t restrain himself anymore. Audible, guttural moans and pants began to fill the room in unison. His tongue had been working out of its own volition and was eagerly sucking on Shibata’s fingers in his mouth too, bobbing his head up and down at the same pace he was being filled from behind.

“Damn, Denji. Been deprived for a while?” Shibata let out a chuckle that showed how much he was enjoying the show.

“I swear if you don’t—”

“Okay, okay,” he replied. “I’ve had enough of this shit.” 

He took his fingers out of Denji’s mouth and ass at once, which Denji instantly grunted as he felt empty on both ends. Thankfully, Shibata wasted no time and pressed the tip of his cock into his crack soon enough.

He pushed in merely to stop halfway, and Denji knew, felt it, craved it. He leaned backwards and took the rest of it himself, pounding his buttocks hard against Shibata’s thighs.

A whine escaped his mouth—a scream of pleasure, a reminiscence of sated lust.

“Missed it?” Shibata’s voice started to feel like a blur, a mix of white noise and echoes amidst his heated mind and body. He really couldn’t care less about his stupid shit talk anymore, so he rubbed and wiggled his ass around his cock, giving himself some more pleasure.

Shibata was too addicted to his ass, Denji knew, and took him little time to give in. He placed his hands on both sides of Denji’s waist, gripping hard on his flesh, while he began to thrust in and out. Even he let out a muffled moan as he felt Denji’s insides warming up his cock and tightening just the way he had missed.

Finally, some fucking good. Denji’s hands clasped on the edge of the couch as he was being rammed and gripped hard and rough enough to print new bruises on his skin again. Shibata always mounted him like the starved animal he clearly was, and that’s why Denji still allowed. The smacking sounds of his cheeks against Shibata’s thighs was delicious to his ears and travelled to his mind as the greatest of symphonies. Denji subdued to being held like a doll, like he always had been, being given pleasure and fulfilled lust the only way he knew. By feeling it and embracing it while it hurt. By letting it become his second skin.

“Harder,” he groaned between the screeching couch and slick bodies. The sound of leather being stretched echoed his thrusts as some kind of pathetic irony.

Shibata was breathing out loudly too, and sped up, body bouncing and pounding as fast as he could. He wouldn’t last long – Denji knew he wasn’t the only one who had been deprived. Most of the times, Shibata was all bark and no bite. No other man besides Denji in the Shihaigumi brotherhood gangs would lay their legs and ass open for him. Nobody else was as welcoming and masochistic as Denji.

“Don’t come inside,” Denji warned him as he noticed how his pace was getting close to the end.

“Why,” Shibata gasped, his frantic pounding echoing loudly, “looks pretty,” a grunt, more gasps, and Denji grinning like drunk in his own imminent wave of orgasm, “dripping outta—”

“If you do, you’re a dead man,” Denji cut him off, almost out of breath.

“God, you’re so fucking annoying today. Roll up your shirt then,” he commanded, hands fumbling around the back of his shirt. Denji arched his back a little as Shibata grasped his shirt with urgency and rolled it up past his shoulder blades.

Now Denji’s back was almost in full sight, his impressive, carved tattoo occupying all of it without a single patch of untouched skin.

“We meet again, my favourite death.”

Denji had met death too many times during his nearly twenty years in this corrupted world. He had learned to fear it enough to become respect and sheer devotion. A fated companion that paved his way slowly but surely. He wanted death to be his looming guide in such a world of darkness. And so a smiling skull was incised on his back, along with a menacing, protective cobalt snake which curled around it amidst dancing flames. Beyond that, black spirals looped all over, summoning the inevitable fall that would take him some day.

Shibata lay his body over Denji’s back, pressed them together as his pounding turned erratic, and it was the overwhelming heat both inside and outside Denji, the firm grip around his torso which almost choked him, and his cock chafing his inner walls that cramped all over him like a short fuse. He came hard as he wailed out an open, loud, genuine moan, his hands turned into fists and his eye shut in bliss.

He heard Shibata curse over his back, rammed his soreness even harder as a raw farewell before pulling out swiftly and come over the concave of Denji’s back and tailbone.

Guttural gasps and swearing filled the room while a warm, sticky trail of come spurted over him. Denji was still panting, his chest heaving and his ass throbbing.

“Shit. Fuck,” were Shibata’s now cloudy huffs and puffs as he emptied himself on Denji’s lower back.

It was the worst part, this one, when Denji’s mind felt foggy and confused after an intense orgasm; a weird blend of accomplishment and regret. He could never bask in the aftermath, unable to make it feel cozy and meaningful after two bodies collapse due to fulfilled lust. It was always the dreadful and unsettling moment of shame what wretchedly covered his face.

“Wipe me,” he ordered, voice drained out of all humanity. “And get out.”

Denji never allowed his mind to think This is the last time. With Shibata, with anyone. The names and the bodies swirled all around, so that he just had to breathe his wish out loud to let it come true. He knew he couldn’t stop, he wouldn’t, ever. Even if the outcome dragged him lower and lower every time, he would still be deliberately tempting the cliffs.

For only death would put an end to his misery, and even there, in a place of absolute silence and rest, he would still miss it.

 

 

 

 

Denji was a faithful man.

It hadn’t been challenging at all to learn the core principles of the clan, but merely a preordained adaptation. He was loyal to them, to his people, and to his goals. If you lent him a hand, he would feel indebted for life. If you forsook him, he would make you face death.

When he was on his own, he was powerful. Every enemy he had still followed his steps with extreme caution and admiration; every ally he made would become an unspoken fruitful bond.

Yet the fact that his body continuously craved to be consumed, ravished in such a demoralizing nature and detached from any particularly humane quality, was nothing but the longing wish to feel alive. In truth, there was something mighty in his deviancy for sexual submission that gave him the will to keep going. It had worked for him for half his life already, and now it was too late to put an end to such endless greed.

Makima called him to his office in their family headquarters, a 20-minute drive from the loaning business building Denji was in charge of and where he spent most of his day whenever he wasn’t visiting nor threatening other gangs. He only attended the palace in official family events, or when there was a call for danger or praise. Denji doubted it would be the latter that day.

The hall was still majestically decorated with red velvet and gold lamps and animal figures. That was something Denji had needed more time to get used to seeing. Now, he simply strolled by as if it were no difference from a scrap heap, but back in the day his knees would buckle and his mouth would hang open at every step.

Makima’s office wasn’t as grandiose looking as the public areas. It still displayed wealth and authority, but in a more secretive manner.

He had been ceremoniously waiting for Denji, standing beside his desk in his always formal attire and solemn gaze.

Denji’s clan kumicho was the prime example of elegance and control.

“Thank you for coming, Denji. I’m glad to see you again. How have you been these past couple weeks?”

Denji gave a deep bow, and stood before him in the center of the large room.

“Nothing particularly out of the ordinary,” he replied, his voice robotic and dried out.

“Hm, I wonder whether that’s a positive thing,” Makima rubbed his chin, now sitting on his chair and not leaving his attention from Denji’s figure. “You look thinner.”

Denji’s stomach flipped. “I’m fine, though. Thank you for your concern, sir.”

Makima was staring at him the way it made Denji shiver every time. It was as if he was unveiling every thought and every flaw.

“I’ve made the decision to hire a bodyguard to watch over you,” he announced, out of the blue, to which Denji almost thought he had misheard.

“He’s only been working with our Chinese division for a year, but he’s the best at his job,” he continued, placing his arms on the desk and intertwining his fingers. “Kishibe always speaks highly of him.”

Denji’s train of thought paused for a moment, trying to find the right words to undermine such useless idea. As if he’d ever had to think about how to speak his mind, of all things. He really had grown older these past few years—it was disappointing to realize how little of his childish, ingenious, impulsive self still remained.

“With all due respect, Mr Makima, I believe I’m able to look after myself.”

Makima shifted in his chair and crossed his legs, letting out a faint squeak which echoed the obvious disagreement.

“I believe so too, Denji. But I’ll sleep better at night knowing there’s someone by your side in case things go south.”

Those visceral butterflies Denji had intentionally buried flapped their stinging wings again deep down in his stomach.

He held Makima’s penetrant gaze for some seconds, engraving its faux concern in his mind. Denji was certainly aware of the truth, but he always chose to brush it off and paint it with colourful delusion. Perhaps there was still more of the child he once was.

“Are they gonna?” he asked in a low voice, needlessly, since the answer had been clear and known long ago. There had been some tension building up among enemy clans so as of late, mainly due to their successful business deals and loans – in which Denji’s influence had skyrocketed, impossible to be overlooked.

“They might,” Makima’s replies were usually calm and soft, making crime talk feel like lying on a sunny meadow. As he looked back at his laptop, his eyes turned hazier. “You’re a wanted man, after all.”

A wanted man.

Wanted.

It’s what kept Denji alive. Being wanted. Wanted and craved and yearned in all forms. For both life and death. Such an instinctive boost in confidence, adrenaline, libido. He took pride in it, even though it was simply a façade, never coming to fruition the way he deeply hoped.

There was only one thing he’d been repressing as the only cause for unknown pain. He had to conceal it, conquer it, kill it until not even the faint figure of its ghost could haunt him in slumber.

That nameless ghost was trapped in a dark cage, but Denji still felt its whispers breathing over his ear sometimes.

“I saved you once, Denji. And I will do it again, if you let me.”

Denji didn’t need saving. At least not from death. He would embrace it gladly whenever it came. It was entirely something else he was running from.

“Okay,” he concluded, a subtle hint of exhaustion slipping out.

After all these years, his resilience had taken over his will to desist.

Makima dialed on his telephone.

“Send them in.”

Denji was really, really starting to feel worn-out. The possible repercussions of what Makima had offered were slowly sinking in. Denji, with a bodyguard. Someone who was going to be meddling in his life and attending all transactions and acts he put himself into. Would he stand by the door while he was getting fucked too? It was absurd. And he would have to put up with that, because he would never say no to Makima.

A few moments later, there was a knock at the door, and two men entered the room.

One of them, older, with fair and gray hair and a puff of smoke around him, gave Denji some kind of whiplash. It was the second lieutenant Kishibe, whom he hadn’t seen in years. It wasn’t surprising at all that he had come as well taking into account that Denji was about to snatch one of his assistants, but he had been so immersed in his own troubles that he’d nearly forgotten about his influence.

The other man, on the other hand...

He instantly grasped Denji’s attention like no other member of a clan had ever managed to. He was very tall—definitely way taller than Makima, and nearly as tall as Kishibe, Denji could venture from a safe distance. All dressed in black too, except for a shy glimpse of white beneath his long trench coat. They looked kind of alike, he being like a younger version of Kishibe, but more striking and alluring. He even had one of his ears heavily pierced, too—black earrings dangling all the way up to hide beneath his hair, which was pretty messy, with long bangs that covered his forehead and nearly his vision, as if he hadn’t had a single minute in months to give it some trims.

When they eventually crossed gazes, though, Denji knew he was fucked.

He had never seen eyes so dark, so vast, so punitive—as if they were going to eat him whole. Not the look of someone who was supposed to be under his charge and follow commands, but that of a man who wouldn’t take no for an answer.

Denji felt the unsettling risk of it creep upon his skin.

Kishibe stayed by the door, while the man who Denji assumed was his new bodyguard strode straight towards him.

The closer he was, the more impressive he looked. Broad shoulders and strong, dashing figure seemingly anticipating orders.

“Denji,” he greeted, joyfully. “Kashira,” he swiftly added, more solemnly.

His voice was calm, warm with a hint of raspy mischief—like the hiss of a snake right before nightfall. He was flashing a timid smirk, as if waiting for the permission to show it fully.

Denji would not succumb to such trivialities. “I’m gonna be honest with you. I actually opposed to this.”

He seemed genuinely impressed and surprised, as he raised an eyebrow, quite amused by such declaration. Denji then took notice of a single beauty mark under his lip, which was even more distracting than his curious eyes.

Denji tried to look away. “So let’s save us the formalities.”

Makima and Kishibe reached them, and their short exchange vanished into thin air.

“Denji, allow me to introduce you to Hirofumi Yoshida, your new bodyguard. As I explained earlier, he’s been under Kishibe’s orders for some time, showing his remarkable skills and results.”

Yoshida, hands in his pockets and in a comfortable, relaxed posture, was still gazing at Denji, clearly dazzled by his dismissive behaviour.

“He will do anything you ask him to, and will follow you wherever you go.”

Wonderful. Just what he needed. A fucking second shadow.

Denji remained quiet, and he directed his attention to someone he already knew.

“Didn’t expect you’d show up too,” he said, his cheeky attitude welling up after the boring introduction.

“Long time no see,” Kishibe greeted him in return and they shook hands. They were both lieutenants and even with their differences, they both took the same vow and were meant to maintain an amicable relationship.

Certainly, they hadn’t seen each other in almost five years. The wrinkles on his forehead were thicker now, while his cheeks had turned hollower and paler, gruesomely varnished with new scars beside the long one that crossed his left cheek. His eyes still conveyed his little wish to live, which Denji ironically agreed with.

“Damn, Kishibe. You look... wasted.”

To that, Yoshida darted Kishibe a funny look that made Denji wonder if, surprisingly, it would really be that easy to get along.

Kishibe didn’t bat an eye, and just pulled on his cigarette. He was definitely used to Denji’s antics and almost looked like he had missed them.

“At least I’m not the one carrying a stick up my ass as usual.”

Denji smiled in response, his playful nature back in motion. “What, China not treating you well? Miss home?”

“Apart from your stupid conceited ass, nothing I couldn’t find there. Though I must say booze’s better here.”

“I’m sure you’ll make the most of your time here. How long are you staying?”

“Barely a week. Enough as it is,” he said as he took another long drag and exhaled it. “You’re getting one of my best and finest men, Denji. Treat him well.”

Yoshida, who had been observing their exchange with quite an amused smile throughout, flinched the moment he was addressed, as if he realized he was the reason of such meeting.

“First time I hear a compliment from you, Kishibe,” he pointed out, oddly flattered. “Damn, feels weird not having to call you boss anymore.”

“Lucky you. Or maybe not,” he added while sneaking a last glance on Denji. “Well, I’m out.”

Makima took a step forward.

“Enjoy your time in Tokyo, Kishibe. I’ll see you tomorrow to look into our matters more thoroughly.”

Kishibe gave a small nod in response and left the room. Makima turned to them.

“That will be all, Denji. Yoshida,” he swiftly added, gifting him an appreciative smile too. “You may resume your tasks for the day. I’ll be looking forward to your results with the casino buyout.”

Denji had been carrying out negotiations for a week quite successfully, but he still needed to meet with the managing director to seal the deal.

“The transaction is nearly completed, boss. You’ll be informed shortly thereafter.”

“Thank you for your efficiency, Denji,” Makima said, very warmly but still with his characteristic veil of sternness, “and Yoshida, please protect Denji.”

Yoshida bowed respectfully. “With my life, sir.”

Denji rolled his eye instead.

It was going to be such a hassle having someone by his side at all times.

 

 

Yoshida’s services as bodyguard dutifully included looking after him, protecting, advising, and finally, taking him everywhere.

Back in his car, Yoshida was in the driver’s seat while Denji contemplated the street views from the passenger seat behind. He sometimes peeked at the rearview mirror, at Yoshida’s dark and penetrating eyes, carefully fixed in the road ahead. Denji wouldn’t admit it, but he was certainly intriguing.

Yoshida glanced back at Denji on his reflection, which sent a tingle down his spine.

“Anything in your mind, kashira?” he said in a hearty voice, and Denji wasn’t sure yet whether that tone was supposed to be his informal voice or he was just pretending.

Denji quickly turned away, gaze drifting outside the window. “Have you been given a place to stay?”

“I have. 5-minute walk from yours.”

“Great,” he said, not sounding great. “So, I really need a drink,” and a good fuck, but he wasn’t sure he’d be lucky that night.

“Well, my pay has significantly increased, so...”

“Really,” he said, quite pleased. It wasn’t completely unexpected, but it still pulled some strings that his wellbeing was considered to be more expensive than whatever smuggling he’d been taking part in back in China.

“So yeah, I’m excited to put it to good use.”

A faint smile almost shaped up on Denji’s face. He rested his chin on his hand, leaning on the armrest.

“Head for Yamada’s bar. It’s right bes—”

“I know where it is,” Yoshida interrupted as he slowed down to turn the steering towards the new destination.

Denji frowned. “You just arrived here, though?”

“I know the area even if I haven’t worked here yet. Plus I did my homework, kashira.”

Denji timidly took a glimpse at the rearview again, and it didn’t come as a surprise that Yoshida was already staring back at him, a smug grin adorning his handsome face.

He looked away in a flash. “Good. I hate to overexplain myself.”

 

 

“Denji-san, who’s this handsome man accompanying you today?”

Yamada, the madame of one of the night bars Denji ran, welcomed him with one of her widest and warmest smiles.

“Just a subordinate,” he replied nonchalantly, as he was taking off his jacket, but Yoshida quickly leaned over and grasped it gently before he was done.

Great, now he even had a butler.

“They keep getting more and more handsome. You might not be the most popular one around anymore.”

Denji rolled his eye and headed for the furthest table in the aisle, his usual spot. It wasn’t a crowded evening, but still some customers occupied scattered spots.

Yoshida waited until Denji sat down and took the seat beside him, the one who had direct view to the entrance. Denji guessed it wasn’t a coincidence.

“So, what may I get you?”

“The usual. Make it double, actually,” Denji then glanced at Yoshida. “As for him, softer. He’s my ride.”

“Certainly. Coming right away.”

Yoshida leaned over the table in a relaxed manner, his full attention now on Denji.

“Do you come here often, kashira?”

“You’re very nosy, aren’t you,” he retorted as he straightened his back against the seat, as opposed to him. “Aren’t bodyguards supposed to just follow their superiors and not meddle in?”

“I’m sorry. But I assumed it’d be useful to know more about you.”

It made sense. It was a shame Denji wasn’t used to disclosing anything about himself.

He sighed.

“From time to time. I’m not a heavy drinker, though.”

Yoshida stared at him curiously, his black deep eyes so appealing and distracting that Denji couldn’t hold his gaze for very long without a feeling of uneasiness pricking his skin.

“This might come off as too intrusive, but I can’t help but wonder... what happened to your right eye?”

Denji instinctively flinched in his seat. There were boundaries not even his newly hired bodyguard would ever get to cross.

“There’s nothing you need to know about it. If I’m wearing an eyepatch, you should be able to guess.”

Yamada just arrived with their drinks and carefully placed them on the table.  As soon as she left, Denji grabbed his glass and gulped down half of it in one try.

Yoshida mirrored him, his gaze still not leaving Denji’s face as the liquor warmed his throat.

Denji grabbed his packet of cigarettes from his pocket, and took one out along with the lighter.

He glanced at Yoshida. “You up for one?”

“I don’t smoke during work.”

Denji almost laughed. Ridiculous from someone who had been working for Kishibe for so long. Denji put one between his lips and lit it up. “We’re not working now, though.”

Yoshida smirked, not only with his mouth, but also with his eyes.

“Right.”

He tipped one out and held it between his fingers, but instead of lighting it up himself, it was Denji who unexpectedly held the lighter closer and lit it up for him.

Yoshida inhaled deeply under Denji’s attentive gaze.

 

 

On the way home, Yoshida pulled over next to Denji’s apartment block and got out of the car to escort him to the entrance.

Denji almost tripped over the pavement and Yoshida hurried to cling onto his back.

“Kashira, are you drunk?” he asked, tentatively.

Denji allowed himself to lean over him, slightly, while Yoshida helped him step towards the gate with a steady grip.

“No, idiot—just tipsy. I normally don’t drink much. But I needed it today.”

Yoshida stared at him, visibly curious. Or maybe worried. “You need me to accompany you upstairs?”

Denji looked back at him. Those deep, black eyes would eventually consume him if he stared at them for too long. He seemed to hesitate for some prolonged, heavy seconds, but he wouldn’t waver.

“No,” he finally uttered, his mind oddly clear amidst all the alcohol, “you go back home.”

There was definitely a shade of discontent on Yoshida’s face, but he nodded in agreement and drew away his arm from Denji’s back.

“Rest well, kashira. I’ll be here first thing tomorrow.”

 

 

While Denji went up the elevator, he gently sniffed over his shoulder, right where Yoshida had held him and breathed out words of concern. His pleasant scent was somehow reminiscent, but Denji quickly shook the thoughts away.

He had nearly forgotten the painful smell of tobacco melted within sea and salt.

 

·

 

·

 

·

 

·

 

 

It was so hot and humid inside that office. The air conditioning was broken and nobody had had the slim thought of setting up a fan, much less of asking for repair, among all the money they wasted on other worthless things.

“Fuck, I don’t know if it’s sweat or it’s his asshole that’s dripping wet.”

“He’s not a woman, stupid. That’s your fucking dick leaking for a faggot.”

Denji took in the man’s thrusts into him easily since he was already so loose that he believed he could take even two.

“Such a horndog, look how easy he’s taking it whole,” he said, sliding his swollen cock in and out, all wet and screaming for release.

The other man scoffed. “No wonder, you’re the second already and he’s still pounding like a hungry bitch.”

“Fuck, guys, I need to bust my load too,” said a third one, who had been staring from the chair with his hand on his dick, impatient.

“Come here,” Denji urged, and the guy knelt down at the speed of light.

Denji took him in his mouth, head and neck craned sideways as his legs lay sprawled open on the damp floor, receiving every thrust with hitched breaths and moans. His body already had several trails of come over his stomach mixed with his sweat.

He began to suck the guy’s dick eagerly, the slickness and sounds merged deliciously with the feeling of being filled on the other end. He was close to give in a long-awaited wave of orgasm.

In the middle of all the frenzy, there was a metallic screech of a door opening, but he couldn’t see anything.

“I’m sorry for the show, but the documents are here in my laptop.”

The man who was fucking him stopped at once, while the one he was giving a blowjob to grabbed his dick by the base, seemingly struck by fear.

“Don’t worry about us, folks, you may continue,” the same man’s voice uttered in an amusing tone.

The three members surrounding Denji didn’t move an inch, their gazes frozen a few meters away.

The dick Denji had in his mouth was pulled out with a wet sound which made Denji almost groan in disgust.

“Dude, wait,” one of them whispered.

“That’s Makima from the Shihaigumi,” the other cued in.

“The one who...?”

Denji’s brain had turned to static after being released, his legs falling on the floor as the other guy stepped back a little.

There was a distant faded conversation he couldn’t make out, and soon enough, a gentle, younger sounding voice travelled near his way.

“How old are you, boy?”

He looked up, the flashing lights from the ceiling whitening his impaired vision for some seconds, until a handsome face which seemed on fire began to form.

It was a man with red hair and deep, penetrating eyes, dressed in an expensive-looking black suit, who Denji presumed would be another high-rank lieutenant.

“Seventeen,” Denji replied, his voice dry and raw after all. “It’s my birthday today.”

“Oh, really,” the man seemed genuinely surprised. “Happy birthday.”

“A-Are you joining the party, Mr Makima?”

The man, now acknowledged as Makima, ignored the lackey’s indecent suggestion. “Are you being molested?” he asked, focusing on Denji alone.

“Molested?” that was such a hilarious idea as Denji verbalized. “Can’t you see? I’m celebrating.”

“Hmm,” Makima’s response was careful and subtle, something Denji wasn’t acquainted with. He seemed to meditate his next words. “I’m in dire need of obedient puppies. Can you become one?”

Denji’s brain froze, unable to connect the offer with the ridiculous situation.

“Sorry for interrupting your party,” Makima added, finally glancing at the three men around, who caught the hint immediately and fumbled around their pants as they tried to run away before being addressed again.

Denji sat up, his body being a mess of bruises, spit, come and sweat. His bones ached and his back had swollen up due to the scraping against the hard floor. If that was a dog worth adopting, he seriously questioned about this Makima’s criteria.

“Are you after this dirty dog’s services?” he inquired, still baffled about the sudden interest in a random guy like him.

Makima knelt down and sat on his legs, adopting a formal posture, as if he were in a meeting discussing the following route of action along with a cup of tea.

“That’s not what I want you for. What you do outside work is not my business.”

Denji raised an eyebrow, curiosity and hope starting to pump in.

“So I can still fuck around like this?”

“Well... That’s on you. But I think you’d look better with a suit on. At least around the office,” he added with a thin smile.

His red hair stood out so vividly that Denji couldn’t take his eyes off it. His appearance, all groomed and neat and powerful struck him as something impossible to attain for himself. Yet, he was being offered a chance to accompany him?

“May I ask what is wrong with your eye?” he asked, staring at Denji’s eyepatch over his right eye. He had been scrutinizing him from head to toe, but his gaze was mostly concerned about his face.

“It’s dead. Well, gone, actually,” he touched the black cloth and realized it had moved up a little, so he pulled it down, back in its right place again. “I sold it.”

“Is this how you’ve been pulling through?”

“You mean selling my body? I guess. I don’t get paid most of the times, though. Full of cheaters.”

Makima remained silent for long seconds, and Denji could only but stay in place, mesmerized by his aura of mystery.

“Join our clan,” he finally said. “We’ll treat you like you deserve. And we’ll certainly pay you.”

Denji wavered. How could he not?

“I’m not—” I’m not cut out for it. I know no better.

“I won’t force you into doing anything you don’t want to,” he swiftly added, still in a gentle manner that was starting to warm up Denji’s hollow heart. “You can keep doing this, if that’s what you desire.”

Did he, though? Was it a needless wish or a means of survival?

Was it because he’d never had another chance? Or was it because it had hopelessly turned into a habit?

Denji’s mind travelled to his innocuous, most childish dreams, the ones he had never fulfilled, the ones which tormented him day and night.

Even the most basic thing could draw a weak but sincere smile out of him.

“I’d really like... a warm breakfast, sometimes.”

Makima took another earnest, long look at him, and stood up in a graceful motion.

“That’s a given,” he assured as he offered his hand to Denji. “What’s your name, by the way?”

“Denji,” and Denji held his hand—firm, strong, confident. Makima pulled him up until they finally faced each other on equal terms. Denji gaped at his imposing figure, dreamy and simply unreal compared to his own naked, filthy body. “And you’re—”

“Makima,” when he said it, it sounded like a prayer. A name that carried the faith Denji had lost. “Welcome to the family, Denji.”

 

·

 

·

 

·

 

·

 

·

 

 

Riiiiiiiiiiing.

 

Knock. Knock.

 

 

Knock, knock, knock.

 

Denji grimaced in confusion as the noise thundered in his head dragging him out of sleep. He glanced at his alarm clock—8:17AM.

“Fuck me...” he slurred, letting out a tired yawn and getting out of bed.

He headed to the door, and when he opened it, it was Yoshida at the other side. He was wearing a full black suit, shirt and tie included. If he wasn’t blaring out I’m a bodyguard, his attire definitely did.

“Kashira. Morning.”

Denji scratched his head.

“Why are you here so early? I don’t usually get to work before 9.30.”

“I see. I sent you some texts, but didn’t reply.”

“’Cause I was fucking sleeping.”

Yoshida stared at him, and Denji noticed the way his gaze stopped on his crotch for longer. He glanced at it himself—he was hard, the thin fabric of his pajamas undoubtedly gave it away.

“Morning wood. Never had one or what,” he blurted out.

“Yeah,” Yoshida confessed, a sardonic smile adorning his pale face. “May I come in, or...?”

With a weary look and shoulders hunched, Denji turned around, heading back inside, and Yoshida promptly followed.

 

 

 

Denji couldn’t believe he was already sitting at his desk at 9:15 sharp. There were piles of documents he had to go through and he couldn’t ask his assistants because they had already done so—it was his last call as lieutenant to revise them and file them in.

Loans, laundering, payouts, buyouts, layaways, installments, transactions. All the money he had in his control which didn’t satisfy him at all. In fact, he was brilliant at negotiating, but everything had a darker, more boring side to it.

His desk phone rang.

“What is it,” only his assistants had his number so he assumed it might be just new influx of work.

“Kashira,” his chief assistant spoke up, “Satou from Nights&Lights is here. He’s... demanding to see you,” he then whispered.

Denji’s face suddenly brightened.

“Oh, sure. Let him in.”

He stood up from his desk and took off his jacket, placing it over the chair rest. He grabbed one of his cigarettes and lit it up.

A few moments later, there was a knock at the door, and it swung open right after.

Satou, the previous owner of the hostess club Nights&Lights, entered his room with a grim expression on his face. He was the previous one because the Shihaigumi had bribed him months ago into gradually becoming their own; another business where they could make crazy amounts of money and launder the one that came from Kishibe’s smuggling side. Satou still served as the chief manager, but it was Denji who actually pulled the strings.

Satou definitely didn’t look as he came for a friendly visit. Denji was ecstatic.

Behind Satou, he saw Yoshida, with a calm but questioning look.

“You stay outside. Or better, go help the others downstairs,” Denji ordered without giving it much second thought.

Yoshida didn’t seem to like that, but obeyed anyway. The door closed shut before his irked expression became more palpable.

“So, Satou. To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?”

Satou didn’t return Denji’s playful tone. “The police paid me a visit last night. They asked me for things I no longer possess nor have the authority to decline.”

“Oh, but everything’s in order, isn’t it?” Denji sat down on one of the couches, and signaled Satou to do the same, but he didn’t move.

“I don’t like surprises, Denji. I’ve been harbouring some doubts about our agreement, and I wouldn’t like to regret myself.”

Denji was having such a fun time, listening to someone like Sato, a robust man in his sixties, with past gang inclinations, acting so self-restrained.

“Have we done anything to make you regret it? Have I?” Denji crossed his legs as he took a quick puff on his cigarette.

“No, but that’s why I’m here to warn you.”

Denji chuckled weakly. “Oh, Satou. Always so thoughtful. I’ll bear that in mind, but just letting you know I appreciate our bond very dearly.”

“I don’t need appreciation from you. I’d rather have settled this with Makima himself.”

That remark hit a nerve in Denji.

“You realize that expensive suit you’re wearing is thanks to me? And that Rolex?”

“I’m not complaining about the results. I’m warning you about possible consequences.”

Geez, this man was so arrogant that he even wore Denji out. He tossed the cigarette in the ashtray, stood up again and walked slowly closer towards him.

“I could give you an endless list of clients who are more than delighted with the service I provide, and still trust me no matter the consequences.”

Satou casted a long, disdainful glance at Denji.

“Don’t act as if I’m not aware of your deviant reputation.”

Oh. It always put Denji in high spirits whenever he was referred to as anything fancier than a public toilet.

“Deviant?” he echoed, a wide, pleased smile on his face. “Don’t you have sexual urges, too?”

“Not with men.”

Denji scoffed. “Men, women, I don’t care. But I must say yakuza men are so pent-up it’s just a whole brand-new experience. You should give it a try some time.”

Denji stepped closer to Satou so as to rub their thighs gently. A slim touch, a warm slip of wool against wool which was enough for Satou to immediately take a step back.

To Denji, homophobes were the best ones. They hoarded the hatred that could satiate him for days.

“Are you trying to seduce me too?” Satou ventured, the reflection of a scowl very much present on his face.

“As long as it’s rewarding... I could,” he said, in his trained sultry tone. “In the end, it’s just another hole.”

“I could pay for a whore whenever I liked. Who says I should waste my time with you.”

“Do you make deals as good as mine with them? Will you look down on them the same way you could with me?”

Denji stared at him, locking their eyes intensely until he could notice a hint of hesitancy in Satou’s glistening eyes.

“I like it rough, did anyone tell you that too?” Denji pressed on as he licked his lower lip in anticipation. He knew he’d win. He always did. Men in his world caved in that easily.

Said and done. Satou gripped him by one wrist and turned him around while clutching onto his other wrist and seizing him from behind. He pushed him to the wall, forcefully, that Denji hit his forehead. He let out a groan, but not in pain.

“I don’t want to see your face, so stay put,” Satou mumbled, grabbing Denji’s wrists together now and pressing them hard against the wall above their heads.

“See? We agree on so many things.”

Denji heard a belt unbuckle and a zip. Next, it was his own, Satou’s right hand clumsily reaching from behind as he tried to unbutton his pants. Once they were, he barely pulled Denji’s pants and underwear down, enough to leave room for shy intrusion. Denji felt the warmth of his cock grinding eagerly on his ass.

Tingles swam up and down his spine, sending signals to his own cock, half-way trapped in his pants as Satou hadn’t been thoughtful enough to pull them down to his knees.

“Shove it in. Feel it,” Denji urged him as he arched his back and hips.

Satou didn’t wait and did as ordered. He pressed the tip into Denji’s hole and pushed, barely to get an inch inside.

“You’re fucking tight,” he grunted, as he kept pressing in erratic motion.

Denji began to feel the pain, the strain, the needles.

“What a nice present for you,” he replied, smiling weakly.

Satou’s grip on his wrists tensed so much so as to claw his nails on his skin. At the same time, he thrusted deeper and Denji took half his cock in.

He wailed and squirmed, a mix of pain and pleasure.

“Yeah,” he gasped, eye squeezed shut as he tried to shut his mind and concentrate on the feeling, “like that—more,”

Satou’s cock recoiled almost to the tip, in order to ram his ass again, this time engulfing his whole cock.

“A-ah—!” Denji moaned, his voice slightly rising in pitch.

Fuck, it was so thick, Denji could feel it. Not that long, though, but it stretched his insides painfully wide and hard.

His breathing was trying to keep up the pace, but Satou was long past ahead. He’d found his sharp and steady rhythm that was driving Denji over the edge.

“Fuck, Denji—"

Satou pressed their bodies together as he tried to thrust even deeper. Denji’s back and ass were burning, screaming for release. The dangling metallic sound of their belts accompanied their grunts and heaving chests, getting louder and faster.

As Satou pounded him with the little remaining annoyance he still bore, Denji couldn’t hold it anymore and gave in to the coiling sensation spiraling inside out. He came in quick, short spurts as a trail of saliva dripped down his open mouth.

It didn’t take Satou much longer to finish himself. A sudden, last, primitive motion of slamming his lust forward made him cry out a satisfied moan as his energy came to a halt and the cock inside him gave its last throbs.

Denji waited impatiently, his legs and knees starting to falter. Satou’s vigorous body on him weighed like lead.

Then it dawned on him. Shit. With all the hasty frenzy, he forgot to ask him to pull out before coming. It ended up a mess whenever they came inside.

Well. At least the unexpected visit had been well worth it.

 

 

In the evening, on their way back home, Yoshida remained unusually quiet. Denji thought about inquiring—perhaps joining in the desk job that day wasn’t really what he’d expected to deal with whenever he accepted his bodyguard position. It couldn’t be that bad, right?

 

Denji glanced over the rearview mirror several times, but in none of them their eyes met.

 

 

 

 

Days went by with no more unexpected visits nor meetings. Denji wandered over the city, dropped by a couple offices to check on deadlines and upcoming loans, used his sly, venomous tongue a little just to send an alert to possible quitters.

All was going well, and Yoshida wasn’t as annoying as he thought he’d be. Weirdly enough, he began to find his constant company more than tolerable.

 

 

 

By the end of the month, Denji had earned more money than what the initial statistics initially claimed, and several of his deals had concluded with full satisfaction.

It should be a time for celebration, if it wasn’t for the fact that it had been weeks since his last fuck. He tried to suppress his bad mood, but it still showed up especially at the end of the day.

“Kashira,” Yoshida called him after a quick knock on his door. “The guys are suggesting going out for dinner.”

Ugh. Denji definitely didn’t have the patience to deal with his drunk underlings that evening.

“Ditch them. I’m tired.”

Yoshida stood by the door for some seconds, until he walked forward in cautious steps.

“Would you like to go to a bathhouse instead?”

Denji lifted up his gaze from the desk. Yoshida was looking back at him, his expression unreadable.

Denji raised an eyebrow. “What’s up with that plan out of the blue?”

“I think it’ll help you relax.”

Obviously, that was what bathhouses were for. Yoshida’s offer suddenly sounded really appealing.

“You might be right. Let’s go.”

 

 

The Shihaigumi controlled several bathhouses across the city, but there was one that Denji was particularly fond of, since it was the first he had attended back when he was only 20 and he was still learning the ropes of this world under Makima’s wing.

“Mr Denji,” the clerk nervously bowed as he saw him past the gates. “W-What a nice surprise.”

“Hey,” he greeted waving his hand lazily. “Can you make room for us?”

“De—Definitely, just give me a minute.”

Yoshida leaned over him. “You’re gonna make him kick out all guests?”

“Yes.”

Less than five minutes later, Denji and Yoshida were in the dressing room alone. While he was unbuttoning his shirt, Denji snuck a glance over Yoshida’s already bare upper body. He was much more well-built than his clothes seemed to give away, and his tattoo trailed way past his shoulders and chest—coiled white snakes showered by cherry blossoms.

Once they were naked, they headed to the bath area.

A grand room breathtakingly decorated with a Mount Fuji mural made of square tiles. Blues and greens softly embraced the walls, along with the hot steam coming out from the calm waters.

Denji sat in one of the stools in front of the shower aisle, and Yoshida mirrored in the one beside him.

“Allow me, kashira.”

Denji closed his eye and hunched his back. It had been so long since someone had washed him. It was usually one of his little brothers at the office, but they were usually so nervous and clumsy that Denji would rather do it himself.

Yoshida, however, didn’t seem to display any glimpse of unease. He soaked a sponge in a hot bucket with soap and began rubbing Denji’s back in a circling, comforting motion. He gave the right pressure and rhythm, and Denji was slowly getting more and more drowsy.

“May I take your eyepatch off as well?” he asked, so low that Denji almost didn’t hear him.

He would rather not, but it would get damp and wet and uncomfortable while stuck on his face. Denji pulled the string and took it off, tossing it to a tile on the floor that was less wet.

Yoshida resumed his scrubbing, which was now accompanied by his other hand giving Denji’s shoulders a gentle massage.

Denji jolted slightly, but didn’t retort.

Yoshida slid the sponge all down Denji’s spine, which sent a sudden tingle he wasn’t expecting to like.

“I feel this snake might come out of your back and bite me if I stare at it for too long,” he muttered, his voice getting warmer and deeper.

Denji’s mouth grew into a thin smile.

“Why blue?” Yoshida inquired.

Blue. Striking sky blue. Drowning sea blue. A remnant of the past, a reminder of a sin.

Its memory dragged him to a period of his life he had scratched and erased, but its colour still painted a brushstroke of ache.

“I like the shade. Brings me peace,” he lied.

“It’s kind of pointless when you can barely see it.”

Denji shifted in the stool as both of Yoshida’s hands replaced the sponge and were massaging his neck and shoulders directly.

“It’s part of the charm,” he said, gaze fixed on the water running down the drains. “Keeps me calm, knowing he’s always watching behind my back.”

Yoshida’s palms stopped.

“He?”

A gunshot echoed in Denji’s brain. Distant, faded, sunk.

“Never mind.”

Yoshida’s palms slid down Denji’s arms smoothly, and Denji was wondering how long he planned to keep this going.

“You’ve got bruises in your wrists,” Yoshida uttered as he flipped over Denji’s arm carefully.

Denji yanked his arm away from Yoshida’s hold.

“It’s nothing.”

“You know you can tell me anything, don’t you?”

“Stop insisting. There’s nothing I need to tell you.”

Yoshida remained silent and dropped a hot bucket of water over Denji’s back, letting the soap fall behind and displaying his full stunning tattoo.

His fingers seemed to be drawn to it again, as he traced his palms along the wet skin and pressed harder this time.

Something in Denji twitched.

Yoshida then trailed his hands further down and wrapped his arms around him, getting dangerously closer to his lower stomach.

Denji knew that was it. He’d had his fair share of touching already.

“Okay, that’s enough,” he snapped as he straightened up his body in order to get away from Yoshida’s grasp.

Yoshida, however, was considerably stronger and broader than him and wouldn’t budge to his request.

“Relax, kashira. It’s only you and me.”

Yoshida’s bare chest was pulsing hot against his back and it was sending him signals he wasn’t willing to pick up. “Let me go. You’re overstepping.”

“I’m just here to serve,” his husky voice had finally unveiled itself—turned into the tongue of a snake, slithering into his ear, provoking.

“Don’t you fucking try.”

Yoshida seized his wrists and Denji couldn’t move. His grip tightened so much that he couldn’t pull away. Yoshida’s gaze fell upon his groin, realizing why Denji was so impatient to escape.

Denji’s throbbing dick drew a smirk out of him.

“So that’s what it is. You like it hard?”

Denji tried to free himself, nudging Yoshida on the chest as bad as he could, but in the end it was pointless. Yoshida had him in a chokehold.

“I don’t do this with everyone I work for, you know? I do it because it’s you. Because your body deserves no less than proper care.”

Yoshida ducked his head forward, resting his chin over Denji’s shoulder and gaping at the sight below.

“Please take my compliment, will you?”

Yoshida showered him with such words of praise that Denji’s walls of defense began to fail. His dick was already fully erect, and his shame on public display.

Yoshida’s hand slid tentatively down his groin, and Denji’s chest began to heave.

“You ought to get some release. You’re so tense,” and with that, he curled his hand around Denji’s pulsing cock.

It felt like someone tugged an invisible string down his throat.

“It’ll be quick. Won’t last enough for a memory. Isn’t that what you want?”

Ah, fuck. Whatever. He might as well let him. Just this time. Quick and easy. It’s nothing.

His hand began to move up and down, rubbed his length thoroughly in a controlled, rhythmic pace; at times, the foreskin covered its head and wrinkled in a way it gave him stronger pleasure.

The heat and steam were inescapably clouding his head. He had no strength left to resist the attention Yoshida lavished on him. He might come undone at any moment.

All of a sudden, Yoshida pushed him aside, leaning down on a whim, and replaced his hand with his mouth. Denji’s guts almost flipped.

“Shit—What—”

Yoshida, arched and hovering his lap, began to suck his cock with urgency and devotion.

“Idiot—You don’t—”

He had the intention to push his head away, but as soon as his hand clutched his soft, damp hair his shaky will betrayed him and his hand curled in a fist, nestling there.

Or perhaps it had been so long that he had forgotten how good it felt, to be in someone else’s mouth, to be the one being engulfed.

Yoshida licked his glans thoroughly, in circles, curled his tongue all around just to end up wrapping his lips and suck long and hard.

Denji almost saw stars.

“Fuck.”

As he had Yoshida arched down on him, he had nothing else to look at but his toned, tattooed back. A menacing hannya mask occupied almost all of it—her yellow eyes, almost bloodshot, matched her sharp horns and fangs, leering at whomever dared to snatch away her lover. A demonic, rage-fueled creature that could ward off even a worse evil.

Denji became enraptured by her gaze and open mouth. His senses were faltering, his own mouth was gasping, moaning, and a deep spiral of orgasm was building up closer. Yoshida took his cock all in and Denji’s body squirmed while his stomach shrunk.

A last motion of his lips bobbing up and down, slick and wet and ravished, is all it took for Denji to cave in and moan his climax out as his fingers tightened onto Yoshida’s hair.

He came in Yoshida’s mouth, and Yoshida didn’t move until the very last drop ceased and Denji’s grip on his hair loosened.

It took Denji roughly a minute to regain his energy back. He felt soaked and hot, and he wasn’t sure if it was the temperature in the bathhouse or simply his own.

Yoshida sat up again, his eyes travelling back to Denji’s—he was smiling widely as he wiped with his knuckle a sticky, ivory thread on the crease of his lips. Denji was utterly dumbfounded; only but pride and content graced Yoshida’s face.

Finally, free from his stinging hold, Denji stood up. His knees were weak and his body almost buckled.

“This was a one-off thing,” he declared, voice stern and detached from any sign of gratitude to what had just occurred. “I’m not interested in men.”

“Right,” Yoshida replied, back to his formal, more neutral tone. “Well, you’re my boss. I’m just doing what’s best for you.”

“Right,” Denji echoed, and hoped that would be all.

 

 

·

 

·

 

·

 

·

 

 

The sound of the waves used to be soothing. They splashed and travelled endless miles and yet always followed the same path. They were a powerful tool of nature carefully tamed and controlled.

That night, the tide rose high and destructive.

Amidst the crashing waves, a young man with long, black hair.

His eyes, a reflection of the long-gone morning sky. His future, a lethal weapon that had swallowed him whole.

Denji’s finger on the trigger twitched. His wrist faltered; his determination wavered.

But he had to. There was no other way.

In his deep blue eyes, he could see the pleading. The mercy he longed for, the rest he besought.

Denji was the only one who could give it to him. The only one who had done it before, the only one who knew how easy it was.

How quick.

How sorrowful.

 

It should hurt less when it’s revenge.

But it didn’t.

 

When the water turned red, Denji looked away. A revolting spiral of shades that didn’t belong.

Against his will, Denji grew more and more afraid of the sea.

 

Eventually, the waves carried him back to the shore, but Denji was long gone.

 

·

 

·

 

·

 

·

 

Denji woke up feeling breathless.

He gasped for air; his fists clenched so tightly they might as well be bleeding.

He was in his room, on his bed. No water, no blood, no gunshots.

A choked sigh escaped his throat. The only positive thing about his nightmares was that the thin line between them and his memories was blurring out and he hoped it wouldn’t take much longer to completely dissolve altogether.

 

 

 

New month meant new meetings and harder negotiations. Makima showed up at Denji’s office building around 11. They had arranged an international call at noon which concerned their Japanese and Chinese markets. Kishibe was at the end of the line, along with other members.

Present in Denji’s room, there was Makima, Denji, Yoshida, their chief accountant, and three more members from the clan they were supposed to reach an agreement with. They had known each other for years, and there was a time the conflict nearly arose, but in the end, thanks to Denji and Makima’s influence they managed to avert it without becoming a hindrance to their business relationship.

The meeting lasted for several hours, but concluded quite fruitfully and things were looking up. Everyone was dismissed and leaving the room, until one person stood still, awaiting.

“Denji. Can I have a word with you. Privately,” the other clan’s lieutenant, Nagasaki, was the only man with a beard in the building, and it made him look way older, when he was probably in his thirties like Denji.

Everybody except Makima and Yoshida were already in the hallway. Denji darted a quick, knowing look at Makima.

Makima returned it with a deadpan, neutral expression, but Denji knew it harbored a warning, and perhaps, some disappointment.

Don’t look at me like that. Don’t judge me.

This is what works. I always make it work.

It fulfills me. And then, it kills me.

“Let’s go, Yoshida. There are things to do,” Makima ordered, but Yoshida’s eyes didn’t leave Denji. His expression, as opposed to Makima’s, was visibly stern and concerned.

Denji bit his lip.

“Surely, Nagasaki. Let’s talk,” he said and the door shut right after.

 

 

Denji was fucked over the desk, and then against the windows. It felt good the first time, he came twice due to overstimulation. Nagasaki bit him in his neck, shoulders, squeezed his cock achingly hard, mounted him like an animal in heat. The second time, Denji’s mind drifted. He was drained. His asshole was sore and loose and he didn’t feel a thing anymore.

Instead, whenever Nagasaki’s head rested on his shoulder, showing signs of exhaustion as well, Denji withered. The gesture evoked the steam and the slick sensation of back against back, of diligent lips working on his shaft, but once his beard scraped his skin, his itching memory faded away.

 

 

The sun had set by the time their sexual encounter ended. Nagasaki groomed himself carefully before leaving, while Denji did the same, but more lazily. He let his tie dangle half-done around his neck, whereas his shirt showed blatant signs of their wild act.

Once Nagasaki was gone, there was an urgent knock on the door. He didn’t have time to say anything before it swung open and Yoshida stepped in, looking serious and fretful.

Denji casted him an innocent, curious look.

“You’ve been waiting outside all this time?”

“Yes.”

Yoshida’s eyes felt like needles on him. They didn’t mind being all plain and obvious while scrutinizing him – they sought answers and they had probably found them.

“You should’ve gone home. It’s late,” Denji turned his back on him as he dropped on the couch.

“And leave you in the hands of that man?”

Denji frowned, weariness darkening his face.

Yoshida walked closer, facing him. His gaze irradiated nothing but frustration.

“Why do you keep lying to me?”

Denji tilted his head. “Excuse me?”

“Back at the bathhouse. You told me you’re not into men.”

“I didn’t lie,” he felt like he shouldn’t clarify, but still, “I’m not gay.”

“You’re not but you still let them fuck you?”

Denji held in a scoff. He was meant to find out sooner or later. Not that it was difficult to figure it out, considering Denji never, ever truly hid it.

“Yeah. I do get fucked by men,” saying it out loud for the first time, after everything he had been through, felt oddly liberating.

Yoshida’s concerned expression hardened.

“It doesn’t make sense. Not in your position.”

“If you wanna fight your demons, you gotta become one.”

Denji let it slip like nothing, but Yoshida truly pulled his deepest strings.

“So what, you’ve been fucking with men for years and you’ve never grown attached?”

“I’m not the kind of person who can’t separate sex from personal attachment.”

Yoshida didn’t seem to buy it. His nose flinched, almost in disgust.

In return, Denji’s temper was gradually worsening.

“I find that impossible to believe,” Yoshida went on, annoyingly persistent. “Have you had sex with Makima?”

“What.”

Now, he was getting furious.

“You’re in love with him,” Yoshida declared, and Denji’s body heat travelled all the way up to his head.

“What the fuck are you on about?” he couldn’t believe what he was listening to.

“The way you always look at him. You’re defenseless—like under a spell.”

His chest was getting agitated. The butterflies flapped their wings against his ribcage, fighting to break free.

Denji had trapped them for so long that he grew fond of them, tamed and silent in their own, silly cage. They just couldn’t fly away—

“He’s my fucking boss. And yours, on top of all.”

“Don’t come up with excuses. You know I’m speaking the truth.”

Denji was having enough.

“I am your damn boss. Know your place for once.”

Yoshida’s eyes glistened while the street lights painted a light hue over his black figure. Denji had let him peel all his layers and now he felt he’d fallen in his own trap.

“I know more than you’re willing to admit.”

Again, the smug smile. The condescendence. Denji hated it. He wanted to erase it from his sight. From his mind.

“You might’ve been able to do whatever you please under Kishibe’s guidance, but that’s not how it works with me.”

Yoshida stepped closer, brushing off Denji’s disdainful glare. Clearly, it wasn’t enough to put him off. He looked like he was starting to have fun with this quarrel, and it was driving Denji mad.

“Why am I the only one who can’t get that side of you?” he snarled, flashing his impeccable white teeth; Denji wanted to smash them.

“I told you, you—” but before he could finish, Yoshida leaned over and bluntly shoved his knee between his legs, cornering him against the rest of the couch.

A staggered gasp escaped Denji’s mouth, then he looked up in order to yell at Yoshida, but was just frozen in place by Yoshida’s leering eyes, finally, looking down on him. Aggravated, bothered, menacing.

Denji could feel Yoshida’s anger upon their warm touch. He would deny it but it was stirring something risky.

“I know everyone has their way with you. I know you get fucked here. In hotel rooms. Hell, even in the toilets when you’re that desperate.”

Yoshida was spitting facts and Denji could only swallow them in pity. Besides, truth didn’t hurt that much when you were the one manufacturing it for your heart’s content.

“But I’m the only one who has to pretend, to simply call you boss. Quite a bullshit, if you ask me.”

Then you’ll be just like them. Like everybody else. Just another pair of hands seizing him. Another mouth humiliating him. Another cock invading him.

Perhaps, in hindsight, that was all what Denji was destined to.

Denji chose to be frank, at long last.

“I don’t have sex with subordinates.”

Which was nothing but the plain truth; he had never had sex with anyone below his rank. What would be the point? There was nothing to gain from it. There was no power exerted on them that could be rewarding. No deals to be made, no submission to be displayed.

“Why? You got someone always ready for you. Dispose of them whenever you please.”

Yoshida was genuinely offering himself to Denji, and still, Denji wouldn’t accept him.

“It’s... problematic. You wouldn’t understand.”

“Oh, I do understand. Because you use sex as extorsion. You use your body to get what you want. You make deals thanks to it. You’re aware of the power you hold.”

Yoshida might be his underling now, but it truly spoke volumes the way he definitely wasn’t one back in China. The way he spoke, the way he moved. He had been in charge of more than just the task of being a bodyguard, and it showed.

Denji noticed how hard it seemed for Yoshida to keep his stance around him. He could feel his unyielding need and nature to subdue him. And that was what Denji couldn’t allow.

“So in the end, it all comes down to mighty Denji being nothing but a single-use open hole, doesn’t it.”

Denji broke their spiteful gaze, looking to the side. He wouldn’t drag this much longer.

“Look, I’m tired of talking about this. Believe what you want. Do your job and leave me alone. I don’t owe you anything.”

Yoshida’s knee pressed harder, consciously tighter against his crotch.

“I might be just a bodyguard to you, but I’ve still got my pride.”

“Oh, really,” Denji could pretend he didn’t mind. He certainly wasn’t getting hard by their scorching contact, by Yoshida’s breath close from above, by his spiteful words. “Congrats. Then put a bow on it and fuck it.”

Yoshida leaned in closer, his body weight channeled towards his leg, making the couch leather cry out a muffled crunch.

“That foul mouth of yours is gonna put you in trouble.”

“I can find my own trouble just fine. I just need you to do your damn job, not lick my ass and hit my nerves.”

Yoshida sighed in exasperation.

“Jesus, kashira. If you weren’t my boss… I’d…”

Say it.

Say what you’d do to me.

Say it out loud so I’d have no chance of escaping.

“You can’t say it? Where’s your pride now,” Denji induced, and for a moment he thought he was done. The way Yoshida glared back at him shrunk his insides and made his heart almost jump out of his ribcage.

Yoshida abruptly placed one hand on his neck and forced him to look up, neck and jaw tensed and inviting to be assaulted. He clawed his fingers, observed in delirium how his vessels pumped blood and screamed for release. Denji tried to drown the pent-up grunt in his throat but it still escaped his mouth.

“You can lie all you want but you’re so eager to get wrecked. Look at you,” Denji’s half lidded eye basking in pleasure, ready for submission. So easy to take him out, to completely make him surrender.

Denji’s mouth had gone agape, inhaling in short breaths the struggle for air. He was foaming already and packed to the hilt. Yoshida’s furious glare had turned lascivious to which Denji could only but admire.

“Do you always look like this? No wonder they can’t escape you,” he pushed his thumb inside Denji’s parted lips, and it was so hot, wet and tempting he feared his body would abandon his mind.

Denji observed with nothing but a misty head. His expression had turned soft, his only eye urging. He brushed his tongue along Yoshida’s thumb, erratic, working on its own.

Yoshida gazed mesmerized at Denji’s dedication.

“I wonder what this mouth can do.”

Denji didn’t need guiding. He knew how to work it, how to curl it around, imagine it was something else.

“This tongue, these lips.”

Yoshida’s knee was now rubbing his dick over the tight fabric. Pressing harder, lifting it up, in unison with his thumb intruding his mouth.

Denji was inexorably succumbing to the thrill. He jerked his hips along, his hazy vision not leaving Yoshida’s.

“I’m dying to see how long you beg and how loud you scream.”

Yoshida’s thumb stopped exploring his mouth, and he let his palm brush Denji’s jaw underneath. Gently, softly, almost child-like.

“Too bad Denji doesn’t have sex with subordinates.”

And just like that, Yoshida stood up and walked away, leaving Denji alone to feel the loss of his heat as a cold bucket splashing onto him.

 

Denji hated him. He hated him as much as he wanted him, but he tried the hardest to banish and erase his emotions.

 

Such pride would certainly have its fall.

 

 

 

At night, in the coldness of his room, Denji caved in, lured into the lingering warm remains on his body. He imagined having him in his mouth. Would Yoshida push hard enough to choke him? Or would he follow an agonizing slow pace that would make Denji beg for more?

He then wished to have him in his ass. He had seen him, barely a glimpse in the dressing room, how big and sturdy it looked, just the way Denji craved. He would thrust into Denji like an animal, he would grip him tight around his neck, forcing him to lock gazes.

He definitely looked like someone who would still hold him close after the orgasm. Someone who would place a gentle kiss on his skin and whisper words Denji had never heard.

 

In the solitude of his bed, Denji moaned, hard, and came in his hand.

 

 

 

 

 

At least being busy helped Denji shake off the uneasy feeling that inhabited his mind. For weeks, he focused on his duties as lieutenant, setting aside his lust until it faded into a grainy shade of grey again. He was sick of the silhouette it had turned out recently. Denji didn’t seek more than that. His life would still remain black and white.

His brothers at the office managed to kidnap him to Yamada’s. He couldn’t escape this time, as the celebrations were long overdue. Their new business was taking off higher than ever, and they wouldn’t let the opportunity to party slip again.

“Let’s have a toast for the kashira,”

“Yeah, for the kashira!”

“Please, guys, keep it low,” Denji didn’t like to cause a ruckus, he’d grown comfortable in keeping things under control and stable.

Yoshida was the only observing quietly, but his dark eyes were smiling the widest. He raised his glass in a gentle motion, gaze fixed on Denji as he gulped down the whole shot.

All four glasses stomped on the table at once, followed by steamy sighs.

“It’s gonna be a good year, this one, I can feel it,” one of them ventured.

“It already is, man,” another pointed out as he stuffed mouthful bites of the delicious meal they’d ordered.

“Yoshida, the madame is calling you,” Nanahara, the youngest, whispered over his hand.

Yoshida glanced at the bar counter, and Denji mirrored his gesture. There was Yamada waving, cooing over at the table, but it was crystal clear her eyes were only set on one man.

“Excuse me,” he said as he stood up and abandoned the table.

Once he was several feet away, Nanahara turned to his peer.

“Do you think there’s something going on between them?”

“Could be. We’ve come here a couple times and they always sneak in for a while to chat alone. Figures.”

Oh.

So that was it.

He stared at them, even though he shouldn’t have. Yamada was saying something to Yoshida, her cheeks softly flushed, a cruel match to her crimson lips. She laughed at something Yoshida replied, giving a couple affectionate taps on his neatly ironed lapel.

“I’m hitting the toilet,” Denji spoke up, and all the members at the table raised their heads.

He fled the bar before they could realize he was heading to the opposite direction—outside.

Man, he was dying for a smoke and a long fuck, not necessarily in that order.

He grabbed his phone, swiped frenetically over his contact list.

Shibata? Nah, he would look too desperate. Yamamoto? Bit boring but could work. He finally set for Shibata but wouldn’t pick up. He tried another, still futile.

He was going to throw his phone onto the concrete in frustration.

A grave voice from behind pulled him out of his chaotic thoughts.

“Who are you calling?”

Denji didn’t need to turn around.

“That’s none of your business,” he replied, dry and sharp.

Yoshida stepped closer and seized Denji by the wrist, tugging him away from the screen.

“I’m your bodyguard, of course it fucking is.”

Denji scowled. The nerve of him.

“I also have personal affairs you can’t meddle in. Fuck off.”

The grip on his wrist tensed. Yoshida was glaring at him with undoubted anger, but also with excruciating concern that was threatening to pierce Denji’s knotted chest.

“Please, Denji,” still, the utterance of his name sounded just like every time he called him kashira. With respect, dedication, devotion. This time, though, also embracing his agony. “Don’t dismiss me again.”

“I’m looking for a quick fuck,” God, Yoshida’s face was painfully insisting and Denji was about to lose his last ounce of willingness if he didn’t flee the scene. “Satisfied? Now leave me the fuck alone.”

Yoshida didn’t need more than a second to reply.

“If that’s all you want, why don’t we do it?”

For fuck’s sake. Don’t tell me twice.

“I’m right here.”

Yoshida just wouldn’t stay quiet. Never. He had to keep rubbing salt into the wound.

Denji could be very weak under the right circumstances. And now, Yoshida was everything that roamed his mind. He just stood still there, in the middle of the street, under Yoshida’s pleading and scrutinizing gaze. His feet felt as heavy as his heart.

Denji didn’t even attempt to reject him again. He’d learned to read those piercing eyes—he knew they wouldn’t budge this time. He knew they would track him until they got what they chased.

When Yoshida pulled him and dragged him towards the car, Denji had already accepted the inevitable.

 

 

His apartment smelled like him. It was dark, dim lights and non-existing decoration. Not that Denji needed anything else.

Yoshida took his time undressing him, as if he were an art piece that he had the task to polish with utmost care. His relentless dedication burnt his body and crept through his spine until it numbed his head. He shouldn’t allow, not so much, not so close, but the moment Yoshida’s bony fingers grazed his skin Denji surrendered to his own betrayal.

His shirt fell down his shoulders and back as he felt Yoshida’s breath lingering on his nape. Then, there was a pause in his suffocating contact—too short for Denji to cherish, too long for him to miss.

His lips replaced his breath as they pressed, directly and agonizingly warm, on his bare back. One kiss. Another. And another. Softer, harder, a flick of the tongue on his deeply inked skin.

Denji’s neck tensed up, the shivers travelling all around, tightening every fiber of his being and twisting every damned thought in his mind.

“You’re gorgeous, kashira,” he heard him say from behind, low and sultry. Again, the unsolicited commentary. The dooming praise. The annoying lump in his throat.

Denji squeezed his eye shut. If only his looming voice would vanish too.

“Hurry the fuck up,” he snapped, unable to match what his head ordered with what his body craved. Perhaps he should stop at once. Still cautious before the fall.

“No,” Yoshida muffled on his skin, voice slurred in the way only the finest wine did, “I want to make it last.”

As he said that, he ran his hands down Denji’s shoulder blades, tracing his fingers around his back, following the shape of his bones, caressing the sinuous lines of ink on his skin.

Denji had never been touched like that, and it was making him nauseous. Delicacy wasn’t something he had ever been offered, and it pricked his skin more cruelly than the sharpest needle he had ever taken.

“It’s just a quick fuck, don’t make it harder than it is.”

“Yeah, right,” Yoshida gifted him a weak chuckle bathed in sarcasm which hid something darker deep within. A warning, perhaps, one that Denji should have heeded long ago; turned the other way while there was still time. Now he ended up over the speed limit, unfastened, bracing for the crash, “You don’t get to say what it is to me.”

The knot in Denji’s throat grew larger, unstoppable.

Yoshida was sparkling and alluring, not like the countless of men who had fucked him. The curled white snakes around his shoulders, collarbones and chest stood out beautifully. They were swimming in dark spirals over his pale skin, and Denji thought there was nothing that described him better.

He pushed Denji down on the tatami floor, his chest and naked body silently shaking because of the unknown. Yoshida hovered him, his skin was conveying the heat which Denji was having a hard time handling. He bent forward, getting closer, resuming his dedicated display of affection and devotion over Denji’s body. He placed his mouth on his collarbones, kissed him achingly slow, trailing up towards his neck.

Denji couldn’t bear it anymore.

“Stop with the kissing.”

“I’m not kissing you. I’m marking you,” he slurred again, his breath ricocheting on Denji’s skin while his palms were roaming free.

Denji grunted, visibly conflicted.

Yoshida then kissed him in the mouth. He broke free after having a full taste of Denji’s, letting out a shameful, wet sound.

“God,” Denji muttered, a thread of saliva running down his lip, “you’re disgusting.”

Yoshida smirked.

“Says the one about to take my whole cock gladly? You like disgusting?”

Of course he did. Of course. There wasn’t a more blatant truth in Denji’s debauched life than that.

“Am I more disgusting than all the others you’ve taken? You’ll break my heart, kashira.”

How could a wicked mouth like Yoshida’s spit such facts and land onto Denji so intensely?

Don’t say anything. Don’t mess with my head.

Just fuck me, don’t talk.

Denji hated it when they talked. It got to his head, it carved dangerously, it made way for a memory he was not willing to store. Was it that difficult? To just let the body do the work and ease the mind?

Yet, Yoshida wouldn’t grant him that wish.

“If you don’t shut the fuck up—”

“Yeah?” Yoshida’s mischievous, predatory wide pupils were about to tear him apart.

Denji tilted his head, looked away towards the wall. “I’ll be outta here.”

“Well, the door’s not locked,” Yoshida reminded him, “I don’t see you running for it.”

And with that, he ran his tongue all along his chest until his stomach, filthily wet and ruthless on Denji’s oversensitive body. Goosebumps swam all over him and his hips jerked in response.

Yoshida kept going down until his mouth caught his cock, pulsing hot and awaiting since they had left the car. Denji squirmed beneath, Yoshida’s tongue in full action, giving him the twirls and licks he had dreamt of plenty of nights all along.

Yoshida let out a breathy, sultry gasp as he released him, and Denji closed his legs in shame. He wouldn’t admit he’d come right away if he sucked him one more time, so he turned to his side and hoped Yoshida would just hurry.

Instead, he bent down again, but this time searching for his ass, and Denji’s drunk eye widened in shock when he felt Yoshida spreading his cheeks and his tongue on his crack.

A loud moan escaped his mouth, embarrassingly lewd and genuine.

Fuck, this wasn’t in his plans. This was too much. He felt his skin ripping apart.

Yoshida was licking all of his body raw, and Denji simply wouldn’t make it for long.

His tongue kept intruding further, serving long and generous flicks of the tongue in and out, pressing bold and burning.

Denji’s hole was twitching in such a heinous way he had to sink his face in his chest as his body curled up like a fetus, dragged by the unstoppable bliss and pleasure Yoshida was hitting him with.

Dear god. He wanted him. He wanted him so much, so hard, deep inside.

He was craving to be consumed, to disappear along with his sins.

Yoshida smacked his ass and then pinched it hard while his tongue pierced him deep and his lips accompanying it.

Denji’s body convulsed, a wailed-out moan amidst his breathless gasps as the orgasm hit him like a lightning.

His legs kept shaking for some seconds even after coming, and Yoshida raised his head until he noticed the substance on his floor and scattered drops on Denji’s stomach.

“Wow. I’m flattered, kashira.”

“Don’t—” Don’t look at me. Denji barely could gain his breath back. Fuck, that had been so intense he wasn’t sure it was a good idea to keep going.

“We’ve just started and you’re already done for. That’s not what rumours spread about you.”

Denji wasn’t in the mood for jokes.

“Fuck the rumours.”

Yoshida caressed his waist and gently pushed him down. Denji followed his motion, his hazy head coming back to earth, and lay on his stomach.

He was still anticipating. Finally, he would get what he was yearning.

Yoshida hovered him, his cock grazing Denji’s cleft teasingly, up and down, slowly, not putting much pressure onto it just yet.

Instictively, Denji dragged his knees backwards and shamelessly arched his ass up, getting more of the touch, grinding himself close to Yoshida’s cock.

He was delirious with lust, and he had no shame to cover anymore. He had been unveiled of his true nature and he had nothing to lose.

He couldn’t wait, even after reaching his climax, he still needed more. His body was craving to be ravished by Yoshida, to feel him deep inside, to acknowledge if everything he’d dreamed about him was pitch perfect image he’d shaped in his head.

“Is this what you really want, kashira?”

Yoshida could be that punishing even in this situation. He certainly would make Denji beg for it.

“Please,” and of course he would. He was used to begging to lesser men.

“Is it me that you want now?”

Yes.

His ass pressed harder, urging, as if his desperate motion while grinding his length wasn’t clear enough.

“Tell me, kashira. Tell me it’s me who you desire.”

Yoshida pushed the tip inside and Denji tried to thrust himself deeper into it, but Yoshida was swift enough to grab him by the waist and seize him, unable to move back.

“Yoshida—” that was another plead, for mercy this time.

“I won’t fuck you until you say it.”

The lump in Denji’s throat was heavy and nauseating. He needed this to get over with, to be driven to bliss so his awful thoughts wouldn’t meddle in.

“I want you—”

Yoshida’s grip on his waist tightened, and then Denji felt another inch pushing in.

He moaned against the floor, spit coming out of his mouth and wetting the mat. His back muscles contracted, holding it in.

“...—o fuck me,” he muffled, overwhelmed.

Yoshida thrusted all the way in, and Denji was driven to insanity.

He didn’t wait to adjust, to let him accommodate to his size, to his girth, to his length. He began to pull in and out frantically as soon as he got engulfed. The rhythmic sounds of Yoshida’s rough pounding overflowed the room, along with Denji’s pants and moans.

It felt so good, so right, so full. It hurt in all the places it hadn’t before. Yoshida’s hunger for sex was as depraved as his. Ramming his ass without mercy—hard, rough, primitively. Just the way Denji felt true to himself.

The uncontrollable pleasure Yoshida was giving him would absolutely tear him down in the end.

“Kashira—” Yoshida’s levels of energy were high, but even amid the frenzy, his voice seemed to falter him. “You have no idea h—”

Shut up. Shut up.

“Just fuck me,”

Yoshida grunted, and he dropped his body over Denji, clashing their skin together, a smacking, wet sound of sweat merging from their feverish bodies. His steady, frenetic pace didn’t suffer at all.

“Promise me you won’t escape again,” he whispered, his lips brushing his ear, wet yet incendiary.

Fuck, how could he. How could he leave this behind. How could he quit once he savored the best meal.

Yoshida’s hand searched for his other cheek, and pressed it gently while thrusting harder.

Denji’s eye squeezed shut, the pain transformed into sated thirst.

“Let me see your face,”

“No,” he wept. Ghostly tears were gathering in the crease of his eye, smudged and drunk in everlasting bliss.

“Denji—” Yoshida whispered, now he being the one begging.

Don’t call me that. Not now.

Yoshida’s hand climbed to his scalp and pulled, forcing him to turn his head over.

Fuck. Denji was close – close to the point of no return. His cock throbbed in response, achingly hard, awaiting for the final act.

Denji’s mouth went wide open, and Yoshida took the opportunity to shove several fingers in with his free hand. Denji gasped as they intruded his mouth, but immediately wrapped his tongue around them, feeling them up, filling him up.

“You’re—too much of a view right now,” Yoshida’s admiration cascaded over Denji like the heaviest of rains. He didn’t want praise, he wanted a needle to burst the lump in his throat, to tear his chest open.

Yoshida sped up one last time, allowing Denji to relish the previous, heart-wrecking, body-consuming seconds before the fall. He was tip-toeing round the cliff, but he could see Yoshida amidst the waves—open armed, safe, bracing for his jump.

Denji dived in his most intense orgasm, nothing but scent and taste of Yoshida.

He let out a choked cry, so violent that all the city might have heard him. But Yoshida embraced him tight, his arms binding his shaking body and released pleasure, until he came an instant later. His body tensed up as the grip on Denji’s hair tightened, tugging him closer, their temples touching and their breaths dancing in exhaustion.

Yoshida’s grip untied and it turned into a caress. His open palm stroked Denji’s head drowsily while the fingers in his mouth slipped out. He looked at Denji—cheeks flustered and lips wet with spit. His eyepatch had slid up a little and Yoshida could recognize the beginning of a scar.

“...I’d like to come on your face next time.”

Next time. Denji’s heart nearly skipped a beat by the intimidating sound of that. If it’d been anyone else he surely would’ve retorted something along the lines of bold of you to assume there’s going to be a next, but with Yoshida, he was just at a loss for words. He’d engulfed every word that was meant to come out of his mouth, took them all in sheer delight, chewed on thoroughly and swallowed them until Denji had nothing to say but give in.

Yet, all the lies...

He couldn’t even keep them straight in his head anymore.

 

 

 

 

 

Their second time didn’t take long to occur.

It dawned on him after days of being immersed in his thoughts. Whenever he went, whatever he did, he would see Yoshida. When he closed his eye, he remembered his scent, his touch, his lustful tongue and words, storming in his brain, at day, at night.

 

Denji’s mask had begun to crack, and he was leaving the shattered pieces behind Yoshida would joyfully tread on. He would squash them, and their echo would resonate within Denji at every step.

 

Yoshida had quickly learned what Denji craved. In order not to feel nauseous, his embrace was tight and crushing, feeling his bones cracking as well, the only way to bring him back from the overflow of feelings Yoshida had poured over him.

“Denji,” his ears must have betrayed him, too, because his name had never sounded so full, and so loved.

Perhaps Yoshida could be the one to bring him solace. Amongst the terrible things he’d done, Yoshida felt like a nice shoulder to lean on. Someone who would understand him, and yet break him.

 

Denji had never had sex with anyone he remotely cared for.

Not to mention love, a feeling that he had repressed and erased from every cell, every fiber, every thought. There was no space for purity in his sullied body.

In the end, Denji was such a damaged thing. Nobody would ever love him for the way he had become—corrupted, violated, broken. So he had to live in pain, bruised and controlled whenever his lust overtook him. If his most primal instincts took the lead, he could put his heart to rest. He could save himself from the worst of pains.

The yakuza world might as well have been his saving grace. Such men would never love him, they would simply use him the way he was meant to, and he would get to live a grandiose life of wealth and power in exchange. There was a price to pay, but he had given it for free. Now, he was reaping the consequences of such aimless decision.

He thought he knew where to draw the line, but he wasn’t sure if he was the one holding the pen anymore.

 

“Have you killed anyone, kashira?”

 

The tingling aftermath of their orgasms overflowed the hotel room.

Their impatient, blaring libidos weren’t going to make it to any of their apartments. Yoshida had turned the wheel towards the nearest street, left the car unlocked, and rushed to the entrance like starving men.

 

“What a question to kill the mood.”

 

If only murders were what covered Denji’s list of sins.

The white, neat sheets beneath their bodies served as some sort of despicable joke.

 

“I’d kill for you. I’d kill myself for you.”

 

Denji exhaled. It hurt him that such words brought him comfort.

 

“That’s kind of your job, dumbass. You’re lucky it’s been quite peaceful so far.”

“It doesn’t matter. If you fired me today, I’d still take the bullet tomorrow.”

 

Denji despised bullets. He’d rather kill someone with his own hands. Feel their breath come out of their lungs, see their skin withering, their vessels popping.

It would be more sincere. Agony and screams for life in their purest form.

 

“Would you cry if I was gone?”

 

Denji didn’t want to lose anyone else. Especially not Yoshida.

“I wish you would,” he promptly added, a mischievous grin plastered from ear to ear. “I wish I could die and be able to see it.”

“God, and I wish I never saw your stupid face again,” Denji coyly pushed him away with his open hand.

 

Yoshida laughed in earnest, which warmed up the whole room, but mostly Denji’s blooming heart.

 

 

 

 

It was a sunny, spring day in Tokyo. They had paid a courtesy visit to an old business partner near the outskirts. People were still at work, the alleys empty with scattered women strolling for groceries.

In a forgotten corner, Yoshida entered a 24h store while Denji waited outside, having a smoke. Everything was going well, even though Denji didn’t want to think much about it. There was an unsettling sense of uneasiness every time Yoshida leant close, smiled at him, brushed his skin—their relationship of boss and bodyguard had started to fade away to gradually become something else.

Denji still didn’t know what to make of it. He knew the words, but they were ghosts.

Yoshida came out, two plastic bags in hand. Denji took a quick glance.

“Did you get the sauce for the takoyaki?”

“Shit, I knew I was forgetting something,” he replied as he headed back inside.

Denji grinned, amused. Yoshida hated it, and it wasn’t the first time he’d forgotten it.

He wandered around, taking slow, comfortable steps under the bright sun. It was making him sweat in his dark suit, so he walked to the alley, grazed by a generous shade. He leaned over the wall, inhaling the nicotine, calming his being.

He was glancing back at the store, waiting for Yoshida to hurry up. He was starving. Those rats didn’t even offer them some biscuits with their tea.

As he exhaled another puff of smoke, he felt a sudden grab from behind and a strong pull from his jacket.

He only saw a bearded man in a hoodie, his eyes frantically shaking and his teeth leering. In the span of a few seconds in which Denji couldn’t react, he pulled out a knife from his pocket and aimed at his face.

There was a sharp unbearable pain in his good eye which made him see red. Instantly, his head seemed to be engulfed by a heavy dark cloud—he felt dizzy, lost, dying.

Everything turned black as he dropped to the ground.

In the faint distance, he could swear he had heard Yoshida scream his name.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Denji heard sounds he had never heard before. Robotic, metallic, clinks and clanks, and lots of hushed whispering. He dreamed for what seemed like a century, but he couldn’t make out any of the images.

His mind swirled and swirled until the spell broke.

The unmistakable smell of disinfectant, neatly washed cotton sheets, plastic and iron. It had been so long that he had forgotten about them.

“Denji-san, how are you feeling?” a warm, female voice asked him from above.

“Good.”

He didn’t need to touch his face to know he wasn’t. His head hurt like a nightmare, and it felt like he had two endless black holes in his sockets.

“Sir—You can’t--!”

A sudden bump burst into the place along with hurried steps.

“Sorry, I told him repeatedly...”

There was silence, even though the room felt crowded.

“Okay,” the second female voice disappeared, walking away.

“Sir… your—hand, are you okay?”

Denji’s alarms fired.

“You should come with me, we’ll get those bandages replaced. Seems like the wound’s open again.”

“I’m okay. Please leave.”

Denji’s chest heaved. He felt like he was breathing again. He couldn’t admit how much he had missed that voice.

“I—I,” the nurse complained.

“Just five minutes.”

She seemed to agree, as her light steps became distant and the door shut.

Denji swallowed.

“What did you do, Yoshida?”

An agonizing pause.

“I killed that bastard.”

Of course you would.

“You know I don’t mean that.”

He could hear Yoshida breathing loudly.

“I’d cut my whole hand right now if you asked me to.”

If Denji had eyes, he would close them and sigh.

“Don’t be stupid.”

More silence. But in the midst of it, a faint shiver.

Yoshida was crying. He couldn’t see, but he could hear. He could sense it. He could, in a way, one last time, wish for more misery in his life.

“Kashira,” his voice was trembling, hollow, caught up in the back of his throat as Denji had never heard it before. “I’m—I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t— Fuck, I wish it’d been me.”

“You should be careful what you wish for,” Denji drew out a tired smile on his broken face. “See where it got me.”

 

I wish I never saw your stupid face again

 

I wish I never saw

 

I wish—

 

“Guess I kinda deserved it,” he went on, digging up his own grave, “always being so reckless.”

He wished he had memorized his features and burned them long enough. Now there were only but ashes bound to be blown away in the wind.

“Always assuming everything would turn my way. No consequences.”

“What the hell are you saying,” Yoshida’s voice was still dark and hollow, but it would always convey worry for him.

“Threatening. Blackmailing. Murdering. Everything comes with a price. I thought I’d paid mine long ago, but it seems I was wrong.”

“Being in this shit spiral of criminal life doesn’t mean you should pay for everything. I wouldn’t—I wouldn’t have—”

“Can you kiss me?” Denji interrupted, and Yoshida went silent.

There was no point in masquerading anymore. Denji was lying bare and ripped open.

“I’m bloody. I’m—shit,” Yoshida’s voice cracked.

“Aren’t we all,”

Now they had given each other scars for life.

“Worst thing is... I don’t repent my crimes. Not a single one. I’d repeat it all over.”

Yoshida came closer to the bed. He could feel his body heat irradiate the cold, aseptic ambience.

A warm clutch over his hand.

“And I’d follow you. I’d slaughter the whole clan and burn the house down if that meant saving you. I can’t lose you, Denji.”

 

If there really was a Hell, Denji was definitely going. Blindfolded, in complete darkness, with his chest torn open and his bleeding heart as his only remaining weapon.

 

“That’s good to hear,”

He paused, but he still had latent words to set free from his chains.

 

“But... in the end... it was me who committed the worst crime.”

 

“What crime,”

 

Of all the crimes Denji had committed, of all the mistakes, of all the regrets—Yoshida had been the worst one.

He had been the worst, and yet, he would do the same thing all over again. He wouldn’t atone. He would rather be blind than not have seen the truth at all.

 

Denji took a deep breath.

 

“Falling in love with you.”

 

Yoshida had been his salvation and his curse, and for that, he would be forever grateful.

 

The dead silence in the room was enough to shrivel him for good.

“I bet you’re making such a pathetic face,” he uttered as if knives caressed his chest. Yoshida’s face, forever gone. His coal hair, his glistening earrings, his long nose, his prying eyes, his slick mouth. No more knowing glances again; only but his voice remained.

“Denji,” his voice, strained, in pain, holding in the cries that would accompany his eyes, “Fuck, Denji. I—”

“It’s funny, but… I feel like I can still see you.”

And in truth, he could. He must have engraved Yoshida’s face so deep in his being that even stripped of the chance of seeing him again, his delicate lines began to shape in his mind the more he heard his voice, the closer it got.

 

“Will you hold my hand while you’re here?”

“I’ll never leave your side again. I’ll be your shadow.”

 

It was ironic, the fact that Yoshida had been nothing but light. Now, surrounded by darkness, it really dawned on him how much he would miss it.

 

“Please. Haunt me and follow me. Till the very end.”

 

Until all walls crumbled. Until his blood stopped pumping. Until light inescapably became dark.

Until death found its way to consume him at long last, Denji would dare to wish, one last time, to have Yoshida by his side.

 

 

* * *

Till the end of the world

I want you to love me

Like the end

* * *

 

Notes:

this is my second time writing a yakuza au; first one was my abandoned multichap eruri in which there was plenty of yakuza worldbuilding and clan stuff, whereas in this one I basically focused on denji’s character and inner struggle alone, taking advantage of the fact that several stuff from canon fit the theme pretty well. i hope it all made sense in the end.

also letting you know that I took a lot of inspiration from saezuru, so much that you might as well call it a saezuru au lol so if you enjoyed this fic, please read the blueprint. A magnus opus BL, a rollercoaster of emotions, everything that is right and painful in this world.

since my ysdns keep getting longer and longer I can only but say Thank you for reading till the end (of the world) <3

Extras:
- edit I made from saezuru chapter 24 illustration [© kou yoneda]
- denji’s and yoshida’s tattoos designs + info (they’re from yakuza/ryu ga gotoku games)
- the freaking amazing @aurahoys on twt drew three pieces of incredible fanart inspired by these two silly yakuzas. please show her all the love (excuse me cuz i gotta keep on crying)