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The afternoon is a pleasant one, an afternoon where Otoya would have spent playing for the flowers or the city with its frantic pace and the people who work themselves to the bone just to make a living. He might have spent it with a pretty girl, on a picnic or walking through a park or perhaps even on the beach. Until just recently, he would not have imagined spending it fighting with the only man he considers a true friend over something that technically belongs to neither of them, but then, Otoya can predict nothing when it comes to Jiro.

Letting his mind wander is a mistake. Jiro, in his full blue Wolfen glory, slams a fist into Otoya’s chest and knocks him several feet back into a tree. It makes every bone in his body rattle.

The back of his head smashes into the trunk and even through the helmet of the IXA suit, his skull rattles. He hisses as he falls into a crouch at the base of the tree, keeping Jiro in his sights now. In fur and claws and teeth, Jiro is easy confidence as he walks a half-circle around Otoya, treating him like prey. He of all people should know better than that.

“You let yourself get distracted like this around a Fangire and you die,” Jiro snarls at him, and his eyes glow inhumanly crimson, red as blood. “If I was a Fangire, I could have killed you.”

“You’re something like it, though, aren’t you?” Otoya asks as he pushes himself back to his feet, rolls his shoulders to make sure nothing is broken. He will have bruises, which is fine. There is no way around that. “You could kill me if you wanted to. IXA would be yours. And Yuri—”

“This isn’t about her!” It’s a mistake to mention her name. Jiro is inhumanly fast and Otoya finds himself sandwiched between Jiro and the tree a moment later. “I thought you wanted to get better?”

He does. He needs to. He doesn’t have Jiro’s prowess in battle to rely on in this war.

He can’t wear the IXA suit like a second skin just yet, not the way Jiro wears his Garulu form.

“I’m trying,” he grits out, but Jiro’s clawed hand is wrapped around his throat and cutting off a generous portion of his air. A punishment, he supposes, for daring to let his mind wander in the middle of battle. “I won’t get distracted this time. So let me go and we’ll start again.”

Jiro cocks his head and studies Otoya with those blood red eyes before his fingers tighten around Otoya’s throat. “You want me to let you go? Better make me do it, then.”

That’s fair, or it should feel fair, but Otoya is nothing if not frustrated easily at being overpowered by someone else and he lashes out with a sharp kick to Jiro’s midsection at the words. It breaks the hold on his throat and he rubs through the fabric before he aims another kick, barely missing when Jiro darts just out of reach. He’s laughing, Otoya can hear it ringing in his ears, because Jiro is so much faster than Otoya could ever hope to be. Dancing just out of reach.

Otoya has been fighting long enough to recognize a predator toying with its prey and the thought incenses him more than it should. It’s Jiro, after all, and he has no reason to think Jiro would treat him like prey after all the time the two of them have spent together. It’s been almost exclusively in competition with each other, sure, but Otoya senses a kinship there and there is no one else he would rely on in a fight as quickly as he would rely on Jiro to have his back. They hunt together and fight together and surely that has to count for something.

He’s probably an idiot for putting any form of trust into a monster. Jiro is probably telling him that with this little game. He had come here because Otoya asked him to train with him, to fight him and not hold back, because Otoya has to get better at fighting. He has to.

Jiro is just suddenly in his personal space and he bats Otoya aside as easily as a child, knocking him into another tree. It winds him, and then Jiro rakes his claws down his back.

The IXA suit protects him from the worst of it but Otoya still grits his teeth and sweeps a leg so he can knock Jiro’s feet out from underneath him. He springs on top of him as soon as Jiro’s back hits the dirt, fisting his hands in the fur around Jiro’s neck and pinning him down with the grip. Jiro grips his hip, his claws raking down, scoring the leather between the armor plates until Otoya feels the cool afternoon air against his skin. His automatic reaction is to knee Jiro hard in the chest, knocking the breath out of him. It gives him barely enough time to pin Jiro’s wrists down with his knees, but he manages it, if sloppily, balance precarious.

“That’s more like it,” Jiro tells him, and he sounds far too comfortable to be in this position than Otoya would have expected out of him. “About time you proved you could hold your own.”

“Shut up,” Otoya snaps, though he can’t help but preen just the slightest bit at the praise coming from the strongest member of the Wolfen clan. That has to count for something, right? Still, he loosens his hold around Jiro’s neck, if just slightly. “Want to get up and go again?”

He removes his hands from Jiro’s head entirely and, because he can be just as much of an asshole, scratches him behind an ear for good measure. Jiro makes a noise up at him.

Otoya pauses in the process of letting Jiro’s hands free, well versed enough in the litany of pleased noises that can leave a pair of lips to recognize that sound for what it was. His hand hovers above Jiro’s head before he takes advantage of this knowledge once more, scratching a little more thoroughly, and Jiro presses his head up into the touch with a pleased sound.

“Good puppy,” he remarks, because he can and because it’s not abnormal for him to say it. He leans back just slightly, trying for a more comfortable position, and Jiro’s hips twitch and buck under his. It’s enough for him to realize something firm and hard is pressing up against his ass.

“Oh, oh, oh,” he murmurs, and he smiles behind the helmet, tipping his head back and preening far too much at this knowledge. Jiro had never seemed even slightly interested, and yet…

He doesn’t have to do anything with this knowledge. He can let this one go, and they can train again another day because undoubtedly, Jiro will have to deal with this problem on his own if Otoya just walks away now. Of course… He doesn’t have to. Otoya has no preference in a partner, recognizes beauty in all shapes and sizes, and there are so many beautiful people in the world he could never limit himself to a single gender even if he tried. The thought of not being able to limit himself to a single species, either, is only slightly troubling.

“Do you want help with that, since you helped me?” he asks, because this is not only Jiro’s itch to scratch and because he wants to. The thought is more than attractive to him. Maybe he should be worried about the fact he can look down at Jiro’s azure fur and his burgundy claws and his muzzle full of teeth sharp enough to cut through skin and bone and find him just as attractive as in his human skin, but he doesn’t want to think about that right now.

Jiro makes a noise at him even as he presses his head up into Otoya’s hand for more attention. “Yes,” he finally grates out, and Otoya hums, pleased at the sound. “Careful with the suit.”

Otoya clicks his tongue and could remind Jiro that he is the one who damaged it, but he doesn’t. Instead, he lifts himself up and slides down, straddling Jiro’s powerful thighs so he can get a look at what he’s dealing with, here. Not that he hasn’t been with men before; Otoya has gotten a taste of anyone and everyone that he can. There have been just as many men as women who he can charm, after all. But Jiro is not human, not right now, and the cock throbbing wet and hard against his stomach isn’t anything like Otoya has seen between a human man’s legs.

“You really are a puppy,” he muses with a smirk, fingers smoothing through the fur on his thigh before creeping to the opening of the sheath at the base of his cock. Jiro shudders and Otoya smirks down at him, leather-covered fingers trailing along the underside of his cock, thinner toward the tip than at the base. Idly, he wonders if Jiro has a knot when he’s close to orgasm.

“Shut up,” Jiro snarls at him, but Otoya only sighs and runs a hand behind his ear, watching Jiro press up into the touch with a shake of his head before returning his attention to his cock. Still, Jiro insists, “Don’t, Otoya. Push me too hard and I will make you pay for it.”

“I never said you weren’t a good puppy,” Otoya informs him, wrapping his hand more firmly around Jiro’s cock. The pre-come leaking from the tip wets his hand, easing the friction. “You’re a good boy for me, aren’t you?”

He thinks Jiro would take his head off if he could but Otoya starts working his hand before Jiro can respond, quick movements of the wrist that he knows will please. Jiro whines high-pitched, his ears flattening against his skull as he bucks up into Otoya’s hand, and the sight is hot enough that the leather across his crotch starts to feel uncomfortably tight. Otoya shifts so he can straddle one muscular thigh, grinding down against Jiro’s fur, and Jiro seems to get the idea. He shifts his leg just enough to rock back up against Otoya, giving him the friction he needs, and Otoya hisses at the pressure. It’ll be enough, he thinks, but only just.

The shape of Jiro’s cock makes jerking him off interesting in its own way, the flared head he’s used to not there, but it’s not different enough to trip him up and within minutes Otoya has Jiro panting and whining beneath him even as he lets Otoya hump his leg like a dog in heat. He hopes distantly that no one happens to walk upon them doing this because it isn’t like he planned for them to do anything but fight out here in the middle of the forest.

“You’re enjoying this a lot, aren’t you?” Otoya coos as more pre-come dribbles from the tip of Jiro’s cock. Otoya’s strokes are slippery now and he tightens his grip so he can keep the friction and tightness firm. “How long have you wanted me to touch your cock, puppy?”

Jiro wheezes up at him and Otoya, curious as always, fumbles for the bottom of the helmet. He knows, theoretically, that it must have somewhere to disconnect. Before he can find it, Jiro leans up and grips the helmet in both hands, ripping it off. Something tears. Leather, probably.

“You are ruining this suit and Yu—” Otoya cuts off, knowing what had happened the last time he mentioned her name and not wanting to ruin the mood. “Whoever made it is going to be pissed they have to fix it, you know what? And I can’t even tell them the reason it’s broken is because you’re a horny werewolf who can’t practice even limited self-control.”

Jiro pants up at him, tongue lolling out of his mouth. “I got it off, didn’t I?” he asks, and he thrusts his hips up hard into Otoya’s hand, whining softly in the back of his throat.

But it reminds Otoya of the purpose of taking the helmet off. He forces himself to stop humping Jiro’s leg so he can kneel properly between them, watching Jiro’s face. It’s hard to track his expression change when he doesn’t look human. “Do you want me to suck you off?”

“What?” Jiro’s head snaps off the ground, but his ears perk and betray him. “You sure about that?”

“I take pride in my ability to give pleasure to others, so yes, I am sure.” Otoya proves his point by moving to lay between Jiro’s legs, letting his mouth get dangerously close to Jiro’s cock as he speaks. It’s not much different than sucking off a normal cock, right? Except for the shape. He doesn’t even have testicles to worry about. “I’m willing, but you have to say please.”

He watches Jiro war with himself at that, his ears twitching, and he growls low in his throat even as he lays back against the grass once more. “Please, Otoya,” he grits out.

“Not good enough.” Otoya breathes hot and damp along Jiro’s cock, his head tilting to the side when Jiro tries to fuck up into his mouth. “Ask me politely to suck your cock.”

Jiro digs his claws into the dirt, tearing into the dirt, and Otoya smiles just a little at the sight of that. “Please suck my cock, Otoya,” he says, then twists his head away.

Shy, Otoya thinks, amused, but he does as he promised and slides his tongue along the underside of Jiro’s cock, tracing the vein there before taking the head in his mouth. It’s much different in shape than he’s used to, and Jiro is much more bitter than he’s used to, but it isn’t unpleasant and Otoya takes him in inch by inch with ease, moving to hold his hips down. If he’s going to suck Jiro off, then he’s going to control the pace and the speed and the rhythm. Jiro’s pleasure will be in the palm of his hand, his to give or take. No one else’s.

The shape ends up not really being much of a problem. If anything, it’s a blessing. Easier to take Jiro all the way down to the back of his throat when he’s got less to take back there at the top, and he gets the unique sensation of his lips parting wider as he takes more down, narrowing as he bobs his head back. It’s interesting to him, and Jiro groans loud and unashamed under him.

He doesn’t know what to do with his hands but he braces one on the inside of Jiro’s thigh, massaging the muscles there while the other hand massages the sheath around the base of his cock. That works just fine for Jiro, apparently, who yelps and bucks his hips up harder. Otoya is a pro, and avoids being choked, but just the same he gives Jiro’s thigh a warning squeeze before swallowing him back down, bobbing his head in rhythm with his fingers.

At first, he thinks he might be imagining it. The base of Jiro’s cock wider when he goes down then it used to be, but he glances down and finds his earlier question answered. His hand shifts from Jiro’s sheath to the knot growing around the base of his cock, careful when his first touch makes Jiro whine. Easy, he thinks. Don’t hurt him. That’s not the point. At least not right now.

Otoya massages the knot as it grows to its full size and looks up at Jiro as he pauses to just suck on the tip of his cock, tongue lavishing attention to the sensitive glans while he watches Jiro groan and arch off of the grass, claws digging deeper into the earth around him, desperate for something to hold onto. Otoya has never seen Jiro come undone from anything but complete and utter rage. He’s so unaffected otherwise, and it gives him great pride to see Jiro falling apart at the seams for him. Just for him, just for the pleasure that he gives him.

He pulls off of Jiro’s cock and looks directly into his eyes. “Come for me, puppy.”

He has maybe seconds to take Jiro back into his mouth but he swallows him down in that time and is braced for when Jiro comes in his throat with a howl, arching off of the ground almost unnaturally as he does. Otoya swallows rapidly or risks choking, and there’s so much come he’s almost a little embarrassed on Jiro’s behalf. Is this normal for his kind? Probably.

Otoya swallows until he has nothing more to give and then pulls off of his cock, laying his head against Jiro’s thigh, the soft fur there a comfort against his skin. He keeps his hand wrapped around Jiro’s knot, though, to simulate the pressure that should be there.

“Fuck, Otoya…” Jiro gulps at air and a clawed hand comes to rest on top of Otoya’s head, and Otoya wrinkles his nose but manages not to complain that your claws were just buried in dirt, puppy. “I… Probably owe you one for that.”

He does. Otoya is still painfully hard, but he just shifts a hand down to massage himself through the leather, breath shuddering as he does. “You do,” he agrees, but holds up his free hand when Jiro moves, probably to reciprocate in some fashion. “No. Not right now. Later. Let me do this myself. I want something else from you if you’ll give it to me.”

It only takes a few squeezes and presses of his own hand against his erection through the fabric to make him come; he has the memory of Jiro arching and whining and howling beneath him to aid his fantasies, and the bitter taste of come in the back of his throat helps that. The IXA suit is ruined, and Yuri will probably kill him for damaging her mother’s work like this. He can’t even tell her why; she would kill both of them for using her mother’s suit like this.

“The cafe, tomorrow,” Otoya says, pushing himself into a sitting position, sweaty and dirty. “Just the two of us. And we can talk about that reciprocation then.”

Otoya buys his coffee, which Jiro is not sure who to feel about. He still isn’t sure how he felt about yesterday, but it had been years since he’d had sex with anyone, and never before with a human because the interest had never been there. Until Yuri, of course, but the urge is stronger with Otoya from time to time, making Jiro second guess himself and everything he thought he knew about himself, and his feelings in regards to Kurenai Otoya, in the first place.

He’d jerked off in the shower and refused to answer Riki’s and Ramon’s questions about why he looked so satisfied . The thought that Otoya’s ministrations had a lingering effect on him is somewhat unpleasant, after all. They were competitors. If anything, Jiro should be beating himself up for not using the opportunity to steal IXA from Otoya when it was obvious he wasn’t even thinking about protecting the suit. At least it was damaged now.

“This isn’t a date,” Jiro tells him after Otoya slaps down the money for his coffee and leads him over to a table, probably for a semblance of privacy. He doesn’t like Otoya’s hand on his elbow, but he graciously allows it. “You want something from me? You should just spit it out.”

“You’ll let me blow you on the ground but you won’t let me buy you coffee? Puppy, that’s an odd choice,” Otoya says, and Jiro narrows his eyes at him before he takes a sip of coffee to steady his nerves and his temper. If Otoya sets him off, he doesn’t have the IXA suit to protect him anymore. “Also, I told Shima-san the suit was damaged in a fight with a Fangire."

“Is he still going to believe that after they have to scrape your come out of it?” Jiro asks, and Otoya makes a choked noise at him. Hard to believe he’s putting on airs considering he was on the ground with Jiro just yesterday. “Or did you tell them it was a female Fangire?”

Otoya looks thoughtful. “If he asks, I’ll say that. I’m sure he won’t want to ask questions, though.”

That’s fair, Jiro supposes. He sips his coffee and leans back in his seat, wondering what Otoya wants from him for yesterday. It had surprised him what Otoya was willing to offer so much, especially when the two of them are far removed from doing each other favors. Jiro had only sparred with him to have an excuse to toss him around and prove he was superior, and he had been suitably mortified that fighting Otoya got him hard.

“So,” he says, and Otoya looks up at him, cocking his head just slightly. Well, if he has to return the favor, Jiro doesn’t think it’ll be unpleasant. Otoya is attractive by human standards, and it’s rare that he finds a human who finds his true skin attractive. “What do you want from me?”

“I want to fuck you properly. I could have on the ground, but that’s… I like a more romantic setting, or at least a bed,” Otoya says, and the smile he offers Jiro is warm, too warm.

If Otoya expects the offer to throw him, then he’ll be disappointed. Jiro knows how human men can be about sex, how the very idea of taking cock makes them feel as though their masculinity will be shattered. In contrast, Jiro had enjoyed it with his own kind whether in his fur or in his human skin, enough to seek it out when he was in the mood for it. Otoya won’t be able to knot him, that much is true, but Jiro can probably get away with staying in his human form for this and then it won’t matter so much.

“That’s fine,” he says, draining his cup of coffee and pushing himself to his feet. Otoya looks alarmed and Jiro sighs down at him, running a hand over his face. “I’m not one to wait. You want romance? There are hotel rooms for that. You can have your pick of them.”

“Hotels are impersonal. My house is much nicer than any hotel, anyway, and I’d prefer us to have the privacy. You were rather… vocal… yesterday.” Otoya throws his hands up when Jiro rounds on him, then rests them on top of Jiro’s shoulders and gives them a reassuring squeeze. “You shouldn’t be so sensitive about that. It was enjoyable. What’s the point in pleasing someone if they aren’t able to let you know if it’s working?”

Jiro relents and sighs, tilting his head back to stare up at the ceiling, sorting through his thoughts about this. Letting Otoya fuck him is fine. Letting Otoya fuck him in his house while saying these things… Jiro squeezes his eyes shut, sighs, and then looks pointedly at Otoya.

“That’s fine,” he says, and Otoya offers him a sunny smile that does nothing to improve his sulking. “But we go now, because I don’t have the desire to wait.”

The walk to Otoya’s house is an awkward one for Jiro; he tries to distract himself by scenting the air to see what all he can pick up, but every time the window blows all he gets is the arousal and excitement rolling off of Otoya. It’s partially annoying and partially flattering, the fact that Jiro has him so tied in knots after a short conversation over coffee and a short walk.

In truth, Jiro is excited himself. It had been too long for him, and Otoya’s mouth had barely scratched the surface of the frustration twisting in his gut. His kind have been long dead, after all, and most humans sense something off about him. There are rare exceptions, of course, because Kido likes him well enough and no one else seems to realize he’s anything more than he says he is. Only those who are unfortunate enough to meet their fate between his jaws or at his claws know the truth, and it isn’t like they can tell anyone.

Otoya knows the truth about him, has seen him at his most dangerous and most deadly and put his mouth on him like none of that mattered to him. Or maybe it enticed him more than he wants to admit. Maybe he enjoys the fact that Jiro is strong enough, powerful enough, to bring him to his knees and break him there. The man doesn’t mind being in danger, and has walked into it more often than not. Maybe he gets off on it the same way that Jiro enjoyed sparring with his pack mates just to prove that he was stronger than they were.

“A mansion,” he says when Otoya leads him up to a set of gates, shaking his head in disbelief at the sight of the building. “I had heard you were popular but this is…”

“I’ve earned the right to bask in my own success,” Otoya tells him without pause, and he looks over his shoulder at Jiro, raising an eyebrow at him. “This is also why I wasn’t interested in procuring a hotel room. My house is nicer, and more personable than that.”

“What if I don’t want this to be personable?” Jiro asks him, but Otoya just gives him an enigmatic smile before walking through the gates, leaving them just open enough behind him for Jiro to follow.

Jiro sniffs at the air because he can as he follows Otoya to the front door and inside, looking the place over and rolling his eyes. It isn’t incredibly extravagant, but it’s nice. Far too nice for this.

He doesn’t get more than a few steps inside before he’s pushed back against the door suddenly and without warning, Otoya’s hands warm on his cheeks as he cups Jiro’s face. It’s altogether too delicate and far too intimate for Jiro’s tastes, but Otoya’s eyes burn when he looks up at him and it’s enough to make Jiro swallow his complaints. He nods, just once, and Otoya claims his lips in a searing kiss, using his body to press Jiro’s up against the door.

Jiro could push him away if he wanted to, but there’s something warm in Otoya’s kiss that makes him still the thought, makes him soften into Otoya’s kiss, his eyes slipping shut. He can smell Otoya’s arousal stronger and more pronounced before, and when a hand slips behind his neck, Jiro thinks nothing of it. It’s not until Otoya twists his hands in the hair at the back of Jiro’s head and pulls that he yelps softly, his knees weakening until he slides against the door.

“I wondered if that would work,” Otoya muses, propping Jiro up by sliding a knee between his thighs, letting Jiro lean heavily against him. He soothes the sore spot he’s left with his fingers before leaning back to look up into Jiro’s face. “I don’t just want to fuck you, Jiro. I want to see you like you were in the forest. You were soft for me, you gave into me. That’s what I want.”

“My kind had to earn that,” Jiro says, and he means it. Nothing was ever given freely among his kind. The men who had fucked him had fought for his attention or fought him directly in battle and lost, but impressed him enough that he’d gifted them with the experience.

Otoya skims a hand along his cheekbone and presses a kiss featherlight against his lips. “And yet I earned it yesterday, didn’t I? You’d never give me such a thing if I didn’t earn it.”

Jiro squeezes his eyes shut, his breathing tight and labored. Otoya wants him to submit. The thought should fill him with revulsion; everything about Otoya should. He can be condescending, an obnoxious ass who lacks any true sense of self-awareness, and yet the way he croons puppy at Jiro and the way he’d praised him yesterday… It’s tempting. So tempting.

“Fine,” he finally chokes out, and he pushes Otoya away from him, hitting his knees hard on the smooth boards beneath him, bracing a hand against them. “I can do that, Otoya.”

A hand curls into his hair once more but it doesn’t pull, just soothes his head, and he hates that his entire body shudders at the touch or that he presses up into it. Maybe he isn’t any better than the dog that Otoya claims him to be. Maybe he’s too desperate, wound too tight after waiting for far too long. Maybe he doesn’t want to admit that Otoya is scratching at an itch in just the right way, that Jiro never expected him to be so capable of.

Taking his dick is one thing but submitting to him is another and Jiro is dizzied by the possibilities that opens up between them. He had never expected to be held so firmly in the violinist’s palm and yet here he is, pushing himself up just enough that he can push his cheek into Otoya’s hand, looking up at him even as he feels a flush burn in his cheeks.

But it doesn’t feel like Otoya is looking down on him right now as he strokes Jiro’s cheek with a gentle and loving caress that makes Jiro’s throat tight, makes him ache in places that he ached yesterday when Otoya had him on the ground. His eyelashes try to feather over his eyes, his eyes trying to close so he can luxuriate in the touch, but at the same time he’s torn in keeping them open so he can watch Otoya’s eyes soften down at him, his lips curving into a sweet smile. Jiro inhales shakily at the sight and squeezes his eyes so he doesn’t have to see that.

“Come on, puppy,” he says, and takes a step back. He offers a hand to Jiro; Jiro takes it in both of his, clinging to Otoya like an anchor. “I want to take you up to my bedroom now.”

He lets Otoya help him to his feet and follows him upstairs. The house is beautiful and it smells better than it has any right to but all of that is secondary to the fact Otoya holds his hand all the way to the bedroom, a room that feels warm enough that Jiro almost melts just at that.

“I want to undress you,” Otoya says, and Jiro swallows roughly. “Sit on the edge of the bed.”

Jiro does as told, kicking off his shoes as he goes, sitting down on the edge of the bed. The mattress gives easily under his weight and he has to resist the urge to lay back on it. Otoya rounds the foot of the bed and then he’s out of sight; Jiro can hear the moment he climbs onto the mattress, springs creaking softly as he no doubt crawls across the width of it.

He tugs Jiro’s jacket down his shoulders and Jiro lets it fall to the floor, his head falling to the side when he feels soft lips lay a gentle kiss against the skin there. Otoya hums against his skin, nimble fingers making quick work of the buttons of his shirt so he can spread the silk wide, smoothing his callused hands down Jiro’s chest. He makes an appreciative sound in his throat as he skims a hand over Jiro’s stomach and Jiro preens just a little under the attention.

“You take such good care of yourself,” Otoya murmurs against his ear and Jiro leans back against him, the fabric of Otoya’s blazer soft against his skin. “Crawl up to the pillows now and lay back so I can take off your jeans. I’m looking forward to that. I’ve seen you in your Wolfen form but not your human form, so this will be quite the treat.”

“Do you have to talk like that?” Jiro asks him, and Otoya only catches Jiro’s earlobe between his teeth and presses them in just enough for Jiro’s skin to break in goose bumps. “Okay, okay.”

He isn’t the kind of person to put on a show for other people so Jiro doesn’t think about making the way he drags himself toward the pillows enjoyable for Otoya. Just the same, Otoya’s eyes are darker when he looks back down at him, when Otoya settles between his spread thighs and shrugs out of his blazer. It’s an ugly pattern today; Jiro is glad to see it go but almost frustrated when Otoya starts slowly working the buttons of his shirt out of each hole with an exquisite slowness that makes Jiro want to beg him to hurry up.

Otoya is attractive undressed, too, which is frustrating. He doesn’t have Jiro’s muscular frame but he’s still taken care of himself clearly, lean and fit enough that Jiro wants to touch him. He keeps his hands firmly at his sides, though, even when Otoya busies himself with unbuckling Jiro’s belt and pulling it through the loops, unfastening his jeans with ease.

“You don’t wear underwear,” Otoya muses as he draws the zipper down and finds no fabric beneath, only Jiro’s cock pressing against the fly. He’s too hard for comfort, and it isn’t fair that Kurenai Otoya of all people can do this to him. “That’s not surprising, not from you.”

He doesn’t touch Jiro as he tugs his jeans down his legs and tosses them somewhere on the floor, leaving Jiro naked stretched out on his sheets. Otoya’s eyes rake up and down Jiro’s body, as if trying to devour him by sight alone, and Jiro almost wants to twist his head away so he doesn’t have to watch Otoya’s pupils blow wider by the minute. He doesn’t understand why Otoya makes him feel fucking shy, of all things, because no one else ever has, and it isn’t like Otoya is that special in the first place. How could he ever be?

“You’re already hard.” Otoya grips Jiro’s cock in his hand, stroking up the length of it, smearing pre-come over the tip with his thumb. “All this just from kneeling at my feet? I’m touched.”

Jiro chokes and he pushes his head back into the pillows, his hips rolling up so his cock slides in Otoya’s fist. He knows Otoya won’t let him come like this, not without making him earn it, but he wants the friction and the touch and he craves to have Otoya’s attention on him like this. When Otoya pulls his hand away, it’s too soon and Jiro makes a frustrated noise up at him.

Otoya ignores him and leans over him again, kissing him, long drawn-out brushes of his lips and tongue that are more teasing than they are satisfying before he pushes his tongue into Jiro’s mouth and curls it around Jiro’s own. It’s wet but not quite messy and Jiro kisses him back with all he has, determined… To what? He doesn’t know. He just doesn’t want Otoya to stop kissing him and when fabric brushes against his cock, he rocks his hips up against Otoya’s thigh, no doubt smearing pre-come on Otoya’s pants. The pattern is the same atrocious one as his blazer, so Jiro doesn’t care if he ruins them in the process.

“Such a needy puppy. You know I’ll give you what you want in the end.” Otoya reaches between them, pinning Jiro’s cock against his own belly so he can’t rub against Otoya’s pants anymore. “Don’t take what you aren’t given or this won’t be fun for either of us.”

Jiro bites back a curse but stills his hips while Otoya nuzzles kisses into the side of his throat. When Jiro shudders, Otoya bites down hard enough that Jiro knows there will be a mark.

He should be pissed about that, Otoya marking him, but he just tilts his head to the side to offer up more bare skin for his teeth and tongue. It feels natural to give himself over.

“Good boy. Such a good boy. My good puppy.” Otoya rains down praise on him and Jiro’s dick leaks onto his stomach, his body flushed and hot at the words that Otoya gives him so easily. “But you seem so tense. Relax for me. You know I’ll treat you well.”

His words are gentle but his teeth dig into Jiro’s skin here and there, sucking at his skin until the capillaries beneath burst and leave bruises in their wake. There’s something primal and terrible about how good it makes Jiro feel and he has to count back from twenty twice to keep his hips still and to keep his hands to himself even though all he wants to do is jerk himself off to the sensation of Otoya marking up his body, sinking his teeth into his skin like this.

Otoya doesn’t put his mouth on Jiro’s cock, though, which is both unsurprising and so frustrating that Jiro balls his hands up and fights back the urge to argue with him. Instead, Otoya kisses his way along the hollow of Jiro’s hip and then down his thigh, leaving a particularly hard bite on the inside of it where the skin is tender and soft. That’s a challenge if Jiro has ever seen one but he only parts his thighs wider, offering as much of himself as he can to Otoya.

When Otoya traces a wet, hot path over his skin with his tongue, Jiro almost loses his self-control and his human form all at once. He’s so hard he aches and Otoya had promised to fuck him and yet he’s doing nothing to get them there, and it makes Jiro ache.

“I want you to suck my cock,” Otoya tells him as he moves away from Jiro’s body, leaning back against the pillows himself, looking perfectly comfortable— not just in this room but in this role, and if that isn’t food for thought… “I sucked yours, so the least you can do is return the favor. I want to see if you’re half as good at it as I am.”

Jiro rolls over and crawls up between Otoya’s legs, scrubbing his cheek against Otoya’s thigh, the hair there tickling his cheek before he licks the head of Otoya’s cock, taking it in his hand as he sucks the tip into his mouth. Humans taste sweeter than he remembers his kind tasting but then a diet of souls is bound to make everything taste different, and it just makes a maddening amount of sense that this is what Otoya tastes like. Jiro closes his eyes so he can focus on nothing but sensation, the texture of Otoya’s cock on his tongue, the veins he can feel pulsing with blood in his mouth and the way Otoya runs his fingers through Jiro’s hair.

Otoya sighs and Jiro glances up to see him leaning back into the pillows, head tipped back even as his hand guides Jiro’s head. The grip on his hair is firm enough that he doesn’t try to resist against it and he turns his attention back to Otoya’s cock, wrapping his tongue around it, letting his eyes shut once more. His hands twitch and he rests them on Otoya’s thighs, feeling the muscles there clench and flex beneath his touch while he sucks harder, taking Otoya to the back of his throat and swallowing. The pressure makes Otoya buck up into his mouth and chokes him, drool dripping from the corner of his lips. He scowls up at Otoya who merely laughs and pets the top of his head before gripping him by the hair to guide him once more.

He should have protested when Otoya choked him because his hips buck again and Jiro chokes again, squeezing Otoya’s thigh in warning. Otoya just pulls him off of his cock, drags his thumb across Jiro’s wet lips and hums thoughtfully. It’s a patronizing noise and Jiro inhales sharply, his fingers wanting to dig into Otoya’s thighs, to remind him that this is only because Jiro said so.

“I’ve never seen you look like this before, puppy. Your lips like this.” Otoya catches him by the chin and leans down, and Jiro isn’t expecting the kiss even though he should. He also isn’t expecting Otoya’s hand around his cock, making him groan thankfully into Otoya’s mouth even as Otoya licks the sound away. “Mm, that’s more like it. Lay down on the bed. On your stomach.”

That leaves little to the imagination but as soon as Otoya steps off of the bed, Jiro does as he’s told, burying his face in a pillow and fisting the comforter on top in one hand. He can hear Otoya moving around behind him and he should listen more carefully, or even look over his shoulder to see what Otoya has planned for him, but he doesn’t. There’s something about not knowing, about lying here and waiting to see what Otoya will do next, that makes the muscles low in his gut clench. He has to forcibly tense his muscles to keep from humping the bed.

It makes him remember Otoya above him, grinding down into his thigh even as his hand worked impossible miracles on Jiro’s cock. He doesn’t want to think about how the leather felt around him or how he’d literally ripped the helmet off out of desperation and need.

“This isn’t a bad view, all things considered,” Otoya calls from across the room, and Jiro grits his teeth because he should have known the ass couldn’t keep his mouth shut for more than a few seconds of peace and quiet. It’s like he’s determined to ruin the mood just so he can prove a point. “You have a nice ass. I should have been trying to get you in bed this entire time. Maybe if you like this, we can do it another time.”

Jiro wonders if Otoya would be so quick to fuck him again if he was in his Wolfen form or if that might be where he draws the line. Maybe if he’s as good with his cock as he is with his mouth, Jiro can test him on that just to see the expression on his face when he makes the offer. And then the mattress shifts behind him and his muscles tense in anticipation, his breathing tight, sharp enough that it almost stings his throat when he sucks it in.

“Now, now, puppy,” Otoya murmurs, and there are hands on his shoulders, kneading the muscles there until they soften beneath his touch. “Don’t be so tense. This is supposed to be fun for both of us. I want you to unwind. I don’t want you to shy away from me.”

“I’m not shy, ” Jiro spits out, then yelps when Otoya’s mouth is hot and wet on his back, tracing the curves of his shoulder blades, leaving wet kisses down his spine. It’s unexpected and his skin burns everywhere Otoya’s mouth lingers. When he feels teeth scrape over his skin he hisses and presses his face harder into the pillow even as he arches up for more.

Otoya’s hands follow his mouth, soothing Jiro’s muscles until he relaxes into the sheets even as he tries to press up into Otoya’s touch for more. This feels more familiar, the press of teeth into his skin and the torturous anticipation of waiting to see what Otoya does next. Against his will, his hips grind down into the bed, desperate for some kind of friction on his cock. The motion earns him a quick, hard smack to his ass that makes him jump.

“Don’t do that. Bad boy,” Otoya chastises, and Jiro has to bite down hard on a whimper at that one. “If you’re going to come, Jiro, it’s going to be by my hand. Nothing and no one else, got that? And only when I’m sure you deserve it.”

Jiro huffs at him and jumps again when Otoya lays a kiss over the spot he’d just smacked, breathing hot over his skin before pulling away from him entirely. His hands are on Jiro’s ass a moment later though, squeezing and kneading before spreading him wide, and that thoughtful hum sounds again, making Jiro grit his teeth. It was one thing to ask for him to come back to this house and to let Otoya manhandle him as he pleases but this is almost too much—

Otoya drags his tongue over him in a single, long lick and Jiro bites his tongue so hard he tastes blood.

“I told you I don’t want you to be quiet. If I’m working so hard for your pleasure, you really ought to grace my ears with your voice.” Otoya trails a hand up his thigh to squeeze his hip. “Tuck your knees up underneath you a little so I’ll get a better angle and don’t forget to make noise for me. I think I’ve more than earned the right to hear you.”

The motions of his tongue and lips become secondary to the way pleasure twists and writhes in Jiro’s gut, and positioned with his knees under him like Otoya wants makes it impossible for him to rut down into the mattress. He tangles his hands in the comforter and pulls it taut with every tempting flick and stroke of Otoya’s tongue, feeling pitiful for the small whines and desperate whimpers that leave his hips. It’s good but it’s not enough to do anything more than get him wound up for more, making him feel hot, almost feverish, without the promise of release. And Otoya makes noises around his tongue, and Jiro can feel them against his skin.

Otoya doesn’t let up, either. He’s bragged about his prowess in bed but the rhythm and the pace of his tongue, the way he knows just where to lick that Jiro can’t expect it or prepare for it… It’s maddening and he hates it as much as he loves it. He rocks back against Otoya’s mouth, choking on a moan when Otoya replaces his tongue with two fingers, slick with lube Jiro didn’t see him pick up, opening him up wider than he’s been opened in a long time.

“That’s good,” Otoya murmurs, free hand gripping his hip as he twists his fingers and presses them in deeper. Even with the lube it’s almost enough to hurt and Jiro pushes back into it thankfully, yanking the comforter, bunching it up between his hands to have something to hold onto. Otoya curls his fingers against his prostate and Jiro groans. “Open up for me, puppy.”

He has to struggle for breath around the moans that vibrate up his throat, fucking himself on Otoya’s fingers. His head falls back when Otoya folds in a third, then a fourth, and he doesn’t want him to stop. He doesn’t think he can survive if Otoya leaves him empty now.

Which he does. Immediately. He pulls his fingers free and Jiro’s arms twitch, the comforter in his hands threatening to tear. Otoya soothes him, a hand slipping up his back to grip the back of his neck, and Jiro hears it this time, the plastic cap opening and the wet sound of slick flesh on slick flesh as Otoya prepares himself. He can feel the head of Otoya’s cock against his ass and rolls his hips back, desperate to take him in. Otoya doesn’t let him. He smacks Jiro’s ass again and Jiro forces himself to hold still, be less impatient before Otoya leaves him high and dry.

“Say please,” Otoya purrs, and Jiro looks over his shoulder at him, not sure he’s heard Otoya right. It’s an awkward angle with his ass up in the air, but he manages. “Say please, Jiro.”

He’d had to ask Otoya nicely to suck his cock out in the forest but this feels borderline cruel, Otoya winding him so tightly and then telling him to be polite once more. Jiro whimpers at him, pitiful and pathetic but so needy, aching in all the wrong places.

Otoya sighs softly down at him, squeezes the back of his neck. “That’s not a suggestion.”

The grip on his neck pushes his head down into the mattress and Jiro lets Otoya do it because it feels good, feels right in ways it probably shouldn’t coming from a human man. But Otoya has proven time and time again that he is unlike any human Jiro has ever met. None of them would have ever dared to make him mind his manners after having their fingers in his ass.

Jiro swallows hard around the dryness in his throat and Otoya rubs his cock against the cleft of Jiro’s ass, teasing him, tempting him, reminding him that all he has to do is break and say please and he’ll get exactly what he came here to get in the first place.

He can’t pretend he didn’t want this. Can’t pretend he doesn’t want Otoya in any way he can get him. Maybe he even wanted this, Otoya pinning him down and making demands of him and teasing him and never quite giving him what he wants without a fight and unless he follows Otoya’s tempo. Maybe he’s wanted it from the start and could never admit it.

Maybe that’s why he lets Otoya get away with calling him puppy.

“Please,” he rasps out, and he pulls his knees under himself a bit more, lifts his ass higher in the air as he twists his hand in the comforter once more. “Please fuck me, Otoya.”

“Good boy,” Otoya murmurs, and his fingers are gentle on the back of Jiro’s neck now, slipping up into his hair like he’s petting him and if Jiro had the strength, he’d probably laugh at the thought or try to bite Otoya’s hand off. “That’s my good puppy. I’ll give you what you want.”

There’s no hesitation now. The hand on his neck firms up again and Otoya pushes his cock inside, the flared tip opening Jiro wide and finally soothing that ache inside of him. He throws his head back and groans, long and loud, and Otoya pushes his head down into the mattress again, sinking into him inch by blissful inch, deeper than his fingers could ever hope to go. It’s a lot to take in such a short time but Jiro’s entire body trembles with the effort and he tells himself to breathe, not to tense up, to just open himself up and let Otoya have him.

Otoya doesn’t let him breathe, doesn’t let him adjust. He just fucks him slow and deep, his cock scraping over nerves that haven’t been touched in who knows how long, Jiro has lost count. He wants to be quiet but can’t, knows that Otoya will stop, will punish him for that. He couldn’t be quiet if he tired. He’s loud and desperate and only the bare threads of his self-control keep him from fucking back on Otoya’s cock, taking him deeper and faster.

But Otoya seems to know what he wants, what he needs, and if that isn’t the damndest thing. He fucks him harder the more Jiro opens up for him, keeping him pinned down, hand like iron on the back of his neck. But the other finds his hands tangled in the comforter and Jiro clings to him, even as Otoya slams into him so hard it moves him across the mattress just an inch.

He’s better than Jiro expects, better than he has any right to be. Every thrust does something, touches something inside of Jiro that makes him whine and pant and moan for more, and when he drags his cock over Jiro’s prostate his vision goes white for just a moment. Above him, Otoya rains down a litany of praise, squeezing his fingers and telling him what a good boy he is, what a good puppy, as if that isn’t obnoxious and patronizing, as if Jiro’s cock doesn’t throb harder and drip wet and messy onto the blanket beneath him with every single word.

He hates Kurenai Otoya, and yet he begs for more, for everything Otoya can give him, clinging to his hand like he’s going to drown without him as an anchor, like he needs him.

The way Otoya moans softly above him makes his stomach twist tighter and he whines in tandem with the sound; it must feel good. He must be so tight, it’s been years since he’s let anyone fuck him like this and Otoya is merciless, pounding into him so hard the sound of skin against skin echoes throughout the room. This man can’t be nearly as desperate as Jiro is and yet he drapes himself over Jiro’s back, his chest warm against Jiro’s skin, dragging his tongue up Jiro’s neck to whisper in his ear, breathing hot and humid over his skin.

“Not good enough for me,” Otoya whispers, and he pulls out, leaving Jiro empty and more frustrated than he was a moment before. He doesn’t have time to look over his shoulder before Otoya is suddenly in front of him, pulling him up onto his knees, kissing him wet and messy and forceful, teeth nipping at his lips hard enough to hurt. “Sit on my lap and ride me. You’ve got such nice muscles. It would be a shame to put them to waste.”

He half-leans against the headboard and Jiro climbs up onto his lap without a second thought, bracketing Otoya’s hips with his thighs, squeezing them for good measure. Otoya grins up at him, wraps a hand around his cock and guides it back into Jiro, and Jiro sinks down hard and fast, choking a little at the sudden pressure, at being filled so quickly. Otoya kisses him for it.

“Ride me,” Otoya says again, and Jiro braces a hand on the headboard, fingers curling against the ornate carvings, the muscles in his thighs already aching from being in such a cramped position. But he still lifts himself and Otoya squeezes his hips as he relaxes into the pillows.

It’s not new for him, not really, and Otoya guides his hips. Even though Jiro’s on top, Otoya is the one in control, setting the pace and the rhythm, giving a teasing buck of his hips every few thrusts or so. Jiro is never confident in his pace, thrown off constantly by the man beneath him.

Otoya pulls his hips down hard and grinds up into him and Jiro whines, panting harshly, drool running down his chin as he grips the headboard tight enough that his knuckles bleach white. It almost hurts but it doesn’t quite and Otoya groans beneath him, fingers digging into his hips hard enough that Jiro thinks he might have bruises in the morning. He should be pissed about that thought, but he’s oddly satisfied at the thought of having marks from Otoya.

Everything is white noise in his ears after a while, his brain nearly shutting off, his body moving purely on muscle memory and toward what feels good and what feels best. He can’t even focus on finding the right angle so that Otoya brushes over his prostate again, can’t really fight through the almost feral instinct to just take everything he can and be damned with anything else. And still that’s secondary to letting Otoya guide him, let Otoya control his movements. It’s almost maddening and Jiro’s hips and thighs ache from keeping up with him.

“Close,” Otoya slurrs, and it brings Jiro back to the world, has him looking down at Otoya, almost confused at what he means until he feels Otoya throb inside of him, seems the way the fine strands of hair around his face are plastered to his skin with sweat. And isn’t this a nice look, Otoya sweaty and flushed beneath him? “What about you? Is it good for you?”

“Yes.” It’s hard to speak and Jiro has to concentrate on every word, his ass tightening around Otoya’s cock so hard that Otoya groans louder, deeper. “So good. Otoya, please—”

“I didn’t even tell you to ask. What a good puppy.” Otoya wraps his hand around Jiro’s cock, still slick from lube and slicker still from sweat, stroking him hard and fast, twisting just a little, not enough to hurt but enough to make it feel better than it has any right to. “Come for me, Jiro.”

Every point of tension in his body snaps like a violin string pulled too taut and Jiro howls, grinding down hard against Otoya’s hips as his orgasm crashes into him, fast and brutal and ripping noises out of him he’s never heard before. His ears ring with the sounds and he only barely hears Otoya’s sweet, answering groans behind him that accompany the rush of liquid heat inside of him. It’s too much and not enough and Jiro screams with it. The wood cracks underneath his fingers but doesn’t splinter.

His hips twitch and roll a few times, just a few, riding out the pleasure until it feels like every muscle in his body gives away and he falls forward. Otoya is there to catch him, sitting up faster than Jiro would have thought he was able, arms wrapped tight around his back as he shushes Jiro gently. Jiro clings to him because he wants that anchor, that warmth, the heat of Otoya’s skin and the heaviness of his scent and his comforting touch.

Otoya holds him for longer than Jiro can process, hands rubbing soothing circles into his back, little kisses sprinkled over his face in between Otoya’s litany of soft whispered words. That’s too intimate for Jiro but he can’t bring himself to push Otoya away, even after Otoya shifts Jiro off of his cock and lays him down on the bed, pulling him close and kissing him again. It’s deeper but softer and warmer and Jiro makes a noise against his lips, pulls him closer.

“Breathe for me,” Otoya tells him, and Jiro has just enough of himself back to cut Otoya a weird look for that remark, but Otoya just sighs at him and runs a hand down the side of his face. It’s nice enough that Jiro kind of nuzzles into his hand, but just a little. “Breathe, Jiro. Deep breaths. You can’t pretend that wasn’t a lot for you because I was watching your face the entire time. Now deep breaths so you can calm down.”

“Whatever.” Jiro still closes his eyes and focuses on his breathing, and he can hear Otoya breathing in tandem with him, slow and deep. It’s almost hypnotic. Hypnotic enough for him to realize how tired he is, how much he aches from that.

“You can stay over if you want to. Take a nap, get your energy back.” Otoya sounds tired now, too, and Jiro smirks. You deserve it. “That’s what I’ll be doing.”

“What did I say about this being too personable?” Jiro asks him, but he doesn’t open his eyes and doesn’t make a move to get off of the bed.

Otoya sighs at him. “You’re willing to let me do all of that but you don’t feel comfortable taking a nap next to me? You have your priorities in an interesting order.”

“Shut up, idiot.” Jiro flexes his arm, stretching the muscles, before wrapping it tight around Otoya’s waist and nuzzling into his shoulder. “Can’t sleep with all your babbling.”

Otoya chuckles but stays quiet and lays his arm across Jiro’s waist, and it’s almost nice lying here with him. Maybe they can do this again in the future, then. Jiro doesn’t think he’d mind too much.

“Sweet dreams, puppy,” Otoya murmurs.

Well, maybe he minds a little.