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Sweat hunches between his shoulder blades as he crouches low on his knees, eyes shifting on his opponent. The loud chant of the crowd paired with the steady thrum of his blood in his veins makes for quite the melody. They're all screaming his name, and they're so loud he feels like the walls themselves will come down any second now.

"Crybaby" rings around the low-ceiling room, volume loud enough it makes the dust fly and the hanging lamps go swinging.

He's rolling on the balls of his feet, eyes unblinking lest he miss a single twitch of his opponent. It's a tall guy with muscle packed to him like clothes. He's two times as tall as him and almost three times as wide; it makes him scoff. It's always the big ones who think they've got one on him.

Ducking under a punch that nearly took out his teeth, he's got to admit the man is a pretty good opponent. He's considerably faster than usual big guys, but his technique has a few gaps that he takes advantage of immediately.

Such as then; the man lunges forward with his left fist coiled like a snake, and he looks almost terrifying. But when he lunges forwards like that, he leaves his right completely unguarded. He leans to one side, and rolls up his punch, aiming it right for the man's ribs. He staggers to the side, bruised face scrunching in pain.

"Shit," the man curses under his breath, and perhaps years ago he would've felt remorse. Now he only shifts his stance a bit then swings his leg upwards, effectively sending his opponent to the floor.

The part after a fight is always a blur of cheers and pats on the back, but he doesn't hear most of it, ears still ringing from the blows and body still tense, ready for an attack.

Akkun is there as soon as he's out of the ring, laying a hand on his shoulder and facing him with a quirk to his lips. "Good job, man." he says, eyes shifting behind him where his previous opponent is laying, his breathing still laboured.

"Thanks," Takemichi says, accepting the bottle offered towards him with a thankful smile. His eyes shift towards the ring where his opponent's team manager is dragging him out of the ring, having to carry his weight on his shoulder to keep the man standing up.

"Anyone else tonight?" he asks, half-expecting a no. He's already fought two relatively strong opponents, and even for his big amount of stamina even he's begun to breathe hard.

Akkun surprises him by nodding. "He's been swinging big words around for a while now." his eyes gain a glint of bemusement. "He doesn't seem too tough for you though."

Takemichi snorts, then nods, pushing his finger against his nose, where a steady trail of blood had begun to fall. He eyes the ring in slight trepidation before handing Akkun his towel and rolling out the kinks in his neck.

"Alright. Let's do this."


A chair scrapes against marble floors, cubes of ice clink against the edge of a glass of a Mars Iwai 45. The AC rumbles faintly in the corner, and the pulled blinds make the rays of light scattering about the room resemble prison bars.

Two people stand outside the room, backs facing away from the mahogany doors. The wood is thin enough that sound travels easily enough, especially a conversation happening right outside. He normally doesn't listen in on what his underlings are talking about, but they've repeated a word for long enough it's gotten his attention.


Now what in the world could that mean?

Slowly, the chair is tipped forwards and he stands up, humming the tones of some stray song under his breath. The two people outside the door startle at its abrupt opening, wide eyes jumping towards him.

"Who are you talking about?" Sano 'Mikey' Manjirou asks, tilting his head and regarding the two with his blank eyes. The underlings share a glance.

"A fighter," one of them begins hesitantly. "A fighter in Manji."

Ah, Manji. Perhaps his favorite out of all his nightclubs. He can't resist wondering what a fighter could have possibly done to be dubbed 'Crybaby'. (His mind trails back towards the memory of tears on smile-pulled cheeks.)

Nevertheless, he cocked an eyebrow, watching the men flinch at the gesture like that in itself could hurt them. It made the corners of his lips pull upwards slightly.

"He's really good," one of them continued, hurried. "Maybe the best."

There's a glint to his eyes like he wants to add something but his words are left unsaid. Mikey entertains the thought of prodding further for answers, but ultimately lets the man keep his mouth shut.

"Manji, you say," he hums thoughtfully. Now that he thought about it, he'd not visited in a while. And if the opportunity had arisen, it only served him better. He'd take seeing this 'Crybaby' as collateral damage.

He nodded at the two and they immediately scattered. Mikey watched their hasty retreat and couldn't help finding the sight akin to rats scuttling away from poisonous gas.


Takemichi bumps his bandaged fists together and nods at Akkun's words of encouragement. He shakes and hits the side of his head to stop the world from spinning and then steps into the ring, raising his fists upwards at the roar of the crowd. An equal amount of jeers and cheers fill his ears, and the floor rumbles underneath him. The smell of high-end alcohol and sweat clings to his nose, paired with the faint, metallic scent of blood. He avoids looking at the dried, brown splatters on the ground.

When he finishes his opening spin for the crowd, he turns back towards his last opponent for the night. His introduction is met with less enthusiasm than his, but almost deafening in volume nonetheless. The people are here for the blood after all; it doesn't matter who does the spilling.

The man, Kiyomasa as the arbitrator announced, is taller than him, with a slight slouch. His shaved eyebrow and the ugly snarl twisting his face make him look a bit intimidating, if Takemichi were to be honest. He rolls the toothpick from one side of his mouth to the other, then spits it out, facing Takemichi with a smile that screamed his lust for blood.

“I'll make you blubber,” Kiyomasa hisses under his breath, only for Takemichi to hear. He sounds confident, and Takemichi's bottom lip trembles instinctively. He says nothing though, only rolling his shoulders back.

Kiyomasa seems to take his silence as a sign of defiance, though, and his mouth pulls down in a scowl that darkens his whole face. He bumps his knuckles together, and, as soon as the arbitor's whistle rings, he lunges towards Takemichi. Slightly taken off-guard, he takes a step sideways, but he doesn't anticipate the next punch. It hits his stomach full-on and it makes him stumble a bit, spit escaping his mouth and painting the floor. Takemichi spares it a regretful glance.

He blocks the next hit, and the force of it makes his forearms sting a bit. Before he can do anything though, his head whips sideways so forcefully Takemichi is almost sure it's going to go all the way 'round. He's also pretty sure one of his teeth is loose.

The next few seconds are a blur of pain and bruises and Takemichi can't help thinking Kiyomasa is a good opponent, intimidating and pushy and always up-in-your-face, never giving him room to breathe or get ground on him. The deafening noise of the crowd isn't helping. Only, it isn't deafening anymore. There seems to be a momentary lapse in sound, as the jeers quieten for a moment, before picking back up. Takemichi wonders what happened, but doesn't take his eyes off his opponent.

Mikey lounges in his chair, resting his chin on his palm and flicking his wrist to mix his whiskey. He eyes the ring, bored. The taller man was probably more eye-catching, throwing his weight around and sporting a sneer that smelt like trouble from all the way where he was sitting. His eyes were fixed on the smaller of the fighters, though. The famed 'Crybaby', as Ken-chin had pointed out for him. Surprisingly, even his right-hand man knew the guy.

He sharpened his eyes, keeping his gaze fixed on the smaller of the pair. He was taking a lot of hits where he could clearly block. When he did dodge, it was fast. Very fast. The guy had good reflexes, so why was he taking the shots?

“You'll see,” Ken-chin said from beside him, and there was lilt to his voice, like he was smiling. Mikey didn't look over, nor did he say anything.

Was this enough? Takemichi shifted his weight from one foot to the other, then sniffed and swallowed the blood clogging his nose. Kiyomasa was reaching up for another hit, face lit up by an ugly glee – he thought he was winning.

When the arm came he leant backwards so it barely grazed his hair, then grabbed the arm to balance himself and spun around, aiming a kick right for the middle of Kiyomasa's back. He went flying forwards and hit the ground with a disgusting squelching sound. Takemichi took a moment to wince then jumped forwards once the man had gotten back up. His kick had been moderately powerful, and that combined with him being more exhausted from hitting Takemichi all those times made him sloppy. He's tilting from side to side – the action previously threatening, now clumsy.

Takemichi eyes his bruised cheek for a second before he's readying his final hook. Kiyomasa makes to hit him, but it's slow, slower than before and Takemichi easily side-steps it and sends his fist flying.

It's... stronger than he expected. Kiyomasa flies towards the floor, where he lays in a slump, dead-looking. Takemichi winces, then hurries towards the body (god, he hopes it's not corpse), dropping to his knees. The trembling returns to his lip full-force, and water pools at the corners of his eyes. Oh man, what if he's dead? His friends, his family. A single tear drips down his cheek, and his ears blur out the sound of the arbitrator dubbing 'Crybaby' as the winner.

Kiyomasa's eyes flutter open – well, eye, considering one of them is swollen shut. A new wave of tears almost bursts forward, tears of relief. The man seems disoriented for a second, before his eye focuses on Takemichi and his features twist in a horrible snarl. Takemichi wants to jump forward – thank fuck he's not dead – but suddenly there're people holding both him and Kiyomasa back.

Only as he's being dragged away by Akkun does he realize Kiyomasa's hands are balled and he's trashing around heavily, like he's trying to attack Takemichi.



Takemichi stares wide-eyed at the screaming man, sweat pooling at his temples. He kind of looks like a rabid dog, and Takemichi opens his mouth to apologize. His kick was a bit hard. But before he can do that silence befalls the room. Takemichi blinks, and looks up at the person climbing up the slightly elevated platform. It's a man with his hands in his pockets, eyes half-lidded and an overall bored look about him. He's dressed surprisingly casually for Manji – usually anyone not in the ring is either in a suit or a fancy dress – with black sweatpants and shirt. A big jacket hung off his shoulders.

His hair made Takemichi pause. It was light and down to the man's shoulders, the top part of it pulled into a ponytail. If that wasn't enough to make him pause then his features were sure to. Soft curve to his chin, dark, low eyebrows and the eyes, perhaps the most defining feature of him. Dark and blank, like staring at the ocean's surface at night. Impenetrable and unnavigable.


Takemichi pales a little and ducks his head loud, breathing heavy all of a sudden. He's not seen his friend since they parted ways back in high school. How far had they both come to meet in an underground fight club of all places?

Mikey hadn't noticed him yet, his shoulders slouched and his eyes running over the crowd lazily, like he wasn't quite interested in what was happening. You could hear a pin drop. Takemichi was just wondering whether he should say something when Kiyomasa heaved a loud splutter. His head shot up and his mouth dropped open at the sight of Mikey's foot digging into Kiyomasa's chest. A wave of blood dribbled down Takemichi's chin.

“Don't be a sore loser,” Mikey's voice rang out around the empty room. It was languid and drawled-out like he had all the time in the world. His sandal dug deeper into Kiyomasa's collarbones, as he leant close to him in mock secret. His words were for the entire room to hear.

“Don't ruin our fucking reputation,” he said, tone low and with a slight, quirky spin to his words, like he was imitating a girl from a shoujo manga. Takemichi had honestly forgotten how terrifying Mikey could be.

With a last push to Kiyomasa's chest – Takemichi was sure he'd heard something crack – Mikey straightened up and regarded the whole room, hands still in his pockets.

“Big crowd tonight,” he hummed, and, after a beat of unsure silence, there was a faint cheer, and then another, until the entire room was overcome with noise as loud as before, if not even louder. Underneath there somewhere there was a steady chant of 'President' and Takemichi thought oh shit.

He had been wondering why Mikey had been able to so casually enter the ring, and why the room had quietened down in a way it never did. Now he realized why; Mikey owned Manji.

As Mikey spun around for the room with a wide, blinding grin that was nothing short of feral, Takemichi discreetly stumbled towards his bench, where Akkun was waiting for him, lips pursed and towel in his hand. As soon as he was down from the platform Akkun might as well have jumped towards him.

“The President.” his friend hissed more to himself than to Takemichi, and he seemed slightly stressed. His foot wouldn't stop tapping, and his eyes jumped to and from the ring at frightening speed. “Takemichi,” he whispered, ducking low and his eyes were so blazing it made Takemichi momentarily pause. “Isn't that Mikey-kun?”

Yeah,” Takemichi murmured, lips pursing. He took a sip of the bottle of water, wiping his fingers under his nose and looked down at the red painting them. “Yeah, it's him.”

He wasn't too sure how to feel about that. Truthfully, he hadn't expected to ever see Mikey again. He wasn't quite prepared.

“Crybaby,” the bored voice made Takemichi almost fall off his bench. He didn't turn around, blood freezing in his veins. “Hey, my eyes are here.” he could almost see Mikey's tilted head.

Slowly, he turned around, still keeping his head hung low, eyes fixed on his bruised and bloody knuckles. Two sandals came into view and a warm breath fell on his hair. “Am I that scary that you can't look at me?” Mikey's usual bored voice had a hint of tease in it.

Takemichi's head darted upwards instinctively. They were almost nose to nose, as Mikey was bending down, and his eyes widened. His face seemed to turn a shade paler and his lips parted. They were so close Takemichi could probably count his eyelashes.

Takemitchy...?” Mikey murmured quietly, his breath fanning Takemichi's face warmly. He looked disbelieving.

Takemichi smiled sheepishly, hand coming up to rub at the back of his neck. “Yeah. It's me, Mikey-kun.” he said, watching as Mikey's face twitched, like he wanted to show emotion but had forgotten quite how to. Gazing at the face of his old friend his mind was overcome with memories of their history.

( Takemichi's head whipped to the left, blood sputtering out of his mouth and hitting the concrete with a loud splat! He winced, hand coming up to hold his chin. He was afraid if he were to let go it would fall right off.

Even if he was getting his ass handed right to him, Takemichi refused to give up. His opponent sneered at him and he almost pissed himself right then and there. He was determined to win, yes, but that didn't make it any less scary.

Before he could, the boy in front of him went flying sideways, his previous spot replaced by a sandal-clad leg hung mid-air. Takemichi blinked at nothing, before his eyes trailed up the leg and to its owner's face. It was a boy, looking around his age, who was sporting the most uninterested look Takemichi had ever seen. His hair was blonde and the top part of it was tied back – Takemichi couldn't help comparing the guy to a delinquent.

The boy approached him with languid steps, making Takemichi scramble backwards on his elbows. If he'd knocked out the opponent Takemichi had been struggling with in a single kick, then what could he do to a frail guy like him?

Yo,” the boy said, lollipop shifting from one corner of his mouth to the other. His black jacket fluttered behind him like ominous claws. “What's your name?”

Takemichi blinked up at him, eyes falling open and closed. Should he really tell his name to someone like this...? The boy quirked an eyebrow, eyes falling half-lidded. “H...Haganaki Takemichi,” he stuttered, heart jumping right in his throat when the boy crouches down and grips his nape, fingers clutching his hair tightly.

He leant forwards, expression completely unreadable. Suddenly, his mouth widened in a smile that showed teeth, canines glinting unpromisingly. Takemichi figured he'd never been as terrified in his life.

Takemitchy...” the boy tilted his head slightly, blank eyes sharpening like a snake about to rip out the throat of its victim. Takemichi didn't dare correct him for saying his name wrong.

You're my bitch now, okay ♡ ?” the guy said, fingers tightening on his hair further. His face was lit up by some kind of insane glee, like he'd heard the funniest joke in his life. Takemichi's lips trembled, eyes wide.



Said boy glanced up immediately. Only one person called him that, and he wasn't even in his school!

His jaw dropped and his eyes might as well have popped out of their sockets. Mikey stood in front of him, expression as bored as usual and his right hand raised in a wave. He seemed completely unbothered by the stares he was receiving; in fact, he almost seemed to revel in the attention, posture straightening a little and eyes glinting like two bullets.

Takemichi nearly dropped the box he was trying to wrestle over a locker. “M-Mikey-kun?! What – how are you here?” he stuttered, the edge of the box digging into his cheek painfully. His arms trembled under its weight, aching.

Mikey stepped forward and easily pushed the box Takemichi had been struggling with in its place. “Let's go,” he said, not answering his question nor leaving room for anything else. Takemichi hesitated. Mikey didn't want him to just skip school, did he? Did he -?

Takemitchy,” Mikey said, head turning around a bit until his profile was slanted against the school hallway. His eyelids lowered until only a hint of gunmetal peeked through. Takemichi was almost sure the temperature dropped a couple degrees.

He scrambled after the other, nearly tripping over himself in the process.

Takemichi gripped the lapels of Mikey's dark jacket tightly, head tilting to the side involuntarily. Sharp teeth played on the edge of his skin, threatening to draw blood. Takemichi trembled as a warm breath hit his pulse point.

M-Mikey, let's not -” Takemichi bit his lips to stifle an embarrassing sound as the blonde's tongue darted against his neck. His eyes shifted to the left, where he could see students milling around, eating their lunch and talking with friends. “People are gonna.. see.”

The breathy laugh that escaped Mikey made his knees knock together. Mikey leant back a little until Takemichi could see his face. His smile gained teeth, canines glinting in the sunlight.

He tilted his head. “Should I fuck you here for them to see too, hmm?”

Takemichi's face exploded with red and he began spluttering violently. Mikey's laughter echoed around the alleyway loudly. -)

Yes, they had history. Takemichi's ears reddened at the memory. His eyes hesitantly focused back on Mikey's face. He'd become even more beautiful over the years it seemed. And yet, there was something about him that seemed different. His eyes. It was always about the eyes with Mikey.

“You dyed your hair back,” Mikey said after a moment. Takemichi instinctively reached up to pull on his dark strands.

“Yeah,” he replied awkwardly. What was he even supposed to say? Mikey, who apparently now owned a club, was so much like his childhood friend but at the same time completely different.

Mikey's expression closed off, eyes still possessing a glint Takemichi couldn't stick a name to. “Should've guessed you'd be Crybaby.” his lips twitch at the corners like he wanted to smile condescendingly. His fingers jerk on nothing like he's itching to grab something.

Takemichi sniffs indignantly but smiles self-deprecatingly. “Stupid nickname,” he says.

“I think it fits.”

Takemichi blinks. Mikey looks up behind him at Akkun, who Takemichi can almost feel tense up. “Sendo Atsushi,” Mikey murmurs. “Akkun.”

He straightens up, gaze turning towards the crowd yet returning to Takemichi almost immediately. “Join me and Ken-chin for a drink.” He'd spoken it casually, and yet. And yet.

Takemichi hesitated, watching as Mikey turned around without waiting for their reply, already slowly making his way towards a set of shiny, black stairs, the crowd parting for him like he was the plague. It hadn't been a question.

Takemichi reluctantly shared a glance with Akkun. Best not to anger Mikey, after all. Besides, Takemichi had always admired Mikey's confidence, certainty that things would go his way. But still, he glanced at his sweaty, bruised body, was he being serious?

Now, Takemitchy.”


He scrambled after Mikey, Akkun hot on his heels. They exchanged wary glances; exactly how much had he changed?

They lingered at the bottom of the staircase where Mikey was waiting for them, and with a curt nod from him the two burly men posted at the door stepped aside and let them join the blonde.

Takemichi's eyes instantly fell on the tall man lounging in one of the sleek armchairs. Pale and bored-looking there was no mistaking that braided ponytail.

“Takemitchy?” Drakken blinked as soon as he'd noticed them, eyes widening minutely. Takemichi sniffed feeling traitorous tears gathering in the corners of his eyes. God, had it really been that long? He couldn't even remember why they'd parted ways.

And even so, the difference between them was clear; a deep, dark rift that Takemichi could almost see. Drakken was dressed entirely in black, a leather jacket draped over the arm of his chair. Now that Takemichi looked closer, it was clear even Mikey's casual-looking clothes seemed expensive. And if it wasn't just that, their faces were speckless and impassive, like they were regarding the rest of the world from a pedestal far up somewhere. Takemichi had the sudden feeling he was looking at aristocrats.

He and Akkun paled considerably in comparison.

“Don't just stand there,” Drakken lips twist in the shadow of a smile after a moment of silence. He still regards them with that same open expression Mikey had had for a sliver of a second.

Mikey shuffles towards one of the armchairs and drops in it, kicking his feet up over one of its arms like he's a kid. His eyes watch Takemichi with unnerving intensity.

“So,” Mikey lips part in a smile that wasn't exactly on the normal mark. “Aren't you going to drink with us?”

Many year have passed and Mikey is indubitably different. Even if he looks almost the same, Takemichi can see the darkness that has always simmered close underneath Mikey's skin had doubled in size, seeping through the cracks here and there. He's not too worried about it, though. Mikey has always been a bit dark.

So he lets himself be swept away in the man's shadows once again. The dark side has always been so tempting.


The traffic light blares blindingly in the empty night, rows of colors painting Mikey's black car. The red light fell over the side of his face, making the shadows in the car elongate and darken like sharp claws and giving his gaze an odd, feral glint. Takemichi tilts his head and stares at his childhood friend closely. He doesn't really remember getting into his car.

Mikey's dark eyes shift to him, or perhaps they were never looking elsewhere in the first place. The air seems to thicken, and Takemichi fears were he to inhale the air would burn right through the skin of his throat. “What?” the man murmurs, fingers twisting in the sleeve of the jacket draped around Takemichi. Mikey's jacket.

Takemichi rubbed his nose and averted his eyes, turning to look out the car's window and willing his heart to stop beating so fast. Gosh. They're alone at the traffic light, the streets barren completely. He pretends he didn't notice the shotgun in the map pocket.

“Takemitchy's become even prettier,” Mikey's voice suddenly comes from close, very close. Way too fucking close for Takemichi's heart to handle. He turns around and inhales sharply as his nose bumps into Mikey's. He all but plasters himself to the car door, watching as his friend tilts his head and regards him with blank, unblinking eyes.

Slowly, Mikey reaches forwards, fingers playing on the edge of his jacket, occasionally brushing against Takemichi's abdomen. He's still shirtless. “Is this okay?”Mikey whispers like they're in a room full of people and not alone in a billion-yen, way too hot car.

Takemichi has got a faint inkling of what's going on. He may be oblivious in most situations, but Mikey's heady gaze leaves little to imagination.

“Yeah,” Takemichi's voice comes an octave higher and a bit breathier than usual. Must be the lack of air and wow it's really hot in here. “Y-yeah, it's alright.”

He holds Mikey's careful, searching gaze. He is sure. That's all he needs, and Takemichi's heart stops in his chest as Mikey pulls himself over the center console and settles over him, hands bracing on either side of his head. He's got a curious expression on his face, a wild, carefree smile curling up his lips and leaving Takemichi momentarily breathless. A strand of blond hair escapes his ponytail and he reaches up to brush it away, fingers lingering at the edge of his temples. The radio is on, the bass from the song reverberating through him and joining his heart's rhythm.

Oh, gosh, they're doing this.

Mikey's eyes trail over his face like he wants to commit the sight to memory, before he reaches down and captures Takemichi's mouth with his own. He can't help recalling the puzzles he used to do as a kid and he doesn't want to be cliché, but it's true; their lips slot together like puzzle pieces. He struggles to keep up with the way Mikey's moving. He kisses like he does everything else: aggressive and sure of himself. The air between them is burning hot, and a hand snakes under him to grip at his nape, fingers curling in his hair.

They part for one moment, a string of spit hanging between them, and Takemichi is almost sure it's only for his benefit. Mikey looks as composed and unbothered as usual, but he can see the tell-tale signs; his fingers are tight on his neck and the dark clouds rolling in his eyes seem heavier and different than usual. He looks like he wants to fuck the living daylights out of Takemichi.

He shudders as Mikey licks his bottom lip before lunging back down, lips finding his pulse point quickly, like he was a snake who knew exactly where to strike. His teeth graze Takemichi's skin and his back arches involuntarily, a surprised gasp escaping him. He can almost feel the other's smile. “Your neck's always been a bit...” Mikey says, voice a bit rougher than usual and rumbling against Takemichi's throat. He doesn't finish his thought, peppering soft bites along the entirety of his neck like he was an artist and Takemichi was his blank canvas. He fidgets in place, fingers clutching at Mikey's shirt like it's a lifeline.

The shorts he wears while fighting are hilariously easy to pull down and Mikey's thumb runs down his clothed groin once, making his legs twitch violently and a hiss escape his mouth, which is quickly caught back into an intoxicating kiss. Takemichi can feel Mikey's smile against his lips. He tangles his hands in the blonde's hair, pulling slightly in retaliation.

Mimkey's hand forgoes his poor dick entirely, going right for his hole, pulling down his underwear slowly all the while, like he's some kind of fair maiden. His first finger pushes in without much preamble and Takemichi sucks in a sharp breath, holding onto Mikey for dear lie, who's leant back slightly at one point, obsidian eyes fixed on his face with unnerving intensity. The second finger joins the first one, and they curl inside him searchingly, feeling around for that one spot.

“Think you can come from two fingers alone?” Mikey breathes over him, his smile reaching his eyes and making them glint like bullets. Takemichi feels like he's staring down the barrel of a gun.

“Fun – oh,” a surprised moan stutters out of his throat as Mikey curls his fingers just right, making tears gather at the corners of his eyes.

“You were saying?” he teases, but his eyes are darker than ever. He doesn't wait for Takemichi's reply, instead softly pulling at Takemichi's bottom lip with his teeth. His embarrassing sounds get swallowed up by Mikey's greedy mouth; he's always been greedy, childish, thinking everything's entitled to him. Takemichi cups his cheek and runs a fond thumb over his skin.

His fingers begin moving apart, stretching him out and they're so hot it makes him rack a full-body shudder. “Wait,” Takemichi breathes once they've parted for only a second and Mikey immediately freezes. Then, slowly, he raises his left hand, where he's got a bottle of strawberry-scented lube already popped open. Takemichi doesn't know whether to feel outraged or impressed. He reaches up for it – Mikey can't be the one doing all the work after all – but his breath is stolen once again by that sweet, whiskey-smelling mouth.

It's not long until he feels Mikey's cock poised at his entrance, slowly pushing in. It hits his prostate directly and he almost cries, stars painting the edges of his vision. He doesn't even recognize the noises he's making as his own anymore. Mikey curses lowly, gutturally against his skin, stormy eyes closing for what seems like the first time that night. Then he starts moving, at an excruciatingly slow pace, like he's taking his time even if it might be harrowing for him too.

Somewhere they find a rhythm in the middle, hips thrusting together in a perfect duet. A traitorous tear escapes his eye as a wave of heat closes in on him. He's close. He tells Mikey so, who looks like he's really, actually struggling for a single moment, before he looks up, blonde strands falling in his face and a pretty red shade painting his cheeks.

“Scream for me, won't you?” he says breathily, smiling and giving one last snap of his waist that sends the both of them over the edge.

Takemichi, like always, does as Mikey tells him to.

Mikey slumps forward on his chest now painted in white, eyes half-lidded and an overall smug air about him. Slowly, he ran a tongue up Takemichi's chest, never once breaking their eye contact, and taking with it a stripe of pearly cum. Takemichi really shouldn't find that hot. He really shouldn't.

He totally does though.


They both sit in a relaxed silence, breathing in tandem – it feels like even their hearts had joined as one. Mikey props up on his elbow – which is resting on Takemichi's chest, mind you – and faces him with his usual, distant expression. His dark eyes shine with a hint of bemusement though.

“The traffic light's turned green. Sure hope there wasn't anyone around.” he says casually, the quirky lilt he stuck to his words usually returning.

Takemichi might as well have jumped three feet in the air. Mikey's laugh reverberated around the car, hand curling around Takemichi's wrist like a shackle.