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“Now then! I’ve prepared a very special punishment for Mondo Owada, the Ultimate Biker Gang Leader!”
Servant turned his head towards the splintering doorway that separated their shelter-of-the-night’s living room from its kitchen. “Sir! It’s time for the execution!”
He had been sitting on the floor in front of the abandoned apartment’s crackling television since the early afternoon, long enough that his legs had gone tingly and numb. It was a class trial day, and the live broadcast of Enoshima’s magnum opus was not to be missed. It was rare that Servant and his travel companion found a place to squat before the sun set, but Servant had made a compelling case for an exception tonight.
(Or, perhaps more accurately, Kamukura hadn’t cared enough to refute his brazenly bold suggestion. But that was neither here nor there!)
Kamukura droned his response, out of view. “I don’t need to watch it. Enoshima’s sadism is rarely novel.”
“Suit yourself.” Servant leaned towards the screen in anticipation. Despite his proclaimed indifference, the swish of crisp polyester-blend pants behind him told Servant everything he needed to know; doubtless, Kamukura had chosen to stay close to the television, too.
“Let’s give it everything we’ve got! It’s… PUNISHMENT TIIIME!”
Ten rather disappointing minutes later, Servant pushed himself to his knees with a sigh. “That was… underwhelming.”
He turned away from the broadcast as Mondo Owada was spit out of Enoshima’s execution apparatus as a tub of butter. How despairfully tacky. Creative, but he’d been hoping for something a bit more visceral. Normally Enoshima was better than this. Her taste in torture was immaculate.
Servant would know – he had felt it firsthand.
Nevertheless, he was glad he’d urged Kamukura to set up camp early. Let-down of its conclusion aside, he wouldn’t lie, he’d found the trial itself rather compelling. So much emotional intrigue! Trust betrayed, secrets revealed – and the students had fought their way to victory together, hopes clashing and talents shining in spite of it all!
And in the end, that wretched cry of Ishimaru’s — his call to Owada, just as he was dragged off to the slaughter… A promise, left unfulfilled…
Servant wouldn’t lie. His pants had felt tight around the zipper ever since the 78th class had cast their votes.
It was certainly lucky he wasn’t traveling alone tonight.
The links of his chain clacked as he rose to his feet and walked to the kitchen, draping himself against the place where a door’s hinges had surely hung before this unit fell into disuse. Kamukura stood with his back to him, evidently having lost whatever small amount of interest he’d had in Enoshima’s antics. He’d started to sort the shelf-stable food they’d scrounged up earlier from the abandoned market on this building’s ground floor.
Servant twisted his lead through his fingers as he spoke, pitching his voice low. “Care to join me for a cigarette?”
Kamukura didn’t turn to face him. “I thought you ran out.”
“These were a lucky find.”
Servant chuckled to himself at his desperately unfunny joke. Earlier that afternoon as they’d been looking for a place to hunker down, they’d been chased into this highrise by a horde of particularly bloodthirsty Monokumas. Lo and behold, as soon as they’d barricaded the doors to the lobby they’d found themselves face to face with the mini-mart where they’d secured their dinners for at least the next week.
Behind the counter, Servant had found a pack of cigarettes and a plastic lighter, never used. They were both high ticket items in the apocalypse, but it was like he said: Servant was lucky. He’d pocketed both before they’d gone upstairs on the hunt for a unit stable enough to lodge them for the night.
During their search, Servant had tripped and fallen twice, and in the first apartment they’d scouted, his leg had gotten banged up when a rotting floorboard had snapped beneath him, trapping him to his ankle. Still, the cuts and scrapes he’d acquired as a result of his good fortune were more than worth what they’d bought him. Doubly true if his plans for the rest of the night panned out as he hoped.
Kamukura remained focused on his task. “Well then. I see no reason not to.”
“How wonderful!” Servant grinned, tracing his finger around the inner edge of one of his chainlinks. “I’ll be over on the couch.”
He didn’t bother waiting for any indication that Kamukura would tag along – he’d follow when he wanted to and not a moment sooner, regardless of how intently Servant stared at his back. He languidly pushed himself upright and moved to take a seat on the rotting loveseat in the living room, across from the screen still struggling to eke out the voice of Enoshima’s mascot.
Grating, as always.
He tucked his feet up beside him and wiggled to pull his cigarettes and lighter from the front pocket of his jeans, pointedly ignoring the rust colored splotches that marred the once-blue corduroy of the cushion beneath him. It was damp all over, probably a byproduct of the massive hole in the wall opposite him that left this room permanently exposed to the elements. It was no wonder the whole place smelled strongly of mildew.
During the time he’d spent in front of the television, Servant had seen more cockroaches crawl out from the holes worn through the carpet than he cared to. Far more, actually, seeing as his ideal number of roaches per room was a resounding zero. That this was the only unit in the highrise Kamukura had cleared as ‘passable’ was the most rotten sort of bad luck. It sent shivers down Servant’s spine to think of what his reward for bearing it might be.
He tore the plastic off his pack, placed it neatly on the coffee table in front of him, and shimmied a cigarette out of the confines of its box. Just as he was about to light it, Kamukura took a seat next to him, the clean creases on the front of his pants just barely wrinkling as he did.
“Would you like to start it off?” Servant extended the cigarette between two fingers, eyebrows raised. Not that he didn’t already know the answer – nobody in their right mind refused a first drag, least of all someone as magnificent as his master.
Kamukura turned to him, silently expectant. Servant leaned in and slipped the filter between his lips before turning to grab his lighter. When he twisted back towards Kamukura, he propped himself to his knees, and, in one extended motion, straddled Kamukura’s lap.
Kamukura angled his eyes up and removed the cigarette from his mouth, unimpressed. “Is this really necessary?”
“I’m only being pragmatic, sir.” Servant settled down, letting himself get comfortable on Kamukura’s thighs. He was careful not to let an errant leg tug on his master’s hair. He bent forward and flicked the lighter on. “It’s awfully drafty in here. I’m blocking the breeze so the tip will catch, that’s all.”
Maybe the hole in the wall really was good luck after all – even in the thick of the apocalypse, it was a nasty habit to smoke indoors. With its generous ventilation, this place nearly qualified as a balcony.
It provided him with a good excuse, if nothing else.
Kamukura didn’t respond – only slid the cigarette back between his lips and allowed Servant to light it, inhaling deeply when it caught before passing it off.
He waited until Servant had taken a quick puff of his own to speak. “You can drop the pretenses. We both know what you’re doing.”
“Oh?” Servant blew smoke over his shoulder. He watched it float, drifting towards the naked metal scaffolding on the far side of the apartment. “And what’s that?”
Kamukura accepted the cigarette from his outstretched fingers. “Enoshima would call it whoring yourself out.”
Servant chuckled, eyes narrowed. “And what would you call it?”
He reached down to snag the smoke back for himself and took a long drag, Kamukura’s discerning eyes locked on him.
“Predictable.”
“You know me so well!” He splayed his fingers over the fabric of Kamukura’s pant leg, eyebrow raised. “You aren’t pushing me away.”
It was a simple observation, but a telling one. They both knew Kamukura was more than capable of it.
Servant rolled his hips forward a touch more than necessary as he handed over the cigarette, and Kamukura remained deadpan as he ashed it over the arm of the couch.
“I see no point.”
Servant’s lips quirked up. “Duly noted.”
They passed the cigarette between them. Servant felt the quiet buzz of nicotine settle over his brain. It saddened him that Kamukura couldn’t feel its effects the way he could. He’d probably find them pleasant. Servant certainly did – enough to outweigh the particular risks this activity posed to him, given his… unique medical situation.
But, frankly, that was a moot point. His life would be ending soon, regardless of how many carcinogens he allowed himself to partake in while he still had one foot out of his grave. His luck would draw out his final days as long as it saw fit. Servant had never had any say in that, and he doubted that would change now.
Then again, that really would be just his luck.
When it was used up almost to the filter, he heard Kamukura hum. “Are you going to ask?”
“Hm?” Servant swallowed thickly, knees squeezing into his master’s thighs. He tilted his head in faux confusion, playing with his lip the way the other men who’d enjoyed him had seemed to like so much.
Kamukura was nothing short of a god, of course – Servant wasn’t so brainless as to lump him in with the rest of the sad rank and file he’d been known to punish with his company. Still, he was a god in a man’s body, and he could get hot and bothered the same as any of the rest of them. Servant knew that much.
He wasn’t there yet, but he would be. Already, this was panning out better than Servant had hoped.
Kamukura held the butt of the cigarette to the side of them, out of reach, tip flickering orange. Servant bit the inside of his cheek.
Kamukura ignored the indecent way he shifted in place on his lap. “Based on past experience, this is typically when you ask.”
Servant put on a show of disappointment as his heartbeat raced in his chest. “You’re going to make me do it?”
“If you want something from me, you need to request it. You know this.”
Servant sucked in an ecstatic breath. “Just like swill like me deserves. Well then–” Servant choked back a moan as he rocked his ass back against Kamukura’s legs. “Would you please put that out on me? I’d like nothing more than for you to use my worthless skin as your ashtray!”
There it was. Out in the open. Servant’s skin crawled under the weight of his want.
Because, of course, beyond the pleasant chemical calm they gave him, there was another reason this pack of cigarettes had been a lucky find.
It wasn’t often that he managed to sway Kamukura to make proper use of his disgusting body. Even so, Servant always tried to keep helpful tools for the occasion on his person, just in case. He’d run into Kamukura during his travels just a week ago, the day after he’d lost his last two cigarettes in a rather unfortunate accident involving a storm drain and an exploding engine.
Servant had no idea how long Kamukura would deign to let him stay by his side, this time around; that he’d managed to find a new pack when he had was a real godsend. After all, it seemed as though tonight, Kamukura had decided he would indulge Servant in his perverted desires.
Kamukura grabbed his chain, just a few links down from his collar. Servant let himself be manhandled.
“Where do you want it?”
Servant grinned. “My thigh. Please, sir.”
Kamukura let metal slack click through his fingers before dropping his chain entirely. “Take off your pants.”
Servant jumped to comply, lifting himself off Kamukura’s lap and undoing his skinny jeans at record speed. He wriggled them down past his knees, leaving his boxers in place. Kamukura hadn’t given him permission to remove them, yet.
His sweater hung loose off his bony hips as he settled back onto Kamukura. The knit did nothing to hide the straining fabric in his lap. He’d been half-hard when he’d gone to fetch Kamukura from the kitchen and fully at attention since he’d lit the other’s cigarette. If by some miracle Kamukura hadn’t noticed, the evidence of Servant’s neediness was impossible to ignore now.
He pressed his hand into the tiny constellation of maroon indents on his upper thigh. Three so far. Soon, four.
He clenched his overeager fingers in a fist. “May I touch you, today?”
Kamukura paused. Sweat beaded on Servant’s brow as he anticipated his response. He really was a miserable, worthless slut.
“You may.”
Servant’s eyes blew open. Kamukura was so generous! Servant couldn’t imagine the abysmal luck that tomorrow would bring after such a display tonight. “Thank you, sir. You’re far too kind to abhorrent scum like me!”
Kamukura took a quick puff off his barely-there cigarette, pulling just enough to keep it lit. “I wish you would stop that. You don’t know half as many adjectives as you think you do. Besides, it’s dull.”
Servant hummed in lieu of dismissing him, reverently twining his fingers through a long strand of Kamukura’s hair before tucking it back behind his ear. With a trembling inhale, he angled up Kamukura’s face and pressed his lips to his own. He let out a sigh as he sucked on the warm flesh beneath him.
Kamukura never responded to this sort of thing, but that didn’t stop Servant. It was a joy just to be permitted to do it.
When Kamukura opened his mouth a fraction, Servant’s tongue darted inside. Surely, the concession was only for his benefit, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. He ground his hips against Kamukura, giddy with delight at the slight hardness he found in his lap.
He moved his hands to Kamukura’s shoulders, stabilizing himself as he rocked himself down and forward a second time, then a third. When he wasn’t pushed to the floor for his behavior, he whined into Kamukura’s mouth and began to rut against his hips in earnest, breath breaking into gasps as chased his own high.
Then, without warning, Kamukura nudged up the fabric of Servant’s boxers and pressed the cigarette into his thigh. His world went blank.
He bit down on Kamukura’s lip hard before throwing his head back, mouth falling open in a soundless yell. He vented the agony searing through his leg in the crook of Kamukura’s neck, panting into the sliver of skin exposed by his shirt collar as his own stuttering hips continued to grind down, propelled mindlessly forward by the promise of more pleasure.
When Kamukura twisted the butt in place against his skin, Servant screamed. A primal part of his brain insisted he squirm away from the source of the fire lighting up his thigh. Instead, he sunk his teeth into Kamukura’s shoulder over the fabric of his suit. He pressed his knees tight around Kamukura’s body, bracing himself in place to take the pain he’d asked for.
Servant was nothing, now; a drooling, babbling mess. Vaguely, he was aware of his mouth forming words – a broken, senseless stream of yes, yes, oh please sir, yes! dirtying Kamukura’s ears as his own hips reached a fever pitch. They stalled, and Servant cried out as he came in his boxers, drunk on stolen friction.
Kamukura removed the cigarette, now fully extinguished, and tossed it to the ground. Servant slumped over Kamukura’s shoulder, laughing softly as he caught his breath.
He’d gotten spittle all over his master’s lovely shirt. How disgusting of him.
Start to finish, the burn couldn’t have lasted more than ten seconds. Still, Servant felt like he was floating as he rode through the aftershocks of his orgasm. It had taken him all of two minutes to climax. He’d always been an embarrassingly quick shot.
“Thank you, sir. That was incredible,” he forced out, red in the face. He stayed in place for another minute, the fabric of Kamukura’s jacket scratchy against his cheek. The mark on his thigh throbbed, the pain of it bone deep despite the fact that the damage Kamukura had dealt was only surface level.
As soon as he managed to compose himself, he pushed himself upright. He inhaled sharply when he took in the sight of Kamukura’s face.
“Oh.” Servant’s eyes went wide, “Oh no. You’re bleeding.”
He reached out a finger to swipe where red trickled down Kamukura’s chin. Kamukura was nonplussed. “It’s superficial.”
“This is all my fault.” Servant’s hand trembled. “Curse my stupid mouth.”
Kamukura made no move to clean up the mess Servant had made of his face. “Don’t make me repeat myself. It’s nothing. And you clearly don’t own a thesaurus.”
Servant paused, calculating his next course of action. Then, he smiled, coy. He raised his hand to his lips, licking at the maroon smeared across the pad of his finger as he hooked his other hand around Kamukura’s belt.
If Kamukura wouldn’t punish his transgression, it was up to Servant to right his wrongs himself.
“In that case,” he rubbed his thumb over Kamukura’s buckle, pleased to feel the heel of his palm rub against something fully stiff below it. “There is one thing my mouth is good for. Let me make it up to you? It’s only fair.”
Servant leaned forward and kissed him again, pressing the iron taste in his own mouth back through Kamukura’s lips. When Servant pulled back, mouth wet and red from Kamukura’s still-open cut, he received his response.
“You may.”
He didn’t waste time. His chain rattled as he scrambled off Kamukura’s lap, to the floor, to his knees. He kicked at the leg of the coffee table behind him to give him the space he needed to do his work, failing to hold back a moan when the quick motion made the mark on his thigh pulse. It hadn’t stopped burning. That was the best part about a wound like this – it was a gift that stuck around.
With clumsy fingers, he brushed aside the hair that had pooled in Kamukura’s lap, unfastened his belt, and undid his zipper. He fumbled as he tugged Kamukura's pants and boxers to his knees.
His breath caught in his throat as he freed Kamukura's cock. It was erect, just a bit flushed – definitive proof that Servant had served his purpose tonight. Kamukura was undeniably interested. Just the sight of it was enough to make his own twitch where it sat in his boxers, spent.
“Are you going to begin?” He was snapped out of his reverie by Kamukura’s voice.
“Yes, sir.” He swallowed thickly, “So hopeful…”
At that, he placed his hands on Kamukura’s thighs and took the head of his cock into his mouth. He felt the other tense beneath him, heard his quick intake of breath. It was all the encouragement he needed – and the only encouragement he’d likely get.
He dipped down, enveloping Kamukura until soft pubic hair tickled his nose. As he rose back up, he lathed along the underside of Kamukura’s dick. He swirled his tongue around the head – once, twice. He heard Kamukura exhale above him.
Servant took a deep breath through his nose, savoring the musk of Kamukura’s skin as he bobbed up and down, lips straining to accommodate his cock as he hollowed his cheeks and sucked eagerly.
He moaned as he dipped down as far as he could take. When Kamukura’s length hit the back of his throat, he swallowed around him. He relaxed his tongue and did his very best not to gag.
“You can do better.”
Servant flitted his eyes up to see Kamukura staring down at him, not a hint of intrigue on his face. Just like that, Servant’s boxers were tight again. Even so, it seemed that no amount of arousal could keep his jaw from getting sore. He pulled himself off Kamukura, a string of spit trailing from his mouth.
He smiled upwards, eyes lidded. “Will you help me, sir? My miserable body is already failing you. How disgraceful.”
Kamukura’s brow furrowed almost imperceptibly. They both knew that if he felt inclined to continue his service on his own efforts, Servant could push through any sort of ache; it was one of the very few things he was good for. His underlying intentions here were no mystery.
He’d been polite enough to ask for what he wanted, though. Maybe even nicely enough to convince Kamukura to humor him.
Kamukura grabbed a fistful of his hair. Servant winced, delighted. That was a ‘yes’ if he’d ever felt one!
Kamukura let out a sound just short of a sigh. “If you insist.”
He didn’t have time to catch a breath before Kamukura dragged him back onto his cock, forcing Servant to take him straight to the base in one go. His eyes watered as he willed his tongue and jaw to stay slack.
He let out a muffled sob. It was filthy now, honestly, how slick his boxers had become. He was so terribly easy.
Kamukura used his hair as a handhold as he fucked his throat, fast and hard. Servant’s head ached where he gripped tight at his scalp, roughly jerking his face up and down the length of his dick.
Servant couldn’t help his gagging now, or the tears wetting his cheeks – another involuntary response he could only hope his master found some pleasure in. His vision went blurry around the edges. Were his eyes rolling back in his sockets? Kamukura had told him that he’d seen it happen once, when he was using his mouth like this. Servant hadn’t believed him at the time.
But that didn’t matter today. Kamukura was all that did: the taste of him, his smell, his unrelenting hand in Servant’s tangled hair. There was nothing left for Servant to do but sit on his knees and take what was given to him. His brain had melted to singularly focused, cock-addled mush, and he would have thanked Kamukura for it if he had the voice.
Servant moved to slip a few fingers under the band of his collar as his other hand flew to the front of his boxers. He rutted against his palm shamelessly, whining on Kamukura’s cock as he gave himself the friction he’d been missing.
Kamukura didn’t pause his abuse of his throat when he moved to kick aside the offending hand.
“No. I didn’t say that you could touch yourself.”
He pressed down firmly on the front of Servant’s boxers with his foot. Servant sobbed. He thrusted up into the pressure of the sole of his master’s dress shoe, losing himself in the sensation of being thoroughly used.
Servant wouldn’t last long. He never did, not with Kamukura. He slipped his fingers out from under his collar and pressed his thumb into the burn on his thigh, hard.
He came first, wordlessly screaming out his gratitude through a throat full of cock. He rode out the high of his orgasm under Kamukura’s unrelenting heel, breathing quickly through his nose, his lips stuffed and his throat chafed raw.
His body slumped as Kamukura continued to silently fuck his face. Warmth surged through his limbs, leaving him contented and boneless.
Some time later – pleasure had stolen minutes from his brain again, he was sure – Kamukura followed him over the edge with a barely audible huff. Despite his exhaustion, Servant moaned around him, working his jaw and swallowing down every last drop.
Kamukura released his hold on his hair, letting Servant fall to the floor. He pulled up his pants, redid his belt, and without further ado, stood and walked to the kitchen.
Servant remained sprawled across the carpet, chest heaving. He laughed to himself as he rolled onto his side, following the weight of his chain down. He couldn’t even bring himself to feel revulsion at the roach that crawled boldly close to his arm. Seeing a bug was likely the least unpleasant thing that would happen to him for the next several days, accounting for the exquisite experience his luck had just given him at Kamukura’s hands.
He heard Kamukura’s voice from the kitchen, dampened – he never bothered to raise his volume to make up for distance. “I’m making cup noodles for us both. This unit has an independent generator that can be used to power the microwave. You need to eat.”
Servant responded, projecting through the scratch in his voice. “That sounds wonderful, sir.”
(Of course his throat was sore. He grinned. He hoped his mouth had made for a good toy.)
Kamukura’s voice came closer. “You know that you can drop the formalities.”
He must have been standing in the entryway. Servant didn’t have the energy to turn to confirm it. “With all due respect, sir,” he rasped, “if you don’t have strong opinions on the subject, I’d like to address you as I have been.”
Kamukura made a noise of neither assent or protest. He really was indifferent. Servant heard the sound of the low whir of the microwave, followed by a beep. The process repeated a second time. Just a few minutes later, Kamukura came back into the living room, two styrofoam cups of instant noodles in hand.
He handed one off to Servant. “I couldn’t find utensils.”
Servant pushed himself up off the floor with a trembling arm, accepting Kamukura’s offering. He knew that he probably looked repulsive – grime and blood smeared across his cheeks, sweater disheveled, knees knobby and red. His face was crusted with dried tear tracks cut by freshly beading sweat, and he absolutely reeked of cum. It trickled down his inner thighs; his boxers were completely unsalvageable. The smell of sex in the room was strong enough to rival the stench of abandonment that had sat heavy in it when they’d first arrived.
He’d need to make an effort to get clean before they slept tonight. He hated being dirty.
But those were thoughts for later. Servant smiled. “Thank you for the food.”
Kamukura only hummed in response. He walked back towards the kitchen. When he returned, it was with a bottle of water.
He twisted the cap open to break the seal, refastened it, and tossed it down to Servant. “Drink this. You’ll be dehydrated, otherwise.”
Servant was quick to grab the bottle. “Thank you, sir.”
Again, Kamukura didn’t respond. They ate their noodles together on the coffee table without speaking: Kamukura on the couch, Servant on the floor. The hot broth of the soup burned his sore throat, but Servant scarfed his food down regardless, chasing each bite with a sip of lukewarm bottled water. The droning of Enoshima’s broadcast continued on in the background.
He turned to face the television screen. It seemed as though the 78th class had returned to their respective dorm rooms, for the most part. Asahina was making a run for a late night snack. How hopeful, managing to maintain a craving for baked goods even after witnessing her classmate’s recent dairy-themed execution!
It was then that Servant had a realization. As he'd blown him, Kamukura had spoken to him: three whole, unnecessary sentences. They’d driven Servant out of his mind, certainly, but there was no utilitarian explanation for them. They hadn’t done anything for Kamukura.
Unless they had. Occam’s razor.
Servant’s eyes widened. He never thought he’d see the day.
So, really, it only made sense that the next morning Servant woke alone in his sleeping bag to an aching body and an empty apartment. He absently fingered the blistering mark on his thigh, chuckling quietly to himself. He’d suspected this might happen. A revelation like the one he’d had the previous evening didn’t come without a cost.
That was why he was surprised to find something sitting at the base of his sleeping bag as he moved to get up. Right over his feet, somebody had placed a water bottle, a small roll of tape, and a square of individually wrapped sterile gauze – impossible to miss. When Servant startled, they fell to the floor. He rushed to correct his mistake, scooping the items up in his lap. There was no telling what might happen to them if he let them out of his reach.
First aid supplies were a precious commodity here, at the end of the world. But it was no secret: Kamukura was lucky, too.
Servant frowned as he poured a capful of water over his burn and tore a corner off the square of gauze to loosely cover it. His master had to know how dangerous it was to give Servant a gift like this. Even Kamukura’s luck had a limit. Servant could only pray that he hadn’t crossed a line.
Unfortunately, there was only one god he believed in. In this situation it seemed unlikely his prayers would help much. He would need to keep well out of Kamukura’s way for the foreseeable future.
It was for the best.
Still…
He secured the makeshift bandage to his leg with a single strip of tape. He wondered how many days the adhesive would keep. The roll he’d torn it from would last him far longer than this wound would take to heal, provided he didn’t lose it.
But that was a foregone conclusion. The second Servant had entertained the prospect of holding onto his gift, he’d as good as given it up. The tape would go the way of his last pack of cigarettes: abandoned in a sewer or worse.
He had to laugh. The thought left an empty feeling in his chest that Servant wasn’t quite sure what to do with. He wasn’t certain there was anything to be done.
Well. Keep the burn clean, he supposed, for as long as he could manage. Wait until his path crossed Kamukura’s again, and skip town in the meanwhile. Not think about last night: the hand in his hair, the shoe on his cock. Or the scent that clung to him, even now. None of that.
And just one cigarette wouldn’t hurt, either.