Work Text:
Another drunken brawl with a captain left him stumbling through the alleys after leaving the main street. His right cheek buzzed with pain. He hadn't exactly won but it was hard to say he lost either, both of them being kicked out of the bar and separated by their underlings before it escalated. Hamura’s chest was still hot, his fists ached as he clenched them. Desperate for realise, he images the bastard cracking his head open on the ground, his cracked lips hurting as he tries to smirk.
Just a few years ago, an incident like that would've led to a shitshow–someone would've died, but with the Tojo clan on its last leg, all remaining families had to stay together begrudgingly. Part of him misses the bloodsports. The cutthroat, dutybound atmosphere that made him captain in the first place.
Kuroiwa’s face flashes through his mind as he spits a clot of blood. He passes a group of about two or three younger women. Their eyes were wide with fear, murmuring amongst themselves as one dialled a number. He didn’t bother to check but he hazarded to guess that the front of his shirt was moist and covered in a gross mix of booze and blood. Rain thumped down on his back as he walked through the wet road. The crowds had dissipated leaving the city sparse and eerie. Bright pink neons flashed in his periphery, becoming smudges through soaked lashes. He stumbled his way to an alley, away from the main road.
“Haven’t seen you in a while,” A voice rings out behind him. Hamura turns, it’s Kuroiwa.
There’s an expectant yet disappointed look on his face. I knew you’d return to me . It’s oddly comforting like he’s looking at a scraggly stray dog, caught in the rain.
“C’mon, you’ll catch a cold out here, if you haven’t already.” He pulls Hamura under his umbrella. It’s a tight squeeze, their chests are pressed together. Their shallow breaths bump against each other, Kuroiwa’s face twitches as the stench of booze hits his face as Hamura speaks.
“I’ve missed you.”
Hamura leans for a kiss. He’s half expecting Kuroiwa to slap him, he’s a man with a reputation to keep up, after all. Instead, Kuroiwa grips Hamura’s jaw with his free hand and pries his jaw open. Hamura’s eyes widen as Kuroiwa slips his tongue into his mouth.
He licks the blood from Hamura’s teeth. It’s less of a kiss and more of a tongue bath, Kuroiwa digs into the crevices of his mouth, prodding his cheeks and gums. It’s affectionate, in a way, like a mother cat and her baby. Hamura brings his hands to Kuroiwa’s lower back.
tension builds between his legs.Kuroiwa opens his eyes as he notices Hamuras erection pressed into his belly. He scoffs in a half amused fashion.
“What else would I expect.” Kuroiwa mutters before looking down, “Hard from just a kiss, can't control yourself, can you?”
“Well at my age…” Hamura mumbles out some pithy defense
Kuroiwa sighs, “Let's get you cleaned up. We’ll take a taxi back to my place”. He tilted his head as he spoke, his words laced with pity. It was a command, no way he’s letting Hamura go now.
Hamura barely remembers how he got here. Maybe the slow, thrum from the taxi, Kuroiwa's hand tightly squeezing his. He remembers Kuroiwa passing him a painkiller and turmeric tablet, making him dry swallow them both with a content smirk on his face. He doesn't remember how the driver looked at him, was it disgust or worry? Maybe fear? And can’t for the life of him remember if he took the stairs or an elevator. All a blur until he was pushed into the bathroom.
“Shit.” he coughs out.
The mirror is almost piercing in clarity, every pore bare and naked, unobscured by the kinds of scratches and stains Hamura was accustomed to. The whole bathroom is similarly clean, empty and unlived in. The cabinets’ shiny marble marble reflects his chin down to his chest.
He twists the tap, moving a towel underneath it. He wipes it across his neck, a dull, brown-red catching on the white fabric. It’s soft. He readies for Kuroiwa’s angry diatribe about not touching his shit, how he’ll have to throw it out now. In reality, he never does, Hamura knows this, having reached into the wrong drawl haphazardly, seeing the smeared red, handtowel tucked inside. He can’t imagine how many Kuroiwa has stowed away by now.
He runs the towel along his jaw, and then up his cheek before landing on his nose, where most of this blood has come from. It’s tender, making him flinch as he squeezes the slimy, viscous blood out of his nostrils. He scrunches the towel up, leaving it to the side of the sink, right where Kuroiwa can find it.
He walks out, through the hall and into the living room. Kuroiwa’s already cleaned himself up, the heater’s on and he’s pouring a glass of wine, watching raindrops hit the window. He’s out of his coat, in his shirt, trousers and vest. Hamura watches him, their gazes dont meet.
“It’s not for you,” Kuroiwa says, twisting the lid shut.
“Oh.” Hamura jolts, jumpy like a child trying to hide from his parents. Cautiously, he steps in. Kuroiwa pats the seat next to him. Hamura’s been in this room at least a dozen times over the last few years, yet it hasn’t changed since, no sign of life has touched it, no piece of furniture dirtied, worn or moved, no dishes out of place, or scraps left in the kitchen, not even a crease in the rug. It looks like a magazine photoshoot.
Kuroiwa takes a sip, It’s almost black, save for the deep red it shines. It reminds Hamura of the sludge he’d been cleaning up just a minute earlier. Kuroiwa’s arms are tensed with anticipation. Like he’s been looking to strike since he got out of bed. Hamura’s chest is tight, as he takes a seat across from him.
“Your guard dogs leave you?” Kuroiwa asks with a veneer of laughter.
“I left them”, Hamura shook his head, “I don’t need 'em.”
“Really?” Kuroiwa rolls his eyes, “So you left? And you got attacked?” he asks coldly, like one of the many interrogations they’ve been through. Hamura can tell it’s to get it out of the way, that Kuroiwa knows him better than to assume that. But there’s wanton sadism in his tone, itching to humiliate him, to demean.
“ No .” Hamura continued, his face felt hot, twinging with embarrassment. “I got in a fight and stormed off.”
Kuroiwa’s lips twitch, his chest rising and falling as he tries to keep a straight face. Hamura knows it's just as pathetic, but he pretends like he can play it off.
“You’re ridiculous.”
Hamura scowled. “Yeah.”
“Is that why you stumbled over to that little detective agency?” Kuroiwa tilts his head, “Trying to get my eyes on him?”
Hamura shook his head, “Huh? What? No. Why would I do that? He’s like a son to…” he trailed off, realising the futility of it. Kuroiwa’s wasn’t genuine.
Kuroiwa shrugged, throwing his hands up “I don't know why you do a lot of things. You’ve given me guys to arrest before.”
“That's when we were younger. I was pettier then.” Hamura huffs, crossing hisarms.
“And I was more obedient.” Kuroiwa replies
Hamura reclines. “Yup.” he felt his head throb with pain, pressure settling between his temples, “A better lapdog.”
His mouth begins to feel dry, painfully so. His breaths are like hot, desert air on tongue. He swallows.
“What’s your aim here,” he asked, “why’d you bring me back anyway?”
There was a small stir in Kuroiwa’s face. “Keep you loyal” he bluntly responds. Hamura’s expression turns sour. “That’s a joke. You were out in the rain. It was cold, and we wouldn’t want you getting pneumonia , would we?”.
Pneumonia . The word’s like a cold, sharp jab, rolling off his tongue playfully like a euphemism, reminding Hamura of the countless hospital rooms he’d sent people to.
His breath halts, stammering out a response “Right.”
“You’re welcome” Kuroiwa chuckles.
Hamura looks around, there’s a sharp pain in his chest. He can’t tell if his life styles truly done him in or if paranoia’s getting the better of him. The room is so sterile, so neat. So un-lived in . The question crosses his mind “Have you ever killed anyone in here?”
Kuroiwa’s taken aback. His eyes slightly widen in reaction. He then laughs. “You know I don't like to mix my work and home life .”
“Work and home life, huh?” Hamura sighs, “Then what’s this?
Kuroiwa leans over “Home, of course.” he smiles as he places a small kiss over Hamura’s still lips.
“Sure,” Hamura sighs, moving his hand to Kuroiwa’s lower back. The taste of wine is sweet, floating in his mouth as their lips collide. It’s good shit, Hamura can tell. Kuroiwa was quick to develop a palette, it made him good company. Someone who enjoys luxury is easy to spoil.
Kuroiwa pulls away, his lips are deliciously wet. “Fuck…” it ejects from his mouth as he finally breathes out, “I’ve missed you”.
“Same h-” Hamura can’t finish before Kuroiwa brings him into more kisses. Hungrily, he sucks on Hamura’s lips, clutching the back of his neck. He brings onto Hamura’s lap, feeling him get hard from his motions.
“Yeah…” he breathily lets out between kisses. Kuroiwa’s own pants begin to feel too tight for him now. There’s a crushing, gnawing desire growing in him; to envelope Hamura entirely. He opens his eyes, he wishes he was wearing lip stick. He hesitates for a moment before clamping down on Hamura's bottom lip. Hamura’s face scrunches in pain, before he groans out of pleasure, holding the back of Kuroiwa’s head. Kuroiwa tastes his salty, metallic blood leak out. Blood and spit start to trickle down their chins. Kuroiwa pulls away again. It’s perfect. Hamura, lips bloodied and face red, panting for more.
He stands up, gripping Hamura’s hand. Kuroiwa’s giddy, smiling ear to ear. He’s like a teenager, home alone finally, that typical cynicism washed away. He leads him to the bedroom. His room isn’t much different from the rest of his house. Same style and furnishings, but for some reason Kuroiwa always keeps the light as dim as possible, just bright enough to read. His room has one window that he perpetually keeps covered.
Hamura unbuttons his shirt as quickly as his hands will let him and shimmies out of his pants. By the time he’s down to his underwear, Kuroiwa’s already folded his clothes neatly as he waits for Hamura on the bed with his arms open.
Hamura sighs, crawling on top of Kuroiwa. The two embrace, locking lips once again. Their erections press together. Kuroiwa wraps his arms and legs around Hamura. He then digs his nails in. It burns pleasantly as Hamura rocks against him, trying to create friction.
“Fuck, Hamura” Kuroiwa whines breathlessly between kisses. His movements are getting frantic, desperate. Kuroiwa wants release to bad, but he stops. It cant end here.
He sits upright, bringing Hamura with him. He holds his shoulders, staring into his grey eyes. He holds back his urge to kiss him, he can see the teeth mark from where he bit. “I…Hamura,” he speaks, gripping tighter. He hangs his head, “Hamura, fuck me, now It’s been so long.” he commands, it’s most like a cry, as oddly vulnerable as Kuroiwa gets during sex. He’s too caught up in his down desperation to ask nicely. Hamura nods, Kuroiwa points to a the nightstand. There’s lube. Hamura knows what to do.
Kuroiwa’s on his hands and knees as Hamura opens him up with his fingers. Usually Kuroiwa likes to face him, but this is quicker. Aha-” he moans, “Good dog.”
Hamura grumbles at his little pet name, but doesn’t stop, burying his thick, calloused fingers deeper. He curls them and Kuroiwa lets out a high pitched moan, arching his back. “Yes, ah”. He’s steadily getting looser. He grabs Kuroiwa’s asscheek with his other hand. Watching as his fingers slip in and out. Hamura continues like this with Kuroiwa melting under his touch. “Ah, I’m ready…Hamura.” he insists.
“Alright” Hamura replies, slipping his fingers out. Kuroiwa’s hole twitches at the lack of sensation. Kuroiwa moves onto his back, opening his arms like before. The tip of his cock red and flush, shiny with precum. Hamura wants to put his lips on it, but he knows what Kuroiwa wants.
“Come on,” he gestures with his hand, for Hamura to come closer.
Hamura bites his lip, lining up the throbbing tip of his cock with Kuroiwa’s warm, wet, entrance. “Ah…” He lets out a low moan of relief as he sinks into Kuroiwa, the tight ring of muscles twitching around him. Kuroiwa lets out a cry as he throws his head back, it’s pleasured, sweet, high pitched mewls instad of a thank you.
He envelopes Hamura, once again wrapping his arms and legs around him. Hamura places a hand on his hip, huffing as he steadies himself. Kuroiwa’s prepared but hes not how much he is.
“Ah… Move” Kuroiwa whines, squeezing Hamura's rib cage “Speed up!” Hamura’s unsure if he loves or hates when Kuroiwa gets like this. So needy, demanding, cruel, brattish. Letting out the frustration he otherwise leaves at his job, so ill-fittingly immature for a man his age and stature. Part of Hamura wants to let him act out, to be his personal punching bag, but at the same time, he wants nothing more than to put him in his place. When Kuroiwa roughing scrapes his fingers down Hamura’s back, enough that he skin starts to tingle and little dots of blood pool at the surface, he knows what to do.
He pins Kuroiwa down by his shoulder with one hand covering his mouth with the other. Kuroiwa’s limbs unlatch, for a moment, he becomes pliant, laying still as Kuroiwa animalistically fucks into him. The room is oddly quiet, save for Kuroiwa’s rhythmic whines and the sound of Hamura’s balls slapping against him. Ordinarily, Hamura would be equipped with some cheesy dirty talk that’d make a 70s porn star blush, but he doesn't have the focus for it. He wants to verbally rip into Kuroiwa, badly, but all that leave him are grunts and groans.
He then pauses, much to Kuroiwa's dismay and flips Kuroiwa onto his stomach. He slaps his ass, making Kuroiwa yelp. He thrusts back into Kuroiwa, balls deep. He pushes the back of Kuroiwa’s head into the pillow, muffling his cries and moans. He can tell by how Kuroiwa’s body squirms and leans into the touch that he’s loving every second of it. In spite of his rough treatment, Hamura knows just the right angle to fuck into Kuroiwa. Hamura leans in, now directly on top of Kuroiwa’s hot sweaty back and takes the opportunity to finally bite him back. He breaks the skin and the taste of Kuroiwa’s blood and sweat coat his mouth. He licks it up, kissing the wound as his thrusts grow ever more frantic.
He holds in his breath. Kuroiwa brings his head up to breath as Hamura shoots hot ropes of cum into him, gently swaying his hips. Kuroiwa’s face is wet, sheen with sweat, drool nd what looks to be tears streaking down his face. Hamura tenderly places a kiss on the back of his neck before he pulls out.
His cum leaks out onto the bedsheets. He wipes his forehead, collecting himself. He notices that Kuroiwa hasn't cum yet.
“Hey,” he pants. Kuroiwa doesn’t answer, he just stares back, eyes wide and frazzled, somewhere between thrilled and horrified. “Get on your back again, I’m gonna do what I want, now.” He slaps Kuroiwa’s thigh.
Kuroiwa obeys. Rolling onto his back and spreading his legs. Hamura can see his cum still slowly leak out of him. He feels a small, sense of pride in how much he’s filled Kuroiwa. He brings a hand to Kuroiwa’s cock. It’s so red, hot and burning. Kuroiwa doesn't say anything, but he’s begging for release.
Hamura brings his lips to Kuroiwa’s cock. “Ahn.” he moans out in response. He kisses it all the way from his head to his balls before taking part of it into his mouth, sitting it on his tongue. Hamura’s never enjoyed deep throat so he relies on his tongue. It’s more than enough for Kuroiwa, who shallowly bucks into Hamura’s mouth. Hamura quickly dips a finger into Kuroiwa’s hole and it’s enough. He sputters, delicate moans escape his lips as he cums on Hamura’s tongue. Hamura spits it out, laying at Kuroiwa’s side in his sweaty, post orgasm bliss. He wraps his arms around Kuroiwa, resting his chin on his shoulder.
A few minutes later, after they’ve settled into cuddling, Hamura tries to get up. Kuroiwa groggily clings onto his arm, muttering something about sticking together,
“Hey, do you have any smokes?” Hamura asks.
Kuroiwa shoots up. He’s visibly annoyed, “Not in here and if you’re gonna smoke do it on the balcony!”