Archive of Our Own

* * *

Icy, over my head, drop it

A fleeting moment becomes a strong attraction

Thirsty, like cracked dry land

Like long awaited rain, it’s like a miracle to me

* * *

Tonight, the lights in the club seem dimmer, weaker. The flashes from the dancefloor die out before the rhythm even builds up, and the movements of bodies seeking liberation swirl as hazy shadows.

Denji’s vision blurs, his eyes become more and more tired, and he begins to question why he even considered that coming here was a good idea. He won’t find anyone interesting like this, in such a sea of wasted people.

He’s sipping his cocktail while standing by the end of the bar zone; his eyes dart boring glances at any person that might head to the counter, but they won’t even look his way—neither men nor women. It’s true that women might bat their eyelashes at him a little more frequently, maybe because they just noticed he’s there on his own, yet that doesn’t seem to be enough of a reason to strike up a conversation. On the other hand, his little experience with men had taught him that words are simply a tedious means of getting sex. The ones he had been with were indeed men of few words, something that Denji was grateful for at first, but ended up leaving an uncomfortable knot in his chest after the ecstasy wore off.

Denji looks down and checks his attire—he must admit he kind of dressed up that night, as much as his humble monthly pay allowed him to upgrade his wardrobe. He blindly believed that a neat, white shirt paired with black jeans would give off an aura that he was someone. Not just someone with money or power which certainly wasn’t the case, but just someone, occupying a space that might attract another lonely person like him in hopes of finding more than just one-night stand. Something more akin to. . .  love.

There was always time to regret and realize how much of an utter fool he turned out to be in nights like this, still bearing naïve thoughts so childishly. It’s not hard to recall the times whenever he woke up the following morning in his empty bed.

And yet here he was, still hopeful to find love in a club... yeah, he truly allowed himself to become a massive fool.

“. . . ting for someone?”

A trace of smooth silk in the air amongst the electrifying beats. Denji almost doesn’t hear it.

To his left, there’s a dark figure now, dressed all in black yet rather casually, at least better than Denji. Only his face and bare toned arms allow the reflection of blinding lights to enhance his features.

He’s handsome, and Denji is cautiously stunned.

The guy tilts his head closer, expecting a response, but Denji is feeling rather lightheaded. What did he ask? He wasn’t sure. He would look like a complete idiot if he answered a question he couldn’t actually hear.

And he might also look like one if he doesn’t.

Fuck it.

Denji squints and points at his ear, hoping the guy picks up on it. Fortunately, he smiles.

And oh god, what a smile.

“I asked if you’re on your own tonight,” he utters more slowly and clearly this time, vocalizing while flashing his immaculate white teeth. Denji listens to his warm voice in perfect rhythm even underneath the mayhem of noise all around, only for his eyes to fall on a distracting mole below his lips.

Even with so many inputs at once, Denji doesn’t hesitate.

“Yeah.”

“Do you mind some company then?”

It startles Denji how quick the guy kicks it off; not because it hasn’t happened before, because it truly has—though Denji does consider himself to be quite plain, he’s had his humble dose of girls and guys hitting on him much to his surprise.

However, a hot guy like this? That was something unforeseen. Rare, out of the ordinary, suspicious even. Denji’s had peculiar women around him a few times, and that kinda taught him a lesson—that he should be careful whom he lays his eyes on when he’s desperate indeed.

But he’s not desperate tonight.

Or is he?

Denji shrugs as if he’s not bothered and takes a sip from his drink. The guy smirks, seemingly enthralled by Denji’s passive attitude. He also drinks from his cup and stands closer to him, leaning forward.

“Do you come here often?” His breath flows through his ear and Denji tries to hide the fact that a shiver just ran down his spine.

He tries to recall the times he’s been here. Not many – three, he thinks. Four at most. Nights in which he drank too much are foggy in his mind. He barely remembers making out with two different people—one on the dance floor, and another in an empty corner. Same day or in a row, who knows; he really can’t make out any faces or genders. In the end, most clubs like this turn into a blurry spiral where he can’t tell anything apart.

“Couple times,” he answers coyly. “You?”

Why’s a guy like you clubbing alone?  He’d like to ask, but refrains from doing so and simply stares at the alluring features of his face—raven hair, deep eyes, long nose, pretty mouth, distracting mole. Denji also notices for the first time that he’s got a fuckton of piercings in his left ear, which only adds to his unfair appearance.

“Not really. I work in security, so I don’t have many nights off.” He smiles gloomily, but Denji finds it oddly attractive. “Today’s a lucky one.”

Yeah, bet it is.

“And you decide to spend it in a club swarming with people.”

The guy cocks his head, amused by Denji’s sarcasm. “What’s wrong with that?”

“Well, you also came up to me, of all . . .” Denji gazes at the front crowd and scattered people around and scoffs dryly. “I hope your job’s more interesting than this.”

It’s a fact that Denji’s way of flirting back always starts off self-deprecating. It’s ridiculous —he is ridiculous— but he can’t help it. He’s never known better, and this guy is probably too tired and blind to spot better fish in this never-ending sea of frantic lights and music. Denji knows he’s merely saving himself some future disappointment by doing so.

There’s a long pause between them, and Denji believes this is it. At least the rowdy music blasting off the speakers won’t make it sound so shameful.

“You know, you barely smile, but when you do it’s really sexy.”

Denji almost coughs up the remaining booze he was about to drink.

The guy’s eyes are boring holes into his head—black circles glistening with a hint of tamed curiosity. Denji doesn’t smile at the compliment, but his lip twitches, like a bad match that sparks weakly, reluctant to light up.

“Hm,” he coughs down the coiling heat travelling to his cheeks, “right.” Okay, this guy has range. Nobody’s ever told him he’s sexy, at any level, in any way. But Denji knows men would do whatever means necessary to score a good fuck—he’s been there—, so he shouldn’t be that impressed. Looking back at the guy, he definitely fits the part. “You’re not the first pretty mouth that says so.” He lies, because occasionally, he finds it amusing to flaunt some sort of dirty pride.

He can’t deny it’s really intriguing, that face of his—eyes like charcoal ink hiding behind long bangs, while his skin beams pale and spotless; at least until you notice that mole under his lip, which draws your gaze to his mouth and chains it there.

“I have a pretty mouth?” Denji’s statement makes him crack a playful grin.

Fuck.

Denji can so easily let his true thoughts slip when he begins to feel comfortable, and this guy is threatening to do so at the speed of light.

Luckily, he doesn’t seem to be keen on teasing him over that line for much longer.

“Okay, I may not get another smile out of you, but can I get your name?”

Denji raises his gaze and stares at him more relaxedly this time. He assumes giving his name won’t hurt. It’s not like he’ll pull out his phone to save it and add him to his contact list or something. As a matter of fact, Denji most likely isn’t stored in anyone’s contact list anymore.

“It’s Denji,” he replies, quite somber.

“Denji,” the man repeats as if savoring it. He actually made it sound so soft and delicate in his tongue. “Nice to meet you, Denji. I’m Yoshida.”

Yoshida, Denji coos to himself. He isn’t as bold, though his thoughts may as well escape his mind sometimes.

“Likewise.”

It’s Yoshida who smiles tenderly now, leaving Denji to dunk his face into his drink before his cheeks give away the heat within. He can’t reveal he’s growing fond of that face, and that smile, and those eyes, and that voice, as well as running out of excuses to keep up his fake stoic façade.

“I’m gonna get another drink,” he declares and takes a step forward, hoping that staying away for a while will give himself a little peace of mind.

“Wait,” Yoshida interferes, grabbing hold of his arm gingerly. Denji stays still, and Yoshida’s hand falls. “Wanna gulp down mine?”

Denji stops, puzzled. “What?”

Yoshida waves his cup, which shows is nearly half-full. “It’s good, I promise.”

“Huh. Okay.” Saving some booze money and yet drink for free is something Denji will always agree to. He reaches for the cup with his hand but Yoshida keeps it still in his grip.

“Can I give it to you myself?”

Denji needs a few seconds to process what he means, but Yoshida doesn’t waste more time and gently grazes his chin with his fingers and tilts his head back a little before Denji can realize he’s pouring his drink directly into his mouth.

The liquid flows in short streams, cold and intoxicating that burns when it reaches his throat. Denji gulps a couple times before he feels a bead tickling the crease of his lips and swiftly dripping down to his neck.

With a sudden gasp, he pushes Yoshida’s hand away and he steps back.

“Fuck,” Denji spits, the bottom of his throat smoldering, and the flames rising up to his face. He isn’t sure if he’s ever tasted something so strong. “How can you drink that shit with a straight face?”

Yoshida chuckles light-heartedly. “Too bitter of an aftertaste, I’m afraid.”

“Yeah, no shit,” Denji wipes his lips with the back of his hand, and swallows in hopes of getting rid of the stinging sensation.

“I’ll treat you what you were having, as an apology,” Yoshida offers, taking notice of Denji’s reaction. “Or whatever you prefer.”

Denji can’t believe his ears. It’s stimulating to say the least—he’ll give him that.

“You don’t have to pretend, as if you aren’t trying to get me drunk to get into my pants.”

Yoshida smirks in a way that shows he was expecting such response.

“Does it look like that?” he asks with an innocent tone. “I’m actually having a good time just chatting with you.”

In all honesty, this Yoshida guy is so naturally beguiling that Denji might as well fall for him while sober.

“Though I must say it’d be a shame to go home not having snatched a taste of your sexy smile, Denji.”

Again, those intense eyes penetrating his skull. At this point any other day Denji would’ve already made out with him. Everything is contributing to it, and yet he can’t get himself to make the first move.

What was he even gonna do? He sucks at flirting. He’s plain and vastly inexperienced and has little to offer. People only come up to him because the best ones are the first to be taken.

They must settle for a second plate, which turns out to be guys like Denji.

“With your wits, I’m sure you can find someone else.”

Yoshida’s face hardens, and the soft expression he’s given the entire time vanishes.

“Why do you keep questioning my choices? That’s up to me.”

Denji’s chest contracts and something inside him shrinks. He’s not good with words at all either, and he does come off as an asshole no matter what he tries to convey.

He averts Yoshida’s stare, lays his eyes on the whirling crowd in front of them.

“No offense but, I just. . . know how this tends to end.”

Yoshida’s expression softens, but his voice strikes as judgmental. “Venturing an end before it’s even started sounds a bit disheartening, don’t you think?”

Indeed, because that’s what Denji excels at. The pessimism always getting the worst of him. No easy solution to this spiral of need, of being seen and cared for. Over twenty-five years of wishful expectations that won’t seem to materialize.

And because he’s doesn’t know better, he wanders bar after bar, club after club, with the childish hope that he’ll encounter love.

“I gotta pee,” he resolves, and this time Yoshida doesn’t hold him back.

Denji allows his eyes to sneak a quick glance as he heads toward the restrooms, only to realize Yoshida isn’t following him.

He lets out a sigh, but the weight doesn’t leave his chest.

He knew it’d happen, still can’t help but feel a bit upset. He’d better accept that tonight’s not meant to be a good night. In truth, he hasn’t felt very motivated like few weeks ago, and to be quite honest a guy like Yoshida might well be out of his league.

The music becomes muffled as he crosses the door to the nearest male toilets. The door swings open until it shuts completely, and Denji finds himself alone.

In the distance, he sees his reflection in the mirrors by the sinks, and he has to admit he’s looked worse. His shirt has a couple damp stains on his chest, but remains neatly ironed and snowy white. His face, though—it looks as if he’d drunk more than he actually has. His cheeks are rosy and his hair is slightly frizzy and tousled. The usual appearance of a party night, except for the fact that nothing’s happened.

He tiredly tucks some wild hairs down —as if that would change a thing— and heads towards the urinals. When he’s just pulled his dick out to pee, the door opens, the blasting music and crowd chants flow in for some seconds, and then it becomes quiet again.

Steady steps get closer to Denji, and a tall figure looms over his left side. He’s almost emptied his bladder when he wearily looks sideways, and realizes it’s Yoshida staring at him.

His heart almost skips a beat.

This freak. Why’s he standing like that?

“What, you gonna hold my dick while I piss?” he snaps. The nerve of him to show up after Denji nearly gave up on him.

“Why, you want me to?”

Denji turns his head abruptly to meet his face—Yoshida is holding in a snicker.

“It’s funny, because you’re glaring at me half the time but you won’t tell me to fuck off.”

Right. One must accept that Denji is simply as such—full of contradictions. Perhaps he expects something to happen. No, deep down, he really wants to. Yet, he fears any of the possible outcomes. He lashes out, he vents, he can’t confront his inner desires.

Would that be . . .

In hindsight, has Yoshida done anything to put him off? No matter where he looks, he can’t deny it—he’s attractive, easygoing, funny even, with a body Denji wouldn’t ever dream of... not to mention an uncanny resemblance to a gorgeous girl he made out with who bit his tongue hard enough to bleed.

Because that’s what Denji always falls into—bliss and then regret, masquerading loneliness. Joy, pleasure, utter delirium. . . only to be discarded after the fever ends.

But Yoshida . . . He seems to know exactly the right buttons to press to make Denji want him to stay.

Denji falls silent, and Yoshida takes the urinal by his side. Their arms bump as he faces the ceramic, and Denji jerks his body as if he’d dodged a lightning.

Yoshida chortles, clearly amused. “Easy. I’ve got a bladder too. Been holding in three drinks.”

Denji hears him unbuckle his belt and the hairs of his nape bristle at the sound. Like Pavlov’s dog, Denji ended up associating a mundane sound with the anticipation of receiving something that’ll sate him—something that makes his tongue salivate and his blood pump faster.

But he’s not a dog, and his brain sends him a fair warning.

Don’t look. Don’t look.

It’s tempting. Probably the biggest temptation Denji’s ever felt.

Only a peek, sideways, like he’s finishing up his task and naturally looks around.

The metallic sound of Yoshida’s belt is followed up by a zip going down.

Denji feels on edge. This lustful curiosity of his is going to be his downfall one day.

Don’t look.

He swears he’s about to get a headache.

Don’tlookdon’tlookdon’tlookdon’tlookdon’tlookdon’tlookdon’tlookdon’tlook—

He looks.

. . . Well, he might have lied before. It’s true he came to the club in hopes that he’d meet someone who could develop into something more than a one-night stand, but right now he’d settle just for crumbs from this guy. His mind, though, can’t help but imagine beyond.

A ravenous kiss, his lips still wet and coated with hard liquor that brush and slip as their teeth clash; his hands, touching his body, his skin, and anywhere he wished; and that cock, rubbing his ass with the pulsing sensation when it pokes and hits just right. Denji feels like offering his whole body just to do as he pleased.

Yet he swore he wouldn’t do this again. He can’t fall into his needs so recklessly, not before knowing them better. It’s happened before, and it may happen again. And then, what would be left of him if he makes the same mistake? With someone like Yoshida?

So he shakes his randy and hopeless thoughts away and zips it up before his dick can give away the shameful state he’s in. He leaps toward the nearest faucet to wash his hands, praying he’ll be fast enough and head back to merge into the crowd where his emerging arousal can die down just as quick.

But Yoshida doesn’t let him.

As the freezing water splashes on his hands, he hears the urinal flush and Yoshida walking his way. Denji feels a shiver on his neck, and it’s then when Yoshida hovers over his back and leans forward, pressing his body against Denji’s. Suddenly, there’s another pair of hands under the faucet, which clasp onto Denji’s, running the soap between their fingers.

Denji can’t believe he’s doing this. Yoshida is embracing him from behind while massaging his hands in a public toilet of a dingy club.

Taking a better look, Yoshida’s hands aren’t that much bigger than his, but they’re longer and his fingers are firm and bony. They invite to sweet imagination towards places that would make Denji whine and whimper.

He leaves him frozen in place, hopelessly giving into the touch. Yoshida’s body warmth is rapidly spreading over his back, even sending tingles below.

Then Yoshida presses their bodies closer, the hold of his arms fondly shaping Denji’s sides, and his face comes forward until it grazes Denji’s over his shoulder. “Can’t we stay here a little longer before heading back?”

Yoshida’s scent is heady, soaks his mind as if he’d drunk the finest wine—the subtle way it lingers when the fragrance has melted away but a savory hint of it makes you crave for more. His arms, as he grabs him from behind, fit Denji’s body like a glove, as though he’s always been meant to do so.

Denji’s bubble bursts when there’s a loud thud on the door and it swings open again. A muffled conversation between two men enters the area.

“. . . not sure whether she’ll like it.”

Denji darts a panicked glance at the mirror and sees two older men, roughly in their forties, stand by the urinals. It seems they haven’t taken notice of them, but still, Denji gets a sudden sense of shame and tries to shake Yoshida off.

Yoshida steps back, unlacing his arms, and stands next to him in silence. Denji turns off the tap and yanks some paper off the roll on the wall to dry himself. He tosses Yoshida some without looking at him.

The two guys keep their conversation going but Denji’s so worked up he’s stopped listening. When they’re done, one of them stares back with curiosity, but quickly resumes their talk and walk away.

As soon as they’re alone again, Yoshida tugs Denji by the wrist, and urgently drags him toward the furthest enclosed stall at the end of the aisle.

Denji’s chest heaves when Yoshida shoves him inside the stall and locks it behind them.

Being trapped in only 20 square feet feels suffocating enough, but being there with Yoshida totally inebriates the atmosphere.

Denji can feel his heart beating loudly and resonating in his ears as Yoshida looks his way and draws in so close that Denji’s back hits the wall.

“You’re such a puppy, Denji,” he breathes out, voice alarmingly deep and sultry. “Have you seen the look on your face?”

Their chests are brushing each other’s, and so do their legs. Denji’s body temperature travels in fiery bolts everywhere. Yoshida doesn’t seem to restrain himself anymore, and Denji’s all caught up in his overwhelming proximity.

“You’re practically panting,” he adds softly, bringing one of his hands to Denji’s face to rub his lower lip with his thumb. “Makes me want to eat you.”

Denji observes speechless how Yoshida’s eyes are hooked on his mouth. He lets him drag his thumb along gingerly and press it down so as to leave his mouth lightly exposed.

“Will this dog bite me if I tread in?”

Denji fears he’s drooling already. He can feel his saliva building up under his tongue, putting actual dogs to shame. The anticipation is killing him and Yoshida is basking in his ludicrous wanton state.

“I think he only barks at petty thieves,” he retorts.

Yoshida hums, highly amused by Denji’s joke. “So it’s all bark and no bite then?” he grants him a sly smirk. His finger playfully traces his lower canines. “Do you think this mutt might like kissing strangers in a cubicle?”

Denji has to swallow before uttering a genuine response to that.

“Try it if you’re so curious,” and thus he caves.

Yoshida must have noticed, because his smirk widens proudly, the widest Denji’s seen that night. It sends tingles all over his body.

All in all, Denji likes a challenge. He rejoices in being wanted. He’s ignorant of the reasons so as to why pretty people are drawn to him in the wildest occasions, but in the end, he’s just a heedless man with a high sex drive who’s never done any harm to anyone.

He can wish for some pleasure, right? That’s all he may get to have in return.

Achingly slow and mesmerized, Yoshida’s finger slides down the crease of his lips. It’s moist and leaves a tickly thread along Denji’s jaw.

Denji stares back into his eyes, glistening between black strands. It’s crystal clear how Yoshida seems to relish the moment of having him in his hold—expectant and disposed. Maybe Denji should feel more in control, but in actuality, such vulnerability only fuels his inner, deepest lust.

Yoshida’s breath lands onto his face as he whispers, just a couple inches apart, “I won’t mind if he does.”

Before Denji can even think of another reply, Yoshida cups his face and leans in for their long-awaited, famished kiss.

Denji welcomes him like a starved man next to an oasis in a dry land. Yoshida’s mouth is cold at first, the remnants of alcohol stick to his lips, sliding in, juicy and pungent. Denji kisses him back with hunger, abandoning all self-restraint. He doesn’t hold back his eagerness and slips his tongue in, brushing Yoshida’s as an arousing thrill runs down his neck.

Yoshida immediately notices his urgency and craving, and lets out a shaky laugh between their kiss. A hushed moan escapes Denji’s mouth and Yoshida slides his palm under Denji’s collar behind his neck, tugging him even closer.

Denji wraps his arms around his back and presses their bodies shamelessly, clinging to absorb and indulge with Yoshida’s heat. His fingers dig into Yoshida’s back like claws, but he doesn’t seem to mind. He’s too focused on savoring Denji’s mouth just like he foretold, and Denji is for once glad he wasn’t wrong. His tongue strokes his own, hungrier than Denji’s, who’s just struggling to keep up his pace in his unveiled, debauched state.

Yoshida breaks their kiss but keeps leaving hungry kisses down his jaw and neck. There’s a rustle of his shirt—Yoshida is tracing his chest with his hand, following the shape of his muscles and bones, caressing his clothed skin until he’s grown tired of it and slips underneath above his waist.

Denji flutters at the bare contact of Yoshida’s palm on his blazing skin while he’s also sucking and licking his neck.

“Your tongue,” he manages to breathe out amongst his agitation, “is so—”

“You like it?” Yoshida mutters, voice slurred against the adrenalin coursing through his veins.

“Y-yeah,” he moans when he feels Yoshida’s tongue again sucking hard enough to leave a mark, “Shit,”

“Sensitive here?”

Everywhere, most accurately. Denji’s eyelids are battling to stay open, yet he can't but sink into the pleasure.

“Y-yes, on my neck,” it’s a moan what follows his voice now, and he doesn’t pretend to hide it anymore, “please,”

Yoshida caresses the curve of his waist and Denji falls a little, but that just leaves an unhinged angle for Yoshida to latch his hot breath onto his skin, making Denji’s hair bristle, only to be soaked with the agonizing brush of his tongue from the base of his neck until his quivering jaw.

Denji grips Yoshida’s collar tightly as his legs feel like jelly. His body might as well crumble right there.

“Your skin’s so warm I don’t want to pull away,” Yoshida coos against the crook of his neck, which stirs Denji’s libido even more uncontrollably. “My lips are glued to it.”

“Then don’t,” he gasps against the back of Yoshida’s head. “Keep kissing me.”

God, he’s falling deep. Looking and sounding like a total beggar. Why is he like this? Why is he giving in so easily? What sort of pleasure-inducing dew does Yoshida ooze that tethers him to his body so tightly?

Yoshida follows his plea and trails down his neck as he unbuttons his shirt. He leaves kisses that are long and linger before he’s found another spot. He hunches down till he wraps his lips around a nipple and starts licking and sucking. Denji throws his head back in utter bliss, mouth agape reaching for air, panting loudly.

Fuck I’m so horny I might implode.

“Yoshida,” he pants, and before he can grab hold of his turmoil of thoughts, he breathes, “let me blow you.”

The sight of Yoshida’s cock earlier flashes in his mind and travels directly to his own. He’s blatantly hard in his pants, way too pent-up to ignore, but his mouth feels like frothing by the premise of seeing Yoshida’s again and be able to taste it.

Yoshida stops cherishing his nipples and leans back. His face’s turned flushed, there’s spit dangling off his lip, and some of his bangs stick slightly damp onto his forehead.

Denji is the one who really wants to eat him whole.

Without uttering a word, Yoshida takes a step backwards and reaches for his belt. This time, Denji takes the lead and grabs the front, helping him unbuckle. His eyes dance mesmerized at Yoshida’s long, dexterous fingers fidgeting around the bulge before him.

Denji can’t wait any longer.

He drops to his knees and unfolds the front of his jeans enough to slip his hand underneath Yoshida’s briefs. Yoshida pulls his black tee up and Denji makes out the shape of his toned abs.

As if he needed anything else to gawk at.

He draws his attention to his crotch and finally grips Yoshida’s hard cock out of his pants. It’s red and swollen and way bigger than he’d seen earlier. It isn’t very long but its thickness makes Denji’s mind go foggy. Wrapped around his hand, it’s achingly awaiting his dance.

Denji shortens the distance between his mouth and its head under Yoshida’s watchful eyes. He parts his lips, and with his arousal kicking off in his own pants, he wraps them around the glans and starts sucking.

Yoshida immediately jerks his knee and leans forward a bit. Denji hears a thud on the wall—probably Yoshida’s hand bracing for support.

His mouth bloats with Yoshida's cock even when he’s taking less than half. He doubts he’ll be able to take it whole without breaking his jaw, but for the present moment, he dives into the warm sensation that travels all around. He slips his tongue underneath, cupping as much length as he can, and bobs his head up and down. Yoshida’s breathing hitches, while his free hand attempts to caress Denji’s hair amidst the pleasure.

Denji grabs Yoshida’s hand and makes it grip locks of hair on top of his head. He entwines their fingers for a moment and nods with excitement.

Yoshida lets out a gasp of satisfaction.

“. . . Really love this view, Denji.”

Denji drops his hand and places it on Yoshida’s ass, pressing his body closer. With his other hand on the base of his cock, he’s just taking as much as Yoshida as he wants.

His jaw begins to hurt a little, so he stops shaking his head up and down and focuses on the head, sucking and licking the slit with his playful, indefatigable tongue.

Yoshida moans quietly, his hoarse voice and pleasure welling up in his throat.

“Denji,” he pants, and pulls Denji by the hair so their gazes meet. “It’d be better if you could. . . touch yourself?”

Denji’s mouth is stuffed with Yoshida’s swollen cock, and thinking of touching his own right now might be enough of a threat to combust.

“Would you do that for me? So I can see you. . .”

Oh lord, how can he say no to such request.

“You’re doing so good.”

Denji brings his left hand to his pants and unbuttons after some struggling. He pulls out his hardened dick, a humbler of a show compared to Yoshida’s, but just as demanding. He wraps his palm around it and begins to stroke in a slow motion.

“Yeah. . .Just like that.”

His sharp tone penetrates his ears and sends shivers down his spine. God, he wishes Yoshida could split in two and would fuck him at the same time. The thought of it makes his cock throb like it’s never done before.

Denji’s already spurted some precum that trickles down the hollow of his thumb and wets his cock. He’s really that done for?

Yoshida releases the grip on his hair and strokes his cheek and jaw.

His eyes now blare devotion and impatience.

“Can I come. . .? In your mouth?”

Denji moans in response. Fuck, he really wants to. He’s never felt so dirty in such a liberating way, yet as alluring as the request might sound, he can’t let Yoshida come so soon. He still needs him deep.

He crawls back on his knees and retreats, much against his will. “Save it.”

For next time, he almost says, and the thought of it just creeps up his throat and then tugs in despair.

Denji stands up, knees still wobbly, and Yoshida pins him against the wall. Denji grimaces as his head hits the wood, but swiftly forgets as Yoshida cups his face and rubs his thumb over his wet and luscious lip.

He opens his mouth like the dog he is expecting a treat, and Yoshida shoves the finger inside. His face is enthralled by such sight, and Denji gladly welcomes it by licking with his tongue.

Yoshida bumps his body closer until their cocks brush each other. They’re hard and poke each other’s stomachs with urgency to be taken care of. Denji shuts his eyes and basks in the touch of their bare skin. Yoshida speeds up, pulls Denji’s pants past his thighs until his cock finds a way between them. The length of his cock is stroking Denji’s balls, and poking so deep trying to reach his hole.

Denji is about to faint.

“Yeah,” it slips out of his mouth, coiling and indomitable pleasure building up and suffocating their stall. “Yeah,” he echoes again, although Yoshida hasn’t said a thing. His cock grinds heavy and hot against his cleft, and that’s all it takes. “You should fuck me.”

Yoshida bends and buries his face in the crook of his neck, breath loud and agitated.

“If I’d known you’d be like this,” he huffs with intensity, “I would’ve approached you right away.”

Yoshida’s words shower him in slurred whispers that only fuel his insane arousal to its limits. Denji doesn’t know how he does it, but his voice carves into his whole body, ignites in and out, and swims down directly to his weeping cock.

“Instead of watching you for nearly an hour,”

Yoshida keeps grinding his cock between his thighs, but a finger starts to circle around his asshole tentatively.

Denji jerks and grabs onto Yoshida’s arm, face sweating and throat burning.

“We’re better like this, aren’t we, Denji?”

Yoshida’s finger pokes in and Denji shuts his eyes. Oh fuck, he just wants to take his whole cock raw. His hole is clenching and unclenching with shameless anticipation it’s so fucking embarrassing.

He feels Yoshida’s coated finger with his own spit push deeper and he yelps. Yoshida stops, and with his other hand strokes his aching cock.

Denji’s mind blurs and he can’t tell apart the pain from the bliss. It’s another finger which slips in at the same time Yoshida’s thumb rubs his leaking slit.

Just how much pleasure and attention can rain on him tonight?

He finds himself grinding against Yoshida’s fingers in his ass, urging for more. It’s a frantic rhythm that needs to be addressed before he goes crazy.

“Shove it in,” he moans without recognizing his voice anymore.

He is totally fucking desperate and he’s throwing any remaining ounce of shame away.

“And the condom?” Yoshida asks in a daze.

“Later—” Denji pants, and begs, “Put it in. . . Just--for a minute, please,”

Yoshida kisses his skin lovingly, nuzzling into his face.

“I don’t wanna hurt you, Denji.”

“It’s fine--” he hushes, delirious, “I know what I can take. . . I—I want it,”

Yoshida grunts almost inaudibly and lifts up Denji’s left leg to rest over his arm. Leaving a generous opening, he grabs his cock and rubs the tip into Denji’s hole.

Denji whimpers and wraps his arms around his neck. He clings to his heat as he pushes in past the tip, and Denji whines, spit drooling over his black top.

“Fuck—”

It’s what he wants, what he seeks, what he desperately craves, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt like a bitch. Yoshida pushes in slow, turning into a careful thrust, in and out, accommodating.

Denji catches Yoshida’s piercing gaze for a few seconds as he thrusts in knowingly, carefully and devotedly. Denji feels his cheeks burn and he has to hide his face upon his shoulder again.

“I was right about your smile,” Denji hears him utter gleefully above his nape. “Wish you could see yourself. The faces you make.”

Denji starts to feel far away from here. The warmth Yoshida gives him is comforting, longing—he yearns to wrap all of himself with it, and melt beneath. His head brims with aphrodisiac, while his hollow chest is gaping, flourishing upon underlying fears.

“And you’re making them for me.”

Yoshida’s voice is a balm that soothes his skin, his heart, and his mind. It’s dangerously addictive, something that Denji hasn’t felt ever before.

He could grow fond of it.

“Take it—as a compliment,” he whispers, muffled in latent moans.

Yoshida is short of breath, but he laughs anyways.

“Can’t believe I’m fucking your ass-- after filling up your mouth,” he lifts Denji’s face and puts a thumb inside his mouth again, and rubs his obscenity of a tongue. “You’re delectable, Denji.”

Without removing his finger, he tilts his head and kisses him. Yoshida’s tongue find Denji’s and they twirl and lick each other’s amongst frantic gasps. He’s pushing Denji against the wall but it’s narrow. He grunts and decides to lift both of his legs and hold him in his arms, supporting his weight against the wall.

Denji wails as his cock hits him deep in this new position. He really is getting fucked against a wall with his embarrassing legs up in the air. Not that he’ll complain.

Yoshida thrusts more forcefully this time, and Denji’s orgasm is starting to whirl down beneath. It won’t take him much more to come, not with Yoshida sliding in and out so passionately.

All of a sudden, there’s the sound of doors blasting open and Denji immediately lets out a nervous gasp. Yoshida’s eyes also show alarm, but acts more quickly and puts one of Denji’s legs down. Denji tiptoes clumsily, but feels Yoshida’s cock slip out half-way and moans at the sensation rubbing his insides.

Yoshida glares at him and covers his mouth with his free hand.

“Shh,” he alerts.

But Yoshida has stopped thrusting and Denji feels like dying. He doesn’t care there might be people in the bathroom listening. He’s near the edge, tiptoeing near a cliff. There are more important things at stake.

Denji can barely breathe so he shuts his eyes and tries to suck in the steamy breeze that sneaks in around Yoshida’s palm.

They hear a distant toilet flush and the door creaking again. Denji sighs.

Yoshida slides down his hand and gently cups his cheek.

“You good?”

Denji nods with drowsy, half-lidded eyes.

“Fuck,” he curses with a drained grin on his face. “You really are driving me crazy.”

Yoshida plants a chaste kiss on his jaw before pulling out completely. Denji is on both his feet again, confused and aching. He observes how Yoshida reaches for a wallet in his pocket and pulls out a condom.

“A lubed one is all I have,” he holds it up for him to see, red wrapper glistening under the dim light in the stall.

“. . .’s good,” Denji mumbles, restless.

Yoshida darts him a concerned look and pulls him into a hug. Yoshida’s arms are weirdly affectionate, caring, and then there are thorns, or butterflies, that prickle and flutter deep in Denji’s guts.

“Can you turn around for me?”

Denji obeys and faces the wall, ass on display, and arches his back to offer himself to Yoshida. He squeezes his eyes shut, awaiting to feel full one more time.

He hears the plastic ripping off and he presses his forehead against the wall. It’s slippery due to the sweat on his face. Then, he feels Yoshida’s hand holding his waist firmly, while with his other one presumably guides his cock in.

“Less than a minute. . . and already missed this.”

He’s not gentle this time. He thrusts himself in fully, and Denji bites off a moan. In and out, finding a steady rhythm, Yoshida fucks him from behind and Denji only feels bliss. He lifts his arms against the wall, cold and scribbled with marker pen of all colours and names, trying to find something for support. His palms are sweaty as well and drag uncomfortably along the wood. He can’t grasp anything while Yoshida pounds him, so he turns his hands into fists and tries to sink into the pleasure.

Yoshida speeds up his cadence and straightens up his body, and Denji’s stomach hits flat against the wall. The cubicle seems to shake, and he really hopes nobody else comes in, because now he won’t allow him to stop.

“Ah, ah—fuck—”

It burns so good inside him, with Yoshida’s body tightly pressed against him, his pelvis rocking against his ass cheeks while his cock fills him completely.

He’s ramming him hard and desperately, just as Denji needs.

“Yoshida— I’m—”

“’You coming, Denji?” he whispers against his ear, and grants him a lick on the lobe.

Denji moans again, his mouth bumping against the wall at every thrust, and his spit coming out in ecstasy. Yoshida sneaks a hand between his thighs and grabs his leaking cock.

“No—Yoshida—” he pants, reaching his limit.

Every pore in his body has reached levels of sensitivity he’s never felt, and when Yoshida combines stroking his cock with faster thrusts, that’s all it takes for Denji to succumb.

He comes in shaky spasms, frantic spurts hitting the wall and trickling down, with Yoshida’s hand working up and down, making Denji convulse as the wave of his orgasm drowns all of him underneath.

Yoshida clasps his hands on top of Denji’s and presses them on the wall. Denji thanks in silence, because otherwise he’d fall right into his knees. He ducks his face and sees some cum on the filthy floor tiles and on his shoes.

He shuts his eyes as he tries to catch his breath.

“I’m. . . sorry—I came so--”

Yoshida nests his face on his neck and shushes. “It’s okay,” his voice sounds rasping but warm. “Just wish I’d seen your face as you came.”

He caresses his neck and slowly backs away, leaving Denji some –tiny—room to turn around. When he does, his eyes fall into Yoshida’s still hard cock.

“You’re not—”

“No,” he says, widening his lips at the obvious. He darts a quick glance at their side, and then again at Denji. Denji mirrors him hazily, and then Yoshida is pulling him into his arms again and makes him sit over the toilet tank.

“I guess I should’ve done this from the start. . .” he whispers with delight, and Denji loses himself in avid eyes. “Think you can give me one more smile?”

Denji nods, and Yoshida enters him again after lifting his legs over his shoulders.

“Ah—fuck--”

He’s still swollen and sensitive, but feeling Yoshida’s length inside again fills him with bliss. He now sees his face, a merely few inches apart, basking in the pleasure, the pleasure that he is giving him; faces that bump closer at every thrust until their noses brush. Their breaths and moans overflow their small space, and Denji hopes this sweltering sensation in his chest never ends.

Yoshida clings to him harder, and Denji knows he’s reached his climax. His nails claw his thighs and he lets out deep, staccato moans as his hot breath lands onto Denji’s neck. His cock throbs inside him as he empties himself and Denji witnesses the bare truth of Yoshida—unveiled, honest, and real.

Unfortunately, when the euphoria wears off it comes the void. It’s the worst part, the one that Denji always runs away from. This time is even more humiliating – secluded in a stall, with his pants rolled past his knees and his legs shaking like leaves.

Yoshida pulls out slowly and carefully, and leaves Denji space to move. Denji is achingly swollen—he’s never been fucked like this before, and though it may hurt, he still relishes the bliss of the aftermath.

Yoshida takes off the condom and tosses it in the toilet bowl. Denji observes him in silence, how he pulls up his pants and grooms himself the best way he can. Denji mirrors him, dreading the moment this passes, the moment he may speak.

He’s terrified of the farewell.

He really wants to see Yoshida again. He wants to see him outside this rotten hole, in bright light, under the striking sun. He wants to talk to him with no cups in their hands, perhaps just with a bottle of wine.

He longs for knowing more about him, but he knows he’s done his part. Denji’s only been a hole to fill, and he knows by heart when to give up.

Yoshida takes a step closer to the door.

This is it. This is where it ends up with the lame praise, the “good fuck”, the “that was fun”, the “thanks for the time”.

“Denji.”

Yoshida gazes at him and Denji’s knees threaten to buckle and fold despite everything. He could beg on the floor. Would there be something to lose? To regret?

Instead, Yoshida leans toward him and kisses him tenderly. Just a couple of seconds—not short enough to miss, but long enough to remember dearly.

“I don’t want us to end here.”

He reaches for the door and unlocks it, swinging it open. The music from outside the restroom flows in timidly through the walls, but to Denji’s ears it doesn’t sound as raucous as it did before.

Yoshida looks back at him and holds out his hand.

“Would you come home with me?”

Denji’s heart lights up, and for once, he chooses to trust.

He holds Yoshida’s hand tightly and runs.

* * *

Endlessly rain on me

Soak it completely

Stay with me, give me that heat

Can you see my feelings?

* * *