Chapter Text
1. Kiss
“You should kiss me,” Ramuda tells him.
Jakurai glances up, momentarily distracted from his workpapers. Ramuda lies along the back of the couch, balanced precariously on the narrow top of the cushioning. One of his legs dangles over the edge, kicking idly. He's not even looking at Jakurai, still engrossed with the phone he holds over his face.
“Kiss you? What for?”
“You haven't paid any attention to me for ages. I'm getting bored, y'know, watching you study.”
“Then perhaps we should talk for a few minutes,” Jakurai offers and Ramuda finally twists around to look at him. He looks unimpressed.
“Eh? Talking? But I said I want a kiss—”
Jakurai leans close, close enough that he can brush his lips to Ramuda's cheek in a quick peck, and the complaint comes to an abrupt halt. When Jakurai sits back feeling faintly amused, Ramuda's mouth is parted into a slight moue of surprise.
“You didn't actually specify,” Jakurai points out, and Ramuda's expression morphs into indignation.
“Don't play dumb,” he whines. “It's really not cute, come on—”
Ramuda slides down the couch. Workpapers crumple and fold beneath the weight of his body as he shifts to straddle Jakurai's legs, knees on either side. When he finally settles himself down, he's pressed warm and flush against Jakurai. This time his gaze is bright and attentive, entirely focused, and Jakurai feels a fleeting thrill of pleasure run through him in response.
“You should kiss me,” Ramuda says again. He lowers his voice and he licks his lips. “Or do I have to teach you how to kiss me properly?”
2. Pining
If Jakurai looks hard enough, searching for the signs, he finds remnants of Ramuda scattered through his apartment.
Candy wrappers trapped between the couch and the wall. A lonely socklet that Jakurai finds under his bed. The hair products, tinted with pink dye, still sitting on his bathroom countertop.
When Jakurai picks up a small, white shirt from the corner of his bedroom, he stands there, unsure what to do with it. If Ramuda were still talking to him, he might have washed it and returned it. Seen Ramuda's face light up, hands reaching for the shirt and then for Jakurai, “Aha, thank you! I was wondering where that went—”
But his apartment is silent and empty now; the only echoes of Ramuda are the ones inside of his head. The soft fabric of the shirt warms in his hands, still smelling faintly like Ramuda, and for a moment Jakurai lets himself imagine. What they once had or might’ve been—what they no longer had between them, as much as he might wish—
Well, he thinks, letting his gaze unfocus. There's little point dwelling on thoughts like that.
Just a moment's hesitation, Jakurai stands up and folds the shirt, leaving it at the end of his bed before leaving the room with barely a second glance.
3. Snake
“Eh? You have a snake?”
Ramuda peers into the tank, searching around the rockery. Half-hidden behind the tangled vines, the lopsided branch that sits across the length of the tank, he sees it. Dark scales, sleek coils of muscle wrapped tight over one another.
Wuah. It's huge.
“Yes. It's a fairly low maintenance pet,” Jakurai is saying. He's on the far side of the room, still shrugging off his coat.
“Huh,” Ramuda echoes, too busy staring to pay much attention. Isn't a snake too cool for someone like Jakurai? He didn't know you could even get snakes in Tokyo. “Hey, hey, can I touch it?”
He's already sliding the tank door open and reaching in as Jakurai begins, sharply,
“Wait, Ramuda-kun—”
Quick as a flash, something smacks into him with enough force to throw him back and Ramuda yelps, stumbling over his own feet before his legs hit the back of Jakurai's couch. He stares wide-eyed at the snake. It's already slithering back into the tank, hiding away again and for a moment he stands there, too stunned to move.
Then the pain registers in his hand, a sharp stinging pain and an ache that surges up his arm. Warmth trickles down his fingers, and when Ramuda lifts his hand, the blood winds down his wrist instead.
“Ow,” he says, belatedly. “Ow ow ow, your pet bit me!”
Even as he speaks, Jakurai strides over in quick steps, pausing by the kitchen. He closes the tank door first, before turning to Ramuda with a frown. “You frightened it,” he tells him, but the concern is obvious behind the stern tone. “Show me your hand. We'll need to clean this. You're lucky I keep my medical supplies well stocked, even at home.”
When Jakurai takes hold of his hand, Ramuda shivers at the coolness of his touch. But Jakurai is gentle, careful to avoid the blood as he presses the paper towels he'd taken from the kitchen to the wound.
“Are you alright?” Jakurai asks him, as he urges Ramuda towards the bathroom, but Ramuda digs his feet in.
“No, I just got bitten! Am I going to die? Why aren't you more worried?”
“It's only a small bite.” Jakurai frowns. “And it's a non venomous species. I thought you knew that, given the way you put your hand inside without a second thought. The worst you're at risk for is an infection, but I'd ask you to refrain from being so reckless next time.”
Jakurai's other hand lands on the small of Ramuda's back, pushing him a little harder, and this time Ramuda lets himself be moved in the direction of the bathroom. The paper towels are kept to his hand with light pressure—Jakurai lifts them away to look at the wound, before placing them back down more firmly. Really, being fussed over would be nice if Ramuda wasn't busy bleeding out.
What a nasty snake.
“Why do you have such dangerous animals,” he whines as they walk. “A doctor like you, keeping pets like this! Isn't that weird?”
“I like snakes,” Jakurai replies, as he opens the bathroom door. “They're quiet and keep to themselves. An ideal pet, given my work hours. That aside, snakes are symbolic of the medical profession. Of all pets, they might be the most fitting for a doctor.”
“A doctor's pet,” Ramuda echoes.
He casts a glance back to the tank, where the tangled vines rustle, only slightly. A faint gleam of dark scales catches his eye, and Ramuda hides his shudder.
4. Choking
Nobody's ever called Ramuda a quiet lover.
He’s not loud, not exactly, but when his chosen bedmate of the night hits the right spots or clenches tight around him, he doesn’t see any reason to hold back the noises of pleasure that bubble up his throat. That’d be just selfish! And nobody's ever called Ramuda a selfish lover either.
Jakurai on the other hand, Ramuda decides, feeling rather mutinous, could earn both of those titles single-handedly.
“Ow,” Ramuda grunts, when Jakurai presses another finger inside of him. Three now and it’s a still tight fit, but he’s rapidly running out of patience. “Ow, what are you doing, I don’t need another—ouch.”
A low groan erupts from him when Jakurai spreads his fingers none too gently. It tugs at his rim, sends an ache through his body that makes him curl his toes as he tries to breathe through the stretch. He’s fucked Jakurai enough times that he knows this is less about preparation and more about reproach. How many times does he have to tell Jakurai that the faster they get to fucking, the better? But no, Jakurai insists on stretching him properly. Endlessly, pointlessly—like he doesn’t think Ramuda knows exactly how much he can and wants to take. The thought irritates him to no end; only Jakurai would try to tell him off, mid-fuck. All without saying a word, either, like the repressed, holier than thou doctor he is.
“Just hurry up,” Ramuda demands, changing tact. He struggles up onto his elbows, digging into the bedsheets until he can glare straight at Jakurai where he’s sitting between his legs. “Fuck me already, I’m going to die of boredom at this rate!”
“Amemura-kun.” The tone is warning.
“Actually, maybe you’ll die first from how long you’re taking! Don’t flatter yourself, your dick isn’t so big that you need to stretch me this much—”
A hand clamps over his mouth, cutting him off and shoving him flat against the bed again so he lands with a thump. Dark fury flashes through Ramuda and he’s opening his mouth without a second thought, ready to bite into the soft flesh of Jakurai’s palm, but then two fingers slip in between his teeth instead.
For a moment, Ramuda freezes, too caught off guard to react. His lips close around Jakurai’s fingers but he doesn’t bite down, not yet, and they slide over his tongue, pushing deep. It’s not until they touch the back of his throat that Ramuda responds, teeth clamping down as a growl starts in his chest. The glare he sends Jakurai is acidic and venomous, just on the verge of outrage, but Jakurai’s gaze is cold and unmoved.
“I told you to be quiet, Amemura-kun,” is all the warning he gets, before Jakurai presses down.
Ramuda struggles almost immediately, twisting in the sheets as his hands fly up to grab at Jakurai’s wrist. But Jakurai only forces his fingers in further, scratching the back of Ramuda’s throat until he nearly retches, convulsing and curling over. He gags with a horrible, wet noise, and it forces him to swallow as reflexive tears come to his eyes, even as he closes them and tries to convince his throat to relax. It’s not easy, not with the way Jakurai seems to take that as permission to hold his fingers in place. Each shift, each tiny motion feels invasive and huge, and nearly sets Ramuda’s gag reflex off again.
Distantly, he knows he’s making faint whimpering noises between the choking—he’d find it in himself to be embarrassed if he could think beyond fighting back the urge to throw up. Pinned between Jakurai’s hands like this, fingers deep inside his throat and inside his ass, he feels trapped, body thrumming with tension.
He yanks again at Jakurai’s wrist again, his own fingernails biting down hard enough to leave angry red scratches, and this time Jakurai lets his fingers slide out of Ramuda’s mouth. They leave a trail of gag-spit down his chin, but Ramuda doesn’t care—he’s already turning to the side, coughing and heaving.
It takes him half a minute to regain his breath and his bearings.
“Fuck you,” he eventually says to the sheets. Somehow, he manages to keep his tone light despite the sudden raspiness of his voice. His throat feels raw. “I hate you so much.”
“I did warn you. And as always, you didn’t listen. Perhaps next time you will.”
Jakurai’s voice is even and calm, and it only makes that black ball of fury inside Ramuda burn hotter. He turns back over, hands curling into fists even as he wipes his mouth.
“I really, really hate you,” Ramuda repeats.
5. No sex no escape
With cold concrete walls and a door with no handle, it's not so much a room as it is a prison. The experience isn't new to him; Jakurai has been in prisons before, many times. As a tending doctor overseeing prisoners of war, and as a prisoner himself, when his medical team were held hostage in the humid jungle of a conflict zone in the second year of the war.
He's never had quite been in a prison with these terms, though.
“Eh? That’s it?”
On the other side of the room, a scant two metres apart, Ramuda stares up at the corner of the ceiling. He looks incredulous. A small camera watches them, tiny red light blinking with a telltale recording. Embedded into the ceiling, there's a speaker.
“Yes, that's it,” comes the grainy voice from it.
“I mean, I don't really wanna have sex with an ugly old man like Jakurai, but—”
Ramuda turns to Jakurai then, gaze uncomfortably assessing as he glances up and down and back up to Jakurai's face again. His lips curve upward as if he's just been told a secret, something crude and lascivious. It's utterly shameless and it makes Jakurai's skin crawl.
“—eh, that's easy enough I guess. No big deal. You better keep your promise—”
Jakurai frowns. “Hold on a moment, Amemura-kun.”
“What? The sooner we get it over with, the sooner we can get out. Don't be a prude.”
The protest—that this was hardly relevant to prudishness—on Jakurai's tongue fades when he realises Ramuda is already shrugging off his jacket and tugging at the bow that loops around his neck. Jakurai swallows, throat abruptly dry. His heart rate climbs up a notch, body unmoving as Ramuda continues to undress.
“Shouldn't we,” Jakurai begins. He pulls his gaze away from Ramuda, tries to focus on the thin grey mattress against the concrete wall. It's cold inside the room, and he forces himself not to dwell on the way Ramuda's skin had started to goosepimple with exposure.
“What? What?”
“Shouldn't we be more...cautious? There's no guarantee that they'll let us out. And the whole premise is absurd, not to mention unethical and unsanitary—”
“It's just sex, geez.” Ramuda sounds exasperated, slightly mocking. “It doesn't mean I like you or anything.”
“That’s hardly the point,” Jakurai interrupts, disbelieving. “Forcing us to have intercourse before we can leave the room is coercion, it's not—”
Ramuda rolls his eyes. “Like I said, it's just sex, Jakurai. You say it like we didn't use to fuck all the time! It barely meant anything back then, and it doesn't mean anything now.”
Jakurai opens his mouth, then closes it. He's not sure why but hearing those words from Ramuda—it stings. They don't talk about what they used to do in the past, what they used to be. Not with how poorly they finished things. Still, he'd thought...
“Ah, are you nervous maybe? Does Jakurai have performance anxiety now? Look, look, I can help. I wanna get out too you know.”
It takes just three steps for Ramuda to cross the room, only wearing his pants. He's confident in his nakedness and reaches for Jakurai's hands with ease, grabbing hold of them so he can draw himself into Jakurai's space. This close, Jakurai can feel Ramuda's body heat through the fabric of his clothes, feel the slight pressure of his body as he leans in. Jakurai's breath catches in his throat, feelings twisted somewhere between confusion and longing and trepidation.
“Relax,” Ramuda says, voice low and soothing. “Okay? Don't worry. I'll take care of you.”
6. Wings
It's not until the sixth day in a row of Jakurai refusing to leave the apartment, that he hears an impatient knock on his door.
Bang bang bang.
Jakurai sighs, and rolls off the bed. Really, he knows better than to open it, but he also knows that there's little dissuading Ramuda. He cracks the door open when he gets to it, and almost immediately, Ramuda leans against the handle, fingers poking through the gap.
“Hello, Amemura-kun,” Jakurai says, unmoved.
“Jakurai! I haven't seen you in ages, geez, let me in. Why are you holding this closed? I thought you were dead! We were super worried. Hey, hey, are you hiding an oneesan or something?”
“No,” Jakurai says reluctantly. He keeps the door firmly in place for several seconds, then relents. He steps back. “Please don't say anything.”
“What's to say anything about—eh? Jakurai, what are—”
Jakurai closes the door behind him, as Ramuda falls into uncharacteristic silence, eyes round as plates and mouth agape.
“They appear to be a … pair of wings,” Jakurai says, filling in the uncomfortable silence. “I woke up on Tuesday and found them attached to my back, near my shoulder blades.”
He reaches behind his back and grasps hold of a few of the longest feathers. The twinge of sensation carries all the way up his spine, spreading through his shoulders and neck, and he winced. They were definitely attached in some physiological manner.
“Stay still, okay?”
Without waiting, Ramuda ducks beneath his arm. Then Jakurai feels small hands sinks into the downy feathers, and he shivers to Ramuda's breathed out,
“Wow, they're warm.”
Jakurai tries not to turn, as he lets Ramuda continue petting them. “Please be gentle,” he says, but it's an automatic response; Ramuda's touching is careful and exploratory.
“You look like an anime character! Ichirou should come and see.”
“Ah, I'd really rather not,” Jakurai says. “They seem to be quite sensitive.”
“Sensitive how?”
Jakurai hesitates. “I've noticed that my thoughts seem to influence their health.”
“What? How?”
“If I have less than kind thoughts,” Jakurai says slowly. “Or spiteful thoughts, or even more lustful thoughts, I...seem to start losing feathers. I haven't been able to determine if this is limited to my thoughts, or the thoughts of others too—”
“What, really?” Ramuda interrupts. His eyes are wide and bright with curiosity. “So what if I think really dirty things about you, like what look like spread open on my bed and crying out into the sheets, just like last week—”
Jakurai flushes. The mental image sears itself into his mind, even as he sees movement out of the corner of his eye: two feathers, falling to the floor. So distracted he is that he doesn't notice Ramuda's small noise of surprise.
“Wow.” Ramuda's tone shifts from disbelieving to entranced. “Really? Really, really? What's up with that, that's so weird!”
“It is strange, yes,” Jakurai says, deciding not to comment on Ramuda's chosen thought. Really, he thinks wryly, he should know better than to expect innocence from Ramuda. “Something like that shouldn't be physiologically possible, wings aside.”
“Eh? But they're huge and cool! I can't believe Jakurai hid this away for so long, how selfish.”
“Well, I was worried,” Jakurai says. He twists around to watch Ramuda stroke his wings; all of his fretting seemed less important now, falling away in the face of Ramuda's obvious delight.
Perhaps for now, he'd simply let himself enjoy the touch.
6. Wings (bonus; alternate universe — angels)
Jakurai hears Ramuda shifting, moving, before he feels the awful yank. He freezes, a split second moment when he holds his breath and tries again to break the hold of Ramuda's tail wrapped around his wrists, then it all comes whooshing out when the pain slams into him.
He stifles the groan into his arm, back arching away and teeth gritted against the throbbing ache of having his wings roughly forced back, feathers crushed and twisted in Ramuda's grip.
“Aha, you really tightened up,” comes Ramuda's delighted observation.
“Amemura—” Jakurai says under his breath, but another warning jerk to his wings makes him fall silent.
“I didn't say you could talk! I'm not really in the mood to be preached to and definitely not from you.”
With that, Ramuda grinds his cock in deeper, harder, until pleasure skitters up Jakurai's spine and chases away the ache in his back. Still, there's an edge of pain that lurks—a constant, stinging consequence of fucking a demon with a heart as black and a ledger as long as Ramuda's. Jakurai flexes his hands again, but it's as fruitless as the last time—Ramuda's tail is whipcord strong and only digs harder into his skin.
Unperturbed, Ramuda keeps thrusting, fucking into him with enough force that Jakurai slides across the sheets until Ramuda pulls him back by the hold on his wings. Jakurai barely manages to bite back his moan. Deep-seated pain is spreading through his body in thick, heated pulses, and his head spins as if Ramuda is forcing his own corruption through Jakurai's very bloodstream.
It's horribly familiar, and Jakurai's hands clench into fists.
“What if I cut them off?” Ramuda says idly, his thrusts becoming more languid. “An angel with no wings! What a disgrace, they might even kick you out of heaven. Maybe you'll come crawling back to me, like you always do.”
“You wouldn't. Lying is unbecoming, Amemura-kun,” Jakurai says, confident despite the pain in his voice, then he winces as Ramuda yanks on his wings in retaliation. “Can you please stop doing that—”
“No,” Ramuda tells him. He leans in, bed creaking under his shifted weight, and lowers his voice. “Like I promised you centuries ago, Jakurai. I'm gonna rip your wings off one day! Just wait.”
His words send a fission of nervousness through Jakurai, making him shudder as Ramuda speaks close enough to brush his lips against skin, and whispers:
“Just wait.”
7. Transformation
There not a lot of difference between Jakurai when he's in his human form and when he's in his snake form. Both are stupidly long, for one. Both are stupidly big too, quiet and gloomy and boring.
Though, on second thoughts, Ramuda considers as he's staring at the giant python cruising along the floor of his apartment, maybe that's where the similarities stop.
“Hey,” he says, unable to hide the annoyance in his voice. “You changed again?”
He puts his hands on his hips. He's talking to himself really. It's not like Jakurai can hear when he's in this form. Meanwhile, the python rises and noses at the samples Ramuda left on his cutting table, fabric sliding across the surface. It seems distracted.
With a sigh, Ramuda skips over. The python turns towards him at the motion and he falters for a split second. He can't help it; Jakurai is still so ridiculously huge like this. Does Jakurai even think about what kind of trouble Ramuda will get into for harbouring a snake this big in the middle of Tokyo? So much trouble. Eurgh, Jakurai's as inconsiderate as always.
“Come here,” Ramuda tells it, as he steels himself and slides his hands under the snake's lower neck. Or upper body? It's hard to tell, and the snake keeps unhelpfully shifting out of reach. “I said come here, stop slithering away when I'm trying to help!”
He lifts the snake away, pulling it towards himself and struggling with how heavy it is. It takes a good five minutes for him to push-pull it towards the corner of the room where it seems happy to curl up, wedged between the wall and the couch.
Ramuda ends up sitting next to it, one of it's huge coils brushing against his leg. The width of it is larger than one of his thighs.
“I can't believe I came home to this,” Ramuda mutters. He glances at the snake, which only stares at him, tongue flickering in polite curiosity. “Why do you transform at the worst times, huh?”
To be fair, it's not like Jakurai can control when he transforms. It sorta just happens, sometimes. But to be even more fair, Ramuda only wanted to come home, complain about his horrible day of bad clients to Jakurai, and sleep off his grumpiness. Now he's gotta play pet-sitter. Unbelievable.
But even as that thought passes through his mind, he can hear human-Jakurai chiding him: “If it's such a bother to you, you needn't stay with me, Ramuda-kun. I wouldn't want to ask you to do something if you don't care for it.”
Stupid Jakurai. Ramuda draws his knees up, resting his chin on top of them. Absently he hears the snake shifting, moving slowly, but his eyes fall shut and eventually, he dozes off. If he dreams about being caught in a snake's coils, nestled in amongst sleek black scale and muscle strong enough to crush him, he doesn't remember it.
Instead, the next thing he knows is warm skin against his cheek and a hand combing through his hair.
This time, he hears a familiar, deep voice murmuring: “Welcome home, Ramuda-kun.”
8. Fight
The door slams, echoing through his apartment, and Jakurai stiffens. Quick footsteps, nearly stomping on the wooden floor—he raises an eyebrow at that, not even the courtesy to take off their shoes, it seemed—make their way to him. He turns on the couch, just as Ramuda rounds the corner and skids to an abrupt halt.
“Did you pick the lock again?” Jakurai asks, voice mild. He changes it every time, but Ramuda's persistence is no small thing.
“Don't fuck around with me,” Ramuda snaps.
His hands are curled into fists, tension seeping into the air between them like water soaking into dry ground. A flicker of emotion passes across his face; somewhere between disgust and anger.
How interesting. There's no denying Ramuda is furious, seething in his indignation, enough to drop the overly sweet mannerisms and feigned innocence. Jakurai stands slowly, letting every inch of his height show as he straightens and squares his stance. If Ramuda is intimidated, he doesn't show it—his expression only darkens, lips curling back with distaste.
“I'm afraid I don't understand,” Jakurai replies instead, coolly. “In fact, you are trespassing, Amemura-kun. I'd ask you to leave, if you hadn't obviously broken in without so much as a nod to common courtesy—”
“Stay away from my teammates.”
Jakurai blinks. “Pardon?”
A short scoff, and Ramuda rolls his eyes. “You’re too old to play dumb, Jakurai, it's not cute. Or maybe you didn't hear me the first time! Keep your nosy nose out of my business, old man.”
A small bud of irritation flares hot inside Jakurai's chest, familiar as always, but he bites his tongue, reminding himself to be the better person. He has to be, when it comes to Ramuda—time and time again, Ramuda only proves himself incorrigible despite Jakurai's best attempts to maintain civility.
“Resorting to insults already? How cheap.”
Or not, Jakurai thinks, with only fleeting regret. Unsurprisingly, controlling his temper is... difficult when it comes to Ramuda.
“Cheap?” Ramuda scoffs. “You know what’s cheap? Cashing in on favours from an ex-teammate to spy on mine.”
It takes a moment for Jakurai to pinpoint the reference. Then he furrows his brow, incredulous. Surely Ramuda didn't mean—
“Are you upset that I...discussed your teammates with Ichirou-kun?”
Ramuda stares, disbelief naked on his face, before a sudden laugh bursts from him and he curls over with the force of his amusement.
“Huh? How stupid does Jakurai think I am? Paying Ichirou to look up my teammates is a discussion?”
A little kick of Ramuda's foot scuffs the floor, and Jakurai bites his tongue again. The reprimand that automatically springs to his lips would only earn him more of Ramuda's ire—and who knows what other havoc he'd wreak on Jakurai's apartment out of sheer petty childishness. If Jakurai has resorted to digging into Yumeno and Arisugawa's history, it's only because Ramuda insists on giving him reason to be suspicious.
“You’re wrong, Amemura-kun. I did not—”
“I don't care! Last warning, Jakurai,” Ramuda interrupts. All of his mirth is gone now, voice turning to gravel—rough and dangerous and threatening. “Mind your own fucking business before someone makes you.”
“Amemura-kun,” Jakurai says sharply and a few, tense seconds, Ramuda only stares at him, unmoving.
I know you're up to something, Jakurai wants to say. Something unpleasant—the kind of scheming and convoluted dealings with questionable, cruel people that only forces Jakurai to question more and more whether he ever truly knew who Ramuda was.
Then the moment is lost. Ramuda spins on his heel, sneakers squeaking against the floor as he walks away. He pauses by the doorframe, twisting back.
“Bye-bye, Jakurai. Don't say I didn't warn you,” he says, almost singsong.
And he leaves the same way he came, one hand carelessly waving his farewell.
9.Object Insertion
Ramuda exhales. The breath comes out shakier than he wants, the edge of it tipped with a whine. He bites down harder on his hand to muffle the noise, but it fucking hurts.
Another breath in then out again, as he wills away the burning stretch. It always hurts when Jakurai as drunk as this. Even now, there's wine bottles still on the table, twisted corks carelessly littering the floor.
That careful, gentle manner of a good doctor buried by the unpredictable drunken haze—the harsh way Jakurai shoves his fingers inside Ramuda, the crude comments almost too slurred to understand as he manhandles him into place. But Ramuda's done this enough times to know it'll be fine later, good enough to make it all worth it when Jakurai finally fucks into him and the intensity of the pleasure finally starts to drown out the ache. If only he could skip to that part, eurgh.
“Come on,” Ramuda mumbles, growl in his voice. “Hurry the hell up—hey—”
Another twist of Jakurai's fingers inside him, then they slip out abruptly. Ramuda pushes himself up onto his elbows, surprised, only for a hand to land between his shoulder blades and knock him roughly back down. The moment of disorientation is all it takes for Jakurai to grab Ramuda's hands and pin them to the centre of his back with a painful wrench.
“Ow, the fuck are you—” Ramuda begins, irritated, but something cold presses to his hole.
His eyes widen as something starts to push into him, hard and unrelenting and huge, then he's struggling to sit up again, to turn around and see what the hell is going inside of him. But Jakurai's hand is immovable, a stake that keeps him pinned to the sheets. A whine escapes him, forced out through his lips as it sinks in deep and stretches him wider and wider until he feels like he can barely breathe.
Realisation slams into him. Is that...a bottle? Did Jakurai seriously just push a fucking wine bottle up his ass?
“Jakurai—” he chokes out, voice catching in his throat with outrage. It's low, rough; he can't hold onto his usual pitch right now, but it's not like Jakurai would even notice. “Stupid drunk old man, take that out of me—”
Then coldness trickles into him, a faint sting that makes his gut clench with dull panic.
“You're kidding—” is all he manages to say, before Jakurai tips the bottle properly and the remaining wine flows into him.
The noise Ramuda makes is small and frightened; humiliating if he could think beyond the sudden white noise in his head. Already his belly is starting to cramp, feeling uncomfortably full. Every inch of him is stiff and tense, trembling from the effort of struggling against Jakurai’s hold on him. He’s starting to feel light-headed—whether it's his stuttered breathing or the alcohol already working on his system, he doesn't know, doesn't care.
“You finally shut up,” he hears Jakurai say, voice slurred and rough. He still sounds drunk as hell and Ramuda hates it.
“Fuck you,” he bites back instead, voice shaky and vision blurring with unshed tears. “Fuck you, you shitty old man.”
10. Division swap
“Well,” Jakurai said.
He places one hand on the door and presses against it, searching, but there's no give. “This is rather unfortunate.”
“You're telling me!” Dice complains.
Shoving his hands in his pockets, Dice paces around the small room while Gentarou seems to take a more hands on approach, crouching to examine the roller door that’d come slamming down, separating their teams. Jakurai, with Dice and Gentarou; and Ramuda, with Doppo and Hifumi. If anything, Jakurai decides he feels rather more sorry for his teammates. Being caught with Ramuda isn't an enjoyable experience regardless of the occasion.
“It appears to be locked,” Gentarou says, straightening with a furrowed brow.
“Eurgh, really?” Dice stalks over and crouches down to peer at the locking mechanism. “Can't you try to pick this or something?”
“I'm unfamiliar with picking locks,” Gentarou replies, voice light with amusement. “Though, in my past I used to be a computer hacker. If this were a locked computer instead of a locked door, perhaps I'd be able to help, but alas.”
“What, you never told me that—”
“Just kidding!”
“Argh, so you're still useless then!”
Jakurai clears his throat and two pairs of eyes turned towards him. In the dim light of the room, they seem to glow with an eerie light, almost unnervingly so—but it's only the reflection of the lighting strip behind him, he reminds himself.
“I believe the locking mechanism is one where it's only possible to open it from one side,” he points out. “After all, there's no key hole on this side.”
Both Dice and Gentarou turn to look. Dice makes a small noise of surprise.
“Huh. He's right. That's weird.”
“Not particularly. I imagine this used to be a storage facility. If so, there'd really be no need to open the roller door from the inside.” Jakurai turns and sits down on one of the crates scattered around the room. “We may need to simply wait for Amemura-kun and my teammates to find a way to open the door.”
“Oh, right.” Dice gives the door a low kick and it rattles in its frame. “Ramuda’ll figure out what to do. He's probably doing it now.”
“I have my doubts,” Jakurai remarks. He leans against the wall. “No matter how much Amemura-kun has endeared himself to you both, his true personality is something rather unsavoury. He's not the sort of person deserving of your loyalty, I'm afraid.”
“Huh? What kinda thing to say is that? You don't even know—”
“Ah, on the contrary, I think Jinguuji-sensei is quite familiar with Ramuda,” Gentarou interrupts. His voice is still light, but there's a pulse of curiosity to it now. “Very familiar with Ramuda, wouldn't you say so, Sensei?”
It's hard to miss the heavy implication in Gentarou's words, and Jakurai narrows his eyes.
“As familiar as a former teammate of his, yes.”
“Oh is that all? My apologies,” Gentarou demurs, one hand covering his mouth. “I’d heard otherwise from Ramuda, but perhaps I heard wrong.”
Jakurai opens his mouth. Then closes it again, considering. Clearly Ramuda has told his teammates something. Or has Gentarou deduced it on his own? How carefully does he need to tread with these two?
“I see Amemura-kun has surrounded himself with interesting people too,” Jakurai finally says, and Gentarou brightens with a smile. It doesn't quite reach his eyes, even if they crinkle at the corners.
“But of course."