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                “Stop sneezin’ on his tits, you fuck.”

                “It’s April, cut me some slack,” Majima wheedles, wiping a long line of mucus off on the back of his arm, over the faded bite mark that’s turned as purple as the sky outside, a waning night casting the half-dilapidated apartment in its cool darkness. Besides the overhead bulb that’s intermittently flickering, Ryuji’s done the favor of lighting a few candles. It’s very romantic, Majima thinks, as he lowers a naked, candlelight-bathed Kiryu to his knees.

                Ryuji grabs Majima by his chin and shakes him. The metal of his prosthetic is cool and squeezes so tightly against his jaw he can feel the bone creak, and Majima’s allergy-reddened eye widens complicity under the threat of his teeth splintering. “Use—a—tissue.”

                “Yes sir, Ryuji-san,” Majima purrs with the slightest hint of sarcasm, and leans over Kiryu’s kneeling form to snatch the Kleenex box. But it’s covered in drywall dust from the ruined ceiling, and it only makes him sneeze harder. “Man, your place fuckin’ sucks, Ryuji.” He says this as if Ryuji moved in to the apartment after the place got fucked up by zombies.

Ryuji thankfully seems to ignore this comment as he looks down the strong curve of Kiryu’s back, tongue pressed between his scarred lips in concentration.

                The top of his ass is plush, and his tattoo doesn’t go down as far as his own, so it’s interesting to see the color of his skin so amber and honeyed, uninterrupted by ink. He runs his palms over it, and Kiryu nervously glances over his shoulder.

                “You’re in complete control of the prosthetic, right?”

                “As long as Majima doesn’t piss me off, sure,” Ryuji grins, the humor making his voice waver, but Kiryu still tenses. He slaps his ass and Kiryu huffs out a little noise that makes Ryuji’s dick stir in his pressed white slacks. “I’m kiddin’, Kiryu-san. You saw me with that gun. Think I don’t know what I’m doin’?”

                “Good. I value my ass.”

                Majima squawks out a laugh, “Look, he’s fuckin’ funny when he’s horny!”

                Ryuji just reaches around with his left hand, all flesh and warmth, and pries his lips apart. Kiryu’s mouth is soft and pliable, with these plush, full lips that Ryuji’s always admired, thought about while running his tongue over the raised scar of his own perpetual scowl. He slides his fingers over Kiryu’s tongue, slicking through some frothing saliva, making sure he’s getting them wet, because—well—there’s a lot to work in. Not to brag.

                “Damn,” Majima coos, watching Kiryu suck on Ryuji’s fingers like he’s giving a blowjob. An image he’s comfortably familiar with, at this point. He gropes over his leather pants and makes eye contact with Kiryu, that half-lidded, serious gaze just as attractive as it is when he drives a fist into his cheek. He can’t help but be a little jealous. He has no problem sharing Kiryu with Ryuji—the man is his type, big and beefy and capable of ruining Majima’s face if he so pleases, and he’s really into the thought of seeing someone even bigger than Kiryu rail him.

                But he’s heard about that fight, five years ago—hell, he was beneath the building when it went down—and, it’s the stuff of legends. So, he’s envious of the twin dragons in front of him. If Kiryu ever fought him like that, really gave him his all, hit him with the abandonment and love that Ryuji got from him, he’d probably die with a smile on his face. And that powerful chrome slipping out of Ryuji’s white jacket—that’s all Kiryu’s doing. That capability gets his balls tight. They have something Majima’s never gotten from him.

                But Majima is a generous man, nonetheless.

                He unzips his pants and opens them up, hefts his already-dripping cock out of them.

                “I feel bad,” he snickers, smoothing a hand over Kiryu’s clean hair, the dark strands messy without their pomade, “Get you all clean and then immediately get you filthy.”

                “Like he doesn’t want it?” Ryuji’s fingers trail out of his mouth, mapping a line of saliva over his cheek. Kiryu’s tongue breaks it and he blushes softly, because of course they’re right. After washing the blood, the dirt, the sweat, the indescribable chemical guts off of him (a gesture that was invasive if not enormously attractive), Majima had cupped Kiryu’s flushed dick. He’d pressed his lips to his jawline and said, I missed ya, Kazzy. His bare feet stood in a puddle of shower water that had pooled on the tiles of the somehow-still-functioning bathroom floor.

                Ryuji’s in the other room, Majima. Not right now, Kiryu had murmured, but he turned his head against the warm fan of breath parting Majima’s full, pale lips. When Majima’s eye widened and he grinned, Kiryu could already guess what was working in that peabrain of his.

                And here they are.

                Given Ryuji’s obsession with Kiryu’s power, he supposes he could have expected this.

                “He’s real tight,” Majima encourages as Ryuji’s real hand trails between Kiryu’s cheeks, slick with Kiryu’s spit. He feels out his hole, pushing against it softly, and looks to Majima for more. Majima’s fine with that—he likes talking, anyway. He thinks he’s got a real penchant for narration. “No matter how much I fuck him, Kiryu’s body stays real needy.”

                “You two do this a lot, huh?”

                “Well, we did, when he was livin’ in Kamurocho,” Majima continues to pet Kiryu’s hair, and Kiryu buries his face against Majima’s crotch, nosing at his balls. Majima sighs and continues to talk to Ryuji, as casual as ever, but his eye stays on the sight of that strong, scarred hand disappearing finger by finger inside Kiryu’s pink, stretched hole. “Now it’s these intermittent things. A real kick in the dick, too. Ain’t no one compare to this baby.”

                Kiryu looks up at Majima then, his dark eyes narrowed.

                “How often do you have sex with other people?”

                “Jealous?” Majima pats his cheek and drags a thumb along his still-wet bottom lip. “I give it a try now and again. Don’t worry. No one can replace you.”

                Ryuji scoffs and pulls his hand out. “Real romantic.”

                When he shrugs off his torn jacket, unbuttons his expensive-looking shirt, shucks down his slacks, Majima audibly sucks in a breath. Majima likes them big. And Jesus, is Ryuji big. His eyes trail over his shoulders, his arms, his pecs—and now his mouth is filling with spit. There’s also something ridiculously attractive about the mechanism that serves as his prosthetic, splitting the flesh half-way up his bicep. But then Ryuji pulls off his briefs and—shit.

                “Jesus,” Majima says, and Kiryu looks over his shoulder with widened eyes when he sees Ryuji’s massive cock, thicker than his and curved and wet, “I’m almost jealous of you.”

                “Wait your turn and I might let ya worship it too.”

                Majima barks out a laugh, but he can’t help but find the idea appealing. He’d like to spend a whole goddamn day slurping on the side of it like it’s fucking candy, nose buried beneath it, his throat full of it, swallowing down hot jizz. But even more than that, he’d like to see it jammed up his favorite person’s ass, making him cry and whimper.

                “Put it in him, put it in him, put it in him,” Majima encourages wildly, pushing Kiryu down by his shoulders, his ass high in the air. Kiryu’s cheek presses up against the ground and he produces a soft little grunt that turns into a full-on moan when Ryuji pushes into him. Majima watches with a frantic look on his face, his tongue lolled out of his mouth like he’s the one getting fucked. He keeps petting Kiryu’s tattooed back, muttering soft encouragements.

                Kiryu’s hole swallows Ryuji’s cock up like it’s made for it, like it’s easy. Kiryu makes everything look easy, and when he spreads his legs, the slutty, desperate gesture earns him a slap on the ass from Ryuji.

                “Take it so good, don’t ya?”

                “Oh my god,” Majima provides, and he puts two fingers on either side of Ryuji’s cock, keeping Kiryu’s hole open for him as he slides home, his balls resting against Kiryu’s, his hips snug against the back of his strong, warm thighs. “It’s a good pussy, isn’t it?”

                Ryuji laughs and slowly pulls out. Majima’s harder than he can remember ever being in these recent months.

                “Talk.”

                Kiryu’s demand surprises them both. He’s got his fists curled, white knuckled, and his strong, angular jaw is grit, eyes sealed tight.

                “Haw?” Majima says, shuffling back on his knees and leaning down, arching like a cat, so he can nose against Kiryu’s forehead.

                “Talk. Like—like…” he runs his tongue over the neat row of his teeth, and his demand gets caught on a breath that’s fucked out of him when Ryuji slams home. Majima gets it though, and he hoists Kiryu up off the floor, onto his knees, still riding down on Ryuji’s cock. Majima stands up and finally gets out of his too-tight pants, his dick throbbing in front of Kiryu’s face. He gently pushes it against his cheekbone. Kiryu stares up, reverential, as Majima slaps his dick against his skin. It leaves a kiss-mark of precum.

                “Ain’t he cute?”

                Ryuji grunts, too concentrated on the sight of the Dragon of Dojima taking his cock better than any cheap hostess or model ever could.

                “Real cute,” Majima mumbles, and he buckles his knees a little, an awkward position, and puts his hands on Kiryu’s pecs. He runs his thumbs over his dark nipples and laughs softly when Kiryu’s mouth drops open, eyes turned up desperately, face blooming with color as Ryuji rails him. “Gettin’ stuffed like a bride on your big dick. Aw, man, you gotta cum in him, awright?”

                “Yeah.”

                “I mean it. Knock him up.”

                “Shit,” Ryuji’s mouth snarls into a grin, and Majima places his cock against Kiryu’s sternum. Kiryu takes the initiative and pushes the muscles of his chest up, in an attempt to add pressure to Majima’s cock.

                “I wanna get in him after you, fuck through your cum.”

                Ryuji laughs, “Think he can take it?”

                “Please. I know he can.”

                “Let’s see,” Ryuji’s prosthetic hand slips behind him and as much as Majima would like to look, he’s too busy rutting against Kiryu’s slippery chest, petting his hair and cooing. Kiryu’s eyes widen when that solid metal digit slides in beside Ryuji’s massive cock, filling him beyond what he thought he could ever conceivably take. He feels so stuffed, feels so adored, it’s almost overwhelming.

                He’s never let attention go to his head too much, but there’s something gut-heating about how slutty it feels to have Majima leaking all over his tits, having Ryuji rail him. He likes it. Likes feeling fawned over, and he looks up at Majima with this desperate, pleading stare that even Ryuji can read from where he’s behind him.

                “Go on, Majima,” Ryuji encourages with a low, rumbling sound, and then there’s the distinct noise of something mechanical emanating from his arm. Whatever he does, it makes Kiryu’s cock spasm, and cum spills out over Ryuji’s carpet. Majima guesses he must have stimulated his prostate, but then he hears a continuous buzz, and he has to wonder about why the fucking vibrating feature was implemented at all. “Give him a kiss.”

                Majima doesn’t normally obey orders, but he leans down and cups Kiryu’s face, licking into his open mouth. Ryuji watches with a placated look in his eyes, and he rears up, jamming his cock so far into Kiryu, his vibrating hand pressing on those hot, slick inner walls, that Kiryu feels like he can taste the cum he shoots into him.

                Ryuji stays seated inside his twitching hole, watching them kiss like girls in some sloppy JAV video. “Like each other a lot, huh? I can see why.”

                He pulls his hand out of Kiryu’s hole and pushes the cum-covered metal up against their mouths. Majima takes it between his lips, sucking on the taste of iron and Kiryu’s familiar skin-flavor and Ryuji’s semen. Moans around it for good measure, a hand wrapped tightly around the artificial wrist.

                “God,” Kiryu says with a sigh, as Ryuji pulls out of him.

                “Hole’s still open, Majima-san,” Ryuji says, fucking his hand into Majima’s mouth, “Make good use of it.”

                Majima sneezes his approval.