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                Her heel is nuclear pink.

                “Do ya like it when I step on ya, Kiryu-chan?”

                It twists a little, right over Kiryu’s sternum, and Kiryu winces, his skin blooming red beneath it. But he’s not blaming himself for losing. Blame it on the humidity of a mid-June day in a city where the heat reflects between the buildings and insulates Kamurocho until it’s boiling. Blame it on the birthday cake Kiryu had for breakfast, courtesy of a cheerful Haruka who piled on strawberry cream, weighing him down. Blame it on the pure distraction of Majima’s muscular legs, enwrapped in fishnets that do a lot to outline the shape of his firm calves and strong thighs, that peek out beneath the hem of a dress so tight that it’s a wonder Majima can move in it at all.

                Splaying his arms out on the mat beneath them, Kiryu pants and mops sweat from his forehead, aromatic and foul from a combination of exhaustion and heat. The open window and slowly whirring fan overhead aren’t doing much to cool him down, and even though he fought in his briefs, he still feels miserably slow-moving and weighed down as if by clothing.

                His heart thuds painfully under her heel.

                “Goromi, you’re going to crack my sternum.”

                Majima lets out a half-laugh, half-coo, raising a manicured hand to his mouth at the thought, “And here I thought ya couldn’t turn me on anymore than ya already have!”

                Hooking an arm around Goromi’s leg, he wrestles her off of him and throws her onto her back, inducing a stream of giggles that Majima probably thinks sounds like a Hollywood actress’s gentle laugh, but sounds more like a parrot dying. Tries not to stare at the strip of pomegranate-colored fabric cupping her balls.

                “Happy birthday, Kiryu-chan,” she says, and as Kiryu stands up to wipe his face off on a towel, Goromi lifts a long leg, her dress crawling up her thighs, and shoves a foot onto Kiryu’s hip. Kiryu licks his dry lips, clutches the towel tightly. “It’s a shame ya lost this round. I was expectin’ you to show me yer all.”

                “Isn’t it tradition to let me rest on my birthday? I’m not supposed to be doing any work,” Kiryu points out, flinging the towel at Goromi’s face. She manages to bat it away right before it messes up her makeup.

                Propping herself up on her elbow, her bicep flexing attractively under her irezumi, she squints her eye at him as a smile plays upon her overly painted lips. And although Kiryu could have intuited that her intentions were sexual—from the moment Nishida invited him to a private dojo—he still felt weird about doing something like that in a public space. Sure, they had the place to themselves for now, but when they left, would the next visitors be able to smell the sex and feel the body-warm floor beneath them as they fought?

                “Backin’ out now?” Goromi purrs, rolling onto her hands and knees. Kiryu’s body is still panting with effort as she crawls closer, kneeling in front of him. Her eye is creased with mirth, and Kiryu has to restrain himself from touching her hair, short and inky. He has no idea when she lost the wig. As she nuzzles his briefs, her breath fanning perfume-pleasant and steamy over his crotch, she says, “Ain’t no purpose in hiding what ya want. We don’t gotta play the long game, not on yer birthday. I’m supposed to treat ya, yeah? That’s what you said.”

                Who was Kiryu to deny that logic? Majima never sounded so smart.

                He cups her chin with calloused fingers, thumbs at her bottom lip that leaves streaks of pink lipstick over his red briefs, the cotton already straining from the fight, from seeing Goromi’s panties cling to her dick when he pushed her off of him.

                If he wasn’t feeling so invigorated, he’d probably be okay with just laying there while Goromi grinded on him through their underwear, cumming in their pants like two high schoolers. But as she stands up, no longer eye-level thanks to the heels, and takes his face in her hands, Kiryu realizes that it wouldn’t be enough.

                “What do you want me to do to you?” Goromi says, pressing up against his chest, her ‘cleavage’ pushed up over a low dress line. It’s a nice sensation, feeling her heartbeat, feeling the rubbery material of the dress brush against his dark nipples that have always been pretty sensitive. “Tell me. I’ll do anythin’ for ya, Kiryu.”

                He wracks his brain.

                A million potentials come to him—of course they do. Majima’s got him gripping his dick in the shower whenever he has the time. He’s got him pulling his dick under the sheets and rolling over to rut it against the mattress. And there’s a plethora of options that come with those moments, fantasies he has that make him blush in the light of day. Treat me like shit, he thinks first, like one of your kyodai that you hate. He looks over her face, her high cheekbones, her pursed, feline-like lips. The idea is nice—being pushed around and hurt like he’s trash, like Majima despises him. But that doesn’t quite suit Goromi, does it?

                “Worship me like—” the word ‘worship’ feels narcissistic, and Kiryu’s face is already hot with embarrassment, especially when Majima’s teeth glint in a grin, “—like the Dragon of Dojima you’re already obsessed with.”

                Not his first option, but a fitting one, he thinks. It is his day, after all.

                “Well!” Goromi presses a quick, dry kiss to his lips, “That makes my job a lot easier!”

*

                “Keep your thigh up!”

                “I’m s—”

                “Jesus, I’m tryna finger ya, not engage in a foot fetish.”

                Kiryu can’t help it. He’s been holding his thighs back for a while, and they’re starting to ache a bit, and when he tries to let them rest, Goromi gets all huffy about his foot in his face. The window has been shut and the air is even thicker now, too humid and cloying. And even though night is falling, the city has retained its heat. Combined with Goromi’s fingers—the acrylic nails long since plied off in a surprisingly grotesque show of peeling glue—Kiryu feels like he’s on the verge of heat exhaustion.

                But things could be worse. For one, he could not have his boyfriend’s—his girlfriend’s?—fingers up his ass for the last half hour. His cock’s been hard and aching, curved against his stomach, almost painful to the touch. Every corner of his skin has been kissed, and somewhere between his neck and his armpit and his stomach, the lipstick from Goromi’s mouth has all transferred to Kiryu’s body. His hole is gaping by now, surely, but that doesn’t stop Goromi from rocking her fingers, pressing against his inner walls. She looks pretty, concentrated, her tongue pinched between her teeth, her dark hair swept over her neat forehead.

                “Gonna cum.”

                Her fingers pull out. Kiryu groans and drops his head back. She’s edging him.

                Going down, she kisses playful, air-light kisses around his loose hole, teasing him further. Rubs the back of his thigh and mumbles out, “My pretty boy, yer lookin’ so cute now. Loose an’ ready. I could eat you up.”

                “Eat me out,” Kiryu whines, but Goromi only kisses his trembling opening before pulling back.

                “I’m callin’ the shots here.”

                Kiryu’s eyes fall shut.

                But finally, she drags her palms lazily up his thighs and lets him drop them. Massages the tight place where they meet his ass, where they’ve become stiff and sore. Kiryu watches benevolently, eyes half-lidded and mouth red from kissing him.

                “Hurts?”

                “A little.”

                “Too bad. Stand up,” Goromi instructs, pulling him to his feet. The briefs he was wearing are long gone, but Goromi stays dressed, flashy and angelic despite her erection tenting her outfit. Pushing him up against the wall, Goromi kisses the back of his neck. She reverentially slides a hand over his back, the tattoo vibrant, freshly touched up. Majima makes a mental note to do the same, the red of his irezumi turning rust-colored rather than blood-colored.

                When her hands cup his ass, she pulls his cheeks apart and easily nudges her still-clothed erection over his hole. If she really wanted to, she could probably slide it in dry, make him cry on it. It’d be uncomfortable, but it’d be a well-deserved powerplay. Some other time, maybe.

                Right now, she pushes his arm up, and nuzzles his armpit from the side. “I like ya so much. Like everythin’ about ya, even your smell.”

                “Are you calling me gross?”

                She laughs and licks his skin, inducing a shiver and a little huff from Kiryu, who grinds back against her cock impatiently. With painstaking slowness, she pulls the front of her panties down and hefts out her member, thick and wet with precum. Again, she mulls over the possibility of sticking it in, with nothing but Kiryu’s prep work and her precum to ease the way. But she decides against it, popping open the cap of the lube bottle and making messy, overzealous work of wetting her cock. The lube dribbles down her shaft, collects at her balls. She has to remember to utilize it once again when she’s jacking off. Likes it wet and messy.

                As her cockhead breaches his hole, she cusses. It’s been worked open sufficiently, but it’s still so tight and warm on the inside. She runs her hands up and down his sides, the latex of her dress pressing up close against his arched spine. Relishes in the sound he makes as his twitching hole takes her inch by inch, cockhead spearing through him enough to wring out a groan from the back of his throat.

                Goromi wishes she applied more lipstick, wants to kiss the back of his amber neck, leave a ring of her mark. Instead, she opts for a hickey, sucking that flesh that tastes of salt and pure Kiryu as she bottoms out. Her balls flex against her perineum. Lifting a leg slightly to prop his knee on the wall, Kiryu whines, his hands curling into fists. He feels so full of her, likes the claustrophobia of being pressed against and into, of being shoved against a wall and boxed in by a pretty girl in a rubbery dress with a big dick.

                In a public space, too. And happy fucking birthday to him.

                “M—move…” he encourages, rucking his hips back. She stills them as she pops her mouth off his neck, admiring the reddish ring she’s left. Not as overwhelmingly sleazy as lipstick, but at least it won’t be washed off as easily.

                Grinding forward, she looks down, eyes half-mast with adoration at the sight of her dick disappearing inside Kiryu’s muscular, hungry ass, his swayed back covered in ink and sweat, skin glowing honey-balmy and pretty. Then she pulls out, watches his hole tremble around him. If Kiryu’s face wasn’t so handsome—if he wasn’t so built—he’d still have his cute asshole to make him worthy of worship on Majima’s part. Probably. The biceps help.

                Starting to thrust in earnest, Goromi holds onto Kiryu and relishes in the repetitive little moans he gets, “Feels good,” over and over, his brow furrowed. Each push rocks him further against the wall, and he stands on his toes.

                “Yer so goddamn cute like this,” Goromi purrs, girlish and high-pitched. Her hands are lunar white compared to his fevered flesh, and she watches herself rub him over, feeling distant for a moment—who’s this lucky bitch that gets to fuck the Dragon of Dojima? “All mine, all mine. Ya got that? I want ya to belong to me. Wanna fill ya up every day like this, leave yer hole used and open, ‘cause yer mine.”

                Nodding frantically, Majima might not be able to see it, but the sob of pleasure is certainly heard. Each drag of Goromi’s cock in him gets his own dick pushed against the wall, a pleasant friction that has him trying very hard not to cum all over himself before they even get started.

                But when Goromi adjusts her stance, her heels helping penetrate him deeply with less effort than it’d normally take, and juts against his prostate, Kiryu fucking wails. His cum spurts against the wall and he produces these soft little crying noises, so uncharacteristic for him. Perhaps he’s being indulgent, or he’s just oversensitive from the treatment earlier.

                But when Goromi’s hand trails around his body to grope his oversensitive cock, then he’s really noisy. Goromi grins, feeling up his still-hard dick, playing her fingers through the cum that dribbles over his shaft, which is throbbing. “Please, Goromi, pl—it’s too much, it’s…”

                “Hush,” she giggles against his ear, bites the shell of it, “Beg me to cum in ya.”

                “Please, Majima,” he whimpers, trying to pull out of her grip, but only manages to push back on her cock. Her cockhead brushes against his prostate and he opens his mouth in a wet gasp, dick twitching in her palm.

                “Uh-uh… Ya gotta do better ‘n that. Who’s Majima?”

                “G—Goromi! Please cum in me, please, I—I can’t take it. You’re too… Fuck!”

                She starts jerking him off, and Kiryu buries his forehead against the wall, eyes sealed tight. “Aw, look at you… Real sensitive now, huh? It’s cute. Yer little ass is squeezin’ me so well.”

                “Goromi…”

                “Fine,” Goromi jeers, and pulls out roughly. Kiryu groans, his ass tightening up around where her cock should be. Feels empty now, and licks his dry, chapped lips. Then she jerks him back by his shoulders and pushes him to his knees. Giving an amused side eye to the semen trickling down the beige wall, she eases Kiryu onto his back.

                When she straddles him, he’s momentarily worried she’s about to ride him without prep. Before he can open his mouth to tell her to grab the lube, she’s shuffling forward, and her cock falls between his tits, rutting up against his sternum.

                “You’re wearing a push-up bra, and you’re still obsessed with my chest?”

                Goromi grins crookedly and squeezes his pecs. “Do you blame me? Ah…” Roughly pulling her dress up as to not hinder her movement, she leans over him and rears up on her knees, fucking his slick skin with brutal, frantic thrusts. “So soft. I’d suck them all day if I could.”

                Pinching his dark nipples, Goromi watches Kiryu’s eyes fall shut. So what if he plays coy, acts like he doesn’t like the attention? It isn’t like he’s ignorant to how attractive he is. Surely, as humble as he can be, he must admire his own gains, especially his chest. His body is a body of work, and Goromi—no, Majima—laves over it with the attention it deserves.

                “I wouldn’t be able to wear a shirt for a week if you did,” Kiryu says casually, a hint of humor coloring his tone.

                “Shirtless Kiryu for a whole week? Don’t make it too alluring, Kiryu-chan!”

                Kiryu’s hands go to his own chest, watching her pink cockhead drool on him. He cups his tits together, watches the flesh of his body bounce slightly, as if he’s actually got tits to play with.

As her cock is pillowed in Kiryu’s warm skin, his pecs pushed together with some effort to add pressure, she hisses out a few encouraging murmurs before her cum splatters Kiryu’s face. He closes his eyes quickly, nose wrinkling as a strip of semen falls over the bridge of it, hits his cheek, his eyebrow. Closes his mouth, much to Goromi’s disappointment, and another spray falls there. When she’s finished, panting and tired, he blinks open one eye.

                “Some warning would’ve been nice.”

                “We ain’t done, though, Kiryu-chan!” She crawls off of him, and he takes a deep inhale. He never realizes her weight on him until she gets off. She’s heavy, all muscle and power and intent.

                “Wha—ah!”

                His leg is pushed up again, but besides the ache of them, his cock is seized. She pumps her hand, his oversensitive dick almost searing with the pain, but a white flash of pleasure needles somewhere in it too, and he grits his teeth. It’s too much, it fucking hurts, but Goromi does as she was told and leans down to mouth against it and worship.

                “I love your cock, Kiryu,” she coos, licking the side lazily, her eye studying it with this hazy, devout stare, “Love how big it is, how heavy and needy for me it is. I want it in my mouth all day. Doesn’t it feel good? Look at you, squirming for me.” She nuzzles it, sucks the side like it’s fucking candy, maps a protruding vein with the tip of her tongue, jerks it over and over, and even though the evidence of his last orgasm is on the wall, Kiryu can’t help it.

                He cums again, not as much as the first time, but it gets his vision all spotty, makes his toes curl, and it almost hits his face, landing just a few inches away, on his sternum. The fluid is stickier than Goromi’s cum on his face. Goromi is annoyed—she intended on having him get a dual facial, one from himself. Huffing, she throws a fishnet-covered leg over his hip and lazily swipes her fingers through the cum, rubbing it over his bottom lip.

                Although he doesn’t look very happy about it, he licks his own cum off her thumb. His dick is throbbing, spent, resting lazy and dark against his stomach. Goromi leans down, continues collecting up their shared semen from his skin and feeding to him. He makes a show of sucking it clean, lets her clean him off this way, his mouth wrapped around her long, elegant fingers. Once his face is clear, he sticks his tongue out, an appealing mixture of their semen and his spit collected on it.

He swallows it down and Goromi leans down to seize up a nasty, wet kiss, chasing their combined flavor. After she pulls away, she nods her head to the wall where he came.

                “No,” Kiryu says, eyes narrowed.

                “C’mon. ‘s better than icing.”