Yajima was moving up in the world; he didn't have time to be getting into fights after his band's latest gig. It was a completely pointless fight on top of things. Everyone seemed to like the music decently. They'd been paid in advance, because they'd played there before. It's not even like they were getting a lot of money. Some high schoolers just wanted to start trouble, and the band was an easier target than any of the regulars in the bar.
Pointless or not, a fight was a fight, and a punch thrown in a pointless a fight still hurt the same, so Yajima ducked the fist flying towards his face (he caught it as a glancing blow off his shoulder instead), and kicked out towards his attacker. He missed, but he also distracted the other boy enough that he got a minute's respite, just enough time to catch his breath. The rest of the fight was moving away--his friends breaking away, and the group of high schoolers giving chase or dropping out. Either way, they weren't coming back to help their friend with him. He caught the next punch on his trumpet case, and heard the other boy curse at the impact. Yajima hid his grin, and turned to run himself, when the boy caught him by the back of his shirt, and threw him against the alley wall.
It knocked the breath out of him, and in the time it took him to get another good lungful of air, the other boy had him pinned against the wall, one arm across his throat to discourage protest.
"Fucker, you're going to pay for that one," the boy hissed at him, shaking out the hand that had struck the trumpet case. Yajima sucked in another shaky breath while he thought about it, and then figured fucked is fucked, and spat into the other boy's face.
The boy slammed a fist into his stomach, and when Yajima's knees buckled, the boy let him drop, sliding down against the wall. Then he grabbed a handful of Yajima's hair, pulling his head back so he could see his face. The other boy deliberately undid his fly.
"Why don't we see what else you're good at blowing?" the boy smirked at him, pleased at how clever he was. Yajima glared back because he didn't really have much choice. The other boy shook his head by the grip he had on his hair, to remind him no funny business, and pulled himself out of his pants.
Hayato had a semi already from the fight--nothing like adrenaline to get the blood running, and the sight of the trumpet player on his knees in the dirt in the alley glaring up at him wasn't really doing anything to convince him otherwise. If anything, it just made him harder, because that angry look was electric in all the right ways.
With one hand, Hayato guided himself to the other boy's mouth, set his cock against those bright red lips, swollen from playing all night. He used his other hand, still holding firmly to the boy's hair to pull the boy's head forward, so that those lips had no choice but to open for him.
"No biting," he said, and yanked a little harder for emphasis, then loosened his grip a little, moving his other hand around the back of the boy's head, pushing forward until he got the picture and started bobbing his head.
The trumpet player had no technique, moving his head awkwardly, but he had good suction, and such a pretty little mouth it made up for the fact that he didn't know what to do with his tongue. Hayato discovered halfway through that if he twisted his hand just so, the other boy's mouth tightened around him in delicious ways.
Shortly after this discovery, Hayato noticed that the other boy was rubbing himself through his pants, pressing harder every time he pulled on his hair. Hayato grinned at that, and pulled harder, and started moving his hips, fucking the trumpet player's pretty little mouth harder than was probably comfortable. The other boy kept glaring the whole time, but his own hips were moving noticeably against his hands now, desperate for friction and pulling unconscious little not-sounds that Hayato couldn't hear but could feel around his cock from the other boy's throat. That vibration, and the anger in the boy's eyes, and his pretty red mouth tight around his cock sent Hayato over, and he yanked back on the boy's hair, pulling him off, and came half in his mouth, half across his face.
Hayato took a deep breath, shook the boy one last time by his hair, and dropped his hold to fix his pants. Hayato reached out with one thumb to wipe a bit of cum off the boy's face, and brought it to his own mouth for a taste before he left the boy in the alley to jerk himself off.