Kirimaru is careful to a fault. Quick on his feet despite the ache between his thighs, the bruising on his wrists, the deep welts coursing along his spine. Telling himself to get home faster, before he’s caught out at such a time. Jingling in the pouch by his thigh tells him it’s worth it, worth having old men from the village take him over and over.
Kirimaru likes how with an outstretched hand, it rains in coins, and then he always comes.
But he should’ve expected a light burning when he turned the corner. Doi-sensei would’ve caught on soon, naturally, of course. His comments about similar a situation with Kirimaru were always said, every once in a while. The soft look in his eyes that Kirimaru still could not determine if it was truly pity, or something else.
Steeling himself, dragging sleeves down and righting his step, Kirimaru slides the front door open. To go around the back in an attempt to sneak in would make the situation worse, of course. A resigned sigh leaves him, as he sees Doi-sensei coaxing a fire, fish cooking there.
Kirimaru’s stomach growls.
“You’re back late,” Doi-sensei comments, turning the fish over.
Laughter bubbles between Kirimaru’s lips, mechanic almost. “Ah really? Hadn’t noticed the time at all.”
Doi-sensei gives a dissatisfied hum in response. “Is that so.”
When Kirimaru crosses the room, he’s careful not to let the pouch clink. He was sure Doi-sensei already had an inkling of where he’d been, but he wasn’t going to just give it away. Part time job, he’d spouted, as Doi-sensei had caught him on his way out only hours before. Doi-sensei had given him a look that Kirimaru told himself to forget.
Sitting opposite Doi-sensei, Kirimaru is careful to avoid eye contact. Pulling fish off the stick allows this for some length of time, but Doi-sensei’s gaze is heavy, and Kirimaru sighs as he looks up. He wants to bark at the older man, tell him to leave, to stop looking at him like that, but Doi-sensei is scouring him from head to toe.
“Kirimaru, what have you -”
“Don’t worry about it.” Kirimaru becomes acutely aware that there are a string of finger prints along his calf, and he tries to cover it as subtly as possible.
“I do worry.”
Kirimaru ignores the feeling of a bucket of icy water dropping over his head, and stares into the fire. He has half a mind to press closer to it, so it didn’t feel so cold with Doi-sensei. “I know.” It’s all he can manage, voice cracking from the strain of hours before. It hurts. Pain is starting to appear in places he thought he hadn’t been touched, and sitting on solid wood wasn’t helping at all.
Doi-sensei is quick. Quicker than Kirimaru normally gives him credit for. He’s only barely looked up, when Doi-sensei is in front of the fire, looming over him. Rage. Kirimaru remembers that emotion, somewhere around the first time with a man who said he would look after him. It had simmered down when Kirimaru had received a handsome reward.
But Doi-sensei doesn’t wait, hands pulling at the front of Kirimaru’s yukata. Hissing, as nails catch on abused skin, Kirimaru tries to fend him off as best he can. But his nails are cracked from clawing at floorboard, and he remembers rough hands, a foot to his chest, and lets himself fall back. Doi-sensei at least gave him some dignity, only baring Kirimaru’s chest to survey the damage. Kirimaru thinks, with a soft smile, that Doi-sensei always looked after him.
Kirimaru closes his eyes, the moment he sees Doi-sensei’s face fall. He doesn’t want to see this. “Why?"
Grinning, Kirimaru stretches his arms out wide. He can almost see the disappointment behind his eyelids. "For money.”
Kirimaru wants to laugh, truly. He knew one day he’d get caught, and when he’d been bored enough a few weeks ago, he’d imagine what Doi-sensei’s reaction would be like. Cracking open one eye, he stared at Doi-sensei, looming over him with a broken expression, and wondered if he would die.
He forgets Doi-sensei is quick. All at once he’s pulled from the ground, a shout leaving him as Doi-sensei hoists him over his shoulder. Kirimaru regrets that’s he not all that gentle, wheezing when shoulder meets gut. Nausea fills him as he stares at the half eaten fish, getting further and further away.
“Doi-sensei!” He shouts, with a thump to the back of Doi-sensei’s back. “Put me down!”
No response. Just for good measure, he gives him a hard knee to the chest and another punch to the back, then let’s himself go weak. Doi-sensei doesn’t say anything, just a burning rage, tense shoulders. Kirimaru lets himself imagine being a young kid again, clinging to Doi-sensei, calling him names and laughing.
When they make it to the little wet area, Doi-sensei is gentle, lowering Kirimaru onto a stool. He’s quick, efficient, hands loosening ties and pulling Kirimaru free of the material. Kirimaru finds him absolutely unreadable, as the bruises have had time to blossom now, nasty red marks along his chest, a line of teeth here and there. When Doi-sensei goes to wet a cloth, Kirimaru stares down, a small ‘huh’ passing from his lips. He hadn’t even noticed himself.
“Why would you do this to yourself?” Doi-sensei asks, starting from Kirimaru’s feet, water warm and touch soft.
“Money.” And Kirimaru says it like its the most obvious thing in the world.
Finally, Doi-sensei’s mask cracks, a grit of teeth, fingers just barely tightening over Kirimaru’s knee. Kirimaru has half a mind for teasing him, but the cloth drags over the inside of his thighs, and he flinches. Lurching forward, his hands land on Doi-sensei’s shoulders, halting him.
“Are you alright?” Doi-sensei asks, a rush, hand floating just above Kirimaru’s skin, not quite touching, unsure.
Kirimaru wants to pass it off as pain, of being handled roughly. But Doi-sensei’s hand lands on Kirimaru’s knee, and the other has stilled, cloth still against his thigh. Self depreciatingly, Kirimaru muses he can’t hide this.
The effect on Doi-sensei is immediate. A flush burns up his cheeks, and his eyes dart to the left. Kirimaru wants to laugh, but embarrassment finally worms its way into his gut. Typical, he thinks, this is embarrassing, but taking two men at once isn’t.
“I can finish.” He finally speaks, offering an out for Doi-sensei. That blush didn’t look healthy.
Instead, Doi-sensei’s grip on his knee tightens, and even though he’s still pink in the face when he turns back, he doesn’t leave. “It’s fine,” he mutters, lifting Kirimaru’s leg to wipe underneath. “I’ll do it.”
Nodding mutely, Kirimaru tries not to focus on the lingering fingers, cloth brushing just barely against his abused hole, Doi-sensei’s breath so close to his skin. Kirimaru reminds himself of his village burning down, and the need for money. He can’t keep in all the noises, much to the embarrassment of both. His skin prickles under Doi-sensei’s touch, and he thinks of greasy old men who asked him to dance.
Doi-sensei is changing the water, tipping away it away when he speaks up. “Have you cleaned inside?”
Question snapping Kirimaru out of his reverie of watching light pink water flushing away, it takes him a full minute to register what Doi-sensei had asked. “Uh, no?”
Clicking his tongue, Doi-sensei comes back over, a new steaming bucket of water placed by the chair. “Turn around.”
“Wait… now?” Kirimaru tries to keep the squeak out of his voice.
“I’m going to wash your back.” Doi-sensei still isn’t looking at him.
Kirimaru manages to keep the disappointment out of his voice, and staring at the wall now, vaguely wonders what it would be like with Doi-sensei’s fingers in him. His belly tightens at that thought.
Doi-sensei is quick and efficient with his back, if only pausing to trace the nice new welt Kirimaru had earned that day for trying to leave. But, he didn’t tell Doi-sensei that, oh no. That would only be asking for trouble. Instead, he entertained himself with his own fingers sitting a little too close to his cock, nails occasionally dragging. It took all his effort not to buck.
And then Doi-sensei tips the bucket over Kirimaru’s head, and he splutters and inhales more water. Heaving as he finally manages to open his eyes, he’s greeted by the sight of Doi-sensei finally looking something other than disappointed, and blinks owlishly. Doi-sensei was amused, and that was concerning.
"Can you stand?”
Kirimaru ignores the offered hand, and pushing his fringe out of his eyes, stands. If he’s a little wobbly, neither of them comment, Doi-sensei just walking off to the little bath tucked out of the way. Following out of idle curiosity, cock slapping against his thigh once as if just to remind him that it was still there, Kirimaru is greeted by Doi-sensei bent over the edge of the bath.
Gritting his teeth, Kirimaru turns away. A little too sharply, and his hips ache. Remember why you’re here, he tells himself. Doi-sensei is disappointed in you. Don’t forget.
“It should be fine now,” Doi-sensei finally speaks up, turning. If his eyes drop, Kirimaru doesn’t notice, as he himself is staring a spot in the corner of the room.
“Thank you,” Kirimaru finally pushes himself to say. He means it, even if he wasn’t sure if he wanted Doi-sensei to yell at him, to get angry at him. Kirimaru wanted something other than a smile, and a knowing look.
Doi-sensei moves out of the way, motioning for Kirimaru to get in. When Kirimaru strides past, he thinks get angry get angry get angry. Yell at me. When he slides himself into the water, Kirimaru finally feels raw, and a low hiss leaves him. Abused. That’s what it felt like. Arms on either side of the bath, Kirimaru holds himself up.
“I’ll be back in a minute,” Doi-sensei says, and Kirimaru watches his face flicker with something he couldn’t quite place.
Making a noise in the back of his throat, Kirimaru sank lower into the water, until his nose was only just above the surface. If he closed his eyes, he could remember the old man who lived three doors down leaning over him, cooing about what a beauty Kirimaru grew into. When his arms ached from holding him up for so long, Kirimaru remembered a man and woman who tied his arms behind his back, and took turns riding his cock. Pushing himself up, Kirimaru draws his knees to his chest, and holds them close. When Kirimaru closes his eyes, he remembers every single person who fucked him.
It’s the rustling of fabric that gives Doi-sensei away, as he settles a chair beside the bath. Lowering himself onto it, propping his chin up in a hand and rolling a little ball between his fingers, he stares at Kirimaru. “For money, huh,” he mumbles, and Kirimaru knows it’s not directed at him. “Why money, Kirimaru?”
“To eat.” Kirimaru’s voice sounds small, even to his own ears. But he remembers hunger, like it was an old friend. “To sleep. To buy clothes and shoes and medicine.”
Doi-sensei sighs, a sound dragged deep from his belly. “But… this?”
Kirimaru squeezes his eyes shut. Don’t think about them don’t think about them don’t think about them. “You’d be amazed at how much people would be willing to offer.”
Kirimaru’s eyes open then, as he looks at Doi-sensei. Doi-sensei, who looked broken and sad, despite the smile on his face. “I’d just hoped you wouldn’t end up like that too.”
But the older man is standing, shaking his head. “I should’ve stopped you, the first, second, third night you came home. I ignored it.”
Gaping at Doi-sensei, Kirimaru’s mind reels, trying to catch up. Trying to think of something to say.
“The water should be cooling soon. I’ll let you finish up.”
“How did you know?” Kirimaru finally asks, eyes wide.
Doi-sensei snorts. “That scarf of yours. It was too hot to even move and you insisted on wearing it late at night.”
Not careful enough. Kirimaru sinks back into the water, eyes sliding up to the roof. And he’d been so careful, so precise, careful of squeaking floor boards and the window that creaked even in still air. “Doi-sensei?” he finds himself asking. So careful. It was too late now.
Might as well, he mused. “Join me.”
Doi-sensei has enough patience to not just walk out on Kirimaru then and there, apparently, as the colour returns to his cheeks. “I doubt both of us could fit, you aren’t a child anymore.”
Kirimaru struggles to hide the smirk. “No, I’m not.”
For a moment, Doi-sensei looks torn, until he folds his arms over his chest. “Kirimaru, just soak for a little bit.”
Hand shooting out of the bath, Kirimaru nearly tips himself over as he tugs on the end of Doi-sensei’s sleeve, just as he turns to leave. “Doi-sensei… please.”
Doi-sensei stills, face turned. Kirimaru can’t read him at all. "Please,” he repeats, tugging on the sleeve once more. “Doi-sensei… don’t leave me now.” And he meant it. As much as Kirimaru wanted to tease and play off what had happened, he was in pain. A crumbling sensation that started at his feet. Finding out Doi-sensei had known didn’t help at all.
Kirimaru does as instructed, closing his eyes and facing the wall. He hears the fabric drop, the soft slap of feet against tile. When he cracks an eye open, he can see Doi-sensei’s leg, the bend of his knee, the curve of his thigh. Kirimaru catches sight of Doi-sensei’s half hard cock and his own responds in kind.
Despite the bath being far too small for two grown adults, Kirimaru shrinks into himself, with Doi-sensei stretches his legs either side. Kirimaru can feel Doi-sensei’s toes prod the sides of his thighs, and almost regrets the situation. Except the water is clear and he can see the swell of pink skin between Doi-sensei’s thighs.
Not as if he was going to deny any attraction. If Doi-sensei had caught on to Kirimaru’s affairs once he was of legal age, no doubt he knew of Kirimaru’s late nights in the bath during the high point of his teenage years, fisting his cock and yelling Doi-sensei’s name around his clenched hand.
The coil in his belly tightened, and Kirimaru vaguely wondered if he would come from this alone.
“Why didn’t you clean inside straight away?” Doi-sensei asks, snapping Kirimaru from his thoughts.
It wasn’t the conversation he wanted to have. “I did… a little bit at least.”
Doi-sensei hums, a sound that echoes off the walls. Kirimaru notices that he looks exhausted.
“Why did you stay up?”
It’s Doi-sensei’s turn to close his eyes now. “I… I told myself I would stop you before you left. And I didn’t. So I waited for you to come home.”
Kirimaru burns as the water cools. “You didn’t have to.”
“Yes, I did.” Doi-sensei’s voice is firm, bordering on harsh. “I promised I would take care of you and I didn’t.”
“I chose to do this.” Kirimaru can feel his temper flare. “I wanted to do this.”
“I know.” Resignation. That was the term for Doi-sensei’s tone.
“You won’t stop me again?”
A pause. Doi-sensei gives him a levelled stare, and Kirimaru juts his chin out. Challenging. “No. Just clean yourself properly.”
Clicking his tongue, Kirimaru tears his gaze away. “It’s fine.”
“Not if you get sick -”
“From something another man did to you. There just isn’t enough out there for that. I can’t have you wasting away on me.”
Kirimaru stares at his wrinkly fingers, and hates how cold the water is. Swallowing, he thinks about how he had to wipe at his thighs quickly before making off with the money. Still leaking on the way home. He presses his thighs together. “Help me.”
Doi-sensei doesn’t ask, seeming to understand from Kirimaru darting his gaze. Manoeuvring himself is harder than Kirimaru intended, and when Doi-sensei circles his fingers around a particular line of bruises, exactly as someone had earlier in the day, he wants to tell him to stop, leave him, he’ll do it.
Leg in the air, water slapping against the tiles, spilling onto the floor. Kirimaru struggles to hold his head up, watching Doi-sensei from hooded eyes. He can feel his whole body twitch when Doi-sensei’s free hand slips between them, pressing against the ring of muscles. Gentle, always so gentle, as if Kirimaru might break.
Not yet, Kirimaru thinks, and tightens instantly as Doi-sensei presses a finger in. Instinct, he tells himself, as he gasps. Painful. Doi-sensei stills, finger just barely sitting inside, eyes scouring Kirimaru’s face. He apologises, whole heartedly, and curls his finger before dragging it out again. Kirimaru bucks and groans and smacks his head against the tile, when Doi-sensei’s scrape deeper, pressing his prostate.
The sheer concentration on Doi-sensei’s face makes him want to laugh, but he’s overtired, hyped up, adrenalin pumping through him and Doi-sensei Doi-sensei Doi-sensei.
Doi-sensei touching him, dragging along that bundle of nerves, holding him so close that if Kirimaru concentrates, he can almost imagine the heat. Kirimaru doesn’t register slipping his own hand to his cock, pumping himself. Moaning Doi-sensei’s name until his echo overpowers his own voice. Too much. He still remembers that shot of heat in spine when the last man took him, and how to make it pleasurable he imagined Doi-sensei behind him, in him, hands dragging along his back, teeth in his skin.
I’m so depraved, Kirimaru laughs, and opens one eye to see Doi-sensei, to gauge his reaction. Kirimaru watches as Doi-sensei removes his fingers, as if satisfied, and Kirimaru wants to yell at the loss of contact, wants to cling onto him. His wrist movements become lazy, and the cold water does nothing to stop the growing pink flush. “Doi-sensei,” he calls, raising his hand that had only been stroking himself moments ago. “Please.”
Kirimaru doesn’t register leaving the bath and ending on the tiles, flat on his back. The ceiling spins, until Doi-sensei looms over him, lips parted, eyes lidded. Kirimaru reaches out to him, hand pressed against his cheek. “Please.”
Perhaps, Kirimaru shouldn’t have grouped Doi-sensei in with the others. Pushing Kirimaru’s thighs together, Doi-sensei eases himself between slick thighs, until Kirimaru can barely see the head. And then, Doi-sensei moves, pushing himself forward. In odd fascination, Kirimaru watches the head of his cock disappear between his thighs, only to reappear again. Precome leaks, making it easier for Doi-sensei. Faster faster, harder harder. Kirimaru follows Doi-sensei’s thrusts with his own hands, arching off the tiles.
“Doi-sensei,” he heaves, thumbing the slit of his cock. “Doi-sensei.”
Spitting into his palm, Kirimaru strokes until he’s in tears. Aching, empty, he wanted Doi-sensei to just fuck him. Fill him. Kirimaru imagined the heat of Doi-sensei’s come leaking from between his thighs, and clenched. “Touch me,” he gasps, just teetering on the border. “Please Doi-sensei touch me.”
Wrapping an arm around Kirimaru’s knees, still holding him there, Doi-sensei moves a hand back to his hole. No easing in this time, as he drives two fingers in hard. Kirimaru chokes and his head falls back with a "yes yes please Doi-sensei yes!”
Kirimaru comes with his eyes squeezed shut, rough and it felt like months of stress leave him, months of holding it. Messing his hand and chest, when he’s finally able to open his eyes, Kirimaru gives Doi-sensei a satisfied, if somewhat dazed look. A lazy grin drags over his lips, and raising a hand to his lips, Kirimaru licks his come off.
Doi-sensei comes with a shout of Kirimaru’s name, spilling between Kirimaru’s thighs and over his softening cock. A shot of heat runs through Kirimaru as he watches Doi-sensei shudder and twitch until he was spent.
Eventually, Doi-sensei removes his fingers, lowers Kirimaru’s legs. Rocking back on his heels, Doi-sensei balls his hands into fists and stares at the ground. Regret, perhaps. Anger, directed at who Kirimaru didn’t know, but he sticks a toe out and pokes one of Doi-sensei’s fists.
“Thank you,” Kirimaru says, as he stretches out on the tiles, come on his chest cooling and sticky. It felt wonderful. “Thank you, Doi-sensei.” He meant it entirely, a giddy sound making it’s way up his throat. Since he was little… Honestly, Kirimaru thinks, I’m the worst.
“Don’t thank me,” Doi-sensei only responds, and wobbles to his feet. Kirimaru wants to laugh, and as Doi-sensei walks past, Kirimaru wraps a hand around his ankle. Rolling to his side, Kirimaru catches Doi-sensei’s gaze, and presses his lips to the top of his foot.
“Thank you.” Kirimaru wondered if Doi-sensei understood.
Doi-sensei just tips another bucket of water over him and walks away.