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The waxy glow of neon makes the snow-powdered streets smooth and perfect, hiding the puckers and gnarls of the city like a dolled up hostesses under dim club lighting. Icicles form beneath the heated lights and leak droplets rhythmically onto the countless stoops and passersby. Kaito feels one prickle his scalp as he pauses to count the change in his wallet one final time before stepping inside the sentō facility he’s selected. A trip to a bathhouse is not a large expense by any means, but when he’s suddenly found himself picking up unreliable gig work he needs to be a little more judicious than usual. He’ll just stick to bottom shelf liquor for a few weeks, until his confidence returns.
He pays his entry fee, strips in the changing room, and pads over to the showers to rinse off. After the scouring dryness of the winter air the steam is sultry and indulgent against his skin. It caresses him, envelops him, lets him slip into a new self.
The relief is welcome. He’s been having a rough time of it.
It’s an understatement—he’s no longer in the Matsugane Family, no longer a part of the group he’s sacrificed the prime of his life and his best chance at love for—but it feels self-aggrandizing, too. He’s alive, and with all of his digits intact, which is better than most ex-yakuza can say.
Now he’s just a regular joe. It should be an easy transition, seeing as he’s lacking in ink or amputations that would out his past; he just passes as a burly civvy.
That stings, somehow.
Still, he made his call, and he doesn’t regret it in the slightest. He’d do it again.
It’s a few squat steps down into the main bathing area from the showers. Fake plants droop from the looming second story, weaving underneath the wooden ranma’s intricately carved cranes and pines that compose the balustrade. Streetlights filter through the pale blue frosted windows and across the dark flooring, the broad, textured tiles shiny from the pervasive humidity. He can smell the sharp mint and perilla leaf from one of the baths and the citrus scent of tangerine peels and persimmon leaves from another as he walks through the open space. He passes by the basins for now, heading up the narrow stairs to the sauna instead—that’s where the action is, or so he’s heard.
He pushes aside the indigo noren curtain and scans the room out of bone-deep habit; no weapons being drawn, no ambush being sprung, just ordinary civilian life.
Naked civilian life, he supposes.
He settles in on the bench. His polite nod is returned, and he scans the room a second time. Some of the men here are svelte and pretty. It makes Kaito roll the recently unearthed pebble around in his brain again: would he enjoy sleeping with a man? He was too busy to think much about it while he was sworn up, and it would have put even more risk on his head, but now… he can think about it. A lot.
The closest man has a cock that’s thick and generously proportioned even while soft. Kaito spent a lot of time not looking at cocks, because it was too much of a reminder that he didn’t have one. That’s changed, too. He might be a little envious of size, but the sharp friction of dysphoria has vanished now that he has his own little man.
So he thinks again: would he like to touch that man’s cock? Have that man touch his?
That was the whole point of making a trip to a gay bathhouse, after all. He’s always been keen on action rather than let anything fester in his brain.
After a moment he smells the caramel warmth of hojicha tea in the air, pumped in alongside soft music. It’s nostalgic; Matsugane preferred a classic, simple cup of sencha at his meetings, and most of the family followed suit, but Hamura always demanded Higashi make a separate pot of hojicha just for him. He’d get pissy if anyone else tried to take a cup of it. He’d get pissy if it was anyone but Higashi brewing it, too. Bring in enough cash for the family and you can be as particular as you please—Kaito won’t miss that.
A barrel-chested man scooches closer to Kaito, giving him a shy smile and a thorough once over. Kaito smiles back. Lets the man nudge his knee against Kaito’s. Feels the way the man’s hairy thigh drags against his own, the contrast of thick pads of fat and firm muscle. The attention is… nice. Kaito may not know the exact etiquette here, but he can blunder his way through. People find that charming, usually.
Then the man ducks his head in apology and departs. Ah. Not charming enough, he guesses. No reason to anguish over it, he hasn’t had any practice. He’s kept himself busy in the short time that he’s been cut loose from the Matsugane Family. He gets restless easily, and nothing good comes of it.
But there are always little jobs to find around town; construction work and sanitation are reliable, and the Champion district always needs bouncers who won’t raise a stink about drag queens and alcohol-emboldened men flirting with them.
In hindsight he must have looked like a closet case hanging around gay bars like that. In hindsight, maybe he was.
The crowd continues to shuffle and thin, an uneasy malaise spreading through the roiling clouds of scented steam. Kaito’s not sure what’s got everyone so spooked until he catches sight of the scalloped edges of irezumi decorating one of the men entering the room. And then another. And another. Until he’s the only one without.
The strange thing is, he didn’t go to a tattoo friendly joint. He wasn’t looking to pay a premium so he could rub elbows with yakuza and foreigners.
He remains seated while minutes pass by and the density increases; he gets a few scowls and raised eyebrows when he’s not cowed out of the building, but no one starts anything with him. He almost wishes they would. Give him an excuse to get his hands on them.
Then he thinks, has that always been an excuse?
Not like he needs an excuse now. And so what if these guys are yakuza? He planned on experimenting with strangers, and these men are all strangers to him even if they had been distant coworkers before. No sense chickening out.
His gaze wanders across each of them, the burly and the lithe, the hairy and the smooth, the pretty and the handsome and the rugged and the ugly. Big cocks, small cocks, different shades and trimmings as varied as koi. His own fits in among them, a proud jut of warm flesh on top of two heavy balls full of silicone, all stitched together just so by a team of surgeons.
It’ll hold up under scrutiny. He’s got no concerns about that. He’s still gotta figure out what kind of scrutiny he wants, though.
There’s not much different between the mouth of a man and a woman, he reasons out, nor the ass. If he truly wants to test his orientation, he’s going balls to the wall with it—he’s gotta suck a dick, and he’s gotta get fucked by one.
With his freshly minted resolve he strides out of the sauna and descends the stairs to get the lay of the land all over again. It’s a healthy gaggle of yakuza flooding the facility, men lounging in baths and men getting fucked against the wall. Kaito lets out a low whistle at the sight.
Then he turns the corner and comes face to face with the wild yellow eyes and taut white skin of a hannya. It startles him. It startles him more when he recognizes it, recognizes the man that prowls in the Tojo Clan’s legends. Majima Goro, currently balls deep in one of his subordinates.
Kaito is a little bit star-struck, despite himself. He’s heard the legends—everyone in the Tojo had. He’s even seen the man in action, on a drizzly spring day when the Matsugane Family was fending off a raid and Majima had descended onto the battlefield like a screeching banshee. Saejima had been in tow at the time, looking bemused at his sworn brother’s sudden assault and hauling him away once the enemy had dwindled and turned to flee.
Saejima’s not here to haul him away, now.
Later, when Kaito asks an old drinking buddy about Saejima’s absence, he learns that the man was away on Tojo Clan business; he spent the winter months negotiating with Triads in China, having picked up a rudimentary command of the language while in prison. A noble sacrifice for the clan’s prosperity. Impossible for anyone to fault.
Under the bathhouse lights the man currently being fucked by Majima seems to be struggling with it, his back arching as he grimaces and grinds his molars against each other. Another man steps forward and presses a small, dark bottle to his nose—some sort of inhalant that makes his eyes flutter and his body relax. Majima cackles with the same blood-chilling mania that’s stayed lodged in Kaito’s memory, and spanks his subordinate’s ass until he’s grimacing again.
When Majima notices him and turns his wide-eyed rictus grin in Kaito’s direction, it makes the hairs on his arms all stand on end.
“Sorry to intrude, Majima-san,” Kaito bows respectfully low, hands on his knees out of habit.
Alright, so, it’s not just strangers here. Doesn’t mean he needs to bolt. He’s keeping an open mind about this whole thing still. Not every day he gets an opportunity like this.
“Shit, are you one of those fanboys? I ain’t gonna sign your damn stalker magazine, if that’s what you’re after,” Majima huffs, remaining bottomed out in the wiry younger man. Majima’s tattoos seem to ripple, the snakes hissing with every minute flex of his muscle. “All yer candid shots look like shit and ya never use the ones I send ya.”
“No sir, I was just here as a regular guest. Didn’t know you had the place booked.” He really wishes Majima would stop fucking this guy long enough to have this conversation, but multi-tasking seems like his natural state; Majima is one of the biggest patriarchs around, after all. “You mind if I stay?”
“Abso-fuckin’-lutely I mind. This shindig’s Tojo only. There’s loads of places ya could be soakin’ at,” Majima waves at him dismissively, his hips rocking in and out of the tight hole and dragging whimpers from the man, “so go play at any of the other bathhouses that cater to your kind.”
“Hold on, I may not have ink but I’ve done my time. I’m Kaito Masaharu of the Matsugane Family—err, formerly of.”
Majima pauses and looks him over again. It feels like facing down some mythic predator, a demon ready to snap him up in his jaws. “Ex-yakuza, huh? Coulda fooled me.”
“It wasn’t—” he bites his tongue. He doesn’t need to justify himself. The specifics don’t matter. “What’s done is done. It may not show on my skin, but I took that shit seriously.”
It’s not that he has anything against ink—hell, he would have loved to have gotten his own—it’s just that the Matsugane family didn’t have the funds to sponsor it and the little guy sitting between his legs wasn’t cheap.
Majima rolls his eye, the dark leather of his eyepatch beaded with condensation. “I don’t give a shit. This is a family event and I’d beat yer ass blue if I didn’t think ya’d get off on it. ‘Sides, we don’t need some dumbfuck rough trade top who can hardly hear someone tappin’ out over how hard he’s shoutin’ no homo.”
“Well uh, actually I came here to bottom,” Kaito blurts out after a moment, too caught off guard by the accusation he only barely understands to take offense.
Majima’s expression shifts, the theatrics falling away as he takes a third look at Kaito. There’s a crystalline perceptiveness in his gaze as it rakes down Kaito’s body. It’s jagged and piercing, dissecting him in moments.
Then everything snaps right back into place slick and polished. Majima slams his fist down on the wet tiles, the smack echoing off the walls like a gunshot and making several of his men flinch and stand at attention.
“Oh?” Majima lilts, “Ya gonna earn your keep then, Kaito-chan? Gonna prove ya can still hang?”
The rational part of Kaito’s brain, the part that governs important, boring areas of his psyche like fiscal responsibility and self-preservation, knows that he should leave as quickly as possible. But there’s something about Majima that’s putting his hair up. Kaito’s too fresh out of the family to have quashed the impulsive side of his skull, the side that pushed him into this sentō to begin with, the side that lived and breathed being a family man.
“Yeah. I’ll prove it.” Kaito pushes his chin until his neck cracks, and pumps his shoulder in a circle to stretch it out like he’s gearing up for a brawl.
“Ya hear that boys? We got some primo civvy hole on offer!” Majima crows.
His men guffaw on command, elbowing the few that miss the unspoken prompt. It’s a nervous sound, a muted reaction to a joke that they’ve been the butt of before. The man being fucked lets out a breathy wheeze that could have been a laugh or could be a hiss of pain. Tattoos twine up his arms and bloom across his shoulders into a suit that swallows his scrawny legs and dapples his chest with a hodgepodge of western flash art and traditional irezumi, intricate and sprawling. The snake coiled around a skull mirrors his boss’s ink. A real die hard for the family. Still being ignored like he’s a discount cocksleeve.
It doesn’t sit right with Kaito.
“Nishida, lube him up, would ya?” Majima smirks, a feral menace in his tone. “Be thorough about it, unless ya want to be stuck cleanin’ up a broken toy.”
Kaito watches the crowd of naked men part as Majima stalks off to a better vantage point, perched like a gargoyle on the handful of steps leading to the entrance. There’s sweat dripping off the men’s bodies as Majima passes them, haggard expressions being swapped between the family men as they dutifully duck their heads and turn their attention towards Kaito. It sets his teeth on edge. Even in a cohort the size of the Majima Family, finding enough exhibitionist gay men to flood the bathhouse seems… unlikely.
The boss’s orders are absolute—personal proclivities be damned.
“Kaito-san,” a gentle hand grasps his shoulder and tugs him away from the shifting crowd, “you really should leave. The boss is… not in the best of moods.”
The man’s unassuming face and meek demeanor momentarily fools Kaito into thinking his body suit of irezumi is clothing; he’s actually fully nude save for a sticky yellow construction helmet emblazoned with the Majima Family crest. That must be Nishida, then. Kaito pauses for a moment to admire the intricate artwork engulfing the man; the pair of shishi guarding his thighs, the plum blossoms being tossed by a winter thunderstorm across his arms and chest, the pale strip of unadorned flesh running up his middle. His dedication to family life is palpable.
“I’ll be fine. I’m used to the posturing, and I can take a beating.” Kaito gives the timid-looking man a thumbs up, finding himself in the odd position of wanting to reassure someone who’s just been ordered to fuck him. “But if this ain’t your thing, I could—”
“Nishida! Bend him over already ‘fore I bash yer skull in! I’m going soft watchin’ ya futz around.” Majima barks from the sidelines.
Nishida swallows hard. Kaito glances down and sees the sudden erection raging between Nishida’s legs, a shiny pearl of precum forming at the tip.
Well… joining the yakuza’s not a half-bad line of work if you have a fetish for getting kicked around.
Kaito is guided gently but firmly into propping his forearms on the edge of the bench, his knees spread on the floor and his thick, hairy ass on full display. He feels excruciatingly exposed. The grimy, fragmented jeers that he manages to catch only amplify the sensation.
It makes his face go hot. He tamps down the urge to hide behind his hands, instead turning his focus to Nishida, who hovers at his peripheral. The man’s cock is a little on the small side for both length and girth. A good cock for beginners, Kaito thinks, before discarding the thought as silly.
“Have you ever done this before?” Nishida asks.
“I’ve had sex. Just not with men.” The truth comes out of him painlessly—Nishida is easy to be honest with. Like a stranger at a bar offering a sympathetic ear. An odd vibe for a yakuza in one of the most notorious families in Tokyo, but a welcome reprieve. “I’m not gay.”
Nishida squints at him, at the small cock twitching between Kaito’s legs, his mouth drawn into a tight line. “...And you’re sure you want to do this? There’s no shame in leaving.”
It’s an empty platitude—Kaito refuses to be the ex-yakuza who talked a big game and then chickened out the moment a dick got near his ass.
“Hell yeah I wanna do this,” he flashes a toothy grin. “Now are you gonna fuck me or do I have to find someone else who will?”
Nishida sighs, long suffering and, if Kaito didn’t know any better, just a little amused. He repositions behind Kaito then pauses once more.
“We’ve got poppers to help, if you’d like.”
“Poppers?”
“Amyl nitrite, mostly. I try to avoid the isopropyl and butyl ‘cause the headaches are awful, but the boss thinks pentyl nitrite is too weak—ah, they’re inhalants, or technically they’re for cleaning but no one uses them for that. It’s hard to get your hands on these days, but it helps relax everything so I try to keep a supply.” Nishida rambles, fidgeting with a bag of supplies. He wonders if Nishida’s stalling, hoping that Kaito will get the hint and scram. Or if he’s just hoping Majima will belittle him again.
“We’ve got harder stuff too, but if you have a bad time it’s going to be really bad.” Nishida holds a small bottle out towards him.
Kaito remembers the fresh recruits and broke burnouts that would get strung out huffing paint thinners. It seems like such a crass drug for the illustrious Majima Family to be partying with. It must be damn effective for it to be their intoxicant of choice.
After a moment’s consideration he waves the bottle off. He doesn’t need to be picking up new, difficult to obtain vices, given his present circumstances. God knows how many men swear up with the very yakuza that had been peddling the drugs to them.
Effective marketing, Hamura had called it.
“Only if I’m really struggling,” Kaito says.
Nishida nods, his helmet dripping from the humidity, and swaps the bottle of poppers out for lube. Majima is tapping his foot impatiently as Nishida applies a generous amount to his fingers and the rim of Kaito’s ass.
The first finger slips in and it feels—odd. Not painful, not necessarily unpleasant, but not particularly good, either. A little unnerving to have his insides breached like this. It makes him think of how easily a knife slid into his thigh during a brawl in his early Matsugane Family days, the blade sharp enough that he barely registered the pain until it was ripped free. The doctor said he was lucky it missed the artery, he’d have bled out in the street otherwise. Kaito kept irritating the healing wound by pressing on it, shuddering with the primal terror of mortality as the angry red skin throbbed around the stitches; he resolved then to hone his fighting skills until he was a bigger threat than any punk waving a blade around. Big, insulating words for a scared kid.
He glances towards Majima, only briefly, and feels the slow waxy drip of that same terror.
“Do you—ahh—do this often?” Kaito asks, for lack of better conversation topics with the man who’s been ordered to finger him open.
“We haven’t in a while,” Nishida says. He glances at his boss, at the empty spaces beside his boss, then continues, “...it’s good for morale.”
That explains it. The devastating loss of the Dragon of Dojima had shaken the Tojo Clan. Kaito’s beginning to see just how deeply that wound runs.
Nishida frowns as he prods around inside of Kaito, searching for a prostate he’s never going to find.
“Better not keep the boss waiting for too long,” Kaito nudges.
That gets the man to withdraw his fingers. He smears the lube across his modest cock and lines himself up with Kaito’s ass.
“Keep breathing, Kaito-san,” Nishida says gently, and Kaito lets out the breath he didn’t realize he was holding. “I’m putting it in now.”
The motion is simple, and Kaito’s body yields easily after the prep work, the taut ring of muscle stretching around the new intrusion. It feels… nice. Not mindblowing, but very satisfying. Like the burn of a good tussle.
Nishida begins to thrust into him, the lube-slick glide registering pleasantly. It makes Kaito chuckle thinking about the men who are so terrified of this. The angle shifts and a low groan rumbles out of him.
That Nishida fella’s pretty good at this.
He relaxes further into it, pressing his hips back to meet Nishida’s thrusts. The thrill of it travels up his spine, making his breath hitch. Oh, that’s real nice.
“Hurry it up, Nishida! Didya spend so long guzzlin’ cum that ya forgot how to fuck someone? Yer lucky the birthday boy ain’t here, he’d thrash ya good for a lackluster performance like that.”
“Yes boss!” Nishida yelps, his breath hitching. He tightens his grip on Kaito’s hips and his cock throbs stiffly inside Kaito’s ass.
The pace picks up, and Kaito moans now, his fingers curling against the bench. There’s more power behind Nishida’s thrusts than he expects, firm muscle hammering into him.
A warmth starts inside of him, guttering and hazy at first but growing tighter. The sensation matures abruptly just behind his navel—like something being knocked loose. His thighs flex and shudder. He feels the orgasm punch through him, vibrating his nerves from his groin down to the arches of his feet like a plucked wire. The heady rush of endorphins makes him curl in on himself and bark out in surprise, then sag limply against the bench.
He dimly registers Majima wolf whistling from his perch.
He dimly registers that he doesn’t mind it. He likes showing off. It makes his cock twitch, already raring for round two. And the whine Nishida made when Kaito’s ass clamped down around his cock, he has got to hear that again.
His legs feel like jelly but he still rocks backwards against Nishida, relishing in the way his hole clings to the man’s cock and makes him moan. Kaito may be the center of attention right now but he can still hear the squelch of someone else’s ass being reamed, someone else’s mouth being used. And he can see the men leering at him as they fist their cocks while they watch, waiting for their turn on him.
Kaito’s not one to disappoint.
“I’m going to cum inside,” Nishida warns him in lieu of asking permission. He presses his lips together until they go white and bloodless and lets out a small grunt, his cock pulsing inside of Kaito’s ass.
Kaito expected he’d be able to feel the cum pumping into him a lot more than he can. He expected to feel grossed out by it. Instead, he’s finding that he enjoys this scenario more than he has any right to. Women have fawned over him, sure, but it was nothing like the raw, primal lust suffusing the atmosphere. He wants to throw himself into the mud and see where the night takes him.
“Whew. That should be enough that nobody will complain.” Nishida pulls himself out and examines the mixture of cum and lube glazing Kaito’s entrance. “I was worried it might take a few rounds.”
Kaito wrinkles his nose at the scent, sharp and musky enough to beat out the smell of sweat and citrus still thick in the air. It’ll take some getting used to. He’s smelled it before, clinging to dark bathrooms or flustered men sneaking out of love hotels, but had never pieced together the culprit till now.
“Minami, get in there,” Majima barks out, having shifted positions to be closer to the action, his perch abandoned. “Kaito here needs the full experience, a lover boy like Nishida ain’t gonna give him that. Teach him how to be a good lil fag.”
“Yes sir!” Minami responds enthusiastically, marching forward with a slight limp. The man seems more excited to impress his boss than to fuck Kaito’s ass.
In a different life they could have been good friends, Kaito thinks.
Nishida retreats from him and Kaito sees a baku, the devourer of nightmares, dominating his back piece. Even his tattoo is in service of others, smoke-like fears being swallowed by the yokai fringed by lightning strikes. Kaito’s lip twitches downwards. He turns his attention to Minami rather than dwell on it.
His cock is—big. Surprisingly so, on his lithe body. It’s not excessively long, but it’s longer than his only other experience, and boy is it girthy.
Kaito is very glad that he was so thoroughly prepped by Nishida now.
Metal studs dot the underside of Minami’s cock, and a shiny ring punctures the tip. It draws Kaito’s eye. He wonders how badly it hurt to be pierced there.
“Like the hardware?” Minami lilts as he lingers in front of Kaito, unfurling a condom onto his shaft. “I gotta wrap up so I don’t lose any of it in ya.”
“Thanks,” Kaito says. He doesn’t know enough about dick piercings to challenge Minami on it. He’d rather not chance it, either.
Minami laughs, a hyena-cackle like his boss that rasps apart at the edges, then gets himself in position behind Kaito.
The blunt cockhead nudges against his hole, smearing the mess of lube and cum that Nishida left. Minami’s cackle dwindles down as he wraps his hand around his cock and smacks it against Kaito’s twitching asshole a few times. He keeps glancing towards Majima for approval, and when he doesn’t get it he changes tactics.
“I’m gonna fuck ya till ya cry, man!” Minami crows, then slams himself inside.
The impact punches out a pained gasp from Kaito—the sharp stretch burns and aches and lights his nerves up with something hot. He grits his teeth and hisses like a feral cat. His knuckles go white where he clutches at the bench, bracing against it as Minami starts to jackhammer into him.
He can’t help the pained mewl that escapes his lips, his body folding under the onslaught. It’s embarrassing. The bludgeoning pain of fists and metal is intimately familiar to him, but this brutal penetration is hitting fresh, untouched nerves, and he’s got no tolerance built up against these foreign sensations.
Nishida kneels beside him, holding the poppers bottle to his nostril and plugging the other with a steady, practiced hand. “Inhale, hold it, then exhale.”
Kaito does as he’s told. It reeks, chemical and pungent as it hits his nose, but he inhales it anyway. On Nishida’s signal he lets it out, and as his breath escapes out in a shaky stream a rolling warmth hits his skull and radiates outward in waves.
“Aww, Nishida, I almost had him,” Minami complains. He drives harder into Kaito’s ass. The pain lessens to a pleasant stretch and Kaito arches into it, his head swimming and his face warm. Everything goes loose and forgiving. He can feel his pulse flutter in his ears. Taking dick is so much easier now. No wonder Majima likes this stuff.
He takes the next several hits offered, melting into a fuzzy mess while Minami does his best to turn him inside out. The thin skin of his knees abrades against the tile’s grout, rashing up like he’s being dragged against asphalt. He hisses from it, but finds himself shuddering in pleasure, too.
“Get on your back. I’m gonna fuck ya deep. Make ya pay off that bottle with this fat ass of yours.” Minami slaps his ass hard to punctuate his demand, earning some snickering from the crowd.
Kaito pries himself up from the bench, the skin of his pecs sticking to it wet and sinful, and repositions to lay his back on the well-worn wood. The broad leaves of the fake plants canopy his vision. Minami grabs hold of Kaito’s thighs and presses them to his chest, spreading him apart like the tines of an umbrella.
He slots himself back inside Kaito without fanfare, battering away at Kaito’s guts again. Minami’s cock hits deeper now, his abused hole no longer fighting against the intruding hardness. The position is more intimate, too. There’s no other word for it, not when he can see the way Minami pants and sweats in the sweltering air, the shine of the piercings riveting his face, the way his chemically dilated pupils keep shifting towards Majima.
Kaito feels irrelevant here. And being a mere prop in this orgy is an unexpected turn-on.
“Gotta rail yer ass like I railed yer mom last night,” Minami barks out, all blustery growls. “Too bad yer ass ‘n’ tits ain’t as jiggly as hers though. Fuckin’... fat bitch bouncin’ on my dick like a konbini puddin’.”
Kaito is strung out enough to find it cute. Like a puppy still learning how to snarl properly. It makes him chuckle. He wants to pet Minami’s head, tries to reach one trembling hand towards him to tousle Minami’s drooping hair, and it sneaks up on Kaito just how bad his hands are shaking. He didn’t think to ask if you can overdose on poppers. Nishida doesn’t look worried—no more than his perpetually wincing demeanor usually conveys—so he’s probably okay. His skin is a furnace now, though.
“This is boring,” Majima declares abruptly, and Minami’s face falls.
“Boss, I could do somethin’ different—”
“Can it. Actually, I wanna see both of ya put your mouth to better use than flappin’ yer fuckin’ gums.” Majima motions for two family members to enter the fray. They leap to attention instantly and march forward, one grim and one grinning.
“Awwwww shit. That ain’t fuckin’ fair,” Minami grumbles under his breath. His shoulders slump, defeated, and he cooperates with his forcibly assigned partner as he’s repositioned.
Minami is laid out on his back across the sweaty tiles and Kaito is seated once more on his formidable cock—he’s left feeling like he’s been impaled, full to bursting and eyelids fluttering. Behind Kaito’s back Minami’s face is quickly straddled by one of his colleagues who fucks into Minami’s mouth in slow, indulgent thrusts. The other man stands before Kaito, knees bent slightly to bring his hips to eye-level. He’s svelte and smooth, the kind of man Kaito would expect to see in a host club rather than in a family, but the Majima Family is an eclectic collection of outliers. The pretty man presses his equally pretty cock to Kaito’s lips with a sly smirk.
“If you bite me I’ll rip all the teeth out of your filthy mouth,” the man purrs, the threat sounding more like dirty talk than anything genuine. He slaps his cock against Kaito’s face a few times for good measure, patronizing and demeaning.
“Yes sir,” Kaito responds, his eyes heavily lidded. He didn’t realize how much he missed the power imbalance of family life until he’s got some stranger calling him names and humping his chin scruff. He takes the proffered cock into his mouth clumsily and the man laughs at him.
“Oh ho ho, someone’s eager,” Majima comments abrasively from the sidelines. “Is that what got ya kicked out, you were too busy daydreaming about bein’ a whore for all the other men to get any fuckin’ work done? Or did you get caught suckin’ off the bastards you were supposed to be shaking down?”
It should offend Kaito, but everything feels too good for it to bother him. He closes his eyes and takes the man deeper into his mouth, running his tongue along the salty flesh and inhaling the scent of his groin.
“Well damn, he’s a natural! Ya better get in there while the gettin’s good.” Majima croons, and his men respond to the suggestion as an order.
There’s more hands on him now, more dicks rubbing against him, enough that he loses track of them all. Enough to overwhelm him. Someone gropes his pec and someone wraps his hand around their dick and someone spits on him. Majima’s shouting something that Kaito can’t make out. The cock in Kaito’s mouth erupts, sudden and bitter, pulling out to let the last few ropes land on his cheek. He gasps once, then his mouth is filled again by another cock belonging to another man. Someone has a finger hooked in Kaito’s cheek, tugging it open and making him work harder to suck the man off. Behind him Minami gags on the cock being fed to him, his hips bucking up into Kaito violently as he chokes, and it’s enough to make Kaito tense up with an orgasm.
Everything starts to pass as a blur.
After years and years of living and dying on his reputation, of carefully guarding every weakness and wound like a feral animal, it’s freeing to be some slutty nobody getting pushed around. A cheap whore so desperate for dick that no indignity is beneath him.
And in truth he’s sick with want for it. Trembling with it. His body making pathetic, needy clenches around the cock inside of him. It would be wrong to claim he’s never been this turned on, this eager—he still remembers the early days of HRT when his arousal would maul him like a starving wolf—but it’s been long enough that he’d forgotten just how deeply he could crave this, how it scorches his belly.
And it’s different, this time.
Kaito has rolled in the hay with strong women who had no qualms about bossing him around, but there was always the sense that Kaito was playing along with them. He could escape, turn the tables, simply refuse. Kaito’s not so sure he’s in a position to refuse the hand reaching towards his neck, now. The best he can do is make it his own, tilt his chin back and guide the wrist until the fingers close around his throat, until his vision and limbs and lips go staticky from lack of blood.
The physicality of the act, of being manhandled into submission, being degraded and used, it’s appallingly lewd. In a twisted little way, it’s like being part of the rank and file again; there’s no burden of having any control over his own fate, no worries about his future trajectory, nothing but simple obedience and putting his body on the line. And unlike family life, if these men think he’s nothing more than a cock hungry bottom bitch, it doesn’t have any real weight beyond the way it makes his breathing go tight and shuddery.
A hand on his small dick squeezes, tightening like a garrote. The rough treatment makes him feel big and butch and solid. A writhing mess of manflesh that he slots into perfectly, inextricably. He wheezes out a moan around the fingers in his mouth, the frenzied overstimulation wringing yet another solid orgasm out of him.
“Everyone scram!” Majima barks as he marches forward, his men scrambling to disentangle themselves from Kaito. He grabs Kaito by the jaw and twists his face from side to side, evaluating him like livestock. “They’re all too damn nice. I’ll have to be the one to treat ya like a proper faggot.”
Kaito is fucked out enough to like the sound of that.
He releases Kaito’s jaw with a snitty click of his tongue and wipes his hand on the closest subordinate’s hair. “Clean all the jizz off yer face before ya get in the tub, I ain’t dealin’ with nasty-ass sloppy seconds floatin’ around.”
And then he’s gone. Majima’s men mill around awkwardly in the sudden vacuum, unwilling to make a move on Kaito now that Majima has declared his intent. The man who came in Kaito’s mouth helps him to his feet, keeping him propped up as he stumbles. He doesn’t say anything, just gives Kaito a tight, skittish smile. No hard feelings. You know how it is.
Minami grumbles where he’s splayed out on the floor, annoyed for the fun to be over when he hadn’t shot his wad yet. If Majima weren’t waiting for him, Kaito might offer to finish the job. As he walks away he hears the rattle of Nishida’s helmet and the clap of Minami’s hips against his ass; he’s oddly relieved that this diversion hasn’t killed the mood for everyone.
Kaito makes his way to the showers and sits down on a plastic stool, cataloging his new aches and pains. Sweat collects in rivulets and pools on the stark yellow of the stool beneath his ass, glistening on the textured surface. He wipes his face and it comes away sticky—okay, maybe Majima’s comment was justified, a lot more guys came on him than he realized. Wincing, he starts the water up and it quickly shifts from an ice cold jolt to a comfortable lukewarm against his overheated skin. He reaches behind himself and finds the tight, hard pucker of his asshole has been made soft and pliant now, still slick with lube and cum and readily accepting of one, two, three of his fingers.
“Hey, I know you. When did you join up?”
Kaito startles, and his ass tightens around his fingers until he quickly withdraws them. He blinks up through the shower’s spray and puzzles over the stilted Japanese until he gets a proper look at the man addressing him.
“Oh! Gary! What are you doing here?”
“The boss invited me along. He said it is good for… getting steamy? But man, I didn’t know you were part of the family too! I would have offered to carpool to the construction site.” Gary offers up a bright smile.
“Ha, well, I’m not part of it. I’m just here by chance.” The water temperature wavers between too chilly and too warm, but it does its job of cleaning away the sweat and semen that’s coated him. He shifts and scrubs himself underneath it, sighing.
“What!? That’s no good at all Kaito-san, you are very lucky I caught you first! You should leave.”
“It’s okay! I already—Majima-san gave me his blessing, more or less.” Kaito shrugs, and traces his blunt nails along the water-logged drain. A blockage shifts and stagnant water drains away in unpleasant gurgles.
Gary purses his lips then claps one big hand on Kaito’s shoulder. “Oh, you’re having a good time. Majima-san must like you!”
Between the heat, poppers, and embarrassment, Kaito’s cheeks are flushed three-fold. He still finds his gaze wandering across Gary’s naked form, though.
“Say, uh, I’m actually on my way to see Majima, so this is probably your last chance to, y’know, take a turn on me.” Kaito gestures towards his hairy thighs and flexed abdominals.
“Oh, thank you Kaito-san! Wow! I am flattered. But no, I need to know someone better before I want to fuck with them,” he says simply. “Speaking about that, have you seen Nishida-san?”
“Ah,” Kaito deflates. “He was in the baths with Minami, last I saw.”
“Shit, that’s what I get for coming late!” Gary says, and promptly dashes off towards the main hall.
Kaito feels a twinge of sadness—it might have been nice to have fooled around with Gary. At least he already knew the man from one of his temp construction gigs. He’s solid, reliable, and remarkably powerful. It’s easy to imagine—
He’s dawdling, he realizes. Dragging this out because he’s enjoyed his time, and because the prospect of whatever Majima has in store for him is… daunting. He slaps his hands against his cheeks a few times and shakes his head. He’ll regret it if he backs out now.
Refreshed and clearer-headed, Kaito walks with a new measure of confidence towards the private bath. He could leave at this point; no one is blocking him in, and he’s done more self exploration than most men do in a lifetime. But that’s not the way he rolls. If Majima wants a piece of the action too, Kaito’s going to give it to him.
He parts the short curtain and steps through the doorway, his eyes adjusting to the dim light.
The hinoki tub is square and stout—there’s no underground hot springs bubbling up through Tokyo to feed it, but it makes for a good simulacrum. Rose petals float across the silky water, swirling in eddies around the spigot and brushing against the pale skin of the bath’s sole occupant. Majima smirks at him from the off-puttingly romantic decor.
The lack of eyes on Kaito is unsettling, now. Majima’s the only thing that stays consistent, but even he has shifted from screeching out orders to silently waiting like a crocodile, his head just above the taut line of the water. All the empty space around them makes Kaito feel more claustrophobic than when men had been pressing up against him from all sides.
“I nearly thought ya were leavin’ me at the altar,” Majima lilts as he lifts himself a few inches, just enough for the scented water to sluice off his broad shoulders. “‘Least ya know better than to ditch me, unlike some people. Get in here.”
Despite it all, there’s something magnetic about Majima that draws Kaito in. He commands attention, his unpredictable, fluid movements impossible to tear your eyes away from. A glittering animal prowling the bathhouse.
Kaito steps into the tub, one leg and then the other. The water is warm against his skin, softly tugging the hair on his shins and lapping at his thighs.
Then he’s face to face with the monster.
“You ain’t near as strong as him, but you’ll do for tonight, Kaito-chan~” Majima purrs out, oozing performative sensuality. His hands wander along Kaito’s neck with surprising tenderness and curl possessively around Kaito’s tensed nape. “Join up under my banner, I’ll get some ink on ya. A dragon’d look right at home stretchin’ up these shoulders ‘n’ roarin’ at me while I blow yer back out.”
It clicks, then, what Majima wants from him. He holds the feeling in his mouth, wedges it between incisor and eye tooth. It squirms.
Majima had always been so aspirational when seen at a distance. A radiant outline of power and wealth and command and hard-fought freedom. With the man pressed up against Kaito’s skin, his sour breath in Kaito’s nose, he just looks… sad. A bully lashing out at the weak, running roughshod over his men. Pale and sickly despite the rippling muscles beneath his ink and strained grin.
“Respectfully, I wanna be my own man.”
The gentle caress goes sharp, nails digging into Kaito’s flesh and raking down his back. Red claw marks spoil the smooth canvas of his back, Kaito’s rejection now written on his skin. Majima’s sultry gaze never falters.
“Let me show you what Kaito Masaharu can handle, Majima-san. Lay it all on me.”
He feels slick, smug. If he can keep up with Majima, he can spare a few of Majima’s men. He’ll just have to fuck Majima till he’s so thoroughly satiated that he totters back to his penthouse or the nearest capsule hotel and sleeps off this nasty mood.
Kaito is familiar with self-sacrifice. This is just another form it can take.
Majima sees through him, though. His lidded eye goes hard and cold, his soft lips pulling back into a snarl. It sends an ice-water trickle of fear down Kaito’s spine.
“You think yer a knight in shining fuckin’ armor chargin’ in to save my poor mistreated boys? Ya think your ass is good enough to stop mean ole Majima from makin’ a buncha helpless thugs lick his taint? Don’t flatter yourself.”
With vicious, pinpoint speed Kaito is leveraged up against the side of the tub in a rush of scented water and left dangling precariously over the edge, totally at Majima’s mercy. His arms windmill helplessly, grasping at air. His abdomen tenses. Majima keeps him pinned in place with his fingers dug into Kaito’s hip hard enough to bruise.
Kaito’s brief high has fully faded, now. The nitrite stench still clings to his sinuses, prickly and dry like he’d gotten sea water up his nose. The wet air rolling off the bath helps, but he can feel a killer headache coming on.
“D’ya wanna learn what the Mad Dog does to the cocksuckers who mouth off, huh? You ready to live life as a dickless shitstain after I rip this worthless thing clean off of ya?”
His hand hovers above Kaito’s cock, tensed and claw-like, and his brow furrows. He drags his thumb along the underside of Kaito’s cock, tracing the subtle indent of its surgical scar. There’s a flash of unexpected recognition in Majima’s eye.
“That’s just like… whatever!” Majima growls, lunging forward to snag Kaito’s shoulder and bodily yank him back into the tub with a splash. Rose petals scatter on the waves radiating from the impact, limning out a combat arena. Kaito rights himself unsteadily, droplets blurring his vision, and Majima’s ethereal form rounds on him.
“Nobody says no to me,” Majima hisses out. The presentation is all threat, but something goes strange in the cadence and Kaito hears the complaint lurking behind it.
Adrenaline and instinct take over. Kaito pushes back, shouldering against Majima and crumpling him against the submerged bench. He throws his leg across Majima’s lap and straddles him, grinding his ass down against Majima’s half-hard cock. He reaches behind himself and guides Majima into his ass, then lifts himself up and drops himself back down the length of Majima’s shaft, drawing a stunned, needy whine out of the man’s throat. Majima’s hands instinctively seek out Kaito’s hips, trying to control the pace, but Kaito catches his wrists and pins them back against the wooden rim of the tub.
“I will,” Kaito says through gritted teeth. “I’m not one of your boys. I’ll fight back. So just shut up and nut up already, Majima!”
Majima’s one eye goes wide. Kaito repeats the motion, finding his rhythm to fuck himself on Majima’s ample cock. It’s a bigger rush than he expects; his own cock twitches as he bounces himself on Majima’s lap. Kaito’s hairy thighs bulge and flex, the light tan of his skin looking like polished bronze next to Majima’s sickly paleness.
“Sh-Shit…” Majima hisses out, the noise almost swallowed up by the sloshing of the tub.
It encourages Kaito to ride him harder, take him deeper, make him feel the same kind of helplessness Kaito had while Majima was calling the shots. Because Kaito liked that feeling. And Majima is too chained up by yakuza hierarchy to get to experience it much.
The constriction of the bottom rungs of a family was an entrance fee; pay your dues now and enjoy all the freedoms and excess your heart desires if you make it to the top. Kaito’s finally close enough to see that the cage might widen, you might get better at maneuvering around the bars, but it never truly goes away.
And, for the first time, he’s damn grateful that Hamura threw him out of that cage.
He surges forward and kisses Majima, feeling the friction of his goatee against his own scruff. Majima makes a surprised squeak, but parts his lips readily. The kiss is softer than expected. Needy. It draws Kaito in, makes him push harder, makes his cock flex and his hole clench. Majima breaks free from the kiss to make a gutted sound before letting his head slip beneath the water, his hands tightening into fists where Kaito has them pinned, and his cock throbs in long, meaty, orgasmic pulses. Kaito groans and grinds his cock against Majima’s submerged abs for the last few thrusts needed to find his own release.
He grits his teeth as his body tenses up, enjoying the orgasm as it surges from his toes to his scalp, then disembarks from Majima’s lap and lifts himself over the edge of the tub.
“Woah, hey, wait a minute!” Majima calls after him, drenched and breathless. “Don’t put on a tough guy act now. At least catch yer breath for a sec, yeah?”
Kaito chuckles, shaking the water from himself and pushing his wet hair out of his eyes. “The party’s over. I’ve got my own shit to do, I can’t afford to get lazy.”
“Stay with me. I’ll make ya my captain. I’ll pay ya. Whatever ya want. Please.” Panic sets into Majima’s tone as Kaito shakes his head.
Majima extends one long, pale arm from the tub and reaches towards him, grasping at the distance between them. His wet hair curtains his eyeline and leaves only his toothy scowl exposed. He mewls quietly, a venomous snake gone feeble in the winter cold. “Don’t just leave me here.”
“I’ve got people counting on me too, Majima-san. People worth taking a lonely road for,” Kaito says. He thinks of Higashi and Yagami, of all the various friends he has around town, of all the good he can do now that he’s out of the yakuza.
He turns away from Majima and walks out the door.
*****
“...and that was my weirdest hookup,” Kaito says, finishing his story with a swig of warm sake. “Anyone got one better?”
He gets blank stares and loosened jaws from his compatriots crowded around the empty arcade.
“...That’s bullshit. You’re lying,” Higashi hisses through his teeth, his cheeks flushed crimson.
“What would he get out of lying about that?” Sugiura says, his face half hidden by his hand.
“I would have known if he— and with the Mad Dog? There’s no way. There’s no way!!”
Yagami sidles up closer to Higashi, thumb and pointer finger hooked on his chin as he contemplates. “Ohhh, you’re jealous, aren’t you?”
“Aww Higashi, I could try to introduce you to Majima-san if you really want!” Kaito flashes a thumbs up and a million yen smile.
Higashi snarls and shoves Yagami backwards hard enough to topple him out of the chair, with only Sugiura’s quick reflexes saving him from bashing his skull against the floor.
“I’m not going to sit around and be fucked with!” Higashi snarls, then storms out of the building, the door slamming behind him.
“...Jeez, I didn’t think he’d have a problem with gay people,” Kaito says as he rubs his neck. “Or bisexual people, more accurately, I guess.”
Sugiura’s face twists up and he turns away, shaking his head. “You’ll figure it out one day, Kaito-san.”