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1986 (Sotenbori; Osaka)
Oda was drunk. It had been nothing but rounds after rounds of shochu and cheap beer all evening and even though Oda always prided himself on holding his alcohol he was slowly reaching his limit. How many bottles had it been? Oda tried counting them, but his vision was blurry and his ability to concentrate was even further down the gutter. It annoyed him if he was honest. The feeling of wanting to focus on something but his mind not cooperating. Oda tried counting the bottles again. One beer, two, three, then he had to blink the alcohol induced tiredness away and forgot where he started and where he stopped the count. It was at that moment Oda gave up. He should have stopped two bottles ago. Now it was too late so all he could do was embrace it and live with the crippling nausea tomorrow.
The viewing room of the adult cinema their gang used as a hideout smelled of smoke, alcoholised breath, and sperm. What was already a toxic mixture only amplified by the humid heat of Sotenbori’s early summer coming in through the walls making it impossible to differentiate between drunken sweating and sweating because of the hot air. It wasn’t glamorous the life they lived. Most days you could barely call it living at all, but it was better than just surviving too. Oda knew he shouldn’t complain. His life had progressively gotten better ever since he founded his little group of misfits. He never would have met Tachibana otherwise and getting his ass handed to him that one fateful day had honestly been the best moment in Oda’s life. Nothing came close. He was sure nothing ever would.
One of his friends opened another beer with his teeth before handing it to Oda wordlessly. Maybe he looked like he needed it. Oda nodded as he accepted it, taking a swig even though he damn well knew he was drunk enough as is. What did it matter if he drank some more? Maybe it would help drown out the smell of dried-up semen that always lingered in this room no matter how often they tried airing it out. They really should establish a rule to not use this room for jerking off. There were booths for that here so no need to do it in the room specifically build as a hideout!
Oda knew the guys tended to use the hideout for its official purpose more often than any of them admitted. Hell, he was somewhat guilt of that himself though certainly not as frequently as the others. The cinema didn’t really cater to his tastes and even if it did just jerking it with his right hand had never been his preferred method to get off…
How fucking drunk was he to be thinking about this?
Oda took another gratuitous swig of the beer, which had gone lukewarm by now and tasted more like piss than alcohol. Then again, this specific brand never tasted good anyway. It was cheap and that’s about all the good qualities it had. If Oda had to describe the aroma of it, he’d just say it tasted like one thing. Instant regret.
The other guys were drinking and fooling around as if they were drunken idiots instead of hardened gang members and Oda had nothing to distract himself with because Tachibana went outside for some fresh air half an hour ago. What was he supposed to do now except wait for him to come back? This is what he did best. Yearn. Simultaneously his favourite and least favourite activity in the whole entire world. Fuck maybe he wasn’t drunk enough after all. Maybe it wasn’t two beers too many but two bottles lacking to make him forget and have a good night for once. Oda finished his bottle and signalized for his friends to pass him another.
“Yer surprisingly quiet today, eh Oda-san?”
He just rolled his eyes and cracked the bottle open against the corner of the coffee table. “We should really start buying cans instead of bottles if we don’t want the thing to be full of indents by the end of the month, huh? Or at least invest in a bottle opener,” Oda tried to deflect. “Shit don’t we own a bottle opener?” Normally changing the topic worked wonders. The guys knew him long enough to understand when he didn’t want to be bothered, which happened a lot recently. He knew it was suspicious because of course it was, but what else was he supposed to do? It was already bad enough for his credibility he just handed over the gang to Tachibana. Openly sulking over the man though? He couldn’t do that. What would they all think? The members of the gang he personally founded suddenly thinking he was mentally ill was the last thing he needed. His situation was complicated enough as is.
“Huh? Ya were the one who complained about us always buying canned beer! Ya say it tastes like shit!”
Oda smirked and leaned back against the leather couch. “So? It does taste like shit. Tell me I’m wrong,” He sipped on his new bottle and grimaced as the rancid liquid hit his tongue. “Though this is starting to taste like piss too,” Oda put the bottle down on the table in front of him, looking at the fresh indents, he carved in the wood seconds ago. “I meant it though. Where’s the fucking bottle opener? I know we own one,” Two of the guys just shrugged.
“Dunno man. The boss probably knows but where did he go anyway? It’s been ages or something,” The man pinched his nose visibly fighting back a wave of nausea. All of them did drink too much tonight and by the look of it none of them planned on stopping anytime soon.
Oda got bumped at the shoulder by his friend sitting next to him on the couch. “Right? I’ve been wondering when Tachibana-san comes back too. His wife clearly misses him, eh Oda-san?” The fuck was that supposed to mean? Did he just insinuate what Oda thought he insinuated? Alcohol really makes you blunt and dumb too apparently.
“Watch it. Say something like that again and I’ll show you how this gang used to be ran if you’ve forgotten already. Might need to jog your memory,” He hit the guy straight on the back of his head, watching in satisfaction as he rubbed the sore spot.
So much for successfully deflecting from the topic though.
“I was kidding, alright? No need to beat me up man.”
Oda just leaned back again and sighed annoyedly, long legs stretched out under the coffee table. “Tough love. Else the bunch of y’all never learns. Just because I am not the boss anymore doesn’t mean you can just say whatever to me. Bit of respect goes a long way,” He put the bottle up in a mock cheer before lowering it again this time fighting off nausea himself. He should stop drinking around the guys. Nothing good ever came of it. For someone adamant about making them learn he had to accept that he may have been a hypocrite. He never learned too.
Oda didn’t want to hear about Tachibana. Didn’t want to think about him. Didn’t want to face the consequences of having him on his mind constantly. The less everybody knew the better because maybe then he could forget for at least a short period of time. He repressed his feelings for years. Has done so when he was a child, a teenager, an adult. He wouldn’t stop now be it for his friends or Tachibana himself. They had no business knowing he was born sick.
Alcohol always made Oda sad. It was his own fault for continuing to drink. “Don’t sulk like that man. I’m sorry alright? I don’t truly think yer a queer so get outta yer head, yeah?” A soft punch to his arm and for a brief moment Oda contemplated punching back until things escalated. He knew it would help. It always did. There was no room to think when his knuckles were bloody, and someone was grovelling at his feet. There was power, adrenaline, a satisfying rush but not a single tought. That was probably how Tachibana felt too when he beat him not long ago. It hurt and it annoyed Oda that it hurt. Knowing that Tachibana did nothing but bask in victory while he fell in deep. So endlessly deep.
Oda didn’t punch back. He acknowledged the apology with a nod and forced himself to relax, cocky but always slightly bored expression back on his otherwise handsome face. “Honestly? If you believe I’m a queer then that’s on you,” He chuckled and took another swig. “I’m just nobodies’ wife. Do I look like a woman to you?” It came natural to him. Lying. Pretending his issues didn’t bother him and inventing new ones on the spot. It was exciting in a way the play pretending and pushing for how long he could get away with it.
“Well not all of you Oda-san. Your lashes though? Suspicious… real suspicious…” It was a teasing comment with no fire behind it. Friendly banter at most and finally an atmosphere that didn’t feel dangerously close to uncovering the truth he buried so shallowly you could see it peeking through the sand. Oda raised an eyebrow and turned his head towards his friend while resting it against the back of the couch.
“If you want to say I’m the boss’s bitch, just say it as you mean it,” If the laughter the comment got out of his men was any indicator Oda was sure they passed it off as nothing but a joke.
They continued drinking, laughing, being stupid. Eventually Tachibana returned and Oda finally didn’t have to fake his amusement anymore. Everything felt easier when Tachibana was around even though objectively, he made everything harder. He made it harder to fake being sober while he made it easier to gulp down warm beer until it was unrecognizable if the dark flush on his cheeks came from the alcohol or the other man’s mere presence. He made it harder to act nonchalant or unbothered while he made it so much easier to enjoy their night off. Oda was a hopeless case. Fallen from grace even though he was never up there to begin with just because one man brought him to his knees. When was the last time he enjoyed life while Tachibana wasn’t around? It had been one fight, nothing more and nothing less. One singular instance and his soul wasn’t his own anymore.
He really was sick.
Oda was drunk so he didn’t care. Bottles kept piling up and he didn’t even try counting them anymore. Sweet ethanol cruised through his bloodstream making his thoughts fuzzy and hazy. His limbs started to feel alienated from his body and that should have been his warning sign. Should have told him to take his sorry ass home even if he needed to crawl for that and sleep it off. Remove himself from the scene when some of his friends that were equally as drunk stumbled their way out the hideout to whatever seedy excuse of a home they frequented at the moment. He especially should have known how bad a situation this was when Tachibana managed to catch up with their amount of alcohol again, loosening up uncharacteristically while getting drunker by the minute.
He tried rationalizing it. Even while intoxicated out of his mind Oda knew this meant nothing. His fingers tingled, the tips just under his nails feeling numb and he knew this meant absolutely nothing. It wasn’t unusual putting out for your boss. During his time in Japan Oda learned this was even a thing in the yakuza. If your boss ordered you to suck his dick, you sucked his dick. If he told you to offer up your ass you offered your ass to him. Nothing queer about this. It was transactional. A way to relieved stress, deal with the crushing weight of responsibility and establish control. In a way it was nothing but a way to make sure everything stayed in order. A method to keep the hierarchy. Oda was certain for Tachibana this was exactly how far it went emotionally and by all the gods hypothetically in order if Oda couldn’t pretend it felt like this for him too.
Oda could pretend. He was good at that. Learned to enjoy it even, the secrecy of it all. Play pretending to be the faithful, straight outlet that dishes out when the boss orders him too. It was a safe way to ensure Tachibana wouldn’t leave. Would continue to do this with him and Oda knew he was a lot of things and one of those was a terribly selfish man. Why jeopardize a good thing? This was as close to Tachibana as he would get. Beggars could never be choosers.
His brain was fighting. Alcohol and feelings were never a good mixture, another thing Oda never seemed to learn even though he was painfully aware of it. How many times did he have to make the same mistakes again and again and again? He lied there, clothes discarded somewhere next to the leather couch, long legs crossed around Tachibana’s waist in a gesture that signalized “please don’t leave me” without saying a single word. Back slightly arching off the cushion, pressing closer to the man on top of him while holding onto his shoulders. It was pathetic. Oda was whimpering, hazy mind barely registering the pleasure as Tachibana’s cock drove into him with shallow thrusts that made his head spin and filled his stomach with butterflies. They were as naked as the day they were born, bumping bodies and panting into each other’s ears while both of them were right on the edge of being so drunk they wouldn’t remember this in the morning. But they would. Oda knew they would because he always did. He always held onto the memories of hot skin grinding against skin, sloppy kisses that tasted of cheap booze and Tachibana oh so slightly slurring his words.
Oda hated it when the gang called him Tachibana’s wife.
He came crawling to him, offered up his ass and soul to him, loved him as if they were married for at least five decades and yet he knew they could never be.
He would never be what they jokingly made him out to be.
Oda leaned his pounding head back against the leather cushion while letting out a loud moan. The alcohol he consumed, what was it? Six bottles or sixteen? It numbed his body down. His legs felt restless, seeking refuge around the man he admired so much it physically hurt. His dick refused to corporate, staying soft and neglected but he didn’t mind. It wasn’t physical pleasure he was seeking, even though his prostate, which got pummelled every few uncoordinated strokes, clearly offered that to him. No, nothing about this was physical. Being with Tachibana wasn’t an act. Oda wasn’t even sure he would call it sex. It was such a shallow thing, sex. How many women did he sell off to get exploited for it? How often did he seek it out in the arms of people he didn’t love or simply didn’t desire in the slightest just to keep up the front? How often did he feel a woman’s touch that did nothing for him but make him look at the clock periodically until it was over?
Tachibana looked down at him while giving a shallow thrust. Dark eyes meeting in the safety of the empty hideout surrounded by empty bottles, porn flicks, and the smell of leather. Then he leaned down to lock their lips in a kiss. It lacked finesse and tasted of rancid beer but to Oda it meant the world. Every thrust feeling less like intoxicated opportunism and more like a glimpse of heaven. Tachibana moaned into the kiss as Oda involuntarily clenched around him, flushed tan and light skin meeting as they brought their foreheads together.
It wasn’t love.
Oda would tell himself exactly that in the morning until he truly believed it.
“You are doing so good for me. So good Oda-san,” A mumbled confession against his lips before they leaned in to kiss once more and he was at ground zero again. His heels pressed into the small of Tachibana’s back, his arms tightened around his neck until no part of their bodies wasn’t touching the other. It was bliss. Short lived bliss that would leave him burned out. Oda’s fingers still felt numb as he buried them in Tachibana’s hair grounding him in the moment.
For a second he wanted to say those nasty, little, three words. They would ruin their relationship beyond repair. Oda knew this so he kept quiet and shut his mouth. He didn’t open it for the entirety of the session. Moans and whimpers muffled in a way he knew pleased Tachibana in a strange way.
Maybe it was the power play. The clear proof Oda was submitting, and Tachibana was in control.
Maybe it was something different altogether.
Oda’s legs cramped as waves after waves of pleasure crashed over him. His prostate only withstanding so long until he finished hands free, his soft dick dribbling out cum that barely contained any semen. For a moment he wondered if it was truly that good or if he just liked Tachibana that much. Love made you blind and apparently sensitive, what could he say?
It didn’t take long for Tachibana to finish too, spilling into soft, trembling walls, warming Oda from the inside. For a second it felt like they would never need to part at all. It was good. The whole world was suddenly good. For this fleeting moment it was okay. They were breathing in unison, hearts beating together in a synchronized rhythm. Soft hands caressing each other, Tachibana rubbing a thumb over Oda’s bottom lip. Glazed over eyes meeting once more, seeing nothing but blurred lines around each other’s faces. Then Tachibana pulled out, reaching out for his briefs and Oda felt sick. He wanted to throw up. To purge himself of all the shame, and hope, and undying feelings. Maybe it was the alcohol though. Drinking made him melodramatic. He really should have stopped looking too deep into bottles. If he was lucky, they would forget. Never remember all this happened at all. That was a fleeting sense of hope though.
Oda never forgot.
He was sure Tachibana never did too.
“You are looking a bit sick there Oda-san,” Tachibana was busy putting his clothes back into place, tucking his shirt into his pants. “I must admit I am not better off though. We really have to make these drinking escapades a less frequent thing do we not?” He laughed but it sounded more like an intoxicated giggle. Oda threw his head back on the couch and slapped a hand onto his face.
“We do. Don’t think I can walk home like this. Those were at least three drinks too many,” He chuckled but quickly had to stop as the world spined a bit too much his head feeling like someone knocked him off balance. While he was lying down mind you.
“That does not necessarily have to do with the alcohol though,” Tachibana chuckled into his hand and Oda felt himself flush again. If anybody asked him, he’d blame it on the alcohol.
They smoked outside the building afterward. Both glassy eyed and holding onto the wall behind them as to not stumble while standing still. Smoke rising from their mouths and vanishing into the starry sky. It was a silent affair because it always was. This meant nothing Oda reminded himself so there was nothing to talk about. No goodbye kiss or words of reassurance. They would part once their cigarettes burned down and then stumble back to the shithole they called home. Oda hoped he’d be too tired or drunk to get the blues later. At least tomorrow the hangover would be bad enough to not care about anything else. Maybe that’s why they only ever did this when they were out of their minds. A headache was better than thinking about the emotional toll this was taking on him. He could always sleep the hangover off.
Tachibana threw his cigarette onto the floor, snuffing out the burning ember with the heel of his shoe. Oda took one last drag before mirroring the action. At the end of the day this was just a night like any other. They were gang members. Immigrants that fled their home country trying to make it in a hostile environment. It was a dog-eat-dog world out there. While they walked through the dark streets of Sotenbori in eery quiet he knew it was his own fault for falling in love at all.
1987 (Kamurocho; Tokyo)
The seasons changed and with them they changed too. Gone was their gang, members now roaming in whatever part of Japan they saw the biggest chances of survival. Gone was Sotenbori river and the pier. Gone was Tachibana’s right hand. They had traded it, the almost comfortable life in Osaka for constantly glowing city lights and cramped walls in the district called Little Asia. Where else were they supposed to go? Neither of them had legal documents and a partially illegally ran hospital belonging to triads was better than dying. Oda was sure if Tachibana didn’t make it, he would have killed himself too. He was the kinda person that was just better off dead than alone again.
Oda promised himself he’d stop drinking. It wasn’t that he had an issue with alcohol before. Not at all in fact. It’s just that he had more responsibilities now. He didn’t live, fight and breathe for himself anymore. He had a reason to keep going and that reason was to keep Tachibana safe. To make up for the burden he ridded him with. To be useful for maybe the first time in his entire life. He couldn’t have know it was Tachibana’s sister. Fuck he didn’t even know Tachibana back then.
He really promised himself to stop drinking and yet here he was in bumfuck nowhere Kamurocho surrounded by paper thin walls and already several bottles in. Cheap sake you could buy at every corner store that he didn’t bother warming up because it didn’t feel like he deserved the cozy feeling it would bring. He didn’t even bother pouring it into the proper porcelain and instead opted for drinking straight from the bottle like a lost cause. It felt right. He was wallowing in self-pity and misery anyway so why not go for the full experience? Why the fuck not?
Everything had gone to shit. Death was trying to reach Tachibana at every corner, they were pathetically broke, and Oda was certain he’d be choked until he died on the spot if Tachibana were to ever find out what he did to his sister. Wouldn’t be the worst way to go out he admitted to himself with a drunken smirk that managed to be even sleazier than his normal grins. Fuck he was such a douchebag, wasn’t he? Oda chuckled and considered throwing himself in front of a moving car.
“You are a mess,” He didn’t hear when Tachibana entered the bad joke of an apartment they lived in. Part of Oda somehow expected the other man to have died. He wandered off this morning for “important business” and simply didn’t return. No explanation where he went or to whom. No nothing. Maybe that’s why Oda thought it would be a good idea to get piss drunk. Now that Tachibana actually came back it felt like an overreaction.
“And you’re alive. Cheers to that boss,” Oda didn’t slur his words. He hadn’t been a sloppy drunk since his teen years. A grown man pushing thirty should know how to hold his alcohol or he shouldn’t drink at all. Oda raised the bottle before taking a gracious swig. Tachibana opened another one for himself and he almost slapped it away. “Not sure you’re supposed to drink. With the dialysis and all,” It was an awkward topic to breach. Too early, the wounds it left too fresh. Tachibana took it with a stride Oda couldn’t quite muster up yet.
“I am sure a sip or two will not cause more harm than was already done,” He said it so casually but with such an authority to it that Oda didn’t dare to complain about it further even though it did little to ebb his worries.
It ended how it always did. They were intoxicated, their inhibitions lowered, and Oda’s standards were in hell. He didn’t remember who made the first move, but he sure noticed when their lips met in a messy kiss. It was a lot of teeth and even more tongue, and it was good enough for him. Tachibana’s mouth tasted of sake and Oda was sure his own must have tasted of repressed sadness. They locked lips as if nothing mattered but them. No neighbours that would certainly hear them. No home country they left for better or worse. No missing sisters or lost hands. Oda didn’t try to rationalize it anymore. Stopped doing that sometime ago for good. He knew he was sick and now he had proof it was contagious too.
Tachibana put his left hand where Oda’s jaw and ear met and gently nudged his head back, pushing his tongue deeper in his mouth. It was obscene. They were sitting on the floor, Tachibana with one knee between Oda’s legs and swapping alcohol infused spit. Oda thought he was getting drunker by the minute but maybe he just imagined that. “I really thought you died, you know that?” Oda panted against Tachibana’s lips breathless and genuinely concerned. “You can’t just disappear on me like that without telling me where you’re going. I get worried,” His eyes were lidded, faces so close the tips of their noses almost touched. Tachibana locked their eyes in an intense stare.
“Patience, Oda-san. I have every intention of telling you where I went,” Then his gaze turned… softer? A better way to call it would have probably been less guarded or closed off. “Is that why you decided it would be a good idea to drink?” It was only partially the truth, but Oda nodded none the less before trying to brush their lips together in a gentle kiss.
Clothes came off, Oda helping Tachibana with opening the buttons of his shirt. Shakey hands popping open one, then another, then the next until they were both bare chested. Tattoos sticking out on skin that was otherwise only tarnished by slowly fading scars. Tachibana pushed against Oda’s torso just between his ribcage, making him lie back, upper body spawled out and on display. He wasn’t as muscular as the other man. Tachibana had been genetically blessed. A body build to perfection for always coming out on top no matter what. Oda wasn’t all that. He was lean, fast despite his height. They worked well together, and Oda wasn’t sure how the tragedy of Tachibana’s right hand could have happened in the first place. But then he also really didn’t want to think about that right now. He could be sad later, when it’s over.
Tachibana reached out to brush his fingers over Oda’s stomach. Starting from his pelvis, up to his navel, between his ribcage to the soft and vulnerable spot of his throat. The sensation of touch was numbed by the sake, but Oda deep down knew it felt good. “I always liked how you look. I hope you are aware of that,” He wasn’t. Sure, Oda knew he was objectively handsome in a sleazy kind of way but he didn’t know Tachibana just liked looking at him. There was a dark flush building on his shoulders up to his neck at the compliment and Tachibana chuckled briefly before leaning down to bite a hickey into his waist.
The spot was a deep purple flourishing on tan skin, teeth indents visible where Tachibana bit a little too hard. A thin string of saliva connecting the bruised mark with Tachibana’s lips until he pulled up far enough for it to snap. Oda felt himself grow harder by the second, thankful he hasn’t drank enough to give himself whiskey dick. That happened one too many times. It gets pathetic at a point even though he technically didn’t need to get it up during their encounters. Call it fragile masculinity or bruised pride. Both fit the bill.
They were kissing again. Oda still lying on the floor, Tachibana above him with the faint light of their ceiling lamp manufacturing a halo around him. It was a religious experience, every single time. The closest to whatever heaven existed out there Oda would ever be granted access to. He knew he had to make use of it now because when death would do them part there was no way they would see each other on the other side again. Wherever it was Tachibana went Oda was sure he couldn’t follow.
He had never been very religious to begin with.
Pants were removed, discarded next to sake bottles they accidentally knocked over. Feverish skin meeting in the not so secluded privacy of their apartment. The walls at Little Asia were thin. They knew. They all knew. There wasn’t enough space for secrets.
It didn’t feel rushed this time. In fact, it felt exceptionally slow. Maybe time really stopped for a moment when they managed to fall into a position that was comfortable enough. Missionary was out of question for indefinite time, too hard on Tachibana’s arm. Doing it from behind was out of question for personal reasons too. Not enough room for kissing so Oda always made sure they somehow ended up face to face. It was selfish but it just simply felt better that way. He had to make the most of it. Who knew when Tachibana would snap out of whatever it was, they had and decide it would be the last time. It was their one fatal flaw. Proper communication. Some things were just better left unsaid. Oda spent enough time burying them, he wasn’t about to bring them up now. Or ever for that matter.
They inhaled and exhaled together. Chests rising in a synchronized rhythm as Oda put his leg over Tachibana’s waist both of them lying on their sides. He had seen this exact position countless times in various old chungongtu, ancient reminders of a dare he say better time. Sure looked more heartfelt than all the porn flicks available at their old cinema combined. He wouldn’t call what Tachibana and him did sex. Time changed a lot, but it never changed that.
Tachibana’s fingers found purchase in Oda’s hair, brushing a brown strand behind his ear until his earing glistered in the light. Long lashes leaving butterfly kisses against Tachibana’s own by how close they were. Their breath mingled and it smelled of nothing but the sake they consumed earlier. “I meant what I said. Don’t go where I can’t follow you,” He wanted to add “I was already close to losing you once,” and “Don’t start keeping secrets from me too,” but he knew Tachibana would never accept the first and the second was too close to a confession for his liking. He just shut his mouth and pressed it to Tachibana’s once more any truths he didn’t dare say dying down in his throat.
“As I already told you, I have every intention to inform you where I went,” It was professional. Most people would call the answer cold, but Oda knew he meant it. Tachibana never spoke just to say something. There were no empty words leaving that man’s mouth.
They were both so different. Their personalities, their bodies, their outlooks on life and exactly that was what made this thing between them feel so indescribably good.
His body felt relaxed. Just intoxicated enough to not give a shit if anything hurts. Oda could deal with that in the morning. He has gotten used to walking funny the next day and realizing how overboard he went only when his senses came back to him. It was a small sacrifice in the grand scheme of it all. Instead of pondering about it any longer than necessary he nestled his leg more snuggly around Tachibana, bringing their crotches together. They just grinded against each other for a bit the friction lessening from the pre cum that was starting to leak. Oda felt Tachibana’s hand leaving the side of his head, fingers untangling from his hair and he wanted to halt his movement, keep him exactly where he was but then he felt elegant fingers brushing against his bottom lip in a silent command to suck. Of course he obeyed. When did he ever say no to Tachibana?
Oda stuck his tongue out, licking over the two digits up to his fingertips. Then he opened his mouth putting it around the fingers until they were down to the knuckles making sure to coat them in a gracious amount of saliva. They had lube somewhere. He knew they did. But fuck if any of them wanted to bother searching for it now. He’d deal with the pain tomorrow. It was fine. He handled worse. If Tachibana lost a limb because of him, he should be happy this was the only pain he experienced in retaliation. People had lots of opinions on Tetsu Tachibana. Some viewed him as scum. Others as a cold and calculating bastard. But he wasn’t one thing and that was truly cruel.
They used each other and it was fine. It worked for them. It worked ever since they met for the first time.
Tachibana removed his fingers once he deemed them lubricated enough and quickly replaced them with his own tongue again. It was sloppy and dragged on like syrup, tongues meeting licking against and around each other. A distraction. They knew what worked for them because practice made perfect and they got a lot more practice together than they would ever openly admit. There was no way to save face if they did.
It was the same procedure as most days. Tachibana slicked himself up with enough spit and pre cum to make the intrusion somehow bearable for both sides… they should really start keeping the lube nearby. Then Oda instinctively reached out to burry his fingernails in pale, muscular shoulders as he felt the blunt, numbed pressure of Tachibana’s tip against his hole. He was good at this. He truly was. Would go as far as to call himself a natural but it still always took some time to properly loosen up. It was a mental thing more than a physical one really even though he felt very damn willing. Tachibana planted a kiss just below his ear, then a few more to his jaw, hot breath ghosting against even hotter skin when he moved his lips to the next spot. His hand was still tightly slotted around his dick rubbing the tip against the slowly opening entrance in controlled and calm motions. A nudge there, a bit of pressure and more kisses until finally the top of his member popped into tight heat, breaching the relaxed ring of muscles.
In the morning it would hurt, and Oda would laugh it off in a sad attempt of looking cocky and composed. Now it just felt really, really good. He nuzzled closer to Tachibana, wrapping his arms around him more desperately until a pale hand found the side of his face again, stroking over his cheekbone. Oda laughed at the contact, a soft and happy sound. He always liked that type of shit. Didn’t make him less of a man. He felt another inch go in, then several more until Tachibana bottomed out a rare moan that could have been mistaken for a sigh leaving the always composed man’s mouth. Oda could see him crease his brows in concentration. They were both not exactly sober so concentrating was certainly needed to make this work.
“One second Oda-san I… need to focus. It has been a long day,” He wasn’t wrong. It was a long day for him too. Part of Oda enjoyed putting Tachibana on the brink on finishing too fast. Cracking the carefully crafted mask and seeing glimpses of what hid underneath. Making the epitome of calmness have to take a step back as to not faulter in what he prided himself with. That wasn’t entirely true. Tachibana had a certain degree of pride, sure. Yet Oda wasn’t entirely sure if the man prided himself on what he became.
Maybe they had one thing in common after all.
For a brief moment Oda looked at the tattoo on Tachibana’s left arm but quickly averted his gaze. He was never sure if he should be proud of that one and frankly thinking about it too hard would ruin the mood for him. He should have finished at least more bottle of sake before they started this. That would have solved his issues for the night. Tachibana suddenly rocking his hips forward seemed to do the trick too though. At first it was a series of slow grinding motions that never failed to cause butterflies in the lower part of Oda’s abdomen. Then it turned into practiced but slightly sloppy thrusts, the nature of their position preventing particularly harsh ones though.
Oda was breathing heavily, face tuckered under Tachibana’s chin despite being a good bit taller than him. An arm resting over his face so Tachibana could stroke his hair again, only a lidded eye peeking out from where he was blanketed by pure combat trained muscle. Tears that refused to spill blurred his vision and he didn’t know if they were caused by pleasure, alcohol, love, or guilt.
“I… I, fuck,” I love you he wanted to say. Or scream. Or whisper tenderly. Neither of them were drunk enough to forget about it once they sobered up so he couldn’t speak his mind. Couldn’t bare his soul and throw it in front of Tachibana like the ugly thing it was. Couldn’t wring it out until it eventually spilled the truth right on the same floor they were fucking on. What they did wasn’t sex, but Oda wasn’t naïve enough to believe it was even remotely close to being love.
“Tetsu,” He all but whimpered against his neck and it was respectless, hell it probably was stupid too, but he hit rock bottom so many times before what harm would once more do? His whole life was one big fucking joke. From being born a gay man in China, to falling in love over getting his shit rocked, to slowly but surely destroying the man he needed the most by simply existing near him. Oda was poisoning Tachibana. Has been ever since before they met and yet he would never remove himself from the scene. Oda was self-aware to a certain degree but he could never take the one important step to just leave. He wouldn’t. They could shoot him, and he’d still find a way to reunite with Tachibana somehow. If Tachibana wanted him gone, he would need to throw him out of his life himself. Maybe disrespecting him so blatantly would do the job.
It didn’t. All Tachibana did was starting to brush his fingers over the nape of Oda’s neck comfortingly while continuing to thrust. He didn’t comment on it. He didn’t make a move to slap the love he slapped into Oda before right out of him and Oda didn’t provoke him further. He moaned against Tachibana’s throat as the tip of his dick hit a particularly good spot, mind suddenly blissfully blank again. Limbs feelings tingly and loose from pleasure and booze. Tachibana chuckled against the top of his head before aiming for the spot again on purpose. And again. And again. Until Oda’s vision turned spotty and he spilled between their stomachs as well as onto the floor.
“I think you truly are one of the few men that can do this so easily. I never know if I should feel envious of your ability to be a natural at receiving. It seems to be quite handy,” Oda wasn’t sure if the comment was mocking him or just Tachibana stating facts but frankly, he didn’t care. He felt great. His body was relaxed and pliant. His guilty conscience soothed. Oda could stay right here for the rest of his life soaking in the feeling of post orgasmic bliss. Tachibana picked up the speed some more, seeking his pleasure too. Then a few thrusts later he pressed Oda closer to his chest and spilled inside him with ragged huffs.
It could have been minutes or hours until Tachibana pulled out, dick now soft and resting between their bodies. It was even longer until their breathing evened and then it took a bit more until they released each other from desperate grasps. Limbs untangling until they were just lying side to side. Flushed faces meeting under their still far too dark ceiling light.
It was good.
For a moment life was good.
Later that night they were sitting next to each other on the soiled floor, naked as the day they were born, flicking off cigarettes into an ashtray Tachibana found in one of their cupboards. It wasn’t silent. It never was in Little Asia. They could hear the argument of a couple next doors even through closed windows. A woman yelling at her husband in Mandarin about how he gambled their life savings away. The next morning, they would leave their apartment, lock eyes with their neighbours and all four of them would leave with a knowing smirk after politely greeting each other or even holding small talk. Little Asia wasn’t like Kamurocho. Sure, both were loud and never slept but they weren’t the same. Sometimes it felt as if they were worlds apart. Each a cosmos of their own.
“You promised to tell me where you went, I recall?” Oda was propping himself up with one arm, hand behind him on the floor while he smoked with the other. Voice back to the condescending pitch he always carried even though that significantly softened when speaking to Tachibana. The other man nodded and stubbed his cigarette out.
“I did do that. You would be correct,” He gathered his bearings for a moment. Contemplating on how to word whatever it was he wanted to say. “I had a meeting, with a man named Kazama. Tojo Clan,” He cut Oda off with a raised hand before the other could voice a complaint. “It was about my sister. Kazama-san is very interested in supporting me counteracting the Dojima Family. He suggested I try my hand at real estate.”
Oda chuckled in amusement though admittedly he didn’t feel very amused at all. “Real estate? As if we got any business mingling with honest livings like that,” It was a weak attempt at making Tachibana change his mind. Give up on the sister he didn’t see in such a long time and stay with him. Oda knew it wouldn’t work. He didn’t know why he tried.
“I would argue it is not that different to running a gang and as far as I remember we were both remarkably good at that,” He snatched another cigarette, Oda lighting it for him out of habit. “I hope you will join me in this cause Oda-san? As much as I try to stem a lot on my own, I hardly could manage without my right-hand man,” That’s all he would ever be, wasn’t it? Oda didn’t hate it as much as he should. Tachibana needed him. Relied on him. What were the chances they would make it far enough to actually find his sister?
Oda was capable of a lot but never of removing himself from Tachibana’s life when he knew he should.
He smirked as he blew smoke out of his mouth. “Sure boss. Wouldn’t know where else to go anyway,” He too put his cigarette out in the ashtray but didn’t make a move to light up another. “Might genuinely be good at this real estate gig too. I’ve been told I can be a smooth talker when needed,” Oda felt his buzz wearing off, his head less up in the clouds and his skin slowly regaining the full ability to feel again. For better or worse.
Tomorrow his head would ache, his stomach would be upset, and he would be too sore to properly stand. Tomorrow Tachibana and him would be back to acting the same way they always did. Tomorrow they wouldn’t talk about what happened today because they never did in all the time they knew each other.
Tomorrow Oda wouldn’t have time to be sad about it.