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Rays of dimming sunshine peak through the cracks between buildings across the cityline. Golden hour is at its peak; the sun will dip below the horizon before long. Madarame glances down to Towa, walking alongside him. Their pace is perfectly matched, left foot, right foot, almost military. Under the light, even Towa’s paper pale skin looks warm.
Ambling behind them are Kotarou and Mayu. They’d just finished with a job Madarame put them up for. As usual he’d paid for their flights, gave them something extra for food and a hotel room for the night. It’s cheaper this time around, what with Eiji missing. Madarame doesn’t bother trying to track him down, but he supposes it’s a shame; he was rather useful.
Madarame stops under a streetlight as it—and the others down the street—flickers on. He turns halfway towards Kotarou, just enough to look at him over his shoulder. A hand—Towa’s—slips into his back pocket to steal his pack of cigarettes. Towa pinches one out from the box, and lights himself a smoke.
“Have you two checked into the hotel?” Madarame pinches the cigarette from Towa’s lips and takes a drag himself.
“Yeah,” Kotarou replies. His eyes are a little shifty. They drift between the sky and Madarame. Sometimes, they flicker up to Mayu too. “But I don’t think we should head back yet.”
Madarame hums inquisitively, lifting an eyebrow.
“On our way earlier, we passed by a club,” Kotarou says. Mayu turns his head away from the group, his lips twisting into a smirk, the kind you make when you’re trying to hold back a laugh. “And I thought, I dunno, wouldn’t it be fun if we hung out for a bit? Mess around and shit. It’s been boring in Shinkoumi ever since the mainland took over.”
“Ever since the mainland took over?” Towa asks as he swipes his cigarette back from Madarame. He sounds amused, like he isn’t taking what Kotarou said seriously, and his gaze is following something around Kotarou’s general vicinity rather than it is Kotarou himself. His ‘smoke’, maybe?
Kotarou scratches the back of his head. “Yeah, you know. Can’t let loose anymore.”
“Even with Mayu?” Towa presses.
“He’s not always in the mood for me,” Mayu answers, grinning. “Sometimes he’s in the mood for someone else.”
“Hey,” Kotarou growls.
“Huh? What’s so wrong about what I said?” Mayu giggles, clearly feigning ignorance. “You do go for other people sometimes.”
“Tsk. I guess,” Kotarou grumbles. “So.. Whaddya guys say?”
Recently, Madarame’s realized that Kotarou might be into him. It was just an inkling at the back of his mind, at first. Sometimes Kotarou stares for a bit too long, sometimes he’s a bit too eager to be at Madarame’s beck and call. It’s funny, but he supposes it makes sense. What Kotarou liked—likes, probably—in Towa, he’ll find in Madarame as well.
“Sure.”
“Okay,” Kotarou sighs. “Sick. Come on, it’s just down the street.”
Golden hour is over and the group’s order is reversed. Kotarou and Mayu lead, Madarame and Towa behind them. Towa shoots Madarame a knowing look and blows smoke into his face. Madarame smirks.
𓃠
“So what are you gonna do?” is the first thing Towa says the moment Kotarou and Mayu are out of sight. The former went for a bathroom break as soon as they arrived and the latter followed.
Madarame leans against the wall. There’s lots to look at in the club; the bright, colorful lights; the ocean of bodies bouncing on the center of the discotheque; the DJ gesturing along to the music up on his booth; but Madarame only has eyes for Towa.
“Hm?” Madarame replies.
“About Kotarou, I mean. He’s into you, obviously. Not like that’s not really hard to figure out—he sucks at being subtle and Mayu’s giggling is doing him no favors.”
Madarame chuckles, “What do you think I should do?”
“I dunno. Whatever you want, to be honest. I find the whole thing hilarious. I mean, I thought he was only into me, y’know? But he backs off on that and instead goes for you?” Towa scoffs, “I’m guessing he’s going for it right now ‘cause he knows I wouldn’t give a shit.”
“So he knows all he needs to do is gauge my reaction,” Madarame supposes.
Towa fishes out his lighter and toys with it between his fingers; flicks it open, swings it shut into his palm, over and over. It’s a shame they’re not allowed to smoke in here. “Uh huh. So what’s the plan?”
“No plan,” Madarame decides. “I’ll do whatever I feel like. We’ll see where things go from there.”
“‘Where things go from there,’” Towa repeats, tilting his head. “Literally speaking, if that means going somewhere private for a bit of fun, what then?”
“You wouldn’t mind an audience, would you?”
“Since when do we ever?” Towa laughs.
Then, finally, Kotarou and Mayu return with drinks in their hands. They hand Towa and Madarame their share before settling into idle conversation about the nightclub. Mayu says something about wishing the DJ would put on remixes of anime openings, and Towa dryly indulges him on the idea. Kotarou is staring at Madarame again.
He’d always thought Kotarou was similar to a dog. A scraggy, untrained dog. And Towa will always be Madarame’s favorite pet, but it’s no problem for him to toss out scraps to poor mutts out on the street.
𓃠
Four bottles of beer in and Madarame finally feels a buzz behind his eyes. Spotlights swing about the discotheque, painting all they touch with blue. The dubstep he’d initially heard when they walked in has been replaced with EDM, on the mellower side, romantic lyrics sung above sharp beats—sounding distinctly like something from the 2010s.
Towa left to go to the bathroom and Mayu forcibly dragged Kotarou away—something about a dance—so Madarame is alone, still leaning against the wall. A woman approaches him, scandalously dressed in a tight black dress. She presses a hand against Madarame’s chest, her palm meeting his bare skin, snug in the opening of his almost halfway-unbuttoned dress shirt.
Her perfume is strong and her lipstick is bright red. She’s curvy, but it’s all fat, not muscle. If Madarame punched her, she’d go down in one hit. She might even die. She’s nothing like Towa.
Madarame shoves her away. The woman stumbles back, offended. She smooths down the wrinkles in her dress and ambles away, but not before throwing Madarame a snide look over her shoulder.
It’s not uncommon for him to get hit on, by both men and women. There was a time where Madarame would consider it. More men than women, out of preference. They’d never been able to satisfy him. They’d like the sex, but they’d hate it when he would get violent. Many of them got scared, and never looked back when they left. Madarame didn’t care, because they couldn’t offer him what he wanted anyway.
But then he found Towa..
It was like a high. A neverending high, so long as Towa never left his side. And now he gets to have that for the rest of his life. Finally. He didn’t think he would, a long time ago, after Towa took that bullet for him on Shinkoumi’s harbor. But then he’d heard that Towa survived, against all odds.
Madarame supposes he shouldn’t have been so surprised; Towa has always been the one good thing to ever come out of living in this shitty world. He’s special.
He finds himself weaving through the dance floor. Doing nothing is making him feel restless; he supposes he’ll go find Towa in the bathroom, if he’s still there. Wait for him to finish up or whatever before dragging him back into a stall so he could fuck his face.
It takes a lot of shoving to get through the crowd. A woman tries grinding on him and a man drags a hand down his bicep, but Madarame ignores it all. He’s about halfway through when he sees messy blonde hair through the fog of bodies. Towa must have seen him too, because he picks up his pace. He slips through the crowd like an agile cat, until they’re finally face to face.
Towa says something, but Madarame can’t make out the words above the music. He reaches forward and loops an arm around Towa’s waist, dragging him closer, until they’re almost chest to chest.
“Say that again?” Madarame murmurs.
“I said,” one corner of Towa’s lips lift into a smirk, “It’s a shame we can’t fight in here.”
Madarame lowers his hands, cupping Towa’s ass. “You’re horny?”
“A little,” Towa sighs. “You look good.”
Towa briefly presses his ass against Madarame’s palm in return. He sways halfheartedly to the music and Madarame is glad for their height difference, because he can see the way his body moves so clearly. Towa wraps his arms around Madarame’s neck, his breaths ghosting over Madarame’s Adam's apple. Madarame sways with him. The air between them feels hot, just the way he likes it.
Towa suddenly surges forward, his teeth latching onto the crook of Madarame’s neck. Madarame hisses, pulling Towa impossibly closer. He sucks hard enough to mark, before pulling back with a sly giggle. His hazel eyes look up, half-lidded, into Madarame’s—what a tease.
Madarame lifts his other hand to Towa’s chin, so he can pull him into a kiss. Tongue meets tongue, hot and aggressive. Madarame bites down hard on Towa’s bottom lip, worries it between his teeth until Towa makes a noise and it bleeds down his chin. He pulls back and drags his tongue up the blood, tasting the warm copper in his mouth.
Madarame’s hands go to Towa’s waist, but they venture down to his ass again every now and then. He raises a knee and pushes it between Towa’s legs. Towa gets the message and rolls his hips into it; feverishly, but still in time with the music. He tilts his head up to bring his mouth closer to the side of Madarame’s head, just so he can sigh lewd little sounds into his ear.
Madarame’s patience runs thin.
He drops his knee from Towa’s crotch and grabs his bicep. Towa laughs. Madarame drags them to the wall they were at before, but then steers to the left, to the black leather couch a couple meters away from it. He sits down and yanks Towa onto him, making him straddle one of his thighs.
“Should’ve dragged me to the bathroom,” Towa sighs as he picks up where he left off, rolling his hips into Madarame’s thigh. Inadvertently, his own knee grinds against Madarame’s crotch. “Could’ve—bent me over the fuckin’ toilet or something.”
Madarame groans, situating his hands on Towa’s hips. “Saving my energy for later.”
“For Kotarou?” Towa chuckles breathily. “I’m almost jealous.”
“You shouldn’t be,” Madarame grunts. “You’re the only one I’m fucking.”
Towa runs his fingers through the lower half of Madarame’s mullet, tugging lightly. “And Kotarou? You’ll make him watch?”
“He can do whatever he wants. But your ass is the only one I’m gonna fuck.”
Towa smirks. “So romantic.”
𓃠
“C’mon, Mayu, you’ve had your fun,” Kotarou grumbles, his hand around Mayu’s wrist, dragging him across the crowded discotheque to return to where they last saw Madarame and Towa. Behind him, Mayu exaggerates a sigh but makes no move to pull his wrist away.
To put it short, they’d been dancing. Or—they attempted to, more accurately. Kotarou knows how to dance somewhat, knows how to grind at the very least, because he frequents clubs as much as he frequents bars, and it’s an easy way to pick up guys. Mayu doesn’t. Mayu, in fact, is rather terrible at it. Mayu wriggles rather than grinds, and it was pretty embarrassing to look at—but he looked like he was having fun, so Kotarou couldn’t help but indulge him.
Because yeah, he finds Towa fuckable, and he finds Madarame fuckable, but Mayu is more than that to him. He’s not sure what they are exactly, though. They’ve never talked about it.
“You really think Madarame’s gonna fuck you?” Mayu teases, but not out of malice; Mayu doesn’t mind and even agrees that he finds Madarame just as hot. See, Kotarou hasn’t made any moves aside from the initial invite. He’s planning on it, he just hasn’t had the time yet. He just hopes that Madarame and Towa haven’t left to go fuck in an alleyway or something, rabid animals they are.
Kotarou’s stops so abruptly that Mayu knocks into his back with a grunt.
Madarame and Towa are dry-humping each other, on a couch. Madarame’s hands are on Towa’s ass, and Towa’s arms are around Madarame’s shoulders. If their hair wasn’t so distinctly split between dark brown and bright golden, it’d be hard to tell where one ends and the other begins, with how hard they’re sucking face. Kotarou sees Madarame dig his fingers into the crack of Towa’s ass, over his skinny jeans; Towa arches his back like a cat in heat, looking so good it’s almost as if he’s putting on a show.
It’s one of the hottest goddamn things he’d ever seen in his life, right up there with the first time he’d ever fucked Mayu.
Mayu gasps, “Woah! Talk about steamy.”
“Straight out of a goddamn porno,” Kotarou agrees.
Madarame is the first to notice. He drops his head back against the couch, eyes on Kotarou. And the bastard—he fucking smirks. He presses Towa close against him with a hand on the small of his back, and rolls up into him hard, hard enough to make Towa moan, audible even over the music. Madarame laughs, breathily.
Shit. Kotarou’s hard in seconds.
Towa finally notices too and he seems just as pleased, smirking.
So they realized what he was going for tonight? That was fast. Either Kotarou is more of an open book than he realizes or those two are just scarily good at getting a read on people.
Towa leans down to whisper something in Madarame’s ear. In turn, Madarame raises a hand and beckons Kotarou over, looking more smug by the second.
Kotarou doesn’t respond at first, his brain still trying to catch up with everything unfolding in front of him. But then Mayu shoves him forward, and he can’t help but stumble his way over to the steaming hot couple.
Madarame manspreads wider and pats his other thigh, the one Towa isn’t sitting on. Kotarou realizes what he’s telling him to do. It’s making him so dizzy with arousal he might fall over.
It takes a bit of adjusting on Towa’s end and a little bit of squeezing on Kotarou’s end, to slot himself into the space. Madarame is huge, yes, but that doesn’t mean it’s exactly easy to fit two grown men on his lap. But they make it work, Kotarou straddling Madarame’s thigh just like Towa. Madarame has a hand each on Towa and Kotarou’s back, urging them to roll their hips against him.
Kotarou moans. Kind of like a bitch in heat. It’s not the sort of sound he usually makes, he almost never bottoms—but can you blame him? He’s starring in the porno of his dreams.
He feels Mayu’s presence beside him and turns his head to kiss him. They lap their tongues at each other, Mayu holding him by the jaw. When Kotarou parts to breathe, a big, calloused hand tangles with his hair and yanks him forward. Madarame’s looking at him with something cruel in his eyes, something demeaning.
“Bark,” Madarame says, with his hand still in Kotarou’s hair.
“Huh?” Kotarou sputters. Beside him, Towa snorts.
Madarame grins. “You heard me. Bark, doggy.”
Kotarou doesn’t get why, but arousal strikes him like lightning. The rhythm of his hips stutters for a moment. When he finally picks his pace back up, he decides to hell with it, and grunts, “Woof.”
Madarame lets go of his hair. Suddenly, he jabs his fist into Kotarou’s stomach, not hard enough to throw him off his lap, but enough to knock the air out of him. Kotarou wheezes.
“Bad dog,” Madarame chastises. “Louder.”
Kotarou glares at him. “Nngh.”
Madarame punches his stomach again.
“Woof!” Kotarou yelps.
“Good boy,” Madarame finally says, before making out with Towa again.
Kotarou watches, mesmerized, as he continues pleasuring himself on Madarame’s thigh. They’re messy, blood smeared on both their lips from nipping and biting. Taking in the rest of the scene, Kotarou notices several bite marks along Madarame’s neck and collarbone. Some of them are even dotted with crimson. Is Towa a dog too, then? Or is he more of a cat?
He hears sharp whimpers next to him, rising in noise and pitch. Kotarou looks over, and sees Towa’s face scrunched up in pleasure. He recognizes that expression. Towa’s about to cum. But then Madarame stops him with a firm hand on his hip. Towa wheezes, annoyed.
“Let me cum,” Towa hisses.
“Not yet,” Madarame replies. He glances between Towa and Kotarou. “Off, both of you.”
Kotarou scowls. “Why?”
Madarame grins. “We’re finding somewhere to fuck.”
𓃠
Breaking into the CCTV room and throwing out the security guards was easy enough. Madarame’s deft hands go down to his zipper, pulling it down so he can push his pants just low enough for him to expose his boxers. He cups his own bulge and squeezes it, sighing.
Across from him, Mayu pushes Kotarou against the wall, their lips interlocked. “Did you know you looked so good being his bitch?” He can hear Mayu whisper in between kisses, “You should bottom more. It suits you.”
Madarame chuckles. He drops into one of the office chairs, legs spreading wide. “Towa. C’mere.”
Towa slots himself between his legs, catching his knee on the edge of the chair, bumping against Madarame’s hard cock, nothing but the thin cotton of his boxers between them. Madarame curls his fingers around the crown of Towa’s head, urging him down to kneel—but with a hand around Madarame's wrist, Towa suddenly stops him.
Madarame cocks his head to the side and hums inquisitively.
“You said my ass is the only one you're gonna fuck, right?” Towa murmurs, sultry. “But what about Kotarou’s mouth?”
Madarame raises his eyebrows; he wasn't expecting it, but it's not a bad idea.. “You want that?”
Towa presses a kiss against Madarame's lips. “About time we use some lube for once, no?” He jokes.
Madarame ruffles Towa's hair before letting him step away. With one corner of his lips lifted into a smirk, he calls, “Doggy. Come.”
Giggling, Mayu steps aside. Kotarou approaches Madarame like the obedient mutt he is, standing where Towa stood before. But instead of gently urging him down to kneel like he did with Towa, Madarame kicks out one of Kotarou's legs from under him.
Kotarou knees crash against the floor with a loud thump, sucking in a pained breath through his teeth.
“Holy fuck.” Dilated pupils watch Madarame fish his cock out from his boxers as his other hand reaches into spiky silver hair, yanking Kotarou forward until his lips meet the tip of his cock, smearing pre-cum all over, “Mmph.”
Madarame chuckles. He revels in the sensation of stroking his hand down his cock, before grabbing Kotarou by the jaw, forcing his mouth open. Eyes burn against his skin; Towa’s watching him, cock in hand, stroking feverishly. Mayu is next to him—he knows to keep his hands to himself, that this is not them trading partners but Madarame extending his hand out to a pair of hungry strays—doing the same.
With a huff, Madarame snaps his hips forward, shoving his cock into Kotarou's mouth without a warning.
Kotarou grunts, hands scrabbling for Madarame's thighs. He drops his jaw lower to accommodate the girth. Madarame pushes his cock deeper and deeper, relentless even when Kotarou shows signs of struggling—twitching, screwing his eyes shut, tongue writhing against Madarame's shaft as a feeble attempt to push it out—until the tip hits the back of the other man's throat.
He holds it there, lightly thrusting back and forth, waits for Kotarou to panic and get a little teary-eyed before finally pulling out.
“Fuck,” Kotarou sputters. He breathes in big gulps, a line of drool running down his chin.
But that moment of reprieve doesn't last long. Madarame releases Kotarou's jaw and grabs onto the sides of his head instead. The real fun begins.
Kotarou gasps. Bingo; Madarame slams his cock back inside. He begins fucking his mouth in earnest, ignoring the chokes and grunts spilling out from the other man.
He watches the shorter man fall apart, all that spunk and bravado giving away to acting like a desperate bitch. Seeing Kotarou's hips twitch up into nothing, Madarame gets the idea to briefly pull him off his cock; kicking him in the crotch and watching his expression twist into a grimace as he cries out.
Madarame fucks his face again, but he doesn't remove his foot from Kotarou's clothed cock. He grinds his heel down, the metal toe of his boot digging into Kotarou's navel. Kotarou whimpers, all pathetic; he even tries to move away but Madarame won't let him.
“Look at you, slobbering all over my cock,” Madarame sighs when he pulls Kotarou back again to let him breathe. “Getting it nice and wet for Towa.”
Kotarou pants. “F-for Towa?”
“Did you think this was for you?” Madarame chuckles. “Open up.”
They go on until Madarame can feel his orgasm building up. The pleasure climbing higher and higher, a mounting hunger, like a beast one command away from being allowed to feast—but he stops just short of it, throwing Kotarou off. Madarame huffs, falling back against his seat for a moment, cock twitching and chest heaving.
He doesn't need to say anything for Towa to know it's time for him to come over. Towa leans over him, pressing their lips together, before fisting a hand into Madarame's collar. He pulls Madarame off the chair to urge him down to the floor, dropping onto his back and spreading his pale thighs so Madarame can get in between.
“My turn,” Towa whispers against his lips.
Madarame smiles. “Did you cum?”
“Almost but held back,” Towa replies, scooting closer against Madarame's slick cock. “Need you to rearrange my fucking guts now.”
“I've spoiled you,” Madarame tuts, affectionately.
On the other side of the room, he can hear Kotarou moaning. He glances up and sees him now bare from the waist down, his pants tossed to the side, on his hands and knees. Mayu is kneeling beside him, his arm moving behind Kotarou that suggests that he's fingering him.
Kotarou’s bleary eyes meet Madarame’s smug ones. Without breaking eye contact, Madarame begins sliding into Towa.
Beneath him, Towa grunts and shudders. He's used to the girth but at the same time, he's not. It’s easier this time around, what with the excessive use of Kotarou's spit aiding them. More often than not, he takes it all in dry; treasures the pain like the good pet he is.
Madarame does shallow thrusts into him before eventually picking up the pace. Towa cries out every time he slams into him, writhing, dragging blunt nails down the center of his own chest, scratching at the raised scar there like he's trying to pry it open.
Their audience follows suit; Mayu fucks into Kotarou, doggy-style (how fitting). They watch Madarame and Towa, almost entranced. Madarame grins and flips Towa over, manhandling him until he's face-down ass-up. The position must be making his cock grind against Towa’s prostate, because he's louder now, scratching at the floor like a cat.
Mayu and Kotarou finish first; Kotarou spurting white across the floor, and Mayu pulling out to spill all over Kotarou's ass cheeks.
Towa cums soon after, throwing a hand back to bury in Madarame's hair as he arches his back and keens. A few more thrusts, then Madarame stills, his hips flush against Towa's ass. He shoots his load inside him; doesn't give a shit about the mess or the hassle after and knows that Towa doesn't either.
Madarame pulls out and sits back on his haunches, panting. He watches his cum drip out of Towa’s twitching hole with a satisfied smile.
“That was,” Kotarou begins, dropping down onto his forearms, head hanging low between hunched shoulders, “so fucking hot.”
Towa snorts and rolls onto his back, narrowly missing his own puddle of cum.
“You guys know how long he's wanted this for?” Mayu cackles, sitting back against the wall. Kotarou lifts his head and looks over his shoulder to shoot what Madarame can only imagine is a glare, but it does nothing to deter Mayu, “The first time he told me he fantasized about doing it with the two of you, he was all like, ‘So if Towa is off-limits now, and Madarame is off-limits, what about both of them at the same time?’”
“Dumbass,” Towa replies.
“Hey, was I wrong?” Kotarou retorts. “Worked out well for me, didn't it? I knew all I needed was Madarame’s stamp of approval; I knew you wouldn't have an opinion on it, you whore.”
Madarame chuckles. He stuffs his cock back into his pants and gets up, turning towards the monitors taking up one wall. The club is still as lively as ever, and definitely still as loud, if the blaring music reverberating through the wall is anything to go by. But now that the fun part is over with, he's become disinterested in going back.
“Alright. Find something to clean up with,” Madarame says. “Use the bathroom if you need it. We'll be leaving in ten.”
𓃠
They part ways once they're out the nightclub, Kotarou's arm around Mayu's waist as they wave off Madarame and Towa.
Walking in tandem down the sidewalk, Towa slips a cigarette between his lips and lights it. “You think that'll be a recurring thing?”
Madarame shrugs. “Maybe.”
“I think Kotarou's still betting on you using his ass one day.” Towa takes a drag and exhales in smoke, “And Mayu will probably want to have a taste too.”
“So I feed one stray and the rest come into my yard, hm?”
Towa grins. “Almost enough for you to start an animal shelter.”
“I'll think about it,” Madarame chuckles.