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The public restroom is dim, a single, flickering strip of derelict fluorescent light illuminating the tiles. It washes Sagawa out, makes his skin look sallow, everything in Majima's field of vision indistinct.
Dimmer and ever more indistinct as the fingers tight around his throat cut off that much more of his oxygen.
“So where are you off to now, all in a rush?”
Dark spots like so many flies swarm Majima's vision; he can practically hear the buzzing as the grip around his throat tightens, nails digging into the soft skin just under his jawline, pressing into his erratic pulse. His head feels stuffed with cotton, heavier by the second, but somehow instead of the world around him fading out, he’s more aware of the wash of sensation engulfing him: the heat of Sagawa's hand, of his body so close to Majima's own; the smooth fabric of Sagawa’s sleeve in Majima’s own white-knuckled grasp; the sweat trickling down the curve of his spine, his forehead, the throb of pain where the back of his head meets hard wall; the burn of his starved lungs, the burn of muscles so tense they could snap; the suffocating stench of filth barely drowned out by too-expensive cologne and clinging cigarette smoke burning off Sagawa.
He works his throat as much as the hand crushing down on it allows, parts dry, cracked lips, rasps out, “Naturally… to come report to you.”
He can barely hear himself for the blood rushing in his head like a tidal wave, almost isn’t sure if he got the words out at all, but Sagawa’s expression shifts, and there’s the slightest easing of pressure, letting him suck in a breath.
Sagawa sounds almost casual as he says, “Oh, really? Good.”
The stranglehold on Majima’s throat loosens and Majima drops his own hands to his sides as Sagawa pulls away, dragging as much air as he can into his aching throat. Sagawa opens his mouth to spit more insults and threats— only to stop short as his leg brushes against Majima, so briefly, so, so fucking briefly, but just enough to have Majima drawing in a raw, strangled hiss, every relaxing muscle in his body snapping tight again.
Sagawa’s eyes dart down and his laugh is equal parts mocking and amused.
"Really? Getting choked out in a literal shithole gets you going?"
Sagawa keeps his fingers wrapped around Majima’s throat, just shy of constricting, a warning if anything, but that’s not what Majima is thinking of now. He’d been so overwhelmed by everything else that the heat pooling low, the tightening of his slacks didn’t even register; he’s surprised any blood had been able to flow from his head at all, but the throb of his pulse between his legs is undeniable now.
Face leaning closer toward Majima’s by increments, Sagawa looks him straight in the eye with that oil-slick smile of his. His thumb rubs against the vein pounding just under Majima’s jaw. Sweat drips down Majima’s forehead, into the corner of his eye; he doesn’t blink.
“Well, maybe we could both use a lil’ stress relief right now. I know I could.”
He bites back a groan as Sagawa roughly palms at him through his slacks, zipper digging into his cock through the fabric of his briefs.
“What, here? Now?”
And even as Majima says it, even as he presses his back harder against the cold wall behind him, snatching what little breathing room he can, his hips push up into Sagawa’s touch, graceless and demanding.
He doesn’t miss Sagawa’s smirk sharpening. Well-trained.
“You’d rather walk out there pitchin’ a tent in your pants?” Sagawa drags his palm roughly down Majima’s cock to press at his balls, grip still around his throat tightening in a whisper of a warning. “Though maybe you’d deserve it after the stunt you pulled. Maybe I should just make you walk right on out there, let the entire city see how pathetic you are, huh?”
Even as Sagawa says this, Majima clearly hears the underlying threat behind his words: you pissed me off big time, and you know exactly how to make it up to me.
“You’re fuckin’ insane. What about the job?” he says, trying to stop himself from pushing harder against that hand roughly rubbing him through his slacks, glaring straight into the eyes dissecting his every reaction.
“Itching to get back out of Sotenbori?” Sagawa asks, words sharp as the edge of a knife. The pressure on Majima’s throat returns by increments; it does nothing to stop the hammer of his pulse between his legs.
“How am I supposed to trust you to behave after your lil stunt? After all that time I spent beating some discipline into you.” Sagawa’s voice is low, breath hot against Majima’s lips, so close he can practically taste the lingering scent of over-priced cigarettes with each labored pull of air. “Need to know I can still trust you to come to heel, Majima-chan.”
Majima’s lips curl into a snarl: he wants to snap back, wants to argue, to fight back for once instead of rolling over for Sagawa’s sadistic whims. They don’t have time for this, with everything they need to do, that Majima needs to do— but the fog of too little oxygen to his brain is gradually being burned away by the heat coursing through him, his blood singing as that hand grips tighter on his cock.
Really, at this point, what’s one more poor decision thrown onto the rising pyre of his life?
A harsh, slow breath from his nose, and he grits out, voice strained: “How’re we doin’ this then.”
Sagawa has the pleased smile of a man used to being given exactly what he wants. He gives one last painful squeeze to Majima’s cock before releasing him, and says, with casual and firm authority: “Get your cock out.”
And Majima may still have a glare fixed on Sagawa’s shit-eating grin, but his hands find their way to his belt anyway, fumbling with the buckle. They’re shaking too much, though; he’s all too aware of the shifting pressure on his throat, the lingering lightheadedness of oxygen-deprivation.
Sagawa’s sigh brushes hot along Majima’s warming face. “Gonna make me do everything tonight, champ?”
He slaps Majima's hand away as he finally releases his abused neck. Majima gulps down air like a man breaking rough waters, every pull of breath into his lungs a red-hot knife down his throat. He clutches at Sagawa's shoulders, so light-headed that the floor briefly tilts under him. Sagawa doesn’t wait for him to catch his bearings, making quick work of undoing Majima's belt, Majima’s hips jerked forward with the force of tugging. Sagawa barely has the zipper undone before he’s yanking Majima’s pants down his hips.
There’s only the briefest moment to enjoy the relief of his cock being freed, before Sagawa spits into the palm of his hand, not nearly enough to matter, and grips Majima’s cock like he gripped his throat. Too tight, without a shadow of tenderness, of mercy: a reminder branded into skin with each rough, strangling stroke.
His throat aches from the groan rumbling up from his chest, but not as badly as his cock, so fucking hard, the too-hot friction of Sagawa’s hand gripping tighter with each stroke, nails catching at Majima’s foreskin, thumbnail dragging hard down that sensitive skin just below the head of his cock, the vein trailing the underside. He slides his other hand around Majima’s waist, grip painful and possessive. After the beating he endured from Sagawa’s men and his fight with Nishitani, it feels like a hammer swung directly into his pelvis. The fact it’s Sagawa’s bandaged hand, likely still aching from being shot, is poor compensation. He hopes a stitch tears.
Everything- right now, tonight- is happening too fast for him to keep up with. Majima grabs at Sagawa’s arm, the only mooring available to him, fingers digging hard into his bicep.
Maybe if he presses hard enough Sagawa will feel the bite of nails through his jacket and shirt; maybe Majima can tear through the fabric, leave a mark on the man for once, leave him the slightest bit as debased as he leaves Majima with every touch, every disgusting, disgusted word.
The sound of the evening crowds is muted, distant, drowned out by their mutually ragged breathing, the wet sound of skin on skin. Majima cants his hips in an effort to meet Sagawa’s pace as he spreads the precome leaking in threads from Majima’s slit, his unyielding fist gliding smoother, messier.
“That’s it,” Sagawa murmurs under his breath into his ear, rubbing his thumb across the head of Majima’s cock on the upstroke. He presses his thumbnail oh so lightly into the slit, more a threat than actual pressure, but it still sends a jolt through Majima, thighs shuddering. He chokes down a whimper too mortifying to let loose.
Majima refuses to look at Sagawa as he ruts harder into his palm, avoiding eyes reveling in every minute shift of muscle on his face. He fixes his gaze firmly over Sagawa’s shoulder, to the open entrance of the restroom. The bright, colorful lights of neon signage and vending machines cut into the gloom, not quite reaching where the room’s flickering lighting has them veiled in darkness. The shadows of people passing right in front of the entrance stretch long.
It’d take just the briefest turn of a passer-by's head. Some poor son of a bitch walking in to take a leak.
This is fucking stupid.
He’s fucking stupid. His stint in the Hole must have done more than cross his wires: he should be focused on the fact he watched a man murdered in cold blood, and left another to die for him; he should have no other thoughts in his mind but worry for Makoto, for her safety, about what will happen if he lets Sagawa reach her—
Instead he is leaning into Sagawa, giving himself over to his wants, fucking his cock into the hand of a man who disgusts him.
But maybe he does need the stress relief. Maybe he’s been ground down too much by the exhaustion of the last few days, the last few years, running on fumes and nicotine, sleeping too few hours, eating too little and drinking too much.
Majima groans as much from frustration with himself and his life as from the way Sagawa drags nails sharply over veins pulsing under thin, burning skin.
He drops his forehead onto Sagawa’s shoulder, struggling to care about being too vulnerable as he sinks into the warmth radiating between their bodies, panting damp breaths into the sleeve of a suit too plain for being bespoke. He refuses to acknowledge the good boy breathed out above him, even as a vein in his cock spasms under the light caress of a finger. He can’t tell if he’s dizzy from being choked out, or from the pleasure pooling low like magma under Sagawa’s touch.
Lips brush along the curve of his ear, the prickle of facial hair against sensitive skin, and he can’t help shuddering, even as that smug, self-satisfied chuckle worms its way into his head.
“Enjoying yourself, Majima-chan?” Sagawa’s voice is rougher with each amused, patronizing word. Majima presses his good eye harder into Sagawa’s shoulder, a poor attempt at putting distance between them, his irritation rising as hot as his arousal: at Sagawa for not shutting up and getting this over with, at himself for being more turned on by the second.
A knee slides between Majima’s legs, pressing hard against his balls, and he wishes he could do anything to stop the full-body shudder shaking through him. Sagawa makes a noise low in his throat, not quite a moan but entirely pleased.
“Guess you needed this more badly than I did, huh, kiddo?” Majima tenses at the sudden edge in Sagawa’s voice; fingers dig harder into his side, sending pain lancing through bruised muscle. “Imagine if you'd been this obedient from the start. Could’a avoided this entire shitshow.”
Majima grits his teeth. “Blow it out yer fuckin’ ass.”
Sagawa just hums against the shell of his ear, mouth trailing along its curve. The bandaged hand that has a vice-grip on his hip trails up his side, palming roughly at Majima’s pec, nails digging into his nipple until he inhales sharply, until he’s breathing even faster, shallower. Sagawa’s smirk widens, oozes sleaze as his fingers snake up Majima’s neck, ace wrapping and gauze scratching at his skin before Sagawa grips his ponytail in a fist and roughly jerks him upright, pain searing through Majima’s scalp as his shoulders hit the wall again.
The press of lips into the side of his neck has Majima flinching before he can stop himself; he swears he can feel the smile cutting into his skin before Sagawa bites down, pain on top of the lingering ache from being choked out. It has Majima bucking harder in Sagawa’s hand, grinding down on the leg still planted between his own. Majima briefly presses himself and the hand on him against Sagawa’s own cock, just about bursting from his own slacks, and a throaty moan, almost a growl, vibrates in counterpoint through the pulse in Majima’s carotid, lips bearing down on where it quakes below his jaw.
Majima imagines the bruises he’ll find when he passes by the restroom’s mirrors at the end of this ordeal: bright, angry bite marks woven over the shadow of an angrier hand.
It’s easier to lose himself in the sensation of lips and teeth against his neck, the light burn of facial hair chased by tongue trailing flames along fever-hot skin, the smooth glide of the hand he moves in uneasy-rhythm with, the pressure building up in his cock. The angle the fist in his hair holds Majima’s head is awkward, almost aching, forced to bare his neck for Sagawa to do as he pleases.
He watches a bead of moisture drip down from Sagawa’s hairline, past his ear; this close to each other, the underlying smell of sweat layered beneath the spice of cologne is near-cloying. If this were someone else, anyone else, he’d want nothing more than to let himself drown in it, to get lost in another body’s scent and warmth, the rest of the world drowned out by the basest of sensations.
But this is Sagawa, and an even baser part of Majima hones in on how close he is to thin skin, blood pulsing so near the surface; how he could sink his teeth just as deeply into Sagawa’s throat, even as his own is brutalized. Sink deeper, past the salt taste of sweat-damp skin, until his tongue is coated with thick, heated iron, until he’s tearing and tearing—
Even the most thoroughly kicked dog will snap if given the opportunity.
Yet Majima has been given many opportunities, if he’s being honest with himself, and he knows each and every one of them leads to a dead end on the road back to Tokyo. It’s a fine line between being a coward and a pragmatist, but Majima has gotten this far straddling it, and he can’t fuck that up now that he’s so close.
He’s jarred out of his thoughts by a bite that stings enough to make him hiss loudly; Sagawa laves his tongue over the wound, more proprietary than apology, sucking almost as painfully as he bit into him, and he’s squeezing down on the head of Majima’s cock with a twist of wrist, and it punches an obscene moan from Majima, so loud he’s almost worried passers-by will hear. The thought just makes his cock pulse harder, his hips stuttering. He’s so close—
Shoving a hand between them, Majima starts groping at Sagawa’s own hard-on, because why should he be the only one struggling so hard to maintain his composure— but then there’s pain like so many needles shoved into his skull as Sagawa yanks hard on his ponytail to crack Majima’s head against the wall, and he tastes his own blood in his mouth just as he comes with a strangled, desperate sound. He can’t tell if his vision whites out from the hit to his head or from the force of his orgasm.
Majima can’t quite make out the words Sagawa is saying as his expression shifts from anger to amusement, a flush high on his own face. Majima’s chest heaves, every muscle in his body quaking. Sagawa’s white-knuckled fist is still pumping too-hard at his cock, covered in strings of cum as he milks Majima of every last drop, the overstimulation sending bolts of pure burning pain through his nerves. His bottom lip throbs as the metallic taste of blood coats his tongue, his own teeth having torn a cut into it on impact.
Relief floods through him as Sagawa finally releases his aching cock, tugging Majima’s head back by his hair so he’s forced to look him in the eye.
“Still with me, Majima-chan?” Sagawa asks, his voice too raw and shallow for the faux concern. It’s obvious how much this is turning him on.
Majima glares straight into Sagawa’s eyes with all the force of a knife slamming home. A thumb brushes gently along his chin and Sagawa holds it up with a smirk, making sure Majima sees thick, bloody drool dripping over the cum still coating his hand.
“You always make a show of hating this, but by the end you’re so desperate to come,” Sagawa says, words spoken low, steeped in delight, as he pulls down Majima’s lower lip; there’s the bright flare of pain as torn skin tears further, harsh stinging as cum is rubbed into the bleeding wound. “Just a bitch in heat at the end of the day.”
Majima’s flagging cock twitches.
He turns his head just enough to dislodge Sagawa’s thumb, ignoring the sharp pull on his ponytail it earns him. “We really got time for all this teasin’ bullshit?” He doesn’t even sound convincing to his own ears, voice still raw and breathy (desperate.) “You gonna make me get you off, or are we goin’?”
“Gettin’ impatient? Really hard up for it, aren’t you?” Sagawa’s smile widens as Majima’s mouth caves into a scowl. “But I guess you’re right, we should get this show on the road. On your knees, tiger.”
There’s a sudden vicious pull downward on his hair, and Majima grunts as he follows, dropping heavily to his knees, bristling, trying to ignore how much his cock is making a valiant effort to get hard again. His ponytail is half-falling out by the time Sagawa untangles it from his fist, strands wild and sticking to the wet mess of his neck and face. His hand settles on Majima’s head, fingers threading through the mess he made of his hair.
Sagawa neither grips nor pulls at him, the warmth of the palm cradling Majima’s head deceptively gentle. It’s but a heavy reminder as Sagawa looms above Majima, that he’s exactly where he was always meant to be: a dog brought to heel at the feet of the man that holds its life in his hands.
Majima can’t help the shiver down his spine as fingers stroke through his hair. He keeps his eye focused on the cock outlined against drab pinstripes. The urgency from earlier, when Sagawa smacked Majima’s hands away to tear off his pants himself, isn’t here anymore. Of course Sagawa has enough patience to make Majima do all the work for this.
But just as Majima takes the initiative to push up the hem of Sagawa’s jacket to get at his belt, Sagawa pinches Majima’s bottom lip with his filth-stained hand, tapping a finger on the cut still dripping blood.
“Clean up the mess you made while you’re down there.” Sagawa digs a thumbnail into the wound, pain sharp like a needle shoved into soft flesh. His grin widens when Majima glares up at him, brow twitching.
Majima waits a beat until he realizes Sagawa isn’t going to just shove his fingers in Majima’s mouth; no, that’d be too easy for Majima. He wants to enjoy watching Majima bury that much more of his dignity with his own hands, as he opens his mouth wide, tongue pressing against the pads of Sagawa’s fingers as he draws them in, the bitter taste of his own cum and blood mixing with nicotine-stained skin. His lip throbs at the stretch, the salt of cum and sweat rubbing into the wound as Sagawa presses in.
“Better get to it, champ, we’re in a hurry here,” Sagawa says, laughter in his words as he gives a small pull forward on Majima’s head.
He wishes he could grit his teeth; he wishes he could snap straight through the fingers probing deeper toward his throat and flood out the taste of his own blood with Sagawa’s.
But he knows exactly where lashing out will lead, and it’s nowhere he can afford to be right now. All he can do is get back to unbuckling the belt in his hands, a harsh explosion of breath through his nose as he licks between the fingers invading his mouth, tasting his own shame as drool runs down his chin.
He’s done this enough times that the movements may as well be branded into his muscles, but his hands still shake, and he still fumbles, and all he wants is to rend leather and tear fabric that probably costs more than the Grand’s most expensive bottle. Sagawa’s cock is straining against the front of his underwear, head perfectly outlined against a wet stain.
Majima yanks Sagawa’s underwear down, and tells himself he doesn't enjoy the bitten-back sound from above as the cock springs free. (Tells himself he doesn’t enjoy the answering throb in his own cock.) Sagawa’s cock is harder than he’s ever seen it: flushed purple-red, head shiny and slick, a bead of precum dripping from his slit.
It really shouldn’t be so satisfying, to see these brief cracks in Sagawa’s image of cool, unflappable composure. Majima’s cock is nearly at full mast again, pain and pleasure pulsing through every centimeter, and part of him is deeply ashamed, will always be deeply ashamed, but another part of him is just barely resisting reaching a hand down to grip himself. Can't give Sagawa the satisfaction of seeing how quickly he’s is falling apart again. Just a bitch in heat.
If only Majima could figure out how to rob him of all sense of control, how to debase him as easily as he does Majima.
He wraps his fingers around Sagawa’s cock, stroking upward with a harsh, tight grip (but not as harsh as Sagawa is with him. Never as harsh as Sagawa.) There’s a heavy pulse through heated skin against his palm as he squeezes the head, precum thick on his skin as he finds a rhythm. It draws a loud, long sigh from Sagawa above him, and then Sagawa’s drawing his fingers out of Majima’s mouth, calloused fingerpad sliding straight over the burning cut.
Majima glares at the cock still in his hand as Sagawa wipes red-tinged spit onto one of the few patches of dry skin on Majima’s cheek. He grips Majima’s jaw between his fingers, digging into soft skin until he’s pressing against Majima’s teeth, and tilts his head from side to side, like he’s admiring the light playing off the shiny mess of Majima’s face.
“No wonder my bro’s so indulgent with you, with a face like that,” Sagawa says with a hungry leer. “Maybe I should’ve just whored your ass out ‘stead of stickin’ you in the Grand, huh? Bet you’d have made me that five-hundred-mil within months.”
The pressure on Majima’s jaw eases as Sagawa again forces his fingers past his lips and between his teeth, pulling his mouth wide open. Majima’s breath quickens as Sagawa rubs the pad of a finger along the edge of an incisor.
“But I think I like having your holes all to myself, y’know?”
Majima feels the grip on his head tighten just before he’s shoved down hard on Sagawa’s cock with zero warning, grunt becoming a loud, pained gag as Sagawa thrusts deep into his throat.
Apparently Sagawa is keeping the urgency of their situation in mind, because he doesn’t draw things out as usual, forcing Majima to suck him off slow and thorough. No, Sagawa fucks into his mouth fast and hard without waiting for him to adjust, Majima gripping Sagawa’s thighs as he struggles to relax his throat to meet the heavy cock forcing its way down, to pace his breathing with Sagawa’s thrusts.
The lightheadedness is filling his body again as Majima struggles to pull in air with his mouth so full, the head of Sagawa’s cock hitting the back of his throat with every thrust. All he can smell is cum, sweat, and the heady scent of Sagawa’s arousal. Every push of hot skin is like a knife carving into his bottom lip, slicing the wound further open.
There’s something coiling in the pit of Majima’s stomach, his cock a painful purple and dripping despite having come just minutes ago, the desperation for release, for relief, returning ten-fold.
He has the sudden urge to slide his hands from Sagawa’s thighs to his ass, to grip him with bruising force and pull him in closer, deeper— to get this over with faster, Majima tells himself, even as he feels his cock jerk, feels another wet bead seep down its length. Every beat of his pulse feels like a lightning strike through his nerves. He moans without restraint, and the answering shudder and groan from Sagawa have his hips jerking up into empty air.
With a smothered whine, Majima finally let’s himself give into his own humiliation, wrapping a hand around his aching, leaking cock, the pain of overstimulation thrumming through him as the pressure in him builds, no longer caring about the noises he makes as he swallows around every violating thrust.
Sagawa groans out a fuck just before he yanks Majima hard by the hair, pulling him off his cock. Majima gasps and coughs, throat burning as if flayed, a messy, bitter waterfall pouring past his lips. He hisses as Sagawa drives the heel of his shoe into the hand Majima has around himself.
“You’re hard again already? Just from that?” Sagawa asks, voice full of breathless laughter. He smooths Majima’s hair down, petting him, and a mockery of fondness fills his voice as he says, “You’re a real fuckin’ piece of work, Majima-chan.”
Sagawa tips Majima’s head back until he’s forced to look up at him, and Majima swallows as they lock eyes: Sagawa’s looking down at him like he wants to devour him, eyelids low and gaze piercing, sweat beading down from his hairline, a flush high along his neck and cheeks as he pants.
“Don’t remember sayin’ you could touch yourself, though.” Without breaking eye contact, Sagawa grinds his heel hard into Majima’s wrist until he pulls it off his cock with a hiss.
“Oh, come the fuck on.” Majima’s voice sounds more whiny and needy than actually angry, even to his own ears. “You gonna waste time givin’ me another handjo-”
His words are cut off with a gasp as the sole of Sagawa’s wingtip presses against his aching cock. He chokes on a whine as the toe pushes up along a particularly sensitive vein.
“You come like that or you don’t come at all.”
Sagawa shoves his cock back down Majima’s throat before he can think of a response, leaning his weight on an elbow against the wall above Majima as he pounds into his mouth, without a single care for Majima’s comfort.
The ungiving weight of the shoe pinning his cock down has Majima choking on moans as much as flesh, grasping Sagawa’s thighs for balance as he ruts as hard as he can against the leather of the sole, so dizzy from too little breath, so fucking desperate for it to hurt, for it to be over. He doesn’t even care how disgusting he must look at this point, tears flowing down his face to mix with the rest of the filth staining his cheeks, arousal chipping away at what little self-respect he has left as he grinds his hips up, forces himself to take Sagawa deeper. He’s so goddamn fucking close—
His orgasm surges through him like a flash flood, entire body seizing as every nerve screams in unison, strained sobs struggling to climb out his too-full throat as red-hot pain lances through his cock and everything falls away from him as he comes for the second time that night, too spent for all but a few drops dripping from his slit.
It’s a few seconds after, Majima dizzy, consumed in the agonized pleasure flaring white-hot in his veins, when Sagawa’s hips stutter, yanking Majima down on him until Majima’s nose is buried in coarse, grey hair, and holding him there, sheathing his cock entirely as it spasms against Majima’s tongue, cum spilling down his ravaged throat. He can just make out Sagawa’s groans and fuck yes, just like that as he grinds against Majima’s face, emptying every last drop of cum into him.
They stay like that for what feels like eons, Majima’s exhausted body only upright because of Sagawa’s hold on him, cradling his head against his body, lips flush with the base of his softening cock. He pulls out so slowly, Majima feeling every centimeter scraping against soft flesh fucked raw, doesn’t even notice the ache of his split lip as he coughs and drags air down to his lungs, a flood of hot, thick drool dripping down his chin.
The hand on his head smooths down his tangled, sweat-damp hair, and Majima leans into the touch on instinct. The illusion of kindness is broken when that blood-and-spit-slick cock comes back up to his face, wet slit rubbed roughly into a patch of skin that somehow remained dry until that moment.
Sagawa’s voice shakes slightly as he says, under his breath, “Fuck. Definitely needed that.” He pulls himself upright, moving away from where Majima still kneels dazed, and tucks himself away as he puts himself back into order, all casual, unflappable, effortless authority.
“Well, I know I feel better. How about you, champ?” He’s looking down at Majima with that same smug smirk as always. Maybe more smug right now. Majima ignores him as he finally pushes himself up, aches lancing through his knees.
Sagawa’s back in front of him before he can get far, hand resting so, so softly against his throat. Majima’s body locks up, trembling with the tension. Sagawa tilts his head, taking him in.
“No more acting out. No more going behind my back. You’re gonna listen to every word I say from now on, like the nice, obedient dog you were just now.” He smiles up at Majima’s face, flat and expressionless, and gives a sharp near-slap to his cheek before he takes a step back. “Hate to have to put down such a good fuck.”
He turns sharply on his heel and heads for the exit, to the golden street lights and murmur of foot traffic, not waiting for a response.
“Get yourself together and meet me outside. Got a loooong night ahead of us cleaning up your mess.”
Majima watches Sagawa’s back until he’s turned out of sight. The adrenaline rush from lack of oxygen and the endorphins of orgasm have burned away, and now he merely feels cold, carved out, like every time he gives in to Sagawa’s desires, gives in to that weak part of him that enjoys the unkind touches, the release of being used. His head is empty as he shoves his cock back in his pants, heads over to the sink to wash the sticky wetness from his skin.
The face that greets him in the mirror is what he imagines his corpse may look like someday: a fading flush, an ugly congealing mess of blood and drool on his lips, his chin and cheeks brushed with red spit, tear tracks obvious against it all. His throat is ringed by a collar of purple-red, adorned with bright, angry bite-marks like rubies. He reaches up to try to get his hair back into some semblance of order.
This is fine. It has to be fine. An empty head is better than the chaotic whirlwind of thoughts, of anger and fear and confusion, that had been flooding his mind before this— this self-immolation. He’ll tell himself that to assuage the guilt creeping back in, the wasted time that could have been spent finding Makoto.
Sagawa’s right. They’ve got a long night ahead of them, and he’s got a job he can’t afford to fuck up worse than he already has.
He snaps the faucet off and turns away from the mirror, and the reflection reminding him of just how deep a hole he still has to crawl out of.