Archive of Our Own

The remarkable part about being unemployed was that there was nothing stopping him from laying around all day and doing jack shit. 

Being the miserable scum of the Earth that he was, Ogata took as much pleasure as he could from lounging on the couch with a bored expression, dark circles under his eyes, and the glow of the TV reflecting off his face. It was the only light in the room; those blackout curtains leftover from previous tenants were damn effective at turning the space into a dark, stale, noxious animal’s den. 

From the mold stain on the ceiling to the drippy sink in the kitchen, just about every nook and cranny of the place was broken and a little bit damp. In other words, it was the perfect shithole to marinate in and marathon vapid television. The broadcasting failed to solve any of his problems, but as he spectated the assholes parading across the screen in bikinis, he could feel a touch more moralistic about his own life. 

Sure he was a depressed, foul-smelling, unemployed, unlovable, loser but hey— At least he wasn’t a reality TV star. 

It was how he’d spent essentially all his newfound free time lately—TV on, snack packages crinkling in one hand, a mostly depleted bottle of Code Red Mountain Dew in the other. Most nights he hardly even slept, but when he did happen to shut his eyes long enough to conk out, he remained with his ass poking out of a makeshift nest of blankets and his belly pressed into the couch. At this point, an Ogata shaped imprint had formed in the cushions.

It was his fucking couch, he’d lay there if he pleased.

Despite the building pressure in his bladder after drinking a frankly ungodly amount of the tooth rotting soda, Hyakunosuke Ogata was so indifferent to his own existence he couldn’t even be bothered to go and take a piss.

A sound in his background interrupted the rabble-rousing youngsters causing a scene on the television.

“Ugh! It smells like B.O. in here! If I’d known you were gonna be such a slob I never would have signed the lease—”

An irritating voice interrupted his… 

Well …

Peace seemed like too generous of a definition for whatever circumstances Ogata happened to be experiencing. That was to say, his apartment remained otherwise uneventful until his roommate came home from work. Usami strutted inside, shutting the door with a blind kick backwards as he pocketed his house keys in a pair of tackily tattered skinny jeans.

Ogata was mildly surprised that those constricting pockets even accommodated a keyring. Usami had a tendency to dress like a walking stereotype—from his pulse-binding jeans, to the oversized white t-shirt, and the chain around his neck making him look like an extra in a rap video. The tattoo sleeves on his arms demonstrated an intricate portfolio of implied violence and garishness. They were the only spot of color in their dark pit of an apartment.

The living dead on the couch didn’t even moan in acknowledgement as he disassociated in the direction of the TV screen, that blue-white spotlight casting his voided face in an eerie glow.  

Usami traipsed boldly through the room, looking very much unbothered by the state of their apartment despite his opening commentary. He strolled to the kitchen to yank open their fridge and lodge his head deep into it—as if he wouldn’t have the same vantage point of its meager contents from a normal distance away. He reemerged with a beer in hand, easily biting off the bottle cap with his teeth and a twist before spitting it onto the countertops with the finesse of any certifiable psychopath.

“My client today was a fucking idiot!” Usami narrated as he brought the now open bottle to his lips and immediately chugged down half of it. “Last time you’ll catch me tattooing someone with ‘restless leg syndrome’.”

Ogata continued to not acknowledge Usami in any way, even as he uttered a shrill laugh at his own story. Whether or not his client actually had restless leg syndrome, it wasn’t funny.

Usami took another long sip of his beer before releasing a satisfied exhale, and flicking his wild eyes back to Ogata’s nest.

“Helloooo~ I know you're a dense chucklefuck most days, Hyakunosuke, but the least you could do is say hello when someone walks in a room! Didn’t your mommy ever teach you manners? Oh wait—” he started laughing again. It was an abrasive noise that somehow managed to be louder than the woo-girls Ogata was watching flash their tits at the camera while they giggled at each other's naughtiness. 

Ogata rolled his eyes.

“I’m banking on the fact that you’ll tire yourself out and fuck off, Tokishige,” his growl was partially muffled as his face remained squished into the throw pillow he’d wedged under his cheek. It was the same pillow he’d been using for a week now. It had flattened significantly in that time under the constant stress of getting squeezed by Ogata’s heavy head.

Usami squinted then, and with a complete disregard for the previous proclamations about B.O. he approached.

Over the short journey from the kitchenette to their dilapidated living room, Usami kicked a total of three Mountain Dew bottles out of the way, then made a face at what appeared to be a stiff smelly sock that had gotten stuck in the crack between the couch and the rug beneath it.

“You've seriously been lying there all week.” 

The judgment in his roommate’s tone was the palatable kind. It was an Usami brand of judgment. The sort that was uttered in a voice which acknowledged all of the misery behind the circumstances without offering even a shred of compassion to the implications.

Damn… He really should have taken the opportunity to piss before Usami got there. Now he wasn’t going to move out of principle.

“I take it job hunting is going well, hm?”

Ogata passed no comment.

“The second your savings run out, you know I’m kicking you to the fucking curb, right?” Usami checked in sweetly. “I’m not paying your rent for you—not even if you offer to blow me nightly~”

At that, inkblot eyes bled across his sclera to fix pointedly on Usami’s face.

“Offer? You’re the one always barking at me for it,” he proclaimed in a tone that implied putting up with Usami’s continued advances was a laborious chore.

“Not for nothing bud, but if things keep progressing the way they are now, no one’s gonna wanna touch you for anything.” Usami reached over the couch back to gently nudge the beer bottle against Ogata’s stomach where it poked out between the tattered hem of his t-shirt and the string of his sweatpants. “Sheesh, you’ve really let yourself go.”

Ogata bristled, batting the bottle away with a heavy hand and knocking it into the air. Usami exclaimed as he watched the remains of his drink waterfall into their rug.

“You’re not cute or funny, so how about you stick that bottle up your ass and fuck off already? I’m trying to watch my show.”

It was a bad call. Ogata had long since learned that the best approach with a dog like Usami was to play dead until he lost interest. He’d been diligently on track with that up until a moment ago. On occasion though, Ogata forgot his own rule, and invited trouble to engage further.

Usami gasped in outrage.

“Not cute or funny? You’ve crossed a line, Hyakunosuke!”

There was a moment just before Usami pounced that gave Ogata a chance to prepare himself for what came next. Usami was fitfully energetic as a person and he easily launched himself over the couch to settle in a straddle over Ogata’s torso. Knowing that it wouldn’t do much to struggle or buck, Ogata laid there staring up as Usami’s fragile facade of sanity began to unravel in the face of a new sadistic game.

“What now?” he cracked blandly, provoking when it would have been smarter to quit—but then, Ogata had been stranded on his couch for days now. Maybe he was a bit hungry for sport.

Usami locked a hand against Ogata’s chest like a weight.

Resistance only ever made Usami push harder, but there was a certain level of innate obstinance within Ogata whenever he found himself balancing on the edge of Usami’s threats. There was a brief moment of acknowledgement as the pair glared at each other. The electric connector that signified the official start of the battle.

“I’m hilarious and adorable. I want to hear you say it.” An unstoppable force and an immovable object. “Take it back, Hyakunosuke!”

“Get off me,” Ogata droned.

“Not until you take it back.”

There was no way to curtail Usami’s pincer hands as they immediately swept to wedge between Ogata’s legs. 

“The fuck?” He scoffed with a thrash against firm palms as they began to scrunch against Ogata’s thighs. The brush of contact was suspiciously softer from what he came to expect in these moments with his roommate. Generally speaking, Usami rarely exhibited gentle touch, especially when he happened to be pissed at Ogata. 

The hands between his legs traced a soft line into his tensed muscles, causing Ogata’s skin to flinch reflexively. He’d always had sensitive skin down there. And then it struck him—Usami was also aware of this—of course he was. With all the times he’d sunk his head between Ogata’s legs, he’d become unfortunately familiar with the specific kind of reactiveness. 

Usami’s fingers flexed and curled in insistent attention to Ogata’s thighs. The trapped man tensed at the contact, instinctively trying to pull away as the urge to laugh compelled him. He fought against it as one might fight the urge to sneeze in a quiet room, swallowing down against the rising tenseness. 

“Stop,” he squeezed out through the self-inflicted tension, strangling the reactive urge to laugh while Usami’s fingers continued to skitter between his legs like coked-up spiders.

“What’s the matter, Hyakunosuke?”

Usami’s hands climbed higher where the skin was softer, less weathered by day to day existence and more sensitive even through the protective layer of his sweatpants. A squashed sound escaped Ogata before he could bite it back. 

“OH? Was that a laugh?” Usami circled the spot again with a squeeze of his unreasonably muscular fingers, causing Ogata’s legs to kick out against the couch where they poked out from Usami’s weight. His bladder condensed with a tightening reminder of its fullness. 

“Fuck, stop, you shitstick this is not the way—”

Usami did not listen. He merely repeated the threatening motion. And as Ogata crossed his legs to squeeze them shut against the threat of his bladder, he could not help the bark of laughter which hurled out of his throat in response to the incessant tickling.

“I’m gonna kill you, Tokishige, get the fuck off—”

Another squeeze this time—so close to the inner tendons of Ogata’s thighs that he actually felt his dick tingle with the threat of release, his stomach tightened—

Ogata laughed again, still desperately trying to squirm out of reach and failing because of the anchor that was Usami’s misleadingly sturdy frame.

“Not funny, huh?! Then why the fuck are you laughing, huh?!”

It was obvious that the reactions were fueling Usami’s angry hands. They switched between fitful squeezes and soft little traces, the unpredictable alteration amplifying the ticklish response as it coiled through his rigid body. All the while, Ogata’s bladder squeezed desperately around the gallon of Code Red Mountain Sludge that simmered in his body.

“Stop, fuck stop—”

“Take it back and I will~”

“I’m gonna fucking piss if you don’t get the fuck off me right now—”

The threat recoiled as Usami released an honest to god cackle at the notion. Of course, he did not stop. He let go of Ogata’s thighs only to swoop in on a region of Ogata’s body that they both knew happened to be more sensitive than the expanse of his thighs.

Given the baggy nature of his t-shirt, which had ridden up in the bucking bronco of a struggle, it was a little too easy for Usami to slip his intrusive hands under the hem up Ogata’s sides. He spared a moment to tickle Ogata’s ribs, before lodging right under his arms, twisting the unkempt threads of Ogata’s armpit hair between digits and rubbing up against the swampy skin. 

A fit of laughter compelled Ogata, worse than before, though he still tried to choke down against it. He was helpless, lungs contracting and tears beading in his eyes as Usami squeezed him. The sounds ripped out of him despite the way he tried to clench his mouth shut. It was made worse as they tore out of him in the form of snorts through his nose, tears tracked down his cheeks, and unrestrained laughter finally flapped out of his lips, overwhelming his self control.

All Ogata could do was twist about as Usami continued his merciless gropage—his body was warm, his stomach tight and spasming against intrusive sensation. Then there was the pressure in his crotch as he continued to suppress the rising ache for relief—his bladder was so full it was starting to hurt, and probably his biggest miscalculation in the whole ordeal—

“Fuck ass—”

He gasped profanities of the like in between his wheezing laughs, Usami’s growl was victorious as he continued tugging along the skin of Ogata’s underarms and the hair there.

It was a feeling so visceral that he could not help throwing his head back against the armrest with such an energy that it hurt. At the same time that Usami squirmed closer to dig his pinching hands into Ogata’s armpits, bucking to grind a hardness—it shouldn’t have surprised Ogata—against his stomach, the very literal dam broke.

The splash between his legs was hot and almost soothing. The immediate relief was so tight in his chest it overpowered reason and logic through the lightheadedness of his throaty laughter. The warm trickle drenched his skin, crawling down his legs and thoroughly dampening his lower half, seeping from his pants into the cushions under him. 

In the following instance, his body seized and awareness drew him in. He froze with wide eyes, glancing down between his and Usami’s bodies as it occurred to him what just happened.

Damp, soggy, warm sweatpants, all over his thighs still raw from where Usami had groped them. And his couch—his fucking couch—his nest where he’d made himself comfortable in this desolate time, stained with the spillage. And it was all Usami’s fault. Very aware of the rapidly cooling waterlogged sweatpants, Ogata felt his face rush hot with alarm more so than embarrassment. His onyx glare darted up to Usami’s face, eyes drawn to a wild look.

There was a moment of stillness as Usami quit his assault and they just stared at each other, the gears in Usami’s mind turning as what had just occurred dawned on him. He looked down to confirm the suspicion.

Then the silence was cracked by fitful laughter as Usami caved in on them both, pressing his forehead into Ogata’s shoulder as he shook with unhinged cackling.

“Did you just fucking piss yourself?” he managed to wheeze between howling giggles. 

“Fuck OFF!” Ogata exclaimed, his anger cartwheeling inside of him along with that delayed heat of humiliation, his whole face turning red. 

The laughing fit had weakened Usami’s hold enough for Ogata to finally haul the weight of him off. Usami didn’t seem to care as he continued to hoot, rolling off Ogata and the couch onto the floor like a limp sack of potatoes. He slammed a fist against the carpet, continuing his raucous laughter. Ogata shot up, ignoring the darkened stain on the couch just between where his legs had been forced to splay because of Usami’s body.

He wobbled onto his feet, somewhat unsteady from the tussle, but mostly because he’d been laying there for hours even before Usami got home. A short glance down assessed the damage. His gray cotton pants were several shades darker in an artful splat along his crotch. Ogata glowered, body rigid, arms like spokes at his side, immensely displeased by the conclusion.

Meanwhile, Usami’s laughter had peaked to the point where he soundlessly shook against the floor, turning pink in the face. 

Ogata marched in the direction of the bathroom to deal with the clean up. The feeling of saturated sweatpants against his skin worsened the spike of his irritation. The sensation doubled as he stepped directly into the spilled beer from earlier, dampening his sock in a compliment to the rest of his wet clothes. Ogata swallowed a growl, stooping to pull it off his foot and lob it against the floor with unbridled ferocity.

“What did that sock ever do to you?” Usami was still obnoxiously amused, though he’d calmed his laughter enough to pull up from the heap on the floor, sitting up and following Ogata’s trek with his eyes.

In turn, he was back to ignoring Usami as he ripped the other sock off his foot in a similarly brutal fashion. He then tugged down his soiled sweats in the middle of the living room, not bothering to look for privacy. The wet feeling was obnoxious and he didn’t care about decency in front of a hound like Usami. It was his fault anyway.

“Hot, Hyaku, the peepee striptease just for me?”

It was the last straw.

Ogata’s scope momentarily narrowed in on the deranged gargoyle ogling him on the floor. With a strong arm and sharp eye, he whipped the piss-dampened clothing through the air—it was a precise headshot, the crotch flattening against Usami’s face. A cartoonish squelch of impact muffled him mid-laugh, and with constricting inertia, the pant legs wrapped all the way around Usami’s head.

Immediately, Usami’s cruel laughter transitioned into a loud exclamation of disgust.

Ogata didn’t bother to wait for the consequence as he stormed away from the living room towards the bathroom in his similarly wet underwear—a pair of soppy boxer shorts on their last thread of life didn’t constrict his movements as horribly as the pants had.

He threw the bathroom door open, only to slam it back shut as he made his way inside. He stalked towards where the tub was sequestered under a small window. Immediately Ogata jerked the faucet on, inviting a rush of water to spurt from the shower head attached to the wall by a coiling silver hose. It remained lodged in the bracket in the wall as Ogata paced outside the tub in preparation. He ripped the soaked boxers down his thighs with a look of distaste as they dampened his leg hair on the plummet to the ground. They caught around his ankle, cool and wet against his skin. He kicked the offensive fabric aside.

“You’re one sick kitty, throwing your piss at me like that,” Usami’s voice sounded over the rush of raining water, and Ogata jerked around to see his roommate had followed him into the bathroom.

In an oversight courtesy of his desperation to get clean, he hadn’t locked the door behind him. His psychotic roommate did not respect most social conventions when it came to people’s privacy, and shut bathroom doors.

“Will you get out?” Ogata barked, “I’m trying to get clean.”

He didn’t bother covering his lower half—Surrendering any sort of vulnerability wouldn’t do him any favors. It didn’t stop the discomfort which coiled inside of him, feeling extra exposed and awkward in the greater context of events. Somehow, the fact that he still had his t-shirt on made it worse. The embarrassment of pissing his pants resonated inside of him with some delay. It was the shame of a child shooting up in the middle of the night and scrambling desperately to get rid of the evidence; a hand too tight around his thin forearm, striking him for his misbehavior, before shoving him unceremoniously into cold bathwater. 

As Usami stepped deeper into the room, Ogata registered that his face had lost its playful gleam, and that did not bode well for Ogata’s request. Usami’s pupils were blown, casting a wild gleam to his often eerie attention, his lips spread in a snarl, and the vein in his forehead bulged.

“This is an intervention, Hyakunosuke,” Usami’s tone oozed threateningly as he moved to corner Ogata, herding him towards the tub, “I didn’t wanna hurt your feelings, but I’m speaking up now because I’m your friend .” Another shuffle of steps, Usami crowding Ogata deeper. “This couch potato thing is pitiful and gross. When’s the last time you even bathed, huh? You need to clean up your act, Hyakunosuke, and I’ll be here to hold your hand through it every step of the way. You’re so lucky you have me to help you~”

There was a jerk of movement as the wildcat thrashed to bite before it could be bitten. If there was an inevitability to how things were unfolding, then he wasn’t gonna let them be on Usami’s terms. Ogata grabbed the showerhead from its holster and angled it at Usami, allowing the water to stream in an arc directly into his face, then in a spray against his chest.

“ You useless fucking skidmark!” Usami exclaimed with a scandalized shriek as he lunged. The splash of water had turned his white t-shirt translucent, exposing the dark imprints of his tattoos where it clung to his muscular chest.

In some practiced move from his martial arts classes, Usami’s leg flashed to knock Ogata’s weight out from under him. He dropped painfully against the bathroom floor, his bare ass smacking tiles, the back of his head striking the side of the tub. Ogata’s eyes screwed shut as both his ends ached and the showerhead slipped out of his hand to swing like a pendulum off its hinge. The hose waggled, sending a careless spray of shower water across the four corners of the room.

As pain swarmed his scalp and tailbone, Usami dropped down to leverage his weight over Ogata’s body once more. He loomed over Ogata, before darting out one hand in a firm chokehold, strangling any wry protests at the tip of his tongue. The strength which had pinned Ogata into the couch earlier seemed to be amplified with a fresh rush of indignant adrenaline.

“You waste of fucking breath!”

Usami was angry now. The sort of anger that burned as hot as the blue embers at the base of a flame. It was usually short lived, quick to whittle down to the wick extinguished by a puddle of molten wax, but no less perilous to be caught in between the sparks. Harder yet to fight him through his already blossoming pain, even as he tried to keep his face blank against the squeeze of the fingers at his windpipe. 

“You don’t want my help?! You wanna stay filthy!? Fine then! I’ll make sure even your breath is rank, you shitty little pisscat!”

Usami’s free hand ripped at Ogata’s shirt, careless of any lasting damage to the fabric as he tore it up Ogata’s body. His movements were harsh as he manipulated the clothing, forcing it off his arms, only to wring it tight against the lower half of Ogata’s face. It severely construed his ability to see anything around him as the hems of his shirt blindfolded his eyes.

“Have a taste of your own medicine, Hyakunosuke! Let me know how my piss tastes, Hyakunosuke!!!  If you’re lucky, Hyakunosuke—You’ll stop fucking breathing, right? That’s what you want, isn’t it, you miserable little cunt!?” 

Then Usami laughed. It was a wild noise, like the call of a hyena signaling to its pack where the injured gazelle had keeled over. 

Somehow, the sound of a zipper ripped even louder than the chortling—louder than the continuing spray of water against the nearest wall as the shower hose dangled limp off its fixture.

The spread of subsequent sensation was slow like the corrosion of acid against a surface. It started with a hot stream splattering through his bunched up t-shirt and draining into the constrained orifices of his face. The buildup was slow as the stream amped up in its intensity to overpower his senses. It was direct as it targeted Ogata’s face, over his nose and mouth, interfering with the simplest of processes—his ability to inhale oxygen— 

A splutter and a shallow wheeze escaped Ogata’s chest instead of the intended question: What the fuck?!

Usami sighed loudly, a representational murmur of relief, as he emptied his bladder over Ogata’s face. It was contrasted by his unforgivingly harsh hand, pinning Ogata in place when he tried to stand. Usami’s misleadingly dense weight anchored Ogata down without issue. They were not so different in height—in fact, Usami was a centimeter or two smaller than Ogata—but the packed muscle of his body was tough to contend with. 

Even without Usami’s chokehold locking him in place, the tiles of the bathroom and dampness lingering on his skin made him too slippery for a graceful escape. 

When he found he could not shake Usami off, Ogata fell limp beyond the clenching of his muscles. The next rational step was to hold his breath as his stomach twisted with the reluctant acceptance of that hot liquid spreading through the fabric of his t-shirt and into his greasy hair. The stream started and stopped in unpredictable increments, heat dripping from his chin and down his neck and torso.

 A crippling desperation struck Ogata as the sensations intensified—that preliminary breath had been a shallow one, and he did not hold out for very long.

His first greedy gasp for air was strangled by the toxic odor and taste. 

The air reeked with the sour smell of urine as the warmth pooled through the layers of his bunched shirt and through his splitting lips, tangy on his taste buds, flooding his mouth. Ogata coughed as it infected his trachea, as the burning expanded from his throat. His muscles struggled against the flood, Adam's apple bobbing with reflexive force of trying to regurgitate the invasion back out. Gargled coughs clashed against the continued splatter of liquid against his face—He couldn’t breath—

Ogata groped blindly, his hand fisting Usami’s tattered pants, also damp by this point, though it was unclear with what. 

A gratified moan from above overpowered his other senses, causing a sick lurch in Ogata’s stomach. His eyes burned—His nose dripped—His lungs constricted—His throat spasmed as Usami’s piss forced its way through his struggling breathing cavities— 

“What’s that pussycat? Ready to surrender? I’ll stop if you show me how sorry you are~”

Spite alone reminded him that he would not fucking die by drowning in Usami’s fucking piss—even as he coughed and struggled hard. His fist dug into Usami’s thigh, feeling the muscles tremble under his grip. Then he snapped a sharp wallop outward. As blind as he was, and as panicked as he felt against the literal fucking torture, he managed to calculate the relative distance of Usami’s face. Missing his eye just barely, Ogata’s nails snagged Usami’s cheek and clawed into it with the last remaining dregs of his force. He felt skin lodge under his nails as he tore a deep cat scratch into tender flesh. Usami released an offended exclamation, his hold loosened.

“Oh fuck you, wildcat!”

By the sound of his voice, Usami was still seething, but Ogata’s counterattack had been enough to sever that persistent stream and free him of Usami’s heavy embrace.

Immediately, Ogata jerked up, coughing and wheezing, ripping his soggy t-shirt the rest of the way off his head, and skittered into a more comfortable position. The angle Usami had trapped him in had been hellishly uncomfortable, forcing a crick in his neck. He hacked against the lingering pool of liquid in his mouth, spitting what he could at the floor tiles—though part of the drip down his throat was inescapable. Ogata's coughing grew more ferocious as he retched against the wet air in his lungs. He choked until the turbulence inside him was little more than a tremor running the course of his tense muscles.

Fixing bloodshot, hateful eyes upon Usami as he towered over him, Ogata nearly gagged again. A perverted half-hard dick was hanging out of those tacky skinny jeans, at eye level with Ogata, the tip wet with beading drops of urine. Usami was preoccupied with  kneading at the scratch marks lining his face—thin trails of blood mixing into the well of other fluids in the room.

“Did you just pissboard me, you freak?” he croaked, and his throat seared from the effort of speech.

Apparently, the spontaneously coined terminology was outrageous enough to distract Usami from his wound. He threw his head back in a deranged laugh.

“That’s right! I pissboarded you!! And I would have had more for you if you hadn’t spilled my damn beer!”

“You’re sick in the head.”

Usami simply continued to laugh, “But at least I’m funny, right?”

Ogata rolled his eyes, “A damn comedian . ”

“Aaaand cute?” Usami batted his eyes.

“ Adorable ,” his growl was dry and flavorless, “Like a medieval dungeon master.”

“Hehe,” Usami wandered over to the mirror to poke at his cheek wound.

It wasn’t as if Ogata had much energy to begin with, but the struggle had stolen the remains of his will. He masked the tremble in his hands with decisive movement, grabbing for the dangling shower head without getting off the floor. He brought it back to angle the spray over his head, closing his eyes as the stream covered him in a gentler current of warm water, clean droplets blending with the runoff of Usami’s attack. 

For just a fleeting moment, he caught his breath and let the gentle massage of the stream coax him towards a level of ease. As the water soaked into his sore muscles, Ogata was able to block out the accompanying presence in the room, pretending like he wasn’t ready to commit literal murder. 

Of course, the sound of angry muttering and a sharp curse shattered the illusion of tranquility and Ogata cracked his eyes to watch Usami try to rid himself of his saturated skinny jeans which were clinging to his muscular thighs like a second skin. After another moment, Usami’s patience snapped. His muscles flexed with effort, veins on his forearms popping to literally tear the fabric enough to step out of the pants. 

Ogata closed his eyes again and sighed. His roommate was an actual beast, but at least the water felt nice, flattening his hair against his scalp.

“Hey,” an approaching voice caused him to slowly peel them back open and make eye contact with Usami.

In the short amount of time Ogata had zoned out under the shower stream, Usami had stripped himself of the rest of his clothes and crawled over on his hands and knees. It made the erection pointing out between his legs all the more obvious.

“What?” Ogata replied in a tone that surrendered his dwindling energy.

“You owe me a new outfit.”

“You just pissed all over my shirt. I don’t owe you anything.”

“That thing belonged in the trash like two years ago. Really I was doing you a favor,” Usami edged closer, first nuzzling his nose into the crook of Ogata’s neck, then melting against him to nibble at the tendons there.

“Are you kidding me right now?” Despite the unspoken accusation, he did not move to try and push Usami away. Instead, he braced back against the side of the tub, hating the way his skin pebbled at the contact of that mouth on his body.

“Mmm?” It was practically a pur as Usami continued to mouth at Ogata’s skin. His tongue swiped down against Ogata’s collarbone. Ogata’s head rolled as he did it, an involuntary reaction to the unexpected sensations of pleasure, heightened by the settling strife. Apparently, his body was desperate for relief.

“You just tried to drown me with your piss.”

“Oh, Hyakunosuke,” Usami reared back on his heels to ease into a gentle thrust, his hips against Ogata’s side, rubbing his stiff cock against his ribs. As he dipped back in, he brushed his mouth under Ogata’s ear, licking a stripe against his scarred jaw, then leveled a whisper with Ogata’s ear. “Don’t be so dramatic.

Ogata bit back a gratified sound in reaction to the contact. His eyes rolled as he murmured back at Usami, “You smell like piss.”

It made Usami laugh. He nudged the showerhead in Ogata’s hand, brushing his thumb against Ogata’s knuckles. Following the wordless suggestion, Ogata aimed the spray back at Usami to wash away the drops of yellow that continued to cling to the planes of him. Meanwhile, Usami kept on with a trail of kisses and nibbles against Ogata’s body.

It was an unfortunately effective strategy, as Usami slipped between their bodies to wrap a hand around Ogata’s cock. It had already started to stiffen in response to his mouth—despite the lingering burn in his throat and chest. Ogata clenched his jaw.

Usami giggled.

“I knew you wouldn’t stay mad at me for long~” As his fist tightened to pump Ogata with an over-presumptuousness, Usami breathed against the side of Ogata’s face. “And if you weren’t a filthy little pisscat, I’d put my mouth down there.”

“Hah—” he felt his breath rattle. It hurt to laugh, but his expression remained controlled, even as Usami thumbed against his balls. He knew there was no escaping his roommate’s hard on, so at the very least he could bargain the best deal out of it for himself. His entire core still ached from Usami’s opening misadventure—Summoning the energy for an all out fuck did not appeal to him in the slightest. “Don’t go faking standards now of all times.”

They chuckled together at that.

“Mm decisions, decisions, to suck or to…”

“ Ah – ” A finger slicked only in shower water shoved into his rim without warning. Ogata jerked and the nozzle in his hand sprayed erratically, splashing the walls. Regaining composure, he whacked Usami’s shoulder with the showerhead.

Usami oofed.

“The lube is right there.”

It was true; living with the energetic man’s indomitable libido made stockpiling lubricant throughout apartment crevices a reasonable precaution to avoid prolonged soreness and limping on the following day. The bathroom alone had at least three stashes—the nearest bottle was well within reach on the edge of the tub. 

“Oopsie—” 

With his finger still worming around inside Ogata’s clenching hole, Usami stretched to reach the second closest bottle that was balancing on the sink, just under the medicine cabinet. Ogata didn’t bother correcting him. He focused on his breathing as Usami made a mess of squeezing the bottle too forcefully onto his invaded body. The stray drops of goop landed in the trail of dark hair on Ogata’s pubic bone, sullying him up with slick. It felt extra gross after his exhausted attempt at a shower. He just wanted to lay back down on his couch.

Instead, he was putting up with the sensation of Usami sliding another—this time lubed up—finger inside of him. The digits curled against Ogata’s walls, forcing a huff out of him and drawing back his slithering attention. As the fingering continued, Ogata couldn’t help the tension in his gut as his cock stiffened against his stomach. 

Persistent physical pleasure was difficult to contend with. No matter how annoying he was, Usami had always been good at fucking, his confident hands more than familiar with the right strokes and pokes to get Ogata’s blood simmering like the carbonation in a soda bottle. Usami used his free hand to massage the trunk of Ogata’s cock, tracking the way his breath caught with a fascinated gleam in his alert eyes, so Ogata shut his own in avoidance of feeling like an experimental specimen.

With the dark of his sealed eyelids, the soothing sound of the pattering shower head, and the pleasure inspired by the fingers stretching his hole, he could almost remove himself from the moment and surrender himself to physical satisfaction. If only…

The worst part about Usami—worse than the violence and constant nudge of his erections—was the fact that he never shut the fuck up.

“You really don’t have any self respect, do you?” he sounded fond in his proclamation, slipping another finger into Ogata and cracking a grin at the way he clenched around the thick invasion. 

“I’d say that puts me in good company, but that would be a bold faced lie.” 

Usami pulled his hands from Ogata’s hole, landing a perfectly aimed smack to his ass that caused his stomach to tense—Ogata bit the inside of his cheek. 

“Mm, reconsider that stance, Hysakunosuke—” Usami suggested, lining up his erection with the vacant hole.

The feeling of Usami’s cock bumping into him was a familiar one, making his body unfortunately pliant as it welcomed him inside. An efficient thrust of his hips had Usami flush against him, one hand braced against the bathtub, the other snaking between them to rub Ogata’s nipple against the splayed fingers of his hand as it grabbed his pectoral.

“Without me you would have rotted away on that couch by now—and look how much you like my company~”

“— put up with your company—” Ogata corrected, but the breathy gasp that was knocked out of him by another thorough ram of Usami’s hips undermined the sentiment. 

More noises of deranged pleasure tumbled out between them as Usami continued to fuck Ogata into the hard bathroom floor. There wasn’t a part of the wildcat’s body that didn’t ache at this point. Even with his wrecked lungs, the pain in his rear was the worst of it all, made even worse as Usami pelted the region, whining desperately as he tried to wedge in closer.

Just as he always did, Usami rose to the challenge of inspiring new sensations of pain.

He dipped to suckle against Ogata’s neck with the tenderness of a leech. It was forceful, incessant suction accompanied by sharp scrapes of his teeth. As he rubbed his face against Ogata’s jaw, the leaking blood on his cheek smudged against the scrap of Ogata’s goatee. He hissed when Usami searched to bite his collarbone, like the contemptuous fuck that he was. Yet despite it all, Ogata’s legs opened wider for him, his thighs rubbing against Usami’s sides as the man atop helped himself inside his searing hole, their moistened bodies slick against each other.

There was a sick trick in the wake of everything that had just happened. Ogata’s heart was beating faster than it had in days. Twisted excitement rushed his veins as he felt Usami drive into him, and he hated to admit that he craved more– that pain and throbbing a reminder of the persisting pulse in his blood stream, dulled sensation re-emerging more vibrant. A certain stubbornness spurred Ogata to wrap an arm against Usami’s tight muscled body to rake his nails into skin again, this time down the cliff of his protruding shoulder blade.

There was an abrupt clatter as Usami’s entire core convulsed. Caught up in the stinging sensation, he pushed a little too far. They spasmed together, Ogata with the blunt nudge at his prostate, and Usami as his hand slipped from its purchase to knock all the shampoo bottles off the tub’s ledge.

“Ah fuck, Hyakunosuke, that was so fun earlier, I don’t think I’m gonna last much longer—”

Ogata couldn’t disagree with the assessment of stamina. His own orgasm was looming near in the thickness of his gut—his body was simply overwhelmed with all it had endured. The bathroom tiles were uncomfortable against his bruised ass, he was dizzy either from the minor head injury or the oxygen deprivation— who could say —and he couldn’t quite chase away the scent of urine which lingered in the air despite the freshwater nozzle spraying next to their joined bodies. The final nail in the coffin was the deranged notion that even after all indignity he’d just suffered, he was still clenching hard around Usami’s cock as it burrowed inside of him, and his own erection began to leak against his bellybutton. 

Ogata shuddered.

“Hurry up and shoot your load already, my ass is killing me—”

As Usami vibrated like the Energizer Bunny between his legs, Ogata snaked a hand between them. It was a tight fit, but he managed to fist his cock, tugging it in time with Usami’s thrusting. His eyeballs oscillated involuntarily as his head bounced against the tub even more, the repeated pressure making him dizzy and nauseous at the same time. It was just on the precipice of too much as he combated with the sensation of Usami filling him below—the persistent stretch of his rim almost comforting compared to the rest of the burning in his body.

Ogata was horny enough to block out the unhinged noises that preceded Usami’s orgasm, to let himself spill out between them not long after Usami had emptied inside him. As he came, Ogata smothered his groans against Usami’s neck, sinking his teeth into the flesh there and clenching until the twitching in his stomach had subsided. 

Usami hissed, wiggling away from the bite and squeezing the pressure point on Ogata’s wrist until he loosened his jaw.

Peace never lasted long when Usami was a participant, even post orgasm. As he pulled out of Ogata with a disgusted wrinkle in his face, he released a low whistle like the pair of them had just accomplished some insurmountable feat.

The state of the bathroom was grisly. 

Everything was shining in wetness as the showerhead continued to run. The soap bottles which had lined the edge of the tub were spilled in disarray in the belly of the tub. The piles of their discarded clothes were sopping up stray fluids from the tiles. The fog sweating the mirror from all the heat and heaving gave the impression of suffocating dampness like a swamp of depravity.

“Well you certainly made a mess, didn’t you stinky?” Usami hummed, sounding awfully pleased with himself.

As he spoke, his hand had returned to tickle much less incessantly against the skin of Ogata’s hip. He didn’t have the energy to smack it away, just sighed while bracing up on his forearms to take a second look around, exhausted in advance at the prospect of cleanup.

Usami’s fingers splayed against the base of Ogata’s stomach to drum against the skin. Eager fingers scooped through the cum cooling on his abdomen. Ogata made a face as Usami lifted the essence towards his nostrils to suck in a series of hearty sniffs.

“You’re lucky you have me around~” Usami continued, not perturbed in the slightest. His tongue dabbed out to lick the translucent glaze that coated his fingertips. 

“What sick shit are you up to now?” Ogata’s voice was more tired than disturbed—it really spoke to the state of affairs. 

“Cleaning you up, because I care~” His roommate dipped to lap at Ogata’s navel and the soiled skin surrounding it with an air that was so happy-go-lucky, it should have been criminal in the presence of cum. “My little skrunkly kitty cat made a mess of himself, and I’m the only one who cares enough to try and keep him clean.”

It was an impressively quick job as he licked the filth away, while the man in question stared blankly. He did not care enough to properly fake a scandalized reaction. At the end of the day, it was all just par for the circus that was living with Usami. 

Once nearly all the traces of seed had been suckled and swallowed, Usami sighed happily before resting his chin in the soft pillow of Ogata’s relaxed stomach.

Silence drifted in as Usami glanced around the absolutely wrecked space with a demure thoughtfulness. His blissful gaze landed on the destroyed clothing scattered in heaps across the floor.

“You know what we should do?”

“What?” Ogata knew he was going to regret humoring this.

“We should go to the mall!”

Ogata spared Usami a look of unadulterated loathing. 

….

He sank against the table he’d claimed as Usami pranced away with the promise of fetching a treat. He was too sore to stand in another coiling queue, and tired of ignoring the looks that attendants passed each other when they noticed the splotchy purple stains covering his neck—courtesy of Usami’s big mouth. 

Unlike his own souvenir—the claw marks on Usami’s squishy cheeks—those massive purple hickies which dominated Ogata’s flesh did not get cutesy-fied by a couple of colorful flower print band-aids. 

No, Ogata just ended up looking like a perv and a vampire with his pale skin, dark eyes, and oversized hoodie. He’d pulled the hood up to melt face first into his piled arms, only looking up at the light thunk that signaled something had been placed beside him— 

It was a noxiously pink, extra large boba tea with a fat orange straw poking out of the seal.

“What is that?”

“I got a pair of specials—Hawaii hibiscus with wild strawberry jelly and boba! It’s good for you to try new things, Hyakunosuke~”

Ogata took the drink, expressionless as he pulled a mouthful of tapioca pearls into his mouth in an instant. Even through the gelatinous glob that nearly asphyxiated him for the second time that day, he could tell that Usami’s flavor of choice was both too sweet and too tart at once.

All he’d asked for was a black milk tea. 

Ogata sighed and took another tug through the straw, blankly chewing down the toppings as Usami settled in the chair next to him and chirped happy exclamations while sipping his own drink.

“You can suck and walk at the same time, right? There’s just one more store we need to hit up,” his roommate explained, and Ogata smothered the twitch in his eye. “Then you can go back to sticking your dick between the couch cushions or whatever the fuck you do when I leave you alone—Cross my heart and hope to fart!”

“Fine. Let’s go. Just shut up.” 

Ogata made no effort to pick up any of the multitude of bags Usami had acquired as they stood to depart.

Even with the extra burden, Usami traveled several paces ahead of Ogata as he walked, throwing zingers over his shoulder where Ogata trailed sluggishly behind him. When Usami stopped in front of a stand peddling funny shaped sunglasses despite his promise to only hit one more store, he paid no mind to the way Ogata zoned out in the opposite direction.

In actuality, his gaze was dark and begrudging, absorbing what appeared to be an antique store that was out of place in the otherwise contemporary shopping center. Through the glass he spied shelves stocked full of useless, aged clutter—There didn’t appear to be a single customer perusing the insides. The store logo was bland, colorless like a charcoal drawing, and lacking the attention-grabbing veneer of the shops surrounding it. It broadcasted the name “ Vintovka ” which Ogata recognized to be a Russian word, only amplifying his confusion. 

But by far the biggest sin of the weird, liminal space that he happened to notice as they passed it, was the personally offensive sign hanging in the display window.

‘Help wanted. Apply today.’

A week ago, he would have claimed that killing himself would be the preferable alternative to taking a job at the mall. But after the events of the day, he entertained the notion that getting out of the apartment—and farther away from Usami—was probably for the best.

“Oh, Hyaku~” There was suddenly a weight around his shoulder as Usami threw an arm around it, “I know you’re a desperate, dumb, fuck-up most days, but that’s just sad. You’re not actually considering it, are you?”

“No idea what you’re talking about,” he droned, taking another sip of that disgusting drink to avoid prolonging the conversation.

“Maybe I shouldn’t have gotten you such a big size—” Usami hummed thoughtfully, taking Ogata’s hand to tug him towards the antique store. “You know if you piss yourself in front of the shop owner, they're not gonna hire you, right? Just food for thought, Haykunosuke.”

One day, if he did not find gainful employment soon, he was going to blow Usami’s brains out.

Bonus 🤭🤭

Bonus: The Sequel 💛