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There’s only ever been one god dog.
Honestly, it’s never really changed.
He sits on top of remote trees or perches on rocky cliffs, looking down at the ordinary pedestrians below like a god. Untouchable. Distant.
And yet, he craves what he sees them do: laughing, eating, chatting. Not because those things are special on their own. They aren’t.
It is the act of being surrounded.
Of belonging to a pack.
He yearns for it like a dog.
His mind drifts back to his younger years. When he was just a dog, part of a small pack of three. Admittedly, he had been squabbling for the affection of the lone girl in the trio, butting heads with his best friend over her.
“Bro, she’s freaking gorgeous! Did you see the way she smiled at me?” a passing student exclaims.
The one beside him, who we assume is his friend, only huffs. “You’re delusional. No way she’d go for you.”
Johan can’t help but think that what he and Zack went through with Mira should have ended their friendship.
But now, with his vision waning and his loneliness growing heavier, Johan looks back on those memories fondly.
At least we had each other.
But he can’t go back.
Or at least that’s what he tells himself.
When all is said and done, when Gun is finally in jail, he’s presented with an opportunity.
And yet…
There’s nothing he wants more in this life than to see his mother healthy. But secretly, he would never admit this to anyone, what he wants just as badly is to feel full again.
In the humble apartment he has rented, with the rage that once filled him now gone and replaced by a hollow, aching emptiness, he is taken back to the days he spent boxing with Zack.
He doesn’t dwell on it.
It’s not like he can’t see Zack. They saw each other just last week. It’s just that things have changed. They can’t go back.
There is no way he would—
A knock hits the door.
Johan freezes.
How the hell did he find this place?
Zack stands there with offerings, a bucket of fried chicken for six and a full liter of soda. He grins sheepishly. “Uh… I asked around.”
Right. Like that explains anything.
Johan lets him in with a sigh. After years of being alone, he has so much to say, but where does he even begin?
I’m sorry? I hope you’re doing well? I missed you?
What should he—
Zack interrupts. It’s not obvious, but he has always been more in tune with people and their feelings.
That doesn’t mean he isn’t a little callous.
“Your apartment is so small,” Zack says, looking around. “It’s like you hardly live in here.”
Johan shoots him a glare.
Zack still reeks of privilege.
Zack sets the bucket of fried chicken on Johan's cluttered coffee table, the grease already beginning to seep through the paper wrapper. He pops open the soda, the fizzing sound breaking the awkward silence that hangs between them like a physical presence.
"Yeah, well, I don't exactly have space for a mansion," Johan mutters, dropping into his worn armchair. The springs creak beneath him, a sound he's grown intimately familiar with over the past months. "I'm not exactly rolling in cash, Zack."
Zack settles onto the opposite end of the couch, stretching his long legs out in front of him. Even sitting down, he manages to look relaxed, comfortable in a way that makes Johan's jaw tighten. It's been like this since they were kids, Zack always had everything, and Johan had to fight for scraps.
"So what, you're just gonna sit there and sulk?" Zack asks, picking up a piece of chicken. "I brought food. We're supposed to be eating together."
"I'm not sulking. I'm just..." Johan trails off, realizing he doesn't actually know what he is. Lonely? Hurt? Both? He grabs a piece of chicken without enthusiasm, the hot oil burning his fingers slightly. The taste is familiar, nostalgic even—this is exactly the kind of shit they used to eat after their boxing sessions.
The memories flood back unbidden. Zack's wild punches, Johan's calculated counters. The way they'd collapse against the ropes, gasping for air, then immediately start planning their next round. The easy banter, the shared understanding that existed between them when it was just the two of them and a boxing ring. Okay, maybe a bit of bitterness on Zack’s part, but he’s a good sport overall.
"How are you?" was all Zack could manage.
Johan doesn't answer immediately. He chews slowly, deliberately, buying himself time. Outside, rain has begun to patter against the window, creating a curtain of water droplets that obscures the view of the city beyond.
"I'm doing okay," Johan finally says, the lie tasting bitter in his mouth. "Just... taking things one day at a time."
Zack studies him with those sharp eyes that used to see through all of Johan's bullshit. He's not the same oblivious kid from their boxing days. He's gotten smarter, more perceptive. But there's something else there too, something softer that wasn't present before. Understanding, maybe. Or at least the desire to understand.
Before Johan can stop himself, Zack moves closer on the couch. The distance between them closes, and then—
Zack's arms wrap around Johan's shoulders in a hug that's all wrong and yet somehow exactly right. It's not gentle. Zack's always been too physical for gentle, but it's deliberate. Purposeful. His grip is firm, almost desperate, like he's trying to physically pull Johan back into his orbit.
Johan freezes, his own arms hanging awkwardly at his sides. This isn't what he expected. After all this time, after everything that's happened, he didn't think Zack would—
"I'm sorry," Zack continues, his voice rougher now. Zack doesn’t elaborate on what. There’s too much. There’s nothing at all.
The words hang in the air between them, raw and unfiltered. Johan can feel his throat tightening, his carefully constructed walls beginning to crumble. He's spent so long telling himself he doesn't need anyone, that he's better off alone. But standing here in Zack's arms, smelling the familiar scent of his old friend's cologne, he realizes how much he's been lying to himself.
"I missed you," Johan finally admits, his voice barely above a whisper. "Every fucking day, I missed you."
Zack's grip tightens, and when he speaks again, his voice is thick with emotion. "Then don't make me leave. Please."
Johan doesn't know what possesses him, but he crashes into Zack's lips with a desperation he can't control. It's like a dog unable to stifle its own barks, a primal urge rising up from deep within him. He needs this, needs Zack, in a way he's never needed anyone before.
Zack kisses back, his lips soft and insistent against Johan's. He tastes like chicken and soda, a strange but not unpleasant combination. The flavors mingle on their tongues as they stumble back onto the couch, limbs tangling as they go.
Johan's hands roam over Zack's body, mapping out the hard planes and angles he remembers from their boxing days. Zack's muscles have only grown more defined in the years since then, a testament to his dedication and discipline. Johan can feel the strength in them as he pulls Zack closer, desperate to erase the distance between their bodies.
Zack's hands are just as busy, slipping under Johan's shirt to explore the skin beneath. His fingers are calloused and rough, a reminder of the hard work he puts in at the gym. But his touch is gentle as he traces the lines of Johan's abs, in part admiration, in part slight envy. Huh, I guess those two go hand in hand.
They break apart for air, chests heaving and eyes dark with desire. Johan can see the want in Zack's gaze, the hunger that mirrors his own. He knows they can't go back to the way things were before, but in this moment, he doesn't care. All he wants is to lose himself in Zack, to forget about the pain and the loneliness and the anger that's consumed him for so long.
"Bedroom," Johan growls, his voice rough with need. "Now."
Zack chuckles, but before he can make another inappropriate comment about Johan's living conditions, the sound is cut off as Johan shoves him onto the cramped mattress and tears off his pants, tossing them to the side without ceremony. The bed frame creaks in protest, the thin mattress offering little support as Johan settles his weight onto Zack's lap. It's not ideal. Zack can feel the springs digging into his back, the mattress barely big enough for one person, let alone two. But he doesn't care. He doesn't stop Johan.
Johan moves like he is afraid of losing the moment if he slows down. His hands are everywhere at once, clumsy with urgency, his mouth too fast, his breathing already uneven. There is no teasing, no pause to read the room. It is all need, all now. Zack feels it instantly. The way Johan presses in, the way he does not look at him, just through him. Not wanting Zack so much as wanting the feeling of not being alone.
Something in Zack tightens.
Too fast. Too sharp. Too desperate.
He lets it go on for a second longer, just long enough to be sure.
Then Zack’s hands come up, stopping him mid-motion. His fingers dig into the muscle and skin, a desperate anchor in the storm of sensations. "Hey, wait—" Zack's voice comes out breathless, uncertain.
Johan turns his head, and Zack sees it, the glint of tears in his old friend's eyes. His chest is heaving, his body trembling slightly. For a moment, the aggressive energy that had driven Johan forward seems to evaporate. He's looking at Zack like he's seeing him for the first time, really seeing him, and the vulnerability in that gaze is almost too much. He looks like he did years ago. Long bangs and angry eyes.
Zack gently pushes Johan's bangs out of the way to see his greyed-out left eye, a condition he's inherited from his mother. He reaches out to brush some of Johan's brown hair back from his face, his touch tender despite the tension in the room.
"Shit," Zack mutters under his breath, noticing how tired Johan looks. When did he start looking so exhausted?
Before he can stop himself, Zack gently pushes Johan down onto the bed, his body covering Johan's in a way that's both protective and possessive. The position is intimate, and Zack is acutely aware of every point where their bodies touch: chest to chest, thigh to thigh, the heat of their skin pressing together.
"I'm sorry," Zack says, his voice thick with emotion as he continues to stroke Johan's hair. "I know I tried to keep it wholesome, but..." He trails off, his eyes drifting downward and widening slightly as he suddenly remembers that Johan had already taken off his own pants in his haste. Now, faced with Johan's bare ass, he feels his breath catch.
Zack's eyes widen, a mixture of surprise and desire flashing across his features. He swallows hard, his hand freezing mid-stroke in Johan's hair. "Fuck," he breathes, his voice dropping an octave.
Johan looks back over his shoulder, tears streaming down his face, his glasses slightly askew on his nose. His brown eyes are red and puffy, the grey in his left eye seeming even more pronounced. "I—" Johan's voice cracks, breaking on whatever he was trying to say. He stutters, whimpering softly as the tears come harder. "I didn't— I didn't mean to—"
Zack's expression softens despite the heat coursing through him at the sight of Johan like this, vulnerable, crying, exposed. He reaches around to cup Johan's face, gently turning his head so they're face to face, even if it means looking at those tears.
"Shh," Zack murmurs, his thumb brushing across Johan's wet cheeks.
Johan sobs and turns around to lift his hips, a silent plea in his tear-filled eyes. Zack gets the message loud and clear, his own desire surging at the desperation he sees in his friend's gaze. He leans down, pressing a trail of soft kisses along the curve of Johan's ass, feeling the way the firm muscle twitches beneath his lips.
Zack was about to ask if Johan had any lube, but he quickly realizes the absurdity of that question. Johan can barely afford air conditioning, let alone luxuries like lube or fancy bedding. So Zack resorts to Plan B, leaning down to gather a mouthful of spit, letting it pool on his tongue before he leans in to tease Johan's rim with it.
Johan gasps, his back arching as he feels the wet heat of Zack's tongue against his most intimate place. It's filthy, it's wrong, but god, it feels so good. He clenches around the intrusion, his body instinctively trying to pull Zack deeper.
"Fuck," Zack groans, the sound vibrating against Johan's skin. "You taste so fucking good, Johan. I can't believe I'm just now realizing it."
Johan lets out a choked laugh at that, shaking his head even as he pushes his hips back against Zack's face. "Shut up," he manages to gasp out, his voice thick with tears and desire. "Don't make me punch you."
Zack just chuckles, the sound muffled against Johan's ass. "You wouldn't mind," he retorts playfully, punctuating the words with a sharp nip to Johan's cheek.
Despite the humor in his voice, there's a tenderness to the way he touches Johan now, a gentleness that wasn't there before. It's like he's trying to make up for lost time, trying to pour years of friendship and longing into every caress.
Zack begins fingering Johan to stretch him out, his calloused fingers sliding into Johan's tight heat. Johan whimpers and whines, his body trembling with need as Zack works his way inside. The stretch is intense, a burning sensation that borders on pain, but Zack goes slowly, giving Johan time to adjust.
"Fuck," Johan gasps, his voice hitching. "Zack, that's—ah, fuck." His hands grip the sheets beneath him, knuckles white with tension. Tears stream down his face, but they're not entirely from the discomfort. It's the emotion, the vulnerability of being this exposed with Zack of all people.
Zack's fingers curl inside him, stroking that spot he knows drives Johan crazy. "You're so tight," Zack murmurs, his voice rough with desire. He can feel Johan clenching around his fingers, the rhythmic squeezing making his own cock throb with need.
Johan whimpers and whines, the sounds escaping his throat unbidden. "I— I can't—" His words dissolve into another sob as Zack hits that perfect spot inside him. His hips buck back, seeking more friction, more pressure, more of Zack.
Zack adds a second finger, stretching Johan further. The whimpers turn into full-on moans, Johan's voice breaking on every sound. "Oh god, oh fuck, Zack—" His body is shaking now, trembling with the force of his emotions and the building pleasure.
"Tell me if it hurts," Zack says, his thumb rubbing slow circles on Johan's rim. "I don't want to— fuck, Johan, you're so tight. I need to—"
"More," Johan gasps, surprising himself with the demand. "More, Zack, please. I need—" His words dissolve into another sob, his body arching off the bed as pleasure and pain and longing all crash together in a confusing tangle of sensation.
Zack, ever obedient to Johan's desperate pleas, takes out his hard, throbbing cock. Before he can line himself up, he leans in to tease Johan's rim with the swollen head, rubbing the leaking tip around the stretched out circle of muscle.
"Zack, you fucking—ah!—asshole!" Johan yells, his voice breaking as sobs wrack his body. Tears pour down his face, blurring his vision behind his glasses. But even through the haze of emotion and need, he can feel every ridge and vein of Zack's cock as it teases his entrance.
"Patience, babe," Zack murmurs, his own breath coming faster now. "Gotta make sure you're ready for me." He leans down to press a kiss to the small of Johan's back, his tongue flicking out to taste the salt of his skin, the salt of his tears.
Johan can only sob in response, his body shaking and his cock throbbing against the sheets. It's too much, too intense, the buildup of years of longing and loneliness and regret all crashing down on him at once.
Finally, when Johan is a mess of incoherent apologies and pleas, Zack lines himself up and pushes forward, sinking into the tight, wet heat of Johan's body. Johan cries out, a sound that's half pain, half pleasure as he feels himself being split open, stretched wide around the thick girth of Zack's cock.
"I'm sorry," Johan sobs, his fingers digging into the mattress, his back arching as he takes every inch of Zack inside him. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so fucking sorry—"
"For what?" Zack asks, his voice strained as he starts to move, his hips rolling forward in a steady rhythm. "What are you sorry for?"
"E-everything," Johan chokes out, tears streaming down his face. "I'm sorry for—ah!—for leaving. For not—fuck—telling you how I felt. I'm sorry for—oh god, Zack—every bad thing I did. I'm sorry for not trying again, for not—fuck, you're so deep—"
Zack just groans, his hips snapping forward harder, driving into Johan with a newfound urgency. "You don't have to apologize," he says, his voice rough with emotion.
Johan's mind is a whirlwind of conflicting emotions as Zack starts to move inside him, each powerful thrust sending shockwaves of pleasure through his body. He can't believe how good this feels, how right it is to finally have Zack inside him like this, claiming him, owning him in the most intimate way possible.
Fuck, I can't believe this is happening, Johan thinks to himself, his eyes squeezing shut as a particularly deep thrust makes him see stars. I never thought... never dreamed...
Apologies spill from his lips like a prayer, a litany of sorries for every wrong he's ever done. I'm sorry for leaving you behind, he sobs, his voice breaking. I'm sorry for not telling you how I felt, how much you meant to me. Tears pour down his face, dripping onto the sweat-soaked sheets below. I'm sorry for not trying harder, for letting my pride and my anger and my stupid fucking stubbornness ruin everything.
Johan hasn't cried like this in so long, not since he was much younger. He's not a crier, not anymore. He's learned to bottle up his emotions, to shove them down deep where they can't hurt him. But now, with Zack moving inside him, touching parts of him that have never been touched before, he can't hold back the tears any longer.
I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so fucking sorry, Johan chants, his body shaking with the force of his sobs. Sorry for everything I did to fuck up our friendship, to push you away, to make you think I didn't need you.
Because the truth is, Johan realizes with a wrenching sob, he's always needed Zack. He's needed his laughter, his support, his unwavering loyalty. He's needed his best friend, the one person who's always had his back no matter what.
And now, as Zack's cock drives into him again and again, Johan feels like he's finally getting a piece of that back. A piece of what he lost, of what he threw away. It's not enough to make up for all the time they've wasted, all the words left unspoken, but it's a start.
Don't leave me again, Johan thinks desperately, his fingers scrabbling at the raggedy duvet. Please, let's hang out. Let's eat after class, just like old times. Let's go to arcades and make dumb mistakes, like challenging each other to see who can beat the high score on Street Fighter. Let's fight over girls and duke it out on the boxing ring. Let's watch movies on the couch, your arm around me, my head on your shoulder, the way it used to be. Let's kiss, let's kiss, let's kiss until we forget about everything else…
A sad little laugh bubbles up in Johan's throat at the thought, but it's drowned out by a particularly deep thrust from Zack. Let's be kids again, he thinks, a wave of nostalgia crashing over him.
They don't speak anymore, but in this moment, Johan knows that Zack hears him. Knows that he understands the silent pleas, the unspoken apologies, the desperate longing for a second chance.
Zack doesn't speak as they finish, his body trembling with the force of his release as he buries himself deep inside Johan. He just stares down at his friend, his rival, his... everything, from this new perspective he's never had before. Johan looks beautiful beneath him, his face flushed and tear-streaked, his hair mussed and wild, his glasses askew on his nose.
For a long moment, Zack just drinks in the sight of him, memorizing every detail. The way his brown hair falls across his forehead, the way his grey eyes are hazy and unfocused, the way his chest rises and falls with ragged breaths. It's the first time Zack has ever seen Johan from this angle, never having "won" in their boxing matches enough to pin him down and look at him like this. Always before it was Johan looming over him, victorious and triumphant. But now, for the first time, there isn't a loser.
The height he once ruled from collapses beneath him. Johan falls out of his godhood and into the mess of being human, where nothing is distant and nothing is untouched.