Chapter Text
The two of them get closer as the weeks go on.
Sometimes before his set, sometimes after, in the time before he starts the private shows, Keiji will invite him to step outside for a smoke break. Osamu doesn’t smoke, but he keeps Keiji company, while he burns his worries away in the meticulously rolled blunt between his fingertips. He might take one hit, if Keiji feeds it to him. It doesn’t take much more than a look for Keiji to have Osamu eating out of his palm.
They squat on the steps outside the back doorway, knees touching. There’s the view of the parking lot, but neither of them can fathom pulling their attention away from one another.
“How’d you get this one?” Keiji asks. He extends his hand to cup Osamu’s cheekbone in his palm, thumbing at the slit in one of his thick brows with his thumb. They’re speaking about Osamu’s scars.
“Tenth round KO that cost me a title in Amagasaki last year.”
Keiji’s eyes widen. “sh*t, are you serious?”
“No—” Keiji shoves him with his elbow. “f*ck no, I’m messing with you,” Osamu says, laughing. “It was a playground fight with Tsumu when I was little.”
Osamu makes a face. “You think I’d ever let anyone knock me out cold in the ring?”
“Oh, but a playground fight is hard now?” Keiji rolls his eyes. “Do you like to trash talk during a fight?”
“If they start talking sh*t I’ll chat something back. But I don’t go looking for it.”
“You’re not an instigator?” Osamu shakes his head no, grinning at the flicker of amusem*nt in Keiji’s eyes. Keiji calls him a liar.
They’re always touchy with each other.
It drives Osamu crazy, the constant physical contact.
Sometimes Keiji will drape himself all the way across Osamu’s lap to rest his head on his thighs. Osamu’s never seen a boy with longer, thicker eyelashes than his, framing his cat-like eyes. It’s the kind of mesmerizing that makes him trail off mid-sentence when he’s been staring into them for too long.
Osamu’s got tattoos everywhere, on his chest and arms, but Keiji makes note of the angel numbers tattooed on Osamu’s thigh and asks what his 333 means. Osamu’s so distracted by Keiji tracing the numbers with his fingers, he can barely deliver a coherent explanation.
Keiji’s smirk just keeps widening as Osamu talks (stutters), and he knows he must be going pink in his cheeks.
Osamu flips the question back to him. “You have a few tattoos as well, right?”
Keiji nods yes and tilts his head to show him the dainty butterfly behind his ear. His hair spills in waves so pretty over his lap, pushed back to leave his forehead bare, Osamu is almost too distracted to look. He takes his chance to reach out and touch, and their fingers collide when Keiji makes the same move to brush his hair away from his ear.
Osamu feels like a kid again, the way his heart flutters.
He shows him a couple small tattoos on his arm. A teddy bear from childhood, a rose, an open door symbolizing something to do with his mother. “And I’ve got one more that I can’t show you,” Keiji adds, corners of his eyes turning up with the mischief in his smile.
“Why? Where is it?”
Keiji plays coy at first, playing with Osamu’s fingers with both of his hands. He knows it’s wrong but his eyes scan up and down Keiji’s body.
“I’ve gotta keep some surprises for you. To keep you guessing.”
“But I will find out eventually?”
Keiji shrugs, amused. “If you get lucky.”
Despite all the flirting, they’re friends first. Osamu isn’t really holding out hope that they’ll ever be more than that. Atsumu says he’s being a puss*, that a real man goes after the things he wants, but Atsumu can be insensitive and a bit of a dumbass when it comes to this kind of thing. He also doesn’t want it to come across like he doesn’t take Keiji seriously, because he does.
“You know it was my first time at a strip club the day I handed over my CV,” Osamu decides to confess one day.
“No f*cking way I’m stupid enough to believe that.” Keiji shakes his head. “Athlete types like you come by all the time.”
“I swear to you,” Osamu insists.
Keiji’s quiet for all of two seconds.
“You got a girl who keeps you home then?”
“No,” Osamu says, and he literally watches Keiji’s shoulders loosen instantly. “Not that. It’s just not my scene.”
“It’s your scene when I’m on stage,” Keiji retorts. “You f*cking love to watch me dance.”
“Yeah, because that’s you,” Osamu admits. Keiji goes to shove him and he puts his hands up in mock surrender, grinning sheepishly. He admires the blush on Keiji’s face, even behind the smug twist of his features.
Osamu can feel the tension in moments like these where it’s like Keiji’s waiting for him to make a move. A real one, not just this flirting that they do for fun. By the look in his eyes, Osamu can guess he’s not the only one wondering if they’ll ever be more than friends.
Keiji ends up confessing to him too.
“I didn’t even believe you when you said you’re a fighter. I mean, I know you’re built and everything, but you’ve got too sweet of a face,” he says, his voice small.
“Can’t imagine anyone being scared of you.”
___
Before the show starts, Kita has him wiping the bar down while he sorts and stashes different glasses out of the dishwasher.
Except it’s hard for Osamu to concentrate, because Keiji is on stage already, rehearsing his set.
He isn’t dressed, topless in the sweats he always wears and his heels. His lips move to the lyrics. It’s a slow R&B song, synthy and feminine. It’s a song made for the bedroom, almost too intimate to be played over speakers in a club like this.
Keiji’s not doing too much, running over the choreo in his head without putting all his energy in it. But he’s practicing his poses, feeling the song in his body. Osamu watches him strut and bend, his legs in perfect lines as he glides himself around the pole. Drags a hand up his torso and up his throat, chin tipped back. Grabbing the pole again with both hands, he brings himself into a lift, taking two steps like he’s walking on air before pulling himself upside down, spinning with his spine arched and legs held open.
“You two don’t even try for subtle anymore, do you?”
He doesn’t register he’s being spoken to until Kita nudges his shoulder.
“What?”
“He doesn’t do all of that when you’re not here,” Kita says. “This whole little show.” He gestures to Keiji on stage.
“He’s just waiting for you to make a move.”
“Did he tell you that?”
“Does he have to?” Kita deadpans. “How much more obvious do you want him to be?”
“I just don’t wanna misread anything. Overstep and make him uncomfortable,” Osamu explains, doubling down when Kita gives him a pointed look of disbelief. “Really,” Osamu says. “I’m serious.”
Kita lets out a soft sigh. “I don’t think you’re wrong to assume we have complicated relationships with male attention. But Keiji’s an adult. You can trust that he knows what he wants.”
“And what’s that?”
“You,” Kita replies.
There’s wild cheering from the direction of the stage, and Osamu turns around to find Keiji bent over shaking it as the girls egg him on, smacking his ass or pretending to throw money.
He doesn’t stop thinking about what Kita tells him.
He’s been working fewer hours at the club, because of the extra training he’s doing to prepare for his fight. The next time he sees Keiji it’s at the match.
Keiji has snuck into his dressing room, for a change, and he’s wrapping Osamu’s fists with boxing tape.
Keiji told him once that he had kind hands for a boxer. Osamu didn’t really understand what he meant back then, because his hands weren’t particularly pretty, littered in scars and calluses, bruised knuckles. But Keiji is touching him so tenderly, even the rough parts.
Osamu’s eyes flit between their hands and his face, tonight behind these big dark framed glasses.
“You know it’s good luck if I do this for you.”
“Yeah?”
Keiji nods. “You’ll see in the ring. Trust me.”
Three times around the wrist. Three times around the knuckles. X’s around each finger. Keiji’s done this before, over and over to the point where it’s become second nature.
Vaguely, Osamu can hear the announcer outside riling the crowd up.
“I’ve got money on you tonight Miya,” Keiji tells him. “If you throw my tips away you’ll have to find a way to make it up to me.”
“Mmhmm. Is there something you have in mind?” Osamu puts a hand on his thigh and pulls him closer. He’s feeling bold tonight. It might be the adrenaline.
“I don’t know the specifics yet. I’ll have a favor to call in. Anything I want. Maybe you take me out somewhere nice.” Keiji plays with the hair at his nape. “Something proper, not just breakfast after a shift. With a few days notice so I can find something nice to wear for you…”
“And if I win?” Osamu asks, co*cking his head in search of Keiji’s eyes. “What do I get instead? Because to me that doesn’t sound like a bad deal at all.”
There’s a knock on his door just then. “Miya-san! The photographer wants to see you.”
“I need a minute!” Osamu shouts back, making Keiji bite his lip, smiling.
“I can’t stay. We’ve got a gig at some frat house,” Keiji says, eyes finding Osamu’s again. “But if you win you come back to the club, and you’ll get your prize from me in a private room.”
Osamu goes breathless, and it makes Keiji grin.
“Good luck, Samu.” Keiji slips out of his arms.
Osamu chases him, grabbing his wrist, “Where are you going?” But he lets him go, feeling his chest tighten when Keiji laughs.
The fight is messy.
Osamu takes a punch to the face early that sends blood gushing from his nose.
He was warned before that he was going to have to take hits to win tonight. Osamu usually doesn’t like to lean too hard on a strategy game, preferring to trust his instincts when it comes down to two bodies in a cage. He’s an emotional fighter. But he’s done so much conditioning in the gym to prepare for this, so he follows Aran’s game plan.
By the ninth round, his partner’s movements get sluggish. Osamu’s are only getting sharper.
He takes a hit, but his follow up is lethal, knocking him square in the temple. He stumbles back and Osamu goes for it. Puts his all into going in tight, strike for strike, pummeling him until his partner drops to the ground and the ref has to pull him back.
The dancehall is unusually empty for late on a Thursday, with the girls gone for their private show at a college athlete house party.
Osamu’s having dinner out of a takeout container in the break room when he hears the car pull in through the open window.
They’re usually in high spirits when they come back, because it’s the easiest money. The boys are high on whatever big win they’re celebrating with the end of the season, and on cheap opiates that make them so messy. Usually someone on security accompanies them as designated driver, and to slap away overeager hands that threaten to wander where they shouldn’t.
Osamu immediately senses that something went wrong by how quiet it is. No music in the car, none of their usual laughter or chatter. The door to the passenger seat opens, and bare feet swing out the open door, straight onto the asphalt. Keiji’s carrying his heels in his hand.
His hair is messy. His eyes are red.
Osamu knows better than to ask what happened.
Osamu goes to pop the trunk to help with the duffle where they keep their money. Keiji lingers around while the others file inside.
“Hey.”
“Hey,” Osamu replies, turning to face him. “You okay?”
Keiji nods.
Osamu watches his face carefully, his eyes especially. With time he’s gotten better at reading him, but Keiji hides less from him too.
He takes comfort in knowing that Keiji feels safe being vulnerable with him, thinking back to Keiji with his head in his lap just a few days ago, laughing without reserve. For now he shouldn’t push.
“Did you win?”
“What?”
“Your fight.”
“Oh.” Osamu’s overthinking, and he kicks himself mentally for allowing it to show. “Yeah, I did.”
Keiji manages a small smile at this.
“Do you have enough gas left to come to the gym with me? I feel like blowing off steam.”
Keiji folds his arms over his chest shyly. He’s thrown a zip-up hoodie and basketball shorts over his stage outfit, but with the fatigue he must still be feeling the cold.
For some reason he also seems nervous to ask, like Osamu isn’t ready to do anything in the world Keiji asked for to make it better right now.
Osamu nods. “Yeah, I can do that.”
“I’ll just clean up real quick. Wait for me here?”
Keiji let them into the studio with his spare keys.
Now the two of them are on the mat, Keiji in gloves, Osamu with pads.
Keiji hits hard for someone who’s spent all night working. The furrow between his brows isn’t just one of concentration. He’s aggressive, hitting like he isn’t afraid of tiring himself out.
“One, two, hook. Again- One, two, hook. There…”
Osamu knows what it’s like to try and physically fight mental battles. He also knows the consequences.
“Keep your elbows in, your rib cage is open.”
Osamu doesn’t warn him before he starts hitting back, following a sloppy cross with a twist of his wrist. The pad connects.
“You’re open.”
Keiji’s stance crumples. Frankly, he looks like about to cry, with an unconscious pout on his face and glassy eyes. Did he push him too far?
“What’s wrong?” In the empty gym, the sound of his voice is louder than usual, even though he speaks as gently as he can. “Should we stop?”
Keiji just shakes his head.
Osamu makes up his mind quickly. The sound of velcro ripping apart cracks through the room.
“Let’s do it properly, okay?” Osamu suggests, sliding the pads of his hands.
“Spar with you?”
“What, are you scared?”
“f*ck no,” Keiji answers, already standing straighter.
“Your grappling MMA sh*t is off limits,” Osamu warns.
“Oh no. That’s not how this works.”
“Hands up!”
They circle each other, attempting to bait each other or gauge range. Their mismatch is a little comical, but Keiji might just stand a chance, now that Osamu’s just finished nine rounds with a two hundred pound slugger.
Keiji plays with him, kicking him first. Osamu tries to grab his leg but he’s quick to twist it out of his arms, kicking him in the exposed chest instead.
Osamu recoils.
“Damn,” Osamu says, not expecting the hit to land so hard. He’s not used to defending kicks.
Keiji shows him no mercy. “You afraid to hit me back or what?”
They lock up and Keiji puts pressure on him, driving his shoulder up against him.
Even if Osamu has size advantage over him, he underestimates how strong Keiji is.
His hands lock behind Osamu’s back and he drives forward with his shoulder. He lunges with one leg and swipes with another. It’s a basic takedown Osamu should’ve been able to defend better. But he’s distracted and not exactly thinking straight– the effect Keiji tends to have on him.
He lands with a grunt and before he can push himself to his feet Keiji is on top of him.
It’s not a good position to be in, with Keiji able to apply damage straight to his face. Except Keiji is just grinning down at him.
“What’re you smiling about?”
He scrambles to push him off and Keiji catches one of his wrists, pinning it down across his chest before he comes down on top of him, putting his own chest against his.
“You!”
Osamu plants his feet and lifts his hips off the mat like he’s hip thrusting. Keiji’s weight on top of him becomes light enough for him to throw them around. He overpowers him on strength alone, no technique.
Keiji lands on the ground hard. The soft cry that leaves his throat goes straight to Osamu’s dick.
Osamu hesitates when he sees the way Keiji looks, bangs half plastered to his forehead and panting. He’s glowing and flushed and Osamu can’t stop his imagination from wandering.
Keiji attempts to twist himself out to escape from underneath him, but Osamu doesn’t budge.
“You can tap out, you know? You won’t get out of this.”
He speaks too soon.
Keiji locks his ankles behind his back and digs his heels into him, hard enough to make Osamu groan as he gives in and lets his posture break, collapsing on top of him. He has to push his palm against the mat above Keiji’s head to steady himself, his body going limp.
There’s a beat of pause, a moment where they’re face to face and breathing hard.
Keiji pushes himself onto his elbows and pulls Osamu by the nape into a kiss.
It’s a shock to his system, but he doesn’t jerk away. His breath leaves him instantly. He can’t help but marvel at how soft his lips are. Obviously he has to kiss him back, leaning in to press him down against the mattress. Keijis legs are still wrapped around him and the position sends a shiver down his spine. It feels so f*cking good.
When Osamu tries to pull away for breath Keiji bites hard, hard enough to reopen his split lip. At the small hiss of pain Osamu makes, he hears Keiji moan eagerly into his mouth. His mouth tastes like iron, and he realizes there’s blood on his front teeth. Keiji chases the taste, as though it's sweet.
They exchange a look, heated.
“That’s cheating,” Osamu heaves out, his entire body vibrating with more than just adrenaline.
Underneath him Keiji just swallows, lips swollen and curly hair fanned out.
“What are you gonna do about it?”
The remaining self control he has disappears just about instantly.
He goes in for more like he’s starving for it, which he is. Keiji has no idea how long he’s been waiting to do this.
Keiji kisses like he knows he tastes good, tilting his head and giving way for Osamu’s tongue so easily. He rocks his hips forward to grind against him through their clothes, groaning at the friction.
Keiji’s grip tightens in his hair. His tongue is in his mouth, sucking the blood from Osamu’s lip for himself.
He’s not sure how it happens. He’s too busy being eaten alive to worry about fighting back.
From underneath him, Keiji twists his hips to lock Osamu’s leg between his. He tugs his weight towards him and follows with his chest, and suddenly Osamu finds himself being flipped over, landing on his back with a smack that takes his breath away. Keiji’s on top of him in full mount with his hands tight around his throat.
He groans in pain, and because Keiji’s weight sits directly on top of his hard on. “If you wanna get on top you can ask me nicely, you know? I like that position too.”
“Do you give up?”
Osamu nods, tapping the mat to signal he's done.
Keiji smiles triumphantly. Osamu sits up so they can be face to face. Both of them are breathing hard.
“You feeling better?”
“Yes,” Keiji gets out, chest rising and falling with each breath. “Little bit,” he changes his answer, and it makes Osamu chuckle.
“A little bit?” Osamu kisses him, meaning for it to be chaste, but Keiji leans into it, not wanting to let him go.
“Yeah. You know how you could make it better?”
“How?”
He takes Osamu’s hand and puts it where he wants it, rolling his hips to grind himself against Osamu’s palm. Like this, Osamu can tell he’s just as affected by all this as he is. Osamu watches as Keiji bites his lip.
Keiji co*cks his head, looking at him with dilated eyes through his lashes.
“Can you keep up with me, baby?”
“Round for round,” Osamu promises, no delay. “As long as you want.”
He talks against Osamu’s lips. “How far is your place?”
“Fifteen minute walk.”
They don’t even make it out of the locker room.
It takes one look. Osamu feels eyes on him, when he’s roughly tugging the shirt off his back.
Keiji reaches out to grab his arm and leads it around his waist, wanting every inch of the hot bare skin revealed to him pressed against him now. Osamu gives into him eagerly, the two of them stumbling across the empty locker room, Keiji whimpering against his mouth as he lets Osamu guide him.
They’re sloppier than any two sober people should be. Osamu pins him against the locker with a clang that makes Keiji gasp. He throws his arms around Osamu’s neck and when that isn’t enough he wraps a leg around his middle too. Osamu leaves open mouthed kisses from the corner of his mouth left in a burning trail down his throat. He feels it when Keiji swallows, breathing shakily.
“No marks,” he chokes out, panting. “My dad will kill me.”
Osamu bites extra hard to punctuate that sentence for him.
“I don’t give a f*ck what your dad thinks.”
The way Keiji moans for him, it doesn’t really seem like he objects at all.
There’s so much heat between them that Osamu feels dizzy. He thrusts himself up against Keiji through their clothes and he just moans in response, arching himself into the friction of Osamu’s hips. He can help but sink his teeth into him possessively, sucking a nasty bruise into Keiji’s neck.
Keiji puts his hands on Osamu’s abs where he’s all bruised up with injuries from the ring, flexing with each heavy breath he takes.
“Are you sure it doesn’t hurt?” Keiji asks, somehow still unsure if they should go any further.
Osamu shakes his head no.
Osamu gets on his knees in front of him. He looks up at Keiji’s face once more, mouth open and eyes burning, before he stuffs his face between Keiji’s legs.
“Wait, Osamu, I’m so sweaty. I f*cking—” His head falls back with a clang against the aluminum when Osamu puts his mouth on him through his shorts. “That’s so nasty, Samu…”
“You smell so good.”
He moans so loudly. Osamu’s dick aches in his pants.
He mouths at Keiji’s dick as though to suck him off, eyes fluttering shut as he breathes in more of his scent. He reaches around to grope his ass shamelessly.
Osamu sticks his tongue out, and through the fabric he can taste how wet Keiji is. He goes in for more of it.
They’re both so pent up. He’s seen just about all of Keiji’s naked body on stage, wanted him for himself in secret for weeks, but now he can’t even wait long enough to get his clothes off. Feeling his body heat and his sweat and every flex of his toned body… he can’t seem to get enough of him.
Keiji wraps his leg around Osamu’s head and squeezes. He doesn’t even realize he’s choking Osamu out, or how much Osamu likes it, so lost in how good the friction feels.
Osamu holds his mouth open and takes it, sucks back all blissed out, listening to Keiji moan as he feels him throb against his mouth.
“f*ck wait, I’m gonna come,” Keiji pants, tugging at a fistful of Osamu’s hair as though to pull him off. He doesn’t budge. “Osamu, I’m gonna come.”
When Keiji bursts in his shorts Osamu can taste it, feeling the fabric dampen in his mouth. His head knocks against the aluminum as he tenses up, slowly riding Osamu’s face through his climax.
Osamu knows Keiji deserves better than this. He deserves the kind of bed in a top floor hotel room, ironed sheets and more pillows than he can count. But Osamu can’t be asked to hold himself back any longer.
He gets on his feet and captures Keiji’s lips again, grabbing him by the hips. Keiji leans into it, kissing him deeply with Osamu’s jaw in his hands.
Osamu had only planned to give him something to satiate him until they got back to his place. But Keiji is a fox.
He draws away for air, still pressed up against him, mouth hanging open as though in a trance. He watches as Keiji reaches down into the front his shorts, fingers shaking in anticipation. He wraps a hand around Osamu’s dick to stroke the length of him.
Keiji tucks himself into the crook of his neck, so close to him that Osamu can hear the little hitch in his breath when he feels the weight of him in his hand for the first time.
“Please, Samu,” he whispers. “Don’t make me wait any longer.” He starts to massage Osamu’s already hard dick, kissing him and licking his neck to tease. He tugs at Osamu’s waistband needily. “Take this off for me. I need it.”
He’s making Osamu so horny he can barely concentrate. His voice and warm breath and the gentle way he touches him, careful with the bruises Osamu has from the cage.
“I don’t have a condom, baby.”
Keiji lets out a frustrated sound. “It feels better that way. Please,” he whispers, voice hoarse and fussy. It makes Osamu so weak his knees threaten to buckle. “Just f*ck me already Samu. I need it now, all of it.”
He can’t resist it any longer.
Osamu stuffs his hand down Keiji’s stained shorts to slick his fingers with Keiji’s come. Osamu strokes him with a slow twist, feeling Keiji tense up at the overstim. When he feels his fingers are wet enough, he reaches around to find his entrance. Keiji lifts a leg up to help him. He barely has to try to drive Osamu crazy.
He slowly presses his fingers against his rim until the tight ring of muscle gives into him. He’s so hot on the inside. His body is asking for it by the way he sucks him in. As Osamu fingers him the only thing he's thinking about is how good it will feel to put his dick in him, in this tight suctioning heat.
As if that’s not enough to tempt him, Keiji won’t stop with his pretty voice in Osamu’s ear. “Hurry,” he asks, arching himself back on Osamu’s fingers. “I want you to feel good. I want your co*ck inside me.”
Keiji’s words hit him like a sucker punch.
He lifts Keiji up and carries him over to the massage bed. He sits him on the edge of the bed, quiets Keiji’s squeal of laughter by putting his mouth over his.
Keiji spreads his legs, hands mauling at Osamu’s shorts to free his dick, as Osamu all but tears Keiji’s shirt off his back. Even his nipples are pretty, puffy and dark pink.
Osamu comes in to line himself up and he looks Keiji up and down. His position, his waist and long legs, abs tensing with each breath. He has a tattoo that says sucia along his hip bone, the one he’s kept secret.
If they had more time, Osamu would make him ride it, just for the view. He still might, once he takes Keiji home.
Keiji pulls him in and adjusts his hips, begging for it under his breath as if the look in his eyes doesn’t say enough. Osamu barely musters the restraint to work it into him slowly.
He pushes into him and watches Keiji’s eyes flutter shut, hears his soft whine as he tries to relax.
He closes his eyes because it’s almost too much, all of it at once. The softness of his skin, the heat of his body, his scent— Osamu wants to suffocate in it. He licks at Keiji’s neck, letting his teeth graze over the bruises he’s already left.
“Are you okay?” Osamu asks. They were both in such a hurry to put it in but he can tell Keiji’s feeling it now.
Keiji’s just panting, soft huffing breaths. “Move,” he manages.
He’s so tight Osamu has to force it when he starts to move, the first thrust making Keiji gasp. He thrusts again and this time Keiji cries out, calling his name as he grabs his arm. Osamu hushes him, tells him, “It’ll get better, baby. I’ll be gentle, you can take it…” but he doesn’t stop. If anything he increases his pace. Keiji doesn’t ask him to stop or slow down, either because he likes the pain or it makes him hard to be forced into submission.
They’re alone in the gym and Keiji can be as loud as he needs to be, because once it starts to feel good he isn’t able to control himself.
Osamu f*cks him with fast, hard strokes. The insides of Keiji’s thighs blush with color where their hips meet with frantic smacking sounds. On each thrust Keiji moans feverishly, his shaking legs brushing against Osamu’s bare torso. Osamu moans with him, feeling Keiji suck and squeeze him in, milking him with his ass. Keiji leans in for a kiss with his tongue out, and Osamu meets him halfway, cupping the back of his head.
Osamu wants to please him so badly. He asks him over and over, “Is that good, baby? Is that how you like it?” but Keiji is such a babbling mess he can only nod, eyes screwed shut, and beg him don’t stop, don’t stop. Osamu’s so big that it doesn’t take much for him to hit the spot inside him that makes him go breathless. He pushes his ass higher so Osamu can f*ck him deeper, clutching to the mat behind him with his head thrown back. He doesn’t stop chasing it, getting rougher and faster as they go on.
It catches up to both of them quickly.
Osamu barely has any time to warn him before he comes, eyes squeezing shut as his org*sm hits him hard. He forgets to pull out too, instinctually rocking his hips forward so he can come as deep inside of him as he can. He comes with a groan, biting down hard against Keiji’s shoulder.
Keiji comes again before he’s finished, whimpering softly. He looks down and finds it splattered over his chest, oozing down Keiji’s fingers as he strokes himself through it.
There’s a long moment of ease, just the two of them catching their breath.
It takes a minute before Osamu stops. By then, Osamu’s come is sticky and leaking between Keiji’s thighs, dripping onto the bed.
Each of them has made a mess.
Keiji looks between his legs, then back up at Osamu. “Is it always this much?”
Osamu blushes. “Kind of,” he admits. “But it’s been a while and it’s you.” The look that passes across his face makes Osamu grin. “What? Do you have a kink or something? Don’t be shy, babe, you can tell me.”
Keiji makes a flustered sound, and Osamu can’t help the swell of affection that rises in his chest. He’s so f*cking cute after sex.
It’s one thing to do it and another to say it aloud. Osamu won’t press, because he’s sure he’ll get all the details about what Keiji likes in bed one way or another.
Keiji puts his hands on Osamu’s chest.
“Can we still go back to yours?”
The sun is rising on their walk back to Osamu’s place. Keiji cuddles Osamu’s arm the whole way, the nip of the morning air making him sniffle as his cheeks turn pink, even if he’s bundled up in the spare hoodie from Osamu’s locker. Osamu feels the urge to tuck him away in his pocket and protect him forever.
An hour later, they’re finally in Osamu’s bed. Keiji’s dressed in one of Osamu’s sleep t-shirts that says Inarizaki Boxing Gym on the front and his coziest pair of boxers.
He smells like Osamu’s body wash. He tosses around in Osamu’s sheets, mussing up his hair and inching himself closer and closer to Osamu. Osamu’s fully awake but he feels like he’s dreaming.
They haven’t spoken about it, but they can both feel that there's too much baggage here for this to be a casual hook up. Maybe they’re doing this all out of order, but for Osamu this is the easiest it’s ever been with anyone before.
They kissed a bit in the shower but didn’t go any further than that. Keiji washed his hair for him, using the excuse that he was worried about Osamu’s shoulder injury from his match. Osamu had told him, “I like it so much when you take care of me,” and the words make Keiji blossom for him like a flower.
Now Keiji’s laying on his back, and Osamu rests his head in the crook between his chest and shoulder. He has an arm wrapped around Keiji’s waist and their legs are tangled together too.
“I have to go in for training in a few hours. But you can stay here as long as you like, okay?”
“Training even after your fight?” disappointed that he has to leave.
“Just a light workout. But I have to see recovery staff as well.”
“On that massage bed?” he asks, smirking. “How are you ever gonna be able to focus in that gym again?”
“There’s hope for me as long you aren’t in the room.”
There’s a few beats of quiet. Keiji’s stroking Osamu’s hair, still damp from the shower. He’s tipped his chin down to sniff it at least three times in the last five minutes. Osamu will keep pretending he doesn’t notice.
“Are you sure this is okay?” Keiji asks him, out of the blue. His tone is distant. “Are you sure you want all this with me?” Osamu watches his eyes shift around the bedroom. Osamu has come to recognize that expression, when Keiji gets in his head.
Osamu shakes his head like he doesn’t understand.
“I’m no good for a relationship, Osamu.” When Osamu just stares at him, Keiji gets flustered. “I make a living shaking my ass at hundreds of different men every week who pay to see me naked. You don’t— we don’t match.”
“And how many of them get to see you like this? Or touch you the way I did all night?”
The question, or maybe just his sincerity, makes Keiji blush.
“Just you,” he says quietly.
“Just me?”
Keiji nods.
He doesn’t let up though, admittedly a little embarrassed. “I just mean that you’re a good person Osamu. You could have anyone you wanted.”
“Where is this coming from?” Osamu asks. “Isn’t it obvious that I only want you?”
He goes quiet at that, eyes sparkling.
“I want to be with you,” Osamu says. “Because I like you, like f*cking crazy.”
Keiji shakes his head. “I like you so much too. I only want to make you happy.”
“You do,” Osamu says immediately. He repeats it, softer, “You do.”
By the way Keiji’s face splits with joy, it seems he’s said the right thing. He’s blushing so much.
“You’re so much more romantic than I expected.”
“You don’t like it?”
“I do.”
A fuzzy warmth spreads through Osamu’s chest, one he expects Keiji is feeling too.
He rests his head back on top of him, a little flustered.
“Don’t worry about work, okay? I’m not the type of guy who gets jealous easily. Not like you.”
“What did you say?” Keiji laughs. “Like me?”
“You think I don’t notice? In the dressing room with everybody else?”
He thinks of how close Keiji likes to stand when Osamu’s in the dressing room with all the dancers.
“You don’t like to share,” he says.
Keiji’s face softens when his eyes connect with Osamu’s. “Can you blame me? I want you all to myself.”
Osamu could really get used to this, pillow talking in the hours they should be spending asleep. Though the warmth and comfort of Keiji’s presence next to him makes him feel so at peace, it’s so hard to keep his eyes open…
Keiji’s voice cuts through the silence once more.
“Promise you won’t leave in the morning without waking me up to say bye first?”
“Are you sure?” Osamu murmurs. “You haven’t slept.”
He feels Keiji nod above him, arms subconsciously tightening around Osamu.
“Okay. I promise.”
It’s never been so easy for him to fall asleep, deep and dreamless.
The club is crowded from the hour it opens on Friday, which means backstage is a blur of spandex and leather fabrics, hair spray, and loud music.
Osamu has just brought a tray of shotglasses to the girls’ room on Kita’s orders, a little something to take the edge off. But Keiji less than subtly sneaks away to follow him out, ignoring the cries of outrage from the dressing room.
He corners Osamu outside the dressing room door. It doesn’t take much, because Osamu was waiting for him. He lets himself be crowded in against the wall, already smirking.
“I just got this new outfit in. What do you think?”
He opens the robe for Osamu to see, all sexy like the strip teases he gives on stage. He’s wearing a red bikini with a bunch of floss-like strings wrapped around his hips and waist.
Osamu rakes his eyes over him, up and down. “It suits you,” he replies. The heat of his gaze does most of the talking.
Keiji runs a hand up his chest and puts on a voice a few octaves higher, breathy. “It’s gonna be so hard to take it off on my own at the end of the day. I’d hate to tear it.”
Osamu puts his hands on his hips, the satin of his black robe like butter in his fingers. “I’d be happy to help you but I can’t promise I’d be delicate about it.”
Tooru squeezes by them on her way to the bar, the corridor hardly wide enough for the three of them. “Keiji, I really hope you’re happy now that you’ve spoiled everybody’s fun. We’re supposed to be sharing.”
Keiji turns and backs up against him possessively, calling after her retreating figure. “Mmm, but he’s all mine now. Green isn’t your color, Tooru.”
As Tooru disappears around the corner, Osamu wraps his arm around his waist from behind, pulling his ass flush against his dick. Keiji mimics a scandalized gasp.
He tilts his head and Osamu leans in against his neck to murmur next to his ear, “You know a few nights ago I was promised a show in the private room.”
“Oh really?”
Osamu nods. “I think I’m ready to call it in.”
Keiji turns to give him a look, his eyes all shiny even in the dim lighting.
Keiji does a quick scan of the hallway, to make sure they’re really alone this time, then takes Osamu’s hand to pull him down the hall, stumbling along as he follows the sound of Keiji’s heels.
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