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Takemichi Hanagaki is tired. And rightfully so.
The weight on his chest sits heavy as he exhales a fume of smoke. Its bitter aftermath causes him to scrunch his nose up in disgust. He doesn't even know why he keeps a cigar in his pocket. Takemichi closes his eyes to tune out everything- like it would erase the sins he willingly committed with his own hands.
The petrified screams and pointless begging would eventually fade to white noise.
The iron tang of blood will waft in the air, but Takemichi’s nose will not register it- not when the scent was no longer a stranger.
Then, the clean-up crew would arrive and he could turn his back on the entire mess.
And finally, he would be able to return home and bury his mind elsewhere.
But for now, Takemichi’s striped suit had never felt more compressed. It was a custom fit, but the way it clung to his ribs had him itching to change. He didn't have to adhere to a dress code in Bonten, but he followed the professional suit trend his co-workers wore anyway. The Haitani brothers seemed to approve if their lingering gazes were anything to go off from.
Takemichi used to wonder why they bothered wearing luxurious clothing, only for it to be tainted soon after. It seemed counter-productive. Before entering the criminal underworld, back when he was a measly DVD rental shop employee, he kept the one suit he had in pristine condition. It was one of the few things in his shitty shoebox apartment that were clean. He never had a reason to keep it in good shape- no parties, events, or dates- it was just nice to hold onto.
But for Bonten, it didn’t make a single difference to their wallets when they racked up tons of cash every day. Nothing mattered when everything was replaceable.
The one thing Takemichi never got used to were the odd jobs being a Bonten executive came with.
Intimidating rats, negotiating illegal deals, overseeing numerous businesses and industries, securing profit- it was all so different from the lame part-time jobs Takemichi picked up before. Back when no one would even think to bow their heads at him out of respect and fear. He was nothing. Nothing but a coward and crybaby.
That aspect seemed to change after he met his soulmate.
Takemichi leaned back on the concrete wall of the chilly warehouse. Its cool touch felt grounding compared to the stuffiness prickling at his skin. It was a nice distraction from the sound of bones being dislocated and thuds from a baton hitting skulls.
It was the familiar tingle from a mark on his chest that stirred him to focus, his royal blue eyes blinking open to meet another pair of equally captivating blue eyes. Maybe they were only captivating because they belonged to him.
His purple waistcoat and white dress shirt were splattered in a ruby red. It highlighted the paleness in his skin and in a messed up way, sharpen his features. His hair remained untouched, a mullet of sakura pink that flowed down the sturdy shoulders Takemichi loved to dig his nails into.
“Takemichi,” Sanzu crooned, a calloused hand pressing against the soulmate mark tucked underneath Takemichi’s black turtleneck undershirt.
Takemichi immediately pressed forward, chasing the alluring sensation that came with his touch. When a soulmate touched their soulmate’s mark, an indescribable feeling passed through both. It was like pure ecstasy knowing the one they were the one.
Takemichi's mark was black and took up most of his left pec (right next to the hanafuda tattoo), whereas Sanzu's engulfed his right calf.
How cruel of fate to give Takemichi the most bloodthirsty bastard in existence.
“I’m disappointed you didn’t participate in much today,” Sanzu whispered hotly in his ear. Takemichi could only shiver as he shook his head, black curls swaying in defiance.
"I was tired daddy," he quipped back. He tried not to grin at the sight of Sanzu's pupil dilating with the nickname.
His arms reached up to loop around Sanzu’s neck, desperate to feel closer to his fated match. In response, Sanzu’s hands drifted towards Takemichi’s narrow waist. His tight grip was a familiar one that never failed to send a thrill down Takemichi's spine.
In this position, Takemichi could press himself against Sanzu’s chest to hear his heartbeat and relish in the warmth being caged in brought.
But, it was not so comforting after Sanzu had a go at his pills and committed acts of slaughter.
Instead, Sanzu’s embrace was borderline invasive. His taller, leaner fame easily dwarfed over Takemichi, being ultimately domineering. It was intimidating, especially the first time they met.
His kisses left Takemichi dizzy. The accumulating heat in their mouths as they mapped each other's drew mewls and desperate pants from him. Sanzu's grip on Takemichi’s waist tightened, causing Takemichi to feel unbearably warm under their close bodies and his predator-like gaze.
Their kisses were dirty and intense like all Sanzu wanted Takemichi to know, feel, and think of was him. And it worked- Takemichi could not deny the coil of heat he felt in his stomach every time.
He gladly let Sanzu choke him with his physical affections.
Sanzu’s flushed face was always a pretty sight to come back to. The hazy look that washed over his half-lidded eyes, the soft red blooming on his cheeks, and the way his tongue twitched when a trail of saliva followed their heady make-out session.
He soaked up that adoring gleam in Sanzu’s eyes.
The way his hands gently brushed over his knuckles when Takemichi was lost in his thoughts.
How Sanzu left imprints of his undying love for him everywhere.
If someone that was not Mikey or at the very least, a fellow Bonten executive, so much as looked at Takemichi with an emotion other than stiff respect, the last thing they would see was Sanzu's katana.
Wherever Takemichi was, you could expect Sanzu to be right behind him. Most soulmates would be swooning at that point.
His love was borderline obsessive and it was just what Takemichi needed.
For Takemichi, it was a sound distraction. He could lose himself in the scent of gunpowder and tuck himself away in Sanzu’s protective embrace. He desperately needed it.
Especially when the cries of people crushed by them pricked at him in the back of his mind. Their faces and stories were blurry, courtesy of the high dosages Sanzu of drugs placed on him.
But no drug could erase the intense feeling of guilt and disgust aimed at himself.
His compliance was a part of the problem, wasn’t it?
The day became worse when he could remember the first time he killed someone voluntarily. It was the one memory that refused to leave him.
That day was bad. For the life of him, Takemichi couldn’t remember why. All he remembered was the feeling of being completely and utterly pissed off. One minute he was walking home after getting off the train station, and the next minute he was standing in front of a bloodied man, holding the ends of a broken beer bottle. It was too dark to see the exact damage inflicted on him, but it was fatal. A gush of blood pooled onto the dirty pavement as the man fell to his knees. A gurgle of blood left the man’s mouth before it eventually stopped and he slumped over.
Takemichi's body was shaking. He tried speaking, but nothing came out. He felt hot all over. Immediately, he dropped the bloodied bottle in his sticky hand when he felt a strange ache spreading over his chest. It was stark in contrast to the shock threatening to seize him.
When he whipped his head to the other side of the road, he saw another figure. The strange ache seemed to intensify with every passing second. It felt gratifying and powerful- like it was the only thing keeping Takemichi from collapsing.
It was still too far and too dark to see their face. They looked unaffected if their stillness was anything to go off from. But the dim street lights gave Takemichi a glimpse.
Their scarred mouth was stretched in a pleased grin.
He tried to run from it at first like he always did. When things got rough, he’d leave and the cycle of settling elsewhere and leaving again would repeat. Deep down, he wanted to stay and confront his problems head-on. He should have.
His eight-year old self would cry in anger if he could see how he ended up now. Some hero, he bitterly thought. He truly despised himself for it.
But when he was caught dead in his tracks by someone, his soulmate no less, he stopped. Takemichi was able to find his strength through unconventional methods.
(truthfully, he was still weak. If he truly loved his soulmate, he would have taken him out of this hell. instead, he chose to fall into it. there was no redemption for them now.)
And here he was. Mikey’s right-hand man (and something a little more than that) and Sanzu, the infamous Loyal Mad Dog’s soulmate. Quite the position for a baby-faced crybaby.
Sanzu wrapped his arm around Takemichi to escort him outside of the dingy warehouse and into their get-away. Takemichi couldn't wait to pass out in between silk sheets, sandwiched in between Mikey and Sanzu.
Before the car took off, Takemichi curled up against Sanzu. He ignored the bloodstains that mixed on his coat to tuck his face into Sanzu’s warm neck.
Sanzu rubbed his hand up and down his sides, lulling Takemichi into a relaxed state. He shut his eyes, a pleased exhale leaving his mouth when Sanzu began expertly massaging his head.
“Do I have to up your dosage?” Sanzu murmured. He knew about Takemichi's headaches and nightmares- how could he not when he was the one that orchestrated them? His touch was as soothing as it was intoxicating. Takemichi nuzzled his face further into Sanzu’s neck while his fingers danced over his dainty collarbones.
“No,” Takemichi whispered. He shifted himself to slide onto Sanzu’s lap, lazy in his movements. The drag of Takemichi’s ass against Sanzu’s firm thighs tempted Takemichi to grind against Sanzu’s crotch. It startled a moan from both of them.
Long fingers easily ripped off his coat to dig themselves onto Takemichi’s hips where his undershirt rolled up. His fingers cupped the sides of Sanzu’s head as he leaned forward, giving another slow grind against a gradually hardening cock.
His heated breath fanned over Sanzu’s ears. “I only need you, Haruchiyo,” he admitted.
He sounded embarrassingly breathy to his own ears after only a couple of grinds, but when he rested his weight back, the pure desire in Sanzu’s eyes caused him to whimper. His soulmate mark burned, and it was a welcome fire reciprocated by both parties.
He tried to roll his hips up again but was stopped. Sanzu was busy peppering feathery-light kisses down his neck, every kiss causing Takemichi to jolt in pleasure. His hands were locked onto Takemichi's waist to keep him from moving again. He brunched Takemichi's undershirt up to drag his mouth across the soulmate mark.
Intense pleasure doused over him in an instant. Distantly, Takemichi could feel his legs quivering. He was melting under Sanzu's expert tongue, which was then tracing his nipple.
Takemichi squirmed and whined, lust clouding his mind by this point. His face was furrowed in frustration and tears began to emerge from the corners of his eyes. Sanzu was taking his precious time turning Takemichi into a mess. Sometimes he liked it. Especially if Mikey was there to join. But right now, all Takemichi wanted was either pure friction or Sanzu's dick. The bulge in front of him was warm and perfectly within reach from his ass.
But Sanzu's mouth was so damn distracting. That mouth knew exactly where Takemichi liked it.
"Shh, daddy will take care of you" Sanzu reassured him, voice low but scratchy. God, Sanzu's voice alone could make him wet. When the other said such dirty words with confidence, it fucked with Takemichi's rationale.
Sanzu released his hands- one to rest on the curve of his ass and another to hover over the tent in his pants.
"How do you want me to take care of you baby?"
Ugh, Takemichi didn't want to answer him. He was purposefully drawing this out. He enjoyed teasing Takemichi till the very end.
Two could play at that game.
Takemichi clasped the hand hovering over him to gently press down on the flat plane of his bare stomach. He kept his eyes low, a seemingly demure position.
"I wanna feel you fuck my tummy, please." A couple of fat tears fell and he hesitantly peered at Sanzu with his thick, wet lashes. Hook, line, and sinker.
In an instant, Takemichi found himself flat against the car's plush seats. His shirt was already tugged off, and his pants were in the process. A little baby talk always turned Sanzu on.
"You fucking minx," Sanzu seethed, eyes darkened with full-blown lust. He ripped off his clothing to reveal a very toned body Takemichi loved wrapping his legs around.
"You played with me too long," Takemichi complained. "I already prepped myself with Mikey today," he added.
The sound of Sanzu's shaky exhale caused him to giggle in amusement before turning into a breathy hitch. His mouth was wide open as Sanzu buried himself inside, a loud groan leaving the pink-haired man.
The slow drag of his cock against Takemichi's hot, tight walls felt so good.
When Sanzu's thighs met the back of his ass, Takemichi rubbed his hand over his stomach to feel the outline of Sanzu's hardness. He didn't have to look up to know the other was already watching him like a hawk.
"Daddy's cock feels good," he slurred. His dick was already spurting pre-cum. With that, Sanzu began thrusting. Not too fast, but not too slow. It was just the right pace to see his dick contort Takemichi's insides. He changed the angle so he could brush over Takemichi's sweet spot, causing him to curl his toes in bated pleasure.
He drew pleasured moans from Takemichi's swollen lips, loving the blissed expressions his soulmate made. He felt Takemichi's heel dig into his back, pressing Sanzu further inside of him.
"Fuck, you're greedy," he panted, his hips never stopping in motion. Takemichi was finally sobbing, his blueberry eyes blurry with salty tears and his throat wet.
Finally.
Sanzu ran his hand through Takemichi's sweaty hair, tugging on the dark roots to grab his attention.
"There, there. Daddy's gonna fill you up okay? Be good." Takemichi jerked his head in submission.
Sanzu changed his angle once more to his Takemichi's prostate dead-on, over and over again. The rhythmic sound of skin slapping was loud in the backseat of the limo.
Takemichi's cries were so pretty, especially when he cried for him. He loved the way his tight hole clenched around his dick so good it made him see stars.
Taking Takemichi's dick into one hand, he furiously pumped while stilling hitting his prostate. Takemichi arched up, the sweat and saliva visible on his flushed body.
He smirked at Takemichi's mindless babbles when the pleasure went to his head. He leaned over. "Come, Takemichi."
Warm spurts of white coated his hand as he continued to chase his own orgasm. It didn't take long. Just a concentrated look at Takemichi's fucked out expression and compliant body pushed him to come. As he promised, he made sure to milk every last drop of his cum inside of him.
Who knew keeping a buttplug in the limo would be useful someday?
Takemichi struggled to stay awake. He could feel Sanzu moving him up to clean him, but his body felt like jelly. Sanzu always made him feel like this at the end. Helpless, but content and thoroughly fucked.
"Make sure to thank Mikey for prepping you."
He felt a soft kiss plant itself on his temple.
Drowsily, Takemichi burrowed his face into the chest of his soulmate.