Chapter Text
Hirayama curses under his breath as the shoji slides open. He clutches onto his haori and quickly turns his body away to face the wall, burying his face into the pillow in embarrassment and regret. He knows the haori barely covers any of his body, but it’s all he has to mask his shame and panic.
Of all the times Sagawa could walk in on him, of course it had to be when he was seeking self-gratification.
It’s as if Sagawa has a sixth sense for detecting when Hirayama is at his most vulnerable. Never mind the fact that he had walked around aimlessly in the hallways of Sagawa’s godforsaken manor beforehand to make sure the old man really wasn’t around before he allowed himself a few minutes of privacy to rebel against Sagawa’s chastity orders. He must have missed a room or two making his rounds, or maybe Sagawa was just overly intuitive and had a penchant for ruining his day when he was barely finding ways to enjoy it in this otherwise boring place. A manor shared only between an old aristocrat and his new vassal (servant and whore), and a handful of male housekeepers.
He flinches as Sagawa sits next to him, hand stroking up his bare thigh. He’s coerced onto his back, forced to look up at his master. Sagawa has a playful expression, but Hirayama feels as if he fucked up somehow. He melts in the warmth of the hand placed against his face, thumb stroking his cheek almost lovingly.
“Judging by the sounds you were making, I was expecting to walk in on you stroking yourself. But I never expected to see you with your legs spread, trying to finger fuck your cock.”
Hirayama’s lips tremble. He racks his brain for a plausible excuse, but nothing could possibly explain why he prefers to stroke himself the way someone would a pussy. He can’t, and doesn’t want to admit it’s because it’s always just been easier this way for as long as he can remember. He knows Sagawa finds him to be unrefined and cheap, and yet he just wants to impress him and prove that he’s more than just the “shitty little runt” Sagawa decided to inherit under his wing at Lord Shimano’s bequest.
He watches in anticipation as Sagawa raises a thin lock of his hair, bringing it up to his nose and inhaling his scent. He wants to feel uncomfortable by his perverse nature, but desire was a strange and inexplicable feeling. He constantly craves Sagawa’s touches ever since the first time he was taken by the man. He doesn’t admit it, but he always enjoyed being a servant who doubles as a bed warmer at night.
Hirayama eases into the futon as Sagawa takes his place between his legs, a gentle trail of kisses being left on his forehead, his right cheek, his empty left socket where his eye used to be before Sagawa plucked it out for his insolence. The master’s punishment scale was… Unpredictable. There are days he could likely get away with killing Sagawa’s beloved pet bird with a slap on the wrist, but on other days he could expect to have an arm broken for something as simple as backtalk. And so, Hirayama can no longer recall the incident that led up to the impairment.
“You like fingering your manko, Goro-chan? How about you show me just how much since you couldn’t even comprehend my basic orders not to touch yourself?” Sagawa whispers into his ear with a cheeky grin.
“I don’t… Please, Sagawa-dono…” Despite his refusal, Hirayama wraps his fingers loosely around Sagawa’s wrist as a lousy attempt to get him to pull away. His pride is stung by how much he wants it, and that Sagawa knows just how much. He mewls and bucks his hips against the palm of his hand, craving a more focused touch on his leaking cock.
Sagawa’s gentle fingers begin to dip under the folds of his foreskin, gently stroking over his throbbing head.
“Heh, you’re like a fucking Chōsen eunuch, Goro-chan. Barely bigger than the size of a man’en-koban. Were you castrated as a child? Or is it really just a cunt after all?”
Hirayama responds in a breathy moan. Sagawa was always generous with his emasculating insults, and to his dismay, it aroused him. He enjoys being belittled in exchange for Sagawa’s lessons on the pleasures of sex. It was better than the alternative of being stripped down to his fundoshi and put in a cage to starve in the middle of winter. Naturally, he preferred the intimacy of assault.
Sagawa continues to press into his cock and push inward, curled fingers slowly drawing circles in Hirayama’s folds. He thrashes, bucking his hips into Sagawa’s hands as a plea for more. His sounds are muffled by Sagawa’s forceful kisses.
“Does that feel nice on your clitoris?” Sagawa mumbles, barely above a whisper, his lips still lingering above Hirayama’s.
Hirayama nods. “Yes…” he admits softly, a louder involuntary moan escaping his lips as he answers. Warmth spreads from his trembling chest, face flushing in sheer humiliation, his groin hot with impatience for a firmer touch. Sagawa’s fingers push into him, deeper and out again, fingering his cock back into his body. Drunk on Sagawa’s kisses and invasive touch, Hirayama’s hand slowly reaches for Sagawa’s bulge prodding into his inner thigh. He pleads wordlessly for Sagawa to frot him, to fuck into his cock until his foreskin stretches into the perfect fit for anything Sagawa wanted to use on him. He grips and tugs at Sagawa’s yukata, pulling at the edges and fingering between the layers of fabric in search of skin. But his hand falls to his side as Sagawa pulls away just far enough from reach.
“You impudent little shit. Never thought I’d live to see the day a low-class kenin puts his hands on me. Dirty whore.”
As he’s about to apologize for this disrespectfulness, Sagawa spits into Hirayama’s mouth. Nothing more direct than that.
Sagawa still indulges him, though. An engorged member replaces the fingers between his legs and presses firmly into him. Try as they might, it was a wasted effort to tear open a new entrance in Hirayama for their pleasure. Sagawa continues to grind into him with slow and long strokes that push him towards the brink of an orgasm. Their heavy breaths filling the air, warm fluids seeping from both their cocks and sullying the silk garment under their weight, the anticipation that Sagawa may change his mind and rape his ass to finish instead – all of it excited him.
“Your cock may not have been of much use, Goro-chan, but it is a damn good pussy.”
It makes Hirayama almost wish he had a real cunt for Sagawa to use, to allow him to bury all of his length in Hirayama’s warmth and fill him to the brim with cum every night until he bore him a son. Maybe then Sagawa would treat him like a human being, mother of their illegitimate child, someone who amounted to more than just a tool for an aristocrat to fuck out his crudest fantasies.
Hirayama wants to wrap his arms around Sagawa’s neck as he comes, but Sagawa evades his embrace, pushing his arms down and holding him tightly by the wrists as he continues to thrust into his ‘pussy’ and caress his bare chest. It mattered little either way. He’s too preoccupied by the way Sagawa makes him feel, the way he sounds, the way he still tastes in his mouth. Followed by a string of loud moans, Hirayama comes against Sagawa’s cock, squirting and dripping from his ‘hole’ between the thrusts. A breathy chuckle fills his ear. Sagawa coos, calling him a good boy, at the same time shaming him for coming from being rubbed and fucked like a cheap courtesan.
Sagawa pulls back from between his legs, shifting himself up and settling down on Hirayama’s chest, cock lining up against his pretty pink lips. Hirayama suckles the tip habitually, adjusting to Sagawa’s girth as his mouth is filled. He allows Sagawa to defile his face with his orgasm, lying back in disgrace as thick semen drips off the side of his face and down his throat.
Sagawa exhales in pleasure, patting Hirayama’s (clean) cheek condescendingly before slowly getting off of him. As Sagawa straightens out his clothes, he peels off his crinkled obi and tosses it next to Hirayama as a generous donation to help wipe himself clean.
Hirayama rolls back over onto his side, clinging onto the obi and burying his face into the soft silk, carefully wiping off the messes from his face. He hates this part – inevitably being left to his own devices after the sex. Hirayama could never muster up the courage to ask Sagawa to stay with him longer, to hold him as he weeps from feeling so pathetic for longing the touch of a man too high up on his golden throne to otherwise give him the time of day. He doesn’t understand why Sagawa keeps him, why the man offers him a place in this home at all when he was barely needed for anything other than as an outlet for his stresses and sexual frustrations. Especially when he could probably pay for a better set of holes than his. He’s grateful, yet over a month has passed and he isn’t sure his servitude holds any value.
There is a brief moment of tense silence as Hirayama waits for Sagawa to leave, and Sagawa standing next to Hiryama’s crumpled body, hesitant to do so.
“When you’re done cleaning up after yourself… You may come join me in the bath.”
A simple command disguised as permission, but an opening for Hirayama nonetheless. He lunges at the chance as any starved dog would.