You're not even fit to lick my shoes," Kazutaka taunts, planting the sole firmly on Yukio's lips. His friend is lying on the floor on his back, his muscular body barely contained in a dress shirt and dark trousers, groaning as he flicks his tongue against the brown rubber. "Come, Yukio, you wretch. Degrade yourself for me tonight."
He doesn't wear dress shoes anymore, and Tonegawa sometimes wishes he did. But as he kneels on the ground and presses his lips to the Chairman's foot, he feels a bony hand twist its fingers in his hair. The feeling is delicious—not that painful, but possessive—and he hisses through his teeth.
Sometimes Hyodo calls him "wretch," or "disgusting worm," or "insect," but they've known each other for a long time now, and even their insults have matured. More often the Chairman calls him things like "filthy animal," or "beast," or simply "dog"—because Tonegawa is nothing like a worm, to tell the truth. He is power itself, trained and controlled, and Hyodo knows that better than anyone.
Still, Tonegawa likes the classics.
"Shut up!" Kazutaka spits, his long hair flashing in the light. Yukio is lying on his stomach, and he arches his back with a howl as his superior jabs his heel down hard into the space between his shoulder blades. "I hate that lowly groan. Aren't you pleased to see me?"
"Y…yes!" Yukio shouts, too loudly for the room in which they're playing, but he doesn't care. "Yes, Chairman! I'm, I'm pleased to see you!"
"Don't hesitate like that, you ingrate!" he complains. "You should be utterly thankful to have this position. Now, tell me again! Aren't you pleased to see me?"
"Yes, sir," Tonegawa says, evenly and without missing a beat, even as his lips pull back in an almost-sneer. "I'm always happy to see you."
Hyodo lets out a low chuckle under his breath, and his fingers tighten in Tonegawa's hair, once bleached blonde (oh, the follies of youth), but now a dignified silver. "Of course you do," he laughs. "Now, tell me, Tonegawa." He leans down, grinning, but not on the verge of salivation like he usually is. His henchman wonders if he's doing something wrong. "How shall I humiliate you tonight?"
Tonegawa blinks. He doesn't usually ask.
"Well, sir," he says, his mouth dry. "If you'd like to…"
"Hurt me," Yukio rasps, his breath hitching as Kazutaka's heel presses down, down into his muscles. "Thhhhank you, Chairman," he ekes out, and his back twists as his boss grinds it in. "Thank you! Th, thank you so much!"
"That's much better," the Chairman says smugly, above him. "You want more?"
"More," Yukio groans, the side of his face pressed to the floor. "Please, please hurt me more."
"Ah," Hyodo says, settling back in his chair, and all the veiled apology in the world is in that sound. "You're a greedy man, Tonegawa. Neither of us are young bucks anymore, you know."
"I understand, Chairman," says Tonegawa, hanging his head, and he feels foolish. Not many things ever, ever make him feel like a fool, but asking favors from the chairman does, especially such sensitive ones. "I apologize."
"Did I say I couldn't do it?" Hyodo growls, and Tonegawa's head snaps up. The Chairman digs the point of his walking cane directly into his forehead, pressing harder and harder, as his lackey gapes. "Roll onto your stomach, you filthy degenerate. I'll teach you to doubt me."
When the impact comes, it's not with the heel of his sandal, but with the point of the walking stick again, jabbed down hard in that wonderful spot between his shoulder blades. It comes like a crack of lightning, with a pain sharper than that dress shoe had ever been. "Holy shit!" escapes Tonegawa's mouth as his body arches up, and Hyodo laughs out a quick hyena laugh, and Tonegawa sinks back down in embarrassment.
"You still know how to jump, Yukio!" he cackles, and Tonegawa doesn't have two seconds to savor that name before the lightning comes again, this time burning hard into the meat of his rib. He gasps and seizes up, clutching at his side.
He hates it when Hyodo hits him in front of the blacksuits, because then it's punishment and humiliation. But here in the playroom, both of them alone—well, he doesn't fool himself, everyone knows what happens when he goes in there alone—he feels exhilaration, pleasure, and underneath them both, nostalgia.
"Do you want me to fuck you, Yukio?" Kazutaka says in a high, singsongy voice, bringing the flog down hard onto his thighs. Yukio howls. "That's not a response!"
He whips it down again, and Yukio screws his eyes tight through the pain and forces the words out. "Yes! YessirIwantyoutofuckme!" There's a pause behind him, and he catches his breath.
"Yukio!" his boss laughs. "Nobody's ever said it so clearly before! And on the second lash, too!"