The way Shizuo's nails dig into my hips mirrors the press of my own nails into my palms. I wouldn't be surprised if we both had blood on our hands by the end of this. And yet, I feel more calm than you would expect. After all, it's a frequent enough occurrence by now.
Blood is a constant companion to these little lapses in judgment between the two of us. Blood seeping between fingers clenched too tightly against skin. Blood filling my mouth from biting my tongue too hard. Blood seeping down the inside of my thighs- depending on how angry I've managed to make him beforehand.
It's not so bad today. There was no malevolent plot to bring him to me, it was just a chance encounter. Not that it matters. Coincidence or not, my monster is always less than pleased to see me. And he makes sure I know it.
Shizuo's foot pushes against the inside of my ankle, shoving my legs further apart. I have to unclench my tight fists to steady myself from the abrupt shift; pushing hard against the wall only inches from my face to keep from slamming into it as hard as my monster is slamming into me.
A grunt of displeasure slips from my throat and crashes against the cage of my closed lips. Shizuo hears it anyway, one of his hands abandoning its death grip on my hip to close instead against the back of my head. All my attempts to save myself from smacking into the wall turn out to be pointless when he shoves my face against the counter I'm sprawled across anyway.
"Quiet." He growls, always trying to forget that it's me beneath him. I guess I've enabled him some- I've used silence as a shield since the very first time I goaded Shizuo into putting his dick in me. And my willing silence spoiled him. Now he can't stand the thought of my voice breaking whatever illusion he clings to while he fucks me.
Keeping one hand pressed against the wall, I curl my free palm around my already tight pressed lips. Shizuo's grip eases some on the back of my head, his fingers getting lost in my hair instead of gripping it.
The deceptively light scratch of his nails on my scalp sends goosebumps up and down my arms. I'm glad Shizuo's never had the ambition to undress either of us. The physical display of my pleasure remains a secret only I know.
Other things are not so easy to hide.
Shizuo's left hand hitches my hips a little higher, coaxing me back up onto my tip toes to make up for the height difference between us. Normally I do a good job of passively keeping whatever pose he puts me in. But somewhere between almost face planting into the wall, and trying to contain my reactions to him, I fell back to the comfort of having my feet flat on the ground.
Now the subtle shift of my legs back to attention brushes my dick against the smooth polish of his kitchen cabinets- drawing a shiver out of me before I can help it. Surprisingly Shizuo chuckles- low and throaty- not bothered by this like he was my noise of discontent.
I guess it makes sense. A groan is hard to imagine away. A shiver on the other hand could be coming from any whore in Shinjuku, bent over his kitchen counter, body begging for more even as they say nothing.
It's an unfortunate comparison. Unfortunate in the sense that it hits far too close to the mark. The only real difference is that I'm not getting paid. Well, certainly not in the traditional sense.
"Fuck…" Shizuo groans, curling further over me. His stomach presses into my back, bearing down on me like there's even a chance I could slip away from him now. Like there's a chance I'd want to.
I cage the thought in with all the others that swarm my mind, but will never be given voice. Instead, I bite down on my tongue hard enough that the first taste of blood starts to spread. It always lingers a few hours before I can will myself to brush my teeth and get rid of any remaining blood.
It's disgusting- Namie has told me that in no uncertain terms many a time. But the taste of my own blood has become something comforting in it's own way. It means that I'm here- under Shizuo. It means that I haven't driven him off with my stupid voice and cutting words. It's a reassurance that because of that, there might be a next time.
Like he can hear what I'm thinking, Shizuo's nails make an unexpected reappearance, digging hard into the tender flesh of my scalp. My body tenses, which may have been his intention. His hips snap forward faster, spurred on by the way I clench around him out of pure physical instinct.
"Goddamn it…you piece of shit…" He all but hisses, his voice closer to my ear than I remember it being. I try desperately to suppress another shudder, but it's a child's endeavor. With his smoker's rasp so close to me that I can feel it vibrating out of his chest, there's no way I can resist my own body's submission.
I'm not sure if it's the shudder, or just the timing making it seem like it was the shudder, but Shizuo gets off finally. His next thrust spreads heat through my insides as he groans long and low into my shoulder blades.
It's always the most lovely sound- hearing my monster come undone inside me. It's a sound I cling to for the rest of the night, and yet find myself doubting by morning. So much so that I usually start to plan the next encounter with Shizuo by the time I finish breakfast.
Now though, it just makes my heart race in my chest and my dick throb against the cold paneling of his cabinets. I gasp in a breath through the tiniest gap in my lips and fingers, trying in vain to keep myself composed while he jerks a few more times to really ride his way through the last of it.
The quiet of Shizuo's apartment starts to creep in between us once he's come back to his senses. This is always a weird moment.
Most of the time he just walks away, probably trying to continue imagining some other scenario just happened. And eager to please, I always comply by vanishing from his apartment- or wherever we find ourselves- before he can return.
But every now and then, he lingers. He pets my hair back into place. He watches the way my skin swells with superficial broken capillaries that will soon enough turn black and blue. And, on the especially horrendous days, his hand slips beneath me, pulling me away from whatever surface I'm on and against his own body.
Evidently, today is one of those days.
His hand curls around my dick, a decidedly pleased sound purring from his throat when he feels how hard I am. In an instant my own hand is wrapped around his wrist, yanking his touch away from me.
Usually that's the end of it. Shizuo gets the picture, walks away. Everything is as it should be as I leave his presence without him having to watch me go. I'm not expecting the growl that spreads from his chest right into my back. And I'm definitely not expecting him to wrench out of my grip and immediately return to palming my cock.
Now both of my hands go to prying his touch away. A short yelp escapes my throat when he squeezes almost painfully around the base of my dick in reply. But his grip eases and he drags slowly up my shaft to slide his thumb across my slit, and that's when a small measure of panic creeps cold into my veins.
I scramble for the knife that hardly ever sees use anymore. I keep it on me for show, to goad him, but I can't remember the last time I actually tried to cut Shizuo. And I've never even pretended to go for it while he's got me bent over whatever surface he deems suitable for a fuck that day.
Maybe that's why he seems so surprised when I twist around as much as I can and hold it to his throat. I manage to keep my own face level and cold, clinging to indifference as I watch him go through confusion, anger, then disgust. He's an open book, my monster. My favorite book.
"Whatever." He growls, both his hands jerking away from me like he can finally feel the toxicity I carry in my very veins. "Get out." He then orders, tucking his dick into his pants without looking away from me.
I flick the knife shut, pocketing it and dragging my jeans up over the swell of my ass. I'm already halfway to the doorway by the time I'm zipping them up. I can feel Shizuo's eyes trailing after me, hot with hatred that I used to pretend was enough.
It's not enough. It never was, and it never will be. That's the only reason I can summon my normal smirk into place while I turn back towards him in the doorway.
"Thanks Shizu-chan. I had a great time. Maybe next time you'll finally kill me, like you always say you will." Shizuo's already angry, he doesn't need to be poked and prodded. The next time he sees me I'll definitely be dodging some kind of heavy object as I navigate our chase towards some abandoned area of Ikebukuro.
"There won't be a next time, you shitty flea." But then, what's wrong with a little insurance policy?
"My mistake. I must be thinking of a different pathetic beast who doesn't have enough functioning neurons to think with his brain instead of his dick. Shame." A stray glass in his sink shatters against the wall by my head, and I'm laughing before I can help myself.
"Get the fuck out of here, fucking flea!"
"Anything for you Shizu-chan. You know I love you. Deep, deep man love." I close the door seconds before another shatter sounds against it, complimenting his roar of disgusted outrage quite nicely, I think.
If I wasn't quite so uncomfortable, I'd be skipping away with glee. As it is though, I hardly get two blocks before I'm ducking into an unused alley and thrusting into my own hand in the darkest corner.
Every sound Shizuo made is fresh in my mind. Every touch still lingers like a brand on my skin. I can still feel the way my calves ache from standing on my toes. I can still remember him dragging me to my toes with just two fingers hitched inside of me like a fishhook.
I must be a pretty stupid fish. To willingly seek out the same intent fisherman week after week, month after month. And Shizuo must be pretty stupid, to accept the same shitty fish. But, if he feels stupid, it doesn't stop him from doing it. Doesn't stop him from fucking me until he comes inside me. Over and over and over.
I shakily pull my free hand from my mouth to reach around behind me. A hiss brews in my throat at the raw feeling of my fingers pressing into my hole. It's like stretching a sore muscle, painful but satisfying. And the slow dribble of still warm cum that coats my fingers makes my heart shudder in my chest.
He's a fucking monster- and sometimes I honestly wonder if the bricks of my apartment building are smarter than him. But I can't imagine the day I won't crawl back to him, praying he hasn't realized he's better than this.
On that day, if it comes, I hope he kills me.
He always says he will, at first. At the beginning of the chase. The tacky seed on my fingers is proof of how well he sticks to that.
I dig my fingers further, feeling for something that sits a little farther forward in me than in most men. Which is a pain for me, but a blessing in disguise when I'm beneath Shizuo. I have to do things right when I'm with Shizuo, and if he ever fucked into my prostate, I wouldn't be able to stay the silent, still illusion he's willing to deal with.
It doesn't matter. It's better that I take care of myself. It wouldn't do to become too dependent on Shizuo for my pleasure. Although I can freely admit I already am disgustingly hooked on him.
All it takes is one adventurous image of it being his fingers stroking against my nerves for me to shudder my release against the alley wall.
I let the shivers take me for a long moment while my heart slows in my chest. But the second the pleasure leaves my bloodstream, I fix my clothes and wipe my hands on the inside of my jeans- they need to be washed anyway. And now I'm able to head towards Shinjuku with a spring in my step that would infuriate my dear monster if he was here to see it.
The first few times we did this, Shizuo would try to talk to me about it the next time he saw me. In his own way, of course. He growled threats, demanded to know what I had to gain from it. I knew he'd believe the truth far less than he'd believe any lie I could drawl at him with the normal pageantry we've come to expect from each other.
Of course, he doesn't buy the lies one bit either. He's smarter than I'd ever admit to him out loud. My monster. So bright, and yet so dumb.
Thank goodness he is dumb though. If he were any less of a brainless imbecile, he'd see exactly why I do this; no need to ask me.
In complicated situations like ours, sometimes the most obvious answer is the right one. And in this case, the correct and obvious answer is that I rile Shizuo up and play with his animal instincts to get him to fuck me- simply because I want him to. I've wanted him to for a very long time. And after so many years of longing and brewing resentment because of that longing, I sank to a petty, selfish level.
I did what I thought I had to do to feel close to Shizuo. And I keep doing it, over and over. Spurring him on so the very sight of me makes his blood race- with rage or lust, it doesn't really matter. Either way I get what I want.
As for Shizuo…he's had countless opportunities to snap my neck while buried balls deep inside me, and he hasn't. Maybe, just maybe, that means he's getting something from this too. If that something is an outlet for his aggression and a quick fuck, so be it. I don't care.
For reasons that utterly escape me, there are others who do care.
"Where was it this time? Gas station bathroom?" Namie drawls after only a cursory glance over me when I open the door.
"His apartment." I brush past the obvious irritation in her tone, waving my hand through the air like I can physically shoo it away. Predictably, it doesn't work.
"I suppose his bed is too much to hope for."
"Are kitchen counters really so different from beds Namie-san?" She scoffs in disgust, pretending to be busy sorting paperwork while I shrug out of my coat. She's sneaky, but not sneaky enough for me to miss the way her eyes take a second pass over me without my outermost layer.
There's obvious places she stops to analyze, as always. She checks my neck, my wrists, before returning to my face. Based on the way my cheekbone is throbbing ever so gently, there's probably some redness left over from having my face pushed into the counter. I try to keep the left side of my face away from her prying eyes.
"You were supposed to come in at eight, you know." I tell her, hoping to turn the tides a little.
"Seiji needed me." She tells me, blunt as usual. And that, at least, is something I can always appreciate about Namie. "You look more shaken than usual." And right back to business. Which is something I do not always appreciate about Namie.
"Only because I've been so frantic around here without my secretary all day. When did you even get here? I've only been out for an hour." Maybe two, but hopefully she hasn't been here long enough to call me out on that.
"I've worked more than enough overtime for you to ignore my tardiness." She seems anything but worried about her job security. Maybe I've been too lax with her. I sigh through my nose and wander past her to the kitchen. There's coffee that's still lukewarm from being brewed, and I knock a cup back before turning to face her again.
"Right you are, Namie-san. You're a picture perfect employee." Her nose crinkles in disgust at the cheer I pour into my tone. She and Shizuo would probably have a blast talking about how much I disgust them. Or they would if Namie didn't have some unreasonable detestation for him.
"He's going to really hurt you one of these days." She tells me with the most infuriating note of piousness in her voice. I grind my teeth behind the fake smile spread across my lips.
"I fail to see how that's any of your business." Her nose goes up in the air, clearly not done with her self righteous quest to keep me from "destroying myself".
"I can hardly count on you to employ and protect me if you're dead in an alley at Shizuo Heiwajima's hands." A cold smirk crawls across her face. It's the only warning I have that her next words are going to make the cup in my hands a potential weapon. "Or perhaps it would be more correct to say, "at his dick"."
"Fuck off Namie."I snarl, slamming the cup down so hard I'm surprised it doesn't even crack. She raises one eyebrow- not even close to impressed.
"Am I not allowed to worry about my employer?" She's aiming for innocence, which is so laughable I almost manage to recollect my composure.
"Being my mother is not in your job description. So stay the fuck out of it and go back to smothering your unwilling brother with all your pathetic maternal instincts you'll never use on a real child." I can see on her face that I've crossed the line. It's almost impossible to do with Namie- usually only mentioning Seiji will push into untouchable territory.
Which I damn well know by now. I must be more upset than I thought.
Namie stares coldly at me for a moment that feels far too long, considering I'm trying so hard to look impassive. Finally she drops the pen she had been holding for appearances sake and stands with hardly a whisper of sound in her graceful movements.
"Fine. If you don't want my help, I'll leave. I'm done for the day." I don't try to stop her. I don't point out that she's only been here for an hour at most. Or that there are piles of crisp manila files that require her attention. I don't even ask if she intends to ever come back. She knows as well as I do that it's her own funeral if she doesn't return.
It wouldn't effect me in the long run. I've survived without Namie-san for years, and could survive again without her. And if she was gone, I wouldn't have to keep having this argument, over and over- every time I limp home and avoid looking her in the eye.
These are the comfortless thoughts I have to cling to as the the echo of the door slamming behind her rings in my ears. I don't need her mothering, I don't need her. But Namie-san was wrong when she said I didn't want it.
I want her care almost as much as I want Shizuo looming over me. But I can never accept it from her, for the same reason I can never accept the rare shows of kindness Shizuo offers me.
I don't deserve it. No one knows that more than I do. And no one fights to make sure I don't get it more than I do.