He wasn't really sure what made their agreement so… Enticing, maybe it was purely because with Mizuki he actually got to cum, whereas the average street trash that paid for his company couldn't care less if he got to finish too. But then maybe it was just because it was Mizuki, disgustingly attached as that made him sound and he really wasn't, that kept him going back, because he and the Rib leader had some kind of rapport, some friendly banter that continued around them fucking the shit out of each other. It was kinda nice to be able to turn up and chill first, to have a little bit of a lead up to it instead of being offered a price, agreeing almost no matter how low it was, then disappearing into an alley to get the job done as furtively and sloppy and rushed as it always was.
He of course enjoyed the free stuff he got out of it too, mainly in the form of alcohol and cigarettes, though Mizuki was always willing to offer the use of his shower or an opportunity to raid his fridge, though they both spoke of too much attachment and he hated charity. If he needed food he'd break in and take it, and the fact it might have been offered earlier that day didn't change the fact that now it was definitely stealing so he was fine with it.
Nor did he allow any kind of intimacy, other than the sex act itself which he'd never really counted as all that intimate anyway, but any attempts at soft touches or kisses that weren't hard enough and he was quick to flip the tables in his favour. He wasn't there to be treated nicely, he was there to be used as the bartender saw fit, to get his orgasm, or multiple because shit Mizuki was good, then to leave. He didn't want any of his consideration and irritating kindness, only taking his cigarettes because they were getting harder to steal and the tattooist made it all too easy to take them, though he knew he left them lying about deliberately now, it didn't stop him.
He wasn't somebody who accepted charity, no, he took what he wanted, he wanted Mizuki so he used him, got what he wanted from him then fucked off as soon as possible, accepting a cigarette if it was offered or ignoring the things that suddenly appeared in his bag, and escaping back to his warehouse and his drugs. It was a good arrangement, and he liked it, the bartender was good company, he'd listen to his stories about the assholes he'd met on his way over, or the drug deal gone bad where he'd had to fight his way out. Nobody else would even acknowledge his presence except with glares and curses, but Mizuki at least wouldn't comment when he suddenly appeared at his door or in the closed bar, not questioning how he got in but greeting him with a grin, a rapidly poured double or triple of vodka, and a cigarette pack pushed his way.
It was the perfect arrangement, when he wanted a good fucking, and he meant really damn good, all he had to do was cross town and break into either his bar or his apartment, and by now they'd fucked in both, and Mizuki would get the message. They'd never fucked in his bed though, Sly considered that off limits, because that spoke of something more than just people who fucked with no attachment, no, his bed was too much real for him, too much of a normal place, and nothing about this was normal.
But other than that life continued as normal, he went about stealing food and getting beaten up, then going to clubs as it got dark, finding some clients to take to back alleys and taking their yen willingly. Then he'd go into the dark of Grime, the most notoriously unpleasant nightclub on the island, find his usual dealer and buy whatever he could, sometimes he'd stay and maybe somebody would pay to fuck him in a toilet cubicle, sometimes not. He'd take whatever he'd been given before he even left, crouched on a cracked toilet lid under the flickering lights and swallowing pills or wrapping elastic, his makeshift tourniquet, around his arm before emptying the needle of whatever the fuck it was into his skin.
He'd wait for it to hit, listening with dulled amusement to the couple who were obviously fucking next door, or to the sound of somebody throwing up, hearing it splatter on the floor and grinning because really, some people couldn't hold their drink and it was a little pathetic. But then the buzz would kick in and he'd feel like air, light and untouchable, leaving the club and either looking for a fight that he probably wouldn't win, or heading straight back to his warehouse at a leisurely pace to sit on his mattress and just feel alive for a little while. Sinking onto the damp, cold material with bruised, aching ribs and every inch of him thrumming with electric energy, poking at the bruises on his skin or biting at his lip until the cut opened and blood flooded his mouth.
But then sometimes he'd break his routine and intrude on the bartender instead, knowing by now when he worked and when he didn't, and what time he finished, knowing that if he turned up at around three am he'd only have to wait a few minutes before the bartender arrived. At first he'd thought that maybe this wouldn't work, that he'd turn up one day and he'd say no, he didn't want to, or his moral compass would start working again and he'd say they couldn't do it anymore, it wasn't right. But a couple of months had passed by now, weather beginning to get warmer and he had yet to say no once, sure he'd turned up a couple of times and waited only for him to not show, but those times he just stole what he wanted and left.
So as long as things continued like this he could deal with it, there were only three things that could go wrong, and one was so inconceivable he didn't even consider it a possibility, but he supposed the world was fucked up enough that it could happen. In order of probability, it ran thus, the bartender could develop a conscience and say they couldn't do this anymore, in which case Sly would go back to his old life and everything would be fine. The next option made him laugh, but knowing how bizarre a person the bartender was, it could well happen, and that was that he could start getting feelings for Sly, if that happened he'd never be able to see him again or even break in for things, so that was the worst result of this whole thing. Then the third he didn't even want to consider, because he didn't have feelings, but he supposed it was the tiniest bit possible that he could develop some sort of fucked up attachment to the bartender, not love, because he didn't know what that was let alone how to feel it. But there was a faint chance that he might grow fond, and even the word made bile rise in his throat, of the one person who accepted him as he was, but as long as that didn't happen, everything would be fine and life would be a little bit more bearable.
Unless the bartender fell in love with him, of course, but he was unlovable, so that wouldn't happen either, he seemed safe enough for now.
When Sly first came back Mizuki was angry, because he'd turned up at the most inopportune time, right when it suited him and nobody else he had dropped back into his life and begun to screw thing sup. But another part of him was a little relieved, because rumours and hearsay were one thing, but to actually see him, the same as always, damaged and cold, a little thinner, was somehow reassuring and the worry that had nagged in the back of his mind for months could be silenced for a little while.
But then he'd given in to grief and guilt and let the distraction of pale skin and those enticing yellow eyes and that electric blue hair drag him down somewhere he'd never have even considered going before and before he knew it he'd had sex with him. He tried to tell himself that it was okay, he must be eighteen by now, he had only been sixteen when they met, a mere child, but so much time had passed by in a blurry haze of loss and loneliness and confusion that he must be at least seventeen now.
He'd tried to work it out once, because they'd met first when he broke in, then they spent most of that year in their odd relationship where they exchanged banter and good, though that was a strong word, company for free alcohol and cigarettes and the occasional place to crash. Then Yasu had died and that marked the end of an at least eleven month period, Sly had been… Well, whatever happened to Sly had been fairly soon after that, about April or maybe March if he remembered rightly. Then he had disappeared until the anniversary of Yasu's death in January, so that was at least another ten months, so the initial eleven, then the three before he was attacked or raped or whatever, then the ten months he'd been away for, meant he had to be eighteen now.
Not that it made him feel much better about using him like this, but the fact that he wanted it too, and God did Mizuki want it now, he might have hidden it before but some deep, dark part of him loved being in so much control of another human being. It made him feel a little sick sometimes, how easily he could get Sly to do whatever he wanted, how simple it was so order him around, to get whatever he wanted out of him then to drop him again like he was just a body to him instead of a person with thoughts and feelings.
But that was the problem, he didn't have any feelings now, he didn't know what had happened in the period between the attack on him and his sudden, abrupt and initially unwanted reappearance back into his life, but he was colder and harder than ever before. He was still a little more human around Mizuki, with twitches of his lip in more than just smirks and eyes almost a little warm sometimes, actually laughing once or twice and entire face lighting up, but he wasn't the way he used to be. Mizuki had the feeling that if what had happened once already were to happen again, he wouldn't even bat an eyelid, just brushing it off like it never happened and not daring to seek the comfort he had before.
He still thought about that sometimes, never when he was actually with Sly, but sometimes he lay in bed at night and remembered how childlike he'd been, how suddenly protective he'd felt over him, how he just wanted to make things better again. Remembered the cold, dead look behind those yellow eyes that always raged with barely concealed fire, it made him shiver and he tried not to think on it too much, but sometimes he couldn't help it. The Sly he knew then and the one he knew now were different, and he'd love to say it was just time and growing older than had changed him, but he knew it wasn't. Whatever had happened to him, and he still didn't know if the rape rumours were true or just another way to lower his already shitty reputation, had forced him roughly, bodily into a cold, closed off sort of adulthood he shouldn't have reached so early, should never have reached.
He wondered often, more than he should, if this was a terrible idea and he should just cut Sly out of his life and fuck random people like everybody else did, because he had never wanted them to become the fuck buddies they were now. Never wanted his own personal booty call who showed up whenever he wanted fucking, not after what had happened with Tio, still seeing hurt in his eyes every time he came downstairs with marks on his neck or scratches on his back.
But it would be fine, their arrangement couldn't change anything, because there was no way he'd ever fall in love with Sly, sure he was fascinating, a person nothing like another he'd ever met, but he was hard and rough and biting, and Mizuki knew he could never fall for somebody like that. So for now, he was safe.
The second time he came back he tried to say no, that it had been a one-time thing and that now he'd got his fuck he should be happy, tried to be strong and morally sound and responsible. But then they'd gotten drunk, really drunk, and he should have known from the start how it would end, because Sly kept touching him, a hand on his arm, leaning over him for a little too long when he poured a new drink and it was like the way normal people flirted, subtle and enticing. Then the bottle was gone and Sly's hand was on his knee and sliding up to his thigh and his nerves had turned electric in the heat of the room and the next thing he knew he was in his lap again and ah shit. Then his lips were on a neck and clothes were coming off and Sly was panting against his ear, scrambling for the lube and preparing himself too fast before he sank down onto Mizuki and groaned into his ear and he'd lost the battle before it even begun.
His head felt hazy but Sly was firm and hot and so goddamned alive under his fingers that once again he found himself not caring who he was, or that he had a shitty personality, or that he was just using him for this, he just didn't care. Nobody had ever fucked him like this, not male or female, one night stands or actual partners, nobody had ever been this free and uncaring about wanting this, so desperate to get what they needed that they didn't even fully undress, his own jeans still pooled round his ankles.
He was so good at this, at everything, back rippling fluidly as he fucked himself off Mizuki's dick like it was all he'd ever known, taking complete control this time and sweat beginning to gleam on his forehead as his skinny arms lifted him up again and again. He was so deep inside him and he was fucking onto him so fast that the bartender could barely catch his breath, grabbing handfuls of fleshy ass to help lift him up because now they'd started he'd lost all his morals and he just wanted this. The pleasure swarmed through his blood, building like fire til his breathing was just choked off moans and curses and 'fuck, Sly.' Something in him loved seeing him like this, so uncontrolled and dirty and desperate for him, felt so dominant and controlling and powerful somehow, it was a sensation like he owned him, owned every inch of him.
Sly was just so slutty like this, and he wondered if maybe that was what made men take him to alleys and do whatever it was they did, did they love the enthusiasm, faked or otherwise, as he knelt and took them into his mouth. Did they love the way he seemed to want it that their girlfriends just didn't, or did they just like that it was anonymous and they could do anything to him without repercussions, could do things with him their girlfriends would never allow?
He didn't know, all he knew now was the weight of him on his lap, the slide of his tight ass on and off his dick and the curve of his back, skin so soft and firm but squeezing between the harsh grip of his fingers as they grabbed at his slim hips. His breathing was getting erratic and he didn't know if it was the alcohol or just how long it had been since he'd gotten any action like this, but he felt like he was going to cum already. Sly had moved forwards, arms wrapped hard around his neck instead of just on his shoulders like before, bartenders arms tight around him and legs beginning to shake as he tried to keep up his pace which was growing erratic.
This time when he came it was less of a scream and more like a whimper and shit that sound was ingrained into Mizuki's brain, feel of warm fluid splattering his chest and Sly's continued, messy movements making his stomach twist. Fucking into him and watching his hair bounce as he whimpered because it must be beginning to hurt him where he was so sensitive, whining and moaning his name, low and slutty into his ear and, "Sly, fuck," and he came suddenly, hard inside him, holding his hips down so he could fill him to the brim.
Panting hard and swallowing against the dryness of his throat, releasing his vice grip on his sides and noticing the red marks his fingers had left, thinking how hot it was to be able to do something like that without complaints. Sly was just so much more of a whore than he was used to and he'd never seen the appeal before but now he understood, having somebody be so incredibly involved, so dirty and needy and seductive was enough to make any man do stupid things.
But already he was coming back down and he could feel Sly's chest heaving on his own and the cum drying unpleasantly on his chest and the way he was soaked with sweat, hair plastered to his forehead and feeling like such a fucking mess but so satisfied at the same time. It was like this was what he'd been missing, the one escape he'd been searching for to be able to deal with everything, more effective than working out and a damn lot more rewarding, to be close to somebody without any expectations or feelings was everything he'd wanted and Sly was so perfect for it.
"Jesus Sly, you're so fucking…." He didn't even know what word he was looking for, crazy? Uncontrolled? Hot? But he managed a half laugh of disbelief, giving the boy still astride him an approving glance, fingers tracing over the scratches he'd made on his back, coming away a little bloody but knowing the other wouldn't give a single fuck.
"And to think you tried to say no," he was panting, giving himself a moment to catch his breath, still buried in Mizuki's shoulder before moving away, smirk resplendent and lips parted as he panted, looking so pleased and so wrecked that Mizuki knew this was the start of something terrible.
"I won't next time."
"You sure about that?" He asked, raising an eyebrow as he raised himself off Mizuki, biting his lip and letting out the tiniest, breathiest whimper as he slipped free and cooling cum trickled down his thighs, Mizuki's eyes trailing it silently. "Though I do enjoy convincing you."
"Is that so?" He questioned, watching the smooth curve of his damaged back as he wiped himself clean roughly and began yanking his clothes on over sweat soaked skin, knowing that offering the use of his shower would only end badly and he didn't much want to break this moment where things were almost calm between them.
"Mm, it's just so easy," his smirk wasn't nasty like it was sometimes, it was a little warmer, amused if anything, watching as he pushed his fringe back off his forehead, reaching for a tissue and staring at his muscles contracting as he wiped his stomach clean. Finding his headphones last and putting them around his neck, fingering the new bruises there a little thoughtfully, lighting a cigarette and throwing the remains of the pack, Mizuki's own, over to him.
It was a bit of a cliché, sharing a post-coital cigarette, but Mizuki didn't mind, it was just what he needed now, inhaling smoke and watching it billow into the air to conceal Sly's face but not those strong yellow eyes he knew would always burn through him. But there was no time to think how strange this all was, how relaxed and human Sly seemed to see in the moments after a fuck, before he drew away and turned a shade colder and was lost to him again. He was already at the door and Mizuki stood to let him out, yanking up his boxers and wriggling his feet out of his jeans, feeling a little foolish in only his pants and socks but not much caring.
"Same time next week?" Sly asked, but it wasn't a question Mizuki could say no to, in fact both men knew that it was far more likely that they'd be seeing each other again before that, leaning against the doorframe with that enticing smile and those pretty, swollen pink lips.
"I'll look forward to it," and god would he, because ever since the first time he'd been unable to focus on anything, mind constantly thinking of pale skin and blue hair and harsh yellow eyes that stabbed into his chest and made his skin feel hot. Even now, with Sly there looking so damned appealing and so confident in the knowledge that the bartender wanted him, made him want to grab him by the neck and kiss him, hard, to drag him inside and fuck him again, to be the one in control again. But he held it in and just unlocked the door, focused on the tiny flicker of pink at Sly licked at his lips and the seductive smirk he aimed at him as he parted his mouth to speak again.
"Oh, Dry Juice, you're going to be fun," with that he was gone, sultry tone lingering in his mind long after he locked the door and stepped into the shower, hands travelling south without him noticing and realising how fucked he was as his cum swirled down the drain.
Sly had his fair share of disasters, but then of course he did, if there was one person Mizuki would associate with the word trouble, it was Sly, he just seemed to attract it, whether because of his cocky, often smug attitude or otherwise, he wasn't sure, he just knew he got into dangerous situations far more than the average human. So if his face went from actually quite pretty to horribly destroyed and bruised beyond recognition in one week, Mizuki barely batted an eyelid, offering help bandaging wounds if it was accepted and telling him to be more careful, watching as he rolled his eyes like a moody teenager.
Sometimes he'd see him in the streets and be deeply alarmed by how he lived his life, just see a whip of blue flashing past and somehow know it was him as the streets crowds parted to let both him, and the group of three people chasing him. Hear the yelling and curses and cries for his blood and wonder what the fuck he'd done, caught him just after a beating once, been passing through a usually empty alley during a rather risky shortcut home and almost had a heart attack as he came staggering out of a side street. There was blood running down his face and he was limping, using the wall to drag himself forwards, moment of shock at seeing a familiar face too much as his wobbling legs gave up and he crashed to the ground with a groan.
It was just horrific to see him like this, beaten to such a horrific level, both eyes swelling and turning black and a deep cut on his forehead staining his blue locks a sticky brown with plasma.
He initially wanted to help, of course he did, but he could hear footsteps approaching and there was the look of a cornered wild animal in Sly's eyes as he tried to drag himself upright, gritting his teeth hard against the pain and managing to prop himself up against the wall. Everything in him screamed that he wanted to run, body tense and yellow eyes flickering around, looking for an escape that Mizuki couldn't give him while his attackers were still after him.
Then everything happened at once, Sly somehow gained the strength to swing himself up onto a rickety old iron fire escape ladder, scrambling to lie, seemingly semi-conscious, on the rusty iron grille just as his pursuers skidded into the alley. There were three of them, which pissed Mizuki off without them even being a damn sight bigger and more muscled than him, not that it was particularly difficult given Sly's malnourished, underweight frame. But then his eyes narrowed and his face hardened because it was fucking Bug Bomb again and he was so sick of their bullshit by now that he was sure even had he hated Sly, he still wouldn't have told them where he was.
They stopped the second they saw him, and of course they did, he still had his reputation after all, and stood there in his leather studs and with his arms crossed over his chest he'd be enough to make members of almost any other team on the island stop, even if just for a second.
"Ah, shit, it's Mizuki!" He was whispering but not very well, voice carrying down the thin, metal pipe laden alleyway, each word crystal clear as panic set in and they began to look nervous, their idiotic conversation giving Mizuki enough time to realise that he recognised one of them. He'd tried to attack Sly before, a long while ago just after they met, he'd come across them on his rounds and scared them away after some amount of stupid arguments among them, apparently he'd tried to steal from a relatives shop, and Mizuki would bet almost anything that he'd been dumb enough to do the same thing again.
"Bug Bomb, right? What business do you have here?" He knew the answers to both questions, because he could see their grotesque, tasteless tattoo's, inked luridly on their biceps for all to see, as if they might even be proud of them somehow. As for their business here? They'd obviously been pursuing Sly again and run into his teams territory as if they had any right at all to be there, and would no doubt pretend to him that they were somehow doing him a favour by being there, cleaning up for him, as they'd worded it last time.
There was some sudden commotion amongst their ranks, seemingly squabbling over who got the honour, or task, of speaking to the head of Dry Juice himself, the one he recognised being pushed to the front, his Mohawk still as stupid as ever where it rose in one, neon pink spike. He looked almost nervous and Mizuki had to hide his amusement, trying not to let his eyes flicker upwards to Sly as much as he wanted to check on him and ensure he was okay.
"We were looking for Sly Blue, he's been stealing again."
"Well it is in his nature," he remarked, and if he was listening more closely he would have heard the derisive snort from just above him, Sly just clinging to consciousness and listening as well as he could with his blood thrumming in his ears and his fingers growing numb. "What did he take?"
They glanced amongst themselves, seemingly confused by his interest in this rather than him initially being on their size as he presumably should be, following the status quo on the Island and being as against Sly as everyone else was. But after a second and an unamused, expectantly raised eyebrow, Mohawk spoke, "cigarettes."
"Hm," he just nodded, not surprised but cursing Sly because he knew if he needed cigarettes Mizuki would be more than willing to give him them, in fact he was sure he'd stolen a packet from his apartment just the day before, presumably having smoked them all already. He stepped forwards and they held their ground, but only just, squishing closer together and the other two minions hiding behind Mohawk as if he could somehow protect them. His eyes narrowed as he got nearer, noticing blood on the knuckles of one of the background cronies and frowning, "you said you were looking for him?"
"Yeah, we just wanna get the stuff back, maybe rough him up a bit," he spoke coarsely and Mizuki didn't much like it, he was pretending to act tough to impress him, but it would take a hell of a lot for a Bug Bomb member to impress him.
"You've got blood on your hand, looks to me like you already found him," his voice was cold, because punishing somebody for a crime was one thing, but to beat them to that extent, then let them escape only to track them down again with the intention of attacking them further, was cowardly. Just noticing now the slight redness and swelling around Mohawks cheek, wondering with a strange sense of pride if Sly had managed to get at least one good hit in before they overwhelmed him in both numbers and strength.
"Nah, that's um… Hey Nobu, what was that again?" They were morons, all of them, and Mizuki wondered absently why he was even bothering with them, he should just send them on their way and get Sly to somewhere safer than where he was right now.
"Not his blood, somebody else's."
"Somebody else's?" Not only was it a terribly obvious lie, but it didn't exactly make them seem like the best kind of people, because now they were implying there were two people they had beaten up, or were at least planning to, and he knew his expression was disbelieving because he didn't like being bullshitted, especially not by scum like Bug Bomb. "Okay whatever. You're on my turf though, and I don't like people on my turf when they don't have a right to be there. Or do you want to challenge us?"
They paled immediately and he knew that with one more comment they'd flee in the direction they'd come and maybe not trouble them for a week or two, until they regained whatever bizarre confidence they had that made them think they could do whatever they wanted with no repercussions.
"Aha, no Mizuki, we were just trying to set things right, you know," he was appealing to his good side now, and although he had one, and a significant one too, it wasn't having any effect on him simply because it was pure horse shit and he was getting bored of listening to people grovel to him. "He's a thug, we can't just let him get away with it."
"Hm, true." He paused, pretending to be considering this, then he pointed a thumb in the opposite direction to his bar, sudden movement making them flinch and him struggle to hide a grin, because these guys were idiots through and through and he had to admit they were a little entertaining. "Saw him going that way, looked in bad shape. If you're quick you might get to finish him off."
He was joking, of course he was, because asshole or not Sly didn't deserve to be beaten to death, hell, nobody did, and especially not at the hands of Bug Bomb of all people. But they managed to look excited and bloodthirsty all at once and he had to quietly remind himself that good teams with good people did exist, Dry Juice being the prime example of that, with Beni Shigure just behind.
As he anticipated they didn't stick around much longer at that, one of them having the audacity to clap him on the shoulder as he ran off, thanking him as if they were friends, leaving him feeling a little queasy as he brushed off the patch where he'd touched him. Watching until they disappeared and their echoing footsteps were all but gone to finally look up at the walkway where Sly's unmoving body lay, feeling a little queasy as he noticed there was blood dripping down through the grille to form a small puddle on the uneven concrete below.
He took another cursory look around, then when he was sure the coast was clear he jumped up onto the ladder, feeling it creak and squeak unhappily under his weight, climbing onto the fire escape easily and being very glad that all these buildings were abandoned. He shook his shoulder first, blue head just lolling floppily before returning to its original position, seemingly out cold, frowning as he saw him closer up and wondered what on earth he'd been doing to get this way.
His skin was pale and sallow and he almost looked sickly, lips horribly dry and cracked more than three times, with thick layers of white skin trying to peel off and small scabs at each corner of the pink skin. His hair was matted with blood and completely filthy, dirt and blood and grease thick in the lank, dull blue shade that looked dead as opposed to its usual electric shade. The bruises forming on both his eye and high up on his cheekbone did nothing to hide the huge black bags under both his eyes and the sunken nature of the yellow orbs, hidden by pale lids, his whole frame seeming somehow skinnier even though Mizuki had seen it naked not even two weeks ago.
He just sighed through his nose, shaking his head as he leaned in closer to check for a pulse, noting the red finger marks that circled his throat and hating Bug Bomb just a little more as his fingers brushed over them and he felt the steady thud of his blood circulating. Just unconscious then, as he'd through, biting his lip absently as he wondered what to do, because leaving him here was out of the question, but so was carrying him home, because a single glimpse of that blue hair and somebody would start asking questions he couldn't answer.
"Fucking hell, Sly, you don't half get yourself into some shit…" It wasn't meant to be heard, but as he turned to survey the alley again, a wet chuckle met his ears and he spun his head round so hard his neck clicked, taking in half lidded yellow eyes, raised head swaying slightly and noticing how dizzy he looked.
"Here's my Prince Charming," he managed to mutter, then his expression grew troubled and he passed out again, head hitting the grate heavily and making Mizuki wince, because he really did not understand the meaning of self-preservation at all.
