Things continued more regularly after that, Sly showed up at his apartment two or sometimes even three nights a week, occasionally in good condition, but more often not, with black eyes and split lips Mizuki felt almost reluctant to kiss, though of course he always caved under that yellow stare and the almost hypnotizing voice that had implanted itself within his mind. Sometimes he'd find himself in the shower, crafting dirty, filthy sentences he'd never actually said in his voice, all too perfect and too much for him to be able to hold the desire to touch himself back, feeling increasingly like a horny teenager as he jerked off most days or actually got the real thing.
Sly seemed to have developed a liking for fucking in the bar, maybe because that was where the alcohol was, or maybe just because he liked the idea that he was invading Dry Juice's territory, desecrating their sacred ground even as he marked up Mizuki and he did the same. He almost thought somebody would add together his 'just fucked' appearance and Sly's similar state, would match up the hickeys on their necks that always arrived at the same time, but of course he was just being paranoid. Because after all, nobody would ever even dream that Mizuki, their esteemed and well respected leader would be going anywhere near Sly Blue, let alone having sex with him more regularly than some of them probably did with their actual partners.
But still, the thought of blue hair and yellow eyes seemed to almost be haunting him, like Sly was working his way under his skin like he'd invaded his life, not experiencing a single day where he didn't think about him, even if only in passing. But of course Sly hardly had a low profile and his various misdemeanours on the island were a constant talking point amongst both his team and the island other residents, even Beni-Shigure reporting having had trouble with him.
Sometimes he wondered how this had all begun even though he knew the answer already, it was as Tio had said too many times, when he'd go out of his way to check on team members, or would give money to the homeless kids he'd see on the street, his heart was too big. But then he tried to tell himself that this was no matter of the heart, but every day that seemed to be disproved more, because yes he lusted after Sly like he never had anyone else before, so much it almost scared him, but he had to admit that he cared for him too.
It was… A little confusing, disconcerting even, to find himself worried about Sly when he admitted to himself that he knew almost nothing about him, noticing the way his ears zeroed in instantly the moment his name was mentioned, as if they were discussing some best friend of his instead of a virtual stranger who hid himself behind snide remarks and harsh words. But then he guessed it was only natural, Sly did such stupid stuff that it was hard to not worry about him, hearing with badly hidden alarm about an attack, sounding almost like a stabbing, around the maze of abandoned buildings and warehouses he knew Sly lived in, well hidden somewhere and unfindable by anybody. He even went to see it, talking absently to Tio, who seemed to be sticking by his side even more than normal these days, about expanding their territory up here and knowing he didn't believe a single word of it. Pausing at the site of the attack, made obvious by the red splatters up the wall and droplets forming a trail that was soon washed away by the rain that fell heavy that week, forcing people indoors and clearing away any evidence that it had happened.
Even worse was that it was all hearsay and rumours, sure they said Sly was involved, but nobody knew any details, whether it was him who'd been injured or whether it was somebody else, whether it was a scuffle with another team or a falling out with a dealer or customer or anything. He couldn't ask Sly about it either, because the chances of getting a truthful answer from him were less than none and he knew that showing concern of any kind would only make Sly all the more determined to get him to shut the fuck up, usually by mounting him in some way or another and sealing his lips shut with his own.
It was odd now, when he showed up, because now they talked even less, often exchanging fewer than ten words before clothes were coming off and one of them, usually Sly, was being shoved against a wall and releasing a pleased, if not pained, laugh as Mizuki dug teeth into his never healed neck. Things weren't the same as before, when Sly had been trying to get into his pants by any means possible, through clever flirting and getting him drunk or slipping him drugs that even now he couldn't name. He accepted nothing, taking what was offered while he was there and stealing cigarettes but never actually taking thing with him, no food or alcohol or anything, if it was offered to him as a gift, he'd refuse, but if Mizuki left it lying out intentionally it would be gone by the time they were done. He still broke in, and he had the feeling he'd never stop that, always there waiting for him when he finished work, lounging on his sofa looking bored and having the audacity to complain about the bartender taking too long. No time to rest before they were at each other's throats, quite literally, Sly shoving hands into his jeans or sliding down his body as if it was second nature, unbuckling his belt faster than Mizuki could himself and getting to work as if it was all he knew.
Their banter was nearly dead most days, and Mizuki was certain he shouldn't miss it as much as he did, just frowning to himself whenever he made a remark and it wasn't immediately met with another, harsher response. It was as if all his personality, all his clever wit and quick humour had been beaten out of him, and for all he knew maybe it had. He'd never explain his injuries even when Mizuki asked, turning up once with his ribcage so bruised it had taken him a good half an hour to convince him he was up to it, bartender having to ignore his pained noises when he touched them and just hoping he could replace the pain he was obviously in with pleasure.
The thought of Sly was so inexplicably, irrevocably, linked to sex now. Every mention of his name and there were pants in his ear and hot skin under his fingers and lips on his and he had to hide the sudden heat in his cheeks and the fact that he felt lightheaded. Tio hadn't quite figured things out, but Mizuki knew it was only a matter of time, one night he'd surely show up at the apartment to find Sly there again and them in a compromising position, then his heart would well and truly shatter and Mizuki's life would end.
He thought about it sometimes, in depressing, still moments when he wished he'd just done what normal people did and found an actual boyfriend instead of getting involved with the scummiest person most people could think of, what would happen if they were caught. He wasn't even sure if Tio would tell, he knew anybody else would instantly, but Tio… He was different, not only was he loyal to Mizuki in a completely different way to the others, but he was slower to judge and more willing to give people a chance, deserving or not. But then he was still painfully, obviously in love with him and that could change things irreversibly, the knowledge he'd been replaced had already made him a little petty and cruel, remarks that would have been joking now seeming pointed and hard, cutting Mizuki deeper than he'd expected.
For the millionth time since he'd begun this, he wondered if maybe he could trick himself into falling in love with Tio, thinking that maybe if they just spent more time together, got even closer, that maybe he could learn to love him. But what hurt the most was knowing that the way things worked was not so simple, and that even trying that would only hurt his friend more when he inevitable realised he'd never feel anything but friendly love for him.
He tried to work it out, why he hadn't fallen for him, and he just couldn't, because Tio had all the features he'd look for in a boyfriend, but he just wasn't right, they weren't right together and that had become painfully obvious four years ago when he'd had to gently tell him he didn't feel the same. Had to watch him try not to cry and barely manage, angrily wiping away a single tear and telling him he understood when he didn't, when neither of them did, had to end their arrangement and have some time alone, to be cold and sad for weeks on end and not be able to seek the others comfort as he always would before.
He thought back in time, way back in time, over a year ago now, nearing a year and a half as summer began and his team grew busier than anyway, his skin darkening and his hair growing lighter under the warm rays of the sun. Thought back to when Tio first visited him in the hospital, finding out only after he sent him away in selfish anger that he'd been there every day since he'd been admitted with a five inch deep stab wound and been rushed into emergency surgery. He thought to himself how conceited and selfish he'd been, because he obviously meant the world to Tio and he cursed himself for not being able to even pretend to feel the same, because he knew Tio would adore him for as long as he lived and that was kind of all he'd ever wanted. But it wasn't right, and they weren't, and he didn't know what had gone through Tio's head in the second the knife flashed then suddenly disappeared and he fell to the hard ground, had never thought to ask, because he was terrible and selfish and thought only of himself.
He hadn't expected it at all when Mizuki approached him the next day, looking a little nervous as he asked, saying he realised he'd never bothered asking for details at the time and that he was ready to know now. Hadn't wanted to remember the sheer horror that had filled him, the blood that had seemed to stain his hands for weeks long after it had been scrubbed off with so much force it left his hands red raw and aching. Nostrils flaring and all oxygen leaving his body for a horrifying second as he remembered the red raw fear that Mizuki could die, that he might suddenly not be there anymore. Recalled how the second he'd gone down everything had seemed to stop around him, the guy who'd been fighting him freezing in front of him, all eyes going to the strong body that hadn't been strong enough, flesh not enough to stop a knife. It felt like his entire life had ended at that moment, chest being crushed and not even sure if he'd screamed or not, certain he had, didn't remember the other team leaving but knowing that suddenly they were alone.
Most of the team had been there of course, about seven of them including Mizuki and himself, but it was as if it was just then, ignoring his own bleeding lip and the throbbing of his head where they'd got a lucky punch in. Not able to say how he'd gotten to his body, a good ten feet away so fast, or how his hands ended up covered in blood or what he'd been saying or doing or anything, just remembered warm, too much warm, coating his clothes as he screamed things he couldn't even hear over the blood pounding in his ears. Trying to get him to wake up even as the others realised it was too late for Yasu and focused on their leader instead, steady, stoic, the strongest of them all but felled with one blow. Not even sure what happened, whether they had called an ambulance, a basically useless measure on Midorijima with its tiny alleyways and awful emergency services, or whether he'd been pulled away and somebody had carried him.
But he remembered when it all rushed back into reality and all he could see was red and it stank of iron and Mizuki was gone somewhere, team in shambles and those few remaining just stood, staring at the bloodstain, not knowing what to do with their leader gone. Somebody had spoken to him, he knew that, taken his arm and led him away, grabbed his face and almost yelled at him, trying to get him to calm down when he couldn't because Mizuki could be dead and if that happened he didn't know how he'd live. It was like he'd given his entire life to being at Mizuki's side, to being his right hand man and following him wherever he might go, and he suddenly realised what a foolish thing that was to do even as he knew he'd never be able to stop.
He remembered a few words, hospital, not too deep, okay, okay, okay.
He wasn't sure when he'd thrown up, almost sure he'd blacked out with shock for a moment, coming to with his arms against a grimy alley wall and vomit splattered on his jeans and across the uneven ground, sure he'd never felt like this before. Shaky and almost painfully drunk, like he couldn't control his limbs, letting somebody else lead him away, too distraught and too in shock to even register that he should have gone with Mizuki, should never have left him.
He wasn't sure how he got home, but he ended up sat on his couch, bundled up in a blanket with a mug of something in his hands and concerned voices murmuring behind him, saying something about shock and he was almost sure he heard the word love in there somewhere.
For a while it seemed he forgot, as if nothing had happened, snapping into some strange kind of catatonia where he managed a shaky smile and to accept the reassurances of the others, saying he'd be okay alone, he'd just been in shock, and he'd never been good with blood. Stumbling into his shower the minute they were gone, clothes and all, ditching them so harshly, suddenly needing them away from him, tearing his shirt and throwing filthy jeans across the room, burning water sending red swirling down the drain and making him so lightheaded he blacked out for a while. Coming to with wrinkled fingers to see it was dark outside and without prompt, bursting into tears, washed away with the water and fear infiltrating every inch of him so he just stayed sitting in his shower for hours, eventually managing to stumble out and into bed barely dry, passing out from exhaustion.
But all he said was, "I thought you were dead."
He barely registered his tone, or the way his nostrils hitched by themselves, or the fact he had the sudden, irrational urge to reach out and touch him, to make sure this whole thing hadn't been some hallucination brought on by grief, but he managed not to. He didn't think he'd ever told somebody that, keeping his fear hidden by repeating their lies that he'd be okay, because he had to be, Tio couldn't foresee any situation where he wasn't.
But the bartender's eyes had lowered and he looked almost ashamed, because he'd been so overcome with sudden grief at the loss of Yasu that he hadn't even considered how it must have felt for Tio to see that. To watch first hand as he was injured so badly, to be covered in his blood and to have to check for a pulse with shaking hands, not sure if he was relieved to find one or not because fuck it was so weak.
His swallow was thick and he averted his eyes because somehow even talking about this months later was still too much and he almost feared he might cry because somehow the fear was still there, "can we not talk about this?"
"Sure, sorry… Tio." He almost didn't know what he was sorry for, but Tio liked to think that it was for the way he'd acted when he'd awoken, because he couldn't help being stabbed after all, so apologising for that was foolish. He hoped Mizuki had realised how cruel it had been to send Tio away when he knew his feelings, when all he wanted to do in the second his eyes opened was hold his hand or bury his face into his chest and cry and feel relief wash over him, to be greeted with a smile as if nothing had happened. He knew that feeling, that sudden strong rush of emotion, of love or infatuation or whatever it was, was something he'd never forget, because in the second before Mizuki's voice turned hard, before he shook him off, it had been so perfect, like everything would be right again.
"It's not like you could help it," but he wasn't meeting his eyes, looking off to the side and biting his bottom lip hard, because that wasn't true, he wasn't talking about him being stabbed and they both knew it.
"Yeah," he sighed and it was sad and Tio felt horrible for making him feel like this, because this memory shouldn't be a sad one, because Mizuki had been okay and their mourning for Yasu was done quietly now, privately in occasional moments that faded away fast enough. "Nobu said you probably saved my life."
"What?"
"They pulled the knife out before they left, he said you… Pressed down on the wound, stopped me bleeding out." Tio's expression was both confused and somehow afraid at the same time, not remembering doing that but supposing it made sense that even in his panicked state he still would have tried to help. "I just… It feels like something you should know."
He didn't know what to say, eyes flickering all over his face and feeling heat rise in his chest and his throat grow thick, "yeah, well. I didn't have much choice." Because he would save Mizuki a million times over, would go through all that again a thousand times and more just to be able to see his smile now, olive eyes unreadable but something like regret in his eyes that he couldn't understand. He would never stop saving Mizuki anymore than he would stop loving him, and in this moment he felt that more deeply than ever, knowing he'd tear his heart out just to be near him, just to be able to see that smile, and somehow he felt lonelier than ever.
"Do you ever actually do anything?" His tone was infinitely unimpressed upon picking the lock of the door to find that not only was Mizuki already there, but he was doing nothing more than lounging on his sofa in just his pants. Pizza boxes surrounded him and there was a slice in his hand with several bites missing, couple empty bottles of beer resting on the coffee table and a fresh one lying next to a bottle opener. So of course Sly immediately stole both it and a slice of pizza, watching as the bartender just rolled his eyes absently, widening in alarm as his eyes flickered to the TV screen to see what he was so enjoying.
Pausing to blink because surely he must be seeing things, because Mizuki seemed to be watching some kind of home renovation show, there was some besuited man stood in a half built entrance hall with high ceilings, wittering on about how much natural light the windows would let in and how eco-friendly this entire thing was.
Mizuki could tell when he was being judged, and Sly was never exactly subtle about it either, so the minute that stare locked on him again he bristled with annoyance because he knew his TV viewing was unusual, but damn it he liked architecture and shows like this were a good way to pass the time. Plus if he fell asleep during one of these episodes he most likely wouldn't miss anything important and would wake up just in time to see the finished product and judge it for himself, usually deeming it nice but way too big.
"I do stuff sometimes," he objected, finishing the last slice of his pizza and pretending he couldn't see Sly's not even remotely hidden attempt to steal his cigarettes, lighting one and standing there with beer and fag in one hand, and rapidly disappearing pizza in the other. He wondered absently whether he would have any of those things if he'd offered, and he was certain the answer was no, even if he told him to help himself to pizza now he'd bet a lot of money on the fact that the slice he rapidly polished off would be his last.
"When was the last time you did something then?"
"I was at work yes-"
"Work doesn't count," because it seemed the bartender had no idea you were meant to do things other than work and crash out at night, since seemingly that was all he ever did, Sly registering somewhere in the back of his mind that he'd turned 22 recently and wondering if he'd even gotten drunk to celebrate.
"Ugh," he groaned absently, because his work was a large part of his life and it was more than just a job, but he knew explaining that to Sly would be more than useless, trying to think of something else and almost waiting for it to be shot down almost immediately. "I went on rounds with the guys."
"Dry Juice stuff doesn't count either," he paused to wait for Mizuki to respond, eating pizza absently and seemingly actually having to think about it
"Does doing you count?" He asked, eyebrow raised almost seductively as he grabbed the beer out of Sly's hand and took a drink, handing it back a second later, noticing the others unimpressed look as if he hadn't stolen it in the first place.
"Hm," he actually laughed at that, well, more like a breathy exhale but some amused noise seeped in, because that was pretty funny and he had to admit that it was certainly a strenuous and frequent activity. "I suppose so."
"I work out and stuff too, that enough for you?"
"Well we both know I do appreciate that," he almost sneered, though his eyes scanned Mizuki's chest as he rolled his eyes and stood, heading into the kitchen to get another beer, or two, as Sly downed his the moment he realised his goal. "I seem to be out of beer."
He just sighed exasperatedly as he handed over the new bottle, leaning over the coffee table to grab the opener and unaware of how incredibly alluring his back had become, strong shoulders straining and muscles flexing and tensing, Sly couldn't wait to wreck it with nail marks.
"Well happy birthday to me," he murmured as Mizuki stretched out to hand him his beer, though of course his whispers were always stage ones, because he wanted Mizuki to know exactly how much he appreciated his newly muscled torso, and of course the rest of him, including organs that lay a little further south. "Though I don't remember ordering a stripper?"
He ignored that last comment, because if he couldn't be topless in his own home then he'd never get to be, Sly was just lucky, or unlucky knowing his mind frame, that he even had pants on seeing as he usually crashed out in just his boxers.
"Happy birthday indeed, so how old are you then?" It was sarcastic, because something in Sly's tone had been so teasing that he just knew it wasn't actually his birthday, he was just making his usual perverted comments, yellow eyes scanning down to his low-riding sweatpants keenly, unconsciously licking his lips, though knowing Sly there was nothing unconscious about it.
"Eighteen," he grinned, but of course there was something hidden behind his words and Mizuki picked up on it instantly, just grinning in response to his slight suggestive raise of eyebrows and dirty smirk, the first he'd shown since arriving, like a feather down his spine.
"Oh? Finally legal huh?" He chuckled, then paused, because Sly had answered his question too plainly for it to be an annoying response to an almost hypothetical question. "Wait, is it actually your birthday?"
"Could be. It's sometime around here." He shrugged uncaringly, but then of course he did, seeing Mizuki's frown and rolling his eyes even as he elaborated, and that was unusual in itself. "It's like the 22nd or 23rd, I don't really care."
"You don't know when your birthday is?"
"I know roughly, let me guess, you have some problem with that?"
"A little bit!" Because he knew Sly didn't care about much other than drugs and fucking him, but your birthday was one of those pieces of information that you just inherently knew, and to discover that maybe he didn't was a little shocking. "Are you even sure you're turning eighteen?"
"No," he shook his head, ignoring Mizuki's bug eyed look, because he tended to lose count of the days that passed him by so he could be older or even younger, albeit probably only by about a year either way, he had no relatives to ask and he could hardly march into the hospital and demand his birth certificate, if he even had one. "Does it matter?"
"I guess not," aside from the fact that it meant he might once have been fucking a fifteen year old, which was too much for him to handle now, he supposed it didn't much matter, Sly may as well just choose a day to call his birthday. "Looks like we've got celebrating to do."
Sly's lips were thin but his smirk was wide, that horribly enchanting thing that made Mizuki's skin feel warm as it was focused on him, head tilted to the side and yellow eyes appraising as they observed him. He supposed he made an impressive sight these days and he'd noticed Tio staring more than once when he changed after a run or was woken by his knock at the door and didn't pull on a shirt before answering, he had a feeling he could get used to the attention. He felt a little exposed, stood there being watched so intently, but then the gaze was gone and his intruder was reaching into his pocket for something, removing a small packet of white powder and grinning.
"You read my mind, good thing I came prepared, hm?"
The bartender just watched as he stepped past him to sit on the couch, not even bothering to molest him on the way over as he usually did, seemingly too focused on his drug haul to be bothered by him now. But then this was how they always did things, they got drunk first and Sly took god knows what illegal substances, then, and only then, would Sly get the fuck he came for and that Mizuki was more than willing to give.
"Want a line?" He offered, already using his coffee table as a drug preparation table, getting a razor blade from fuck knew where and pouring about half of the bag onto the table, neatly cutting it into rows with the shining steel.
"What is it, coke?" He asked, although he wasn't sure what else it could be, because after all how many drugs came as that distinctive white powder, not entirely sure he even appreciated Sly's offer, let alone the fact he was seemingly going to snort it straight off his coffee table. Sly just nodded, crafting out the lines with too much skill for Mizuki to feel anything but uncomfortable, because he might be eighteen now, but these were hard drugs and nobody should be doing them in his opinion. "How much that cost you?"
The yellow gaze was on him for a second, eyes narrowed and almost suspicious, maybe realising he was genuinely curious and shrugging, telling the truth for one, "I did somebody a favour, this was payment. But this quality would be about… ¥8100 for a gram, there's probably two here, so about ¥16,200?"
His eyes widened but only a little, because he knew cocaine was one of the pricier drugs, but that was a fucking lot of money for what seemed like such a tiny amount, "what did you do to earn such a generous gift?"
He wasn't mistaken this time when he froze for a second, more like watching a glitch in a video than a conscious, obvious movement, almost looking like his eyes had just faltered for a second, yellow far more intense than ever as they regarded him, thin eyebrow raised. "Do you really want to know?"
He paused for only a second, because he wasn't even sure why he asked, he knew what Sly did, everybody did, it was presumably something sex related, though maybe he'd been dealing for someone, he seemed like the type and he'd certainly have the contacts. He wondered now for the first time, if maybe he should have been using condoms from the start, but it was a bit late now and to his knowledge Sly was better known for sucking dick than anything else, so he should be clean enough. "Not really."
"Hm," his noise made it obvious that he'd known the answer long before Mizuki spoke, just turning back to the lines on the table and gazing at them almost fondly, his expression making the bartender feel a little queasy because there wasn't a single shred of nervousness there. "So you doing some or not?"
"It's… Not really my thing," now that was an understatement, he could still remember with vivid clarity, the last time he had agreed to do drugs with Sly, waking up with no idea what had happened to discover he'd let the other, then sixteen year old, suck him off. It wasn't really in his plans to let himself get that out of control again, though he supposed they'd already had sex now so it wouldn't matter too much, there wasn't much they could do now that would freak him out. The only thing he ever really used was weed, and even that was infrequent and a damn sight more chilled out than this, a businessman's drug lying prettily on his coffee table and making him feel wary the way sharing a couple of joints with his guys never had.
"At least do a scoop," he frowned, because he didn't offer his drugs out, especially not something this high quality and expensive, it had cost him a fair bit, indirectly anyway, to get it and the least the bartender could do was have a little bit.
"A what?"
He just stared at him for a second, then he laughed, seemingly very amused as he observed the tattooists confused expression, because he looked so unnerved, like a teenager trying weed for the first time and terrified their parents would somehow find out. "You really don't know anything, do you?"
"I apologise if my knowledge of illegal narcotics isn't enough for you," he complained, and he was feeling distinctly unnerved by this whole situation, the fact it wasn't illegal didn't really bother him, he'd seen plenty of handovers and knew full well that people probably used coke and similar things in his club. Nor was Sly's age really an issue, because at least it wasn't heroin or meth or something ridiculous, no, it was more the fear of the unknown, like that horrible nervous feeling the first time you ate a pot brownie and were silently afraid you'd have a bad trip or freak out. Just being in the same room as the powder was making him nervous and he almost wished he'd told Sly to put it away the minute he got it out, not sure he wanted to see him snort a line as he presumably planned.
"It's to be expected, you are the worst Rib leader ever," he bristled but only a little, because there was half a joke in his voice and that made him feel a little better, because to his knowledge the only Rib teams that used drugs frequently were the terrible ones like Bug Bomb and Speedballs, who were themselves named after a way to take cocaine and heroin together. "What's the worst that could happen?"
"I could die," he was surprised himself to hear the genuine lack of amusement in his voice, tone hard and solid, almost a little mean, as if he was indirectly calling Sly a moron for even suggesting he take something so dangerous that he'd never even seen it in the flesh before.
"Sure," he replied absently enough, not rolling his eyes but tone somehow implying how much he'd love to and how ridiculous the bartender was being, immediately disregarding his point and continuing anyway. "But what could actually happen?" It wasn't a question he was meant to answer, but his mouth opened anyway to spew anything he could think of, heart attacks or comas, addiction, and that one scared him the most, because Sly seemed to not be hooked but for all he knew this could be the start of the end for him. "We could fuck, not an issue. You could say dumb shit. But you do that all the time anyway. Maybe you'll get a nose bleed. That's it."
"Okay, I do not say dumb shit," he frowned, because if Sly was just here to mock him he may as well just fuck off so he could go back to his pizza and crappy TV show, just scowling as he was met with an irritatingly derisive look, eyebrow raised and lips twisted up in disbelief.
"Right. Look just take a bit, it only lasts like an hour so if you're a little bitch I won't have to deal with you for long.
"You know Sly, sometimes you're just so sweet."
"Anything for you dear," he replied absently, head tilted to the side and a feigned if not worryingly realistically warm smile on his face, falling away quickly as he stuck his tongue out in disgust, noise of clear displeasure leaving him. "So it's settled, you're having some. Got a straw?"
How exactly it was settled he couldn't claim to know, because he'd agreed to nothing, but he guessed just a little bit would be okay, and an hour wasn't too bad, Sly might be an asshole but he'd at least stay there if anything did happen. He just sighed heavily and headed towards the kitchen, pausing as Sly yelled after him to bring scissors too, not sure he'd trust the other with a sharp blade but obeying anyway because he had the nasty habit of doing that now.
Handing both items over and watching as Sly cut the straw right in the middle, leaving about two inches of opaque green plastic, seemingly his preferred method of snorting, just glad he hadn't asked for a banknote.
"And you'll need a credit card or a key, up to you." Mizuki had no idea what he'd need either of those for since Sly had already made four neat lines on the table with the razor blade, so from his knowledge of cocaine in films, it was either a credit card or a blade, not both. But then he was the expert so he returned with his apartment key a second later, handing it over only a little reluctantly, and watching as Sly carefully put a pinch of the white powder onto the very tip of the key, lying it neatly on the table beside his lines. "Don't be a fucking pussy for once."
With that last, ever so soft remark, he bent his head down over the table, straw just touching his nostril and finger pressing the other closed, snorting quickly like he had a cold and was worried his nose was running, straightening back up and breathing out his mouth hard, eyes wide and blinking fast, sniffing hard again. He thought it was over, expression probably as mildly horrified as he felt, feeling a sense of almost predictability as he immediately leaned forwards to take another line, this time into the opposite nostril, exhaling a breathy laugh as he met Mizuki's eyes, sniffing hard again to really get it into his system and wiping any traces off his nose.
"Your go," he said it calmly enough but there was something calculating in his eyes, some judgemental, anticipatory gaze that said he expected Mizuki to back out now, to say that no he wasn't doing it and to be a pussy as usual.
He supposed he should be grateful that Sly didn't expect him to do two whole lines like he had, or even one, regarding the fairly small amount on the key, surely the scoop he had referred to, sighing quietly and moving to sit cross legged in front of his coffee table that had suddenly turned into a scene from Scarface. He glanced up at Sly a little nervously, because like anything new he was cautious, and he knew Sly was used to doing shit like this, almost like his teacher now, just regarding him with intense yellow eyes.
"That's high quality shit, smooth as fuck," he seemed pleased with it, eyeing the bartender and the remaining lines with a raised eyebrow, lighting a cigarette a second later and Mizuki realising with more than a little interest how incredibly huge his pupils had blown, yellow almost completely hidden by black. Sniffing occasionally and chuckling an amused breath as the tattooist remained unmoving, "go on then, it's only a tiny bit, you probably won't even feel it."
He was certain that waiting longer was just making him more nervous, horribly aware of the eyes on him somehow making this seem a lot more stressful, almost worried he'd do something dumb, like drop it. But he picked up the key carefully, trying not to look at Sly, because he knew he'd have that horrible smug expression and he didn't want to see it now, didn't want to admit that he'd sacrificed even more of his morals at his insistence.
Hesitating only for a second later before blocking one nostril and, with only a little trepidation, snorting it up his nose in the same fashion Sly had, not feeling much other than the bizarre sensation of something being sucked up his nose that wasn't normally there. Feeling it hitting the back of his throat and eyes widening in surprise more than anything else, because it hadn't been too bad, only glancing up when Sly started applauding, slow and almost mocking though his expression was pleased as he sniffed again.
"Well done, Dry Juice. We'll make a man of you yet," he was vaguely aware he was being insulted, somewhere under that almost approving smile he was laughing at how scared he'd been to do the tiniest amount of coke when he'd happily do the whole gram and more too. But somehow the almost crafty gleam in his eyes was enough to make him relax, aware faintly that his throat and face seemed to be excessively numb, presuming this was normal, it almost reminded him of the way weed dried his throat out and made his mouth dry.
He just laughed again, breathy and somewhat out of it as if it had hit him already, Mizuki not yet feeling much different, wondering if his pupils were as obscenely blown, "it'll hit in a couple, your tongue'll go numb."
He just nodded, grabbing his beer and sure he could feel something dripping down the back of his throat the way snot did when he got a particularly bad cold, making him want to swallow a lot and only a little unpleasant. "Seems unfair that it's your birthday and you're the one giving me shit."
"Oh believe me, I'm still relying on you to get me drunk," his smile was more genuine than normal and Mizuki wondered if that was because of the cocaine or just because he was actually relaxed now. But then maybe he'd passed some kind of test and Sly was willing to open up a little more now he'd proved himself in his eyes, but then maybe the coke was setting in and his brain was turning to mush. "Ah fuck, I need to thank my dealer, this shit has to be 60% at least."
"As in, 40% something else?"
"They cut it with stuff to make their profits bigger, but this stuff is pretty clean." That was presumably good, but Mizuki was still mildly concerned at what the hell he might have just inadvertently snorted, since he assumed cocaine was, well, cocaine, not something else combined with it. "So, booze?"
He felt fine as he stood, and fine as he grabbed white rum, because he was sick of vodka and this was the same strength so Sly couldn't complain, one of the nicer bottles too since it was possibly, probably his birthday, and his 18th at that, figuring he may as well offer the best gift he could without it being thrown back in his face. He felt fine as he filled glasses with ice and grabbed a couple big bottles of coke, tongue growing numb as he climbed the stairs and feeling his heart rate rise, feeling suddenly warm even though he had yet to put a shirt on, not really seeing much point since Sly had seen it all before.
This was, he thought absently, a bit like a birthday party, and what party would be complete without a little bit of cocaine and, hopefully, a lot of fucking, in fact the only thing needed to complete the cliché would be a stripper, and he had the feeling Sly could be talked into that easily enough. He felt bizarrely excellent as he walked back into his apartment, suddenly overcome with a burst of euphoria that he didn't even register as being artificial, feeling almost cocky as he let Sly take over and pour the drinks.
"Rum, nice, nice." He nodded enthusiastically, smile wider than normal and almost seeming a bit… Well, giggly, if that was a term that could ever be applied to him, managing to pour drinks easy enough but not able to hide a laugh as he regarded Mizuki's rapid blinking and mild confusion. "It hit you yet?"
"I think so, I feel… Kinda warm."
He raised an eyebrow, wondering if that was all, though he supposed the bartender had taken a damn lot less than him so he wouldn't be tripping quite as hard, reaching for his glass and drinking it too fast because he was invincible right now. "Feel free to take more clothes off."
"Oh you'd like that wouldn't you," normally his tone would be a little teasing at most, but now he suddenly felt on top of the world, like a million dollars, like he could do anything and everything, voice all throaty, dipping down low and seductive without him even noticing. He barely registered how out of it he was until Sly laughed, actually laughed and fuck that was a pretty sound, pink lips parted and cheeks flushed in the sudden warmth of the room, blacks of his eyes huge and yellow like a band of gold around them. For a second he was speechless, because he wasn't sure if it was just the coke or whether it had always been this way, but in that moment Sly was insanely beautiful and it almost felt like love, feeling slipping away the second he spoke.
"Oh it's fucking hit you," he laughed again and he had surprisingly white teeth that Mizuki was sure he'd never noticed before, not sure if he felt hyper or really chilled or something in between, not knowing if he wanted to sit down and chat or to let out some of this burst of energy. Distracted instead by the way his blue hair shifted as he shrugged out of his jacket, watching as creamy skin was exposed in his vest top, slit open deep at the sides so when he moved to pour another drink his ribs were on show, hard and trying to break through their flesh confines. Looking up again and just having to avert his eyes to laugh because Mizuki looked so incredibly obviously stoned that it was pretty funny. "You're so fucked!"
Then there was a pause as Mizuki just grinned, because fucked he might be, and as fucked as he might look he felt god damned amazing and he didn't much care what Sly thought, because he looked higher than he'd ever seen him, busy riding his trip. "Wanna take a line?" He broke his own sentence with a laugh, bartender just blinking, because hell fucking yeah he did, he was amazing, he felt a million dollars and he just knew more coke would only make it better.
"Alright," all previous qualms about this were gone, cocaine confidence thrumming through his veins and just taking the straw from Sly's hands with little thought for spreading germs and cross contamination. He felt like he'd been doing this forever, snorting the line up like a pro and wriggling his nose as it hit, pressing down on his nostrils and almost wincing as it hit the back of his throat and he had to sniff again to make sure it was all gone. Wiping his nose clear and noticing a faint speckle of blood on his hand with only a tiny amount of concern, because he was too powerful right now to be worried about something so stupid.
Two drinks, three, four, the bottle nearly empty and Mizuki feeling painfully warm, everything seeming to become more intense, the feeling of the couch against his skin and Sly's hair accidentally brushing his shoulder, the voice from next to him, the colours of everything seeming to pop and scream in front of his eyes fascinatingly. He'd done another line and so had Sly, a good amount of the bag still left, three lines by Sly's count, one more each then one to share, because he was feeling generous and getting high alone wasn't as much fun.
There was a lull in their conversation, which had been dumb as fuck and would probably lead to anybody even within earshot guessing they were something more than just drunk, both smoking cigarettes and Sly pouring them drinks from the new bottle. Mizuki had conceded that it was Sly's birthday after all, and they were celebrating, and he wouldn't really miss the money, grabbing the extra bottle the minute the final drinks from the other had been poured and taking a moment to just stand in his bar tripping like shit.
"You know," Sly began calmly encouraging him tilt his head to the side, watching as Sly stubbed out his cigarette and turned to him contemplatively. "I could beat the shit out of you."
Why that was so funny Mizuki had less than no idea, but he laughed all the same, the laugh of somebody who would find anything amusing in the state they were in, an uncontrollable sort of chuckle that was really more a giggle. "Oh really?" He felt like there was a challenge being issued even though neither one of them had said anything of the sort, something in his bones almost yelling for a fight, knowing he'd win because he was strong as fuck right now, pure metal coursing through his veins. "Wanna bet?"
Yellow eyes turned to him almost disbelievingly, "are you saying you wanna fight me?" It wouldn't be the first time he'd fought somebody when off his face on cocaine, in fact he was usually a hell of a lot more violent when he'd taken it, because it gave you that dangerous invincible feeling that always resulted in him taking on more than he could handle and ending up limping home beaten half to death.
"If you're not too scared to lo-," he began, about to say some other kind of taunt, when suddenly there was a body launched towards him and all he could do was bark out a laugh and grab his wrists, half wrestling him off and amazed to hear a peal of almost tinkling laughter as they ended up tumbling onto the floor. This was not what either of them had intended, but they both had the invincible complex that came with snorting large amounts of illegal, Class A stimulant drugs, Sly not even showing concern that they might lose some of said drug as they banged into the table.
Each was fighting to win, Sly using his usual dirty tactics and shoving a palm straight into his face, not even moving it away as Mizuki licked it horribly thoroughly, using his face as leverage to launch himself onto the sofa. It was already unbearably hot in the apartment, though whether it was the drugs, the drink or just the heating, neither knew, but Sly's skin felt like fire on his and it almost burnt when he grabbed him around the waist, vest top riding up and skin squirming to get free.
His laugh was addictive, almost sweet, not his usual dry chuckle or derisive puff of air, no, now it was high and wild and happy and he'd do anything to hear it more, yanking him back down and not even pausing as he landed atop him with such force it forced the air out of his lungs. Just panting out a laughing breath of air and attempting to win him over even as he scaled him like a tree, hands jabbing him everywhere and blue hair all over his face, obscuring his vision, bartender turning to dirty tactics and twisting their legs together, gaining the momentum to flip them.
Holy fuck he was out of breath, but taking a second to recover was out of the question with Sly already digging sharp fingers into his side and his laughter still ringing in his ears like a bell, the most beautiful thing he'd ever heard and a million times more poignant under the fuzz that clouded his brain. Just trying to squirm away somehow while trapped in the small space between the couch and the coffee table where their drinks still sat half full and worryingly close to the expensive, albeit gifted, drugs that they had every intention of finishing.
"Get off, asshole!" His words held no fire, laughing through them and kneeing Mizuki hard in the stomach, using his momentary advantage to scramble away and onto the couch again, bartender quickly following him and grabbing his legs, watching out for his feet only vaguely because he sure as hell didn't think he could feel pain right now. Jumping onto the couch himself and grabbing his legs even as he attempted to slide over the floor onto the sofa arm, vest top having flopped over his face and entire slim back exposed. His skin looked as cold as ice but felt like lava against his hands as he grabbed his legs and pulled him back over with an alarmed yelp he never would have normally made, ending up flat on his face with his legs over Mizuki's lap, twisting over with an unimpressed frown.
"Say I win!" Mizuki almost demanded, laughing as Sly, seemingly out of breath as his flat stomach rose and fell, ribs appearing and disappearing as he did, just shoved his middle finger up, shifting so he was leaning against the armrest. He looked quite comfortable if anything, just flopping back into the material and yanking his shirt back down to cover himself, smile relaxing and pausing for a moment to shove his foot into Mizuki's face.
"See, I didn't want to beat you too bad, so I let you win," his voice was genuine but his expression was still amused and pupils still insanely wide, that and his dishevelled hair making him seem like far more of a mess than he was, which was admittedly, pretty extreme anyway.
"Whatever you say," he responded, because they both knew he was lying, Mizuki was bigger than him and in a close quarters fight he would definitely emerge victorious, he had more strength, but in a regular fight Sly's speed and agility might even put them at an even keel. He hoped never to find out, just shoving off the foot, clad in dirty sock, which was poking into his cheek irritatingly. "Get your foot outta my face, I'm trying to get drunk."
"You're drunk enough," he retorted, but he slid off the couch to quickly do another line before resuming his place, ankles resting over the bartenders lap and seemingly refusing to move them, finding this a pleasing position to sit in while they finished their drinks.
He didn't realise that he was forgetting anything at first, sipping his drink and just wondering absently why Sly's feet felt like lead blocks in his lap one second and lighter than feathers a moment later, like he was floating away. The sensation was worrying for a moment, at least until he remembered that he was tripping the fuck out and reality flooded back in for just a second and he remembered with a grin, a sure-fire way to piss Sly off. "Oh yeah, happy birthday, dickhead." He raised his glass as he spoke as if in the worst toast mankind had ever seen, watching the boy basically lying across him gaze up at him, grin still not faded even after what felt like hours, third line still buzzing in the back of his skull.
"Awh, Mizuki, you're so sweet," it was meant to be sarcastic, he was sure it had sounded that way in his head but it left sounding worryingly genuine and he frowned at himself absently because he wasn't even that high or that drunk yet it seemed he'd already lost his filter.
Whether the bartender noticed his slip up of tone, he had no idea because he just grinned and licked his bottom lip absently and pleasingly distractingly, voice a little dark and they were back to business, "I could be sweeter."
"Oh, how's that?" He knew exactly what he meant, what he was implying, but he liked to play innocent sometimes, standing from his rather compromising position to linger behind the coffee table instead instead, offering the straw to Mizuki who just took it silently and quickly polished off his last line.
"Always so naive, hm? I'd almost think you do it on purpose," he just smiled, dark and serious, sending chills up Sly's spine even as he took his last line and a burst of euphoria overcame his mind, not replying and just eying the last line instead, getting an idea.
"Wherever do you get that idea from?" They both knew his games by now, he didn't keep them well hidden after all and the tattooist just rolled his eyes, draining his drink and the last of their alcohol, watching absently, head tilted to the side, as Sly pressed his finger into the white powder and rubbed it into his gums. "I'd almost think you didn't trust me."
"About as far as I could throw you," he remarked quietly, just following the gesture of Sly fingers and rubbing the white powder into his mouth, surprised at how quick it dissolved on his tongue and gums and licking it away calmly. He didn't know if Sly had heard, and assumed he hadn't, because there was a hand on his neck and he was being yanked somewhat roughly across the table so he could kiss him, chest hitting the edge hard. Well, it seemed things had been started for him, not even considering complaining because somehow Sly tasted better than ever, intoxicating and heady as he slid his wet tongue into his mouth a little sloppily. His fingers were scalding where they rested on his neck and shoulder, nails feeling like daggers on his skin and hair electrifying every nerve in his body as he fisted a hand into it, hard.
Then he was shoved off as fast as he'd been pulled in, only able to gasp in surprise before the command to get on the couch came quick and with his voice firm, darkened with badly hidden lust and Sly standing up to yank off his vest. His skin was damp with sweat and the air was hot with heavy expectation, white skin marked with scars and bruises but shining like crystal under the 40 watt bulb. Slim planes of untouched skin revealed as he stretched as if trying to blot out the light, ribs straining to break free from under the web of nerves and hard blue veins that covered them, hips sharp and stomach concave, waist so slim Mizuki could swear he'd be able to encircle it with his hands.
His act slipped for a moment as his foot caught on the table and he nearly fell, but he managed to restore his balance and within seconds was right back to sexually frustrating Mizuki, pushing his shoulders so he sat back on the couch, knees shoved back to the edge and unable to do anything but watch. Not that there was much more to watch now, after all, why would Sly finish undressing himself when he'd much rather be under the bartender with lips on his neck and hands sliding into his boxers? Straddling his lap because hell he loved doing that, and just grabbing Mizuki's hands when they tried to settle on his waist, because it was his birthday after all, and he'd get what he wanted tonight.
"Ah, ah, not yet bartender," he scolded lightly, voice low and teasing as he just wrapped slim fingers around his thick wrists, pinning them to the sofa by his side and arching his back so he could whisper into his ear. Lips deliberately brushing the skin and making sure to let warm air trickle over his skin as his long locks of hair fell to trail over his shoulder, almost whispering and making soft breathy noises as he considered his words. "You're my present, and I'm going to take my time unwrapping you."
He felt his brain turn to mush first, because hearing Sly's words almost dripping down his skin like honey was too much, painfully aware of the few points where they touched and how hot the air was between them, sizzling and crackling with electricity. Then reality came back and he snapped the mood like it was a stick of celery or something equally mundane, "but I'm only wearing sweatpants."
The only issue was that he was close enough to hear Sly mutter something that sounded horribly like the word 'useless' before his hands had moved to his head, gripping it hard and holding it in place firmly, a little painful but so harsh and dominant that he just grunted and held in his discomfort. He was almost hissing in his ear, angry but somehow still so fucking hot that Mizuki could feel sweat trickling down his spine, "fine then, but I don't like gifts that talk back, so you're going to be a good boy and do what you're told, understand me?"
"Y-yeah," his breath hitched a little as he spoke because Sly's hands were in his hair and yanking at his scalp and he just knew how this was going to end, painfully and so sinfully good that he'd be thinking about it for weeks after.
"Good, now hurry up and kiss me before I go fuck somebody else," that was bullshit, he'd never leave now, nobody else he'd ever been with had been as damn good as the bartender and they both knew it. But then he supposed it made sense because somebody who paid him for a quick fuck would hardly be worried about technique or ensuring he had a good time too, but Mizuki was far too conscientious and too malleable to do anything but give Sly what he wanted, and right now he wanted the bartender.
He'd known from the second he made his demand clear that the bartender wanted it as much as he did, having kept his hands obediently away from his skin the whole time he was winding him up, so when he snapped he did it so hard Sly was surprised, gasping hard as nails dug into the small of his back and he was yanked forwards and down. Lips meeting his with force like fire but ten times warmer, retaliating by pulling on burgundy hair and savouring every pained grunt and hungry sound that travelled between their twining tongues.
This was what made this all so perfect, nobody else would dare even try and be this rough with him, they'd be too scared to match his anger and desire, they'd give in too easily and let him do whatever he wanted, but Mizuki fought back, as cruel to Sly as he was to him. Hand that had just been playing with his hair now grabbing the long strands and pulling his head back so hard stars burst in front of his eyes and all he could do was laugh breathlessly as lips came to bite and suck at his neck with bruising strength, no subtlety between them now.
He didn't know what had gotten into the bartender, whether it was the potent combination of coke and rum, or just his pent up frustrations, but he was terrifying and thrilling Sly in equal amounts, mouth working down his chest wetly, leaving a trail of bites and only stopping when the angle got too much for him. It was like he learned a new kink of his every time they met up to do this, and now it seemed he had a thing for being thrown around, hands under his thighs digging into soft flesh and lifting him before he could even register it, only able to cling on as his back landed hard on the couch and the bartender crawled over him.
His pupils were huge as he glanced up at him, smiling against his stomach as he took in his expression and he wouldn't even want to guess what it might be now, eyes wide with aroused surprise and lips parted as he tried to catch his breath because he wasn't being given a chance to and damn he liked that. Teeth grazing against his hipbones hard and making him hitch an anticipatory breath as lips pressed onto the horribly sensitive skin, tongue laving over the mark he was sucking into his pale flesh. He was almost agonisingly near to his crotch now, well-worn denim slipped down to reveal the pronounced v bones where a trail of blue hairs trailed up towards his bellybutton, nosing into the softest skin where his jeans began and licking a stripe up his stomach as he unbuttoned his fly and helped him slide free of his constraints.
His dick was so hard where it strained against the material of his boxers that he was amazed there wasn't a disgusting damp patch on the fabric, just holding his breath because while he'd sucked the bartender off enough times, he'd never returned the favour and he was simultaneously fascinated and impatient to see what he could do with that pretty mouth of his. Something about him now was a little scary and Sly could feel something akin to trepidation building in his gut as wet lips began working on his other hip and he pulled his boxers down with as little finesse as possible, clearly seeing clothes as nothing more than an irritating obstruction stopping him from reaching his goal.
He was completely naked, covered in a thin sheen of sweat and his chest was heaving already without so much as his dick having been touched, and still Mizuki didn't reach for the neglected organ that lay on his chest and he suddenly realised he was teasing him. The situation had flipped so fast that he was almost annoyed, but god how could he be with the tattooist's fingers on his inner thighs and his mouth so near to where he needed it but not quite close enough. He wasn't sure he'd ever lost control this fast, but his head was fuzzy and lights were bursting in front of his eyes as his gaze was locked on that burgundy head, looking so right between his legs and tongue licking at the place where his thighs were softest and painfully sensitive. Eyes flickering up to his in the second he bit down, hard and Sly's breath came out in a broken gasp, almost pained but so fucking aroused that he barely felt the pain as he gripped the skin in his teeth and sucked it into his mouth hard, salty tang on his lips so addictive.
There was something almost intimidating in his eyes, it was like he was starving and Sly was the most delicious thing he'd ever tasted, a hungry, starved glare under that olive gaze, taking in the almost nervous look in Sly's eyes and planting a small, almost soothing kiss against his hip in the second before he slid his lips around his dick and he full on moaned. His hips bucked unconsciously but firm hands on his stomach kept him pressed down, whining high and needy as Mizuki's tongue flicked over his hypersensitive slit and one hand worked the base with firm movements of his large hand.
It was like he didn't know how long he'd wanted this until he got it, always preferring to be the one servicing as opposed to the one serviced, there was less owed to the other person that way, not to mention that most people would probably rather rip his dick off than use it to give him any iota of pleasure. But then Mizuki had always been different, shaking fingers knotting into his hair but not as hard as he felt they should be, because somehow he didn't want to assert his control now, Mizuki was taking over, dominating him, and that was fine. The solid, well-reasoned excuse in the back of his head was that it was, or could be, his birthday, and hey, if Mizuki wanted to treat him why would he complain? It wasn't like the bartender wouldn't get his fun later, and in fact for Sly to get what he wanted there was no way that the other would end up unsatisfied, already feeling arousal burning like molten steel in his bones and wanting nothing else in that second but Mizuki's dick inside him.
But that could wait, because the tattooist had begun hollowing out his cheeks as he bobbed his head on and off the engorged flesh in his mouth, flattening his tongue against the shaft and laving over the tip whenever he reached the top. His hand was working firmly and so damn perfect that it was almost like he'd been practicing, twisting as it moved up and down and grip just firm enough, almost useless as he swallowed him down nearly to his hilt without so much as a gag.
How long had it been since he began, five minutes, ten? However long it seemed to have lasted only a second when Sly felt his stomach begin to tighten and his moans and pants became more guttural and he knew he had to push Mizuki off or risk coming right there. But somehow his brain was short circuiting and he didn't even think he wanted to move away, his entire body was tense with anticipation of his upcoming orgasm and if Mizuki hadn't pulled away in the second he reached the crest, he knew he sure as hell wouldn't have dreamed of stopping him. He found it worryingly hard to hold in the whine of loss he felt the second the bartender stopped his amazing ministrations to his desperate flesh, feeling bereft of his orgasm even as he vaguely registered the bartender groping around for lube in the coffee table drawer. How he managed to process speech he had no idea, he felt wrecked and he knew it was more than the illegal substances in his body that caused it, just shaking his head as the other lubed up his fingers.
"I already did it," he panted, horrified and amazed at how hugely exhausted he sounded, because to be so tired from a simple blow job was not something he'd expected when he came there tonight, just managing a smirk as Mizuki blinked in surprise.
"Damn that's hot," his voice was breathy even as he refused to take his words as gospel, sliding in two fingers at once and then rapidly a third as he realised he was telling the truth, electrified breath puffing over his chest in a laugh. "Well shit."
He just hummed appreciatively, amused at how incredibly pleased and surprised Mizuki was, taking control at least a little as he reached between them to grab his as yet untouched dick, rubbing the beads of precome from the tip over the hard length and guiding him to his ass because he couldn't bear to wait another second.
The bartender was bigger than him in lots of ways, and he'd never complain about a single one of them, he liked the feeling of being trapped by his muscled arms and his firm chest, liked how big and powerful his hands were, but he'd never thought it would pose a problem. The sofa was narrow, and he'd known that, they both did in fact, having started fucking on it more than once only to transfer onto the floor or coffee table due to lack of space, in fact normally just a position change fixed it so they could remain there. But Sly wanted Mizuki on top of him, bearing down and using him like a doll, wanted to see his expression as he fucked him, to watch sweat trickle down his abs and lick it away with his pointed pink tongue. Groaning as he fucked into him hard and settled himself deep inside him, warmth and pressure surrounding him and taking a second to just breathe out a shaky breath before he tried to move. Key word being tried, Sly's legs were as small as the rest of him, and had Mizuki's trunk not been so thick and muscled, they might have managed okay, but they both realised after only a few minutes of clumsy and unsatisfying movements, that they were just too wide to fit. The sofa back meant Sly couldn't spread his legs quite wide enough for the bartender to fit between them and their legs were rubbing together dryly and almost painfully, Sly just growling low in his throat at how fucking annoying this was.
"Shit, this isn't working… Floor?" Mizuki asked, clearly not caring where they fucked now as long as they got to, dick already missing the heat of Sly's body even as the other shook his head.
"Friction burns," he didn't exactly mind pain when they had sex, and that was obvious in the trail of bruises blossoming down his front, but that kind of burning feeling would only detract from the sensation of Mizuki fucking into him hard, and he didn't want to miss a single second of that sensory overload.
"Bed?" He suggested, and it was obvious he was reluctant even to suggest it, just watching as Sly's eyes narrowed for a second, like this was some horrible trick he was being involved in, sighing and scowling at the sofa back that had ruined their fun.
"Fine," his answer was short and he still wasn't entirely happy with this, because every time he'd ended up in the bartenders bed so far had begun up with some kind of regrettable act on his part, and he didn't want to regret this fuck one bit, but still, he supposed it was the most logical option. He already knew Mizuki's plan even before he picked him up, wrapping his legs around his waist and sucking at the hollow of his chest where sweat pooled as he walked the short distance to his room, shoving blankets and clothes out of the way and all but dropping him onto the bed. He didn't waste a single second in getting back to where they were before, slotting himself between Sly's legs easily and pressing in with a snap of his hips that not only made Sly curse, loudly, but also his back arch off the bed.
Normally he started off a little slow and relied on Sly's less than gentle encouragements to speed the fuck up and actually do his job, but now he was fucking into him so hard his head was sliding back and forwards over the sheets and it was all he could do to cling onto his shoulders and groan low and guttural. He couldn't even keep up with his pace and fuck himself onto him, just submitting to him like he never did to anyone and almost afraid to admit that he really liked being vulnerable like this.
Sweat dripped between their flushed bodies and Mizuki's back was tense and coiled with rippling muscles that moved fluidly as he shifted his hands to hold Sly's hips in place, fucking him off his dick over and over. Sly was never exactly quiet, but he'd never been this loud before either, moaning and whimpering and completely unable to control himself as Mizuki just overwhelmed him, fingers digging into his skin. It was intimidating, and Sly wasn't somebody who was easy to intimidate, but the sudden waves of power that were coming from the bartender were enough to make his breath catch in his throat and him to feel afraid even if it only just bubbled beneath the surface.
How he managed it, Sly had no idea, but suddenly his legs were yanked up and his arms lost their grip around Mizuki's neck, upper body falling to rest on already sweat-soaked sheets and thighs hoisted up onto his shoulders. He was even deeper inside him now, each powerful thrust hitting his prostate and bundle of nerves sending waves of pleasure through his entire body, something in Mizuki's amount animal grunts making a chill run down his spine even as the room got hotter. He was certain he'd never been this uninvolved in their fucking, but there wasn't much he could do but lie there and let Mizuki use him as he saw fit, and he certainly wasn't complaining, fingers knotting into the sheets beside his head and whimpering when Mizuki slowed down deliberately so he could feel every inch.
"Mizuki, please," he manged to pant, voice so desperate and cracking on the last word, so needy, wanting more when the bartender was already giving him his all, just sucking in an almost breathy laugh as the other grinned darkly, reaching for his obscenely leaking dick. He felt almost light headed, the room was red hot and there was sweat sticking his hair to his skin, sheets rumpling and creasing as his back slid across them over and over, hand firm on his dick and squeezing at the base so he groaned.
"Okay?" How he had it in him to be fucking him so savagely like this but to still check on his wellbeing, Sly had no idea, just managing a nod and a breathless agreement, eyes closing against the pleasure and mouth parted, face twisted in satisfaction.
"Yeah, oh fuck yeah," god he was more than okay, he was on cloud fucking nine and he wasn't sure if he ever wanted to come down even as he knew he was going to cum soon, feeling his gut clench tight and his ass tense around Mizuki, choking on a moan and toes curling. His voice growing almost high pitched and whining in the second before Mizuki gasped and felt Sly come unravelled under him, Sly coming all over his hand and his back arching up so high he could count every rib, final cry of pleasure almost a sob as Mizuki dropped his head down onto his shoulder. Fucking him hard and fast even as he whimpered because he was too sensitive now and it almost hurt, gripping onto his back hard now and legs locked behind him, breath catching as he came inside him, warm and thick, groaning his orgasm right into his ear and thrusting into him slowly, milking himself dry and panting into his skin.
He told himself he was just too exhausted to complain when Mizuki nuzzled into his shoulder almost affectionately before pulling out and collapsing atop him, and the bartender had just given him an amazing orgasm, so he ignored the kiss he planted on his chest as he tried to catch his breath.
"Yo-You," he was alarmed to find that it was hard to speak, voice croaky and throat horribly dry from moaning so damn much, just trying to calm his heaving chest and feeling the solid weight on Mizuki atop him, every single defined muscle pressed against his skin. "You need to always fuck me like that."
He just laughed, low and amused into Sly's ear, and if it made the other smile, neither mentioned it, just recovering in a messy tangle of limbs that was only allowed because Sly said so, or would do if he could speak anyway, only allowing them a moment to recover before his eyes were gleaming and the bartender was shifting sweaty burgundy locks off his face with an amused chuckle.
He could barely remember how many times they'd fucked, or how many orgasms he'd had, doggy style, missionary, cowgirl, bent over the bed, on the floor when they accidentally tumbled off, they'd done it all and more, Sly's body was exhausted and Mizuki was spent. Telling himself he needed to leave now, to limp home with shaking legs and collapse onto his mattress to sleep for a week and have Mizuki scented dreams. But oh he was so tired, and the bed was so comfortable even if it was a little damp, bartender seemingly having drifted off a while ago, eyes closed and breath coming even and deep as he lay beside him, arm unintentionally flung over his middle where he'd landed after their final fuck of the evening. Not that it was evening any more, it was morning now, light starting to creep into the room through the high window and sounds of people getting about their lives beginning to fill the island. He couldn't risk leaving now, or that's what he told himself as he shut his eyes and felt sleep claim him, thinking absently in the moment before sleep overcame him, that this was without a doubt, the best birthday he'd ever had.