Decadence
Decadence
Yamashita Tomohisa/Kitayama, Masuda/Fujigaya, Nikaido/Senga, Miyata/Tamamori, Yokoo/girl, Tegoshi (solo, NEWS, Kis-My-Ft2)
pwp, 13000 words, NC-17. Alcohol, BDSM, whipping, exhibitionism, mentioned bloodplay
Yamapi goes to a fetish club he heard about years ago from another NEWS member; finds entirely different people there. Kisumai also shows up, some members new to the place, others not. Kink happens.
I kind of went to a fetish club and then I had to write this. It's too long for one post, continuation is linked at the bottom.
It's the first time Yamapi comes to the club, and what meets his eyes doesn't exactly surprise him. He knew what to expect, knew about it since years back - one of the NEWS members used to go. He doubts he will find him there tonight, though.
People are dressed up along the lines of the dress code; dark, or strong colors, revealing or entirely covered, but it all fits together and he's glad he doesn't seem to stand out. He chose semi-tight pants in leather imitation, a vest with straps in the front, and a dark cap that covers his eyes unless he deliberately looks directly at people, or looks at them from above. From what he had heard during drinking sessions with group members back then, there wouldn't be any problems even if someone recognized him; apparently the community keeps quiet about identities. And what he sees when he enters makes him believe it entirely.
Even ignoring the pole dancers on stage, there's something about the entirely place that just screams kinky at him. Then again, it is a fetish club, and even if he hadn't known before he decided to go, he would have figured it out immediately. There's people in various stages of undressed (although, he remembers one of the rules clearly, “no sex”; they are not undressing here), some in nothing but underwear and leather straps. A woman walks by, and he can't help but stare when he realizes that her breasts are completely uncovered, except for the nipples. He needs alcohol for this, he figures, heads for the bar and tries to not look too much at the people around him; he can't help it when they're right next to him as he makes his way through the crowd. A guy with heavier make-up than he's ever seen on anyone walks by him, throws a glance at his face with pale blue lenses, but Yamapi doesn't focus on them; behind him, something else has caught his attention. There's someone on the floor, and he tries to stretch to see why, but the crowd closes behind the man with the lenses, and he continues on towards the bar.
It takes more than ten minutes to get through to the bar counter, and once he gets there he has to lean over it and shout his order to the bartender. He whips out his card to pay, but someone next to him hands him a drink ticket to use instead. At first he wants to refuse, but then he looks twice and realizes that the girl in the tight dress and fluffy wig is not so much a girl. It's Tegoshi, and he's wearing a devilish smile.
“I never thought I'd see you here,” he says as he takes both of their shot glasses, hands one to Yamapi.
“Didn't expect you to be here either. I thought he was the only one that used to go?” They clink the glasses before downing them; Yamapi makes a face because it's strong, much stronger than he had assumed.
“Oh, he still goes. He's here tonight.” Tegoshi smiles like that again, like he had known that someone else in the agency would show up at some point, but he leaves without another word, only shoves one more drink ticket into Yamapi's hand. Not exactly thinking, he orders a second shot, this time slightly weaker, while he watches Tegoshi's back disappear into the crowd (and that's when he realizes that there was a reason he had seemed a bit taller than usual; stilettos).
By the time he throws his head back and drinks down the second shot, the alcohol from the first one has already started to run through his body; not enough to feel numb, but not very far from it either. The dance floor starts to look a lot more inviting now, even with all the people that he doesn't really feel a part of. The way back to it is a lot longer than it should be, and being gradually pushed around by the moving crowd has him on the opposite side of where he passed on the way towards the bar. And suddenly there's a hand on his arm, and he turns towards the touch. Someone whose face he can't see hands Yamapi a chain as he tries to pass by, places another item in his other hand before they leave him. The chain is of average size bordering on thin, and the second item is a tiny bit heavier than he would have expected. Black, smooth, leathery against his palm, and he doesn't need to look to know it's a whip. He follows the chain with his eyes, finds that it leads to where he thought it would; to a leather collar wrapped around the neck of a practically naked man on the floor. And when he gets a better look, he freezes for an entirely different reason. Because the man on the floor, right there in front of him, is not just any man. It's Kitayama, at first a little difficult to tell as his hair is disheveled and eyes cast downwards, but it's definitely him. He tries tugging on the chain, and the reaction is immediate.
Kitayama dares throw a glance upwards, and that's all it takes before he's on all fours within seconds, facing the floor, hair hanging down over his face in wisps of dark brown. He's expecting something, it's obvious and very much so, that he is waiting for it to happen, and Yamapi knows exactly what he wants. He tightens the hold on the chain; pulls on it a little, just to show who's in control, and then he lifts the whip.
-
Only two of the members are not shocked when they enter at the top of stairs that lead down to a dance floor crowded with people, some of them in outfits they had never thought they'd actually see anyone wear. Yokoo and Fujigaya knew what was coming; the other four had no idea, and it looks like at least Senga and Miyata are starting to regret that they chose to tag along. But then again, when Yokoo had said that Kitayama has a secret they would have to see to believe, there was no way they'd be left out on it. So there they are, in clothes that had awoken suspicion in them when Fujigaya picked them out; still, Fujigaya himself is the worst one of them. Glossy pants, an equally glossy police style cap, boots, a medium-long silver necklace and a sleeveless button-up vest, and it turns out he's wearing nothing underneath it as he pops the top buttons and pulls it open. They're all in black, and they're all looking great - Fujigaya is proud when he looks at them, because they almost do look like they belong there. Nikaido wears the tightest pants he's ever gotten into, Senga is in a nearly see-through black tank top that shows off his arms, Miyata looks oddly handsome with the thin eyeliner and the hat he's wearing, and Tamamori's thin, matte glossy three-quarter sleeve shirt is ripped in the back, showing off his muscles with the help of a wide boatneck cut (although he's squirming, complaining that he feels naked). Yokoo is the only one he didn't style; it's not the first time he's coming either, and he's wearing what he knows will make him fit in. The black, slim fit dress shirt looks great on him, with dark metal accessories that shine in the occasional flash of dance floor lights, and Fujigaya especially likes the necklace that rests between his quite visible collarbones.
“I'm sure you'll find him somewhere over there.” Yokoo gestures towards the general direction of the bar once they've gotten down the stairs, before he sets out in the opposite direction towards a corner that is even darker than the rest of the club, dim green lights and quickly blinking lamps making a contrast to the otherwise slightly warmer lighting.
“Anyone wanna get drinks?” Fujigaya suggests, and finds the four of them just nodding, eyes wide as they take in their environment. He pulls them along, and to his surprise Nikaido is the one that's the most alert, or maybe curious. Senga is holding on to Nikaido's arm, quite firmly if judging by the way his own arm or wrist isn't moving the slightest. Tamamori and Miyata mostly seem unfocused, Tamamori because he's following the performance going on on the center stage in the middle of the dance floor; Miyata because he's nearly staring his eyes out at everyone around him.
On top of the center stage is now a man with bare chest and clown make-up hiding his facial features. He's fumbling with something in his pockets, and Tamamori is so curious to find out what it is that he walks straight into someone. He intends to apologize immediately, but falls silent when he get a better look. The girl in front of him is in straps and patches of faux leather, nipples barely covered, panties definitely lower than where her pubic hair must be starting (but she's neatly waxed, so he can't tell for sure). And she notices his staring, then how embarrassed he is, but she just laughs and winks at him with an eye framed by huge fake lashes.
“Don't miss out on my performance,” she says to him, leans a bit closer so that he can hear properly; he pulls back instead, because her breasts come in closer as well, and he figures he does not need them up against his chest. Especially considering the shirt he's wearing is really thin. "I'm sure you'll like it," she adds, then leaves him to look for his companions. Miyata is waiting for him just a couple of meters away, and he learns from him that Fujigaya went ahead to the bar with Nikaido and Senga.
By the time all three of them have drinks in their hands there is flames going through the air above the dance floor; it turns out that the performer Tamamori had been so focused on is a fire-breather, and he's now showing off his skills with short, fast flames, one after another. With every one the hall lights up for a second, and Fujigaya catches Miyata's face on the way through the crowd, Tamamori right behind. Next to himself is Nikaido, who looks much too happy about the place, like it's really exciting. Senga on the other hand appears to be worried if anything, but Nikaido just pats him on the shoulder and tells him to relax and look for Kitayama instead.
Fujigaya knows where Kitayama is, what he will look like, and most likely what he'll be doing too. It's not his thing, not at all, but he's seen it before and knows how much Kitayama enjoys it. He's surprised none of the other members, except Yokoo of course, haven't noticed anything at all yet. But perhaps it is because he knows, that he notices the red marks on his back that sometimes remain, visible while they're changing in the dressing rooms.
“There,” Nikaido says suddenly, “is that...” Fujigaya follows the direction in which he's pointing, but what catches his eye isn't Kitayama.
“That's... Yamapi...” Tamamori points out from behind them, sips on his drink as he tries to take in what's happening. And they all trust him when it comes to recognizing that specific senpai, that's not why they stay silent, as if wondering. No, through spaces between people in the crowd they can see that he has something in his hand; something dark, most likely black. Then something shimmers in the lights in the roof, and they realize there's a chain in his other hand.
"I'm going to find Yokoo." Fujigaya breaks the silence, because he now knows what's going on, where the chain leads, and he doesn't need to watch the rest. So he leaves the four younger members there by the steps that lead from the bar down to the dance floor, hopes that they will get the hint, or at least get curious enough to keep watching.
Nikaido hears Senga's breath catching when a body on the floor comes into view, a small circle forming around it and Yamapi as the black item is lifted up. And the he stiffens as well, realizing why Senga had reacted. There on the floor, on hands and knees, is Kitayama, waiting to get struck with the whip in their senpai's hand.
-
The first time the whip comes down it hits too soft to bring out much of a reaction, but that makes him want to do it harder; and Kitayama looks so willing and so completely submissive, not moving his head even a millimeter as he waits. The next whip is better; it makes a slight sound as it hits, and this time Kitayama twitches a little.
But it's so unfamiliar that Yamapi isn't sure what he should or shouldn't do. What if he's actually hurting him, or what if he won't say stop if it becomes too much? He wants to be nice, even though Kitayama doesn't seem to want him to; he squats next to him anyway, takes the chain in the same hand as the one holding the whip and brings the now free hand to the back of Kitayama's head. He ruffles his hair a bit, like one would do to a dog, and when he feels him lean into the touch just the slightest, he somehow knows that he wasn't being too rough. So he stands up again, takes the chain in a firmer grip in one hand again, and when he brings the leather straps of the whip down onto his back again, it makes a sound that he can hear clearly over the bass of the music, even if only because he's standing close. And Kitayama's entire body twitches now, back arching again as he takes a second whip closely followed by another, but he doesn't let out any sounds whatsoever. Neither does he move, he just stays there, lets Yamapi whip his back until red stripes appear, crossing each other over his skin; just waits for him to be finished. That's what makes him stop earlier than he could have; the feeling of using someone is too much in the end, and he squats again, runs a hand through the dark bangs and down the back of his neck, slides down one side of it, but not far enough to reach his collarbone. He's leaning into the touch again, and then Yamapi throws a glance at the very small, not so covering, skin-colored t-back Kitayama is wearing. Despite the vibrant colors of the lights and the shadows cast by people around them, he has no problems seeing what cannot be anything but an erection.
-
The four of them stand still as they watch Yamapi bring down the whip over and over, increasing the strength with each strike, but it looks as though Kitayama isn't doing anything in particular to stop him.
“He likes that, doesn't he?” Tamamori whispers, and although it's unclear which one of them he's talking about, they all assume it's about Kitayama. “That's the secret, right?” Nikaido nods in silence, remembering the smirk on Yokoo's face when they had been told about it the first time. He has never seen anything like that, except in movies, and even then the one being whipped had never actually liked it, but there is no doubt that Kitayama does. And something about the fact that their Kitayama, usually so strong and in a way a leader to them, loves to be dominated like that is so hot that he finds himself afraid he's actually blushing in what would be a start to obvious arousal.
Next to him, Senga is just sipping apathetically on his drink, refusing to look; to him it's too much, the pain infliction, willing or not. Also much too private for him to watch and feel okay about it. He keeps his eyes down instead, watches the green liquid of his cocktail slowly disappear between the ice cubes as he drinks through the straw, and he focuses on it so much that he doesn't notice the person not so far from them, eyeing him up and down with a smirk.
Miyata, on the other hand, is looking in an entirely different direction. The fire-breather has just finished his show, and people are getting up on the center stage to dance while waiting for the next number on the main stage. It turns out to be acrobatic dancers, not so much different from A.B.C-Z, he thinks. But then he spots her by the edge of the room, by the wall with another girl who seems to be shorter than her; the one that bumped into Tamamori, and he nudges him in the back.
“Is that her?” He has to repeat the question twice because the music has gone up in volume, but once Tamamori finally hears him and gets what he's pointing at, he nods. That's her.
“I guess she's performing soon.” Miyata tilts his head, questioning. He hasn't heard what she told Tamamori. “She told me to watch it. That I'd like her performance. So let's go watch it, okay?” Without waiting for an answer he grabs Miyata's wrist and pulls him along, slowly making their way up to the main stage while the floor is vibrating with the bass from the music.
“Nika,” Senga manages as they're left alone. “Can we go home soon?”
“Kenpi come on, we just got here.” He puts an arm around his waist, pulls him in closer in an attempt to comfort him. “Let's have another drink, then maybe we'll go. Okay?” His focus is still on Yamapi and Kitayama as he speaks, but he rubs his cheek against Senga's head in a way that he tells himself is entirely platonic. He feels Senga nod, and just when they're about to go back to the bar they see how Yamapi stops whipping, seems to pet Kitayama like he was an animal, before he turns around.
-
“He likes you,” a soft voice says from behind him, and Yamapi looks back over his own shoulder to find a girl with smokey make-up and a very visible cleavage. “He rarely lets men do that to him.” She's looking at Kitayama with a dominant look in her eyes, more dominant than Yamapi himself feels, even with whip and chain in his hands, and he can't help but wonder exactly what she has done to him before, with the way he's cowering down towards the floor. “You should take him back to a VIP room and go all the way. Bet you can pay for it.” He stiffens for a second - she has recognized him, and on top of that, she seems to know more about this side of Kitayama than he does. But then again, Kitayama's secret has never been exposed, so he supposes he's okay. “Go fix a room, I'll keep him occupied.” He wants to ask why, and how, but when he takes a step back and hands her the chain, she just sits down on his back, pulls a little on the collar as she says something to him.
-
Fujigaya is going up a few stairsteps, stretching his neck to look for Yokoo, but as he does, something else catches his eyes. There's someone in a chair, someone that he thinks he recognizes despite the shadows cast on his face. Someone that notices him, gives him a quick wave with a hand and Fujigaya takes it as a suggestion to approach; he has already forgotten about finding Yokoo. Because who he thinks he sees is not at all who he would expect to find at a club like this, yet there he is. Thin, silky fabric in layers hanging from his muscular shoulders, showing off more of his chest than he usually ever does on stage, with a v-drape that goes almost all the way down to his navel. His hair looks a little messier than usual, but it looks great. Not to mention his eyes; they seem to be lined with kohl, and they're almost as dark as the lining. Fujigaya has to tell himself that it's the lighting's fault, because the light is not at all that good, but there's at least no doubt that he's there and that he looks amazing.
“Massu?” he asks, even though he knows. It's so unexpected.
“Fujigaya-kun. I didn't know you came here.” He gestures for Fujigaya to sit down next to him; the chair is lower than his own, and Fujigaya finds himself looking up at Massu as he answers.
“It's just the second time.”
Massu smiles, a smile much different than the one he usually has while on stage. “Newbie, then.” His face straightens a bit before he continues. “I've been going for years.” He doesn't sound particularly arrogant, but there is still something different to his voice. Something that makes Fujigaya want to hear him speak more, hear him say things that have a lot less to do with the current topic. He tells himself it's because of the alcohol, even though he's only had one cocktail. Why else would he be thinking things like that? He clears his mind, and is just about to ask if he maybe has seen Yokoo, but Massu continues before he has the chance.
“We were about to have shots,” he says, and for a second Fujigaya wonders who “we” are, because he can't see anyone that looks like they're with Massu, but then a scantily clad woman makes her way over there, balancing three shot glasses on a tray. She gets there, straddles Massu's lap as he takes a shot for himself, then turns to Fujigaya.
“I was going to have two, but you should take one.” He speaks like before, a different tone in his voice, and it's even more impressive now that he has a close-to-naked woman in his lap. Like it doesn't make a difference if she's there or not. “Go on.”
He takes a shot glass, and watches the two of them throw their heads back as they take theirs; he follows quickly, makes a face at how strong it is, and hears Massu chuckle at his reaction.
“Strong?” When he opens his eyes he finds that Massu is smirking at him.
Fujigaya nods. “What is that?”
“Spirytus base, 65 percents. Like it?”
“It'll get me drunk, for sure.” Fujigaya isn't sure he likes the change in Massu's eyes when he says that; but he is also pretty sure that within 15 minutes, he'll be fine with whatever change this entire situation takes. The alcohol is burning hot down his throat, and it might be his mind playing tricks after he heard the percentage of the shot, but his head feels lighter already.
“Hmm, one more?” Massu is smirking, even more when Fujigaya shakes his head. “You can handle it. Or are you that much of a light weight?” He makes it sound like a bad thing; Fujigaya shakes his head again, then agrees to another shot. It takes a little while before the girl comes back with more drinks, and while waiting, Massu grabs him by the arm, pulls him in to speak in his ear.
“You think you'll be able to handle it?” he asks, and something jumps inside Fujigaya, because he's pretty sure Massu isn't talking about the alcohol.
“Yeah,” he breathes, turns his own head so that his lips are next to Massu's ear instead; for a second they accidentally brush his skin, and that's when he realizes that he doesn't completely have his body under control anymore. For a moment he thinks Massu is actually going to kiss him, because he lingers, but in the end he just squeezes Fujigaya's arm and lets go.
-
Yamapi doesn't even have to finish his sentence before the man dealing with tickets hands him an old-fashioned key.
“VIP, one floor down. Rule number two,” he points with a long, dark green nail at the paper next to him on the wall, "is excepted as long as you lock the door." He is pointing at the one rule Yamapi remembers seeing when entering; “no sex”, complete with silhouettes of a couple in a doggy style position. "If we need to open, though, we will." He figures that the large key is more for decoration than for privacy, and the lock won't be hard to break open if they tried. Doesn't matter much, though, and he just nods a thanks as he takes his card out to pay.
When he comes back to the floor he finds the girl from before still holding his chain while sitting on his back, while another is on all fours in front of him, and something inside Yamapi heats up for a second. Kitayama is his to touch tonight (although "to use" is his first thought), and now there's some chick on the floor that looks like she's kissing him. But at the same time it looks hot, the way Kitayama can't exactly move away from her even if he wanted to, and the way her short skirt rides up as she leans down a little for his face. Her panties are clearly visible, tight and lacy, and Yamapi feels like a bit creepy when he notes that she looks a little swollen underneath them, wonders if she's getting wet too. But then the girl on Kitayama's back rises up, kicks the other girl's thigh lightly, makes her turn around and stand up.
“Thanks,” he says as he's handed the chain, and the metal is warmer than he had expected it to be. She just winks at him before she leaves, and there he stands, with a kouhai on a chain waiting for the next order.
“Come,” and he tugs on the chain, makes it rattle just enough that he can almost hear it over the music, and Kitayama stands, but doesn't look up. Like that he follows Yamapi to the stairs, and they go down them to search for the room number that matches the key.
There is a bottle of champagne on the table in the middle of the room, and a leather couch next to the table. The staff have been quick; there's two glasses beside the bottle, even though he never said there were two of them, but he assumes they knew he wouldn't get a VIP room for himself only. For a moment Yamapi thinks about what he should do with it; it is a fairly expensive brand, and it does look very tempting. He throws a glance at Kitayama, who is still keeping his eyes on the floor, waiting for something to happen. And he has to try it, turns around just enough that he can see properly how Kitayama reacts, before he gives a short, quick pull on the chain. Now that the music is dulled by the walls between them and the dance floor there is nothing that stop him from hearing the gasp that Kitayama lets out, not to mention he sees that he's twitching in his tight pants.
“Are you going to talk?” he asks. He wants to know, needs to know. And Kitayama shakes his head in response.
“Use me,” he whispers under his breath, and now it's Yamapi who draws a quick, silent breath, because it's exactly what he had been thinking earlier.
So he holds the chain in a tight grip, keeps it stretched as he pulls Kitayama along to the couch, where he sits down and loosens the chain a little. Kitayama settles on the floor like it's where he's meant to be, right next to one of Yamapi's legs, but not close enough that they actually touch. He cowers a little as Yamapi stretches across the space between the couch and the table, but seems to relax a little when he realizes that he's just putting the hat he took off on the table, and then reaches for the bottle and a glass. The second glass is left untouched, while the first is placed by the edge of the table; then Yamapi shakes the bottle a couple times.
“Look at me,” he tells Kitayama, and he faces upwards at the words, but still doesn't make any eye contact. It doesn't really matter, because that's not what Yamapi wants. Kitayama probably figures it out by the time he starts working on opening the bottle, and he closes his eyes all the way.
-
With no idea what to do, Nikaido and Senga start looking for Yokoo, both of them a new drink in hand. Senga doesn't say anything, but it's easy to tell he's not enjoying himself as much as Nikaido is. There's so much to see, so much strange people to get surprised (and sometimes embarrassed) by, and it's like a world of things Nikaido had thought only existed in movies. But now he's there, in the middle of it, and it's exciting in a way he can't really tell his quiet best friend. He doesn't look like he's hating the situation; but it is obvious that if he'd have known exactly where they were going to begin with, he might have turned them down and stayed home.
“Come on, Kenpi,” he encourages him as they move away from the main floor, grabs him by the wrist. Senga lets himself be pulled along, but Nikaido doesn't miss out on his bare arm that tenses as he follows.
“Nika, I feel weird,” he says suddenly, and Nikaido stops in the middle of a step.
“Are you that drunk?”
“No, I'm not drunk. It's not-”
“You did keep your eyes on your drink, right?” Now he sounds downright worried. There's nothing he wants less than Senga high on whatever someone might have put into his drink; or worse, if he'd get used while affected by those drugs.
“No, it's not like that!” Senga raises his voice a little. If only Nikaido would let him finish his sentence. “I feel like I'm being watched.”
Nikaido stiffens visibly, but then shoves lightly at Senga's shoulder. “There are no ghosts here. You just want to go home already.”
“Not in the ghost-way,” he whines. “Like someone is actually watching me.”
“You can't fool me okay, people here are weird but there are no dead things at this party.” Nikaido looks like he's trying to convince himself rather than Senga. “Let's go find Watta, then dance a little, then we'll go home, okay?” He gets a nod for response and they continue walking, this time on their own. They head in the general direction of where it had seemed like Yokoo had left for, and stretching his neck a little, Nikaido thinks he sees him over the heads of the crowd between them.
Senga spots something in the corner of his eye, turns his head towards it; then stops in surprise, shock, and disbelief. He recognizes two people by the wall; one is Fujigaya, cap not hiding the waves of hair coming out on the sides. But that's not the one that surprises him. No, the other one looks larger, but is smaller, and he knows that haircut so well, even though it's more styled (or is it just messier?) than usual. It's Massu. And Massu is currently pulling Fujigaya in close, seems to speak right in his ear, before they get close enough that it looks like they actually kiss. Then he lets go, and a girl comes over with small glasses that they empty in no time, and then the girl starts pulling Fujigaya up from where he's sitting.
When he realizes Senga isn't close behind, Nikaido is already near Yokoo, enough that he finally notices the girl in his lap. She's dressed in black, with a long, white wig and almost equally pale skin; she must be the kind of person that never goes out, he thinks, and then wonders exactly why he's thinking about that. She must be a lot shorter than Yokoo, as Nikaido had spotted him from further away, but not her, but then again that could be because he was searching for him, he supposes. He's about to walk straight up to them, yet he stops himself halfway there, freezes where he is. What he sees scares him, actually scares him. Yokoo takes a hold on her wrist, lifts it upwards, and he notices that there is something across the nearly white skin, something that should not be there. Something that, when shifted around a bit, starts running downwards, dark and thick, and he knows what it is before he dares think of it. She has been cut, she's bleeding, and now Yokoo is lifting her wrist up so that he can flick his tongue out, lick the blood away from her otherwise flawless skin.
-
Fujigaya swallows down the second shot, and it burns just like the first had done, only now he's definitely not sober from the start. Still trying to get rid of the strong taste of alcohol mixed with sour grapefruit, he gets pulled up on his feet. It feels like the entire room is spinning when he stands, and he's thankful that the girl, whoever she is, is holding him in place because he's sure he would be swaying if she didn't. Then there's a hand on the hem of his pants pulling him forwards, before it comes up to grab the collar of his vest. The way he's tugged forward and down is almost rough, and he's all but falling onto Massu's lap; in fact, he's surprised himself that he lands well enough to quickly settle into a better position, legs on each side of him, but then he figures that Massu had most likely calculated the outcome of his actions. He still feels unbalanced, grabs Massu's bare shoulders for support, then locks his hands in the back of his neck without a thought spared to whether he's supposed to do that or not. There are no complaints, though, instead something fumbles at his chest; tilting his head he can see fingers popping the fourth button on his vest. Massu keeps his eyes on Fujigaya's face, and when they meet, Fujigaya finally realizes how close they are.
“How are you feeling?” Massu asks in a casual tone, a huge contrast to the situation they're in.
"Like I'm floating." It's the first thing he comes to think of, but he thinks it makes sense and if he's not the one floating, then it's the entire room that does, anyway. A hand comes up under his vest, settling at his hip where fingers stroke the smooth skin of his lower belly, just above the line of his pants. It might be the alcohol, but while he wonders exactly when Massu opened the bottom button, his nerves are coming alive, rushing blood downwards in response to the so far few actual intimate touches.
Massu's hands on his skin feel weird, not because of the hands themselves, but because of the general late reactions his body makes; he realizes that he has never had sex while this drunk, then reminds himself that they haven't even kissed. His tongue darts out at the thought, wets his lips in what to him feels like a quick and discrete movement, but Massu catches it easily. With the vest more or less undone it is with no struggle whatsoever that Massu's hand finds Fujigaya's necklace, where it pulls on it harshly enough that he follows, but not enough that the silver chain risks breaking. He knows what Massu wants him to do; he wants it too, and without hesitation he presses their lips together, knocks his cap off in the process. Just the touch of lips sends sparks through his body, arousal happening quicker than it usually would, but he blames his intoxicated state. That when he parts his lips for Massu, he lets out a gasp that would be embarrassing if he wasn't so drunk, is also the alcohol's fault, he decides. But he just can't blame anyone but himself when the hold on his side tightens a little, Massu's hand warm and strong on him, and his hips jerk on their own. He feels a sound against his mouth, rather than hears it, and Massu pulls back just a few centimeters. The necklace goes back to hanging on its own from Fujigaya's neck, and the hand that pulled on it grabs his other hip, the one that's unoccupied.
“You're hot,” he mumbles, so close that Fujigaya nearly feels him on his lips, or at least so he thinks; his mind could be playing a trick on him. The rest of the room is unclear, blurry, anyway. “So slim. Makes me want to break you.” He pulls Fujigaya down by force, shifts his own hips towards him, and despite the moan he lets slip Fujigaya simultaneously tries to kiss him again. Luckily Massu doesn't seem to mind. If anything, he's pleased by it, especially the way Fujigaya rolls his hips in addition to how he's being pulled at, how he's so drunk that he doesn't even try to hold his sounds back.
continue reading
Yamashita Tomohisa/Kitayama, Masuda/Fujigaya, Nikaido/Senga, Miyata/Tamamori, Yokoo/girl, Tegoshi (solo, NEWS, Kis-My-Ft2)
pwp, 13000 words, NC-17. Alcohol, BDSM, whipping, exhibitionism, mentioned bloodplay
Yamapi goes to a fetish club he heard about years ago from another NEWS member; finds entirely different people there. Kisumai also shows up, some members new to the place, others not. Kink happens.
I kind of went to a fetish club and then I had to write this. It's too long for one post, continuation is linked at the bottom.
It's the first time Yamapi comes to the club, and what meets his eyes doesn't exactly surprise him. He knew what to expect, knew about it since years back - one of the NEWS members used to go. He doubts he will find him there tonight, though.
People are dressed up along the lines of the dress code; dark, or strong colors, revealing or entirely covered, but it all fits together and he's glad he doesn't seem to stand out. He chose semi-tight pants in leather imitation, a vest with straps in the front, and a dark cap that covers his eyes unless he deliberately looks directly at people, or looks at them from above. From what he had heard during drinking sessions with group members back then, there wouldn't be any problems even if someone recognized him; apparently the community keeps quiet about identities. And what he sees when he enters makes him believe it entirely.
Even ignoring the pole dancers on stage, there's something about the entirely place that just screams kinky at him. Then again, it is a fetish club, and even if he hadn't known before he decided to go, he would have figured it out immediately. There's people in various stages of undressed (although, he remembers one of the rules clearly, “no sex”; they are not undressing here), some in nothing but underwear and leather straps. A woman walks by, and he can't help but stare when he realizes that her breasts are completely uncovered, except for the nipples. He needs alcohol for this, he figures, heads for the bar and tries to not look too much at the people around him; he can't help it when they're right next to him as he makes his way through the crowd. A guy with heavier make-up than he's ever seen on anyone walks by him, throws a glance at his face with pale blue lenses, but Yamapi doesn't focus on them; behind him, something else has caught his attention. There's someone on the floor, and he tries to stretch to see why, but the crowd closes behind the man with the lenses, and he continues on towards the bar.
It takes more than ten minutes to get through to the bar counter, and once he gets there he has to lean over it and shout his order to the bartender. He whips out his card to pay, but someone next to him hands him a drink ticket to use instead. At first he wants to refuse, but then he looks twice and realizes that the girl in the tight dress and fluffy wig is not so much a girl. It's Tegoshi, and he's wearing a devilish smile.
“I never thought I'd see you here,” he says as he takes both of their shot glasses, hands one to Yamapi.
“Didn't expect you to be here either. I thought he was the only one that used to go?” They clink the glasses before downing them; Yamapi makes a face because it's strong, much stronger than he had assumed.
“Oh, he still goes. He's here tonight.” Tegoshi smiles like that again, like he had known that someone else in the agency would show up at some point, but he leaves without another word, only shoves one more drink ticket into Yamapi's hand. Not exactly thinking, he orders a second shot, this time slightly weaker, while he watches Tegoshi's back disappear into the crowd (and that's when he realizes that there was a reason he had seemed a bit taller than usual; stilettos).
By the time he throws his head back and drinks down the second shot, the alcohol from the first one has already started to run through his body; not enough to feel numb, but not very far from it either. The dance floor starts to look a lot more inviting now, even with all the people that he doesn't really feel a part of. The way back to it is a lot longer than it should be, and being gradually pushed around by the moving crowd has him on the opposite side of where he passed on the way towards the bar. And suddenly there's a hand on his arm, and he turns towards the touch. Someone whose face he can't see hands Yamapi a chain as he tries to pass by, places another item in his other hand before they leave him. The chain is of average size bordering on thin, and the second item is a tiny bit heavier than he would have expected. Black, smooth, leathery against his palm, and he doesn't need to look to know it's a whip. He follows the chain with his eyes, finds that it leads to where he thought it would; to a leather collar wrapped around the neck of a practically naked man on the floor. And when he gets a better look, he freezes for an entirely different reason. Because the man on the floor, right there in front of him, is not just any man. It's Kitayama, at first a little difficult to tell as his hair is disheveled and eyes cast downwards, but it's definitely him. He tries tugging on the chain, and the reaction is immediate.
Kitayama dares throw a glance upwards, and that's all it takes before he's on all fours within seconds, facing the floor, hair hanging down over his face in wisps of dark brown. He's expecting something, it's obvious and very much so, that he is waiting for it to happen, and Yamapi knows exactly what he wants. He tightens the hold on the chain; pulls on it a little, just to show who's in control, and then he lifts the whip.
-
Only two of the members are not shocked when they enter at the top of stairs that lead down to a dance floor crowded with people, some of them in outfits they had never thought they'd actually see anyone wear. Yokoo and Fujigaya knew what was coming; the other four had no idea, and it looks like at least Senga and Miyata are starting to regret that they chose to tag along. But then again, when Yokoo had said that Kitayama has a secret they would have to see to believe, there was no way they'd be left out on it. So there they are, in clothes that had awoken suspicion in them when Fujigaya picked them out; still, Fujigaya himself is the worst one of them. Glossy pants, an equally glossy police style cap, boots, a medium-long silver necklace and a sleeveless button-up vest, and it turns out he's wearing nothing underneath it as he pops the top buttons and pulls it open. They're all in black, and they're all looking great - Fujigaya is proud when he looks at them, because they almost do look like they belong there. Nikaido wears the tightest pants he's ever gotten into, Senga is in a nearly see-through black tank top that shows off his arms, Miyata looks oddly handsome with the thin eyeliner and the hat he's wearing, and Tamamori's thin, matte glossy three-quarter sleeve shirt is ripped in the back, showing off his muscles with the help of a wide boatneck cut (although he's squirming, complaining that he feels naked). Yokoo is the only one he didn't style; it's not the first time he's coming either, and he's wearing what he knows will make him fit in. The black, slim fit dress shirt looks great on him, with dark metal accessories that shine in the occasional flash of dance floor lights, and Fujigaya especially likes the necklace that rests between his quite visible collarbones.
“I'm sure you'll find him somewhere over there.” Yokoo gestures towards the general direction of the bar once they've gotten down the stairs, before he sets out in the opposite direction towards a corner that is even darker than the rest of the club, dim green lights and quickly blinking lamps making a contrast to the otherwise slightly warmer lighting.
“Anyone wanna get drinks?” Fujigaya suggests, and finds the four of them just nodding, eyes wide as they take in their environment. He pulls them along, and to his surprise Nikaido is the one that's the most alert, or maybe curious. Senga is holding on to Nikaido's arm, quite firmly if judging by the way his own arm or wrist isn't moving the slightest. Tamamori and Miyata mostly seem unfocused, Tamamori because he's following the performance going on on the center stage in the middle of the dance floor; Miyata because he's nearly staring his eyes out at everyone around him.
On top of the center stage is now a man with bare chest and clown make-up hiding his facial features. He's fumbling with something in his pockets, and Tamamori is so curious to find out what it is that he walks straight into someone. He intends to apologize immediately, but falls silent when he get a better look. The girl in front of him is in straps and patches of faux leather, nipples barely covered, panties definitely lower than where her pubic hair must be starting (but she's neatly waxed, so he can't tell for sure). And she notices his staring, then how embarrassed he is, but she just laughs and winks at him with an eye framed by huge fake lashes.
“Don't miss out on my performance,” she says to him, leans a bit closer so that he can hear properly; he pulls back instead, because her breasts come in closer as well, and he figures he does not need them up against his chest. Especially considering the shirt he's wearing is really thin. "I'm sure you'll like it," she adds, then leaves him to look for his companions. Miyata is waiting for him just a couple of meters away, and he learns from him that Fujigaya went ahead to the bar with Nikaido and Senga.
By the time all three of them have drinks in their hands there is flames going through the air above the dance floor; it turns out that the performer Tamamori had been so focused on is a fire-breather, and he's now showing off his skills with short, fast flames, one after another. With every one the hall lights up for a second, and Fujigaya catches Miyata's face on the way through the crowd, Tamamori right behind. Next to himself is Nikaido, who looks much too happy about the place, like it's really exciting. Senga on the other hand appears to be worried if anything, but Nikaido just pats him on the shoulder and tells him to relax and look for Kitayama instead.
Fujigaya knows where Kitayama is, what he will look like, and most likely what he'll be doing too. It's not his thing, not at all, but he's seen it before and knows how much Kitayama enjoys it. He's surprised none of the other members, except Yokoo of course, haven't noticed anything at all yet. But perhaps it is because he knows, that he notices the red marks on his back that sometimes remain, visible while they're changing in the dressing rooms.
“There,” Nikaido says suddenly, “is that...” Fujigaya follows the direction in which he's pointing, but what catches his eye isn't Kitayama.
“That's... Yamapi...” Tamamori points out from behind them, sips on his drink as he tries to take in what's happening. And they all trust him when it comes to recognizing that specific senpai, that's not why they stay silent, as if wondering. No, through spaces between people in the crowd they can see that he has something in his hand; something dark, most likely black. Then something shimmers in the lights in the roof, and they realize there's a chain in his other hand.
"I'm going to find Yokoo." Fujigaya breaks the silence, because he now knows what's going on, where the chain leads, and he doesn't need to watch the rest. So he leaves the four younger members there by the steps that lead from the bar down to the dance floor, hopes that they will get the hint, or at least get curious enough to keep watching.
Nikaido hears Senga's breath catching when a body on the floor comes into view, a small circle forming around it and Yamapi as the black item is lifted up. And the he stiffens as well, realizing why Senga had reacted. There on the floor, on hands and knees, is Kitayama, waiting to get struck with the whip in their senpai's hand.
-
The first time the whip comes down it hits too soft to bring out much of a reaction, but that makes him want to do it harder; and Kitayama looks so willing and so completely submissive, not moving his head even a millimeter as he waits. The next whip is better; it makes a slight sound as it hits, and this time Kitayama twitches a little.
But it's so unfamiliar that Yamapi isn't sure what he should or shouldn't do. What if he's actually hurting him, or what if he won't say stop if it becomes too much? He wants to be nice, even though Kitayama doesn't seem to want him to; he squats next to him anyway, takes the chain in the same hand as the one holding the whip and brings the now free hand to the back of Kitayama's head. He ruffles his hair a bit, like one would do to a dog, and when he feels him lean into the touch just the slightest, he somehow knows that he wasn't being too rough. So he stands up again, takes the chain in a firmer grip in one hand again, and when he brings the leather straps of the whip down onto his back again, it makes a sound that he can hear clearly over the bass of the music, even if only because he's standing close. And Kitayama's entire body twitches now, back arching again as he takes a second whip closely followed by another, but he doesn't let out any sounds whatsoever. Neither does he move, he just stays there, lets Yamapi whip his back until red stripes appear, crossing each other over his skin; just waits for him to be finished. That's what makes him stop earlier than he could have; the feeling of using someone is too much in the end, and he squats again, runs a hand through the dark bangs and down the back of his neck, slides down one side of it, but not far enough to reach his collarbone. He's leaning into the touch again, and then Yamapi throws a glance at the very small, not so covering, skin-colored t-back Kitayama is wearing. Despite the vibrant colors of the lights and the shadows cast by people around them, he has no problems seeing what cannot be anything but an erection.
-
The four of them stand still as they watch Yamapi bring down the whip over and over, increasing the strength with each strike, but it looks as though Kitayama isn't doing anything in particular to stop him.
“He likes that, doesn't he?” Tamamori whispers, and although it's unclear which one of them he's talking about, they all assume it's about Kitayama. “That's the secret, right?” Nikaido nods in silence, remembering the smirk on Yokoo's face when they had been told about it the first time. He has never seen anything like that, except in movies, and even then the one being whipped had never actually liked it, but there is no doubt that Kitayama does. And something about the fact that their Kitayama, usually so strong and in a way a leader to them, loves to be dominated like that is so hot that he finds himself afraid he's actually blushing in what would be a start to obvious arousal.
Next to him, Senga is just sipping apathetically on his drink, refusing to look; to him it's too much, the pain infliction, willing or not. Also much too private for him to watch and feel okay about it. He keeps his eyes down instead, watches the green liquid of his cocktail slowly disappear between the ice cubes as he drinks through the straw, and he focuses on it so much that he doesn't notice the person not so far from them, eyeing him up and down with a smirk.
Miyata, on the other hand, is looking in an entirely different direction. The fire-breather has just finished his show, and people are getting up on the center stage to dance while waiting for the next number on the main stage. It turns out to be acrobatic dancers, not so much different from A.B.C-Z, he thinks. But then he spots her by the edge of the room, by the wall with another girl who seems to be shorter than her; the one that bumped into Tamamori, and he nudges him in the back.
“Is that her?” He has to repeat the question twice because the music has gone up in volume, but once Tamamori finally hears him and gets what he's pointing at, he nods. That's her.
“I guess she's performing soon.” Miyata tilts his head, questioning. He hasn't heard what she told Tamamori. “She told me to watch it. That I'd like her performance. So let's go watch it, okay?” Without waiting for an answer he grabs Miyata's wrist and pulls him along, slowly making their way up to the main stage while the floor is vibrating with the bass from the music.
“Nika,” Senga manages as they're left alone. “Can we go home soon?”
“Kenpi come on, we just got here.” He puts an arm around his waist, pulls him in closer in an attempt to comfort him. “Let's have another drink, then maybe we'll go. Okay?” His focus is still on Yamapi and Kitayama as he speaks, but he rubs his cheek against Senga's head in a way that he tells himself is entirely platonic. He feels Senga nod, and just when they're about to go back to the bar they see how Yamapi stops whipping, seems to pet Kitayama like he was an animal, before he turns around.
-
“He likes you,” a soft voice says from behind him, and Yamapi looks back over his own shoulder to find a girl with smokey make-up and a very visible cleavage. “He rarely lets men do that to him.” She's looking at Kitayama with a dominant look in her eyes, more dominant than Yamapi himself feels, even with whip and chain in his hands, and he can't help but wonder exactly what she has done to him before, with the way he's cowering down towards the floor. “You should take him back to a VIP room and go all the way. Bet you can pay for it.” He stiffens for a second - she has recognized him, and on top of that, she seems to know more about this side of Kitayama than he does. But then again, Kitayama's secret has never been exposed, so he supposes he's okay. “Go fix a room, I'll keep him occupied.” He wants to ask why, and how, but when he takes a step back and hands her the chain, she just sits down on his back, pulls a little on the collar as she says something to him.
-
Fujigaya is going up a few stairsteps, stretching his neck to look for Yokoo, but as he does, something else catches his eyes. There's someone in a chair, someone that he thinks he recognizes despite the shadows cast on his face. Someone that notices him, gives him a quick wave with a hand and Fujigaya takes it as a suggestion to approach; he has already forgotten about finding Yokoo. Because who he thinks he sees is not at all who he would expect to find at a club like this, yet there he is. Thin, silky fabric in layers hanging from his muscular shoulders, showing off more of his chest than he usually ever does on stage, with a v-drape that goes almost all the way down to his navel. His hair looks a little messier than usual, but it looks great. Not to mention his eyes; they seem to be lined with kohl, and they're almost as dark as the lining. Fujigaya has to tell himself that it's the lighting's fault, because the light is not at all that good, but there's at least no doubt that he's there and that he looks amazing.
“Massu?” he asks, even though he knows. It's so unexpected.
“Fujigaya-kun. I didn't know you came here.” He gestures for Fujigaya to sit down next to him; the chair is lower than his own, and Fujigaya finds himself looking up at Massu as he answers.
“It's just the second time.”
Massu smiles, a smile much different than the one he usually has while on stage. “Newbie, then.” His face straightens a bit before he continues. “I've been going for years.” He doesn't sound particularly arrogant, but there is still something different to his voice. Something that makes Fujigaya want to hear him speak more, hear him say things that have a lot less to do with the current topic. He tells himself it's because of the alcohol, even though he's only had one cocktail. Why else would he be thinking things like that? He clears his mind, and is just about to ask if he maybe has seen Yokoo, but Massu continues before he has the chance.
“We were about to have shots,” he says, and for a second Fujigaya wonders who “we” are, because he can't see anyone that looks like they're with Massu, but then a scantily clad woman makes her way over there, balancing three shot glasses on a tray. She gets there, straddles Massu's lap as he takes a shot for himself, then turns to Fujigaya.
“I was going to have two, but you should take one.” He speaks like before, a different tone in his voice, and it's even more impressive now that he has a close-to-naked woman in his lap. Like it doesn't make a difference if she's there or not. “Go on.”
He takes a shot glass, and watches the two of them throw their heads back as they take theirs; he follows quickly, makes a face at how strong it is, and hears Massu chuckle at his reaction.
“Strong?” When he opens his eyes he finds that Massu is smirking at him.
Fujigaya nods. “What is that?”
“Spirytus base, 65 percents. Like it?”
“It'll get me drunk, for sure.” Fujigaya isn't sure he likes the change in Massu's eyes when he says that; but he is also pretty sure that within 15 minutes, he'll be fine with whatever change this entire situation takes. The alcohol is burning hot down his throat, and it might be his mind playing tricks after he heard the percentage of the shot, but his head feels lighter already.
“Hmm, one more?” Massu is smirking, even more when Fujigaya shakes his head. “You can handle it. Or are you that much of a light weight?” He makes it sound like a bad thing; Fujigaya shakes his head again, then agrees to another shot. It takes a little while before the girl comes back with more drinks, and while waiting, Massu grabs him by the arm, pulls him in to speak in his ear.
“You think you'll be able to handle it?” he asks, and something jumps inside Fujigaya, because he's pretty sure Massu isn't talking about the alcohol.
“Yeah,” he breathes, turns his own head so that his lips are next to Massu's ear instead; for a second they accidentally brush his skin, and that's when he realizes that he doesn't completely have his body under control anymore. For a moment he thinks Massu is actually going to kiss him, because he lingers, but in the end he just squeezes Fujigaya's arm and lets go.
-
Yamapi doesn't even have to finish his sentence before the man dealing with tickets hands him an old-fashioned key.
“VIP, one floor down. Rule number two,” he points with a long, dark green nail at the paper next to him on the wall, "is excepted as long as you lock the door." He is pointing at the one rule Yamapi remembers seeing when entering; “no sex”, complete with silhouettes of a couple in a doggy style position. "If we need to open, though, we will." He figures that the large key is more for decoration than for privacy, and the lock won't be hard to break open if they tried. Doesn't matter much, though, and he just nods a thanks as he takes his card out to pay.
When he comes back to the floor he finds the girl from before still holding his chain while sitting on his back, while another is on all fours in front of him, and something inside Yamapi heats up for a second. Kitayama is his to touch tonight (although "to use" is his first thought), and now there's some chick on the floor that looks like she's kissing him. But at the same time it looks hot, the way Kitayama can't exactly move away from her even if he wanted to, and the way her short skirt rides up as she leans down a little for his face. Her panties are clearly visible, tight and lacy, and Yamapi feels like a bit creepy when he notes that she looks a little swollen underneath them, wonders if she's getting wet too. But then the girl on Kitayama's back rises up, kicks the other girl's thigh lightly, makes her turn around and stand up.
“Thanks,” he says as he's handed the chain, and the metal is warmer than he had expected it to be. She just winks at him before she leaves, and there he stands, with a kouhai on a chain waiting for the next order.
“Come,” and he tugs on the chain, makes it rattle just enough that he can almost hear it over the music, and Kitayama stands, but doesn't look up. Like that he follows Yamapi to the stairs, and they go down them to search for the room number that matches the key.
There is a bottle of champagne on the table in the middle of the room, and a leather couch next to the table. The staff have been quick; there's two glasses beside the bottle, even though he never said there were two of them, but he assumes they knew he wouldn't get a VIP room for himself only. For a moment Yamapi thinks about what he should do with it; it is a fairly expensive brand, and it does look very tempting. He throws a glance at Kitayama, who is still keeping his eyes on the floor, waiting for something to happen. And he has to try it, turns around just enough that he can see properly how Kitayama reacts, before he gives a short, quick pull on the chain. Now that the music is dulled by the walls between them and the dance floor there is nothing that stop him from hearing the gasp that Kitayama lets out, not to mention he sees that he's twitching in his tight pants.
“Are you going to talk?” he asks. He wants to know, needs to know. And Kitayama shakes his head in response.
“Use me,” he whispers under his breath, and now it's Yamapi who draws a quick, silent breath, because it's exactly what he had been thinking earlier.
So he holds the chain in a tight grip, keeps it stretched as he pulls Kitayama along to the couch, where he sits down and loosens the chain a little. Kitayama settles on the floor like it's where he's meant to be, right next to one of Yamapi's legs, but not close enough that they actually touch. He cowers a little as Yamapi stretches across the space between the couch and the table, but seems to relax a little when he realizes that he's just putting the hat he took off on the table, and then reaches for the bottle and a glass. The second glass is left untouched, while the first is placed by the edge of the table; then Yamapi shakes the bottle a couple times.
“Look at me,” he tells Kitayama, and he faces upwards at the words, but still doesn't make any eye contact. It doesn't really matter, because that's not what Yamapi wants. Kitayama probably figures it out by the time he starts working on opening the bottle, and he closes his eyes all the way.
-
With no idea what to do, Nikaido and Senga start looking for Yokoo, both of them a new drink in hand. Senga doesn't say anything, but it's easy to tell he's not enjoying himself as much as Nikaido is. There's so much to see, so much strange people to get surprised (and sometimes embarrassed) by, and it's like a world of things Nikaido had thought only existed in movies. But now he's there, in the middle of it, and it's exciting in a way he can't really tell his quiet best friend. He doesn't look like he's hating the situation; but it is obvious that if he'd have known exactly where they were going to begin with, he might have turned them down and stayed home.
“Come on, Kenpi,” he encourages him as they move away from the main floor, grabs him by the wrist. Senga lets himself be pulled along, but Nikaido doesn't miss out on his bare arm that tenses as he follows.
“Nika, I feel weird,” he says suddenly, and Nikaido stops in the middle of a step.
“Are you that drunk?”
“No, I'm not drunk. It's not-”
“You did keep your eyes on your drink, right?” Now he sounds downright worried. There's nothing he wants less than Senga high on whatever someone might have put into his drink; or worse, if he'd get used while affected by those drugs.
“No, it's not like that!” Senga raises his voice a little. If only Nikaido would let him finish his sentence. “I feel like I'm being watched.”
Nikaido stiffens visibly, but then shoves lightly at Senga's shoulder. “There are no ghosts here. You just want to go home already.”
“Not in the ghost-way,” he whines. “Like someone is actually watching me.”
“You can't fool me okay, people here are weird but there are no dead things at this party.” Nikaido looks like he's trying to convince himself rather than Senga. “Let's go find Watta, then dance a little, then we'll go home, okay?” He gets a nod for response and they continue walking, this time on their own. They head in the general direction of where it had seemed like Yokoo had left for, and stretching his neck a little, Nikaido thinks he sees him over the heads of the crowd between them.
Senga spots something in the corner of his eye, turns his head towards it; then stops in surprise, shock, and disbelief. He recognizes two people by the wall; one is Fujigaya, cap not hiding the waves of hair coming out on the sides. But that's not the one that surprises him. No, the other one looks larger, but is smaller, and he knows that haircut so well, even though it's more styled (or is it just messier?) than usual. It's Massu. And Massu is currently pulling Fujigaya in close, seems to speak right in his ear, before they get close enough that it looks like they actually kiss. Then he lets go, and a girl comes over with small glasses that they empty in no time, and then the girl starts pulling Fujigaya up from where he's sitting.
When he realizes Senga isn't close behind, Nikaido is already near Yokoo, enough that he finally notices the girl in his lap. She's dressed in black, with a long, white wig and almost equally pale skin; she must be the kind of person that never goes out, he thinks, and then wonders exactly why he's thinking about that. She must be a lot shorter than Yokoo, as Nikaido had spotted him from further away, but not her, but then again that could be because he was searching for him, he supposes. He's about to walk straight up to them, yet he stops himself halfway there, freezes where he is. What he sees scares him, actually scares him. Yokoo takes a hold on her wrist, lifts it upwards, and he notices that there is something across the nearly white skin, something that should not be there. Something that, when shifted around a bit, starts running downwards, dark and thick, and he knows what it is before he dares think of it. She has been cut, she's bleeding, and now Yokoo is lifting her wrist up so that he can flick his tongue out, lick the blood away from her otherwise flawless skin.
-
Fujigaya swallows down the second shot, and it burns just like the first had done, only now he's definitely not sober from the start. Still trying to get rid of the strong taste of alcohol mixed with sour grapefruit, he gets pulled up on his feet. It feels like the entire room is spinning when he stands, and he's thankful that the girl, whoever she is, is holding him in place because he's sure he would be swaying if she didn't. Then there's a hand on the hem of his pants pulling him forwards, before it comes up to grab the collar of his vest. The way he's tugged forward and down is almost rough, and he's all but falling onto Massu's lap; in fact, he's surprised himself that he lands well enough to quickly settle into a better position, legs on each side of him, but then he figures that Massu had most likely calculated the outcome of his actions. He still feels unbalanced, grabs Massu's bare shoulders for support, then locks his hands in the back of his neck without a thought spared to whether he's supposed to do that or not. There are no complaints, though, instead something fumbles at his chest; tilting his head he can see fingers popping the fourth button on his vest. Massu keeps his eyes on Fujigaya's face, and when they meet, Fujigaya finally realizes how close they are.
“How are you feeling?” Massu asks in a casual tone, a huge contrast to the situation they're in.
"Like I'm floating." It's the first thing he comes to think of, but he thinks it makes sense and if he's not the one floating, then it's the entire room that does, anyway. A hand comes up under his vest, settling at his hip where fingers stroke the smooth skin of his lower belly, just above the line of his pants. It might be the alcohol, but while he wonders exactly when Massu opened the bottom button, his nerves are coming alive, rushing blood downwards in response to the so far few actual intimate touches.
Massu's hands on his skin feel weird, not because of the hands themselves, but because of the general late reactions his body makes; he realizes that he has never had sex while this drunk, then reminds himself that they haven't even kissed. His tongue darts out at the thought, wets his lips in what to him feels like a quick and discrete movement, but Massu catches it easily. With the vest more or less undone it is with no struggle whatsoever that Massu's hand finds Fujigaya's necklace, where it pulls on it harshly enough that he follows, but not enough that the silver chain risks breaking. He knows what Massu wants him to do; he wants it too, and without hesitation he presses their lips together, knocks his cap off in the process. Just the touch of lips sends sparks through his body, arousal happening quicker than it usually would, but he blames his intoxicated state. That when he parts his lips for Massu, he lets out a gasp that would be embarrassing if he wasn't so drunk, is also the alcohol's fault, he decides. But he just can't blame anyone but himself when the hold on his side tightens a little, Massu's hand warm and strong on him, and his hips jerk on their own. He feels a sound against his mouth, rather than hears it, and Massu pulls back just a few centimeters. The necklace goes back to hanging on its own from Fujigaya's neck, and the hand that pulled on it grabs his other hip, the one that's unoccupied.
“You're hot,” he mumbles, so close that Fujigaya nearly feels him on his lips, or at least so he thinks; his mind could be playing a trick on him. The rest of the room is unclear, blurry, anyway. “So slim. Makes me want to break you.” He pulls Fujigaya down by force, shifts his own hips towards him, and despite the moan he lets slip Fujigaya simultaneously tries to kiss him again. Luckily Massu doesn't seem to mind. If anything, he's pleased by it, especially the way Fujigaya rolls his hips in addition to how he's being pulled at, how he's so drunk that he doesn't even try to hold his sounds back.
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