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Baba is jealous. He’s jealous of Majima, and in a small way he’s jealous of Saejima, too. He knows this, but tries to pretend it’s not true. He’s good at pretending. The same way he had pretended to be absolutely wasted so that Saejima would have no choice but to let him sleep it off on his couch, where Baba pretended to be asleep while he jerked himself off to the sounds of the two men fucking each other in the adjoining room, and Baba pretended not to notice the shit-eating grin Majima flashed him in the morning, the man’s loose undershirt pretending to hide the numerous dark bruises flowering along his collarbones like dewy irises.
When Saejima excused himself to the restroom, Baba none-too-subtly spat in Majima’s bowl of rice. Majima had locked eyes, lifted an unimpressed eyebrow, and eaten it regardless. Baba sat in stunned silence until Saejima returned and asked if he was running a fever, the hot red flush having crept up his cheeks and across his ears.
He’s been pouting all day because of it.
It’s unsightly of him to draw comparisons in their relationships. Selfish. Baba’s known Saejima for hardly a year, has only slipped out of a false skin around him for a scant handful of months. Majima’s known him for a lifetime. The man is extending Baba immense grace by even allowing him into their shared apartment so regularly—Baba would never be so kind as to allow an interloper making eyes at Saejima, if he had the good fortune to be in Majima’s shoes.
Even now, when Baba has gotten everything he could have ever wished for, Saejima kissing him softly and slipping his jeans off his hips, he’s making himself nauseous with jealousy. Saejima’s too gentle with him. He doesn’t fuck Baba like he does Majima. He doesn’t mark him up with bruises that Baba can show off. He looks at Baba with those big, forgiving eyes and small, guileless smile.
It’s nothing more than a pity fuck. It must be.
Saejima’s got him up against the bedroom wall, two fingers inside his ass with his thumb brushing along the dusky shaft of his t-dick. Baba makes a stilted whine, trying to shift his hips down onto Saejima’s hand, chasing something rougher, deeper.
“Careful now, you’re gettin’ noisy.” Saejima whispers against his ear.
Saejima covers his mouth with his thick hand to keep him quiet, ring finger curling into Baba’s mouth. It’s a certainty that Majima already knows that Baba’s getting fucked while the man loads the dishwasher in the kitchen, Baba knows that he knows, but he loves the feeling of getting one past Majima, that he’s stealing Saejima away from him.
It’s marred by his inadequacy, though, that the bond between Majima and Saejima is so unbreakable that Baba isn’t even a threat. It sours on his tongue.
He bites down on the finger in his mouth, hard.
Saejima clicks his tongue in annoyance. When Baba bites down again, he pulls his finger free and looks unhappily at the overlapping ring of indents left by Baba’s teeth.
“‘The hell, man.”
“This is stupid.” Baba spits out. He squirms against Saejima’s palm, refusing to cooperate.
Saejima’s movements still, a brief flash of confusion and concern.
“Fuck me like you mean it already.” Baba tries to sound defiant but tilts towards sulky, pawing at Saejima’s heavy cock and licking his lips. “Like you fuck him.”
“I don’t think ya can take that.” Saejima says with a small laugh, and leans in to kiss Baba.
“Well maybe if you’d stop sucking face with Majima for two minutes you’d realize I can.” Baba huffs, petulantly turning his head away so that Saejima’s lips land askew.
In a heartbeat Saejima has him pressed into the mattress, looming over him with a stern expression. Baba had forgotten, in the intervening time since they had fought, that Saejima is not a slow, lumbering giant, that he moves like a lunging tiger when pushed.
“Is that really the route ya wanna go down, kyoudai?” Saejima says. His craggy face is unreadable, save for the faint pink blush and wide blown eyes of their necking.
Kyoudai still makes his heart jolt in his chest, a panic like his cover’s just been blown. It doesn’t feel earned. More wool he’s pulled over Saejima’s eyes.
The careful way Saejima speaks makes Baba pause and consider why he’s treated differently than Majima, too. That he can’t take the treatment he wants. That unlike the Tojo Clan legend, Baba would be split in half on Saejima’s cock. He also considers that he doesn’t care.
“Of course it is.” He tilts his head, presenting the confident jut of his jaw. “Anything he can take, I can take too.”
Saejima’s expression remains unchanged. “Maybe I have been bein’ too nice to ya.”
He pumps his shaft a few times, and Baba is transfixed by the smooth glide of his foreskin across his glans. Then, Saejima pulls away and sits himself on the edge of the bed, the broad arch of his back turned towards Baba. The heated look thrown over his shoulder makes Baba lurch in his direction, and Saejima is quick to catch him around the waist and heft him bodily into his lap, his back arched against Saejima’s plush chest and his clenched ass hovering just over Saejima’s cock.
“Ya ain’t gotta be such a jackass, y’know.” Saejima says flatly.
“I’m not—” Baba makes a sour face, his defense falling away from him as he feels the fat head of Saejima’s cock nudging against his asshole, the sharp burn of the stretch making him yelp and hiss. No time to adjust to the endless length as he sinks down it inch by inch. An indefatigable pull until he’s seated fully on Saejima’s cock, his shuddering legs spread open by Saejima’s knees. Testing if he’ll tap out. If he can take it. Baba swears under his breath and sweat beads on his hairline.
“Now you’re gonna stop runnin’ your mouth and just sit, Baba.” Saejima says, shifting into a comfortable position. “I ain’t fuckin’ ya till ya earned it.”
That’s all Saejima wants him for. A cockwarmer. It’s humiliating that he believed it was anything more. Pathetic that he’s still so turned on by it. Some bone-deep inclination towards obedience that Saejima draws out of him like seeds bursting from a pomegranate.
The physical disparity tugs at something deep in his hindbrain; one hole achingly full, the other achingly empty. He slips his hand down to the join of his thighs and knuckles around his swollen t-dick, hasty little strokes.
Saejima grabs him by the wrist. “I didn’t say ya could touch.”
He’s surprised by the hot flush of genuine shame that hits him, the way his body tightens and wetness oozes down his taint to the tight seal of his rim.
Baba gets out the first syllable of an apology before cutting himself off and clamping his mouth shut.
“Now you’re gettin’ it.” Saejima releases his wrist and presses a kiss to his shoulder. It carries a faint implication of praise, and that’s more than enough to make Baba melt into a warm syrupy mess.
Now he has his job, and it’s shocking how difficult simply sitting still is. He finally, finally has Saejima inside of him, he wants to bounce on his cock, get fucked into the mattress, anything but sit here quietly losing his mind. Some part of him expected Saejima to find the tight channel of his ass irresistible. Hopes that he’ll grow impatient and mindlessly rut into him. Then Baba thinks back to their time spent together in prison, to the monotony and the pain that Saejima sat unflinchingly through, his immense, silent perseverance.
No, the only way Baba’s getting fucked is to do this properly. He tries to divert his attention away from his empty front hole and throbbing t-dick and focuses on the points of connection between their bodies; the warmth of Saejima’s skin against his back and his thighs, the subtle wing-beat flutter of his pulse, and the masculine scent rolling off of him.
It’s hard to breathe.
Baba imagines, somewhat deliriously, Saejima’s cock pressing up into him until it bumps against his lungs, every errant twitch forcing the shaky wheezes he’s making out of his throat.
“Gettin’ kinda noisy there. Almost sounds like ya wanna get caught.”
Baba can’t deny the thrill of exposure, how badly he wants Majima to see him getting nailed and taking it just as good as he can. Better than he can. Making Saejima feel good, making him cum.
That’s not what Majima would see right now.
Saejima shifts minutely inside of him and Baba moans pitifully. His hands hover next to Saejima’s thighs, his fingers flexed claw-like and shaking—no touching, Saejima didn’t say he could, he’s being good, please—and he bites down viciously on his own tongue to stifle himself. Sweat gathers on the nape of his neck, little rivulets starting to trickle down along the divot of his spine and planes of his shoulder blades. It would be kinder for Saejima to filet him open with a knife than to make him endure this further.
“What’s this?” Majima asks, leering from the doorway. A different sort of blade to gut Baba with. “Kyoudai, are ya runnin’ around on me?”
There’s an edge to Majima’s tone, and for a moment Baba worries he’s misjudged the situation. Wide eyes and a lump in his throat. Then Baba feels the diminutive tremble of a laugh through Saejima, a tiny exhale of air.
“Sorry, I couldn’t help myself.” Saejima rocks his hips and Baba chokes out a gasp at the sudden friction. “‘Sides, don’t he look damn good on my cock? Just like ya said he would.”
Majima’s displeased frown quirks upwards. “Yeah. Even better than I thought.”
It strikes right at the core of him. His thoughts pull apart like taffy, and every biting remark he’d like to make gums up against his brain stem.
“Since ya been real good fer me, how about ya let Majima suck ya off while I fuck ya like you’ve been askin’ for.”
It’s hardly a request, not when Baba would readily agree to anything that came from Saejima’s mouth, too lust-drunk and needy to play his usual games, to feign disinterest in either man. Saejima always has a knack for surfacing Baba’s ugliest sincerity.
“Please.” Baba breathes out. “Please.”
Baba knows he sounds pathetic. Looks pathetic, too. He feels every ounce of it. Majima’s eye crinkles with mirth and Saejima rumbles against him, hands gripping his waist, a quiet hitch to his breathing.
Majima slinks towards him, clothes falling away until he’s kneeling naked between Baba’s firm thighs. He nuzzles against him with a slanted grin and pillows his cheek against Baba’s twitching muscles. “I finally get to treat ya good, Baba-chan.”
Baba makes a confused noise. Majima’s eye catches the light, his pupil blown so wide Baba can almost see himself in it, and he licks up along the freckles on Baba’s skin and bites down on his sensitive inner thigh.
“Had to listen to this guy go on ‘n’ on about ya and he wouldn’t even let me take ya for a ride until he had his fun first, the selfish bastard.”
Before Baba can ask what exactly Majima’s getting at Saejima interrupts with a thrust up into the core of Baba that makes him tilt his head back and moan.
“Hey now, I was doin’ a good job lettin’ him sneak around. Ain’t my fault ya got impatient.”
There’s a fuzzy edge of embarrassment in Saejima’s tone, like Majima’s giving too much away. It sinks in slowly just how much both of them were catering to him. That they both read him so thoroughly, that they both wanted to indulge him in his fantasies. It makes something knotted up in his chest squirm.
Then Majima closes his lips around the head of Baba’s t-dick, and Saejima fucks up into him with long, deep strokes, and Baba stops thinking about anything else.
It feels so good. Too good. He’s reduced to whorish moans, gripping at Saejima’s thighs beneath him as he’s bounced against Majima’s mouth. Fucked rough in just the way he likes. Sucked off in a way he’s never been before. Saejima shifts the angle to drive in deeper and Majima presses down hard with his tongue and the sensations hit him like the recoil from a heavy rifle; an impact that rattles his bones and splinters his thoughts.
“Keep doin’ that,” Saejima grunts out, speaking up where Baba’s voice has failed him. “Make him cum on my cock for me.”
Majima hums an acknowledgement and works his tongue with devastating accuracy under Baba’s foreskin and across the twitchy, wet flesh of his glans. It knocks the wind out of Baba. Wrings him out like a dirty mop. He shouts as he cums, high staccato notes, one hand gripping at Saejima behind him and the other sunk into Majima’s dark hair.
“Shit that’s good.” Saejima slams up into him a few more times, riding out the fluttery pulses of his orgasm and pumping his own release deep inside him with a bloom of warmth and a low, near-pained growl.
Majima keeps his mouth working slowly as they both ride out their orgasms. Baba’s grip goes slack on Majima’s hair and he feels Saejima pant against his shoulder and drag his lips along his neck, his bristly scruff scraping pleasantly. Baba notes dimly that Majima’s hand is still working between his own legs even as he slowly pulls away, his jaw slick with saliva and wetness. It makes Baba feel unfocused, hazy.
Saejima pulls out of him with a grunt, a thin trickle of cum chasing after his thick cock while Baba clenches around nothing. Majima looks up at Saejima, a wordless request, and Baba’s tilted backwards to allow Majima better access to nose against his stretched hole.
“What are you…?” Baba questions, then makes a feeble moan when Majima licks against him, licks into him.
“Part of bein’ kyoudai is cleanin’ up each others’ messes.” Saejima says warmly, his softening dick sticky against Baba’s spine.
Majima makes a contented hum, his eye falling shut as he laps at Baba’s hole and quickly works his own ruddy t-dick with his hand until he cums with a muffled groan, and it makes a few things click into place for Baba with startling clarity. He isn’t some interloper to them. He’s wanted. Part of the pack.
Baba could pretend that he’s misty eyed from overstimulation, that the tears starting to puddle on his lashes and the dopey grin splitting his face are a purely physical reaction to getting thoroughly fucked.
But he’s so tired of pretending.
It’ll take some work, sure. He knows his own neurosis, he can feel where the rough edges of them catch against Saejima’s gruff compassion and Majima’s slippery wit. Can he stomach being meticulously filed down? Or will he give in to his nature and spit and hiss and flee like a feral cat?
The feeling of Saejima’s brawny arms around him and the line of bruises Majima is languidly sucking into his thigh makes him feel that he’ll walk back into this hunter’s snare as many times as is necessary for it to stick.