Archive of Our Own

Some spirits are a little worse than others. Mashita didn’t exactly keep a list, but he knew this one would easily place in the top five if he had. Good spirits, those being the easy ones, basically wailed to you about their grudge, waited for you to fix their problems, and then went on their merry way. This one had decided it was going to be a homicidal maniac instead. Yashiki had explained the details to him while they were sprinting side by side to the abandoned warehouse. The spirit (when it was still a living, breathing human being) had been held by criminals for ransom and, when no ransom was to be had, had been forced to swallow a bunch of sleeping pills. It was unclear whether the thugs had actually intended to kill their victim or not, but either way, the result had been the same: a very dead corpse, and a very cranky spirit.

Mashita knew that spirits often liked acting out the traumatic events they’d suffered in life. Usually, you had to parry this with some sort of symbolic gesture - a ritual is what Yashiki liked to refer to this as - and this somehow comforted the spirit. Mashita wasn’t sure about the specifics of how it worked, and frankly he didn’t really care. As long as it did work, that was all that mattered. Trying to understand the dead was a fruitless endeavour, in his opinion, and it would never lead to anything good.

In this specific case, though, the thought of the spirit acting out its trauma was particularly frightening. Yashiki had called him in a panic, hardly bothering to explain what was going on before telling him that he was swinging by Mashita’s office to pick him up. It wasn’t until Mashita had gotten into the rusty old minivan that he’d found out that Ai Kashiwagi, that stupid idol girl who usually tailed Yasuoka, was missing. Worse yet, Yashiki had good reason to suspect that she had been abducted by the spirit. They’d had no time to lose. Mashita had never seen Yashiki drive so quickly or recklessly before, speeding through the city in their haste to find her. When they’d reached the abandoned warehouse, they had decided to split up. Searching would go faster that way. 

Mashita hadn’t been worried, not really. All of the mark bearers had made it out of sticky situations before, and as dumb as she was, that idol girl sure was sturdier than she looked. One thing had troubled him though. The spirit had been a man. If it was really trying to act out the things that had happened to it in life, then kidnapping girls shouldn’t have been his M.O. So what was he doing with Ai Kashiwagi?

Just as he was starting to seriously consider this notion, he felt the room grow cold. At first, he took this as a good sign; if the spirit was near, then surely Ai must be close as well. That hope died hard the moment he heard the door slam shut behind him. He tried the handle multiple times, but it was no use. Strange, because the door should have been impossible to lock. He’d destroyed the mechanism to get into the room, after all. Spirits rarely cared about that sort of common logic though, to Mashita’s great annoyance. 

So what was he going to do now? Just sit around until Yashiki found a way to open the door from the other side? The room had no windows, so he wasn’t getting out that way. Mashita banged his hands experimentally against the walls. They were thin, probably made out of plaster, but definitely too thick to break through with his bare hands. Still, the sound must have reverberated into nearby rooms. Perhaps Yashiki had heard him.

That’s when he saw the shadow. It made an honest to god shiver creep up his back. He’d seen a lot of creepy-looking spirits before, but this one hardly looked like anything at all. It was just an outline, an absence of light. It freaked Mashita the fuck out. He was about to try the door again when the shadow lifted up one of his hands, making a ‘come hither’-motion. Like hell he would. Only, he found he couldn’t control his legs anymore, as he was entirely frozen to the spot. Is this how Yashiki felt when spirits got close to him? Mashita couldn’t count all the times he’d had to physically drag Yashiki away from whatever horrible thing was coming after them. He’d cracked a joke or two about the poor bastard being attracted to the supernatural, but he realised now that this wasn’t the case at all . Every cell of his body was screaming at him to move, run, get away; but he couldn’t do a thing except helplessly sink to his knees as the shadow moved closer and closer. 

“They didn’t pay. You have to pay instead.”

Mashita was sure that meant trouble for him, but he still jolted in surprise when shadowy hands grabbed his own, pulling them behind his back. Horrified, he watched as his own pocket began to move. Out of it, levitating in slow motion like it was a fucking magic trick, came his handcuffs. The key, which had been handily placed in the lock, turned and unlocked them.

“You won’t be making any more trouble.”

The cuffs slipped over his wrists, closing around them. Again, the key turned, although this time he could only hear it. 

“Get away from me!”

He knew he was probably just angering the spirit even more, but he couldn’t keep his mouth shut. Panic was starting to set in. 

“So noisy. I know a way to shut you up…”

Cold fingers, like icicles, appeared under his chin, tilting it up. Mashita drew a sharp breath. It felt like he was about to get pierced through the throat with how clawlike that hand felt to him. One of the fingertips ran over his closed lips. This was bad, right? This was the kind of thing you didn’t get out of alive, right? If so, he should probably scream for Yashiki. He hated to admit it, but his life was resting in that lanky man’s hands again. Slowly, very slowly, Mashita opened his mouth. To his surprise and relief, the icy fingers didn’t move. He took a deep breath, preparing to scream his lungs out, when something suddenly dropped on his tongue. At first, he thought that the fingers really had been ice, and that they had started to melt. However, what he had mistaken for a drop of water was soon joined by many, many more, and Mashita quickly figured out what they were. Pills. 

“Be a good boy. Swallow.”

The screaming came after, and thankfully, Yashiki didn’t take long. He burst through the door, breathing heavily as though he had just been running.

“Mashita? Mashita!”

Mashita, who was still on his knees, had to lift his head up to be able to look him in the eye.

“Yashiki. I need you to help me.”

Yashiki crouched down in front of him, and quickly surmised that the problem was that Mashita’s hands had been restrained. “Are these your handcuffs?”

“Yeah. I don’t have the key though.”

“You don’t have the key?” The words took a few moments to sink into Yashiki’s brain. “Where is it?”

“I don’t know!” Mashita was trying his hardest not to yell, shitty as the situation might be. “He took it!”

Yashiki pulled on the handcuffs experimentally, and Mashita winced. His wrists were already sore. Yashiki hastily pulled his hand away. “How am I meant to get these off if we don’t have the key?”

“Don’t you have something sharp on you? A pin or something?” Mashita knew Yashiki had a habit of picking up strange things during their cases. He must have something useful in that bag of his.

“Uh, yeah, I have…” Yashiki’s sentence fizzled out as he began to rummage through his messenger bag. Near the bottom, he found the brooch he’d picked up earlier and handed it to Mashita.

Mashita, hands still severely restrained, managed to grab it, but his actions after that point were severely limited. He didn’t have enough wriggle room to insert the pin of the brooch into the keyhole, and he had a creeping feeling that even if he could, he wouldn’t be able to unlock the cuffs anyway. 

Sighing, he gave up. “You do it. I can’t reach.”

Yashiki didn’t take the brooch from him though. "Lock picking?"

Mashita felt the panic slowly rising. He was sure it would show in his eyes. “What, are you saying you can’t? With those dexterous fingers? Are you kidding me?” 

“It’s a skill like any other. I’ve never tried it before.” Yashiki shrugged lightly, before leaning back leisurely. “Why don’t I just help you up, and we’ll go back to the mansion? I’m sure I have some pliers lying around, or-”

“No, you don’t get it .” Hiding the panic was impossible. It seeped through his voice, dripping from every word like a thick, black tar. “He made me swallow pills. I’m going to die if I don’t throw them up.”

Yashiki hadn’t often reflected on how effective a spirit was or wasn’t in their attempts to kill and bring misery to everyone around them. A spirit was more emotion than a person, after all, and few kept their intelligence or even awareness after death. They would lash out at everything and everyone that reminded them of their grudge, until someone managed to survive long enough, get close enough, that they were able to be cleansed. Though this made them unpredictable, especially until you found out what their grudge was, it also meant that none of their moves were calculated, which usually made them easy enough to dodge. He had avoided being stung to death by bees and skewered by rose thorns, he’d answered exam questions and performed mock rituals; he’d even avoided being hung by water hoses and being stabbed from the inside with scissor blades. But he had never met a spirit who had forced someone to ingest a fatal dosage of medicine, locked them up, and then hidden the key where mortal eyes weren’t able to see it. It absolutely terrified him. 

Tugging on the handcuffs wasn’t going to work. Trying to pick the lock would take too long. There was only one option left.

“You need to throw them up.” It was a statement, rather than a question, and before Mashita picked up on Yashiki’s intention, he just stared at him like he couldn’t believe Yashiki had to repeat it again. 

“Yes, but I can’t if my hands are tied up behind my back.”

“Yes, you can-” Yashiki scooted closer to Mashita on the floor, holding out his hands, palms facing up. “-because mine aren’t.”

In any other circumstance, Mashita might have refused, or at least argued over it for a while. This time, he didn’t have a while, not even a little one. He didn’t answer, but simply resigned himself. A long, slow exhale let Yashiki know that he wasn’t going to fight it.

Yashiki had a determined look on his face as he steadied himself and sat cross-legged on the floor. He tended to get like this when someone else was in trouble. Sure, he would panic as much as anyone else when being chased by a spirit or encountering creepy phenomena, but when things really got bad, it was like some other instinct kicked in. Maybe it was the Kujou blood. Mashita didn’t know, but he was thankful. He’d seen the face Yashiki made when picking up especially disgusting objects during investigations, and if he’d had that gaze directed at himself, he wouldn’t have needed any pills to perish on the spot.

“How do we...?”

“I need a good grip.” Yashiki didn’t elaborate, before pulling Mashita on top of one of his legs. 

Mashita, legs now sandwiching Yashiki’s thigh, tensed up. “We don’t need to be this close.”

“I’m sorry. I just want to be able to hold on to you, in case something happens.” He didn’t say “In case you pass out”, but they both understood what he meant.

“Fine. Just get it over with.”

Mashita knew the whole point had been for Yashiki to help him throw up, but he was somehow still surprised when Yashiki held two of his fingers against Mashita’s lips. It felt like there was a clock ticking in the back of his head, each movement of the hand reverberating through his body. How long until the effect of the pills set in? How long until he had absorbed enough of the chemicals into his bloodstream that there was no turning back? He opened his mouth. 

Slowly, trying to feel around for the back of Mashita's tongue, Yashiki’s fingers slipped in. They had to be bigger than Mashita’s own, but Mashita had never looked at Yashiki’s hands that closely, so he didn't know for sure. Fingers probably always felt bigger when they were being shoved forcefully into your mouth. Ok, that was a bit unfair to Yashiki. He was really doing his best to be gentle, moving the fingers slowly along Mashita’s tongue, but to Mashita it was all the same. If the end goal was to make him throw up, it didn’t matter much if Yashiki was treating him like he was made of glass. Sooner or later, he’d cover Yashiki’s fingers in half-digested food and stomach acid anyway.

“Don’t worry about my clothes, ok?”

Yashiki was really something else. How was he saying that so calmly, while at the same time pressing down his fingers on Mashita's tongue, making him gag? Despite Yashiki’s words, he tried leaning a little further to the side. He might have Yashiki’s fingers down his throat, but he was not going to throw up all over his clothes if he could help it. Yashiki accommodated him, slipping his other arm underneath Mashita’s chest, suspending him in that position. 

“And don’t panic when you start throwing up. I won’t let you choke, I promise.”

His mouth was right next to Mashita’s ear as he spoke, so he had lowered his voice until it was almost a whisper. Mashita felt a chill run through him. He wanted to answer Yashiki so badly, or maybe just yell at him, but as he opened his mouth to form words, the fingers stuck even deeper down his throat.

Mashita’s eyes teared up. The tips of the fingers had hit the back of his palate, and the sensitive skin hurt at the impact. He failed to stop a noise, half-way between a cry and a gag, from escaping, and clenched his sore hands tightly behind his back. His whole weight was now being supported by Yashiki, since Mashita no longer had the strength or willpower to stay upright on his own. Yashiki, who probably realised he had hit a sensitive spot, slowly brought his fingers down and pressed on the back of Mashita's tongue, but at first, nothing happened. If Yashiki was at all surprised by this, he didn't show it, and he didn't ask any questions either, to Mashita’s great relief. He wasn’t keen on explaining his sexual history in a life or death situation, or at all, really. The relief was only momentary, though, as the panic started to set in immediately after. What if he wouldn't be able to throw up? What if his body had gotten so desensitised to things probing his throat that his gag reflex had just entirely stopped working? The irony of that would just be so sweet.

Then, Yashiki spread his fingers out, one on each side of Mashita’s tongue. To Mashita’s horror and embarassement, the first thing that happened wasn’t that he gagged, but that his saliva started to flow uncontrollably. He hadn’t even known he was capable of producing that much. It ran in copious amounts from his chin down to his neck, dripped from Yashiki’s fingers, some of it running along Yashiki’s arm and under the sleeve of his jacket. A small puddle was starting to form underneath Mashita’s face, transparent in colour and watery in consistency. 

And then, as if the saliva had only been a precursor for what was to come, Mashita finally felt his throat tensing up and his tongue contracting, and started to helplessly gag around Yashiki’s fingers.

“There you go. Just stay calm now, and it will be over soon.”

Mashita really, really wanted to chew Yashiki out over the way he was being spoken to. Did he seriously think Mashita had never thrown up before? Surely not. Yashiki knew better than most that Mashita often liked to drink heavily, and so it stood to reason that he would also know that Mashita had seen many public bathrooms from, let’s say, a lower angle. Or what, did Yashiki think he brought a friend with him each time, to hold his hair and whisper sweet nothings into his ear? Though he had to admit things were nicer this way, with arms holding him up rather than cold porcelain, and with a leg to sit on rather than a tile floor. Sure, the leg was kind of pressing into his crotch, but not painfully so, and either way he had other things to focus on right now.

Mashita felt his tongue curl up again and again against Yashiki’s fingers. Maybe it was just the saliva coating them, but they felt soft, much softer than he had expected. He knew Yashiki often worked with his hands, making dolls or whatever cursed thing he happened to be into at the moment, and he thought all those hours would’ve left a mark, some callouses, something. Not that he was complaining. For a moment, he imagined having the rough fingers of someone like his senior down his throat instead, and almost gagged harder at the thought. No, this was definitely better. No rough skin to scratch up his throat, no dirty fingernails to pass on infections, and most important of all, Yashiki’s fingers weren’t thick enough to block his airways. It was a weird moment to be feeling grateful, and Mashita didn’t particularly appreciate any warm thoughts invading his brain at that moment. To block them out, and also to just get things over with, he suddenly thrust his head forward and down, forcing Yashiki’s fingers even deeper, slamming them against the back of his palate once more. A single tear joined the puddle of spit beneath him, and Mashita felt his nose beginning to run. Whatever. He was already this gross, so there was little point in feeling any more ashamed than he already was. 

“H-hey, don’t just-”

As if on cue, the gagging got worse, and Mashita felt his tongue spasming almost painfully. In response, Yashiki pressed his fingers down on it hard, and Mashita began to heave. Ok, fuck it: he was grateful. He was grateful that Yashiki was here to help him when he couldn’t do shit about it himself. He was grateful that Yashiki had taken care to position them this way, to hold Mashita and support him. He was grateful that Yashiki hadn’t just forced his fingers painfully down Mashita’s throat, but had eased him into it, figuring out how to make him gag while causing the least amount of damage along the way. He was grateful that he’d never feared throwing up, and he was grateful that humans could throw up, or else he’d most likely be dead within the hour. 

Yashiki kept moving his fingers, stroking the back of Mashita’s tongue with a lateral motion, attempting to elicit as much reaction from his gag reflex as possible. Mashita had to give up on being grateful and resign himself to weathering the waves of nausea that came over him. It felt undignified, but he had no choice. Though he had tried his best not to vocalise his struggles, he could no longer keep from doing so. Whimpers, moans and even more embarrassing sounds escaped his throat, and each time they did, it only made his tongue tense up even more against Yashiki’s fingers. His nose and eyes were running, and he’d closed up the latter, unable to keep them open with each surge of discomfort. 

Amidst all of this, he felt Yashiki stroke the side of his torso. “You’re tensing up too much. Try to relax.”

Fuck him. He wasn’t the one being forced to endure this procedure, so Mashita felt like he had no right to comment on how he was handling it. Didn’t he know that Mashita was doing his best to hold it together? Didn’t he know that he just wanted to throw up and find relief? Not even being strung up by a spirit could be as humiliating as this. Despite this, Yashiki’s embrace and the hand stroking him did make Mashita feel calmer, safe. He was pressed uncomfortably against Yashiki’s thigh, and he tried to change his position, but all he ended up doing was to awkwardly grind against it. Great. As his pulse slowed somewhat, and his body felt less tense, the effect was immediate. Yashiki felt it too, and pressed his fingers down a little harder. Mashita’s stomach cramped painfully, and as it’s contents finally emptied and streamed down Yashiki’s hand, splashing on the floor, Mashita made the horrifying discovery that while getting his throat assaulted to the point of throwing up, he had become painfully, shamefully hard against Yashiki’s leg.

Yashiki held him throughout, and stubbornly kept his fingers in Mashita’s mouth until with each heave he was coming up dry. As he removed them, wiping them on his jacket before pulling down his sleeve and wiping Mashita’s face as well, Mashita reflected that it might have been better if he’d just let the pills kill him. He was still straddling Yashiki’s leg, trousers straining over his erection which was pulsating, having been pressed so tightly against the thigh beneath it. Mashita couldn’t imagine a worse way to announce to someone that you were into them even if he tried. Yashiki held him for just a bit longer, maybe to check that he wasn’t going to faint or fall the moment he let go, and Mashita took these silent moments before the storm broke to breathe, to collect himself at least somewhat. He couldn’t do anything about what was between his legs, but he could steel himself for the reaction, make his head swim less so he would be coherent when he eventually had to put up a defence. He swayed to the side, shifting his weight in order to get off Yashiki’s lap.

But Yashiki squeezed him tighter. Now that he wasn’t trying to hold his head as far out from him as possible to avoid puking over his clothes, this was a proper hug, his head against Yashiki’s shoulder and clavicle, Yashiki’s chest warm against his. 

“We should do it again.”

Again? Why would he want to do it again? “What-”

“We need to make sure there’s nothing left. It could kill you unless we get everything out.”

As he squeezed Mashita even harder, his knee inched up just the smallest bit, but the smallest bit was enough to discover that Yashiki had also gotten hard somewhere along the way. That, and he had a point.

His throat already felt rough and abused as he answered. “Fine, but at least let me go. You’re suffocating me.”

How had he managed to end up in an even worse position than previously? He was on his knees in front of Yashiki, head bent slightly upward, trying not to meet his eyes.

“Until there’s nothing more, ok? Then I’ll let you be.”

Somehow, Mashita very much doubted that. At the very least, they'd never look at each other the same way again. Not that he ever had, personally, but Yashiki didn't know that. He’d never bothered to question why Mashita kept disappearing and reappearing in his life. Maybe he would, after this. 

A hand under his chin directed his head, lifting it just a little more so that Mashita was forced to look to the side to avoid Yashiki's gaze. The two fingers parted his lips anew, forcing the teeth open (ignoring the way they brushed over his knuckles like a threat) and settled on his tongue. Mashita resisted the urge to bite down, and instead glanced over at Yashiki’s face. He looked concentrated, the same look as when he was bent over his desk, working on one of his dolls. His brows weren’t knitted, his eyes weren’t strained, his lips weren’t pursed; but there was a look, like of steel in his eyes. He stared fixedly at his own fingers as they penetrated deeper into Mashita’s mouth like it was the most intriguing thing he's ever seen, like losing sight of it for even a moment would have dire consequences. Mashita didn't want to meet those eyes, didn’t want them to be staring into his own. It was too intense, and he wouldn’t know how to handle being under that kind of pressure.

The fingers pressed deeper. This time, Yashiki wasn’t being as slow or as gentle, rapidly sliding them down until he reached the furthest point he could comfortably go, pressing down on Mashita’s tongue and spreading his fingers like earlier. Crouched on the floor like this, Mashita felt a sense of deja vu. But it hadn't been with Yashiki, and it hadn't been fingers, and he hadn’t felt like this . 

“Why won’t you look at me?”

How rude of him to ask Mashita a question, when he knew full well he wasn't able to answer. Saliva was flooding out of his mouth like a river. Yashiki removed the hand from Mashita’s chin and lightly stroked it over his cheek, under his eye, like he could force them to turn his own. Simultaneously, he pressed down harder on Mashita’s tongue, making him gag again. His tongue curled around the fingers, almost enveloping them, before returning to its flat state. Mashita made a half-strangled noise and closed his eyes, feeling the wetness of his lashes as he squeezed them shut.

“Sorry. This is an embarrassing position for you, isn’t it?”

What an understatement. 

“It’s really difficult to get you to gag. I’m not sure my fingers are long enough.”

Mashita doubted him. Yashiki was experimentally moving his fingers around the back of his throat. Every so often, Mashita’s throat and tongue would spasm up, almost spitting the fingers out, but Yashiki forcefully kept them there no matter what. Again, Mashita had to fight the urge to bite the hand that gagged him. He wanted it there. Just to see what would happen, he lifted his tongue up against the fingers, shifting it a little back and forth, effectively licking them with the back of his tongue. If Yashiki was surprised he didn’t say anything, but when Mashita cracked one eye open, he noticed that the steel gaze had intensified, now staring at him transfixed, almost obsessively. Mashita kept going. He wanted to see more of that look, but it was also much more effective for getting him to gag. His erection was straining painfully, but the strain of the fabric was somehow also the friction he needed. He would rather die than let Yashiki see him trying to run against the fabric of his own trousers, so he had to stay still like that, denying himself the temporary relief it would have provided. 

Instead, he thrust his head down on Yashiki’s hand, wincing as it hit the back of his throat, and then immediately gagged until his eyes started to leak. He couldn’t see Yashiki anymore, now that his head was bent down and his eyes were clouded by tears, but he could feel the small jolt in Yashiki’s wrist, the only indication that he hadn’t expected this. A sense of satisfaction filled Mashita, until he again remembered the position he was in, and the humiliating circumstances. Why did this have to be the time his body betrayed him? Sure, there were many things Yashiki sometimes did or said that would practically set him aflame, but at least those times, Yashiki had never been close enough to see it. He didn’t even mind having Yashiki’s fingers in his mouth - hell, it was fairly obvious from his current condition that he more than enjoyed it - but he couldn’t stand the idea that Yashiki was just toying with him. They both knew he didn’t really need to throw up again. Did Yashiki just enjoy seeing how far he could push this, now that Mashita was in a fairly helpless position? For some god awful reason, thinking about that made him even harder. 

Yashiki seemed to have recovered from the surprise, as he started to move his fingers again, side to side over Mashita’s tongue. At this point, Mashita’s throat felt so tired that he wasn't even sure he would be able to gag, let alone throw anything up. To his surprise, however, the heaving started pretty much immediately. His tongue cramped painfully against Yashiki’s fingers again, and though he still couldn’t see anything (his tears dropping into a puddle on the floor along with his saliva), he knew Yashiki was getting eager when his fingers pressed down harder. After so much heaving, so much gagging, actually throwing up should have felt orgasmic, but because of the forced nature of it, and because Mashita had already thrown up once before, it was almost unbearable. His whole body seemed to shake with the effort of it, and it was all he could do to stay upright and draw a breath every once and again. Something must have been wrong with him, though. The more painful and degrading the process became, the more he started to think about the much more pleasant sensation between his legs. As his spine curled up to retch, he felt his member drag along the fabric of his trousers, and he realised that he was way closer than he should have been. Couldn’t Yashiki spare just a few fingers, and touch him there too? 

It seemed Yashiki had decided that enough was enough, and pulled his fingers out of Mashita’s mouth. Mashita was just vaguely aware of him wiping them on his jacket, the collar tightening slightly around his neck. He still couldn’t see anything for the tears, but even if he could, he would have kept his eyes shut. Imagining how Yashiki must look right now made his head spin. Instead, he kept his head down, focusing on drawing slow but deep breaths, trying to restore some oxygen to his screwed up brain. What the fuck were they doing? Weren’t they on a case? What happened to Ai? He croaked her name out loud, hoping against all odds that Yashiki would look past everything else going on and get back to business. 

“Yasuoka called me before. Ai is safe, she had just been hiding from her manager. I’m sorry, I got worried over nothing.”

Mashita wanted to laugh, but he coughed instead. “You have a weird way of making up for it.”

Ah- He hadn’t meant to say that. Now they were right back to talking about the only thing Mashita desperately wanted to forget.

“But they won’t kill you now, right? The pills, I mean.”

Mashita shaked his head. “Not a chance. There’s not a thing left to throw up at this point.”

“I’m glad…”

“Yeah…”

In hindsight, Mashita had no idea how they got away from that embarrassing scene and into the car, and he was grateful for it. The less thinking and remembering he was doing right now, the better. He only wished that the silence wasn’t so loud. Normally, a thing like that wouldn’t bother him, but now he kept opening and closing his mouth like an idiot. They didn’t need to talk about it, right? Pushing it deep down and never bringing it up again would not irreparably harm their relationship as colleagues and friends, right? 

“So, about what happened…”

Mashita could have slapped Yashiki across the face. In fact, he very well might have, had Yashiki not been driving. Lucky bastard. He was looking through the window screen, focusing on the cars directly ahead. There weren’t many at this time of night. Their red tail lights glowed like evil eyes, staring Mashita down. Yashiki’s face was serious. Was he angry?

“Nothing happened. Don’t bring it up again.”

He had tried to put some authority into his voice, but it proved difficult. Having your throat violently finger-fucked will do that, apparently.

“I’m an adult, too. Something did happen.” Yashiki sighed. “I get that it was embarrassing for you. I didn’t make the right decision in that situation, and I’m sorry about that.”

Despite himself, Mashita felt his face soften slightly. It was so like Yashiki to apologise for making him horny. The humour in that started to melt away his anger, no matter how hard he tried to grasp onto it. 

“What would have been the right decision?”

It was an olive branch. Yashiki seemed to notice it as well, as his voice mellowed even more, becoming sweet as honey.

“I should have driven you home sooner. After… the first time.”

Mashita pressed his lips into a thin line. Yashiki was right. The second time was excessive, but the first was necessary. Once again, Yashiki had saved Mashita’s life, only sacrificing his dignity in the process.

A slight tremble crept into Yashiki’s voice. “I’m sorry. That probably doesn’t make you feel better.” 

“You’re apologising too much.”

“You’re not upset?” 

His hands were grasping the wheel just a little bit too tightly. Wow, he really cared about this, didn’t he?

“I’m just glad to be alive.”

Yashiki had fussed, saying Mashita should stay the night. He refused to drive him home, and refused to let Mashita leave on foot too. Really, Mashita shouldn't complain. He stayed over often enough, and anything would beat facing the harsh weather outside. For a while, he couldn’t figure out why it bothered him so much that he wasn’t alone right now. After all, if he was home, all he would do was grab a drink, relax on the sofa, and jack off while going through today’s events in his head. Ah . 

Yashiki caught him when he was in the bathroom, brushing his teeth. He stayed here often enough that one day, he’d just left his toothbrush behind, and Yashiki hadn't thrown it away. He did that with a lot of things, kept them around, that is. Kind of like Mashita himself. Not that he’d expected to be thrown away, but he did show up all the time to inconvenience Yashiki on purpose. A less patient man would have lost it. 

“Do you have everything you need?”

“Uh-huh.” 

He couldn’t really say much more with the toothbrush in his mouth, at least not without sounding like an idiot. Horrifyingly, it reminded him of his predicament earlier in the night.

“Let me know if there’s anything-”

“Yahiki, I’ng goog.” Toothpaste leaked out the corner of his mouth. He was going to stain his shirt. 

“Right.”

Why the fuck was he still there? What did he think he was looking at? Mashita waved with his hand at Yashiki to get out (thank god he had been cut out of his handcuffs), but he stubbornly stayed where he was.

“Hey, Mashita…”

Mashita tried to will Yashiki to stop speaking, furiously brushing his teeth so that he would be ready to quip back at whatever Yashiki would say.

“You really are safe, right? We didn’t cleanse that spirit’s grudge, after all. You’re not going to… wander off in the middle of the night?”

Right. Yashiki had had bad experiences with that sort of thing. Mashita himself remembered how Moe had acted when they first met. He guessed it made a little more sense than usual for Yashiki to worry. Aggressively spitting out the toothpaste, he wiped his mouth on the back of his hand. 

“Wasn’t planning to.”

Yashiki still didn’t look reassured, and Mashita supposed Moe would have said the same thing, if they’d asked her back then. She probably hadn’t been planning to go back to the school either. The pull of the spirit had just been too strong. Shit. This was starting to freak Mashita out a little. What if he really had no say in whether he went back or not?

“Why don’t you stay in my room?” Yashiki leaned against the doorframe.

The suggestion came as a bit of a relief to Mashita, who had considered getting another pair of handcuffs and chaining himself to a radiator or something for the night. It was so much more tame, yet somehow also less tame, than practising self-bondage. He’d never shared a room with Yashiki before, and they weren’t even drunk. How was he supposed to stop thinking about what had happened earlier? 

“What, so you can keep an eye on me all night?” He didn’t mean for it to come out as passive-aggressive as it did. 

Yashiki looked away. “I’d notice if you left, at least”, he mumbled.

“Alright, fine. I’m not keen on going back there either.” Mashita tried to sound casual, putting his toothbrush back in the cupboard to show that this was a decision that had not even required his full attention. 

“Oh- alright, uh, good. I’ll wait for you to get ready, then.”

By the time they were both in bed, lying next to each other on their backs, Mashita had actually begun to feel sleepy. The fact that he could relax at all probably had something to do with not being alone, as much as he hated to admit that. He was grateful that Yashiki’s famous empathy was directed towards him and not a spirit, for a change. Maybe that’s what he’d always wanted, to be in the centre of Yashiki’s attention. Maybe that’s why he’d responded so much when Yashiki had tried to make him throw up-

Shit. They did need to talk about it after all, didn’t they? 

“You said you were an adult, too.”

“Huh?” Yashiki sounded half asleep.

“In the car. About what happened in the warehouse.”

“Oh. Yeah.” Yashiki turned to face Mashita, but Mashita didn’t face him back. He felt cowardly. 

“Did it… make you feel weird?”

“Hmm…” Yashiki pulled the cover a little in his direction. Why did they only have one? Wasn’t there enough covers in this house for a whole army? “At first, yeah. I was scared I was too late. But then-”

Mashita didn’t let him finish. “I liked it. I didn’t know I would respond that way.”

“Me too. I mean, me neither.”

Mashita hazarded stealing a glance. Yashiki had pulled the cover up all the way to his chin. He looked a bit strange without his glasses, somehow younger and older at the same time. Mashita was really into it. Fuck. Unfortunately, Yashiki had been looking right back at him, so he couldn’t even turn away and pretend like nothing had happened. At the very least, this gave him an excuse to keep looking…

No. Seriously, what was wrong with him? Why was he pussyfooting around this? Yashiki had been right: they were both adults. Did Mashita seriously consider himself so weak that he couldn’t even face rejection? If he wanted Yashiki, he couldn’t just sit around and wait for him to fall into his lap. Ok, so maybe that was exactly what had happened in the warehouse, but it certainly wouldn’t happen twice. Probably. 

Yashiki’s eyebrows creased. “You’re not talking. Did I say something wrong?” 

“I stick around because I like you.”

“What?”

“I like you. That’s why, in the warehouse-”

“Oh…”

“It’s fucked up. I know that, but I still liked it.” 

It was hard to keep talking when Yashiki looked at him like that, his eyes slightly squinted. Mashita wondered if it was because he didn’t have his glasses.

“You like me?”

Was he not listening? “Yes. I like you. If you don’t want me to get the wrong idea or whatever, you should probably tell me to get out.”

“I like you .” Yashiki’s voice was nothing more than a whisper. “I’m sorry for what I did in the warehouse.”

“I told you to stop apologising for that.”

“Then what do you want me to do?”

“Do what you want.”

Yashiki’s pupils were wide. Mashita imagined he could see himself reflected in the glassy surface of his eyes. 

“What we did… I liked it too. I was worried I was being too rough on you.”

Mashita scoffed. “Wasn’t feeling that concern at the time. Don’t worry though, I’m not that fragile. I wouldn't like it if you went too easy on me.”

“Ah-” The covers rustled. A hand touched Mashita’s arm, feeling its way around to his shoulder blade where it stayed, resting like a warm weight on his back. “And I can do… whatever I want?”

Should he be worried? Yashiki was almost sounding too excited by the prospect. Then again, that hand told him he would be safe. No, more than the hand; he knew Yashiki; poor, naive, frail Yashiki. Getting to know what made a man like that tick was worth risking his safety for. It made the prospect more intriguing, even.

“Whatever you want.”

The hand on his back tightened its grip, nails digging into his shirt, pulling him closer. Yashiki’s lips - soft, restrained, electric - met his own in a chaste kiss. So this was what the heir of the mansion dreamed about at night? Just a small peck? Mashita almost felt insulted. He’d put up with so much humiliation, first in the warehouse, and then laying his soul bare. He’d said all that, and Yashiki wouldn’t even throw him around a little?

He pressed his tongue into Yashiki’s mouth, and met with surprisingly little resistance. The hand on his shirt tightened harder, and Yashiki mashed their faces together, teeth colliding. Mashita almost bit his own tongue, but this was more his pace, so he kept exploring Yashiki’s mouth. He tasted like toothpaste; Mashita amused himself by trying to Iick his teeth, which was made harder when Yashiki started to push back. He spun them around, so that his head was above Mashita’s, first licking and then biting Mashita’s lower lip.

“I never thought you’d be so easy to convince”, he joked, bottom lip pulled down to expose his gums.

Yashiki let go, lips hovering inches above his own. “I’ve wanted to. I’ve wanted to so bad-”

A thigh slipped in between Mashita’s legs, and it took him from half-hard to fully erect in about a second. His mind slipped back to the warehouse, perched on Yashiki’s lap, and he almost involuntarily moved his hips to get more of that friction.

“Go on then, let me have it. I promise to act nice for you.”

Yashiki held his breath for a second, before- 

“And you’ll stay?”

“I’ll stay.”

Yashiki kissed him again, but it wasn’t like before. His hands were going everywhere; Mashita’s hair, his cheeks, neck, chest… Yashiki tasted his mouth properly this time, pushing his tongue so far back that Mashita almost started gagging again. Every part, from his teeth, to his gums, to the insides of his cheeks were being explored with reckless abandon. When it seemed like even that wasn’t enough, Yashiki pulled back, a thread of saliva hanging between their lips. He brought a hand up to Mashita’s face, slowly, as if looking for permission. Mashita had none to give, not really. He wanted everything that Yashiki wanted.

Fingers pried open his lips, tips running over the front rows of his teeth. He opened up obediently, sighing quietly as fingers felt around underneath his tongue and behind his molars. He arched his hips against Yashiki’s thigh again, and Yashiki answered in turn, grinding down, his erection meeting Mashita’s hip bone. 

“Mashita-”

Yashiki was breathing quickly, heavily. His dark eyes were gleaming, almost fever-like, and Mashita practically felt the excitement radiating from them. 

“Take your clothes off, Yashiki.”

He did, all of them, rushing through the process and throwing them off the bed into a messy heap on the floor. He was fully hard, and as he attempted to assume his previous position above Mashita, Mashita felt his dick brush a wet trail up his hip. God, this man was desperate. Mashita found this a great motivator.

“You liked what we did in the warehouse? Stuffing your fingers in my throat?”

“Y-yeah…” Yashiki mumbled it against the skin of Mashita’s neck, trailing wet kisses up to his ear. Mashita supposed he had to stop him before he started sticking his fingers into that as well.

“Then imagine what I could do to your dick.”

Mashita had Yashiki sit up on the edge of the bed, positioning himself on his knees in front of him. Yashiki almost looked nervous, hands along his sides, grasping the mattress.

“Relax”, Mashita said, licking a strip up the shaft, taking care not to break eye contact. He knew Yashiki wouldn’t be able to. Being back in power, teasing Yashiki slowly by licking him with just the tip of his tongue,  felt satisfying. He wondered how far he’d be able to push it. Gently, he guided one of Yashiki's hands to the back of his own head, making sure he had a good grip on the hair before he let go.

“In case you get curious.” He kissed the head of Yashiki’s dick, opening his mouth soundlessly for a few seconds to let some of his saliva dribble out and onto it. “Or desperate.”

He worked his way down slowly, only taking about half of Yashiki in at first. He was at an awkward angle to look at Yashiki’s face now, but he could hear him moan, the hand gripping his hair tighter. The head was sensitive; if Mashita’s tongue even so much as touched it, all of Yashiki tensed up, his thighs squeezing around Mashita’s neck. He started to touch himself, feeling the instantaneous relief after getting hard several times in the same day. 

Yashiki was worse though. The moment Mashita finally closed his lips around the root of the shaft, Yashiki almost spasmed, suddenly holding Mashita’s head down on his own dick, preventing him from moving it even an inch.

“S-shit-”

He was coming. It hadn’t taken much, but with as much buildup as they had had, Mashita supposed it wasn’t all that strange. He tried his best not to choke as the liquid ran down his throat, access unhindered by his tongue which lay pressed flat against the bottom of his mouth. He thought Yashiki was going to pull his hair out.

When Yashiki finally let go of his head, Mashita slowly moved off his dick. Despite trying his best to keep it all in his mouth until he could swallow it, a bit of the cum escaped, dripping down his chin. 

“You look-” Yashiki breathed, staring at him wide-eyed, panting. “I mean-”

Mashita swallowed loudly. “Never mind how I look. Fuck me.”

He was gripping his dick hard, moving his hand up and down to the sound of his own pulse, beating in his ears. Honestly, he was embarrassed to be seen like this, begging for it, but what choice did he have? Unless he told Yashiki straight, he’d never get what he wanted. This man was just like that.

Yashiki was still looking at him like he’d never seen something like this before in his life. “But I already-”

“You’ve got hands, don’t you?”

“Y-yeah…”

Yashiki looked from his fingers to Mashita's face between his thighs. Was he getting excited again? Good. Mashita had had enough of being teased. He held out one of his hands to Yashiki, who helped pull him up until he was standing. If Yashiki crouched down a little, he’d be at the perfect height to give him a blow job, Mashita thought. He didn’t ask for it though. 

Yashiki brought his hands up to touch Mashita’s back, running his fingers along the skin until Mashita shivered. Then he brought them around to Mashita’s stomach, resting for a moment over the tensing muscles. 

“Stop teasing, you damned pervert. Just jerk me off like a normal person.”

Apparently, this was funny to Yashiki. “I think that’s the pot calling the kettle black. Is it really that wrong if I take a moment to appreciate it? I rarely see you like this.”

Ok, he was reaching his lowest point. “Yashiki, please -”

Yashiki finally obliged, closing his hand around Mashita's dick, cutting his begging short. Thank god . Mashita didn’t know what was going to send him off the edge first: how surprisingly good Yashiki was at this, his hand quickly settling into a quick pace, lightly brushing the head but somehow managing to grip the shaft tightly; or how good he looked while doing it. His skin was glittering with perspiration, hair sticking to his face, and his mouth was slightly parted, lips flushed. As he noticed Mashita staring at him, he lifted his gaze. The look in his eyes was so earnest, so completely spellbound by what was happening in front of him. Yashiki’s open book of a face had always been both a blessing and a curse. Mashita felt his heart jump. Oh no, this was bad, seriously bad. He wanted Yashiki to keep looking at him like this forever.

The next thought that struck Mashita was even worse, and yet somehow, even more tantalising. He felt his orgasm getting closer with each stroke of Yashiki’s hand, wet with precum to the point where he was sure some of it must have dripped onto the floor beneath him. He felt like ruining the pretty face in front of him. Maybe that would make his heart ache less every time their eyes met. Honestly, just imagining it sent his pulse racing, his breath now intermixed with raspy moans. Yashiki, in turn, managed to look even more transfixed, impossibly quickening the pace of his hand even more, until Mashita simply wasn't able to hold back anymore. On purpose, he didn’t warn Yashiki before scrunching his face together, holding his breath as he came. He had slightly miscalculated his aim, so most of the semen spilled over Yashiki’s chest rather than his face. It didn’t really matter. In the moment, all Mashita could think was you’re mine, you’re mine . 

They had to trek back to the bathroom afterwards, of course. They were both absolutely filthy, and falling asleep like that would have left the bed a sticky mess. Mashita washed up over the sink while Yashiki sat down in the shower, thoughtfully scrubbing the semen off his chest. Mashita looked at his face in the mirror, and found a completely exhausted man staring back at him. Good. Maybe he’d fall asleep quickly when he went back to bed. He didn’t want his thoughts keeping him awake. In fact, he didn’t want to think at all. The self-assured feeling that Yashiki was his, had slowly changed into a strong urge to ask Yashiki to please, be mine, tell me you’re mine. It couldn’t stand. He’d said too much, they’d fooled around- end of story. There was nothing more to add. Still… 

Yashiki exited the shower wearing a towel, hair wet and hanging in clumps around his face, and found Mashita already looking at him.

“Do you feel refreshed? I didn't expect all that, it took me a while to clean it off.”

“ Good. ”

The word leaped like a frog from his mouth. He couldn’t take it back. He meant it.

Yashiki sighed, but he was smiling, a patient smile. 

“Actually, I have a question”, Mashita said.

“Hm?”

“Why did you ask me if I would stay? Before you kissed me.”

Yashiki avoided his eyes. “I didn't want to… take things for granted.”

So they were the same. Mashita felt like bashing his head against a wall. Why was he trying so hard to cling to this feeling of pride? Why didn’t he just give up and crawl on the floor? It made no difference in the end. He'd still feel the same way about Yashiki, whether he said something or not. Begging had been the thing that got him what he wanted when they were fucking. Why not now? After all, he would do anything for Yashiki. 

“I want to stay. I will stay. Yashiki, I-”

Relieved, Yashiki stepped closer, the heat from his body radiating off of him.

“I want you to be mine. Please, tell me that you’re mine .”

They’d done everything in the wrong order, dancing around the issue for so long that it had started to feel like second-nature to deny everything that was staring them in the face. An elementary schooler would have confessed more effectively than the two of them, and probably more romantically too. Yashiki was a shut-in, and Mashita was an incurable asshole who could never get along with anybody. Neither of them knew how to belong to anyone. And yet-

“ I am. I’m yours.”