Chapter Text
“Oi, Shinada. Need yer help with somethin’.”
“Hm?” The man gingerly lifts his head to Ryuji, Akiyama sound asleep between the both of them. The love bites littering his body was a culmination of both his and Shinada’s work; he came home dreadfully tired, bags under his eyes and begging to be cared for, and when could they refuse him anything? The beauty of the situation is now he has a moment to speak with Shinada about something without Akiyama knowing. Something special.
“Wanna plan somethin’. Needed Akiyama asleep and yer expertise.”
“Me?!” It’s whispered, but the animated look in his eyes is endearing, almost hilarious. He can’t help a light scoff.
“Yes, ya overgrown puppy. Need ya ta help me find a teacher.”
“Teacher? For what?”
“Pole dancing.”
There’s a pause.
“Haha, nice joke, Goda-san! You almost got me!” He attempts a laugh, but it dies the instant he sees Ryuji’s features set in stone. Were Shinada not already wrung out, his dick would’ve absolutely sprung to life at the idea.
“…Wait. You’re serious. You’re serious? I mean… fuck, yeah, I can! I absolutely wanna see that, you on the pole. Fuck, you’d look gorgeous… but what brought the idea on?”
There’s a slight dust to the blond’s cheeks. Ryuji would die before admitting it was there. “Don’t matter. If ya can do it, let’s do it.”
That conversation was a few nights ago.
Shinada insisted he knew a perfect woman in Kamurocho, one who would not be bothered by the specifics of his identity or past and sets them up to meet at a coffee shop. The woman introduces herself as Ayumi, and she’s beautiful in a way he can’t describe but still appreciates, personality radiant as the sun. He sees why she’s one of Shinada’s long-time friends. Teasingly, she asks him if Shinada’s still good in bed with all the training she’s given him, and his assent comes with a gleeful, boisterous laugh. They work out the details without needing Shinada’s input and just like that, he’s walking into the underground space where she works out of. The studio was similar to Haruka’s old place at Dyna Chair, floor-to-ceiling poles scattered around the space. She directs him to the changing room, and as he dresses into the gym shorts and tee Shinada told him to bring, his mind wanders.
In his younger years, when he began realizing how much he loved men, he became envious of some of them. Thinner, more lithe males could flex and bend into all sorts of provocative positions and it left a sour taste in his mouth. Ryuji loved himself rotten, wanted to see himself do that with this own body and play it on repeat forever, but that type of movement had no place belonging to the next head of the Omi Alliance. His reasons for wanting to learn were wildly different now, but it didn’t change the question that continued to burn a hole in his mind—how would he look doing it?
Would Shinada and Akiyama like it? Be proud of him?
He wills himself out of his thoughts to return to the main room where the poles have been cleaned in his absence, and Ayumi instructs him to follow her stretches. They’re easy for her; he lacks grace but the burns in his pelvis and thighs are wonderful, and he does his best to make up for it with enthusiasm. When a new stretch brings a particularly sweet memory of Akiyama fucking him over the side of their back-room couch at Sky Finance, he has to bite his tongue to force his boner away. It’s equal parts heaven and torture when they finish.
“Now, Goda-san, let’s do some basic movements on the pole. You’ve got muscle, so we’ll prioritize that over flexibility first…”
He’s getting better.
It’s been a month since he began his night classes with Ayumi. The stretches have become normal to him, and he can finally do splits without his balls aching incredibly unpleasantly. His confidence has paved way for a natural grace on the pole. It’s only a matter of time before he masters the dance Ayumi is teaching him, but first, he needs to get to the studio.
Closing up the takoyaki stand for the night is easy enough. Methodically he cleans the pans, puts away any loose ingredients that can be used for the next day, packs up leftovers for his friends on Park Boulevard. They haven’t gone in a while; it’ll be good for everyone to catch up. He expects Akiyama to show up any minute; prepares to greet him with a kiss and a smile as he finishes up and turns around.
He does not expect Shinada, who surprises him with a chaste press of lips to his own.
“Hi, Goda-san! Akiyama-san told me it’s my job to pester you today. He’s gonna be at the office for the night sorting out business with Hana-chan.” Shinada leaves out what kind of business but knowing Hana, it’s probably a night of making him do his damn job, and he snorts. “Are you going to Ayumi-chan’s?”
“Keep tellin’ ya, Ryuji’s fine. And yes, I am. Wanted ta see my progress, did ya?” He’s smirking now, leaning over the counter of his stand to stare Shinada down and the man blinks once, twice before settling into the teasing. Ryuji will never get tired of that lowered timbre, the smile he could only describe as sleazy from his many years in the sex industry.
“Maaaaybe. Can you blame me? Not every day I get to see you dance like you mean it, baby.”
It’s the corniest thing Ryuji’s ever heard, probably directly out of some 90’s smut film, but it does wonders for his ego and his dick, so he lets it slide. Doesn’t dignify it with a response, just pokes Shinada’s cheek and watches as the man instantly deflates into a pout. He can see the drooping puppy ears in his mind’s eye, and he barely suppresses a laugh as he grabs the leftovers. “’Preciate the enthusiasm but not so fast, Tatsuo. Gotta make a stop first.”
“Oh? Are you going to drop that off?”
“Sure am. Let’s go.”
With that, the two walk together in easy silence. Going there happens without a hitch; Ryuji gives his friends their food and promises he’ll bring Akiyama by when they have time, but on the way to the studio Ryuji habitually steals glances at the man beside him. Shinada is finally living his dream, taking care of himself again. That smile, strained and tired when they met in ’99 is now so full of life. Unconsciously Ryuji reaches his hand out, and Shinada grips it happily.
Falling into their current arrangement was an accident. Shinada was one of Sky Finance’s first customers after its reopening from the events of Onomichi, begging Akiyama for a new loan. This particular 5 million yen was to help him with the necessary legal fees to get his lifetime ban from baseball revoked. Akiyama punched him in the side, said he’d give him the money freely as a thank you for his help over the years, and that was that.
At least, it should have been.
Shinada made headlines with the overture and seeing him on TV for the first time in over a decade, all dazzling radiance and goofy smiles, nearly had both men in proud drunken tears. They kept in touch pretty regularly afterwards, Shinada crashing with them countless times after any games he played in their area. To him the hotels weren’t lived in enough, the staff too sterile to be around.
On a particularly beautiful night outside, where all three men were pleasantly drunk off cheap Poppo beers and Ryuji’s favorite at their house, Shinada opens his mouth in a brilliant moment of liquid courage.
“Man, is it bad that I want you guys to just… to fuck me?”
Any lingering sound in their house dies in an instant. Shinada’s leaning against the wall, still dressed in his baseball uniform; his jersey swathes wonderfully over his toned chest, pants doing little to conceal the man’s now-prominent bulge. His arm is thrown over his eyes, blush racing down his bared throat and he looks delicious. A glance at Akiyama’s half-chub tells him the sentiment is shared.
“Just… you guys are both so… so sexy, you know? So nice to me. Know you guys are married but… love you guys so much. ‘s not fair… wanna…”
Shinada falls asleep before he can finish his statement. For once, Ryuji is immensely grateful for the blue-balling. Polyamory isn’t new territory for either of them but Shinada is. They make an agreement to haul Shinada to bed and talk about it in the morning, once everyone’s fully sober. The talk came and ended with Shinada clinging to Akiyama as Ryuji pounded him into their futon. The memory of them making out is still burned into the backs of Ryuji’s eyes.
He remembers the items stored in the lockers at the studio, beginning flames of arousal burning low in his belly. A glance at their intertwined hands to Shinada’s relaxed, unsuspecting face makes him confident of his makeshift plan for the night.
When they finally arrive at their destination, Ryuji greets Ayumi as he normally does but spares no time walking to the changing room. Before Shinada can get his hello in after removing his shoes, Ayumi is already running to embrace him.
“Tatsu-chan!!!” He relishes in the friendly hug with a hello of his own. “You naughty boy! You haven’t phoned since we made this arrangement for your friend. A girl gets lonely, you know?”
It’s been a long time since they’ve done anything together and he’s tempted to point it out, but instead Shinada takes the jest in stride with a laugh. “Ahh, I’m sorry, Ayumi-chan… My life’s been all over the place after the overture. This is my only night off for the next few weeks so I’m dropping in instead!” His voice then drops to a whisper. “How has he been? Will he be ready to perform his big surprise soon?”
She turns away from him, giggling while getting the poles ready for use. Her heels click-clack on the wooden floor like the beat of a drum. “Want him all for yourself, huh? Can’t say I blame you. He’s better than anyone I’ve ever taught, and you know I’ve been in this business about as long as you. He’s so earnest too; always asks me if I feel safe enough to go home alone when we close up for the night. But his legs? Those tits? Have you ever seen him try to do anything without being the hottest man in the room? I’m so jealous of you, Tatsu-chan… I want a man like that to come sweep me off my feet and take me home…”
“A-ah, well, I’m sure you’ll find someone…” While he does mean it, his mind is elsewhere and can’t come up with a better response. Shinada hasn’t seen him dance, not yet, but he can attest to everything else and knowing Ryuji actively sought him first, picked him of all people to be a fan of and appreciate has him simultaneously wiping his eyes and shifting uncomfortably in his jeans. Ayumi insults him for his lack of compassion, then stops, and Shinada turns his head to what she’s looking at.
Ryuji’s walked back into the space.
Shinada bites the inside of his cheek so hard it bleeds.
Ryuji’s shirtless, chain still around his neck, clad in black shorts that qualify more as a thong on his large frame with thigh-high stilettos to match. His grin is warm, wicked, and Shinada’s brain stops functioning. Ayumi redirects Shinada to a nearby couch with a knowing smile and instructs Ryuji to stretch in front of them. He has to bite down again when the blond transitions from a high kick to a split, draconic eyes watching him from his back, ass on full display. It’s torturous and everything he’s ever come to love about his old job. It gets worse when Ryuji finishes stretching and moves to the pole ten minutes later, and Ayumi moves to sit next to him, whispers in his ear as Ryuji presses play from his phone.
“Don’t worry, Tatsu-chan, this isn’t part of his real performance. Just watch and enjoy.”
Fuck.
Shinada doesn’t move a muscle, barely even blinks. Ryuji has no right to be so sinuous, so perfectly poised as he dances. He runs a hand up his front, drops low with an arched spine and ass jutted out before moving back up to kick his leg out and wrap it around the pole. He makes the entire thing look so effortless, like he’s done this for years instead of just shy a month and Shinada desperately wants to pull the bigger man in his lap, push that little piece of fabric taunting him aside and fuck him. Ryuji’s eyes are closed throughout, hyper-focused on his own movements. It’s a relief. Shinada knows seeing that piercing gaze now would ruin him.
The concept of time slips through his fingers as Ryuji performs. What was likely only five minutes felt like centuries, but Shinada manages to hold on until the end. His skin is two layers too tight, face unreadable as he claps. Ayumi recognizes his posture, has seen it so many times in the past, and she grins before stepping towards Ryuji.
“Goda-san, you did great as always. I know this is last minute, but I need to leave early tonight. Stay and practice as long as you like, but just make sure you clean and close up, got it?” She throws a wink to him, unseen by Shinada, and Ryuji plays along.
“Ah, sure. Thank ya fer comin’ tonight, Ayumi-chan. Got any pointers, anythin’ I need ta improve?”
“Hm… for once, no, Goda-san. You did wonderfully tonight. I do wish your legs weren’t so well-hidden, though, it’s a crying shame.” There’s the smallest intake of breath behind her, and Ayumi counts that as a personal victory. “Well, goodbye, you two! I’ll see you Monday, Goda-san!”
When the door closes upstairs Ryuji acknowledges Shinada with a smirk that almost, almost makes him lose his resolve. The blond perches himself atop Shinada’s thighs on the couch, purposefully cradles the other man’s bulge between his cheeks. Ryuji has a thin sheen of sweat coating his skin, recessed lights above them making him glisten gold.
“I see someone liked the show.” The grind is slow, all-encompassing, and Shinada hisses through his teeth. He responds by leaning in for a kiss, and Ryuji allows him just one before pushing him away. “Nuh-uh, baseball star. No touchin’. Ya wanted a dance, so I’m givin’ ya one.”
“You already gave me a dance, pretty boy, but I won’t say no to a free encore. Show me what you’ve got.” There it is again, the seedy smile and cheesy lines that give Ryuji goosebumps. He gets to work, rolling his body to a beat Shinada can’t hear. It’s a test of endurance now, and so far, Ryuji’s winning. Shinada looks ready to bust any minute, but he’s no better. His shorts are breaking at the seams with how hard he is in them.
The tipping point comes when, of all the things he’s done up until this point, Ryuji’s metal hand moves to clasp Shinada’s own. In an instant Shinada’s cutting him off with a heartfelt kiss. It’s rough, steadfast and sure, everything Shinada usually isn’t with him. It startles a guttural noise out of his throat. When they break for air, Shinada’s free hand forcefully grips his hip to rut into him. The manhandling leaves Ryuji breathless.
Pretty, pretty, beautiful is all Shinada can think to himself as his lips roam over the expanse of gorgeous skin. The perky, ash-brown nipples he’s been dying to tease are right in front of him; he doesn’t hesitate to take one in his mouth while Ryuji hastily tries to free him from his jeans. Ryuji’s loud, uninhibited as Shinada suckles and bites over his neck and chest. Shinada wriggles underneath them to get his wallet, pulls out the travel packet of lube and condom he always carries before noticing something else. Ryuji’s legs are a particular kind of sticky. When he finally moves that piece of fabric aside it snaps, falling away completely, and the sight that greets him makes him dizzy.
In Ryuji’s ass is a black silicone plug, ring on the base for easy movement, heavy cock leaking down his shaft. The thigh-high boots frame him perfectly; it’s a portrait Shinada wants nothing more than to take home.
“…How long have you had that in you?” Though hoarse, Shinada’s voice is much calmer than he feels.
“Since I… since I went ta change…shit—” Shinada interrupts the conversation with a tug on the ring. The barely-there push and pull is maddening to Ryuji, but Shinada’s luxuriating in all of the reactions. Through it all he never lets go of Ryuji’s hand. “Fuckin’… fuck, Tatsuo…”
“Come on, pretty boy. Put that body to good use. Show me how much you want it.” Shinada sits back on the couch, legs spread and lube beside him, dick leaking proud against his clothed stomach, and Ryuji scrambles to do as he’s told.
Shinada’s enraptured by Ryuji’s movements. His metal hand still clasps Shinada’s for support, curve of his spine accentuated as he rolls the condom down Shinada’s shaft and rubs their cocks together in one hand, lube making a bigger mess of both of them. Ryuji’s breath is punched out of him in sharp pants, thighs trembling with anticipation and fatigue. Shinada does no work, has stopped moving the plug in him; he just stares with a lascivious smirk and a gaze that lovingly demands nothing but Ryuji’s best. “Has Akiyama ever seen you like this?”
He has. Akiyama knows everything about him, loves turning everything into a challenge with an oh-so-satisfying reward, and that was the crux of it all now, wasn’t it? Ryuji’s desire to be at the top of Japan’s food chain years ago turned into a need to be good for someone. His younger self dreamed of this exact scenario once: tears clinging at his lashes, throat raw and voice choked, so utterly at the mercy of a man he loves who will treat him right. It’s enough to take him to the edge.
“Answer my question, pretty boy. Has Akiyama seen you like this before?”
“Y-yes, ngh—"
“You don’t do this for anyone else, right?” Shinada finally moves, pulls the soaked plug out and throws it god knows where. The whine that escapes Ryuji’s throat at the loss is nearly pathetic. “It’s only for us, right?”
It takes him a minute to find his words through the fog of sensations happening at once. “…Fuck, yes, it’s only… only for you guys—”
“Good.”
It’s whispered into Ryuji’s ear like a promise as Shinada thrusts in to the hilt, gripping the base of Ryuji’s dick hard enough to stop his orgasm. Tears fall freely down Ryuji’s cheeks, toeing the pleasure-pain line and Shinada talks him through it, coos how good he is for him as he tries to piece together reality again. Eventually he pats Shinada’s shoulder, their nonverbal green light, but Shinada doesn’t speak even after clarity fully returns to Ryuji. He’s thinking. When he finally addresses Ryuji, his eyes are blazing.
“I have a challenge for you tonight, pretty boy.”
“Haw? Like what?”
“Don’t cum until I tell you to.”
Ryuji blinks. His voice is squeaky, tear tracks still on his face but the trademark smirk comes back with a vengeance. “Haw? Those are some big words, Tatsuo. ‘N if I do anyway? Ya gonna punish me? Ya think ya can?”
“I know I can.” Shinada’s smile rivals his own, electrifies his skin. “Would you like that? Take you home and tie you up real nice, leave you there for hours… come home with Akiyama, use you and leave again.”
Ryuji forcefully suppresses a shiver, clenching on the cock inside him. His hand replaces Shinada’s at his base. “That… that ain’t a punishment, Tatsuo.”
“Believe me, Ryuji. It will be.” Cheeky.
Ryuji snorts, acquiesces by pulling himself up, nearly off Shinada’s cock before slamming back down, delights in finally catching Shinada off-guard. The victory lasts only for a few seconds before Shinada grips his hip with newfound strength, hard enough to bruise and sets the pace himself. He nails Ryuji’s prostate on each thrust dead-on. It’s brutal, precise; the overstimulation has Ryuji tearing again, but his keens and low groans are silenced by the constant press of Shinada’s lips on his own. The continuous denial and lack of oxygen makes his head swim, but he’s never been one to back down from a challenge. Ryuji goes for all the sensitive spots he can reach—a bite under Shinada’s jaw, a pinch to a clothed nipple, a caress to the back of the neck. He can tell Shinada’s getting closer to his limit—the hand holding his own grips tighter, dick throbbing inside him. Ryuji’s at his breaking point.
“Ta-Tatsuo… I—I can’t, I can’t—"
“Cum.” It’s a command spoken directly into his ear, and Ryuji screams. His vision completely whites out, every nerve in his body on fire with the force of his delayed orgasm. He clenches tight, vice-like around Shinada’s cock and the added sensation forces Shinada to fall apart beside him. There’s a twinge of sadness feeling the condom dampen the sensation.
Ryuji is the first to move when the afterglow fades. The mess of Shinada’s clothes brings him great pride; he can likely never wear this outfit again. Shinada has a dopey smile on his face, endearing and far too sappy for what happened, and Ryuji tucks his head underneath Shinada’s chin, moves their still-entwined hands to get him back to the present.
“Did ya enjoy the show, Tatsuo?”
“…You’re kidding. Enjoy is an understatement.”
They both laugh, long and loud.
It takes a while to get themselves and the studio cleaned to an acceptable standard but they do, locking the door on their way out. The fresh air of Kamurocho is welcome to them. Shinada’s wearing Ryuji’s coat out of an abundance of caution; neither of them feel like being arrested for public indecency tonight.
“Hey, Tatsuo?”
“Yes?”
“I still need an outfit fer the show. Know any good shops?”
“God. You’re killing me, you know that? You’re killing your second boyfriend.”
A pause.
“…If I tell you where it is, can I watch you try stuff on?”
“That’ll ruin the surprise, ya damn pervert. Don’t ya have ta be on the road come mornin’ anyway? ‘S late.”
“But I don’t wanna go back to the hotel…” There’s that switch from sleaze to puppy. It makes Ryuji sigh fondly, taking Shinada’s hand into his again.
“Tell ya what. We’ll go save Shun’s sorry ass from Hana-chan, go back home and order some takeout, then get to bed. Ya get ta be in the middle tonight. Give me the addresses of whatever shops ya know of in the mornin’ before ya go. Think of it as somethin’ ta keep ya movin’ forward, like a date.”
Shinada turns his head towards Ryuji’s, wipes the stray happy tears from his eyes and squeezes his hand. “Yeah… yeah. It’s a date.”