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The chair under him is hard and uncomfortable, selected for sturdiness above all else. The sharp corners cut into the sides of his arms where they've been strapped down to it, pressing uncomfortably whenever he shifts, the angle of his legs awkward. It's too small for him, but Kisaki's strapped his feet in anyway, locking him in place with an old pair of handcuffs, still covered in rusty flakes of dried blood from the last person they'd had here.
Hanma should be nervous, but he isn't. Kisaki looks down at him and only him, and Hanma marvels that one person's hell can be heaven for another.
"Feel better?" he asks, head tilted, blinking up at Kisaki slow and relaxed. The sound of his voice is just the same, amused and deadly calm, as if he's talking to a misbehaving child. He knows it pisses Kisaki off that he never takes it seriously when he does things like this.
And it does piss him off. Kisaki's expression doesn't change, but Hanma can still feel it like a change in the temperature, Kisaki's gaze just a bit more intense.
"Shut up," he spits, only to regret it when Hanma chuckles.
"Yes, sir~"
He sees Kisaki's hand coming a mile away. The man's so weak he seems to move in slow motion as he winds up a slap, and Hanma watches his hand trail through the air, coming closer to him. It's almost harder to let himself be hit than to dodge, but Hanma manages to stay in place anyways, taking his punishment like a good dog.
The sting of Kisaki's slap feels like a butterfly kiss on his cheek, and Hanma smiles up at him silently, begging Kisaki for another, which he is all too happy to supply. It's cute how Kisaki always slaps him in these moments. He doesn't punch, but slaps. Even at his lowest, he wants to preserve Hanma's face. It's funny that Kisaki loves him best when he's clean and beautiful, but Hanma always likes seeing him best at times like this, when he's red-faced and dirty, sweating and covered in blood and filth after being dragged through the mud.
There had been an accident. Hanma knows because he'd been in the car, too. It had been close for both of them, but Hanma had noticed the truck coming at the last second and managed to get them out before the crash. They're both a little worse for the ware, their suits torn and stained from the road, Hanma's knuckles bloodied from where they'd cradled Kisaki's head against the road burn--the same road burn he can see along the man's neck, coloring his nice button-up shirt red and yellow. The rest of his face is covered in dirt, streaks of blood from Hanma's knuckles, and dried tears that he doesn't try to hide here, now, with just the two of them.
"I've had enough," Kisaki says, hand shaking, still raised to hit him again. "I know it's you. Nothing else makes sense. You're working with someone... Is it someone in the gang? Someone with a grudge?"
Hanma doesn't answer, doesn't do anything other than look up at him until Kisaki finally snaps, "Answer the question!"
"My boss is someone real high up the ladder. Second only to Sano Manjiro himself. He's worn the same ugly glasses since he was in middle school and whenever he bends over--baha!" He can't help but laugh as Kisaki finally slaps him again, his cheek throbbing now.
"Stop fucking around!" Kisaki's face has gone red, but he's still trying to maintain control of himself. "I'm not joking, Hanma."
"I'm not joking either, though? Never had a boss but you."
"How many times have we been here? You've known me long enough to know I'm not an idiot."
There are a lot of things he could say to deescalate this, he thinks. He could explain that he was in the car and could've died, too. He could remind Kisaki that the reason why they're always together when these things happen is because they're always together. He could simply remind Kisaki that they just got in an accident and he's not thinking straight, because he's right. Hanma knows he's not an idiot. He just needs time to calm down and think things through.
But that all sounds so dull when he could be here instead, trapped in a room with Kisaki, dominating his every thought.
Kisaki reaches back, under his tattered jacket, and Hanma shivers as he pulls out a gun.
"Talk," Kisaki says, stepping closer to press it to his forehead.
"Or you're gonna shoot me?" Hanma can't help the excitement in his voice or the twinkle in his eyes. His amusement is on full display, and only multiplies when the gun presses harder to his skull, muzzle biting against his skin.
"You think I won't."
"Not at all. I know you could pull the trigger. I've seen you do it enough."
If the gun wasn't enough to get his blood flowing, the memory is. Hanma feels his body heating up, remembering the way Kisaki's carefully-practiced stoicism would crack as his finger tightened, his flinch at the sound of the gunshot, the color draining from his face as blood and bits of brain flecked his glasses. He's gotten better over the years, but in the beginning it was always like that, difficult for him to stomach in a way his pride would never let him admit. Now, it's only occasionally that he sees the boy Kisaki used to be. When he has to remove people he knows. People he might, on some level, care about.
Inevitably, Hanma knows that Kisaki will be the death of him. At almost thirty, he's already older than he ever thought he'd be. If Kisaki's facade breaking for him was the last thing he could see, he thinks it wouldn't be so bad to die.
A soft groan leaves him as he strains his neck, nuzzling the cold metal with his nose first, then his cheek, eyes trained on Kisaki's reaction.
"Stop," Kisaki orders him, but he doesn't move the gun, and so Hanma turns his head and kisses the barrel. Kisaki's breath quickens, eyes wide, but he still doesn't move the gun.
For Hanma, it's as good as permission. Hanma merely hums in response, opening his mouth so his tongue can fall out and taste the metal. He licks it up all the way to the muzzle again, then gives it a kiss, eyelids flickering.
"Go ahead," he says, voice drawling. He shifts his hips, pants tight and even more uncomfortable than the chair. "Splatter me on the walls, haha~ ♡"
"Hanma!"
Hanma starts to respond and Kisaki shoves the gun into his mouth, pressing it into the back of his throat until he gags. Even so, he can't stop giggling, delighted at the pink staining Kisaki's cheeks, the sudden, bare need plastered across his face.
"I'll kill you," Kisaki says, voice shaking, but the fact that he's saying it and not doing it means he won't. Hanma gives him another placating hum, then a moan as Kisaki moves the gun out of his mouth a centimeter only to shove it back in.
It never gets dull with Kisaki. Just when he thinks things might be getting monotonous, something like this will happen. Hanma opens his mouth wider, swallowing down as much of the barrel as will fit and sucking, bobbing his head.
"You're pathetic," Kisaki spits at him as if his voice hasn't gone thick and he's not leaning closer, doing the best to jam the gun down Hanma's throat. His gaze flashes down to the obvious tent in Hanma's pants and his lip curls. "You're disgusting."
Spit trails from his lips, connecting them to the gun as it leaves his mouth. Hanma gives a breathless laugh, eyes glazed. "Why'd you stop?" He swallows to clear his throat, glancing down to Kisaki's crotch. "Gonna give me something better?"
That earns him another hit, this time on the crown of his head, the handle of the gun hard enough that for a moment his vision swims. In his daze, he doesn't notice Kisaki's second attack until it's already hit him, and Hanma yells as Kisaki stomps between his legs.
"Oh, fuck!"
Kisaki has one foot raised, the sole of his shoe pressed hard to Hanma's aching erection. The gun goes back to his forehead, and Kisaki snarls as he leans his weight down onto Hanma's crotch. Pain is white hot, so intense that he even whimpers as he bucks his hips up. The chair creaks under him, but it's bolted to the ground and won't break so easily.
"Control yourself," Kisaki hisses, but Hanma can't, not if he's playing like this.
Handcuffs bite into his ankles and wrists as his body jerks, craving more. The pressure hurts, but the friction feels godly. Kisaki looks down at him like he's trash, finger still on the trigger, and Hanma could really die like this, humping the bottom of Kisaki's foot like an animal.
"Fuck, please~" he whines, grinding up and moaning shamelessly when Kisaki's weight presses down all the more. "Shoot me, shoot me, fuck, shoot me, please, Tetta, plea--"
BANG.
Hanma feels surprise. Pain. Euphoria. Pleasure floods him and his eyes roll back, blocking his vision. His orgasm hits him so hard he doesn't have time to think about insignificant things like whether he's been killed or not. His ears ring as he paints the inside of his underwear white, breath coming to him in gasps and leaving in whimpers and moans, until Kisaki finally takes the weight off of him and he remembers how to see.
Slow and stupid, Hanma comes back to the world, blinking up at Kisaki, who stares down at him, horrified. It doesn't make sense, because Hanma's pretty sure he's still alive. It takes a moment for him to feel the pain in his ear, to recognize the tacky feeling of his blood oozing down the side of his neck.
"I... Hanma, I didn't... It's because you..."
It's not just the orgasm. His ears are ringing so bad he can barely hear the words coming from Kisaki's mouth. Even so, it's easy to tell what he's trying to say from the look on his face.
His knee is still there, right in front of Hanma, so he leans forward as much as his bindings will let him to kiss it.
"Feel better?" he asks, head tilted, and this time Kisaki gives him a stunned, hesitant nod. He looks like he doesn't know what to do anymore, so Hanma guides him. "Come here."
Kisaki does, taking his foot away and replacing it with his knee, letting their lips fall together as Hanma leads him into a kiss. He must have bit his tongue in the crash. His mouth tastes like blood and bile, and Hanma drinks him down like a sweet nectar as he makes a quiet, hurt sound at the feeling of Hanma's tongue pressing in.
"Tetta, you're so hot," Hanma whispers against his lips. "I love you."
"You need professional help," Kisaki answers, voice flat, but he clings to Hanma's ripped-up jacket, pressing his face into the unbloodied side of Hanma's neck, and Hanma bursts into laughter.
"I'll get it when you do~ ♡"