Work Text:
“What,” says Majima, teeth glinting cruelly, “ya think I don’t know how to be haunted without having to see the ghosts everywhere? Don’t know how to-“ he presses a single finger to the side of his skull- “keep it all quiet, up in here?” He makes his grin dip into something even more slickly sly. Leans in close and slides his tongue across the front of his teeth to make ‘em shine even more. “You missin’ him, baby?”
Nishiki lifts his chin up but doesn’t actually look at him when he replies, “Missing who, exactly?”
Majima huffs out a long, cleanly amused laugh, and then whirls around to study the interior of his office, shoulders going up and down like he’s preparing to dance. Might as well take a look around for a second. Nishiki seems like he’s the type to want to be buttered up. He can work with that.
The most gorgeous thing about Nishiki, Majima thinks, is his way of lying. There’s something pouty about it, indignant. He’s living in a body too small for his nature and yet just small enough to keep everyone underestimating him. There’s a fear there, sure, swimming around inside Nishiki’s ribcage, Majima can see it - he knows that sort of thing well enough himself - but there’s also a true… rage at something that seems like it wants to be prodded at. Seems like it wants blood. Majima gets wanting to be prodded at. Majima gets wanting blood. All Majima wants is blood, of course, and he loves saying it- Nishiki doesn’t want to admit it. Majima’s currently in his cute little office - well, it’s not little - with its cold artificial lighting and sexy leather chairs and right now he wants to take off Nishiki’s sleek casket of a suit and make him show him his tattoo. Why deny yourself anything? Why hint when you can just fucking do it? Nishiki’s so buttoned up all the goddamn time. Majima sees him on the fringes of every stupid fucking Tojo HQ meeting and remembers when he used to see him laughing with his arms around Kiryu’s shoulders as they’d leave some karaoke bar. Dripping giddy heart-shaped affection everywhere. Majima had hated him for it, a little. Mostly he had wanted to be in between them.
Majima doesn’t have both of them to ogle anymore, just has the one, who’s worse than before, yeah, but he’ll do. He’ll more than do, what’s he saying- Nishiki’s sitting on the edge of his desk with a sneer and his hair slicked back, looking incredible. Majima’s clucking his tongue and sauntering around the perimeter of the big fancy Nishikiyama Family office to peer at the tops of all his file cabinets and shit, which don’t bear any personal pictures, or anything personal at all, for that matter. Majima’s got specks of blood on his knuckles from some scuffle he can’t even remember now. He scratches at some of the driest bits of it as he stares at a print of some weird, abstract painting someone hung up on the wall, feeling Nishiki eye him warily from behind.
Majima blows a raspberry and says, “The fuck is this?”
“A Basquiat,” says Nishiki flatly. When Majima doesn’t seem to comprehend this, he rolls his eyes - he really is meaner now, wowie - and adds, “Not an original,” like that explains anything.
Majima squints curiously at him. “Ya like that sort of thing, huh?”
Nishiki just scoffs. Majima feels comforted, slightly, by how prissy he still is. He feels the sudden impact of a memory he has of knocking on Kiryu’s apartment door - he hadn’t seen him in a few days and had started feeling bored - and encountering a yawning, still-damp Nishikiyama rubbing his eyes, What do you want, Majima-san, skin flushed like he had just finished taking a sweet morning shower. His hair had been curling slightly at the ends. Majima wonders- but, no. Majima feels something hurt deep down and stops the remembering.
“Got a big, bad office now, dontcha,” whistles Majima. He plops himself onto the creaking leather of one of the large chairs in front of Nishiki’s desk and leans back with both cheekiness and what he hopes comes off as respect.
Nishiki doesn’t seem to like it, though. “So do you, Majima-san.”
“Ooh,” says Majima lightly, kicking his feet a bit, “I like it when ya say it like that.”
Nishiki’s lips curl in distaste. “Have some respect, if you please.”
Majima only cackles.
Nishiki sighs loudly. Looks down from his perch and says, “I figured you wanted to talk business. I have a tight schedule, so can you just tell me what you want already?” He pauses and seems unsure. Majima wants to eat him alive. Nishiki frowns with annoyance- “Or am I wrong?”
Majima tilts his head to the side. “Do I look like someone who wants to talk business, Nishikiyama-chan?”
Nishiki presses his lips his together. “I suppose not.” A question, nestled in there.
“Hm,” Majima hums, and he crosses his ankles all pretty, like they teach in finishing school or whatever the fuck. “All right, lemme explain.”
“Okay,” says Nishiki slowly.
“I was havin’ a slow, cold sort of night, and I got to thinkin’ about the good ol’ days, when we would-“ Majima grins pointedly- “and I thought about callin’ ya up, except ya never answer your phone anymore, that’s common Tojo knowledge, ya see, so then I thought, Well, why don’t I go and visit Nishi-chan in person real quick and ask if I could suck him off.” He makes his lips stick together and releases them with a pop. “So here I am. Askin’.” And then he shows him his incisors, angles his head once more so the ceiling lights will really make them sparkle.
There’s a long silence.
Most would be deterred, even, by such a silence, but not Majima. Majima lets the silence simmer and fester and it gets his insides humming. It’s not quite what it feels like when he’s in the middle of a good fight, but it’s close. It feels like there’s something out of the corner of his vision, observing him, but that’s just paranoia, surely. There’s a vibration that spills out his fingertips and that makes him start to bounce his leg, like he’s watching a horse race he knows is rigged, or something. The analogy isn’t important. What’s important is Nishiki’s palpable discomfort and his palpable something-else, which is wafting right into Majima’s nostrils. Majima likes being held down and tossed around and he thinks Nishiki might give it to him. Maybe. Probably? Majima spreads his legs just so. Yeah. Probably.
Nishiki watches him do it, schooling his face into something decidedly unimpressed. After the silence unspools some more he says, in a low tone, “I’m not sure what you remember happening in the good old days, but I personally don’t recall much of interest.” A mean sort of eyelash flutter. “Majima-san.”
Majima nods shortly, amused, and rises to get in Nishiki’s space, hand pawing at his collar. “Keep talkin’ in that way ya do. I really love a large vocabulary.”
Nishiki doesn’t even tremble. Doesn’t even falter at all as Majima’s breath fans hot against his neck and his cool, white blazer. Grabs Majima’s wrist at once with a distinctly bubbling-under-the-surface sort of violence and hisses, “I think you should leave.”
Majima seizes his collar for real now and pulls him closer, everything in him turning on louder, louder. “Yeah?” he breathes, yanking him forward just so, and then Nishiki really fucking grabs him by the back of the neck and shoves him against his desk.
A spike of pain blooms lovingly in his shoulder, the angle terrible and uncomfortable and- “Haaa,” Majima sighs happily, “fuck, Nishiki, you been workin’ out?“
Nishiki looms over him darkly and shoves him into the edge of the desk again, seemingly just for the fun of it. “You’ve changed,” he says, and it’s in that new voice Majima sometimes hears at their clan meetings.
Majima laughs. Giggles, actually. “‘S only natural,” he says, all breathy. “You’re the one who’s changed the most, ya know, but don’t worry-“ Nishiki squeezes at his neck unkindly- “I like it, baby.”
“Don’t call me that,” Nishiki seethes, pushing him against the table fully. “Don’t think I don’t understand that you’re- pretending. I see what you’re doing.”
It’s an odd thing to say, but Majima gets it. Nishiki could never win if Majima started fighting back right now. Common Tojo knowledge, and all that. He preens. “Yer saying I’m strong, huh?” He wants to fan his feathers out real wide but Nishiki pins his wrist to the table with a vehemence. “You’re so sweet.”
Nishiki seems to hate this even more. Majima finds it interesting but also just really likes how he bristles, spiky and explosive, the type of angry you don’t find just anywhere. And Majima knows for sure that Nishiki hates this even more because now he lets go of Majima and steps away from the desk, one hand taking off his suit jacket. The lack of hand on his neck makes him feel cold again, which is unfortunate.
Majima peers back over his shoulder and says, “Oh, we showin’ off irezumi now?” Nishiki looks murderously passive and doesn’t even take off his undershirt, but Majima takes this as an invitation and gets up slightly to pull the snakeskin off his back. He wiggles his arms around, flexes his muscles. Nishiki’s eyes narrow slightly, which Majima can’t read, so he just smiles and says, “Ya like it?”
“I’ve already seen it,” mutters Nishiki, which is probably true. Majima goes shirtless a lot. He can’t remember if he’d shown him back at the tail end of the 80s or some other time. Everything feels sluggish in his brain, when he thinks of the 80s. Far away. Majima moves his scapula around. Nishiki rolls his eyes. “It’s impressive,” he cedes, though his voice is mocking.
“Impressive,” drawls Majima. He’s getting gooey inside in the face of Nishiki’s buried earnestness. He wonders if anyone else ever gets him to say things like that. Maybe Majima just has the advantage, being a figure from his past (and present, but that doesn’t seem to matter so much). Ghosts can still be alive, he knows, and this can make them powerful. He says happily, “Sit down for me?”
Nishiki stands there warily for a moment before settling gracefully on the chair, looking at him expectantly. Majima grins and nears him, sits on his lap but faces away, both of them still with their trousers on. Nishiki lets out a subtle sigh of pleasure as Majima rubs his ass against him through the fabric.
In a voice that’s clearly taunting, Majima says, “Ya like that, sir?”
Nishiki’s breath gets distinctly more ragged, though he mostly hides it. “All you do is play around,” he says, vitriolic. “It’s going to get you killed someday.”
“I doubt it,” says Majima cheerfully, moving his hips quickly, inelegantly. “I think you’re the one that’s gotta worry, sir.” Nishiki is turning pink. “Ya need to have more of a good time. Put all that patriarch money into something fun for once, yeah?”
“There’s a reason,” breathes Nishiki, and god, his tone is rude, “that my family is doing better than yours, Majima.”
Majima huffs and slides his ass over Nishiki’s cock again, stiff and twitching, despite Nishiki’s expression. “Don’t go insultin’ me or my boys,” Majima says, but he’s just talking to talk, wants Nishiki’s hands on his back. “I won’t just lie there and take it.”
Nishiki’s eyes flash. “It seems like you will, though,” he says, and he swiftly pushes Majima off of him and stands, leaning against his desk again. Majima showily lets himself tumble to the ground and looks up at Nishiki, who’s unzipping his pants and staring at Majima with an icy expression, one that Majima hasn’t seen before. It makes the air in the room get darker, more nervous, more crackly, like Majima pressed the wrong buttons. Majima likes pressing the wrong buttons, yes, but he keeps hearing Nishiki’s voice in his head saying You’ve changed, and he thinks about Kiryu in jail and how Nishiki is most likely forbidden to see him and how Nishiki’s rumored to have slept with half the other Tojo patriarchs, minimum. But- this is fine. Majima likes pressing the wrong buttons. Surely. Nishiki takes himself out of his trousers - Majima leans back on his hands and watches - and for a minute it’s just the sounds of Kamurocho outside and the slide of Nishiki’s hand over his cock, the small, small noise of moisture as he thumbs at the head with his pretty fingernails. Majima feels his own facial expression go more natural, less performative, and Nishiki licks his lips and looks at him for a while.
“Wanna step on me?” says Majima, in a low voice, after some more of this.
For a second, Nishiki’s eyes widen, but then he just sneers at him plainly. A siren wails outside. “No,” he says. “You stay there.”
Majima doesn’t think it’s mainly for aesthetic pleasure, or anything. It’s for the power trip, obviously, but it’s not very interesting for Majima as the one being observed, even though he’s hard as fuck in his leather pants. He frowns at Nishiki and says, because he’s feeling cruel, “You make him sit there like this too, or what?”
Nishiki stutters to a halt and then continues like nothing happened. “No,” he says airily, which is a surprise. “Not usually.”
Majima feels sticky. Hm. Maybe not sticky. It’s more of a sudden pulse of heat, a jagged needle in his side. “Yeah?” he says quickly. “What was he like?”
Nishiki’s eyes are hooded, his expression glossy, bored. His jaw is defined, made of marble. The blinds behind him are only two thirds closed, but they’re high up in the building and it’s very dark outside in a heavy, syrupy way, the time surely reaching three A.M. Nishiki’s infamous for being in his office all the damn time. The work always shows, with him. He’s never smooth enough about it all, they say, but Majima thinks that they just haven’t seen him like this yet, natural in his pool of guileful planning; he puts one hand on the desk behind him, a leisurely pose like he’s on the beach, modeling for some non-important magazine, while the other hand grasps his cock, milks it a bit. Majima wants to put it in his mouth but- “He was always so ready for it,” Nishiki says, in a voice that indicates he can’t be bothered. “He was so big.” Twitch of his lips.
Majima stares. Then he pants. Almost drools, even though it’s objectively very little information. “Fuck,” he says, delighted. “He let ya cum inside, ever?”
Nishiki lets out a pleased hum. “Oh, he loved it when I did.” He closes his eyes. “I liked it more when it was the vice versa, though.”
Majima finally gets up from the floor, brazen, and leans over Nishiki as he squeezes his thigh. Nishiki lets him do it, for some reason. Something’s up, but Majima says “Fuck,” again, and Nishiki leans back slightly on his hand and says, in a cute voice, obviously put-on, “Touch me, Majima-san,” and his eyelashes butterfly open, and he bites his lip a little, makes the blood pool under the skin, and alarm bells go off in Majima’s brain suddenly but, still, he gets drunk off of it, clambers over the desk as much as he can and wraps his own fingers around Nishiki’s cock and feels how wet he is, Nishiki smiling through it, eyes still half-moon smirks, and he’s a snake, Majima sees, of course he is, he’s curling around him, whining slightly, Majima jerking his dick while he’s still clothed, mumbling, hubristically greedy, “Wanna cum on my hand, sweetheart?” and Nishiki’s just grabbing him too tightly, not saying anything, acting like a porn-star that knows her lines too well, and Majima sees it and knows it and thinks, WAIT, though he can’t help himself from pumping him, still, just to feel it.
“What’s your deal,” Majima says suddenly. “The fuck is up with ya, huh?” Nishiki’s warm in his hand.
Nishiki smiles at him, and it’s terrible. He moves his hips against his hand in perfect rhythm. “Don’t you want to make me cum, Majima-san?” He leans in close, and Majima shudders a bit with pleasure at the way he nips at his neck, mouthing at his jawline slowly, tenderly. “Isn’t that what you came here for?”
Majima starts to frown and pull away but Nishiki tugs him closer, doesn’t let him, whispering softly, “You said you’re feeling lonely, Majima-san?” Majima blinks at him. “Missing someone too?” Nishiki’s smile stretches out, though he barely shows his teeth. “Someone who let you cum inside, hm? Someone who could give you what you want.”
Majima freezes but doesn’t let go of him. He was humping Nishiki's thigh like a dog. “You’re one to talk, Nishi-chan.”
Nishiki laughs, half-bitter, half-aroused, and he clutches at Majima in a fake way. “You want absolution, don’t you?” At this, Majima truly snarls. Nishiki’s hair falls back behind his shoulders in gentle swishes of movement. He whimpers quietly, pouts his lip and grabs Majima’s shoulder like they’re younger than they are. “Give it to me,” Nishiki continues, inexplicably. “Let me have it instead.”
“Whatever ya say,” says Majima, annoyed because it’s hard for him to play much of anything now, hard for him to reply to this weird dirty talk, hard for him not to remember, but Nishiki just giggles like he likes that and removes himself.
For a moment he stands over Majima on the desk, and Majima feels all his natural instincts scream and wail, because he looks like he’s going to take out a knife, or a gun, or like he’s going to punch Majima in the nose so hard it breaks and then not stop even when there’s too much blood, and so Majima both braces himself and opens himself up wide for it, gaping hole expanding instead of his heart, everything singing deep within him at getting what he wants-
But then Nishiki, who has been studying him, eyes darting around his body, seems to find what he wants, and he smiles so that his cheeks dimple. Kneels so that’s he’s on the floor now, prodding at Majima’s thighs so they open up. “Fuckin-“ says Majima, exasperated, “Gimme a second-“ He moans. “Fuck, Nishiki, wait-“
“Mm,” says Nishiki, mouth around his cock, face aglow in the heatless light, eyes bright with something real bad. He looks younger, somehow. “Come on. You can call me whatever you want if you let me do the same, hm?”
Majima stares down at him. Nishiki seems to revel in his discomfort. Majima moans again, despite himself, and thinks of- but he can’t- so he murmurs out a Kiryu, and this makes Nishiki shudder all over, for real. Majima can feel it. “You’re fucked up,” Majima’s panting, but he’s thrusting into Nishiki’s mouth.
“Yeah,” breathes Nishiki, quivering and tonguing up his shaft, “mm, that’s it.” He looks at him through his lashes. “He always wanted you so bad, Majima-san.” A kiss to his tip.
Majima says, “F-fuck,” and he’s in over his head. He cums all over Nishiki’s lips, the white clinging to them naively. Majima thinks, He’s got freckles, on his nose, so light I never noticed before. He thinks, I don’t remember if he had freckles like that. I don’t remember-
Nishiki laps it up, almost perfunctorily, and then positions himself on Majima’s leg, rides it. It’s less like a dog and more like something else. Majima allows it, coming back to himself but feeling dazed, still. He bit off more than he could chew but he still wants to chew what he’s got sitting there on his tongue. He thinks he’s got it but then he watches Nishiki dig his teeth into his lip again, like he’s holding back sounds, eyes closed like he’s somewhere else, and so Majima says, voice hoarse, “Ya feel that, over your shoulder? That feeling of… being watched?”
Nishiki lets out a candy-coated sigh of pleasure. He opens one eye and says, monstrously, “You missing him, baby?”
Majima shivers in the cold of the office, heating on too low.
When Nishiki cums he immediately moves off of Majima and wipes his hand and the edge of his trouser leg with a tissue, facing away from him. Majima sees his reflection in the glass of the windows opposite.
Majima can’t parse out his expression. “Missin’ who, exactly?” he says softly, and then he lets Nishiki fuck him.