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It was a particularly uneventful day; by which Towa means he can no longer muster enough strength to throw himself to a pack of wolves for a show of strength. Gang fights become the least of your worries when you have a broken arm, a sprained ankle, and three shattered ribs—even Madarame has dismissed his sorry state, because who would want a fighting partner who is compromised?
So Towa is left to entertain himself in one of Kaga's many bases of operations. When the surrounding silence becomes a touch too grating for his liking, he bursts out of Kaga's office and leaves it unattended. In exchange for this unsettling solitude, Towa sends the door to the IT room flying open—there's always people to bother, considering how he's unironically well-connected for someone riddled with alarming levels of apathy.
"Yo."
"Towa-san," Eiji acknowledges the blond with a quick glance. He's positioned in a booth by his lonesome, tinkering with a wired gadget Towa doesn't recognize. As he walks over to Eiji, he flips his lengthened locks to sit on one shoulder. "What brings you here? Does Kaga-san have any orders?"
"Not really." Towa answers, briskly setting his weight down the edge of Eiji's desk. "Just bored."
"Haha, I don't know if any of my business is particularly entertaining." The ashen-haired answers, almost sheepish. Bless Eiji's soul, Towa thinks, because no matter how dull you think your personality is, Towa would find a way to poke holes into you—one source of fun is vulnerability. "I'm just hanging around."
"Don't mind me." Towa says, touching miniature tools at random, all of which is what Eiji is using for his current set of hardware.
Eiji lets it be. The only sound between them is the slight clank of metal against metal, the soft clatter of parts colliding, and the occasional snip whenever he cuts wires. Towa has gathered, with enough attentive observation, that Eiji is modifying a time bomb; its main body is cased in a glossy shell that looks almost sheer in its vinyl finish. Towa pokes on it momentarily, and Eiji couldn't help but raise his gaze to look right at him.
"I know you need something." Eiji says, unstopping in his work concerning the explosive despite his curiosity. "What is it?"
"Well..." Towa trails off. He gives himself a moment, legs crossing, one arm splayed to the empty spot of the table. "I'm bored."
"And?"
"I expect you to give me something of substance."
Eiji huffs out a laugh. "Sexual favor?"
"Basically, yeah." Towa is wonderfully spread out over the desk now, his blond hair cascading nicely over his shoulders. If Eiji feels even the slightest bit of attraction, he wouldn't hesitate to pounce and give Towa the entertainment he's looking for, but that's not the case, isn't it?
"I'm not the best partner, and you know that. Anyway, where's Madarame-san?"
"Nowhere to be seen. And none of my business." Towa answers, pushing the edge of Eiji's swivel chair with the side of his shoe-clad foot. "Let me suck you off."
Eiji laughs again. "You need to be a bit more tactful."
"When has tact ever worked for me?"
"Dunno. But it might work right now?"
"Tact is unneeded in this scenario."
Towa hops off the desk, his slender body taking its rightful place on top of Eiji's lap. As if second nature, Eiji's gloved palms cover the expanse of Towa's bony hips. Having explored enough in a matter of seconds, he's sneaking a digit each into Towa's sidemost belt loops. The blond leans in—Eiji responds in kind, and their mouths mesh without problem. The kiss is unbidden, sure, but nonetheless it was welcomed warmly.
"Let me suck you off," Towa repeats, as if conditioning Eiji to finally comply, tongue-deep into Eiji's mouth, his voice muffled. The ashen-haired responds with a quiet groan, displacing his hands on Towa's sides to instead stroke on his thighs. It's as thin and gaunt as the rest of him, but Eiji finds pleasure in caressing them anyway. "Make space."
Still immersed in the languid kiss that they share, Eiji uses a foot to anchor their joined weight on the chair. Then he slides backwards, which effectively gives Towa the space he's asking for.
"Don't make me regret this." Eiji says, a chuckle escaping his mouth as Towa eagerly pops open his belt buckle.
Towa fixes him a smirk as he shuffles to his feet. He sinks to his knees at a moment’s notice. Eiji finds amusement in the other’s confidence—it's quite cute, really. When Towa hauls himself beneath the desk, Eiji could only really laugh—if Towa wants to indulge in this sort of fantasy, who is he to deny that? He moves, closing in on the male situated under the table.
Dextrous fingers splay open Eiji's pants, unzipping the fly and setting him out from the partition of the garment. With a slight lift of the hips, Eiji assists Towa in revealing what needs to be revealed—his cock springs out, sizable despite being half-flaccid, half-hard.
Towa knows that Eiji isn't especially sexually active, nor does he partake in any of such endeavors. It's none of his business, really, but he thinks it a waste that Eiji's cock barely gets the attention it deserves when it's pretty and curves just right. He'd be lying if he says he doesn't like how it fits in his mouth after a tentative suckle.
"Haah," Eiji's breath hitches at the soft twist of tongue that Towa had bestowed upon the tip of his shaft. A slight circle later, and Eiji is already reclining against the backrest of his seat, his stomach, his thighs, and accessory muscles tensing at the feel of hollowed cheeks around his dick.
Christ—Eiji doesn't want to think about what Towa would offer to do if he were any less injured.
"Remove," the blond huffs out, clearly pertaining to the visor. "That thing."
In a matter of seconds, the offensive piece of accessory has been shed, leaving it abandoned along the array of small tools. "Better?"
"Mmh." Towa nods, getting back to work. When his golden eyes meet tangerine irises, his eagerness explodes. He cranes his head further down, directing the traction of his ministrations in a steady bob. He takes inch by gratifying inch, loving how the engorged mass occupies his salacious mouth.
Towa’s drool gathers around Eiji's cock. Whenever he retracts to breathe, his mouth, bespoke in its skill, is inevitably connected with a thin string of saliva with the other male’s glans. His lashes, black as they are, flutter close when he gets ambitious enough to attempt a deepthroat. "Gu–ugh... nghk–"
"Take it easy, Towa-san," Eiji murmurs with a level of difficulty. Not even himself can deny that the blond's laborious work is producing results. The light flush of Eiji's cheeks is a telltale sign of his arousal—if his hardened cock, already dripping pre, is not sign enough.
"You've been hiding this to me all this time?" Towa jokes, giving Eiji's prepuce a slight lick and a peck, before he proceeds to slap his tongue with it. "Ngah—"
"Damn," Eiji exhales shakily, grabbing a fistful of blond hair in his gloved hand. "Not sure if, y'know, the topic of my genitals will make for a good conversation—"
"They make for something good to suck on." Towa says, nonchalant in his tone despite the light crinkle of mischief in his golden eyes. With that in mind, he swallows the rest of Eiji with the intent to engulf. He skillfully drags to and fro, to and fro, until the rhythm becomes maddening and Eiji feels pleasure in one rush. Like a gut punch, he's struck with the reality that he feels plenty aroused, plenty worked up, and it's all because of Towa's misbehavior.
"Nh, Towa-san..." He murmurs, his voice thick with want. "Anything I could do to return the favor?"
"Cum in my mouth."
"Hah, shit—"
His undercurrent of desire gets impolitely thrown out the window when somebody barges into the room. Koutarou, in all his blaze and glory, flurries by decked with the same leather jacket and the same headstrong demeanor. Eiji, preparing to receive an unannounced guest, guides himself further into the desk—which means more of his cock for Towa to throat on. The forced intrusion makes Towa gag, and the expulsion causes pleasure to roll down Eiji's nerves. For a moment, Towa tightens over him; Eiji's breath catches in his throat.
Koutarou raises a discerning brow in questioning. "Mayu said you have the goods."
"Mayu spoke right. Still in the middle of fixing it, though. Can't you see?" With his able hand, he motions for his cluttered desk. Koutarou cannot help but sigh.
"I mean, it's better than you turning up with nothing at all. Ya sure that's finished when it counts?"
"Of course." Eiji croaks out after a slightly shaky breath. He hunches over his desk, the hand on Towa's hair tightening. "The operations start at nine, anyway. What's the rush for?"
"Nothing, really."
Between Eiji and the desk, Koutarou knows something's up. Not one to really destroy a friend's game, he lets it go—but not without a jeer. "Well, I'll leave you to it. Didn't know you turn up with whores like that, man. Guess even someone like you has game, huh?”
"Whores?" Eiji's face scrunches, and he looks down beneath the desk to see Towa hard at work—if not, even harder. When he connects two and two together, he realizes that degradation must have affected Towa somewhat, despite the indirectness of it.
Koutarou bids Eiji farewell with a smirk and a half.
Eiji's allows himself a noisy exhale when Koutarou exits. At one point he braces his hand on Towa's blond hair, already pent-up to all hell. Towa is beautiful, and was bestowed with an equally beautiful mouth—it makes blood rush south in a horrid downwards pump. "Sorry, Towa-san..."
With an apology, he begins to really jostle deep into Towa's mouth. Hurried, his hips dig into the blond’s inner workings; his lust is not overwhelming to the point of aggression, but if aggression is key to Towa’s satisfaction, then he’d give just enough. Each slam is a breath stolen from Towa’s lungs, each lunge a direct assault to his diaphragm. The way he feels as if his insides are in tatters and ribbons in response to Eiji’s ministrations is reason enough to really work a hand between his thighs—he’s too aroused at the prospect of being used for selfish pleasure. The undertaking is mindless, wanton, and Eiji’s movements are aggressive but mechanical—half-measured in the ordeal while letting loose. He thrusts and thrusts, until Towa is gagging, toeing the lines of asphyxiation.
Treated as if the lowest of scum; like his throat is but another cheap fleshlight, but another organ of a less-than-sentient creature. Just how he likes it.
“I’m gonna cum—” Eiji whispers, scandalized at himself for feeling this way when he thought himself incapable of feeling this sort of lust; deep-rooted, and almost impossible to deny. Towa slackens his jaw for Eiji’s access, and there he goes, on the cusp of an orgasm and his chest lifting.
When he finally bursts into a flurry of full-throttle pounding that would send Towa in a coughing fit, should Eiji let go of his mouth, his climax hits him. “Ngh…!” He stills, letting out a groan that sounds rough even in a voice as soft as his—then, he erupts with a cry. He unloads into the other’s mouth with his soft grunts hashing out his pleasure, slamming easily to milk himself dry and deposit every bit of his essence into the far end.
“Holy fuck, Towa-san,” barely recovered, Eiji withdraws from the heat of Towa’s mouth. The latter has observed how the bomber’s pupils have constricted in his high, and while he is in a state almost vegetative in his post-orgasmic haze, he finds himself unable to really withdraw fully. Fueled by curiosity, he taps on Towa’s lower lip like nudging open the lid of a bottomless jar. “Let me see.”
Towa obeys—he’s a pleasant partner, after all—making a show out of his empty mouth. Everything was swallowed, and Eiji could only fucking laugh.
“How was it? Think you’d like to go all the way with me, now?” Towa jokes, a soft grin on his easy face. Eiji reaches down to fix the pieces of hair covering Towa’s line of sight.
“Not a chance, sorry.” Eiji says, lighthearted. Not like Towa needed consoling, but he's one to provide for it anyway; he kisses on the back of Towa's palm as he helps him up.
Towa rises from being knelt, sits on Eiji’s lap, and fishes for smokes on the back pocket of his denim jeans. Soon as he gets the stick lit, he leans against Eiji’s chest without so much as another word. He lets out a small, “hm” that signifies Towa acknowledging whatever arbitrary boundary Eiji has set for himself.