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Yokohama isn’t as bad as rumors made it seem, in Wolfwood’s humble opinion.
It may be a bit messy and chaotic, but what city isn’t? The streets he grew up in make even the sketchiest alley in Mafia territory seem like a luxury; he can handle some blood here and there.
It’s the reason why he keeps wandering the streets of Yokohama’s underbelly night after night since that fateful failed wedding, he tells himself. He’s just looking for a job now that he can’t, in good conscience, keep up the priest act; it has nothing to do with a certain redhead whose underwear he keeps in his bedside drawer.
He exhales and watches the cigarette smoke spiralling up in the air.
To his right, the door to the bodega full of Mafia corpses he just helped clean up opens, and from it emerges a tall guy with red hair and blue eyes; though both are shades darker than the red hair and blue eyes that have been blessing his dreams since he arrived at Yokohama a couple of weeks ago.
“Thanks for the help,” says the guy, Oda, as he walks up to him. “I would’ve been in trouble without you.”
“Just doing my job,” Wolfwood replies. He offers a cigarette, which Oda takes with a nod and lights up with his own lighter. “You can keep my number for any other crime scenes you need to be taken care of.”
Oda eyes him curiously as he takes a drag of his cigarette. He has an impeccable poker face, Wolfwood has to admit. That must come in handy for a job like his.
“I hope you don’t mind me asking, but why did you take this job?”
Wolfwood shrugs. “Gotta keep a roof over my head somehow.”
“And dealing with corpses was your first choice?” Oda asks. Again, he only sounds vaguely curious, and maybe the tiniest bit weary. “Don’t get me wrong, an undertaker is important for organizations like the Port Mafia, but I can’t imagine you would be doing this if you had any other options.”
To him, it sounds like Oda is talking from experience. Wolfwood figures that, much like it happens with the church, no one ends up with a criminal organization unless they’re either desperate or unlucky. In his case, he jumped from what many would assume to be Heaven into Hell in a desperate attempt to give his life some excitement.
And maybe to find the angel of temptation that he encountered at the bloody altar.
But he can’t say any of that to anyone , much less a stranger. He settles for a simpler, saner response: “I used to be a priest, so I guess that being an undertaker is the closest I can get to familiar territory now that that’s off the cards.”
“A priest?” Oda asks, wide eyed. Wolfwood feels vaguely accomplished that he could get a reaction out of such a stoic man. “That’s difficult to imagine.”
“I looked great in the cassock.”
Oda laughs, and it’s clear that he has more questions, but the door to the bodega opens again. Wolfwood tunes out whatever the Mafia goon that stepped out babbles about next. Instead, he watches his cigarette slowly burn down to the filter.
“Duty calls,” Oda groans, as he puts out the cigarette on the wall and throws it on the floor. “I imagine I’ll be seeing you around.”
Wolfwood nods. “May the Lord be with you.”
In response, Oda shakes his head, though Wolfwood can see a smile growing on his face. He disappears inside the bodega next, leaving him left to question his existence in the dark alley. He toys with the lit cigarette between his fingers and he lets his mind drift.
He may have gone crazy, if he’s being completely honest with himself. He knows that criminal organizations like the Port Mafia are no joke –he witnessed many of his childhood friends die to gang wars and raids gone wrong–, but at this point in his life, what does he have to lose?
“This part of the city is dangerous, Father.”
Wolfwood turns to his left so fast his neck hurts, but he pays the pain no mind. All he can focus on is the divine apparition standing right there, with his hands on his hips as he frowns at him.
He clears his throat, and he hopes that he doesn’t look as awed as he feels. “I’m just passing by.”
“Really?” Chuuya presses, walking closer. “That’s not what I’ve heard.”
“Fine, you caught me,” he relents. He’s not about to press his luck by lying to the angel’s face. “I’m job hunting.”
“So you come to Mafia territory?” Chuuya asks. He arches an eyebrow, and Wolfwood, despite feeling like a toddler being scolded, can’t bring himself to look away. “You’re lucky you haven’t been killed yet.”
“No one’s going to kill me, angel. Not if they need me.”
“Why would they need a priest?”
“They don’t; they need an undertaker. That’s why I’m here.”
Chuuya scowls, and Wolfwood gulps as he finds himself pinned to place under that glare. He just hopes that he at least makes for a pleasant sight; he knows that his outfit the last time that they met wasn’t the best, so he’s tried to step up his game with black suits and nice grey shirts.
And his clothes are nice. Wandering dangerous streets and willingly stepping into crime scenes has really paid off; he doesn’t think he’s ever seen so much money in such a short period of time before.
Eventually, Chuuya stops scrutinizing him. Wolfwood relaxes, just a little bit.
“You realize you’re putting a target on your back, right?”
“I just do my job and keep my head down; I can’t imagine that will ruffle any feathers.”
Chuuya scoffs, like he’s being ridiculous. He is, he knows. No one in their right mind would be putting themselves in a position where they could get caught in the crossfire of the Mafia and their enemies at any time, but Wolfwood has never claimed to be the sanest person out there.
He just does whatever he has to do to feed himself, he always has. This is no different.
And at least this job has perks, like the one standing in front of him right now.
“It’s not too late,” Chuuya says, slowly, and he steps even closer to Wolfwood; whose mouth goes dry. “You can still escape. You’re not fully with the Mafia yet.”
“I don’t want to escape.”
“You don’t know what you’re saying,” hisses Chuuya, jabbing his finger to Wolfwood’s chest like he’s being idiotic on purpose. “You should go back to being a priest and never step into this territory again.”
“That’s not an option,” Wolfwood replies, with a lighthearted laugh. “I broke my chastity vow, didn’t I? That’s a big one.”
Blue eyes grow wide, and it’s too dark to tell clearly, but Wolfwood thinks that the freckled cheeks are now pale.
“Can’t you just act like it didn’t happen?”
“Are you asking me to lie to the church?” Wolfwood asks, in what’s meant to be a teasing jab. Really, he doesn’t care about lies or even vows, but he has absolutely no interest in going back to the church.
But to Chuuya, his question must sound like a catastrophe. His expression falls, and he takes a step back, regret written all over his face.
“Fuck,” he gasps, horrified. Wolfwood is completely blindsided. “I didn’t mean to make you lose your job. I thought- Damnit, I don’t know what I thought. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have-”
Ah, so that’s what this is about.
Wolfwood can’t bear to hear the angel spout out apologies, as if he’d ever done anything wrong in his life, so he throws his cigarette on the ground and shuts Chuuya up with a kiss.
A kiss that the angel tries to resist at first, not done beating himself up over something that Wolfwood frankly couldn’t care less about, but when he wraps an arm around Chuuya’s waist, he melts into his arms.
Emboldened by the response he got, Wolfwood pries Chuuya’s mouth open with his tongue.
Arms wrap around his neck, and he leans down to grab the backs of the other’s thighs. With his angel secure in his arms, he walks until he can press the other’s back to the wall and rut his growing hard on over Chuuya’s clothed pussy.
Pink lips break the kiss with a moan.
“You don’t have to apologize, angel,” Wolfwood says, in between kisses peppered all over Chuuya’s face. “I hated being a priest. The clothes are so stiff.”
He manages to make Chuuya laugh with that one. He feels quite proud of that fact.
“Dumbass.”
That being said, Chuuya pulls Wolfwood into another kiss.
He lets the divine creation in his arms lead the kiss. Chuuya is as rough as he was in Wolfwood’s vivid memories of their last encounter: biting like he’s trying to make his lips bleed, exploring his mouth with his tongue uncaring of the spit dripping down the corners of their lips, moving his hips to rut against Wolfwood’s abdomen as they kiss.
Chuuya whines into the kiss when the friction stimulates his cunt just right, and Wolfwood groans.
He pries the arms off his neck and slowly down the legs he was keeping wrapped around his middle. Next, he makes quick work of opening Chuuya’s pants and bringing them down his legs, along with his underwear.
No lingerie this time, but he can’t say that he doesn’t enjoy the sight of Chuuya’s pussy covered in plain dark red panties.
With the obnoxious clothes out of the way, Wolfwood drops to his knees.
Chuuya gasps. “Wait-”
“No way in Hell.”
He grabs one of Chuuya’s legs and throws it over his shoulder, exposing the lovely pussy that showed him the way to Heaven the first time they were together.
Before he can lose his bravado or overthink his next move thanks to his lack of experience, Wolfwood leans in to swipe his tongue between the drenched folds of Chuuya’s pussy.
His eyes roll to the back of his head, and he groans into that warm cunt.
Chuuya moans, and his fingers find their way into the dark locks of Wolfwood’s hair, encouraging him to keep going, which he’s more than happy to do.
His tongue laps at the wetness on Chuuya’s cunt; from his entrance to his clit, pulsating with every barely there touch of his lips. Wolfwood knows that his angel must be hoping that he does more than just lick him, so that’s what he does.
He takes Chuuya’s clit between his lips and sucks on it, at the same time as he lets his tongue tease the sensitive nub. He hears a squeal, and fingers pull on his hair with enough force to make it hurt.
Still, he finds himself smiling against the warm pussy.
Wolfwood is no stranger to being on his knees.
He always thought it was annoying; an uncomfortable posture, one where all he could do was clasp his hands together, look up at the altar and pray until he figured that enough time had passed to make it look like he cared. He hated every second of it; it was a waste of time, if you asked him.
But this is a type of worship he thinks that he could grow addicted to.
The dull ache of his knees on the cold ground is only a vague, distant sensation easily forgotten when he looks up at Chuuya, with his head thrown back and his mouth open as he lets out the most angelic little sounds; gasps and moans more heavenly than what any choir could hope to achieve.
Wolfwood’s mouth moves without thinking, prayers spill from his lips in the form of a tongue lapping at the wetness of Chuuya’s pussy and teasing the nub of his clit.
He’s rewarded with a loud moan of his name and fingers tugging at his hair, pulling him closer to the altar. It gets difficult to breathe the closer Chuuya pushes his face between his legs, but the lightheadedness only makes Wolfwood’s determination grow.
He wants to see Chuuya unravel because of his mouth alone.
His tongue teases the dripping entrance of Chuuya’s pussy, and the thighs on either side of his head close.
Chuuya begins mumbling incoherently, but Wolfwood can’t miss it. He pays close attention to the words endlessly spilling from those lips, until he can make enough sense of it to double his efforts.
“Don’t stop, don’t stop. I’m gonna-”
He dips his tongue into the entrance of Chuuya’s pussy again, exploring the pulsating walls as deep as he can go as his nose unintentionally bumps into the clit that keeps twitching, begging for attention.
Wolfwood has never had any certainty that there’s a God out there, but he does now. Chuuya’s fingers run through his hair, thighs tremble on either side of his head, moans and the loud squelching noises of the pussy that his face is buried in reach his ears. There has to be a divine being responsible for this heavenly experience on Earth, there’s no other explanation.
Wetness keeps dripping from Chuuya’s pussy, and Wolfwood greedily captures it with his tongue. He groans, and the vibrations from the sound only make Chuuya whine louder.
He takes his tongue out of Chuuya’s entrance and maps the pussy with his tongue. His intention is only to spread the wetness –a mix of saliva and slick– all over the puffy cunt, but then he can’t resist the temptation of taking the clit between his lips again.
And Chuuya screams his name.
Wolfwood reacts on instinct when he recognizes the twitch of Chuuya’s thighs: he licks and opens his lips to take as much of Chuuya’s squirt into his mouth as he can, greedily drinking every drop like a man dying of thirst.
He will not waste any offering from the divine creature above him, still whining and mumbling pleas as he rides Wolfwood’s face to drag on his orgasm for longer.
He lets his face be used, even as his jaw protests and his lips tingle with numbness. It’s worth it if it means that Chuuya gets to drift up to Heaven in pleasure and he makes those beautiful expressions that make Wolfwood feel like he’s cumming too.
(His dick is still hard and pleading for attention in his pants, but he really doesn’t care about that right now. His own pleasure is irrelevant to him.)
Wolfwood’s so immersed studying every little twitch on Chuuya’s face that he instantly notices when the mindless bliss of orgasm is over and he’s back in his own mind. That frown is no good news.
“Angel?”
Chuuya glances down at him with an accusatory glare. “There’s no way you were a virgin before.”
Wolfwood laughs, relieved. Unhappy about that response, Chuuya tugs on his hair, and he apologizes with a kiss to his inner thigh.
“I’m just a natural.”
“I don’t buy it.”
“You flatter me.”
“Let go of me.”
Wolfwood would be willing to comply, but when he takes hold of Chuuya’s leg that’s still thrown over his shoulder, he notices subtle tremors still making the angel unsteady.
“Are you sure?”
“Can you just listen to me this once?”
It could be argued that Wolfwood just listened to everything that Chuuya asked for when he was kneeling between his legs, but he doesn’t think that now is the time to contradict him.
Careful as he can be, he brings Chuuya’s leg down and helps him get his pants back on before he stands up from the ground.
His knees crack, and his jaw feels sore in a very sharp but satisfying way; not to mention that his shirt clings to his chest uncomfortably where it got drenched with Chuuya’s squirt.
He doesn’t pay either of those details any mind. Not when Chuuya gasps and leans back to rest his back against the wall as his knees buckle. Wolfwood reaches out to help him stay standing, but he doesn’t have to: the angel glows red, and just like that, it’s like his legs aren’t currently jello.
Chuuya closes his eyes and lets his head lean on the wall too. Wolfwood watches, fascinated, as his chest rises and falls with every deep breath he takes to get his body to cooperate with him again.
“So your ability isn’t just shooting bullets?”
“That would be boring, don’t you think?”
He doesn’t know just how creative abilities can be; none of the kids he grew up with had one, and he certainly doesn’t. He imagines that the standard is much more complex than being a personified gun, though, especially for the Mafia.
“What is it, then? Telekinesis?”
“That’s one way to put it,” Chuuya replies, amused. He opens his eyes, and the red glow around him disappears. Next, he pats Wolfwood’s chest as he says: “Don’t take any jobs that aren’t from the Mafia from now on, got it? I can’t guarantee your protection otherwise.”
“I can take care of myself.”
Chuuya rolls his eyes dramatically. “Don’t try to be all macho. The Mafia has some powerful enemies, and I’d rather not find your brains scattered on a sidewalk any time soon.”
When he puts it like that, Wolfwood realizes that he may have been acting a little bit reckless up until now. He doesn’t know what alliances the people who’ve hired him these past few days have, aside from Oda. For all he knows, he could’ve helped bury an enemy of the Mafia.
Yeah, that’s no good.
“Fine,” he agrees. Satisfied, Chuuya nods and turns to walk away. Wolfwood grabs him by the arm. “Wait. Let me buy you dinner.”
Chuuya’s eyes grow wide again, and a blush covers his entire face.
Wolfwood just had his face buried in Chuuya’s pussy –in a very public alleyway, may he add–, and being asked out on a date is what makes him blush?
That’s surprisingly adorable for a, let’s say, promiscuous , Port Mafia member.
“Really?” Chuuya asks, as if he could’ve misheard Wolfwood when they’re standing so close. “Isn’t dating prohibited for priests?”
Wolfwood laughs. “I think we’re way past that, angel.”
“You’re serious?”
“I am.”
Blue eyes scan him, and he takes advantage of the brief pause to wipe his face with the back of his hand. He doesn’t mind having Chuuya’s slick all over him, but he’s aware that it could earn him negative attention once he steps out of this alleyway.
“Okay,” Chuuya agrees, at last, very evidently biting back a smile. Wolfwood feels his own knees go weak, and he wishes that he had a telekinesis ability to keep himself standing too. “Not right now, though, I have shit to do. How’s tomorrow sound? Around seven?”
“Good. Sounds good,” Wolfwood agrees, much too quickly. He’s too invested to play it casual.
“Just a heads up: I’m not a cheap date,” Chuuya warns him, and he digs into the inside pocket of Wolfwood’s packet of cigarettes. “I’ll text you the address where I want you to meet me, got it?”
“Loud and clear, angel.”
Chuuya pulls out a cigarette, and Wolfwood takes the lighter from his hand to light it up for him. Once that’s done, Chuuya slips the packet back in Wolfwood’s jacket.
Then, he grabs him by the front of his shirt and pulls him down so they’re face to face.
“You’ll regret asking for this, Father.”
“I highly doubt that.”
“Yeah, let’s hear what you have to say tomorrow.” Chuuya pulls him closer for a kiss that’s nothing but a teasing brush of their lips, then pushes him away. “Until then, be careful which jobs you accept. Don’t be an idiot.”
“Yes, angel.”
Wolfwood watches Chuuya as he walks away. He’d be happy to let his eyes shamelessly wander down the backs of the angel’s thighs and that perfect ass of his, but unfortunately, his entire backside is covered by the coat draped over his shoulders.
Covering such an amazing sight has to be a sin.
The bodega door opens again. Wolfwood glances over his shoulder to see a very unamused Oda staring at him with his arms crossed.
“If you’re done, can you help wrap this up?”
“...How much did you hear?”
A beat.
“...Enough.”