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Nishitani slides in through some crack in the well-polished machine that is the Grand and pops into the main area when Majima isn’t looking. Makes no sound at all and then turns it on all at once, like the personality he shows Majima is truly a stage act and he’s got something else - something probably worse, not better, Majima thinks - hidden deep down between his intestines or some shit. Majima doesn’t trust the guy, doesn’t want him coming in late at night when Majima’s picking up dirty napkins from underneath booths, all the paperwork for the day long finished, all boring, horrible lines of bullshit that make him wonder why human beings were even allowed to reproduce on this earth. Majima’s not dramatic, or anything, all right, he just- is on edge, doesn’t know where Makoto is, doesn’t know where Sagawa is right now, either, though he feels that exact gaze crawling all over the backs of his shoulders all the goddamn time, a spindly, taunting thing that he swats away but can’t seem to get rid of. There’s no one else around tonight, everyone sent home quickly on this slower Wednesday, because every once in a while Majima shoos them away so he can somberly scrub the underside of a table in peace, the sticky cobwebs of old alcohol stains grazing him through the towel like lovers he didn’t ask for.
His brain’s too fucking loud. He hates the nights where the band isn’t there because there’s nothing to drown out the noise in his head but he perversely likes sitting in the deep ocean trench of silence that takes over the Grand at four in the morning when it’s empty. When it gets to four or even five he often starts to think, Maybe I was actually meant for this, maybe Sagawa saw this in me, this ingrained-from-birth-to-be-jack-shit thing, because I’m feeling nocturnal and I’m actually pretty good at this cleaning stuff, and I’m making everyone a lot of money, and even here everyone knows that they can’t start shit with me- but then he starts to think about anyone, everyone starting shit with him, and then thinks of his gooey, buried-deep desire to retaliate that he keeps tucked sweetly into the bed of his heart, and then he imagines blood on his knuckles and the guy he beat up just a few days ago, how GOOD it felt, how goddamn GREAT-
Nishitani is lazily swinging his legs back and forth from where he’s sitting on the edge of the stage. Says, voice low, “Don’t mind me. Just enjoyin’ the view,” and it’s lascivious and demeaning enough that Majima shivers, internally. Externally he manages to only let his fingers twitch.
Something howls within him, though, at the repression of it. He aches to punch something. He looks over his shoulder at Nishitani, whose aura is quite suddenly large and overbearing in a way that would shock most. Majima just bares his teeth. “Get out,” he says. He's kneeling over the seat of one of the booths near the front. He goes back to his scrubbing.
Nishitani whistles in a silly way and saunters over - Majima thinks of his stupid knife - but doesn’t get too close. This makes Majima preen a bit inside, because Nishitani is good at hiding his carefulness around Majima’s barren prickliness but isn’t good enough that Majima can’t sense it, this primal hesitation at the true proximity to some sort of animal. Majima knows he’s an ANIMAL, of course. Just often wishes these days that he didn’t. The knowing hurts, and all that.
Majima sighs quietly. God, he thinks, I sound so SAD, and so he stops scrubbing the underside of the table. Nishitani tilts his head and shrugs for no reason, like he can’t stop moving, and says, “Long day, huh?” as if he’s actually curious.
It was fine. “It was fine,” says Majima, gritting his teeth and thinking of his hollow apartment and the sounds of the Sotenbori river, an ugly sloshing that would seem welcoming of the body Nishitani made go floating down it. IT WAS FINE. He doesn’t want to think about ANYTHING.
“How the fuck did you get in here anyway?” he says, though he doesn’t look at Nishitani and he doesn’t actually care. He half-slams his little towel onto the table and adjusts himself to a sitting position in the booth with a frown. “What, ya want a drink or somethin’?”
Nishitani laughs with true appreciation and puts his hands in his pockets. “Oh, Majima-kun, I want so much!”
Majima just frowns harder at him.
Nishitani clucks his tongue and looks around playfully, though it’s a slow movement. “I just thought,” he starts, taking a few steps closer, “everyone’s gone home, ya could come home with me once ya clock out, and I’d be waiting for ya, I could take ya out for a nice little date, maybe one of those cafes that sell things with cute little sprinkles, ya seem like you’d like that-“
“Hah?” splutters Majima. He’d been peacefully taking a cigarette out of his case to slip between his lips but now he stumbles.
“-yeah, and then we’d share a milkshake or somethin’, and we’d giggle and say sweet nothings in each other’s ears and then-“
“What the fuck,” says Majima, “are you talkin’ about?”
“-you’d pull me into some alley, because I’d say somethin’ so bad, yeah? And then you’d-“ Nishitani gets all flushed here, like a teen girl talking about a note she found in her locker. “You’d beat the ever-loving shit outta me. Real nice.”
Majima sits there for a few long moments, blinking. Then he says, “You’re insane.”
Nishitani shows him his incisors. “Takes one to know one, baby boy!”
“Oh, god,” mumbles Majima, rolling his eyes, slipping his cigarette into the placeholder of his mouth as he tries to remember if he has a lighter on him. “Ya don’t know me, man. We’re not-“
“Not what?” And now Nishitani jumps up onto the little table, his purple tie swishing around like a cat’s tail. “Huh? No one punches like you do, Majima-kun, without some sort of hard-on for a good fight, really. Yer not good at lyin.’”
“Not lyin,’” Majima says shortly, eyes narrowed and fixated on some far, darkened part of the room. His posture’s tight, he knows Nishitani sees it too, but he doesn’t want to open himself up right now. This guy’s a killer and everything Majima wants to be. But Majima doesn’t need more danger. Majima needs to outsmart Sagawa and now everyone else, he can’t be hanging out with snakes like this, watching them hiss and thinking Do I sound like that too-
Nishitani bends his knees, squats down and gets in Majima’s face, his burgundy shoes surely getting the table all dirty again. Disgusting, Majima thinks, but he’s eyeing the way the wrinkles of leather shine. “I see ya, Majima-kun. I see ya droolin’ for it. I see ya salivating all over the place like ya can’t help yourself. The slobber just, hm, fucking pours outta ya, it’s so obvious.”
“Fuck off,” mutters Majima, fingers tangling as he scrounges his pockets for a lighter. “You don’t see shit.”
Nishitani just leers, though. Leans forward in his squat and pulls out his lighter and angles himself towards the cigarette drooping out of Majima’s lips. Majima’s eye goes wide - he’s not used to- he doesn’t- but it’s just for a moment - and, horribly, Nishitani sees that, too, swims around in it, gets all eyelash-batty and licks his lips with a thick sound like he’s applying lipstick as the lighter clicks cleanly and the fire mouths at the end of the cigarette with unconcealed, syrupy pleasure. Majima feels his throat swallow involuntarily, feels something buck around where his heart should be. Blows out smoke. Leans back in a distinctly opposite way from Nishitani, just a millimeter, because his fight or flight is turning on. That's the way it works, right? That's how you phrase it? It turns on?
“Come work for me, baby. I’ll let ya run loose,” croons Nishitani. When Majima just blows out more smoke, heart pounding but leaving his expression decidedly unchanged, he repeats it again. “Come work for me.”
Majima swings his gaze back to really get a look at Nishitani and then cracks out a sharp laugh at his expression, which is desperate and hopelessly horny. “Work for you as what?” Majima says, a tiredly amused chuckle working its way out. “Yer fucking housewife, or something?”
Nishitani seems to know he’s teasing but just lights up even more. In the warm reds of the Grand he looks almost nice, has a tacky classiness to his haircut and his suit that Majima kind of likes. “Oh, yeah, Majima-kun. Y’know I’d love that.”
Majima laughs meanly at him, privately delighted and egotistical. Nishitani seems to like the sound too much, slurs out some words - he’s not drunk, Majima thinks, he’s just like that, spilling all over the place like expired honey - like, “I could do it better than that bitch Sagawa. Doesn’t know what he has, y’know. Would treat ya so right-“
“Whatever,” says Majima, abruptly tired at hearing the name. He suddenly wants to go home and stare at his ceiling, which is so blank that sometimes the staring makes him forget where he is or whether his body is really there, which he finds very nice. “I gotta go. ‘s late.”
Nishitani’s face scrunches up, neatly surprised, kinda cute, really, if he were someone else. He sometimes moves his expressions around like he’s stuck with the brain of a high school class clown even as his body gets to middle age. “Hah?” he says, as Majima rises and looms over him. “Really didn’t like me mentionin’ the boss, huh?” He says the boss in a certain voice.
Majima scowls and decidedly doesn’t look at him, adjusting the ends of his sleeves. “I have work tomorrow.”
Nishitani isn’t listening, though. “Nah, sweetheart, come back,” he’s saying, pawing at Majima’s pant leg, “I didn’t mean anything by it, I just like to play around-“
Majima sneers down at him. “Play around with someone else.”
“Don’t wanna,” says Nishitani, pouting all ugly. “Want big bad Majima-kun to put me in my place.” He smiles up at him and makes his eyes watery.
Majima considers him from above. It's nearly five and he feels strung too tight, like a live wire, or maybe a new violin string. “Put ya in your place, huh,” he says quietly.
Nishitani grins slyly, like he senses it too. “Yeah,” he says, and his stance gets lower, which lets him look through the fan of his lashes in this way that’s too practiced. “Don’t wanna leash ya, really. Want somethin’ else.”
Majima’s mouth twitches violently upward. He slowly reaches out a hand and grabs roughly at Nishitani’s collar. “Oh, yeah?”
Nishitani is looking like he wants to get on all fours on the table, which makes Majima realize, once and for all, that he’s a fucking freak, yeah. The realization - perhaps already known anyway - washes over him and it feels something like pleasure, the likes of which he hasn’t felt in a long while. Majima feels his whole body start to rev up, like he’s been wrapping bandages around his knuckles and it knows what that means. He breathes out a very subtle but very thick breath as Nishitani kneels slightly lower and sighs dreamily, evidently drunk on the way Majima’s lips are curling, the fabric of his dark dress shirt shifting within Majima’s fingers. He hisses out a candied, “Tell me one of yer fantasies, Majima-kun.”
“No,” says Majima at once, voice low and too serious for this request. He grips harder at Nishitani’s shirt.
“C‘mon,” drawls Nishitani. “I know ya have some dreams, up in that pretty head of yers. Some fucked-up shit ya don’t tell anyone.” He smiles like a hyena does. “You can tell me. I wanna know.”
Majima looks at him. He thinks. He doesn’t say, Okay, fine. I sometimes imagine what his brain would look like strewn on the ground of the office. I lied, it’s not sometimes. Maybe it’d look like pink spaghetti, or uncooked beef. I think about it daily. Hourly. By the minute. Maybe it’d be too bloody to tell what food it looks like. In the best ones it’s really fucking bloody. Sometimes I see this one guy at the Poppo when I’m lookin’ at the chip flavors because that’s what I do for fun now and I stare at his big fuckin’ shoulders and his big fuckin’ hands and I get so scared of how much I miss someone else that I imagine those hands wringing my neck. In the best ones I really like it. I don’t think he’s the type. In my fantasies I find someone who’s the type and then we go out to watch a funny movie. Then they kiss me all shy and then I say to come back to mine and they cook me somethin’ real classic in the morning and then when we’re eating in the sunshine they stop mid-sentence and rail me so hard I cry. He doesn’t say, In the best ones we do that five more times right after. He doesn’t say, In the best ones I have a nice kitchen.
He says, instead, “I fantasize,” a pause, “about having a hot shower.”
Nishitani smiles up at him and it’s kind of sad and kind of worshipful. “I can give that to ya, y’know. I can make that happen.”
“Sure,” says Majima neutrally, imagining many things, actually. “Sure ya can.” Everyone wants to make it happen for him, don’t they.
From this close Nishitani smells like sweat and cigar smoke and like he fucked someone a few hours ago and didn’t change his clothes. It’s this mixture of scent that breezes up into Majima’s nostrils as Nishitani suddenly rises off the table from his submissive little pose and punches Majima in the fucking jaw.
Majima doesn’t make much sound in response; he just does the same thing right back immediately, forgetting himself and his rules - but Nishitani isn’t a customer, since they’re closed, he thinks - but puts about a thousand percent more power and fury into it, so that it sends Nishitani reeling back into the shiny wood of the table, the thing toppling over with him. Majima feels himself grin for a half of a second. Feels it all shudder through him. He wants to fight. Knows where he is, knows his body is there. Feels the knowing fester and blossom in all his limbs, deliciously.
“Fuck,” says Nishitani, already stumbling again with glee, nose bleeding gorgeously. “That’s good, Majima-kun.”
Majima takes a few steps towards him and violently kicks, scratches with all his nails, growls, lands a few more vicious punches and starts bleeding in tandem almost immediately as Nishitani really starts getting into it, never one to just cede to any of it. Majima’s more than okay with that; he likes that he has a real challenge, here. Not some drunk asshole on the street getting mad at being bumped into, Nishitani’s the real deal, feels truly like the embodiment of telling someone to meet you around the corner where the light doesn’t reach, where you can push them into the brick of the alleyway and really get to know them. Majima laughed at his heart-shaped scenario but wants it badly, starts punching him so hard he feels all the bones in his arms vibrate and click, starts feeling stray hairs leave his ponytail, like it’s all going to burst and come loose.
Nishitani caws out sounds of pleasure, gets hard in his pants. Majima sees it and feels that aforementioned adrenaline sensually wrap itself around him like a python. In between swings, Nishitani is saying, breathily, “Wanna see yer ink, baby, won’t ya show me-“ and Majima is growling back happily, “Gotta earn that,” which just gets him a moan, like Nishitani doesn’t even need more than this to finish himself off, but Majima wants to keep going.
Majima’s steel toe digs into the side of Nishitani’s face, surprising him, and Majima takes the sliver of opportunity to push him down onto the ground in front of the stage, snarling with raw satisfaction. Stares at Nishitani’s bared neck and heaving chest and imagines taking a bite of flesh, strangely. Not strangely. He doesn’t know. He’s a freak but it takes one to know one, doesn’t it, Nishitani’s cock rubbing against Majima’s knee as he pins him down, though there’s not much force behind the pinning because Nishitani seems ready to just lay there and take it, doesn’t even squirm much. Majima sneers at him and presses his knee against his dick with more force, layers of clothes between them, does it too hard because he wants to get back to the hitting and the perspiration and wants Nishitani to bring out his knife and really do something with it all, and maybe Majima could get him to chase him upstairs where he’s got that bat and-
Nishitani moves his hips against Majima’s leg like a dog and says, all cutesy lovey-dovey sweet, “I’m not scared of tellin’ ya, sweetheart. I think about ya all the time.”
He reaches a hand up to curl into Majima’s hair, which, Majima realizes, has come loose after all. He feels exposed. He wants to grab Nishitani’s hand and twist his wrist in a way that he’ll have to get checked but Nishitani just smiles in a way that crinkles all the skin near his eyes and says, “Fuck, yer pretty.”
“I’m not scared,” hisses Majima suddenly. “Of tellin’ ya.”
“Then what is it, then?” says Nishitani. “If not fear?”
Majima doesn’t have an answer to this.
Nishitani clucks his tongue, teasing. Thumbs at Majima’s jawline and looks at him with too much love for someone Majima’s just met. Majima feels uncomfortable with the imbalance of desire and also completely on fire with it, wants to fuck him so hard he screams and own him forever and also be owned forever. He shouldn’t be doing this right now. He should get out of this cabaret and find Makoto and leave the country. Nishitani’s whispering, “All my fantasies lately are about you, baby. Want ya inside me. Want ya to fuck me up.”
“How romantic,” mutters Majima, but he’s moving his knee against him and also taking off his suit jacket, at long last.
Nishitani watches hungrily. “I’m a real sap, yeah,” he says. “Wanna save ya from this bullshit.”
“My knight in shining armor,” sneers Majima, unbuttoning his shirt a bit.
Nishitani is undeterred. His eyes poke at the edges of Majima’s tattoo. “Such a waste, watchin’ ya play nice with all these fuckin’ clowns when you could be so fuckin’ great.” When Majima doesn’t respond Nishitani cards his fingers through his hair with reverence and breathes, “You could live forever, Majima-kun. I’m telling ya.”
Majima stares at him. Then he stands and says, forcibly, “Ya really like me that much, huh.”
“Yeah,” pants Nishitani, drooling and salivating and slobbering. “Yeah, I do.”
Majima examines his form on the ground, all splayed out like a bright red starfish. Pokes at Nishitani’s dick with his shoe through his trousers. “I could fuck ya.”
Nishitani moans brazenly. Says, eagerly, “I see it, I see it in your eyes, Majima-kun, you’re considering it, ya wanna get outta here, I can give it to ya, we can- you can-“
Majima’s not stupid. Majima didn’t lose an eye to act fucking stupid, not now. Majima keeps his cruel grin locked tight and instead frowns boredly at Nishitani, starts unbuttoning the rest of his shirt. Says, “I don’t have all night. Get on the seat.”
Nishitani scrambles to get up, everything about him flushed and maybe embarrassing to someone less confident but Nishitani is, in fact, desire distilled into a body, doesn’t care, takes off his blazer and pulls down his pants and palms himself quickly, like he can’t help it, and Majima sees his nails tickle his balls and sees his subsequent shiver, sees him leaking for it, sees him begin to undo his dress shirt. Majima says, “No, I don’t wanna see it,” which visibly hurts Nishitani, just slightly, and it shouldn’t surprise Majima but it does, and then he feels superbly bad, he’s the sap, he is fucking stupid after all, so he amends quickly, “On second thought, I’m curious,” and then Nishitani, older than him and yet still beautifully lithe and arresting, takes off his shirt in an almost shy way - but Nishitani isn’t capable of being shy, Majima decides - and reveals a tattoo that spreads itself over nearly every part of his torso, front and back, design of a tengu that laughs at him, jungle of flowers and flames and big black streaks filled in everywhere like he’s been rolling around in ink, and Majima lets out a tiny gasp that Nishitani doesn’t hear, thank god, Majima likes the tattoo a lot and so he pulls off his own shirt as Nishitani turns around again, intending to appraise him, which he does, he drinks him in desperately and then says, “Oh, fuck,” and pumps his dick a few vehement times, then plops back onto the booth seat which his legs spread, trousers and belt hanging comically low, why doesn’t he just take them off, but Majima kind of likes the sleaziness of it, gets all cheeky with the attention and moves towards Nishitani and says, “You better be all wet for me,” which Nishitani doesn’t seem to be able to respond to with more than a moan.
By the look on his face, Majima thinks he probably wants him to ride him and face the other way, so he can look at Majima’s tattoo, but instead he gets on Nishitani’s lap and pushes right into him, a bit mercilessly, maybe, but Nishitani just groans loudly, seeming into it. Nishitani’s not so tight - again, it seems like he’s been fucked already today - but Majima still bites his lip with the effort of not cumming inside of him.
Should he? He wants to. He hasn’t gotten some in a while and so his brain is all moldy and mean about it, and he feels an inherently canine sort of violence rise up within him as he fucks into Nishitani, nearly bending over him and panting. Nishitani’s dick isn’t the longest but is fatter than what Majima’s experienced, and it weeps a bit in Nishitani’s lap as Majima makes them both bounce. He’s going to have to clean this booth again. It’s definitely five in the morning. Nishitani’s moaning stuff like, Fuck me harder, baby, want ya all the time, and in the throes of it all Majima’s starting to think that, yeah, that wouldn’t be so bad. The kitchen can happen. Nishitani probably doesn’t care about movies, though. Probably would want to be fucked more than do the fucking, but that’s not too bad. Majima’s flexible. Majima likes his knife, and is close to cumming inside of him. Nishitani’s pawing at his hair again and then he’s pulling hard, so hard that Majima’s hips snap forward in joyful surprise and he moans, really moans, for the first time tonight, and it startles them both so much that they both stop moving, almost.
Nishitani’s pupils are blown wide and his mouth curls into a large grin, lips pink and minutely chapped. “See,” he says lowly. “Ya want it.”
Majima stares at him, blushing sourly. He feels the heat all over his face. “Maybe,” he mumbles, and then Nishitani pulls his hair again - arrestingly rough, this time - and Majima curls over him, lets out a haaaa of unwilling pleasure. One of his hands moves to the back of the seat and grips there as his hips thrust faster into Nishitani’s hole, which tightens around him, taunting.
“Shit,” says Nishitani, grinning at him but visibly drowning in the fun he’s having. “Shit, I wanna keep you forever.” Majima hates this. Majima sees the control scrawled all over Nishitani’s face and feels stupid.
Majima cums inside of him.
“Ah, fuck,” moans Nishitani, not letting him pull out, clutching him at the waist like they’re slow dancing. Majima scowls as he squirms around his cock and it makes a thick squelching sound. When Nishitani cums he makes these little whimpery ah, ahs which make Majima twitch again inside of him when he hears them, blinking rapidly. The silence of the Grand rushes over him in waves, but he’s not- he’s not sure he minds, not this late at night-
Nishitani rides it out without any sort of rush and then looks up at him sleepily, pleased. He says, “We did it backwards but I still want that date.” He yawns like a lion might. “Whaddaya say, sweetie?”
Majima leans down and bites into Nishitani’s neck so hard that he yells and pushes him off. Majima feels the grin he’d been hiding earlier run straight past him and out his face as he wipes the blood smeared over his lips, makes it go all over his knuckles. “I don’t know,” he says, teeth glinting red. “Do they have those milkshakes with the cute little sprinkles?”