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Summer Heat

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                The cold of the market’s fish section makes Yagami’s thin t-shirt feel like nothing more than paper. Hoshino’s taking his goddamn time picking out his cuts of snapper, his octopus tentacles, requesting them freshly killed from the tank and wrapped carefully in plastic. He’s in his suit, straight from work, selfishly ignoring the fact that Yagami’s dressed appropriately for the heat that makes the city shimmer outside, in only jogging shorts and a t-shirt. He has his arms crossed in an attempt to look casual and retain heat, as Hoshino cheerfully chatters with a butcher whose skin is heavily tanned and wrinkled with time, splattered around a stubbled jawline with white fish bits and scales.

                “C’mon,” Yagami urges quietly, propping his chin on Hoshino’s shoulder. He smells different. Behind the heavy scent of seawater and fresh fish, he smells the deep notes of violet and something rusty—like a garden. He realizes Hoshino—cute, stupid Hoshino who barely learned how to tie a Windsor knot when he first got hired—is wearing cologne.

                Hoshino turns around and smiles at Yagami’s profile. “Hm?”

                “I’m freezing,” Yagami says, and wraps his arms around Hoshino’s waist, squeezing him hard. It looks like an intimate gesture, but he’s secretly trying to break Hoshino’s ribcage in an effort to will him out of the market and into the cloying heat of Kamurocho.

                Hoshino makes a noise like a squeak toy crushed underfoot and wrenches himself from Yagami’s grasp, taking his bag of fish and throwing a pout his way. Yagami’s arms fall to his sides.

                “Okay, okay. Let’s head out.”

                On their way to the check-out, Hoshino lingers by the collection of local alcohol and snags an expensive bottle of soju. Yagami raises an eyebrow as he swipes his card like the excessiveness of his purchases are an everyday thing. Yagami was a lawyer once, too, and sure, the money’s good. But it isn’t the five-star meal every night kind of good. Especially not at Genda’s. There’s a reason the place is so cramped, desks jutted close to the walls and piled high with stacks of documents, and there’s a reason Saori still dresses like shit—



                As they step back into the late evening heat, where the sky’s turned orange and people in their work clothes loosen their ties and hold their suit jackets over their shoulders, where izakayas offer chilled drinks and blasting A/C in fuchsia neon signs on their windows, Yagami tugs Hoshino close around the waist and smirks. He rubs the part he might have bruised, which makes Hoshino emit a peaceful, comforted sigh, like a cat having its belly rubbed. They wait for the crosswalk sign to change.


                Hoshino huffs through his nose and holds his groceries close to his chest. He looks like a pack mule in his backpack and his groceries on both sides, held up by his skinny fawn legs.

                “So… what?” he says, his purported naivete unconvincing.

                “You’re having dinner with Saori, huh? That’s what all the fancy ingredients are for?”

                Hoshino blushes and nods.

                “Proud of you, kid,” Yagami says, but he’s a little annoyed. Hoshino can’t just ask him to come to a grocery store with him and not even get him a packaged daifuku—or a six pack of beer. What a greedy shit. “I’m sure she’ll have a good time with you.”

                “Maybe,” Hoshino’s eyes dart to his feet. “Yagami, I’m really nervous.”

                “Don’t be. She’s not… much of a looker, y’know. You don’t have to work that hard to impress her.”

                Hoshino glares at him and Yagami scratches the back of his neck apologetically. He never really got the appeal of these frumpy butter faces, but he supposes someone’s gotta give them love. He’ll always prefer pretty girls like Mafuyu. He feels a little guilty for thinking like that. Saori is his friend. But he’s never lied to himself about his preferences—men and women and everything in between, as long as they’re hot. And of age.


                “You’re rude, Yagami, you know that?” Hoshino looks genuinely offended and Yagami winces a little. Ah, he’s such a superficial fuck.

                “Listen, I’m sorry. I just think you can do better—she’s so… bitter, and you’re so cute—”

                “You can’t just save face by flirting with me!”

                “I can’t?”

                “No!” the walk sign turns on and Hoshino purposefully stomps away from him, across the street, trying to blend into the monochromatic crowd of young professionals sweating in the heat. Yagami scurries to catch up and swing an arm around his shoulders.

                “I didn’t mean anything by it, Hoshino! I’m just saying, she puts you down so much—and, like, you know you don’t deserve it.”

                Well, maybe he does. Yagami’s seen the shit he posts on social media. Hoshino can be a little… obsessive about her.

                “You’re not helping.”

                “Well, I’m sure it’ll go fine!” Yagami calls out as Hoshino turns on his heel—purposefully stomping his cute little legs away from the Yagami Detective Agency. “And if it doesn’t, y’know where to find me!”

                “Bite me!” Hoshino barks over his shoulder.

                Yagami snickers a little as he watches him go. He’d be happy to.


                “Well, well, well. Look who’s back.”

                Hoshino’s glower is murderous. Yagami pats his pale, round cheeks and leads him into the office, where the fan is whirling and the A/C rattles in the window. Yagami always manages to pay his utilities in the summertime. It’s far too stuffy with all these open, light-inviting windows to go without air conditioning.

                “Don’t rub it in,” Hoshino whines and closes the door behind him with finality. He shucks off his perpetual backpack and unzips it, pulling out the bottle of soju and twisting off the cap. Looks like he didn’t even manage to get it open with Saori. Too bad he didn’t bring the fish, too—Yagami’s hungry.

                “What happened?”


                “C’mon,” Yagami says, plopping himself on the sofa and spreading his legs, “You can tell me.”

                “No, I mean it. Nothing. She didn’t show.”

                Yagami winces. Saori’s ice cold, but he isn’t surprised. She’s definitely the type to back out. Painfully shy and all that—probably not malicious, but it’s gotta hurt him, nonetheless.

                “…I’m sorry, man.”

                “No, you’re not,” Hoshino pouts, feeling self-pitying and sympathetic, “You didn’t want it to work out.”

                “Well, I wouldn’t say that,” he says, watching eagerly as Hoshino harvests two relatively clean whiskey glasses from Yagami’s tiny drying rack and pours them both a generous amount of soju. “I’m just not surprised that she flaked. What did I say, Hoshino? That’s her problem, not yours.”

                Hoshino sighs and collapses beside him—a little suspiciously close. Their thighs brush together and Yagami accepts the proffered glass of soju all too readily, tipping it back and draining half of it pretty quickly. Hoshino takes tiny, moody sips, and they spend some time silently relaxing together, watching some cooking channel on Hoshino’s phone.

                As they drink and slouch against each other, Hoshino begins to get buzzed, and the warmth of the room, despite all the efforts of artificial cooling, begins to make his neck pinkish. He loosens his tie and shucks off his jacket, before laying lazily on Yagami’s side, boneless and sleepy-eyed. His cheeks are warm, as if he has a fever.

                “Maybe she knows I’m just a loser.”

                That makes Yagami frown. He pauses the video over a nice image of blue cheese sauce melting on a flank steak. God, he wishes he could cream on some meat.

                “You’re not a loser, Hoshino.”

                “I am. I’m… I’m a virgin. She probably thinks I’m shit in bed.”

                “Hey, being a virgin doesn’t make you a loser. Lots of cool motherfuckers don’t have sex. Like monks, and the Dragon of Dojima.”

                “But they’ve got other things to mitigate the fact that they’re virgins! …Wait, Kiryu Kazuma is a virgin? Anyway—I’m not a spiritual genius or a legendary yakuza, Yagami.”

                “But you’re so cute and funny, and you’re a lawyer. Besides, a lot of people probably find virginity desirable. Like—you’re pure, and untouched. And with a face like that, I can bet that you’d make a popular pick for a lot of people. Why don’t you just go for MILFs? Ara ara… Or someone else who’s not, like… shy about sex.”

                Hoshino presses his cheek to Yagami’s knobby shoulder and looks up at him with those dewy, eager eyes, creased with aegyo sal and perpetually upturned. It makes him look happy even when he’s pissed off.

                “Like you?”

                Yagami rolls his eyes but doesn’t shake his head. He props his chin atop that smooth, dark bowl cut and laughs through his nose. “C’mon, Hoshino. I like you for you. Not because you’re a virgin.”

                “I knew it!” he shouts. The closeness to Yagami’s ear makes him grit his teeth and pull away.

                “Knew what?”

                “Knew you wouldn’t fuck me! No one will!”

                “…I’m not saying that at all.”

                Hoshino’s outrage morphs into silence. His eyes widen and he utters a choked little, “Eh?”

                “I’d gladly fuck you, Hoshino,” Yagami shrugs. Perhaps the soju’s making him brave. It’s certainly making him want to go to the bathroom. But he can’t really excuse himself at a time like this. (Plus, ever since his little… incident… he’s had a habit of holding a lot longer than he needs to. It’s sort of becoming a thing.)


                They stare at each other.

                “Then—then will you do me a favor, Yagami?”

                I need to pee.


                “Let me practice eating you out.”

                Yagami rolls his eyes. Everything goes back to Saori, doesn’t it? The affliction of heterosexual brain rot. Whatever. Perhaps Yagami can teach Hoshino the pleasure of having sex with men. Oral sex, at least.

                Yagami leans back on the arm of the couch and splays his legs all too easily. He’s quite practiced at it now—he takes Kaito probably twice a week these days.

                “Have at it, soldier. My pussy’s been feeling a little neglected, anyway.”

                He very pointedly ignores the aching of his bladder as Hoshino gets on his stomach.


                After slipping off Yagami’s shorts, which have probably been driving half of Kamurocho crazy anyway (given those shapely legs on display; or maybe Yagami’s just got an ego), Hoshino gets to see his ex-coworker’s and friend’s cock for the first time in his life and his mouth fills with spit almost immediately.

                Hoshino lays on his chest between Yagami’s splayed legs, his tongue resting on Yagami’s hole, which is slightly gaped and sensitive, if the moans that Yagami emits are anything to go by. He has his hands gingerly cupping the muscle of his calves, rubbing them up and down in smooth, fluid motions as he laps gently at his hole. The ring of muscle flutters under his tongue as Hoshino intermittently licks and then sucks, which makes Yagami toss his head back and kick slightly at his back.

                “Ugh—fuck,” he groans, “Get your cute little face in there, Hoshino… That’s it…”

                Hoshino blushes furiously as he listens to Yagami’s dirty talk, the sloppy wet sounds of his tongue dipping between his cheeks and tasting him, making him twitch. It isn’t an unpleasant sensation at all for Hoshino. He feels slutty about it, sure, but he really likes pleasing Yagami like this.

                “Is it good?” he asks softly, exhaling warmly between his legs.

                Yagami’s bladder throbs and he moans, nodding softly, “Bet if you did Saori like this, you’d get her to squirt—ah… I’m—mmh—almost there myself.”

                “You are?”

                God, his voice is so sweet, and eager, like a puppy. Yagami pats at his head and then fits his hand through the silky texture of his hair and pulls him up, hard, against his taint. Hoshino moans openly and shoves his tongue into Yagami then, tasting the hot inner walls of his body, which makes Yagami clench up—

                “Oh, god,” his voice sounds broken as his cock inadvertently lets out a quick spurt of piss. It trickles warmly, pleasantly down his shaft and Hoshino pulls back once the smell hits his nose.

                “What the—”

                “Don’t worry about it,” Yagami mumbles, “I’ll hold it. Sorry. Keep eating me out.”

                Hoshino’s lips are spit wet and sticky and he breathes through his nose, those glossy eyes on him.


                “Trust me, I can hold it. I’m about to cum, anyway.”

                “No—I… I want you to… Keep going.”

                Yagami doesn’t seem too perplexed by that. Just because he’s been imagining it so much, maybe. It doesn’t surprise him that someone would want it as much as he does. Maybe it’s a little surprising that it’s Hoshino, but he’s not complaining. He just shrugs, jerks his own cock a little bit, and says, “I can’t afford to mess up the couch.”

                Hoshino’s eyes dart down, and he lets out an “oh” of near disappointment before he starts working his hole open again with his tongue. Aw, the poor thing. Yagami pets his hair.


                “Hmm?” the hum has reverberations shooting through his body and it makes Yagami grit his teeth. He grabs his own shaft and begins pumping it slowly, squeezing at the base of his cock. This somehow wrenches out another droplet of piss, despite how achingly hard he is. But he’s learned to piss with a boner plenty of times now.

                Yagami bites his lip. Maybe it’d be too much for his first time. He’d unequivocally wreck Hoshino’s first experiences, by making it so gross and hot that anything vanilla simply won’t compare.

                Maybe it’s the jealousy that does it, maybe the soju. But Yagami pulls Hoshino’s hair and forces him onto his cock. Hoshino seems surprised but not unprepared. He only gags a little, and those pretty pink lips split as he takes the thickness of it, the length down his throat with only minimal gagging. Yagami shoves his hips up so that his thick shaft hits the back of Hoshino’s tongue and he groans, feeling the spasms around his cock. The warmth and sensation, along with the shiny stare he’s leveled at him, wet with tears, is enough for Yagami.

                He cums with a jolt, his hips working upwards.

                “That’s a good boy. Take my fucking cum. Swallow it down, you nasty slut,” he says as he pumps wad after wad of hot semen into his throat, and Hoshino weeps and swallows as told. He still rubs Yagami’s calves, worshiping, pampering.

                “You like it, don’t you? Like being a cockslut. I knew it,” he snickers, “Knew you couldn’t just settle for a girl.”

                Hoshino makes an indignant noise, which is muffled by the fact his mouth is wrapped around a fat cock.

                “You ready for more, though, aren’t you?”


                “That’s what I thought. Greedy bitch.”

                It takes a few moments, but as soon as Hoshino starts bobbing his head, sucking him off properly now rather than being held in place as a cock sleeve, it gets him going and Yagami’s balls flex as he begins to piss into his mouth. Hoshino makes the sweetest fucking noise, like he’s just had a bit of candy, and closes his eyes as he drinks and drinks. His throat bobs, taking the salty, hot rush of Yagami’s urine, letting it spill slightly down his chin in golden streaks that patter onto the leather of his sofa. Yagami lightly slaps his cheek for that, which only jostles him into letting out more.

                “Bad boy,” he purrs, “Making a mess of my couch.”


                “You like it so much, though, don’t you? Love having your mouth filled. Piss or cum. God, you’re just made for it… Can feel your hot tongue working, too… Fuck.”

                “Mmmh.” Hoshino gives a lick as confirmation.

                “You’re gonna be such a cocksucker, I can already tell,” Yagami sighs, petting his hair softly, “Can’t fucking wait to tell Kaito and Sugiura. You’ll polish their cocks, too, won’t you? Or is it a special treat just for me?”

                Hoshino glares.

                “Don’t give me that look,” he shoots out a few more splashes of piss that Hoshino eagerly drinks down, before his soft cock slips sensitively past those swollen lips. Hoshino sits back and pants, hands resting on his thighs as he takes in heady breaths of oxygen.

                “Just you wait,” Yagami purrs, “You’re gonna forget all about pussy before you know it.”


                “He didn’t.”

                “He fucking did!” Yagami yells over the crooning enka coming from some red-suited yakuza on the karaoke machine. It’s almost three in the morning and Kaito’s the only relatively sober one among himself and Sugiura.

                Sugiura shakes his head.

                “Nope. He didn’t. You’re a liar.”

                “I’m not! I never fucking lie, and you know it.”

                Well, Sugiura can’t argue with that. He’s the most honest defense attorney in history, which is probably why he isn’t a defense attorney anymore. Poor guy can’t take the guilt.

                Sugiura gives an exasperated look to Kaito, but Kaito just looks smug around the neck of his sweating bottle of beer, eyes creased in humor. Yagami’s tipping back more and more soju. Just a taste of Hoshino’s and it’s been lingering in his mouth all day—plus, he’s liking the outcome of it.

                “Can you believe this?” Sugiura asks.

                “I abso-fuckin’-lutely can,” Kaito snickers. Yagami can convince anyone to do anything. It wasn’t long after they met before that bratty, street brawl partner and himself ended up making out after their fights. Convincing Hoshino to suck him off doesn’t seem even close to unbelievable, given Yagami’s sexual proclivities.

                “Y’know what, though?” Yagami leans in, like schoolchildren sharing a secret, “He let me piss in his mouth.”

                This makes Kaito’s scarred eyebrow raise.

                “You’re kidding.”

                “No,” Yagami says, eyes wide and genuine. He pulls them both in by their shirts, drunken and playful, and says, “I fuckin’—mean it. He was into it.”

                Kaito whistles through his lips. “Poor guy.”

                “What do you mean? He asked for it.”

                “I’ve smelled your piss, Yagami. That shit is toxic.”

                “Yeah,” Yagami scratches the back of his messy hair, letting go of Kaito’s shirt with the motion, “I’m, like—dehydrated.”

                Sugiura clicks his tongue.

                “I can’t believe you’re slandering poor Hoshino’s name like this. I’m gonna fuckin’ tell him.”

                Yagami snickers. They spend the rest of their time tipping back drinks in the humid space of the packed izakaya, before the bartender cuts them off, and Kaito, suddenly grouchy and miserable from the heat, announces his departure as, “Goodbye, pissboys.”

                Sugiura fish-mouths indignantly.

                “I’m not—!”

                Kaito lifts a hand to wave off his defenses, before he slides open the door, as if he already knows what’s coming. Kaito always has intuition for Yagami’s degeneracy. He’s far too used to the glint in those big, idol eyes.


                Of course, inevitably, they end up at Yagami Detective Agency, Sugiura and himself. Sure, Sugiura could have gone home, but Yagami’s pretty convincing, even as a drunk bitch. Walking through that heavy night where every neon light left streaks of orange and pink afterimages and the stars are deeply obscured by endless advertisements for the countless sex shops, Yagami kept whispering hot, incredible insinuations. Let’s just sober up together. Come on.

                Just stop by. It won’t take too long.

                He reeks of soju and underarm sweat from the close quarters of the bar, but even so, there’s something else—

                A hint of cologne, the acidity of piss.

                It all makes his head swim as he realizes Yagami was telling the truth, that he got Hoshino on his hands and knees and fed him his urine. And Sugiura—inexplicably—is jealous.

                Kaito, Hoshino—probably even Higashi. Mafuyu, that bulldog faced Matsugane Family member… Kengo, was it? He’s had them all. And not him.

                Jesus, is he really the last one? That’s just—unfair.

                Sugiura knows he’s hot. Maybe he’s just too stuffy, too bitchy.

                If that little virgin twit can get Yagami to nut in his mouth, then so can he.

                Their attempt at sobering up lasted a whopping five minutes or so. A few sips of water, and then Yagami just had to go and stretch, splaying out those long, suntanned limbs. Sugiura noted how the underside of his arms were whitish, all lilac and blue veins, and he found it endearing, as if Yagami had been suntanning on one side alone. He watched the cloth of his running shorts inch up his thigh with the motion, showing off the golden crease of his muscular inner leg.

                And that was it. Sugiura had yanked Yagami close by that mop of haywire, curly hair, and crashed their lips together.

                Somehow, through a series of tangled limbs hardened with thin muscles of sinew, they end up with Sugiura spread-legged and snarling out insults on Yagami’s desk. None of them which hold any real venom—he’s eager, just bitchy. Yagami’s got his jogging shorts pulled under his balls, not unlike when he’d pissed himself sitting on the floor a few months ago, and he’s slicking himself up with an excessive, sloppy amount of lubricant. It drips in a stringy, sticky downpour from his shaft to his desk. A note of the mess to come.

                Sugiura has his legs spread. It isn’t the first time he’s had sex with a man, but it’s been a while, admittedly. As such, his hole has tightened up, and it’s cutely puckered, a lot less slutty looking than Yagami’s well-used and earlier-licked gash of a cunt.

                Yagami fingers him lazily with his long middle finger, sinking his knobby knuckle into that tight heat, arched over him, licking at his mouth openly. Sugiura’s cock is cute, whitish as a fish belly, arched and pink at the head. Yagami’s is thicker, tanner, the dark head almost purplish, like a well-worn bruise. He has one embedded blotchily into his side, from a street fight.

                Sugiura’s fingers dig into it now as he holds him around the waist, their mouths wide open, their tongues hotly, messily sliding together, drooling as much as their cocks, leaking down their cheeks and chin.

                “Y’gonna fucking piss in me?”

                Yagami tilts his head as he slurps on his bottom lip, popping off and grinning a perfect, white, wide grin.

                “Should I?”

                Sugiura just wrinkles his nose and holds his own legs back to his chest, showing off his hole, which Yagami makes bedroom eyes at as he fucks it with his hand. He can’t wait to get in it, so he simply doesn’t wait. He pulls out—a little too quickly, if the whimper that Sugiura produces is any indication—and smears some more lube around his entrance. Once he looks messy enough to satiate an oil fetishist, he places the head of his cock at his entrance and pushes in.

                Sugiura looks like he’s fighting against his own pleasure, his teeth grit and eyes slit with annoyance at himself for being so easy. But everyone gets him, why doesn’t he? Sugiura’s attracted to him. There’s no doubt about it. Yagami’s slender but fit, and despite the middle school bully outfits he likes to don, despite his messy, unstyled hair that looked so much better slicked back, he’s got the prettiest face. (Besides his own, of course.) Plus, they share something deeply intimate in their past. This isn’t just a “I want to join the club” sort of thing—Sugiura really does like him.

                He just can’t believe Hoshino got him first.

                He wraps his legs around Yagami’s hips and lets out a cauterized noise as his hole is penetrated, as that fat cock splits him and he feels it slide through him, a warm heat pooling in his guts, his balls, making Sugiura slam his head back against the desk. His hole flutters around the intrusion and he rolls his eyes back. He shakes a little, hands going to his own cock and jerking himself off despite the lack of lube or spit on his dry hands. The pressure is borderline uncomfortable, but the thickness inside of him, the look Yagami gives him makes him feel like a bonafide playboy bunny or something. He turns his head to the side, cheek pressed up against the cool surface of the desk and lets Yagami jackrabbit his hips into him.

                Listening to the wet sound of the lube, the suctioning of his hole, the little ring of muscle that clings to his cock as he pulls out, Yagami leans over and—oddly enough—bites Sugiura. Hard. Right on the column of his neck that’s so pale and untouched. He feels his pulse thunder beneath his teeth and feels the yelp he makes vibrate in his mouth. It’s so stimulating, and Sugiura lets out a shot of pre-cum that slicks over his fingers.

                “Ow! What the fuck’s that for?”

                “Marking my boy.”

                “Fuck you!”

                “Aw, I am.”

                Sugiura hisses and claps a hand to his neck, over the pink divots of his teeth that will later develop into a bruise, as Yagami continues to thrust into him. He watches Sugiura’s cute, tight balls slap against his fingers that clasp the base of his cock. He wants nothing more than to suck those all day, than to massage them, as if he could work the cum right out of them. Which he probably could. But Sugiura seems to be jerking himself off well enough, so Yagami just grabs him by the jutting slant of his hipbones and pulls him tight to his cock.

                “God, this tight fucking pussy just clinging to me… Sugiura, you’re such a good slut.”

                “Not a slut. You’re—you’re one to talk,” he tries to sound insistent, but his voice is trembling. He feels so humiliated, so needy. And maybe he is a slut. He was this eager to get on his back for Yagami. God, his head is swimming with the shame, with how horny the shame makes him.

                He can’t feel it when Yagami cums inside of him, but he can tell by the way Yagami’s eyes roll back and his hips thrust with short, abortive jerks, filling up that sweet pussy with his cum, making him twitch and tilt his head.

                “Gonna fuckin’ get your pregnant. Didn’t use protection.”

                “Fuck…” Sugiura jerks himself off faster now, and kicks lightly at his back. “Fuckin’ finish inside me—hurry up. I wanna cum.”

                “Beg me.”

                “You’re such an ass.”

                “I can pull out right now. I already got what I wanted.”

                Sugiura grits his teeth.

                “Please… Please piss inside me, Yagami…”

                “C’mon,” Yagami says, voice mocking and low, “You can keep going.”

                “Piss in me!” he demands, the brat that he is, “Use me as your fuckin’ urinal, Yagami! Let go! If you can give it to Hoshino, you can give it to me!”

                There it is. The envy, the slight note of possession. It’s so cute. Too bad Sugiura doesn’t realize that Yagami would happily share the two of them. And that he probably will. Hoshino likes Sugiura, and Sugiura likes Hoshino. And they both adore Yagami.

                “Atta boy.”

                Yagami’s dick lets out a short spurt of urine. Once he gauges Sugiura’s reaction—a blissed out roll of his eyes—he lets go with a lot more practice and ease than he did earlier. Maybe it’s because he’s drunk, but it’s so easy to let it out now.

                Now, logically, he knows this isn’t safe. He knows he’s gonna have to usher Sugiura straight into the shower after this, and probably get him an enema in the morning. But he doesn’t fucking care. All he cares about is the heat of his own piss surrounding his cock as he lets off inside him, filling him up like he’s fucking breeding him—

                The thought makes him catch his breath.

                “Getting you so full with my waste.”

                “Gross,” Sugiura whines, and licks his dry bottom lip.

                “Mhm. You like it, don’t you? Look at you, playing with your cock. Can’t get enough of this. Bet you’d take it and take it ‘til you’re bloated with it if you could. Isn’t that a pretty image? Your flat stomach all stretched with piss and cum. God, I’d love to take a picture of it.”

                “Fuck—you’re so disgusting,” he moans, like he’s not the one getting pissed in.

                Yagami keeps going, until his rim can’t handle it, and the piss begins to seep out in little streams around where his softening cock splits him. The sensation is so incredible, being nestled in this searing heat, so wet and sloppy, Sugiura’s glare mitigated by the sheen of tears in his eyes. Whether they’re from overstimulation or simply lust, he’s not sure.

                It eventually peters off, and he pulls out, watching the mess gush out of him while Sugiura’s hole twitches. Sugiura makes a high, wheedling sound, and cums all over his own hands. It’s pleasant, but not earth-shattering—his body simply twitches, and he lets out these soft whimpers. He bends over, holding his own cock as if he’s gotten kicked in the balls or something, like he’s trying to hide it. Must be embarrassed.

                Cum and piss slips out of him, the mess spreading out onto the top of his desk.

                “Fuck. That’s a sight. I’m gonna have to top that somehow.”

                “Oh my god.”

                Yagami gathers Sugiura’s lithe, white body up into his arms, bridal style. He pushes back his sweaty hair, notes the dark roots growing in, and kisses the clammy flat of his forehead gently. Poor guy is shaking with afterpleasure.

                “Alright. Bathroom time.”

                “Just let me die on your desk.”

                “Not yet. I’m too attached to your nasty ass. Literally and figuratively.”

                “You’re gonna tell Kaito and Hoshino.”

                “I sure fuckin’ am.”

                Sugiura wraps his limp arms around Yagami’s neck and leans up, giving him a wet, sour peck on the lips. He tastes of soju and piss.

                Yagami loves his friends.