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The heavy beat and frenetic synthetisers pound inside Ogata’s head, even in the relative quietness of the club bathroom. Its graffitied walls are covered in scribbled cell phone numbers, general obscenities and crude drawings, an eyesore under fluorescent lights that flatten all shadows. He watches with disinterest as Usami scares off an unfortunate clubgoer who was simply washing his hands when they walked in and locks the bathroom door, like he owns the fucking place.
Usami then perches on the row of grimy sinks like it’s his throne by birthright, ugly polyester pants swooshing as he crosses his legs, and removes his little party kit from its hiding place inside his left boot. It’s a small pleather necessaire, not much larger than a zippo lighter, and Ogata’s familiar with it from years of watching Usami stash various types of drugs in it. Just as he’s familiar with the fact that, in Usami’s other boot, there’s a hidden switchblade and a pair of brass knuckles that he uses whenever a job requires them – and, sometimes, even when it doesn’t.
Ogata hasn’t been to this particular club in ages – more of a glorified basement really, its foundations permanently shaking with the overpowered sound system and the low ceiling trapping the body heat of everyone in attendance. He likes it enough; people mind their business there, the drinks are cheap and the bouncer at the entrance never bothers to be thorough, only giving customers a cursory pat around the waist before letting them inside. As long as you didn’t give anyone trouble, you could use any fucking thing there.
“Consider this a ‘welcome-back’ gift,” Usami says with a sickly-sweet grin, offering the largest ecstasy pill Ogata’s ever seen nestled in his outstretched palm. It’s powder pink and has a cat’s silhouette stamped on it – Ogata has to appreciate Usami’s commitment to this unfunny in-joke, even after a full decade.
Ogata picks up the pill and swallows it, grimacing at the taste. He chases it with the beer he’d ordered when he arrived at the club, right before Usami had found him and hounded him into the bathroom like a teenage girl wanting to show off new clothes to her best friend.
Well, maybe the comparison was fair enough – Ogata wouldn’t be caught dead calling Usami a best friend, but they’ve been close since middle school, and that was almost half a lifetime ago. Two shitty delinquents whose paths in life eventually diverged, but not by much.
The main difference between them was that Usami’s job was basically punching people’s teeth in, and Ogata’s was helping them keep theirs in good shape.
“You haven’t been partying with us lately, Hyakunosuke!” Usami exclaims, punctuating his statement by shaking a small plastic zip bag full of white crystals in front of his nose. Flaunting the good stuff with no subtlety whatsoever, just as he did most things.
“Been too busy with work,” Ogata explains simply, eyes following Usami’s rough hands as he meticulously cuts a thin line of meth off a hand-mirror and snorts it with a rolled 5000-yen bill. They’ve really gone a long way from huffing glue inside plastic bags in the public park, that much he can say. “Plus, I don’t make nearly as much as you and Nikaidou do.”
Usami laughs at that, licking his mirror clean of any little crystals that still clung to its surface. Gross. “Well, yeah, you could’ve!” he exclaims, twisting his torso in order to fix his gaudy print shirt in front of the dirty mirror. “But you had to go and become a dentist, of all things! You would’ve made it big in the yakuza with us.”
Ogata doesn’t think so – his innate insubordination would have likely gotten him killed way before he even climbed up any positions in the mob. Besides, fixing the mouths of goons from the Tsurumi Family without asking questions is a safer source of income, anyway. Best to have some of the benefits of dealing with the underworld without the responsibilities of being a made man like Usami or Nikaidou.
Saying all of this to Usami is useless when he’s like this, though, the meth rush already clearly settling under his skin, so Ogata doesn’t even try to. Usami hops from the sink, landing with playful flair as his boots squeak against the tiled floor, and gives one last check on his appearance in the mirror. His hands are already jittery as he runs his fingers through his short crew cut.
Ogata finishes his beer and tosses the can in the trash, turning to leave. The pill he’s swallowed would take a bit longer to start taking effect, and aside from the small buzz from the alcohol, he’s still terribly sober. Definitely too sober to deal with Usami high on shabu.
Usami catches up with him, sliding his arms around Ogata’s shoulders as they leave the bathroom and go back into the club. Ogata notices Usami’s dick is already hard against him. Fucking gross.
“We used to have so much fun, Hyaku!” Usami pouts, his voice grating to Ogata’s ears even over the loud music. “The top yankiis in the school district! Can you imagine if your other patients knew?”
“Shut up, Usami,” Ogata shrugs him off by the dancefloor and makes a beeline to the bar, where he orders another beer and leans back on his elbows, watching the crowd. Usami disappears and reappears periodically in his field of vision – dancing and shamelessly rubbing himself on random people, making a nuisance of himself.
Ogata had spent almost half a year without using any hard drugs – he’d really been busy with work, that wasn’t a lie. Drugs like that were an expensive habit, as well – he’s stopped doing coke because even his decent dentist salary couldn’t cover the rising costs. He’d get his habitual fix in less illegal ways, alcohol or cigarettes mostly, but always ends up circling back to ecstasy or other stimulants, eventually.
By the time he finishes his second beer, his mouth’s already starting to feel dry. His hands feel clammy, and the familiar drug-induced wave of empathy and chemically-induced happiness washes over him. The loud beat from the club’s audio system is in synch with his heart – the overwhelming need to be touched, to touch, already creeping up under his skin. Ogata has always been fascinated by how much ecstasy changes him, every time – it was as if he could, in the space of a few hours, put all his bullshit behind and just… Enjoy himself. Feel connected to other people for once. It was like his Cinderella spell, ready to blow over by the end of the night and leave him in rags afterwards.
But he isn’t thinking too much of that now. The overwhelming need to dance is bubbling inside his chest, so Ogata throws himself into the faceless crowd.
At some point, he loses track of how many men he’s grinded with on the dancefloor. To him, they all seem strangely disembodied, disconnected – a pair of arms, a hot mouth, a hard cock pressing insistently into his ass. Even so, it’s all good to him, and Ogata just gets lost in the euphoria of being wanted by scores of complete strangers, without any baggage, without having to deal with any of their bullshit.
Just pure physical connection, nothing more than that.
Usami finds him a couple of hours later still dancing, shirt soaked through with sweat and strands of his slicked-back undercut already escaping to fall over his forehead.
“Having fun, Hyaku? You seem so much happier!” Usami shouts into his ear to make himself heard over the music. He smells like sex already, of musk and a cologne that isn’t his. His hard dick is poking Ogata’s thigh again. He doesn’t find it so gross, this time. “Wanna play a little?”
Ogata shakes his head, laughing. “Fuck no, I might catch something just from kissing you.”
Usami laughs along with him for a moment, before suddenly grabbing Ogata’s hair by the back of his neck and tugging hard. The pain shoots pleasurably down his spine, and Ogata can barely contain a groan. He had forgotten how fucking unstable Usami’s mood could get, even without class-A drugs thrown into the mix. “You say that as if you aren’t a slut, too, huh?”
“If I’m a slut, what does that make you?” Ogata feels another tug. Them fucking each other isn’t exactly new – hell, they’ve been doing it sporadically since high school, at least. But sex with Usami is always intense, with the sort of out-of-control violence and sadism that only a yakuza-enabled psychopath can come up with spontaneously, and Ogata doesn’t feel up for it tonight. He’s up for sex, obviously, but of the normal sort one has while high as hell at the club.
“I just wanna dance, Tokishige.”
Something in his tone or words seems to give Usami pause, somehow, and he releases Ogata without saying anything else. They dance together for a while, pressed close together until Usami gets distracted by someone else and finally leaves him alone.
Ogata raises his chin to look around the club, examining the attendants with less focus than he did from the bar hours before. It’s even more crowded than before, everyone looking a bit worse for wear compared to the beginning of the night.
A tall silhouette catches his eye, towering above the crowd, and Ogata moves closer in order to examine it better. The man has wild brown hair, and his light eyes suddenly meet Ogata’s when he’s at arms-length. A foreigner, lost in this seedy little club? It’s too much of a temptation to let it pass without doing anything. Ogata brushes his arm playfully against the man’s shoulder, enjoying the fact that he has to crane his neck to look at his face from up close.
“Hey, you speak my language?” Ogata asks into his ear, making sure to press his body against his more than strictly necessary. “You’re really hot.”
The man gets flustered at that. It’s adorable. Makes Ogata want to just eat him up. “I speak very little,” he says in a heavy accent. Russian, probably.
If Ogata was a bit more sober, he’d probably try and show off what little Russian he had learned on his own years ago. But now, he’s more interested in putting his hands on the man’s waist and feeling the muscles underneath.
“I’m Ogata,” he says.
“Vasily.”
Vasily touches Ogata’s face, fingers gingerly brushing against his scars. It makes something unfamiliar swell inside Ogata’s chest – he chalks it up to being unused to being treated so gently, especially in a club like this, while high like this. He leans up to kiss Vasily, wanting to push the strange feeling away, but it only intensifies and spreads to his entire body, like a new wave of euphoria.
He sighs into Vasily’s mouth, revelling in the soft lips dragging against Ogata’s chapped ones. Vasily’s hands drop from his face to wrap around his shoulders, pulling him closer and deepening the kiss. It’s a full-on sensory attack, on all fronts – the music is still blaring in his ears, and now he’s flooded with Vasily’s taste, Vasily’s smell, Vasily’s touch. His eyes are closed shut – he might explode if he looks into Vasily’s eyes while feeling like that.
At some point they have to pull away in order to breathe, and Ogata immediately nuzzles into Vasily’s neck. He smells so good, and Ogata can’t help enjoying the drag of his short beard against his cheek. He wonders how it would feel against other parts of his body, and the mere thought makes Ogata shiver.
“Can I buy you a drink?” Vasily asks, and Ogata answers with a nod. They make their way to the bar, where Ogata orders a water bottle and Vasily orders a beer. Ogata hadn’t realized how warm he was until he leans back onto the bar counter and feels the shock in temperature. He chugs down half of the bottle in one go.
“Your eyes are very dark,” Vasily says, taking a sip of his drink. “Like black holes.”
“Thanks, it’s the drugs,” Ogata deadpans. Vasily laughs, and Ogata laughs with him.
“So, what’s a guy like you doing in a shitty club like this? I thought tourists would go to classier places in town.”
“I’m no tourist, I live here,” Vasily replies. “I’m studying for my master’s degree. My friends took me here, but I can’t find them anywhere.”
“Huh. Do you want to go find them?”
Vasily makes a playful thoughtful expression, free hand scratching his own chin, though his answer comes very easily with a smile. “Not really. I’d rather be with you.”
Ah, this is just the guy Ogata needs tonight – big, tall, and completely into him. He reflects for a second if he should take Vasily back to his place for a proper fuck, but ultimately decides against it – there’s a risk he’ll want to stay the night, and Ogata has never allowed this in his nearly 30 years of age. Not to mention, he’s not sure he can wait for that long to get fucked.
Yeah, the club bathroom will have to do.
Ogata sets his water bottle on the counter and slides right back into Vasily’s personal space again. He reaches down to touch Vasily’s crotch, humming in appreciation when he cups a very hard cock through his jeans. A pleased groan rumbles in Vasily’s chest, as his hand also slides down to grab at Ogata’s ass.
“This one seems happy to meet me,” Ogata says into Vasily’s ear, “maybe we should get better acquainted?” Vasily nods, breathing out a muffled hell yes against Ogata’s neck that shakes him to the core.
Ogata drags Vasily by the hand, hoping no one is using the restrooms right now. He’s sweating so much that his grip slips several times as they make their way through the dancefloor, but Vasily is always quick to grab his hand again, as if he didn’t want to stop touching Ogata, either.
There’s someone washing their hands on the sink when they tumble through the door, but Ogata doesn’t pay him any mind. He shoves Vasily into the stall furthest from the door, his favourite spot for situations like these, and closes it behind himself.
Vasily’s lips are on his immediately, the kiss knocking the air from Ogata’s lungs. He desperately wants – no, needs – to get fucked, to be filled up by this stranger.
He drops to his knees on the disgusting floor and unzips Vasily’s fly, looking up at him to see his reaction. The harsh fluorescent lights illuminate his hair, which is lighter than Ogata had thought, and Ogata can finally take a good look at his handsome face. His brows are furrowed, face all flushed pink, lips red from Ogata chewing on them just moments before. God, he looks so good.
Ogata nuzzles the impressive bulge in front of him, feeling it get harder underneath his cheek. There’s already a sizeable wet spot in his underwear, right at the tip of his dick. Ogata feels damn near euphoric, taking in his heady smell, masculine and clean. Definitely cleaner than most guys’ he’s fucked in this very stall, now that he thinks of it.
He pulls Vasily’s dick out of his underwear, and if his mouth wasn’t so dry from the ecstasy he’d be drooling. Nice, thick, long without being too intimidating. Flushed red like its owner’s face. Ogata licks a strip from the base to the glans, relishing in the gasp that slips out of Vasily’s mouth. So sensitive, so adorable. Ogata really wants to make him a mess before taking him inside.
He kisses lazily, sloppily, on his entire length, one of his hands stabilizing the base while the other wanders, explores the hard planes of Vasily’s abs and the firmness of his ass. Vasily’s hands are on his hair, but they’re not pulling on it; it’s like he’s grounding himself, trying his best not to get too carried away. Ogata has half a mind to not get carried away himself – as tempting as a throat-fuck and a facial can be, he really, really wants Vasily inside him tonight. He parts with his dick with a kiss on the tip, disgustingly tender – maybe this Russian’s weird gentleness is rubbing off on him. He stands up and Vasily’s looking at him like he’s…
“You’re lovely,” Vasily whispers to himself in Russian. He doesn’t know that Ogata understood the words. Ogata has that strange feeling on his chest again, while staring at Vasily’s clear eyes. He wants to shut it all down, before it overwhelms him again.
“Fuck my ass,” he says, unbuttoning his tight jeans and turning around to face the stall’s heavily graffitied wall. “C’mon.”
Vasily seems to snap out of his weird reverie and is immediately pressing himself against Ogata’s back. He’s sucking and biting at his neck, wandering hands pressing everywhere – his chest, his abs, the bulge in his underwear. Ogata has to make an effort not to moan too loudly, they’re not at a love hotel or at his place. Vasily’s hands are perfect, calloused in some places and soft in others.
He pulls Ogata out of his underwear and then he’s completely hard with just two or three good pulls. God, how long has it been since he last felt this good with sex?
“Do you, uh,” Vasily begins, breath hot in Ogata’s ear, “have anything? I only brought a condom.”
Oh, right. Condoms. Ogata should be using those. “A little spit goes a long way.”
Vasily gives a breathy little laugh, like he’s just been told an exasperatingly bad joke. “Yeah, ok. I don’t want to hurt you.”
Ogata whines at that, keening in his throat like he’s a bratty 16-year-old. “C’mon, just fuck me, I don’t care.”
Vasily gets off Ogata’s back, and for a terrifying second Ogata thinks he’ll leave. To his relief, Vasily kneels in front of his ass, pushing his jeans and underwear down to the middle of his thighs and immediately pressing a kiss into his right asscheek.
“Yesss, fuck,” Ogata babbles as Vasily mirrors the kiss into his left asscheek, before finally dipping into his crack, his hot tongue trailing spit into his hole. Vasily eats him out like he’s starving, alternating between teasing light touches that make Ogata’s legs feel like jelly and relentless thrusts that breach his hole and make Ogata want to scream. He could come just from this if Vasily keeps at it for too long.
Vasily gets up before this happens, and Ogata watches from the corner of his eye as he rolls the condom on, spits on it for good measure, and aligns the head of his dick to Ogata’s ass. With his free hand he guides Ogata’s face to kiss him as he slowly sinks into his tight heat.
“Fuck, you’re burning up inside,” Vasily growls against his lips. Ogata almost doesn’t register his words – the overwhelming sensation is back, the only grounding thing in a sea of Vasily is the cold wall seeping warmth from his hands. Vasily’s thrusts are firm, relentless, and yet so gentle, Ogata almost wants to cry.
This has never happened before – he’s never cried during sex, even when it hurt. And surprisingly, this didn’t hurt at all. His body is so relaxed from the E and from Vasily’s tongue that it’s a wonder his legs can still support his weight.
Vasily whispers into his ear the whole time – some Russian words Ogata can just barely make out, wonderful, beautiful, you’re so hot, and even what he can’t understand just sounds lovely, melting into Ogata’s brain. It’s like they’re in their own private world, where Ogata really is everything Vasily thinks he is and where Vasily won’t disappear five minutes after he comes.
“I had my eye on you, before,” Vasily whispers in Japanese, dipping his hand to jerk Ogata off. “When I first got here, I saw you dancing. Made me want to get to know you.”
Ogata doesn’t even know how he manages to answer, while being so close to orgasm. “Yeah?”
“Uh-huh. Wanted to make you mine,” Vasily nibbles on the shell of Ogata’s ear, and Ogata has to bite down a whimper. “Got jealous of the other guys. Wanted you for myself.”
“Hah, you don’t even know me,” Ogata pants. Vasily’s thrusts become more erratic, out of sync with the strokes on Ogata’s cock.
They’re both so close. Some treacherous part of Ogata’s subconscious thinks it’s awfully romantic that they’re gonna come at the same fucking time, in that dirty bathroom stall, private enough to feel intimate and public enough to feel exciting.
“I wanna—ah, I want to know you,” Vasily latches onto Ogata’s neck, and bites down hard. The pain is such a shock that it sends Ogata careening into an earth-shattering orgasm. Fuck fuck fuck fuck FUCK.
Ogata’s vaguely aware of Vasily coming right after he does, with a quiet sigh that Ogata can barely make out over his own frantic heartbeat. He rests his forehead against the wall, feverish skin briefly soothed by the cold tile.
Vasily pulls out slowly, so gently that it makes Ogata want to cry again. He hears the condom being tossed in the bin, and already predicts the next sounds – the rustle of fabric, a zipper being pulled up, hasty excuses for needing to get the hell out of there fast. Post-nut clarity usually makes men wise up, like they can suddenly sense that there’s something fundamentally wrong with Ogata and that they should stay away for their own good.
Ogata doesn’t expect to be hugged, of all things. It has to a be a pretty funny scene – two grown men with their pants around their ankles, one hugging the other from behind. Vasily’s arms around him feel like safety, something like being cherished, even if just for a moment.
“Did I hurt you?”
“Uh? No, what—” Ogata starts, only now realizing that he’s, in fact, actually crying. Real big fat tears sliding down his cheeks. What the fuck.
Vasily turns him around so they’re facing each other. Everywhere he touches Ogata feels like fire – his big stupid hands cupping his face, thumbs wiping the tears from his cheeks. He’s at a loss of what to do, mind still altered by the ecstasy but his fevered state calmed after that intense round of sex. If Ogata was a bit more sober, he’d probably try to make his escape now.
A very loud sequence of knocks on the stall’s door nearly makes them both jump out of their skins.
“HEY, HYAKU!”
Oh God, it’s Usami of all people. Without a doubt the last person Ogata wants to be near right now. Vasily puts his arms around him protectively, and Ogata pointedly decides to ignore how that makes him feel.
“Boss Tsurumi just called me, I need to get to Shibuya right the fuck now,” Usami says, giddy voice betraying the sort of job Tsurumi would ask of him so suddenly this late at night – definitely torture. Maybe a murder. “Your date can get you home, right?”
“Fuck off,” Ogata snarls, just loud enough for Usami to hear. His eyes are fixed on the small gap under the stall’s door, where he can see Usami’s boots peeking in. He’s probably on the tips of his toes trying to look into the stall, the way he’s tried a few times before. Thankfully, Ogata knows he’s too short for it.
“Anyway, bye-bye! Call you later, bitch,” Usami says, neighing out his weird fucking laugh as he steps away, finally leaving them alone again.
“Who the fuck was that?”
“My best fucking friend, unfortunately,” Ogata says bitterly, raising a hand to slick his mussed hair back. This night is fucking over, and he needs to get the hell out of there. He’s made quite a spectacle of himself in front of Vasily, already.
Ogata reaches to pull up his jeans, and Vasily does the same. Before Ogata can open the stall’s lock Vasily touches his arm.
“Let me call you a cab, at least.”
Ogata sighs. “Fine. Get me out of here.”
In the ten minutes it takes for them to get out of that bathroom, leave the club and wait for their ride to arrive, the exhaustion from the whole night finally catches up to Ogata – he practically stumbles into the backseat of the taxi, and is knocked out cold during the whole way back to his place. It’s not the first time he’s been this wrecked, but maybe from now on he has to concede that he’s not, in fact, still a 20-year-old who can bounce back from a night like this unscathed.
Vasily gently shakes him awake when they arrive at Ogata’s condo, and Ogata is so tired that he doesn’t even care that Vasily’s there at all. He toes off his shoes in the entry hall and goes straight to his bed, slumping on top of it and promptly falling back asleep again.
When Ogata wakes up again, it’s past 2pm and he feels like total shit.
His mouth is dry, his head hurts, his feet ache and he knows for a fact that he’ll have to get up to drink something and find his painkillers. Which is why he almost can’t believe his eyes when he opens them and finds a glass of water and his pills waiting for him.
He doesn’t remember setting this up the night before. In fact, he doesn’t remember getting out of his jeans, or even getting underneath the covers at all. It is then that it dawns on him:
Vasily.
Ogata takes two ibuprofen and downs the water in one go before getting on his feet to investigate. There’s no trace of the man anywhere else, and Ogata could entertain the hypothesis that Vasily had been a hallucination if his ass and neck weren’t so obviously sore. He finds his phone charging next to the sofa, and discovers a written note underneath it with a phone number and a brief message scribbled on the back of a convenience store receipt.
Call me. I still want to make you mine. -V
He refills the glass and goes back to bed, checking his new notifications: a couple messages from Usami which are just emojis and a gross picture of a bloodied tooth with a sparkly Instagram filter slapped on it, a few work emails that he’ll handle later, nothing of much importance.
Ogata should be at least mildly concerned that this stranger hung out in his apartment while he was asleep long enough to leave the note, charge his phone and leave him a glass of water. He definitely should let this just be the latest of a long list of weird one-night stands that never become anything more. It’d be the sensible thing to do.
He adds the phone number to his contact list before going back to sleep.