[GK]Never Break The Chain 4~6

[plotdog]

chapter four

Vasily scanned the room as he waited for his drink.

When they'd mentioned a nightclub, he'd imagined something different. He'd been to clubs in plenty of cities, and most followed the same pattern—sweat-slick bodies, strobe lights, and the kind of debauchery that left him feeling filthy the next morning. He'd tagged along to this, figuring it could be worse, for it was supposedly Sugimoto's friend's bachelor party.

This place had karaoke.

The air reeked of fried food and cheap beer, the walls plastered with peeling band posters and flickering neon. In the far corner, Shirashi belted out off-key lyrics with unshakable confidence, while Sugimoto hovered nearby, mic in hand, waiting for his turn to chime in. Their soon-to-be groom friend wedged himself into a corner, seemingly forgotten, even though this event was supposed to be about him. He didn't seem to mind, holding a hand clapper to cheer them on.

Vasily slumped back and pulled out his phone, scrolling through a stack of photos waiting to be edited and posted. A sky streaked with cotton-candy like clouds. Local snacks gleaming in shop windows. Random street cat that curled up beside him. A few candid shots of Ogata, slumped over in seat or bed.

Then there was the tattoo of Shirashi and Boutarou.

His gaze drifted up, landing on the bartender.

Boutarou was shaking a cocktail when his eyes met Vasily's. He hadn't spoken yet, but his gaze lingered, expectant, as if daring him to ask something.

"Why bartend here?" Vasily finally asked. "I thought you own the place."

Boutarou's lips curled. "Saves me a paycheck, doesn't it?" Then, leaning in slightly, he whispered. "Besides… I like talking to people. Learning their secrets." His hair almost brushed against Vasily's forearm where it rested on the counter. Just as he considered putting some distance between them, Boutarou slid something forward—his drink, finally served.

Vasily brought the berry-infused glass to his lips. The refreshing blend combined cherries and berries with smooth vodka, fruity and Russian, just the way he liked it.

Boutarou's smile curled, "So? How is it? Does 'Love Potion' suit your tastes?"

Vasily nodded.

The long-haired man braced his elbows against the weathered counter, the amber glow of overhead lights catching the sharp angles of his face. "So..." His fingers idly tracing the wood grain on the bar, "How long did it take? Going after him?"

Vasily didn't lift his gaze from his drink. The ice had nearly melted, swirling in slow, listless circles. "A hundred years," he muttered, as if confessing to a crime. He knew it sound like he was making things up.

Certainly, Boutarou thought he was being dramatic, shaking his head. "I mean seriously." He leaned in, "How long between first talk and first fuck?"

"...Three hours."

The long-haired man's eyebrows shot up. "Huh." He took a deliberate pause, "And how long between then and now?"

Vasily's exhale fogged the glass as he dragged a finger along its edge. "Two months."

"Then it's not that bad, I guess?"

No, it's not like they were not hanging round each other all the time—

"Word of advice? You need to take control, you know. I see the way you're around each other. It goes nowhere if you let him take the lead." Boutarou said slowly.

"Is that so?" Vasily's voice dripped with skepticism. "How's your progress?"

"I'm doing this at my own pace," Suddenly, Boutarou retreated back. "I enjoy the process."

He'd better not be. Vasily wasn't about to lose that bet.

But in the meantime, he understood. He'd enjoy getting to know Ogata better, letting things unfold naturally until they reached a point where they could truly open up to each other, not that he's complaining about all that great sex—at least, he thought it was great. Ogata seemed to want something different. Something mind-blowing.

Said man was sprawled across the couch. He hadn't waited for the rest of the guests when he arrived at the bar before immediately started ordering shots. Free drinks were, after all, the only reason he'd come to this party.

"Why else would I attend some straight guy's bachelor party? For the strippers?" He'd snorted at the idea. Then the alcohol dragged him down to the floor. Vasily had hauled him onto the couch so he could pass out properly. Now, listening to the noise around him, it almost felt like a blessing that Ogata didn't have to endure the rest of the night sober.

"How did you two get to know each other?" Vasily asked.

The man Boutarou had been obsessively following all the way from Thailand was now drunkenly belting out a lewd song while attempting to twerk. Vasily couldn't fathom how Boutarou's mind worked. At first, he'd assumed it was the past connection. But no, there's no such thing. He just… wanted the same things, made the same choices.

"In an underground casino," Boutarou said, grinning. "Mind you, this was in Thailand, where gambling's illegal. I was there on business when I found him locked in a back room—lost all his money and was about to be shipped off to some organ harvester, I guess. So I cut a deal to get him out. And by the time I came back?" He let out a short laugh—rare for him, since most of his smiles felt like performances. But this one was real. "Gone. The bastard escaped on his own."

"And then," he continued, "there was a pride parade in the city. He was running around taking pictures with drag queens, and at first, he thought I was one too!" He gestured at his long hair and flowing wrap. "I get it. He shrieked when he realized, but... we kept hanging out after that."

Leaning on his elbow, a rare, almost dreamy flicker crossed his face—unsettling in a way, coming from someone like him. "He'll give in," he murmured, voice low with certainty. "Just give it time."

A faint voice came from behind Vasily. "What are you two conspiring about?"

He turned to find Ogata, freshly woken, rubbing sleep from his eyes while adjusting his crumpled collar. "Damn," Ogata's voice was rough, "what did you spike the drinks with?"

"Ogata-chan~! Come sing with us!" Shiraishi called out, waving enthusiastically from across the room.

Ogata's nose wrinkled as the bubblegum tunes of some K-pop girl group blared through the speakers, unfortunately could make out the lyrics since the song had been released in Japanese. He turned to brush it aside, but then... paused. Something caught his attention. With the quiet precision of a stalking feline, he changed course and glided toward their corner, ignoring Vasily's presence entirely.

"So you're the groom?" Ogata dropped onto the sofa, accepting the mic someone handed him only to let it dangle carelessly from his fingers, had no intention of using it.

"Yes," the large man replied, subtly shifting away to maintain polite distance. "Hi, I'm Tanigaki." He extended his hand.

Ogata didn't take it. He yawned and stretched, settling deeper into the cushions. "Who planned this party anyway? Bit dull, isn't it? Where are the strippers?"

"I did!" Sugimoto cut in, shooting Ogata a disapproving look. "Tanigaki's not that kind of guy."

"For someone about to be trapped in marriage," Ogata mused, his gaze drifting lazily over the room, and to Tanigaki, "this might be his last chance for real fun. Not that it stops some guys..." A knowing smirk played at his lips. "I know plenty who keep playing."

If Ogata was plotting something, he was going about it all wrong. Vasily could see it. There was something different about Tanigaki. The man was built like a brawler but moving with deliberate care, setting down his beer bottle as if afraid the glass might shatter under his grip. This was the kind of man who'd stick around.

Too bad Ogata hadn't noticed, leaning in closer with that razor-edged smirk. "Or do you actually believe you can stay faithful?"

Tanigaki's fist tightened around the hand clapper, knuckles whitening, but his voice stayed steady. "Yes. She's the most beautiful woman I've ever met."

"Woman?" Ogata paused, then snorted. "Ah, right, right. I assumed this 'marriage' was something… unofficial." His gaze dragged over Tanigaki, lingering. "My mistake. You just don't look like the straight kind."

Tanigaki's jaw tensed. "Well. Strictly speaking, I'm not."

Ogata barked a laugh, sharp as a blade, and then turned to Sugimoto. "Should've guessed. He is your friend, after all. Tough guy with a little secret, huh?" His fingers crept forward, almost brushing Tanigaki's knee. "Shame there's nothing here to liven things up… but I've got a few ideas."

"Leave him alone! He's, he's—" Sugimoto cut in, shooting nervous glances at Tanigaki.

"It's fine." Tanigaki waved him off, then seemed to remember something and chuckled. "Why don't you tell him how we met?"

Sugimoto grimaced. "You're never gonna let me live this down, are you?" He slumped onto the couch and began, "Alright, fine. We were at the same gym."

Ogata perked up, clearly anticipating some sordid scandal.

"There's always this… male competition, you know? We had that. I used to rag on him—called him a cow, said his ass was that fat." Sugimoto scratched his neck, suddenly sheepish. "Then one day, I caught him injecting himself with something. Thought, 'Ha! Finally caught this cheater using steroids!'"

"Not wrong," Tanigaki interjected, grinning. "It was testosterone."

Ogata froze.

"I'm trans," Tanigaki said, satisfaction dripping from his voice as Ogata recoiled like he'd been burned, scrambling back from where he'd been draped all over him.

"What the f—" Ogata's eyes raked over him, disbelief sharpening his tone. "But you look just—"

"Not cool, Ogata!" Sugimoto growled, stepping forward. "You got a problem with that?"

Ogata dragged a hand down his face before bursting into harsh laughter. "Well, that explains so much..." He wiped at his eyes, shoulders shaking. "And no—it's just he's not interesting anymore."

"Of course that's where your mind goes," Sugimoto scoffed, crossing his arms. "Typical."

Ogata's grin turned jagged. "Oh? So what, he got you all hot and bothered until you realized, 'Hey, still technically a woman, so I'm not really gay?'" He leaned in, voice dripping with dark sweetness.

Sugimoto launched himself across the room, fist connecting with Ogata's face with a sickening crack. "You don't get to say that!" His grip on Ogata's collar jerked the man forward as the punch landed. The eye socket already purpling, swelling shut.

Vasily shot up from his seat. He might have found it amusing to see Ogata reap what he'd sown, if not for the fresh blood beading along the man's unhealed chin wound. Guys were all half drunk, and he needed to extract Ogata before Sugimoto's righteous fury ruined the stitches.

But Sugimoto was still riding the adrenaline high, chest heaving with the obligation to protect his friend's honor. So when Vasily's hand touched his shoulder, his reflex kicked in.

A flash of movement. Then the ceiling spun into view as Vasily's back hit the floor.

"What are you—oh shit!" Sugimoto's body had moved before his brain caught up. He hovered awkwardly, hands fluttering. "Gosh, did I just—? I heard something crack—"

Vasily tasted iron in his mouth, but his limbs still obeyed. He pushed himself up quickly. "Don't hit him," he said weakly, reminded suddenly of how terrifying Sugimoto could be.

The flicker of regret in Sugimoto's eyes vanished as quickly as it appeared. "After what he just said? To someone who fought to be himself? To finally be happy?" His voice dropped to a dangerous grow. "And you're defending him? Just because you're dating?"

"We're not—" Vasily began, but his protest died in his throat.

"I don't get you, Vasily," Sugimoto spat. "Why waste your time with trash like him? Letting him harass every man in his path?"

From the floor, Ogata dabbed carefully at his face with a tissue. "I think the answer's obvious," lips curving up, "He didn't really do a good job."

Sugimoto seized them both by the back of their collars and threw them out of the club.

The country road before them like a black ribbon, winding into the darkness. Intermittent streetlamps cast pools of jaundiced light along the pavement, their glow barely stitching together the patches of the night. Inside the car, silence sat thick between them. The only sound the shuddering whisper of wind through roadside trees, their leaves trembling in the passing breeze that drifted through the window.

Vasily didn't know where they would go.

There was no way they could keep lingering around that tight-knit group, not after Ogata's behavior, and certainly not after the damage Sugimoto had so visibly left behind. Maybe Asirpa could have smoothed things over. She might have been willing to tolerate them, to give them another chance—but she wasn't here.

It wasn't that she didn't drink or do karaoke. She had left in a hurry earlier that day, muttering something about urgent business, people she needed to meet. She had been determined, so much that she hadn't even allowed Sugimoto to go along with her.

Vasily had answered all her questions across the table, but his mind wasn't in it. He was only here for Ogata, really.

He turned to study the man in the driver's seat—face still swollen, anxious, fingers drumming restlessly against the steering wheel. Yet his gaze remained fixed ahead, as if he actually knew where they were going.

If the trip was truly over, they should've been heading back to Sapporo. But the road before them suggested another direction.

"Where are we going?" Vasily finally asked.

Ogata hummed, avoiding the question. Instead he asked, "When do you go back?"

Back. Vasily hadn't thought about it seriously. Technically, he could stay for months, but it was more complicated than that. If he intended to stay in California, for lack of better options, he'd have to report to the authorities from time to time, proving he hadn't violated the terms of his asylum status. He had really just sneaked out.

"Maybe after Golden Week," Vasily said, forcing lightness into his voice. "I assume you'll be busy with work by then."

He could play this game again—skipping inspections, catching flights here whenever possible. Of course he wanted to stay forever, but that wasn't realistic. And eventually, Ogata would grow tired of him. What would he do then, if Ogata decided to cut him out completely?

Ogata smoothed back his hair, keeping the strands from obscuring his view. "Hmph. Any plans before then?" He waited before continued. "I haven't properly seen Hokkaido since moving here. Could use some sightseeing."

Vasily's pulse jumped. That sounded dangerously like an invitation. "Can I come?"

The car filled with silence, as if Ogata was taking time to consider it. Then came a low chuckle, "You know, I wonder the same thing Sugimoto asked you," he mused. "Why do you stick around? Yeah, I get it—you want this ass so bad. But is it worth the trouble?" His voice turned wry. "Might not look like it, but I know. I'm... a lot."

Maybe it was how Ogata had cut straight to the shallow, obvious truth that Vasily couldn't quite face it himself. Or maybe it was the way Ogata knew his own flaws, acknowledged them and kept being exactly who he was. Whatever the reason, it made the moment uncomfortable for Vasily. "Then why do you act like this?"

"Like what?" Ogata shot back, all traces of introspection gone in an instant.

Vasily exhaled through his nose, "You said I wasn't doing a good job back at the club. I thought it was good."

"You call that good? Jeeze." Ogata scoffed, shaking his head. "Don't get me wrong—love that dick. But you're so... careful. Feels weird. What, you only done long-term thing before? No hook-ups?"

Vasily considered this. "How long is 'long-term'?"

"Dunno. Years? Months?" Ogata's gaze slid to the window. "Not my area. I don't do relationships."

Vasily could tell. Some people just gave it off like natural defensive chemicals. "Me neither." He told him.

And it wasn't that he didn't want it. But it was always inconvenient. Never safe. And he was always occupied—too many things to do, too little reason to bother. Without that inexplicable click, deep attraction just...didn't come.

"Then why hold back?" Ogata's tone was sharp, almost biting. "Don't tell me you're actually a gentleman."

For Vasily, it was basic decency, treating a sexual partner with respect. "I don't think so...? Do you want me to—"

"—Or are you just boring?" Ogata cut in with a sneer. "Man, what's your plan when we get to the hotel? Hug me? Kiss me slowly? Make sweet love to me?" He opened his mouth, stretching it into a theatrical yawn. "I might just fall asleep just thinking about it."

Vasily couldn't deny he'd been thinking the exact thing. But wasn't it as selfish? All those tender blowjobs, morning kisses, lovemaking under the stars—were they really for Ogata, or just what Vasily himself wanted?

He's making a mistake if he thought he was going to go anywhere with that. Boutarou's words echoed in his mind. You should take the lead.

He wondered how.

Outside the window, shadows of trees swayed in invitation.

"Pull over." The words left his mouth before he could reconsider.

"Hmph?" Ogata's fingers tightened on the wheel. "What's your problem?"

"Pull over," Vasily repeated, voice low. "Let's do it here."

Ogata's face flickered through confusion before settling into amused understanding. "Here? You?" A dry chuckle, "Don't force yourself just for my—"

"No. Not for you." The lie came easily. "There's no one around. Seems... exciting."

Ogata shot a look at him that told he's going to eat him alive.

Vasily barely had time to steady himself belt once he stumbled out of the car, before Ogata seized him by the belt, hauling him toward the trees—as if at any moment, reason might claw its way back into Vasily's mind and remind him this wasn't some lawless wilderness. A country road, yes, isolated, but not invisible. The car was parked lousily by the road and that might attract traffic patrols' attention. The woods were sparse, the road still visible in glimpses between the slender trunks, headlights occasionally cutting through the dark.

Too late for regrets now. Vasily thought as Ogata yanked him forward, and suddenly it was Vasily who pressed him against the rough bark of a tree. Hands tangled in his hair, dragging him down, and suddenly, his tongue was sucked into a hot, dampen place tasting of gin and whiskey. Intoxicated, the slick slide of tongues, and no alcohol was able to make comparison to this.

Ogata shuddered against him, breath hitching between wet, open-mouthed kisses. His grip tightened in Vasily's hair with unnecessary possessiveness. "Mmm… not a bad idea at all."

Vasily braced himself against the tree, fingers digging into the trunk for balance. One hand slid down Ogata's back, mapping the muscles beneath his polo shirt, then lower, tracing the dip of his waist before seizing a handful of his ass, firm and taut even through the fabric. A low groan escaped Ogata's lips, muffled by the crush of their mouths.

He didn't stop there, and pushed past the waistband of Ogata's trousers, fingers sinking into bare skin, kneading the dense muscle beneath. It felt different like this, the cleft between those perfect curves deepening as Ogata arched against him, trapped between Vasily's body and the tree.

Heat surged up Vasily's neck, his face burning. Not embarrassment, no. This was the wildfire rush of control slipping through his fingers, the roar of blood in his ears drowning out thought. For a dizzying second, he feared he might black out.

His hands locked onto Ogata's hips, pressing him harder into the tree. Like some base creature rutting in the wild, no, something more, something capable of hoisting Ogata up and slamming him into the tree over and over until—

A sharp shove interrupted him. Ogata pulled back just enough to meet his gaze, eyes dark and inquiring. A breathless pause—then he dropped to his knees.

The grass between the trees was patchy, brittle in places, but Ogata paid no mind to the dirt streaking his trousers. He leaned forward, tongue darting over his lower lip as his fingers made quick work of Vasily's belt.

"Give me that." A rough murmur, and then his hand was around Vasily, hot and heavy against his palm, the flushed length twitching under his inspection. Ogata smirked, satisfied, before bending forward and sealing his lips around the head. One sharp tilt of his chin, and he took it deeper, deeper, until the thick heat hit the back of his throat and stayed there, snug and suffocating.

Vasily's breath stuttered. Ogata had given him this before, yes—lazy, half-hearted. But now, standing, looking down, it was different. The face wore disdain and arrogance on a daily basis now distorted around the girth of him, lips stretched obscenely. The bruise under his eye hadn't faded. The sutures at his jawline strained dangerously as he forced himself wider as if to test limits.

It was too much. The wet suction enfolding the whole length, the rubbing of lips near the root and the way the tip had hit somewhere so deep that it was SUPPOSED to trigger gag reflex. But Ogata had either trained his body to profess this, or—it had become a second nature of him.

Vasily groaned at the thought, his fingers tightening on Ogata's shoulder before being guided away—upward, into the silken strands of his undercut. From below, Ogata's gaze flicked up through dark lashes, and then came a gentle pat on his ass, like an encouragement.

He could take a hint. He gripped Ogata's hair, wrenching a sharp, stifled moan from those stretched lips.

"Mmm… nice," came the ragged murmur, voice thick. "Come on, come on."

Vasily wasn't one to need asking twice. He tilted Ogata's head back with a tug, angling him just so, before sheathed himself to the hilt in that scorching heat.

For a heartbeat, Ogata faltered, heels skidding against the dirt as the force rocked him backward. But then he steadied, knees planting firmly, throat opening effortlessly to take each punishing drive. It was too much to hear the obscene wet slap of skin and the choked gurgle of spit overflowing past swollen lips.

Ogata's chin glistened, strands of saliva swinging heavy before splattering the earth beneath them.

It was amazing—Vasily's thoughts frayed into static as his hips stuttered forward, rough and desperate. Words failed him. There was only the obscene sight of Ogata, pliant and swallowing around him, throat working in perfect, willing submission. A receptive vessel for his personal use.

Or was he?

Ogata's lashes fluttered, his breath hitching around each brutal thrust. A low, satisfied hum vibrated against Vasily's cock whenever his grip tightened in that dark hair. He was enjoying this too much. Was this what he'd wanted all along? Something filthy, literally? His palms dug into the dirt for balance, his own arousal straining visibly against his trousers, the fabric doing nothing to hide how the roughness only spurred him hotter.

Abruptly, Vasily wrenched free, yanking Ogata upright in one sharp motion. A wet pop, followed by a whimper of protest—cut short when Vasily spun him against the tree and pulled his pants down.

"Emm, got lube in the car," Ogata muttered when his cheek still pressed to the bark.

"I know." Vasily fumbled in his trousers tangled around his ankle for the condom. "But aren't you still loose from yesterday? Or the day before?"

A breathless laugh shook Ogata's shoulders, "you're not wrong, but—" the words were cut short by a sharp hiss as the sudden intrusion. Vasily wasn't joking about or making empty threats. He really did just put it in with the littlest preparation. "—aren't you supposed to be Mr. Nice Guy or something?" Ogata taunted, voice strained.

"Not tonight." Vasily leaned in, simply, barely made his words out between gritted teeth. A hand slammed against the tree beside Ogata's head. "Brace yourself."

Ogata hummed, bracing his arms against the tree as he adjusted his stance, arching back to meet Vasily's cock. "Alright," his voice rough, "not like I haven't done it before."

The remark was interrupted by a sharp thrust halfway in. Ogata's breath hitched, fingers digging into the bark as he hugged the trunk tighter. It was a sturdy tree, weathered by winter gales and unbroken by summer storms. Yet Vasily couldn't help but wonder if it would hold against the force of two grown men fucking like this.

Not that it would stop him.

He pulled out just enough to spread Ogata's cheeks wider. The dim glow of moonlight and distant lamplight did little to pierce the woods' shadows. What he could see was the stark contrast of Ogata's skin—pale and smooth, almost unnervingly flawless. Vasily wasn't sure if it was just him or if it was an Asian thing—He immediately shot that thought away. Ogata's mockery that day was still lingering in his ear. Although, the memory of Ogata in that floral yukata, smug and infuriatingly tempting, flashed behind his eyes. He regretted it at least twice a day, that moment in the inn, his own stupid pride keeping him from pinning Ogata against the traditional inn's paper screen and ruining his pretty yukata and everything along with.

But this was as good. Vasily looked down, mesmerized at his cock flushed deep red against the snowy-like skin, the hole still stretched wide, twitching helplessly around nothing. How much had it taken before? A dark, crazy thought flickered through him—pry it open further, test its limits, see how much more Ogata could take—

Ogata writhed impatiently beneath him, ribs taut as he twisted halfway around. "Come on in," he goaded, "Don't be afraid of breaking me. Break me." His voice deceptively soft, but his smile cruel, as if a daring to see how much Vasily could fulfill his promise.

Vasily lined himself up, pressing the swollen head against that abused rim. Ogata groaned, forehead dropping hard against the tree as his body tensed—Vasily gripped his hip, anchoring him, and pushed in slow, relentless. He had to hold down so tightly so Ogata wouldn't be pushed over and slipped away by the force of it.

"Fuck—that's it, that's it…もっと…" Ogata's voice frayed into a whimper.

Vasily obeyed, pulling out just enough to slam back in deeper, drawing out another broken noise. "好きですか?" he murmured, grinding into that spot that made Ogata shudder—

A sharp elbow jabbed his ribs.

"Fucking weirdo," Ogata gasped, breathless but vicious. "Don't speak Japanese—yours is horrible…"

Vasily quickly shut up and began driving into him with shallow thrusts. Each movement jolted Ogata forward, bending him further until his torso dipped low, barely keeping him upright.

Vasily hauled him up slightly, trying to angle him onto a gnarled root for better leverage, but Ogata's sneakers kept slipping, so he tried something else. A sharp shove between the shoulder blades forced Ogata down, arching his spine until his ass tilted higher, offering himself up.

There. The new angle had granted Vasily a more efficient access to his sweet spot, punching ragged moans from Ogata's throat as that fat cock dragged ruthlessly over—

Ogata's hand darted toward his own neglected length, but Vasily was faster. He caught the wandering wrist, wrenching it back and pinning it tight against the small of Ogata's back.

It was almost pathetic to watch the way Ogata twitched beneath him, making those choked, desperate sounds, taking every thrust like his body had forgotten how to refuse. Vasily watched in a daze, hypnotized by the sight of himself disappearing over and over between those clenched cheeks. He hooked a thumb into the flushed, trembling flesh, spreading it wider just to see, to watch that ruined hole cling to him, rubbed raw and crimson with every punishing onslaught.

The condom had been pre-lubed, but the oil-based slick had long since dried, leaving nothing but a faint, sticky sheen. Vasily wavered—should he slow down? Or let them both suffer the consequences tomorrow? Not that it mattered. His body wasn't listening to reason anymore. Not when desperate groans began to tear away from his own throat. Gosh, he felt like a fucking animal—in the wood, with his mate, just heat and the primal need to claim. Around them, there's nothing could be found in the modern society.

And then, it occurred to him, this could've been done a hundred years ago. This could've been done over and again if he had caught Ogata before the man had done anything foolish to himself.

He wrenched the man below him, to turn his face around. Those eyes half-closed, dazed and confused between torture and ecstasy, but when they opened, his gaze locked onto Vasily's like a challenge.

"It's what you want too, isn't it?" Ogata's voice was a weak, breathless, but even now, he dared to mock Vasily, to dig into the raw, unraveling edges of his control. "Isn't this the real you?"

For a heartbeat, Vasily's grip faltered.

Ogata collapsed face-first into the dirt with a choked gasp, his body jolting as Vasily's cock slipped free. He barely caught himself at the root to keep from hitting the ground fully.

Vasily stared down at him, the way Ogata was wriggling between his legs, like he might try to get up, to fight or flee—and suddenly, the sight hit him with terrifying familiarity.

He'd seen this before.

Ogata's half-bare body in the dirt. The stark contrast of pale skin smeared with mud. Some small woods, somewhere, perhaps Hokkaido...

In another life, he had buried Ogata in a place like this.

Those eyes were in a bloody mess. His breath was stilled. He was unresponsive when Vasily cradled his face, memorizing the lines of him, to keep it so deep inside him, so he could carry it into the next life. So he would know how to identify him across the crowd, to walk closer, and begin a conversation, and find out if it would happen this time.

Vasily kneeled down like a prayer, his palm splayed between Ogata's shoulder blades, pinning him down as he again sheathed himself to the hilt. Ogata hissed, but the sound twisted into something wanton when Vasily started moving, hard, relentless, grinding Ogata's face into the moss and mud.

And God, look at him. Arching back, spreading wider, offering himself up like he'd been waiting for this very ruin.

Whatever that was.

Vasily's thrusts grew frantic, insatiable. Let Ogata think him unnatural. Let him think him monstrous. He was. No matter how boldly he walked, how fiercely he wore his pride, the truth coiled beneath his skin like a second shadow. His worse self was always there, wasn't it?

No. He caught that train of thought. This wasn't his worse self. If it lived in him, then it was true. And if it was true—then it was good. He had never lied to himself, never flinched from the raw, ugly parts. He would not allow his true self to be denied or doubted, even by himself.

Vasily bore down, fingers digging into Ogata's hips. "Don't move," he gritted out. "Just take it."

The surrender was instant. Ogata went still beneath him, obediently. Like a good soldier following orders. Like something already dead.

---

chapter five

"What made you choose this career path?"

From his very first summer internship interview, Vasily noticed how fixated recruiters were on this question. Why this industry? Why our company? Where do you see yourself in five years?

They asked as though twenty-year-olds should have their entire lives mapped out, when most could barely decide what to eat for lunch.

So he learned to think on his feet, spinning answers that sounded just plausible enough:

Yes, my middle school math teacher first inspired me. Yes, I've always admired that infamous vigilante hacker. Yes, I aspire to lead this company's security division when I've gained enough experience in a few years.

None of it was true. But it would be what they wanted to hear.

He nearly answered—until a predatory gleam flashed in the interviewer's eyes.

"A pretty boy like you could do better, no? Acting? Modeling?"

Back then, he hadn't known enough to recognize it as harassment rather than compliments. Those words sent him back to an old memory of attempting to walk like a model in his sister's sparkly shoes. It was more of the innocent curiosity of a seven-year-old rather than any form of sexual awakening. Nevertheless, his father had whipped him, believing it was necessary to rid him of things that shouldn't be there.

"Well?" The voice yanked him back to reality.

No mahogany conference table. No leering interviewer in a tailored suit. Instead, all that filled the space was a dimly lit motel room, with a blockbuster playing in the background, its light flickering over the beer in his hand. Ogata lounged beside him, a cigarette hanging between his fingers. He took a leisurely sip from his own beer, and casually posed the question just as the TV screen showed the classic monster unleashing havoc upon Tokyo.

They'd been tracing Hokkaido's coastline, pulling over at every windswept beach and sleepy fishing town. When the nights fell, they pulled over. Sometimes they fucked each other with the urgency that came with the approaching end of the holiday—Vasily was amazed how fast time past when you stayed up late all night and got up even later— Other times, they just lay tangled in scratchy sheets, doing nothing at all.

"Money, obviously," Vasily said with a nonchalant shrug. "My mom's the only one supporting us. With a full scholarship for a computer science, there wasn't much of a choice."

Not entirely true. There were faster tracks—software development, for one. But not everyone was cut out for development. Some were made for destruction. It took a particular kind of mind to excel at it, and even then, most of the people he knew in this field were just here for the paycheck, blindly following handbooks. He wondered what Ogata's approach would be.

Ogata let out a thoughtful hum, turning over that sliver of information. "And your father?"

"Dead." Another shrug, this one tighter. "Found drunk and facedown in a gutter. More common than you'd expect." He took another sip to stop giving off more.

He left out the details, how it happened just days after the man had taken his one final frustration from his gas station job out on them. Vasily had been too young to understand, but old enough to remember the strange timing. His mother was absent that freezing night, and his sister's knuckles turned white around his wrist when the police asked questions.

"She was here all night," his sister had said, her stare a silent command. Vasily kept his mouth shut.

"Anyway, she's remarried now." He flicked a crumb off the table. "After we graduated high school. Well—my sister did. I didn't exactly finish it."

Ogata, however, had missed the humble brag about the grade skipping. "You've got a sister?" he asked instead.

"Two." He exhaled just as Ogata's stream of smoke began to irritate his nostrils. "One older, one younger—though the younger's just a half-sister." He leaned back, the headboard creaking under his weight. "Haven't heard from her for some time. We're on good terms, but..." A pause, then, "She moved back to Ukraine to live with our grandparents. You know how that story ends."

Ogata paused. For a brief moment, Vasily wondered if the man might actually produce something resembling human empathy.

Instead, what came was pure him. "Hmph. Two sisters." A slow, deliberate drag on his cigarette before he blew the smoke ring over Vasily's face. "They say sharing the same womb with sisters alters a man... genetically. Or growing up surrounded by women." The corner of his mouth twitched. "Explains why you're such a fucking fairy, doesn't it?"

"That's not fair," Vasily wanted to bite back. He'd known enough queer men to tell there was no pattern in it. "Where'd you get that theory? Got sisters yourself?"

Ogata choked mid-sip. Once he recovered, his voice returned smooth as ever. "No. My mother only had me."

Vasily noticed the deliberate phrasing—it felt like a word play he might use himself. "And your father?"

"Dead." Ogata's reply came swift and unexpected. Another thing they shared in common. Vasily shook his head, "No—I mean, are you his only child?"

Ogata's gaze fixed on some distant point beyond Vasily. "I am now."

He refused to elaborate on that.

Still, that fleeting exchange of family tragedy forged a false intimacy that clenched Vasily's chest tightly. As if he had just used up his brief chance to learn more about this man. As if their trip here hadn't been anything but idle sightseeing and cheap sex.

This man wasn't refusing him in any way. Far from it, he seemed eager to test the limits of what their bodies could do together. But Vasily couldn't shake the feeling that he was just… filling time, having nothing better to do for the holiday. Maybe Ogata was expecting something else, someone more interesting, except Vasily happened to be right there, willing and available. He was just convenient.

The thought had soured him at first, but now, he pushed it aside. The food was excellent, the views breathtaking, and he wanted—no, needed—to feel Ogata's presence beside him. It was almost degrading, how much he enjoyed this man's company even when Ogata wasn't being kind. Worse still, how little effort it took to satisfy him.

The truth was simple, that Ogata wanted nothing from him. Not out of selfishlessness, but because Vasily meant nothing to him. He didn't care enough to push him away when he got too close.

At least, that's how he felt.

Golden Week would end soon, and then what? Ogata would return to work, and Vasily would be left with nothing to do. Hanging around and waiting for him to come home, when he might just get tired and bored, until he couldn't tolerate him anymore, and then try everything to get rid of him? It would be fucking pathetic.

He had his own mess to deal with in the meanwhile. Back in the US, he'd have to explain why he'd vanished from his residence. Available fund was running thin, too. And he couldn't really stay too long before his Visa expired. The embassy might let him extend the stay, for the Ukrainian passport he was travelling with would probably bring sympathy, unaware of the truth. That he hadn't suffered like the others. That he'd grown up on the invaders' side.

It drove him mad sometimes, the weight of it—the way a country could turn all its people into war criminals simply by existing. Why couldn't he have just been reborn somewhere peaceful, where he could just live a normal life?

He glanced at Ogata. In private, the man was shameless. Before everyone, he was always this rude thing, never bothering to act nice even for those who showed him kindness. If anything, he seemed to relish irritating them. But it could be worse. At least Japan hadn't seen war in seventy years. Ogata could even barely remember how to hold his old rifle.

The thought had frustrated him at first—the idea that he'd never see that lethal precision again. He longed for the fearless warrior, the one who shone brightest when brimming with confidence and murder. But now, surprisingly, the change brought him a sense of relief. Vasily felt so happy for him.

They were no soldiers here, no opposing sides, just two men who could choose something different this time. They didn't have to destroy each other. They could simply coexist.

Somewhere along the way, Vasily had let go of the need for their bond to be profound, fated, special. Maybe companionship was all it was. No grand design, no deeper meaning, and certainly no blood or bullets. Just the quiet understanding of two people sharing space. This was how modern people connected, after all.

On screen, the giant monsters had ceased their battle, now united against a new threat. Ogata took a drink and let out a derisive sniff. "Typical Hollywood nonsense."

Vasily nearly pointed out that it was, after all, a science fiction movie, and there was something refreshing about seeing former enemies fight together. But he held his tongue.

"I'll show you a proper recent Japanese version," Ogata declared. "Now that's decent filmmaking."

Vasily knew which one he was talking about. A beautiful, brutal film set against the backdrop of war. Of course Ogata would prefer it.

"There're serious movies, and these Americans are just fun to watch." he said instead, watching the unlikely alliance play out on screen.

"Funny how you don't realize the monster IS America," Ogata said with a cold sneer. "Why else would Japanese invent a creature radiating nuclear power right, after WWII? And now look, suddenly he's the hero. Classic."

Vasily watched his serious expression, amused by how intensely he analyzed what was supposed to be mindless entertainment. The shallow furrow between his brows was almost adorable when he got like this, almost a nerd. Without thinking, Vasily leaned in and caught Ogata's lips in a quick kiss. The taste of beer lingered between them.

Ogata blinked slowly, processing the sudden contact. Then his expression darkened. "Don't even try," he growled. "You're not convincing me."

Vasily studied Ogata's profile in the dim light, and asked simply, "Would you prefer living in an era where you could've been a soldier?"

Ogata's beer paused halfway to his lips. "Maybe?" The metal clicked against his teeth as he drank. "Not because I want war. Just means we wouldn't be fucking bitched."

A century of collective suffering whispered otherwise in Vasily's bones. War didn't care about pride. Nations devoured their young and called the bones left behind "shared victory". He could pretend this was about Ogata's wounded masculinity, overcompensating for getting off on being trampled and degraded. He had showed enough symptoms. That would be the easy explanation.

And Vasily would happily oblige him, if that's what he needed. But part of him wished Ogata would break that tiresome cycle of humiliating everyone around including himself. Ogata looked like someone who had his shit together, having a neat car and apartment and all that. He should be more comfortable with himself, for who he was and what he wanted. Just exist as he was.

He'd find the right time to say something like that to him. Someday, he could pull himself together, have this fixation fixed, no longer burning with embarrassment over an intense need to be wanted the same way. Then, he could tell him what was in his mind right now, in past tense, unafraid of his comebacks. By then, it would surely be a gone thing.

"Really?" Vasily finished his beer and tossed it across the room, listening to the soft thud as it landed in the trash. "Thought you liked that."

Ogata didn't catch his meaning at first. He blinked—then it hit him. In an instant, he launched himself at Vasily.

Vasily dodged the burning cigarette butt, catching Ogata's wrist and wrenching it away from his face. But Ogata didn't back off. He loomed over him, his free hand tangling in Vasily's hair, the mess of it spilling over his shoulder.

"You think I want it this way?" A sharp yank. "You think I don't wish I could be the perfect son—naturally entitled to everything, just for being a straight man?"

Vasily didn't understand. "You wish you were straight?"

"Yes. Don't you?" A dry snicker. "It's not like we chose this. Don't you wish you weren't cursed with this… abnormality? That you didn't have this itch—this thing society says is wrong?"

Vasily frowned. "No. Why?"

"So you could have real power. It's that simple."

Vasily's hands slid to Ogata's hips, grip firm. "I don't need the society to give me power. And I don't take orders from anyone."

With a sharp flip, Vasily threw Ogata onto the bed, his back hitting the sheets with a muffled sound. The lingering smoke from the cigarette dangerously hovered above the sheet, but Ogata's hand remained steady, dangling off the edge as ashes tumbled down at the sudden movement.

He stared up at Vasily, unfazed, then slowly raised his hand to take another drag. The ember glowed bright as he inhaled, the smoke curling from his lips like a challenge.

"Even mine?" he exhaled slowly, letting the haze drift into Vasily's lungs.

Vasily coughed. Ogata's secondhand smoke might kill him someday—in what, twenty years? Thirty? A slow death stretched long through time. He almost wished it would.

"Depends on the order," Vasily said, brushing hair from his eyes. "What's on your mind?"

"Now?" Ogata hummed, dragging out the syllable as if pondering some great philosophy, then flatly, "The usual. In and out, cum and pass out."

"Do you want to fuck me," Vasily's fallen hair obscured his view again. He didn't bother pushing it back. "Or not interested in taking turns?"

A flicker of surprise crossed Ogata's face before settling back into indifference. "Not really. Not till you shave your ass." Playfully, then, casually in afterthought, "How many men have been there anyway?"

"That's not something you ask people," Vasily said. "I never asked you."

Ogata arched an eyebrow. "I'd tell you." His eyes tracked Vasily's expression. "Or not, if you'd rather not."

Vasily exhaled through his nose. In close quarter, the air smelt like a mix of death and Ogata. "I don't care."

Ogata looked at him, lips twitching. Finally, he stubbed out his cigarette in the bedside ashtray, the ember dying with a hiss. "As you should."

His hand shot to Vasily's neck, yanking him down. A little surprise, but Vasily caught himself on his elbows. He left a quick peck on Ogata's jaw, avoiding the sutures, then pushed up again to strip off his own shirt swiftly, then Ogata's. The man hardly bothered with clothes in their intermission, just made yesterday's shirt a makeshift pajama. Now bare, Vasily looked down at Ogata, who lay beneath him, face settled into something like serenity. Waiting for him.

"Do what you want."

The order was given.

He began tenderly, but soon came to the memories of their past encounters, each one ending in something wild and rough. Ogata pinning his wrists to the bedpost, riding him while spitting degrading words when his fogged mind couldn't keep up. His own hands gripping that thick throat, watching the Adam's apple bob up and down as Ogata gasped for air, pleasure spiking from the lack of blood.

The illusion of choice had been offered, but in truth, it was a challenge for him to improvise whatever would satisfy Ogata most. And yet, he reveled in the most humiliating acts. So in the end, there was no difference. Vasily paused his gentle bites along the delicate skin between shoulder and arm—his favorite part of Ogata's body, even now feeling the taut muscles shift beneath, lying down there—before trailing lower.

When he lifted Ogata's legs, the man let out a soft, pleased whimper. He found the discarded lube tangled in the sheets and slicked his fingers generously.

"Open wider." He demanded, making his voice cool. Ogata tensed up as a long finger traced over him, teasing before pressing against the still-loosened entrance from their earlier encounters.

Vasily's fingers moved with practiced ease, but his gaze stayed fixed on Ogata's face—watching the way his teeth clenched behind parted lips, stifling every sound into tight, controlled breaths.

Vasily murmured, "Relax. I'll make it good for you."

Ogata muttered something like, "Easy for you to say," though his attention sharpened as a second finger slid in. "Your fingers are… a lot," he remarked, then added slyly, "Can't wait for something thicker."

"Just a moment," Vasily began, but—

"No, I'm not talking about your cock." Ogata sprawled across the sheets, swinging his legs up to rest on Vasily's shoulders. "I left all my shit in Tokyo—toys included. Maybe it's time to restock."

"I guess?" Vasily said, noncommittal.

"Yeah, I mean, yours does the job well enough—even if it doesn't vibrate." Ogata's gaze flicked over him, "But toys don't leave when the holiday's over. Just something I can stash away and pull out when I'm horny." A pause, then a challenge, "Think you could manage that?"

"…No." Vasily's reply was sharp, final. He leaned down, close enough that Ogata could feel his breath. "We're doing this my way."

Before Ogata could retort, Vasily dipped back down, fingers still working him open. He pressed his face against the firm muscle of Ogata's thigh, the cool skin soothing against his flushed nose. A sharp, salty scent filled his lungs—sweat, alcohol, the lingering bite of cigarette. He inhaled again, slowly, before sinking his teeth lightly into the inner thigh. The flesh was already mottled pink from earlier marks, and he dragged his tongue over the faint imprints, soothing them with wet, languid strokes.

He hadn't understood this hunger—this need to taste, to claim with teeth and tongue—until he'd found out he'd missed the chance for a lifetime unable to indulge it. Now, he would take his fill.

"Oh, come on," Ogata hissed, voice fraying at the edges. "Stop fucking teasing—"

Vasily ignored the way Ogata's thighs tensed around him, an impatient demand to quit the teasing and get to the point. But he wouldn't be rushed.

He dragged his tongue in a slow, deliberate stripe up Ogata's inner thigh before settling where muscle met groin, sucking the sensitive skin there just to hear the sharp, bitten-off sounds above him, then went lower. His tongue traced the faint seam of the perineum, wet and teasing, before pressing closer, flipping briskly as saliva slicking the way as his fingers worked deeper.

"Fuck—" Ogata's voice cracked, "What the hell are you doing? Trying to eat me out like some—"

The rest dissolved into a ragged exhale as Vasily circled his rim, then dipped inside occasionally alongside his fingers. Ogata collapsed back with a shuddering groan, "Ugh, disgusting. I didn't even shower."

Ogata cursed, but soon his words dissolved into broken gasps. Vasily savored the way the flesh yielded around him, his tongue moving in slow, deliberate circles, lapping at the stretched rim, thrusting in briefly, then retreating without reluctance. He was so focused that he barely registered the sweat beading at his temples, the sting of it trickling into his unblinking eyes. It was familiar, this single-minded intensity—like sighting a target through his monocular. Except now, the target was Ogata, unraveling beneath him, a private conquest taken apart piece by piece.

He wanted to draw it out this time, to see just how long Ogata could endure before breaking. His fingers slowed to a maddening tease, skimming over that sweet spot only occasionally, just enough to wring out a shudder. And when Ogata's hips jerked forward, seeking more, Vasily pulled away entirely—his mouth wandering, tracing the swell of his balls, the dip of his inguinal crease, the tense plane of his abdomen—each touch lighter than the last, each one coaxing out another frustrated groan.

"Fuck—you want to hear me beg? Fine." Ogata's voice cracked, "Please...please, I want it. I want your cock inside me now."

Had Vasily been less resolved, those words, almost sweetened to a desperate mewl, paired with fingers tangling in his hair—might have worked. His own body betrayed him, arousal surging at the plea. "Please," Ogata gasped again, arching beneath him, "let me have you. I'm fucking dying like this."

But Vasily didn't yield. If anything, he pressed down harder, his grip turning punishing as he pinned Ogata's hips to the mattress. He knew better, knew the moment he relented, Ogata would flip their positions and take what he wanted. This was a game of control, and Vasily intended to win.

His grip tightened around the cock resting against Ogata's abdomen, admiring the way it twitched, glistening with clear fluid against the defined ridges of muscle. That body—something his own could never achieve without that same obsessive training. How many hours had Ogata spent in the gym, sculpting himself into this? The image flickered through his mind of the man bending down, lifting things up, the way his body tensed up impossibly to the limit, the back of his thighs flexed when he stood up from a squat—before he bent down, licking a slow stripe up the length to clean the slickness away, then took him into his mouth.

He tried to swallow him down to the root, but it wasn't as effortless as Ogata made it seem. He had no talent here. Halfway was his limit, so he adapted, focusing instead on the head, swirling his tongue in tight, practiced circles. He sucked just hard enough to wring out choked gasps, to feel the muscles in Ogata's thighs jump under his palms.

Ogata's glare could have killed him. "How much longer before you—" A sharp throb cut him off as Vasily's thumb pressed in, joining the other two fingers. "Fffuck—give a man some warning if you plan to fist him."

"Okay," Vasily replied, neither confirming nor denying, before returning to his slow, torturous rhythm. His lips sealed around hard flesh, his ring finger circling the stretched rim in a suggestive, dangerous way. The sound Ogata made at that nearly undid him. He almost failed resisting the urge to slip in the rest of fingers. It would have been so easy to give in. But he didn't. Instead, he withdrew all at once, fingers slipping free with a slick sound.

Ogata was panting, voice ragged. "What… are you finally going to—?"

Vasily didn't answer. He just towered over, sealing his mouth over that twitching, open hole, and devoured him with something akin to hunger.

If only the walls were thicker, so Ogata could shout out without restrain. If only Ogata could stifle the desperate noises clawing out of his throat like some feline in heat—but his control shattered under the ruthless ministration. His fingers twisted into Vasily's hair, tugging weakly. "Ugh, ugh—fuck, stop it—"

When shoving him away failed, he reached for himself, only to have his wrist seized mid-stroke. Vasily's gaze snapped up, the warning in it glacial and unnegotiable. Ogata choked at the wordless authority—then his hips jerked as the climax tore through him, leaving him shaking without a single proper touch.

"You lose," Vasily murmured, his breath warm against Ogata's nape as he nuzzled the damp skin between his shoulder blades. Ogata lay pliant in his arms, limbs heavy with exhaustion, succumbing to sleep after being stroked into blissful compliance. His head lolled against the pillow, the intense, drawn-out climax had drained all his energy.

"Mmph...We're not done..." Ogata protested as he reached out weakly before his arm falling back onto the sheets. Within moments, his breathing evened out into the slow rhythm of sleep.

Vasily studied the unguarded face beside him. It always felt like an achievement that he had turned Ogata in this state, passing out after how good Vasily made him feel. The sharp edges of Ogata's usual scowl softened into something almost youthful. This quiet transformation had become his secret observation these past nights.

Yet sleep wouldn't claim him as easily. He reached for his phone, the screen lighting up to reveal a few unread messages—mostly from Asirpa.

She had abandoned them earlier, leaving her esteemed guests to wander the coastline without a guide. Important business, she'd claimed, "Vasily would understand—if he wasn't so single-minded chasing after Ogata!" without offering any explanation

Vasily huffed. Whatever she meant, it couldn't have been that urgent. Not when he was occupied.

The messages included photos—an odd collection of candid shots. Elderly men with scary faces. Hard-eyed men who carried danger. Or just a few casually revealing tattoos while lounging on the beach, their ink similar to the patterns Shiraishi and Boutarou had.

Then came Asirpa's final message. "You mentioned the twenty-four phrases. Can they be restored if a few are missing?"

Vasily's thumb hovered over the screen. What was she talking about now? He typed a firm "no".

Even if she had all the separate characters, found their right English translations, reassembling them in the correct order would require impossible computational power. Vasily rubbed his temple. Although, he'd once believed his wallets were unhackable too—but technology evolved. Quantum computing. AI pattern recognition. Nothing was truly secure anymore.

His phone vibrated again.

"What if I knew a few possibilities for the missing word?"

Vasily exhaled sharply through his nose. "Possible in theory. But unlikely. I could bypass attempt limits, but the calculation would still take a very long time."

"How long?" Her reply came instantly in hope.

"Centuries." He had to tell her the truth. There were no guarantees these fragments even formed a valid mnemonic phrase. "Forget about the money. Even if you retrieve it, you wouldn't know how to launder it."

Silence followed. Just as Vasily swiped away the messages and pulled up a stream of cat videos, her reply finally came—long and heavy.

"Vasily, I never told you why our paths crossed in our past life. You were so fixated on Ogata, on your revenge, that you didn't realize you'd been dragged into a war over stolen gold. The map to the gold was split into twenty-four tattoos, inked onto convicts by a man named Wilk—my father in that life."

A pause, as if she were steadying herself.

"In this life, I grew up with only my mother. She told me my father died in a climbing accident when I was young. But if that's true… who is the man in Thailand giving out those tattoos? If it's really him, then he's either in danger—or he is the danger. And if these phrases are the key to some fortune… where did he get it? What does he plan to do with it?"

Her words lingered, raw with something between fear and determination.

"Please. Help me find him."

---

chapter six

"Why do you always wear a mask?"

As they rolled through the drive-thru, Ogata grabbed his black coffee and passed Vasily his preference—a sickly sweet, caffeine-free drink. Vasily tugged down the mask to take a sip.

"Running from government agents," he quipped.

Ogata's expression didn't flicker. "Very funny. At this point, I'm starting to think it's just part of your whole… thing."

"Oh? And what's that supposed to mean?"

"You look cuter with it on. Hell, maybe I'm just saying your face is better covered." Ogata tossed in the remark as an afterthought. A soft beep confirmed the payment handled seamlessly by his car.

Vasily watched the transaction complete, lips thinning. "You really shouldn't rely on that. IoT systems are weak."

"Is that so? Guess you're not one for new things, huh?" Ogata asked casually, already pulling back onto the road as they continued toward Sapporo. His gaze flicked to Vasily's phone—perched on the charging pad with an outdated converter, stubbornly incompatible with the car's wireless tech. A smirk tugged at his voice. "Then again, the answer's pretty obvious."

"Yeah, only these old systems can be bypassed." Vasily tapped his chipped phone case absently. Outside, neon signs from the street bled across the windshield, painting his profile in synthetic pinks and blues.

Ogata snorted, sliding down his window just enough to let in the crisp Hokkaido air. "Exactly my point—newer tech is safer."

Vasily's lips curled slightly, "You're thinking like a potential victim." He rotated his wrist, "I operate like a rogue."

Ogata's grip tightened on the wheel. He cut a sideways glance, catching the way Vasily's profile in the glow of passing headlights. "Oh? So what, you just freeload on cracked apps?" He eased his tone into something lighter, "Is that your 'field of work'?"

"More like… operating systems." Vasily was somewhat hesitant about disclosing his early projects involving military. "Phones. Cars. Satellites. Nuclear plants. The more complicated tech gets…" A pause, as the car's autonomous drive pinged a soft bleep. "...the more primitive its system become."

Ogata's silence stretched a beat too long. No pushback. Suspicious.

"What's yours?" Vasily pressed, turning fully in his seat. The synthetic leather creaked under his weight.

"Hmph?" Ogata's eyes fixed on the road ahead where Sapporo's skyline pulsed with distant, corporate blues.

"Your specialty." Vasily didn't blink.

Ogata's finger stilled. "Me? Here and there." He shrugged, a little too fluid. "Now, just audit. Easy money."

The car's AI chose that moment to chime—a warning about another upcoming crossroad. Vasily didn't look away. "Really. What do you audit?"

A flicker of tension in Ogata's jaw. He adjusted the rearview mirror unnecessarily, avoiding eye contact, "Digital capital flow."

Leaning forward, Vasily felt the seatbelt dig into his shoulder. "Earlier, you gave the impression of knowing more than just the basics of auditing," he murmured, his tone low and probing. "Or were you simply putting on a show for an audience that wouldn't know any better?"

The car was filled only with the rhythmic clicking of the turn signal. Then, Ogata emitted a dry cough, too deliberate to be natural.

"Alright, fine. At my previous company, I did more than audits." Vasily could tell Ogata was choosing his words with care. "We specialized in online security. Some of our clients... were major exchanges."

Vasily's eyes narrowed.

Ogata took a long sip of his coffee before continuing. "Let's just say I understand how the it operates," he said, setting the cup down with precision. "When funds get trapped, people like me are called upon to... redirect them."

Vasily watched him closely. "Okay. Let's say I have an old account that got frozen. How would you extract the money?"

"When exchanges freeze wallets," Ogata explained, "it's typically for one of two reasons." The car's headlights pierced through the darkness. "Either the government pressures them... or someone internally flips a switch."

Vasily's grip tightened around his phone, the screen displayed his own inaccessible balance. "And how does one get such access?"

As they drove under an overpass, a shadow flitted across Ogata's face. "Admin rights. Backdoors." His hands flexed on the steering wheel. "I've done those myself, for security checks, that is."

"You..." Vasily's voice emerged sharper than intended, the car's climate control suddenly feeling oppressively warm. "Did you have anything to do with this? For some clients? Perhaps someone from the Russian government?"

Ogata's knuckles whitened. Between them, the only sound was the rhythmic swish of the windshield wipers. "I don't know what you're implying. And I never questioned what my former manager tasked me with."

"That's my retirement money, you know." Vasily threw himself back against the seat, arms crossed tightly. Maybe Ogata had done this—it would be just like him to find yet another way to frustrate Vasily, this time by locking away his funds.

Meanwhile, his mind raced. A third party with backend access to a platform that promised transparency. Experts blindly following orders from faceless, shadowy clients. Ogata's former company had its share of misconduct. Would it really be surprising if he'd stumbled onto something?

Ogata could be the whistleblower, Vasily realized. If given the right reason. And that could put him in danger.

"How much was it?" Ogata asked.

"Ten hundred grand."

Ogata raised an eyebrow. "In US dollar? And how much do you have now?"

Vasily talked under his breath, "…Just some cash."

A dry snicker escaped Ogata. "But you can't just park everything on-chain."

Vasily shot him a glare. "I wasn't joking about being tracked by government agents. I can't exactly swipe a credit card everywhere I go."

"You know," Ogata continued, "I haven't actually seen you spend a single yen this whole trip." The lights of passing storefronts flickered across his smirk. "I paid for the hotels, the diners, the cafes. Hell, I even bought the condoms." He side-eyed Vasily, the car's ambient lighting catching his amusement. "Well. That explains a lot."

Vasily took a feeble sip from the sickly-sweet drink—another thing he hadn't purchased. The straw made an empty, rattling sound against the bottom of the cup.

"I'll pay you back," he muttered, the same hollow promise he'd made to everyone he had owed to. "Once I access my funds. And...I've still got assets on smaller exchanges. It's just," He gestured vaguely at the passing streetscape. "You can't exactly buy ice cream with Bitcoin."

Ogata's laugh was unexpectedly lighthearted, as if he were savoring the thought that Vasily would likely remain stuck in this financial dependency for some time. "Relax, I'm just fucking with you." His right hand left the wheel—dangerously long for someone supposedly focused on driving, if not for an auto-drive car—and came to rest on Vasily's thigh. "Spend my money if you need to. You can figure out the repayment."

As they passed a garishly lit ice cream parlor, its neon sign casting a pink glow across Ogata's features, he flashed a grin that was all white teeth and mischief. "Want some? My treat."

Under the glow of fluorescent lights, the ice cream shop's glass display shone brightly, rows of colorful tubs sweating in the summer heat. Vasily stared at the options too long, and Ogata nudged him aside with an elbow. "Just get me black sesame," He jabbed a finger at the menu, then turned to Vasily, "Grown men don't take this long to choose."

Vasily's hand hovered close to the pastel pink strawberry-milk flavor, its label adorned with a cartoon cat licking its paw and sprinkled with edible glitter. Ogata let out a snort. "Of course you would." He swiftly paid before Vasily could protest, watching as the shop girls clumsily filled their cones. Sesame seeds scattered everywhere.

When their orders were ready, Ogata received a jet-black cone dripping with what looked like molten tar, while Vasily's was a messy swirl of pink goo that dripped onto his wrist. Taking his cone, Vasily took the first lick of his pink dessert with deliberate slowness, meeting Ogata's glare. The sweetness exploded on his tongue, unbearably artificial. Perfect.

"Too sweet. Tastes like diabetes," Ogata remarked, before making himself look at his own treat with a critical eye.

"Maybe because you don't always have dessert?" Vasily said as his pinky finger brushed against Ogata's, tracing slow, idle circles.

"A small price to stay in shape. And it's not really my thing." Ogata glanced down at the odd movement. "What are you doing?"

Vasily's voice softened, suddenly self-conscious and a bit embarrassed, but he didn't pull away. "We could… hold hands now."

Ogata went still, and then let out a sharp laugh as realization struck. He scanned the shop—the girls behind the counter were practically staring, wide-eyed—before quirking a brow at Vasily. "Here? Now?" His tone was almost scandalized, as if this were some brazen act, as if he was not the same man who'd done far more shameless things with him without hesitation, even when getting caught.

"Now," Vasily said, seizing the hand before it could slip away. In this fragile moment, something like shyness flicked in Ogata's eyes. It was too rare to waste. Vasily didn't care whether this sudden act of generosity was from good or ill intent. All that mattered was the way Ogata didn't yank free, just turned his face at the last second, letting Vasily's lips brush his cheek rather than his lips.

"Stop it," he protested half-heartedly. "People are watching."

"They seem to think we're cute," Vasily mused, lips curling as Ogata's ears reddened, however hard he had tried to keep his expression flat. He turned to the nearest girl, her cheeks pink to see two cute guys getting smoochy. "Hey, can you take photos of us holding ice creams?"

However, the girl hesitated, her voice trembling. "Uh… sir?" She pointed nervously past his shoulder to the street outside. "Your car's... hissing?"

Ogata turned first.

Outside the ice cream shop's window, thick, misty fumes billowed from beneath the vehicle. The car emitted a series of unsettling high-pitched whines, like a teakettle screaming through concrete.

His breath caught. In one swift motion, he grabbed Vasily's arm and pulled him back. "Move."

The first blue-tinged flames curled from the wheel wells as they hit the floor. Shop girls scrambled behind the counter, one still clutching her phone, fingers shaking as she screamed into the receiver:

"Officer, we've got an emergency! There's a car—!"

KRRRACK—the ominous sound cracked as the entire vehicle lurched upward, suspended six inches in the air by a soul-shaking thud. The green-orange fire tore through the white fumes, as the battery bank rupturing with an ungodly electrochemical shriek. The shockwave blasted out every shop window, glass exploding into a blizzard of glittering shards.

Then the secondaries hit—pop-crack-pop-crack—battery modules detonating like a string of lethal firecrackers.

"Stay down!" Ogata barked, shielding Vasily's head just as another explosion rattled the building. A flaming piece of debris smashed through what remained of the window, sending the girls scrambling backward with a shriek.

Vasily's thoughts spun in disarray. What was happening? He heard a violent sound and initially mistook it for the continuation of an explosion or perhaps the impending collapse of the building. Only when its rhythm sharpened did he realize it was Ogata's heartbeat, pounding relentlessly against his skull.

He twisted, attempted to wriggle free to see what was actually going on, but Ogata firmly held him in place. "It's not safe yet, wait a bit," he whispered urgently, keeping Vasily pinned down, left no room for argument.

"Shit—" it was too late, Vasily's stomach dropped. "My stuff's still in the car!" He thrashed against Ogata's grip. "All of it—"

Ogata tsked, grip unyielding. "Doesn't matter. You can wear my—"

"Not just clothes!" Vasily cut in, panic sharpening his words. "My passport. My fucking papers. I don't even know how to—"

"You can get them reissued, yeah?" Ogata countered.

Vasily's breath hitched. "I… I don't know."

Earlier, he'd been so damn clever—using his Ukrainian passport to slip under the radar, dodging the scrutiny of immigration office. He was not encouraged to leave the U.S territory when he was under political asylum. Now? Without it, he wasn't just stranded. He was going to face consequences.

Vasily wiped the cold sweat from his face, then fixed Ogata with a helpless stare that sent an uncomfortable prickle down the other man's spine. "How bad?"

His pleading eyes searched Ogata's face. "Can I... stay with you a little longer?"

Ogata's expression remained unreadable in the dim light. After a long pause, "Fine." he finally ground out a reluctant, "Hope we're talking days, not weeks."

As the acrid smoke outside stabilized into a thin, steady haze, Ogata pushed to his feet. "I'm calling the insurance," he muttered, already turning away to make the unpleasant call.

Vasily remained crouched on the floor long after Ogata left, frozen in place until the shaken shop employees came to check on him. With a grunt, he finally collapsed into a chair, his eyes landing on the melted ice cream cone splattered across the tiles. What a waste.

The whole situation made no sense. The car shouldn’t have exploded. The car hadn’t been in a collision, and it wasn’t like the weather was hot enough to induce spontaneous combustion. His earlier argument with Ogata now seemed eerily prescient. He needed to recover the black box data before insurance investigators or police arrived.

A cold shiver ran down his spine. Would this make the evening news? The last thing he needed was his face plastered across media outlets. With practiced paranoia, he pulled his mask back up.

The questions kept multiplying. Just an accident? Unlikely. Could someone be after him, for the things he had done? But it could also be Ogata's shady corporate. Or it could be…

His phone buzzed weakly in his hand—still not fully charged, the cable helplessly dangling from its charging port. He typed out a quick message to Asirpa to explain they couldn't make it for their meet-up, for the progress she had mentioned. If her theories about the ink artist were right, this might only be the beginning.

And then there was the Thailand trip Shiraishi had talked about. He made it sound like some tropical escapade, an adventure—white beaches, luxury yachts, a "cool friend" who showed him around. But Vasily had done his homework. That man wasn’t just dealing in coconuts. It was likely the casino he had "rescued" Shiraishi was actually owned by him.

Vasily rubbed his temples. The entire situation was exhausting him already.

Outside the shattered shopfront, the wrecked vehicle continued smoldering, still emitting an acid foul smell. Local security had scrambled to set up traffic cones and tapes around the scene. Ogata stood rigid on the sidewalk with his phone pressed against his ear.

"Yes, I understand the two-claim limit applies to at-fault incidents." He dragged a hand through his hair, the normally slicked-back strands now falling loose from days of travel. "I've already reviewed the policy guidelines. This is a manufacturer defect, not collision—" His voice dropped to a dangerous whisper, his free hand formed a tense claw, "You're applying the 30-day waiting period incorrectly. That's for comprehensive claims after collision payouts, not—"

A passing firetruck's siren drowned out the next exchange. Seeing Vasily's approach, Ogata glared him, unfairly raining down his rage on him. He turned away, "Just send a goddamn adjuster here."

He hang up the phone abruptly.

Vasily looked at him in in amazement at Ogata's grown-up stunt, letting out a faint "wow".

Ogata waved at him, "I know, right? Twice in a month. Now I even know how to deal with it." He let out a mild groan, "It's brand new…"

Vasily crouched beside the wreck. Twisted metal collapsed under the weight of battery cells, their chemical innards still hissing faintly. Across the street, a cluster of firefighters debated how to contain the simmering blaze without water.

"We need the logs," Vasily suggested, watching as yellow caution tape stretched across the street. His eyes darted between the approaching security team and the wreck. "Once they impound this, we'll never know what really happened."

Ogata disapproved, "I'd try not making excuse for the insurance company."

"Not taking anything—just copying." Vasily pointed to the exposed charging port, its protective flap dangling by one hinge. A faint LED still pulsed deep inside the socket. " I've done this before—just give me sixty seconds."

"With what?" Ogata retorted, "Your laptop's ashes back there. And," he added quickly, "It's not safe."

Funny to see how uncomfortable he got when he showed a little care. Vasily retrieved his phone, its charging cable still connected to an adapter. From this setup sprouted a collection of converters—USB, Type-C, Lightning, and even some outdated protocols from as far back as the Shōwa era. Ogata's eye twitched at the sight.

The cracked dashboard screen flickered to life, casting a sickly blue glow over their faces.

SYSTEM RECOVERY MODE

DATA TRANSFER: 18% COMPLETE

Vasily crouched awkwardly, only his head and shoulders inside the wreck, poised to bolt at any moment. "Come on..." he breathed, fingers drumming against the doorframe.

"It won't speed up just because you ask it to," Ogata snapped, though he was just as anxious. Standing by the window, his eyes were locked onto a police cruiser as it rolled past the barricade.

DATA TRANSFER: 89% COMPLETE

"That's enough!" Ogata grabbed Vasily's belt. "They're—"

Vasily could feel the car's vibration beneath him before he swiftly pulled his head out of the cockpit. He jerked backward, but still, he wasn't quick enough. Caution tape surrounded the vehicle, limiting his movements—and then it happened.

A sharp crack split from inside the ca. Then, in a violent heave, the vehicle seemed to expel him. Vasily was hurled through the air before crashing onto the street, the impact driving the breath from his lungs.

Fuck. Shards of wreckage had sliced into his face. At least not the eyes, he thought dully. At least the phone was still tightly clutched in his hand. At least— He tried to turn his head, but pain seared through him as broken glasses slid sideways. Still, he forced himself to look—Ogata. Where’s Ogata? Is he—

His vision blurred. Somewhere in the distance, sirens wailed.

When Vasily clawed his way back to consciousness, the world was shaking. Earthquake? His thoughts slurred.

He tried to shout—but the words spilled out in Russian. Wait. Wasn't he in Japan? He fumbled for Japanese next, to tell everyone to run, to hide —and realize he could not spell all of them in hiragana. Then he tried English—Ogata would understand that—right? But his lips moved soundlessly, numb as rubber.

And the darkness swallowed him again.

Later, a voice yanked him upright. He obeyed like a puppet on strings, limbs heavy, mind adrift. His steps were stumbling, and his knees hit something solid—and he collapsed.

Everything felt distant, muted, when his senses was dulled by the lingering haze of anesthesia. It was like a surreal dream, the kind of fevered vision that had haunted his teenage nights. The bullet grazing his face, the man with black eyes looming over him. A smile, not of joy, but from cruelty. To spare his life, to brand him with shame. To leave a permanent mark, so that every glance in the mirror would sear him with the memory of defeat. So that everyone across his path would be scared away by the scars, leaving him utterly alone.

The man leaned closer, his fingers tracing Vasily's face with mocking tenderness before pressing into the half-healed wounds. His nails dug deeper, burrowing into the punctures, tearing them open anew. Fresh blood welled up, and a bolt of pain shot through Vasily—white-hot, electric—shattering the numbness, dragging him back into the raw, screaming present.

Vasily fought to push himself upright, his limbs heavy and unresponsive. At least his vision was clear.

Where's the place, a hospital? He vaguely recalled the tremor—or had it just been the jostling wheels of a hospital bed? He then belatedly came to the memory of the explosion.

He tried to shout for help, but only a choked groan escaped. Even the slightest movement of his mouth sent searing pain through his skull.

"Don't talk," came a voice, calm, familiar. Vasily turned his head, and even that small motion sent a dull throb through his skull—and saw Ogata. The sight of him eased the tension coiled in Vasily's chest. This wasn't a hospital. The soft light, the rumpled sheets—he was in Ogata's bedroom.

Ogata sat propped against the headboard in pajamas, his reading glasses perched on his nose and a laptop balanced on his knees. When Vasily tried to swallow, the pain flared sharp enough to make his eyes water. He managed only a garbled sound.

With a sigh, Ogata set the laptop aside and leaned in. "How is it?" he asked, then seemed to remember. Wordlessly, he grabbed Vasily's phone and handed it to him.

The screen's glow illuminated the time. Great. He'd been out for half a day. It's midnight already. A few more hours, and dawn would break, and the holiday would be over.

Vasily's fingers drifted to his face, brushing against thick bandages.

"Don't touch it," Ogata warned, his voice dry but edged with something sharper. "Shattered glass got you. If your mask hadn't absorbed some of the blast, you'd be a lot worse off." A pause. "Still, it's bad."

Vasily swallowed, the motion sending a dull ache through his jaw. Then, slowly, a realization crept in. He tested his tongue—moving it cautiously. It was uncooperative, but at least it was still there.

He exhaled slowly and typed quickly, then turned the screen toward Ogata. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah… I guess." Ogata didn't shift his gaze, "But something's off. The readings were normal before the explosion. It doesn't add up." He pinched the bridge of his nose, pushing his glasses up before rubbing his tired eyes.

"We can check later," Vasily typed, "Tomorrow."

Ogata let out a humorless chuckle. "It is already tomorrow." But he relented, shutting the laptop and setting it aside. Exhaustion weighed on him like a blanket, and he sank into the pillow, the day's chaos finally claiming him.

Even after days of sharing a bed, lying in his room, his space, felt different. Vasily glanced down—someone had changed him into borrowed clothes. The pajama top fit well enough—Vasily was slender and taller, just balanced out the difference of Ogata's stocky frame. The trousers there were pooled around his shins.

He curled closer, letting Ogata's warmth seep into him. For a moment, the quiet intimacy almost lulled him back to sleep. Nightmares might come, but even they were better than the gnawing ache in his cheeks.

He waited for sleep to take him, but minutes slipped by, he was still adrift in the dark. Just as he resigned himself to a long night, Ogata's voice cut through the silence.

"Can't sleep?"

A quiet hum was his only reply.

A sigh, and then the nightlight clicked on. Ogata's face was half-buried in the pillow, features pressed out of shape. Vasily longed to turn toward him—to meet his gaze properly—but the threat of pressure on his wounds kept him still.

"It'll pass," Ogata muttered, tapping his own chin. "Mine ached for a week. After that, it's just the mental shit that sticks." He paused, then added, "You'll need to be careful shaving. Work around the scars."

Vasily hummed in reply, almost bored.

Ogata's lips twitched into a smirk. "When the stitches come off, if you look terrible… you're not staying with me."

This time, Vasily's hum was questioning.

Ogata let out a low snicker. "You know why I let you into my hotel room that day? You looked desperate. And, well… kind of hot, I suppose." His fingers traced idle patterns along Vasily's collarbone. "But if you turn ugly? I'm not keeping you around."

Is he dead serious? Vasily wondered, just as a soft hand slid down his chest, combing through the trail of hair from sternum to stomach.

Ogata's voice dropped to a velvet poison, "So, what are you going to do, Vasyusha? Hmm?" His fingers traced slow circles on Vasily's hipbone. "No home to return to, no place to hide, no money..." Then, a cruel smile , "No one to love you, now you're not pretty anymore."

Vasily's retort burned on his tongue—I don't need to be pretty, I have skills. I'll survive, I'll figure out—when Ogata's hand suddenly plunged into his trousers, fingers closing in a vise-like grip around his cock. Vasily's breath hitched as Ogata hissed against his ear, the words came out of his clenched teeth. "You. Only. Have. Me. Now. Do you understand?"

He marked each word with deliberate quick, hard stroke. Vasily's protests dissolved into broken whimpers—pathetic, shuddering little sounds. It only seemed to amuse Ogata further.

"Well," Ogata pressed closer, the warmth of his body seeping through the thin layers of their pajamas, "at least your cock still works." A chuckle, "Hmm. Maybe I'll keep you just for that."

There was no gentleness in his touch. His grip was punishing, dry strokes fast and unrelenting, dragging Vasily's foreskin up and back with such brutal efficiency that the friction burned. The skin was stretched taut, almost too much, almost tearing up. Vasily arched, caught between pain and unwilling pleasure, his breath coming in ragged gasps as Ogata watched, unmoved, the corner of his mouth twitching in something too cold to be called a smile.

The smile was cruel. Beautiful. Almost like the one from that dream.

Vasily's head spun. No—he was going to finish too fast—

Then, Ogata's phone rang. Perfect timing.

Ogata stilled, hearing it too. A low, dissatisfied noise escaped his nose. "Who the hell calls at this hour…?" Reluctantly, he pulled away to grab the phone.

Vasily's mind still teetered on the edge, but even through the haze, he registered something unusual. He turned his head, listening intently.

At the sudden screech from the other end, his brow furrowed. Shiraishi? What could that idiot possibly want with Ogata?

Ogata held the phone slightly away from his ear as the shrill voice pierced through, "Ogata-chan! You're the only one I can ask about this!"

Though visibly irritated, Ogata was curious about the strange phrasing. "I can't imagine," he drawled.

There was an awkward pause before Shiraishi's voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. "Well, you see... what exactly does one do... afterwards... you know, with another man?"

Ogata's eyebrow arched sharply. He turned to Vasily with a look of utter disbelief. "I can't fucking believe this."

He meant the bet. Vasily merely shrugged. Not his fault he was the more insightful one.

On the phone, Shiraishi's voice wavered near hysterics. "What do I dooo?"

Ogata's tone turned dangerously calm. "Tell me he didn't force you."

"No! It's not like that—"

"Do you happen to use a condom?"

"I... don't think we...?"

Ogata dragged his hand down his face with a muffled groan. "Get PEP. Now. You absolute fucking moron."

"But what—where—how—"

Somewhere in the background, another voice called out. Shiraishi turned away from the phone, mumbling something in agreement before returning with renewed cheer. "Gotta go! But thanks, Ogata-chan~ Always good to have a neko friend in your contacts!"

The moment the call disconnected, Ogata's grip tightened around the phone, like he was imagining Shiraishi's neck.

Vasily didn't understand. Isn't that word mean cat or something?