"Welcome back," Shinobu sing-songs as Giyuu slides into the backseat of her car. "Long time no see, Tomioka-san."
"It's only been a week," Giyuu deadpans, flicking his hood back and pushing his sunglasses up into his hair. After pulling into the main road, Shinobu chances a look back at him and immediately scoffs.
"Can you stop? You look like Secret Service. I promise you're not as famous as you think you are."
"I get recognized," Giyuu insists, and it's true. It might be rare, but it still happens, and every time it's so torturous he's taken to covering himself up just to minimize the risk. "They're always disappointed by how I am in real life."
"Ugh," Shinobu says, but doesn't push the issue. They roll around a corner too sharply, lurching dangerously close to the curb. For how skilled of an agent Shinobu is, her driving always leaves something to be desired. Sometimes Giyuu thinks it's because she's too short to see over the steering wheel, but he keeps these thoughts to himself out of concern for his safety.
She's a good agent, ruthless with producers of all standing and no less harsh on Giyuu. For the two years she's managed Giyuu's contracts and networking, Shinobu's fought tooth and nail for his comfort, his pay, his name. At the same time, she isn't afraid to knock Giyuu down a peg or two by voicing her own brutal opinions. Giyuu doesn't doubt that she's one of the reasons why he's 1) survived in the industry for so long and 2) become as successful as he has.
"Your film with Rengoku-san is doing well," Shinobu says. "Last I checked, it was number three on site traffic this week."
Giyuu hums, unsurprised. Rengoku's easy to work with, not at all bad on the eyes, and always enthusiastic about filming. After close to a dozen collaborations, Giyuu likes to think they've become... acquaintances, at the very least.
"Here's your bonus," Shinobu adds, reaching behind the seat to hand the check to Giyuu. He pockets it without looking.
They cruise along this road for a while, as smoothly as Shinobu can manage, the radio buzzing quietly in the background.
"How was the new guy?"
The question isn't unexpected, given that it was one of the few shoots Shinobu's ever missed. Giyuu knew it was coming, yet he still manages to startle.
"It was," he starts, thoughts unintentionally straying two weeks back to Shinazugawa Sanemi—the wild hair, voice, unhinged, the hunger in his eyes—who is fresh in Giyuu's mind like it was only yesterday. Stamped into the flesh of his eyelids, the dips between his fingers. "Okay."
"Try again," Shinobu says, flipping her visor down. Giyuu makes a frustrated noise. He does not want to think about Shinazugawa Sanemi and his big hands that can span the width of Giyuu's waist, much less talk about him.
"It was—it was fine, alright? Uzui was happy with it."
"Were you?"
Giyuu hesitates. "Yes."
Shinobu looks at him through the rear-view mirror. Giyuu faces it head-on, tension wringing his muscles.
Yes, he was happy with it. They were hot. They did a good job. They got off, and so will the many people who click on their video. Objective met.
No, he was not happy with it. They broke character; Shinazugawa first, then Giyuu, who followed helplessly, wounded, grasping at the last threads of self-control without hope. The worst thing about it was that he fell naturally, inevitably.
The light turns green, and Shinobu pulls her eyes away. "It's going up tomorrow," she says, in reference to the film.
Giyuu nods, relaxing into his seat, and turns his head to watch a few pedestrians cross the street to their right. His first mistake is thinking the conversation is over.
"I heard you came untouched."
Giyuu's eyes snap to the driver's seat, where Shinobu's still facing forward with that little smile on her face.
"I—"
"I know," Shinobu sighs, "you can't. You've never done it before."
There's a loose thread hanging from the cuff of Giyuu's jacket. He rolls it between his thumb and forefinger, frowning.
"It's not a bad thing," she continues, "though I'm sure your hardass is upset."
Giyuu knows. He understands everything Shinobu's saying right now. In this industry, it's difficult if not impossible for male actors like himself to orgasm through penetration only. Hell, it's considered a feat to maintain an erection throughout an entire shoot without needing to cut. What he did that time on set was unprecedented. It means many objectively good things: a boost to his career, a larger bonus, a surge in popularity.
But only Giyuu (and maybe his alarmingly perceptive agent) knows it wasn't planned. It had nothing to do with his talent as an actor and everything to do with Shinazugawa Sanemi.
He's never filmed with someone willing to take such a big risk on set, stray so far from script. Someone who could forget the unforgettable presence of a camera and drag him under the same spell. Who broke Giyuu apart so relentlessly and so thoroughly it could have only been born out of a deliberate plan or an accidental impulse. Given Shinazugawa's amateur experience, Giyuu thinks it's the latter, which scares him more.
If a polar opposite of Giyuu existed, it would live in Shinazugawa Sanemi. Where Giyuu is cautious, slows down, tries to forget—Shinazugawa is reckless and staggering as a whirlwind. Bullies him onward. Forces him to remember, whether he wants to or not.
That day, he expected to go into his second shoot without high hopes and leave without any lasting impression. He expected to have long forgotten Shinazugawa Sanemi's name and the way he asked Giyuu if he could take it.
And here he is. Head still full of Sanemi's name and the wind-blown abandon in his eyes, the furnace of his skin—their skin. The exact tone of his voice, the patterns in his breathing. Warm, intoxicating. Permanent.
Shit. Giyuu managed to keep the memories of their scene at bay during his brief break, but now that he's back to work, it's quickly becoming impossible to ignore. Especially with Shinobu's frightening ability to pinpoint every single unspoken thought he's coiled into the recesses of his mind.
"I'm not upset," Giyuu tries. "I'm just."
Disappointed. Confused. Scared. Everything he can't say.
Thankfully, he doesn't need to.
Shinobu checks over her shoulder, then bumps her way into the parking lot of their usual joint. "You're a professional, Giyuu. And, like I said, a hardass. Sometimes even I wish you'd loosen up, but since it's what got you this far in the first place, it's not my place to say. Just don't do something you'll regret."
"I won't." And he won't. Giyuu's never messed up since he entered this business three years ago and he doesn't plan on starting now.
"Alright, Tomioka-san!" Shinobu says, back to her overly cheerful self as she turns the key to shut the engine off. It's the fake face she puts on when dealing with stiffy directors and arrogant stars, and Giyuu's almost certain she only uses it on him to piss him off. "I still want to hear more about that shoot, so get your perky little ass out of here and grab us a table while I order."
Giyuu exits the car, ignoring the remark about his "perky little ass" and grimacing at how crooked the wheel is. Shinobu's done a shit parking job, as usual.
There's only one other person inside, fortunately. Giyuu leaves his hood down and heads directly for the back, picking the seat closest to the wall. Shinobu joins him less than ten minutes later, balancing their food and drinks precariously over her arms. She slides one of the plates over to him, piled high with his usual.
"Okay, Tomioka-san"—Shinobu sits down and slings her bag over the back of her chair, the sternness of her voice underlaid by a twinkling amusement—"tell me everything, please. Don't hold anything back.
"I don't know what you want me to say."
"Don't play coy with me," Shinobu sniffs, prim as ever, picking up a plastic knife to start cutting her pizza slice into square pieces.
"What the fuck," Giyuu says.
"And don't change the subject, either," Shinbou points the knife at him, though the dull ridges of the flimsy blade are anything but intimidating. "I know how you are."
"Okay," Giyuu says, defeated. So he tells her as much as he can without revealing how far he let himself slip—what he was wearing, what the set looked like, what he did to Shinazugawa and what Shinazugawa did to him, the one-eighty Shinazugawa took their scene, when he came untouched, what Uzui said afterwards. All of it, hoping Shinobu will be satisfied.
She is not.
Forgoing everything Giyuu just told her, she asks, "Was he hot?"
Still chewing, he gives her an offended look.
She laughs. "Untouched. Right. Hah. What'd it feel like?"
Giyuu swallows his bite. "An orgasm."
"Hah," Shinobu says again, this time without humor.
"It was... intense," Giyuu says, struggling with the words. If he tries hard enough he can still feel it, pricking him inside out with white-hot pleasure, but it isn't something he can describe verbally. "Very intense. And tiring, after. I wanted to pass out."
"Now I wish I was there to see it," Shinobu says, pouting. "It's always the scenes that sound boring that turn out to be the most exciting. Mitsuri could've gone on and on about it for at least two hours if I let her—and she wasn't even there for the whole thing."
"You'll see it tomorrow," Giyuu reminds her.
"I guess." Shinobu stabs her fork into one of the neat little squares she's carved out, lifting it to her mouth. "With how much hype I'm getting from your collab, I'd bet my year's salary on Uzui signing the two of you again. Likely within the month."
Giyuu's breath crumbles in his chest, then picks up again, faster than before. Shinobu's never wrong.
"You think?"
"Oh, for sure," Shinobu nods, placid.
Giyuu nurses his drink, twists the cup slowly between his fingers. He'd have to accept, obviously—it'd be beyond stupid not to. If him and Shinazugawa truly work exceptionally well together, it spells easy profit for them both and everyone else involved. No matter how awkward they left things last time, Giyuu recalls with a wince, it's far from the worst thing he's ever had to deal with. And if Shinazugawa continues to insist on deviating from script and everything Giyuu's ever known, well. He'll just have to deal with that, too.
"I saw some of his vids beforehand, though," Shinobu goes on, stealing one of Giyuu's fries off his plate. "He looks crazy."
"Oh my god," Giyuu says, incredulous. "How?"
"The eyes. Come on. Sometimes they look like they're going to pop out of his skull."
"Okay," Giyuu sighs. "But he was hot."
"Good, too, hm?"
For a futile second Giyuu considers denying it. In the end, he admits, "Yeah."
Too good. Fuck.
Shinobu pops the stolen fry into her mouth, deep in thought. She waits for Giyuu to take a big sip of his drink before adding, "And his dick's big," smiling wickedly when Giyuu nearly spits all over the table.
"Bet you gagged on it just like that," Shinobu continues, absolutely ruthless. "Oop, my bad—of course you didn't. I forgot you don't have a gag reflex."
"Fuck, shut up," Giyuu says, wheezing as he grabs for a napkin. "Shit."
Shinobu laughs, a sparkling thing that trills in the air. "I'm sorry, Tomioka-san. You just make it so easy."
"Could you not be so gross," Giyuu mutters, crumpling the napkin in his fist, still coughing around the soreness in his throat where his drink went down the wrong tube. "We are in public."
"So we are," Shinobu says. She places her knife and fork neatly to the side and folds her hands across the table. Giyuu continues to eat, pretending he doesn't notice Shinobu watching him with a disturbing focus.
Then she says, "You need a boyfriend."
"This again?"
"It's true," Shinobu says matter-of-factly.
Outside of porn, Giyuu has a very lackluster love life. He can't even remember the last time he got laid off camera, though that may have something to do with how often he fucks and gets fucked on a weekly basis. Sex has lost its novelty, and the motions of an orgasm are now as familiar to him as showering in the morning.
At least until Shinazugawa came along.
"Not everyone wants to date someone who has sex with other people for a living," Giyuu says.
"How would you know?" Shinobu counters. "You never go out. Besides, what about those 'other people' you're having sex with? Aren't they perfectly dateable? Like—"
Giyuu tenses. "Don't."
"—Shinazugawa?"
There it is—the taboo. Mixing personal life with work, and in the most intricate way possible: a romantic relationship with a co-star. To Giyuu, it's unthinkable, and for a myriad of reasons. Forbidden, though Shinobu has never found fault in pushing and prodding at every one of Giyuu's sore spots. Apparently, this is no exception.
"No," Giyuu says.
"Why?"
"What if you broke up?" Giyuu asks her. Shinobu blinks back at him, surprised, like she hadn't expected him to answer. "And had to film with each other after that? Or, even worse, with their new partner? It's inappropriate, unprofessional, and unnecessary. I don't care what everyone else in the industry thinks about it, but I don't want it."
Shinobu levels him with a look, mouth pursed. "It's unlikely."
"There's still a chance," Giyuu says. "Also, I don't know anything about him." Except that his dick game is off the fucking charts.
"Hardass," Shinobu shoots back, but when she bends down to dig her laptop out of her bag, Giyuu knows she's dropped the subject. "Enough chatter. Let's move onto business."
Giyuu does not mention that Shinobu was the one who wanted to chatter in the first place. Again, he'd like to live past the age of twenty-one.
He busies himself with finishing off the last of his food while Shinobu gives him a rundown of his upcoming shoots. After that, she moves onto propositions Giyuu's recently received from other studios and swipes another two fries from his plate.
"You've got an offer from MOON prod.," Shinobu tells him flippantly, without looking up from her laptop. "Ten percent more than your last contract, but I can get that higher. Want it?"
Giyuu mulls it over. "Depends. Who's it with?"
Squinting at the screen, she says, "Akaza."
"Hmm. Okay." From his experience, it's usually a hit or miss with MOON. They have some hotshot stars, but the majority of their films are cheesy, low-budget nonsense. Uzui absolutely hates them. Giyuu tends to stay away, but they pay outrageously well, and if they reach out to him first...
Shinobu flashes him a thumbs-up, fingers flying over the keyboard.
At the front, someone new comes in. The bells above the door chime, and out of instinct Giyuu looks up.
That's his second mistake. Because the person who walks through the threshold and within thirty feet of him is none other than Shinazugawa Sanemi, with the severe mouth and storming eyes. The sight of him shocks Giyuu down to the bones, dousing him in icy dread.
Shit. Fuck. Fucking shit. Fuck fuck fuck fuck—
"Giyuu? Did you hear me? I said—"
Shinobu, damn her, is too tiny for Giyuu to hide behind. This doesn't stop him from trying, though; he scrunches in on himself and slouches down in his chair, trying to cover his face with one of his hands.
"Giyuu—what's going on? Who is it?"
Without any makeup and stage lighting, Shinazugawa's scars stand out sharply against his skin, slashing across the bridge of his nose and the breadth of his forehead. Behind him is someone bearing similar scars, a tall, stocky man with a head of long, dark hair shaved at the sides. Giyuu's first thought is "boyfriend." Then he notes the similarity between the faces, the expressions, and realizes "brother" is more fitting.
Shinazugawa comes to a stop in front of the counter, glaring up at the menu with a scowl and a hand at the back of his neck as his companion orders. Automatically, however, his gaze starts to drift. Towards the back, where Giyuu and Shinobu are sitting.
To make matters worse, Shinobu grows tired of Giyuu's silence and twists in her seat to risk a glance over her shoulder. Giyuu tenses up, unable to do anything else but wait and mourn his negligence in disguising himself. Though it wouldn't have made much of a difference, considering he knows all too well how deeply acquainted you become with someone you must fuck for over an hour.
He hangs in the balance for several lifetimes before Shinazugawa's eyes finally fall to him. They widen minutely, stuck on him for a second too long.
"This is perfect!" Shinobu beams, turning to face Giyuu again. "What a small world we live in. Will you introduce me, Tomioka-san?"
"No," Giyuu hisses, ducks farther into the corner. Shinazugawa's eyes follow him, nonplussed. They light a fire on his face, spreading under his collar to the rest of his body.
Then the brother (?) elbows Shinazugawa, who snatches his eyes away as if burnt and steps forward to pay.
In his peripheral vision, Giyuu can see the weary look Shinobu's giving him.
She says, "You're a lost cause," and returns to her vigorous typing.
Standing by the take-out counter, Shinazugawa fishes his phone from his pocket and doesn't look up again. Shinobu moves onto scheduling details, and even though it's a fruitless effort Giyuu does his best to listen.
When their order—two large pizzas, as it turns out—is ready, Shinazugawa turns tail and makes straight for the exit, leaving his brother to grab the boxes and hasten after him.
Relief—that's what Giyuu should feel, watching Shinazugawa walk outside, the shape of him rippling against the glass door. Instead he only feels worse.
"Oh, Tomioka-san," Shinobu sighs, lips thinning. She doesn't look up from her computer. "Let's go over everything again. This time, please listen."
The wind bites at Sanemi's face when he steps outside. He makes a beeline for his car, walking so fast that even Genya with his gangly limbs has to jog to catch up.
"Wait—'nemi! Slow down!"
Sanemi complies, but reluctantly. One of the cars he passes is parked terribly, skewed way off to the side.
"So who was that guy, anyway?" Genya asks, a little out of breath. "Is he from class? You didn't seem to like him very much."
Sanemi unlocks the door, cringing. Settling in the passenger's seat, Genya sets the pizza boxes down on his lap.
"Seatbelt," Sanemi grunts, starting the ignition while Genya reaches across himself to click his seatbelt in place. "No, he's from work. And I don't not like him." It's not a lie, per se. Just a very vague answer.
"Oh," Genya says. That's shady as fuck, he doesn't add, but Sanemi can hear him thinking it anyway.
Of course, he doesn't know exactly what Sanemi does for work. Only that his hours are inconsistent, his position is informal, and the money keeps him on his feet. He's tried making it seem like a retail job, and thankfully Genya seems to know where not to pry. It makes his life infinitely easier.
"It's to Tanjirou's now, right?" Sanemi asks, breaking the silence that isn't uncomfortable, but still awkward enough to notice.
"Yeah," Genya says. Their friend group's biweekly movie night just happened to fall on the same day Sanemi and Genya planned to catch up, and Sanemi offered to buy them dinner this time around. Clearly, he's still reaping the benefits of the hefty paycheck from his last job.
On the short ride over, Genya tells him about the movie Tanjirou's picked out for them this time, and Sanemi nods along, not really listening. Seeing Giyuu knocked him off-balance, stirred up a plethora of conflicting emotions inside him, and he still hasn't quite recovered.
"You've got a ride home?" Sanemi asks once they've arrived.
"Mhm," Genya nods. "Zenitsu said his mom could drive me back."
"Great. Now scram," Sanemi says. Genya makes a face at him, then steps out of the car, taking great care not to drop the food.
Before closing the door, he ducks down to ask, "You sure you don't want to come in? Just for a minute? They ask about you sometimes."
"Can't," Sanemi says. "I've got a study group."
He does not have a study group. Briefly Sanemi feels guilty for telling such a blatant lie, but then he sees the pizza boxes stacked in Genya's arms, remembers he paid for that shit with the money he earned from what he's lying about, and feels a bit better.
Genya shrugs. "Okay. Next time?"
"Next time," Sanemi promises, waving him off. "Tell them I say hi."
"Will do," Genya says, grinning, and strolls up to the front door. There, he turns around to wave at Sanemi as he pulls out of the driveway. Then the door opens, Genya disappears into the house, and Sanemi starts the journey to his first shoot since his last one two weeks ago with Hashira. And Giyuu.
On the road, Sanemi glowers at nothing, hands tightening over the steering wheel. Fucking Giyuu. Ah, shit, not that kind of fucking—
Fuck everything, Sanemi amends. Everything—Hashira, Giyuu, this next shoot he's signed for, the world. Especially the world, with all its cosmic irony, for throwing him into the same room as Giyuu minutes before he has to film.
God, what a fucked up encounter. If you can even call it an encounter, what with the way Giyuu closed off and shriveled up the second Sanemi walked through the door, trying so desperately to avoid detection. It was outright humiliating, and if Sanemi's being honest, he's hurt. He doesn't think he was too off-putting during their scene, and definitely not rude enough to warrant such a negative reaction.
So, yes, Sanemi's hurt. But also strangely satisfied, knowing Giyuu was never as unaffected by Sanemi as he pretended to be. Because wouldn't it be embarrassing—if Giyuu remained entirely indifferent when Sanemi's been so caught up on him. Even if it isn't the response Sanemi might have wanted, it's still a response, and it still proves he's had some tangible impact on stone-cold pro Tomioka Giyuu.
And if Giyuu was that bothered by the turn their scene took, maybe it says more about him than Sanemi. About his pride, stiffness, and sense of superiority. Sanemi knows Mitsuri told him that Giyuu's a strict professional, distant and reserved, but this is borderline excessive. Ridiculous that he would make such a big deal out of—what? Sanemi overshadowing him? Upstaging him on his "turf"?
Something tells Sanemi that's not why Giyuu's acting weird, but his anger and confusion help him pile undue blame onto his former co-star.
It doesn't help that Giyuu's been circling through Sanemi's thoughts more often than not in the days since their shoot. It's not that Sanemi wants to think about him. He just pops up every now and then—when he's walking across campus, taking notes through a lecture, working out at the gym.
Unprompted, Sanemi will remember the pitch of his moans, real and sweet, the way his skin molded against the pads of Sanemi's fingers. Once he catches himself, he'll shake it off, annoyed, only for it to return the very next day.
Whatever. It's not like he'll ever have to work with Giyuu again. And in the off-chance that they do run into each other, he doesn't have to worry at all—Giyuu will do everything in his power to make sure they don't interact.
But now's not the time to be thinking about Giyuu and his shitty attitude and the pretty line of his neck. Now, Sanemi's supposed to be preparing for this next scene. Life goes on, pulling him forward like a tide, insistent and repetitive. Sanemi just has to follow along.
Like many of his previous shoots, this one is at a small motel near the corner of town. In the lobby, Sanemi finds the director waiting to lead him to the room they've rented out for the day. There are only five people involved, including Sanemi, so introductions are quick.
He gets himself ready in the small adjoining bathroom, splashing cold water over his face, drying it off, straightening out his hair in the mirror. Staring at his sorry reflection through the muggy glass, Sanemi realizes just how much Hashira spoiled him. At least he hasn't spent enough time with them to feel too let down.
When Sanemi re-enters the bedroom, the director tells him they're going to be using a POV shot. In plain terms, it means Sanemi isn't the focus today. He just has to fuck, stay relatively silent, and deliver the money shot. Which, this time, will be on his co-star's face.
She's attractive enough, with chestnut brown hair and a nice smile, and arrived well before Sanemi to clean up, stretch, and prep. He's really only here for, well. His dick.
They get started right away. There's no pressure, no clumsiness, and Sanemi falls easily into the rhythm of it, entering that blank headspace he reserves for this job.
As she sucks him off, Sanemi places a hand gingerly on the top of her head and averts his eyes to a piece of drab artwork hanging by the TV. Suddenly, she takes him down her throat in a startlingly familiar motion, and when Sanemi looks down all he can see is Giyuu. Taken aback, his hips rock up off the mattress, cock hardening further. He bites down on a curse, lungs squeezing awfully in his chest.
They keep going, and going, until Sanemi's fucking her on her hands and knees. Her waist is too thin and her moans too high, but under this lighting her hair appears darker than it actually is and her skin is pale enough for Sanemi to trick himself. Without having to worry about his face on camera, Sanemi's free to close his eyes and let his imagination roam.
So he does just that, even if it may not be the smartest move. Though Sanemi's never cared much for things like rationality. He's always moved on impulse, driven by pure instinct, even if it means he has to pick up the pieces later on.
So he does it—thinks of Giyuu, unrestrained. It's both a blessing and a curse, turning half an hour of mundane, impersonal sex into a live fantasy.
He thinks of Giyuu. Thinks of him begging, pleading, "I'm close," all teary blue eyes and vulnerable breath. Slipping, losing control, hips turned up like an offering. The tight clutch of his body, hot as a furnace, soft with endless give. Unreal. Trembling, throbbing, coming on Sanemi's dick and nothing else.
Thinks of him—the rare sound of his voice, gentle and husky; the insecure angle of his crossed arms, layered, cold—him. Quiet and shy, yet brazen, shockingly blunt. Everything about him attracts Sanemi so effortlessly it's almost criminal. With the bat of an eye he could bring Sanemi down to his knees.
Which is why he's here now, stuck on Giyuu even though he used to be able to get through an easy scene like this without relying on a fantasy, even though Giyuu shunned him just this afternoon. He hates that Giyuu has this kind of influence over him. Power. If only—
"Let's wrap it up," the director says. Moving on autopilot, Sanemi backs off the bed and waits for his co-star to kneel in front of him.
He takes himself in hand, eyes falling shut again, and when he comes it's with the memory of Giyuu clotting his head and the taste of Giyuu's name on his tongue.
Sanemi doesn't want to know what it means.
Sanemi's working on a paper when he gets the call. It's from an unknown caller ID, but Sanemi answers anyway, tucking the phone between his head and shoulder as he types out his last thought.
"Hello?"
Uzui's unmistakable voice blows through the speaker. "Shinazugawa, hello! This is Uzui."
"Oh, hey," Sanemi says, taking a hand off his keyboard to hold the phone properly against the side of his face. "What's up?"
"What's up? Have you seen your film with Giyuu yet? It went live three days ago."
"Huh? Oh." That. Sanemi's been so caught up in schoolwork lately that he's hardly thought about their film. He does remember receiving an email about it, but he never had the chance to check it out, and eventually it slipped from his mind altogether. But if Uzui himself is calling him... "Sorry, I didn't know."
"No worries, I'll just tell you," Uzui says, then pauses for dramatic effect, it seems. "You've been number one on our trending vids since the first hour after posting. Looks like it's set for getting the most hits this month, too."
Sanemi blinks. "No way."
"Believe it," Uzui says, sounding so pleased Sanemi can almost feel it through the phone.
As Uzui goes on about the final product and some of the feedback they've already received, Sanemi returns to his computer to pull the Hashira website up on his screen, heart racing.
Sure enough, on the home page and first under the top category of TRENDING, is their film.
"Shit," Sanemi breathes to himself, quiet enough that Uzui doesn't pick it up. He clicks on it and starts to scroll down when he catches a glimpse of the stats.
387,772 views, over thirty thousand likes, and close to a thousand comments.
What the fuck.
Speechless, Sanemi continues scrolling until he hits the comment section. It's riddled with profanities, suggestive emoticons, and crude comments about both him and Giyuu.
— god i wish that were me
— Who?
— BOTH. both of them
— FUCK WAS THIS SCRIPTED?? UZUI TENGEN GENIUS
— r they dating. they have to be dating
— ^^^^
— ? I don't think so?
— WTF
— shina please call me a slut too... please sir i am on my knees beggi
— Oh bitch got fuckin destroyed
— Is this a leaked sex tape or
— FR... WHAT GOES ON
— omfg this vid is so horny. I love it
"Listen, man," Uzui says, drawing Sanemi's attention from the comments. "I didn't call just to congratulate you. I want you and Giyuu back next month for another shoot."
Sanemi hesitates.
"Just came up with a new idea," Uzui continues. "Completely spontaneous—I had a crazy dream the other night and I need to get it filmed. It's just a feeling—you ever get those? Yeah. Well, if it makes a difference, I talked to Giyuu beforehand and he's already on board. You up for it?"
Sanemi is both surprised and unsurprised. Given his spooked behavior at the end of their first scene, not the mention the way he ran off afterward and tried to make himself disappear at that pizzeria a few days ago, Sanemi was half-expecting Giyuu to avoid all future contact with him.
Then again, opting out would mean admitting that Sanemi had a noticeable effect on him. Enough to disrupt his work. And, to use Giyuu's favorite saying, work is work. The same thing everyday. Why wouldn't Giyuu accept? It's not like there's anything going on between them—will ever go on between them.
"If you need time to think about it—"
"I'll do it," Sanemi decides.
"Perfect! We'll get the details to you right away."
Curiosity piqued, Sanemi asks, "So what was the dream about?"
"Oh, I'm glad you asked!" Uzui booms, prompting Sanemi to draw his phone away from his ear with a grimace. "We lived in a world of man-eating demons. Our job was to slay those demons, so we were aptly named Demon Slayers. We fought using techniques called Breath Styles—mine was Sound, by the way, and yours was Wind—and carried special blades. But the best part about it was—listen to this—I had three flamboyant wives. Three! Can you believe that, Shinazugawa?" He laughs, a contagious guffaw.
"That's—really something," Sanemi says, amused.
It's a fascinating concept, if not a little weird. Sanemi supposes only a guy like Uzui Tengen would actually pursue it seriously.
What the hell. If anything, Sanemi should be able to have some fun.
"Okay, okay. It was nice talking, man—and again, thanks for a job well done. I'll see you soon, alright? Take care."
"Yeah, you too," Sanemi returns, putting his phone down once Uzui hangs up.
Their film is still playing on his computer. Sanemi watches it for all of ten seconds before he has to click away, face aflame. There's something incredibly unnerving about sitting through one of his own videos, even if it is kind of hot. Maybe it has to do with knowing how many other people (over three hundred thousand in only seventy-two hours, holy fucking shit) have seen it too.
Sanemi dawdles on the site for a while longer, cursor hovering over the link to Giyuu's profile. It's right there, the little icon of his pretty face goading him on. Then he snorts at his own patheticness, throws in the towel, and clicks.
Now that he knows all the unsexy things going on behind the scenes, Sanemi doesn't watch porn often anymore. It doesn't get him off like it used to. But as he scrolls through the list of Giyuu's videos, past every small thumbnail and vulgar title, he realizes that may not be true anymore.
He chooses the second most recent video, which happens to be the one he walked in on during the last few seconds of filming. From the exposition, Sanemi can grasp the premise of the film—Giyuu is a barely legal babysitter, his co-star (Rengoku, Sanemi gathers from a peek at the sidebar) is the hot single dad he works for, and they bang it out in the kitchen when he comes home late one night. The set is gorgeous, the lighting perfect, professional in every way. Sanemi almost forgets he isn't watching a normal movie, at least until Rengoku shoves Giyuu up against one of the glossy counters and nearly rips his clothes from his body. He takes him over that same counter, first with Giyuu propped on the edge, knees spread wide, then bent over it, his slim fingers sliding across smooth marble. He plays his part beautifully, without a single hitch, arching back and moaning at all the right times. He whines, says he can't take it, that it's oh, it's too big, too much, then pushes eagerly into the next thrust. On camera, the money shot looks even more enticing than it had in person.
By the end of it, Sanemi's hard and straining against the front of his pants. He can barely resist the temptation to touch himself.
Theoretically, it should have ended there. He should have closed the tab and went back to his paper, which is due very, very soon.
Instead, Sanemi finds another video in the recommended section. This is an older one, where Giyuu is sitting alone on a leather couch and talking to someone out of frame. Sanemi doesn't even hear what they're saying; all he knows is Giyuu slipping his hands over his own body, tracing a path down to his crotch. He pets himself through his clothes, sighing breathily with it, before peeling them off. Then he takes his cock in hand, leaning back and parting his thighs to give the camera a glimpse of his hole, tiny and pink between his legs. Jerks himself off, slow and sinuous, eyes half-lidded, mouth open.
As the video goes on, Sanemi finds himself with the heel of a hand dug into his erection just to keep the edge off. Still, he refuses to take his dick out, even when Giyuu presses a finger, then two, then three, past the tight circle of his rim. Sanemi sits there, suffering, as Giyuu fingers himself to orgasm, hips rolling up to fuck into his fist, then down onto his hand, gasping and twitching his way through it.
The next one is where Sanemi's resolve breaks. It's one of Giyuu's most popular videos, and within the first minute Sanemi can see why.
It doesn't have the high production quality of his film with Rengoku, maybe to match the atmosphere as a whole: quick and dirty. There's absolutely no buildup—in the opening frame, Giyuu's already knelt on a bed, sandwiched between two anonymous men who grope at every inch of his skin they can reach. Not even a quarter of the way through, he's taking cock from both ends, one buried deep in his ass, the other in his throat. He rocks forward with every hard thrust, whimpering around a mouthful of cock.
And Sanemi's only a man. There's a limit to how much he can take, and this is it. For how resolutely Sanemi held back during the first two videos, right now he's shamefully fast in undoing his pants and pulling his cock out. Without any delay, he starts to stroke himself off, using only the wetness leaking from the tip as lubrication. He prefers a rougher drag, anyway.
About halfway through, Giyuu pulls his mouth away and lifts his head to look down at where he's getting fucked, brows knitted stupidly. He spews some scripted bullshit about needing more and needing it harder, voice scratched hoarse, then drops his head down to the mattress again. The guy kneeling above him eases his cock back between those soft, red lips, sinking in bit by bit. Sanemi tightens his grip around himself, groaning.
On an especially rough thrust, Giyuu pitches forward, choking, eyes rolling back in his head, and Sanemi's orgasm hits him like a punch to the stomach. It wracks through his body, down to the thinning of his nerves, blurring the wall and the screen in front of him together. Sanemi tries not to make any noise, but it escapes him anyway—tense and drawn-out, desperate, shocked.
As the video fades to black, leaving him breathing hard in the silence of his room, come drying over his knuckles, Sanemi realizes one thing:
That he is one hundred percent, unequivocally, irrevocably, fucked
Work count- 6463