#kakoubutt

They’re walking home together again (Judal reminds himself to walk the long way home next time) and it’s quiet. Sin, for once, isn’t asking any annoying questions or prying into his home life (yes, Kouen can be…rough, but it’s not abuse) and for once, for once, he isn’t asking Judal to move in with him.

…He doesn’t know how he feels about that.

“We’ve been together for almost two years, Judal.”

“So?”

Ah, here it comes. Ugh. “You should move-“

“I don’t want to!”

“And why the hell not? I won’t do what they do to you, you know that!”

“And I don’t care! Maybe I like it!”

"God, I hope you get hit by a bus.”

“Well, I hope you get stabbed to death in a dark alley way.” Judal retaliates easily.

Sin is quiet for a moment, and then they stop because this is Sin’s house, and before Sin opens the gate, he turns to his boyfriend(?) and grins, “Wanna go make out again?”

“Well, duh.”

And they’re laughing as Sin pulls them into his house, and before the door is even closed and locked, they’re pressing together and kissing and it’s times like these when they can pretend everything is normal, and this is probably Judal’s favorite part of their…relationship. (If it can even be called that)

But he doesn’t care about any of that, not when he has Judal pressed against him (as if maybe, just maybe, they’re in love and happy and), not when they’re kissing and smiling and nothing can touch him here, nothing.

Judal turns his head to the side, letting Sin’s lips find their way down to his neck, and cold hands (Judal’s hands always have been cold) move to run through his hair. As Sin mouths at Judal’s neck, Judal murmurs, “Won’t make it upstairs at this rate.” his hands tighten spasmodically as Sin bites suddenly and he presses closer, a startled gasp passing through his lips just then.

“It’s fine, we’ve got all night. It’s Friday anyway. There’s the couch, the table-”

“Sex on a table, how wonderful,” Judal says dryly, “I’d not eat there for a week.”

“It isn’t your house, brat.”

Another chaste kiss and then Judal jumps up to wrap his legs around Sin’s waist and squeezes, and it makes Sin’s vision go white for a moment; Judal’s laughter in his ear brings him back and he snorts against already swollen lips, “Get down, gotta get your shirt.”

“Impatient,” Judal grins against the curve of Sin’s neck before he slides down and shrugs his shirt over his head, “what happened to all your girls?”

“They bore me, you know that.” Sin follows Judal up the stairs and to his room and before Judal can make a smooth retort, Sin shoves him down (Judal insists later that he hasn’t yelped, but he had) and tells Judal to hurry up and get naked while he gets food (Judal always is hungry after sex, and it’s better to get food now than to wait when Judal is sated and wants to cuddle) As Sin leaves the room, he can feel, rather than see, Judal’s pout.

And when he finally gets back, he’s greeted with the view of Judal stretched out and waiting for him, skin pale against dark sheets, eyes lidded and dark as they follow his every move, and what makes him pause is how one hand is loosely wrapped around the head of his cock and is stroking lazily. “Finally,” Judal drawls, “you took forever, thought you died or something.” He doesn’t sound concerned at all, and Sin just snorts.

Judal beckons then, lips flirting with a grin, “C’mere, I want you in me.”

“And you say I’m the impatient one?” But Sin settles in the space between Judal’s legs anyway, and Judal laughs, arms twining around Sin’s neck.

“I’m allowed to be.” His hands slide down the length of Sin’s back and pause at his waist, then travel back up, “come on, put it in.”

"Soon,” Sin promises, “just wait.” He lets Judal flip them over and props himself on his elbows as he watches Judal mouth his way down Sin’s chest, down to his hips, where he noses eagerly at the bulge in Sin’s pants, the beginnings of what sounds like a purr leaving his lips.

There comes the sound of his buckle being undone, and then Judal is pulling Sin’s cock out of its confinement and without missing a beat, he leans down and sucks and hollows his cheeks and swallows, a pleased hum leaving his throat at Sin’s groan.

(Judal always had been eager when it came to Sin’s cock, but today…) Sin watches as eager hips rut into the sheets with the tempo of his sucking, and he yanks Judal up by the hair after a long moment, then turns him over and presses a kiss to Judal’s shoulder, moving down to mouth at the curve of his back before continuing down, down, and Judal’s hips thrust eagerly into the sheets with each movement, and he hears an exasperated,

“Hurry up, or ‘m gonna cum before you even touch me.”

Sin doesn’t give him a response, just continues down to bite at his hips. “Shut up. You want me to-?” he breaks off to press his finger to the rim of Judal’s hole and circles it gently. When Judal shakes his head, Sin can’t help a sigh of relief.

“Pervy old man, want to break me?”

“You said it, not me.” Sin ruts against the curve of Judal’s ass and hisses in a breath as Judal’s hips roll into the motion.

“I think I’d like that,” Judal can’t help a whine as the tip of Sin’s cock catches, and he slumps down, trembling, “fuck. Keep doing that-!”

"I thought you wanted it in,” but he complies, leaning down to bite at the curve of Judal’s neck, “and who’s impatient now?”

Judal’s hips roll into Sin’s, “Fine, then put it in!”

“Beg for it.”

“Wh-”

“You heard me, beg.” (So maybe he’s feeling a bit sadistic today)

“Sin…” is the barest murmur, and Sin snorts.

“Louder.”

“Please,” it’s louder now, and more trembling, and Sin can tell how much Judal wants (needs) this, so he grasps slim hips in his hands and shoves forward, and Judal practically shrieks, spine stretching taut as his fingers scrabble for purchase in the sheets, and before he has time to get used to the feeling, Sin rolls his hips again, and again, and it’s the pace Judal likes the most (fast, brutal, almost animalistic - enough to leave him sore and bruised)

It doesn’t take long for Sin to cum - not with the way Judal had been teasing- but it’s best this way. He slows and pulls out, then slowly pushes back in, slow enough to see his cum drip out and

“Gross, you’re making it squelch.” Judal’s voice sounds drowsy already, and Sin pauses.

“I like it when it squelches. You go all ‘squeeze squeeze’ around me.”

“Because I don’t want it to squelch!”

Sin ignores the complaint and continues his slow thrusts, pulling out to watch it drip some more, before pushing back in. After a while of this, Judal rolls away, frowning, “Enough, now I wanna shower. And hungry.”

(Sin’s already got wipes and snacks at the ready, and he rolls over to the nightstand to get it, before turning back to Judal, who is pouting, arms outstretched. “Hold me, and feed me, and wipe me!”

“What are you, a baby?” But he pulls Judal over to rest him in his arms, running a cloth across all the areas Judal tells him to (he hates sleeping in his own sweat) before feeding him the peaches he grabbed from the fridge.

“Like being babied by you, idiot.” Sin knows Judal would never say anything like that had he been fully conscious, but it still makes him happy, “I like you.”

“Tell me that in the morning, brat.”

“Idiot.”

For as long as he lived, Sinbad knew Death by name. He no longer feared that irreversible thing - no, he looked forward to it. Those close encounters with death were when he felt the most alive, and hell if he’d let anyone take that away from him.

For as long as he lived, Sinbad had been told he was “different”. Different in the way he could charm his way out of anything, from the way he knew just what to say, what to do, to resolve a problem or to get his way. “Ever the diplomat, you are”, he’d been to countless times. Some called it luck, what he had, others called it charm, but he preferred to think of it as “manipulating fate”. It sounded stupid, but that was what he believed.

In his…occupation, those things were necessary. To charm his way out of trouble and to be completely fearless (but not reckless) and of course, to have luck, meant the difference between life and death.

Hitmen weren’t rare where he was - not at all. Now, they preferred to work in groups, (like the infamous Kou “Empire”: a family of hitmen, each so dangerous that even the police didn’t dare to even try to take out) but when Sin started out, it was every man for himself. He had no qualms with who he killed, so long as he got paid - it was kill or be killed, and letting emotions get in the way of that meant the latter. That was something that had been pounded into his memory since he was a child. (He still remembered the blood on his hands, warm and sticky and so red, but he tried to forget that)

He’d lost track of how many he’d killed: men, women, children - it didn’t matter. (He remembered the little girl, her eyes stretched wide in terror as she looked down at the knife sticking out from her chest, he remembered children’s cries as their mother fell lifeless to the floor, and so much red)

But the business was slowing, now that the Kou had become so powerful, so when he got the notice that he would be paid ten million for one of Kou’s very own, he jumped at the chance. It would mean fame and fortune beyond belief: it’d show everyone that the iron walls of Kou could be breached, that one of their own could be killed as easily as they killed.

But it would be harder than any of his other assignments: he wouldn’t be able to just walk in and seduce and kill - no, the Kou would be much smarter than that. It would take time, and it would no doubt be the hardest assignment of his life.

Sin wanted it.

He first saw Judal the next afternoon while spying on the Kou place. It was a mere boy he’d been told to kill, a mere boy for ten million. It made him wary. Especially when the boy just laid down in the shade of a peach tree in full view and appeared to be taking a nap. It’d be too easy to just flick out a knife and kill him, Sin realized, there were no guards, no one around, nothing.

So when he reached out to grasp at his knife and Judal’s eyes shot open and locked on to where he was, Sin faltered. A slow smirk spread over Judal’s face (He knew the kid couldn’t see his face, but the precision of his gaze had startled him) and Sin realized that yeah, this was going to be a lot harder than he thought.

He made his second attempt later that week. Judal was walking with one of the Kou’s youngest, a boy with dark hair and blue, blue eyes and a burn across the left side of his face, and Sin was just going to stick a knife in the small of his back while pushing past (the crowded streets would cover who’d done it), but just when he was reaching into his pockets, Judal said, “Hey Ryuu, I feel like someone’s following us.”

Sin had faltered again, and before the two boys could turn towards him, he’d disappeared onto the crowd and was gone.

His third chance came by as a complete accident. It’d been that same day, and he was at a bar in search of someone to take home, when he saw him. Judal was leaning into the counter top, back arched in a subtle yet delicious curve, and he looked relaxed, and yet Sin could still see his muscles taut and ready for any kind of unexpected action. He held himself like someone that knew what it was like to be a mark, and was used to it. He held himself like he enjoyed it.

So when Sin got up and strode over to him, he wasn’t surprised when Judal spun around on his stool to face him, pink, pink lips curved into a grin. “Was hoping it’d be you,” his voice was lower than it had been to the other boy, and Judal leaned forward, that mocking grin never fading, “been staring at you all night.”

“Really now,” Sin tried to ignore the way Judal looked at him, looked as if he wanted to bend over right there and -

“Yeah, you’re…” Judal stood, close enough so that their chests almost touched, and Judal was almost a head shorter than him, Sin realized. “I want you,” Judal said instead.

And god, if that didn’t make him want the boy…

“Don’t play this game unless you intend on playing to the end.”

That mocking grin flirted across his face and then there were arms around his neck and, “And what if I change my mind?”

“You won’t. I’ll make sure of that.” Sin gripped a fistful of Judal’s hair in his hand and pulled gently, just enough to get those damnable lips away from him for a moment.

“Ah-” Judal’s eyes fluttered to half-mast and he pressed even closer, “just take me somewhere, Sinbad.”

(Sin hadn’t told the boy his name, but he ignored the suspicion in his heart to kiss his lips senseless)

Sin wasn’t one to smoke, but he kept a pack on the nightstand for times like these, for times after a good fuck. So when he was sure Judal was sleeping, he slipped from under the covers and went out on the balcony to smoke. A sleepy yawn after a moment and then Judal was there next to him, shivering.

“It’s cold, come back to bed.”

“You’re affectionate,” Sin’s insides twisted as he dropped a kiss to Judal’s forehead (this was the one he was supposed to kill, dammit)

“I get like this after sex,” Judal’s eyes slipped shut, “and hungry.” Dark eyes opened and gazed up at him in earnest, “food!”

“Soon,” Sin said slowly (maybe he could drop a bit of poison in…)

“Now!”

“Fine, fine.”

So he ended up not poisoning Judal.

Judal was gone when he woke, and there was a note scrawled on the pillow next to him, a note and a number. He crumpled it up without looking at it.

He told Jafar about it later that day - about all of it. As expected, Jafar didn’t have any sympathy towards him, just signed and said quietly, “It’ll only make your job harder.”

Sin knew that, knew how stupid it was to get involved with a target - knew how stupid it was to be seduced by a target, but he couldn’t help it.

“I can’t do it.”

It was with a heavy heart that Sin found the number and called it, and he felt sick when he opened the door and accepted Judal’s bright greeting and quick kiss. Judal was chirping about how his day had gone and was rooting through the fridge in search of a drink by the time Sin locked the door (and steeled his heart) and suggested that they go out to eat. (Act natural or he’ll figure it out)

It was chilly, but it was the short of cold that shocked his system in a good way, woke him up. Judal was next to him, and as they walked, he slipped his hand into Judal’s and tried to ignore the way Judal beamed up at him (he smiled back, of course)

And then stopped across from the ice cream place Judal wanted to go to (he really was a brat - hard to believe he was a supposed master killer) when he saw the glint of cold metal on the roof and reached out to grasp at Judal’s arm to pull him into a fierce embrace.

“I like you,” he murmured into Judal’s shoulder, “a lot. It sounds stupid-”

“Can’t we do this inside?” Sin pulled away to see a flush spreading across pale cheeks, “people are staring.”

“No! No, just wait. I-” at a loss of what to do (hurry up Jafar, dammit!), Sin pulled Judal close for a kiss and heard, rather than saw, Jafar take aim and-

He’d moved by instinct, shoved Judal out the way and god damn, it hurt. He knew he was dying (Jafar’s accuracy was deadly) and he wasn’t scared. He’d had his game with death, and he’d lost. Judal’s face was in his vision then, eyes wide with surprise.

“So you were that guy tailing me,” Judal said then, “I was hoping it wasn’t you. I liked you.”

“I meant what-” shit “I said.”

“How much was my head worth?”

“Three million. But-”

Judal turned away then, and that was what broke him.

“I took a bullet for you, I’m dying for you, and you just-!” He spat out a mouthful of blood, “I loved you.”

“I - don’t do this.”

“I’m dying, idiot.” Sin tried for a weak smile, “come here and kiss me before I die.”

“Why should I?”

“I’m dying. At least tell me you liked me too.”

“I-”

(He could feel death coming over him, but he wanted to hear Judal say it, wanted to press one last kiss to his lips, wanted to see him smile, he-)

Masrur had always hated parties.

In fact, he’d only gone to this one because Ja’far had pleaded with him to watch after Sin (who was notorious for getting crazy drunk at parties) and he was way too sick to even get out of his dorm room.

Plus, now Ja’far owed him.

Though he was reminded of why he hated parties as soon as he followed Sin through the doors, and was immediately immersed in the loud pulse of the music. Whose party it was even for, he didn’t know, didn’t care, just had to babysit Sin until the idiot passed out and

where the hell had Sin gone?

Ah, there, surrounded by scantily clad girls, drink in hand - the idiot.

Masrur scoffed and took up a position in the corner, where he was able to observe Sin with minimal jostle of the dancers (was this called dancing? Hm.) around him.

And then there was someone shaking his arm, and he looked over (and down). The boy (his hand was still on his arm) grinned (he looked tipsy) and waved, “Hi!” he said, unnecessarily loudly, “thanks for earlier!” when he saw Masrur looked confused, he stood on his toes and practically shouted in his ear, “the notes! I sit next to you, remember? I’m Sharrkan!”

Masrur just nodded and bit back a groan; he could feel the beginnings of a headache coming on. “You’re the idiot that mixed their coffee and monster, right?”

“I’m not an idiot! But it tasted good!” An obnoxiously loud laugh and Sharrkan gestured towards the throng of dancers, drink spilling from his cup as he did so.

“Why aren’t you dancing?”

Masrur just stared blankly at him, and Sharrkan laughed. “You’re funny!”

Masrur just stared.

“Actually,” Sharrkan’s voice had dropped to a low murmur (and Masrur realised he had to strain to hear - an unwelcome change), “you’re actually kinda hot. Kinda really hot.”

“I fail to see your point…”

And now there was a finger tracing down his arm, “I’m really drunk, Mas - I can call you Mas, right? Good,” (Masrur had shook his head, but Sharrkan seemed not to notice), “and when I’m this drunk I get crazy horny. So wanna fuck?”

“…No.”

Yeah, so he didn’t really know how they ended up in Sharrkan’s car, and he sure as hell didn’t know why he didn’t mind. Maybe it was because of the lithe body draped over his, and maybe it was the lips kissing up his neck, and maybe he was just drunk.

Ah, Ja’far was going to kill him later. He did vaguely remember shoving his car keys into Yamu’s hand and telling her to take Sin home (he more remembered Sharrkan’s hand in his, and Yamu’s eyes on that. Yes, Ja’far was going to kill him.)

“What’s wrong?” Masrur had barely noticed Sharrkan’s movement still, but here he was, and here they were.

“Just…thinking.”

“Don’t think,” those green eyes were bright in earnest, “just do, and feel, and,” a hand on his chest now, then Sharrkan had slid over to his own seat, “and hurry up and drive before I get too impatient.”

That was definitely something he could do.

So maybe getting laid hadn’t been in the plan, but it wasn’t the worst thing in the world. No - especially with someone like Sharrkan (Masrur had soon discovered that golden tan was indeed everywhere) and god, no one should be allowed to be this damn attractive. And it wasn’t like he was trying to be. (Okay, maybe a little)

“You’re still thinking.” Sharrkan hummed against Masrur’s shoulder, “stop thinking.”

He couldn’t help the snort that passed his lips; brought his hand to twine in (surprisingly soft) white hair to pull Sharrkan up for another kiss. Upon pulling away, Masrur decided he liked Sharrkan like this best, spread out and wanting and needing and still taking and not just lying in wait.

“Hurry up!” The pout would’ve been stupid on anyone else, but on Sharrkan, it was almost cute. An aggravated wriggle when Masrur didn’t immediately comply, and the moment Masrur’s shirt was over his head, Sharrkan was snug in his lap, lips and fingers searching and teasing and wandering lazily and impatiently at the same time and it was maddening

“Hey, you’re not gonna be too gentle, right?” Already fiddling with the buckle of his belt, how impatient, “because that’s boring.”

“I-” but what to say? “I can be…rough.” The words came out slowly, hesitantly.

“Good. Be as rough as you can with me, okay? And bite a lot. Everyone I’m with always doesn’t, cuz they think my skin is too pretty to mark up. That’s no fun though.”

“I won’t be as rough as I can be. But I will be rough enough for you.”

“Why not all the way?”

“I could kill you.”

Sharrkan just blinked, then swallowed hard and muttered, “Why did that sound so hot?”

“Pfft, kinky bastard.”

“Shut up! Get in my pants before I get bored already!”

The old words were threatening to surface - too soon. Masrur stifled them with a chaste kiss to slightly swollen lips and then deposited Sharrkan onto the covers of his bed, and before he could ‘get in his pants’, (as Sharrkan so elegantly put it) Sharrkan was tugging off skin-tight jeans to touch himself, and it was definitely one of the most erotic things Masrur had ever seen. A breathy whine escaped as Masrur watched (hell, he probably could’ve gotten off just fine with only this image)

“Oi, do something, idiot, this isn’t a free show.”

“I have to know how much you can take. I could hurt you, Sharrkan.”

“I know,” Sharrkan said simply, “I want you to. I can take as much as you can give. Unless you’re turning coward.”

“No,” Masrur swallowed, no-one as erotic as Sharrkan should be allowed to do this - to spread himself out in someone’s bed and touch himself so unashamedly, to moan and whimper and whine so freely, to shudder and tremble and bite his lip and screw his eyes shut and fist his fingers into the sheets, and, “but Sharrkan-“

“Fuck, I said I want it, you said you want it, just get between my legs and fuck me already!”

“Demanding,” Masrur trailed a finger down Sharrkan’s chest, pausing to circle around his navel (Sharrkan nearly shrieked at that), “we’ll have to fix that later.”

Sharrkan shuddered and wrapped his long, long legs around Masrur’s waist to pull him closer as he wrapped his arms around his neck, “Then get naked and fuck me already. Getting old here.”

….Not that Masrur needed the encouragement.

Pressing an open mouthed kiss to the skin of Sharrkan’s neck and then nosing his way down to mouth at his collarbone, trailing his fingertips up and down his sides, the flat of his stomach, and he could feel Sharrkan’s thighs alternating between squeezing tighter around his waist and relaxing open and

“Didn’t I tell you-” another spasmodic squeeze of Sharrkan’s fingers into the sheets, “hurry up!”

Masrur just reared back and stared down into defiant green eyes, “You’ll wait.” To prove his point, he traced an idle path from swollen lips to a kiss bruised neck to his heaving chest and down, down, stopping just shy of where he knew Sharrkan needed it most and hell, this was fun

“If you don’t hurry up-” Sharrkan’s voice broke as Masrur pressed his finger into his navel, “ah - don’t do that!”

"Why not?” Just to spite him, Masrur ducked his head down to mouth just below his navel and a muffled shriek came from above him as he moved slightly up and sucked

“Sensitive?”

“Fuck you.”

A snort. “I was under the impression that it would be the other way around.”

“Well yes, but-”

“Then get yourself ready, and do it well. I’m not holding back.”

“But-”

“Just a minute, you can wait that long, can’t you?”

An aggravated huff fell from Sharrkan’s lips before he rolled his eyes and nodded. And apparently ten seconds was “just a minute” for Masrur, because goddamn, Sharrkan was too much of a tease to do something like this to himself (not a free show, huh? May as well be)

A yelp and green, green eyes snapped open as Masrur yanked him closer and pressed a dizzying kiss to lips that were just forming into a pout and then threw him on his back, Sharrkan looked back to say something sarcastic, but he lost his breath as Masrur pulled his back flush against his chest.

“Should I keep going?” Masrur could barely say the words - wholly focused on rutting against the curve of Sharrkan’s ass and oh god he was going to lose it

“Yes, I - don’t stop,”

“Be more specific,” Masrur’s eyes fluttered shut as the head of his cock caught on the rim of Sharrkan’s hole and fuck

“Put it in!”

“Fine-” Masrur shoved all the way inside and Sharrkan sagged into the sheets, a desperate noise tearing from his throat and he hasn’t been stretched properly, go slow or god help you

Keeping that in mind, Masrur immediately slowed (with difficulty, but he managed it) and placed a hand on Sharrkan’s back (both to steady himself and to get Sharrkan’s attention), “Are you hurt?”

“Thought I fuckin’ told you I didn’t want you to be gentle; just move already.” An unsteady roll of Sharrkan’s hips and he hissed out a breath, “Christ, you’re big, has anyone ever told you that? Ah - don’t answer that, just - fuck!”

Sharrkan’s muscles had clenched unbelievably tight around him and Masrur felt himself lose it just then; he slammed his hips forward with bruising force and Sharrkan collapsed into the sheets again; Masrur yanked him up by the hair (up - let me hear you) and that only made the noises increase in volume and pitch.

"Is this rough enough for you?” Masrur yanked Sharrkan’s head to one side and then bit down hard on his neck, just because he could.

“Y-yes, fuck, harder, dammit!”

"Then beg for it.”

At the next harsh bite, a whine tore itself from Sharrkan’s lips and then, “bastard!” And then as his hips slowed to an agonizing pace, a defiant stare was thrown at him and just to spite, Masrur thrust hard and then went back to that slow pace and Sharrkan was practically begging now, “fine, just fuck me, please - I’ll be good if you do, just - please, daddy-“

He should’ve known not to trust them. What sort of idiot trusted Judal’s sly grin as he offered to make him tea, trusted Kouha’s (surprisingly gentle) massage, trusted even Mei offering to finish up with the piles of paperwork?

Damn them, Kouen fingered his now bare (so ridiculously bare) chin and shuddered at the feel of smooth skin, “Damn.”

He felt so…naked without it, so…so childish. And of course, they had to rub it in his face, prancing around him crowing victoriously. Judal even threw the remains of his dignity in his face (literally).

“I am not talking to you ever again.” Kouen whirled from the mirror to scowl (and damn, even that didn’t work as well anymore) at the offending bastards.

Kouha just shrugged and grinned, “His idea,” and Judal…Judal was doubled over, laughing, “You should’ve seen your face!” he managed, between fits of badly concealed laughter.

“Oh, fuck you.”

“En, it was a horrible goatee and you-” Ever the diplomat, Mei was. Bastard.

“It was my goatee!”

“It looked gross, I hated it,” Judal shrugged, “now I’m bored, let’s go fight someone or something.”

"I like that idea,” and then he and that brat Kouha were walking away as if they hadn’t just shaved him of his dignity

"And you sided with them?” Kouen whirled towards the ever silent Koumei, who just shrugged.

“They wouldn’t let me nap until I agreed.”

“You’re still doing that paperwork.”

A disgruntled noise, “It wasn’t even my idea!”

“And who’s plan was it then?”

“…Mine, but-”