Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Chishiya woke to the smell of cigarette smoke, gunpowder, and sex—which meant he'd fallen asleep in Niragi's bed again.

The room was dim, blackout curtains doing their job despite the tears in the fabric letting through thin streams of morning light. Dust motes drifted lazy through the golden bars, settling on scattered ammunition casings and empty beer bottles. Niragi's room looked like a munitions depot had fucked a bachelor pad and neither party had bothered with a condom. Organised chaos, the militant would call it. Disaster, by any objective measure. But Chishiya had stopped pretending he came here for the ambience weeks ago.

He lay still, cataloguing sensory input with the methodical precision of someone who'd learnt young that information was survival. The mattress beneath him was too soft, springs shot to hell from Niragi's aggressive sleeping habits—all thrashing limbs and unconscious violence even in rest. The sheets smelt like cheap cologne applied heavy-handed, sweat, the distinct metallic tang of gun oil, and underneath it all, Chishiya's own cleaner scent mixing in. Territorial marking via olfactory contamination. How primitive. How effective.

Behind him, Niragi's bulk radiated heat like a fucking furnace, one heavy arm slung possessive across Chishiya's waist, hand splayed wide over his stomach. Still asleep, breathing deep and even in a way he never managed awake. Chishiya could feel the rise and fall of that broad chest against his back, the occasional twitch of muscle as Niragi's body processed whatever violent dreams played behind his closed lids.

The titanium barbell of his Prince Albert piercing pressed firm against Chishiya's ass where Niragi's half-hard cock nestled between his cheeks—post-sex intimacy Niragi always sought, needing the connection, the reassurance of continued contact. Pathetic. Endearing. Exploitable.

Chishiya kept his breathing steady, feigning sleep while his mind clicked through the previous night's events with mechanical precision. They'd fucked twice—once against the door when Chishiya had barely gotten it closed behind him before Niragi was on him like a starving animal, all desperate hands and that goddamn tongue piercing catching on Chishiya's lips. Hard and fast, Niragi's usual method of greeting when Chishiya deigned to visit his territory instead of making the militant come crawling to the executive quarters. The second round had been slower, Chishiya orchestrating Niragi's desperation into something almost artistic: edging him three times before finally, finally allowing release.

The memory stirred heat low in Chishiya's belly. Niragi's broken pleading—please, fuck, please Boss I need it I need to come please let me—had been particularly gratifying. The way those dark eyes had gone glassy and wet, the proud violent man reduced to begging for permission to spill inside Chishiya's ass. Control achieved through the simplest biological manipulation: deny a creature what it craves most, then grant it only on your terms. Pavlovian conditioning with a side of prostate stimulation.

Chishiya's cock filled incrementally, responding to tactile memory and the warm weight of Niragi's arm anchoring him in place. Morning erections were physiological inevitability, testosterone peaks occurring during REM cycles, nothing more. The fact that it happened while pressed against Niragi's sleep-warm body was coincidence.

He told himself that lie with a straight face even inside his own skull.

The truth—that he'd grown to anticipate these mornings, that some small fucked-up part of him actually wanted to wake up inhaling secondhand smoke and surrounded by Niragi's aggressively masculine disaster of a living space—was something Chishiya filed away in the same mental drawer as all his other inconvenient realisations about their arrangement. The drawer labelled Don't Examine Too Closely Or You'll Have To Admit You're Capable Of Attachment, Which Is Terrifying.

Niragi shifted behind him, cock hardening further where it pressed insistent against Chishiya's ass, piercing dragging slightly as the angle changed. The arm around his waist tightened reflexively, pulling Chishiya back into the cage of Niragi's body. A sleeping anaconda constricting around captured prey, ensuring its meal couldn't escape even in unconsciousness.

"Mm." The sound was barely vocalised, Niragi's nose burying into Chishiya's hair, inhaling deep. Even asleep, the man was categorising, confirming: mine, here, safe, mine.

Chishiya allowed himself a small smirk Niragi couldn't see. Possessive even when unconscious. The militant's psychological need for ownership and validation ran so deep it manifested in his fucking REM state. Fascinating. Pathetic. Useful.

And if Chishiya's own hand drifted down to cover Niragi's where it splayed across his stomach, fingers slotting into the gaps between those larger knuckles—well. Body heat regulation. Practical. Nothing to do with the fact that Niragi's hands were the only ones Chishiya could tolerate touching him for extended periods. Medical fact: the human body craved tactile input. Satisfied curiosity: Niragi's hands provided that input without triggering Chishiya's usual skin-crawling discomfort at being touched.

Purely scientific.

Niragi's breathing changed, the deep even rhythm hitching slightly. Waking up. Chishiya felt the exact moment consciousness returned: the sudden tension in that muscular frame, the pause as Niragi's brain processed where, who, safe in rapid succession, followed by the full-body relaxation when he confirmed Chishiya hadn't left.

"Mmf. Boss." Niragi's voice was rough with sleep, the syllable more exhale than word. His cock fully hard now, definitely awake, pressing with more intention between Chishiya's cheeks. The hand on Chishiya's stomach flexed, fingertips pressing into the defined muscle there. Claiming. Checking. Still here, still mine, you stayed.

"Observant," Chishiya murmured, tone dry as dust. "Gold star for object permanence."

Niragi huffed against his hair, breath warm and cigarette-stale. "Fuck you."

"You did. Twice. Or have you already forgotten?" Chishiya kept his voice level, amused, while Niragi's hand started wandering south over his lower abdomen, fingertips tracing the sharp cut of his Adonis belt. Predictable. The man woke up hard and immediately needed to touch, to confirm ownership through tactile inventory of Chishiya's body.

"Remember fine." Niragi's hips rolled forward slightly, dragging his pierced cock along the cleft of Chishiya's ass in a slow deliberate grind. The metal barbell caught and pulled, adding texture to the slide of heated flesh against flesh. "Wanna make sure you remember too."

"How could I forget?" Chishiya's tone remained bored even as his own cock hardened further, trapped between his belly and the mattress, starting to leak precome against the sheets. "You fucked me with all the subtlety of a freight train. Very memorable. I'm sure my prostate is filing a formal complaint."

"Lying liar who lies." Niragi's teeth found the back of Chishiya's neck, biting down just hard enough to send sparks of pain-pleasure down his spine. The tongue piercing followed, cool metal soothing the sting, tracing the small indentations left behind. "Heard you. Felt you. You came so hard you nearly fucking blacked out."

Factually accurate, which was irritating. Chishiya had indeed experienced what the literature called a "prostate orgasm" intense enough to cause temporary visual whiteout and what felt like a minor cardiac event. Physiological response to sustained stimulation of the prostate gland combined with penile friction and psychological arousal factors. Nothing to do with Niragi specifically. Any partner with adequate anatomical knowledge could theoretically—

Niragi's hand wrapped around Chishiya's cock, cutting off that line of bullshit internal monologue with a firm stroke from root to tip, thumb swiping through the precome beading at his slit.

"Fuck." The word escaped before Chishiya could lock it down, hips jerking forward into that calloused grip. Niragi's hands were rough from rifle handling, scarred from fights, and knew exactly how Chishiya liked to be touched. Firm pressure, slight twist on the upstroke, attention to the sensitive spot just below the head. Muscle memory built through trial and error and Chishiya's careful conditioning—rewarding Niragi with praise when he got it right, withholding when he didn't. Behavioural modification via orgasm.

"Yeah, that's what I thought." Smug satisfaction coloured Niragi's sleep-rough voice. His hips established a rhythm, grinding his cock against Chishiya's ass while his hand worked Chishiya's shaft with practiced efficiency. The piercing added delicious friction, titanium warming from body heat, dragging slick with precome through Chishiya's crease. "Want me to fuck you again? Put it back inside? You're still loose from last night, bet I could just slide right in."

Chishiya's breath caught, thighs clenching at the image. He was loose still, well-fucked, Niragi's come from the second round probably still coating his insides. The idea of being penetrated again with no prep, just Niragi's thick cock pushing into his used hole, stretching him open on that pierced shaft while that titanium barbell caught and dragged against his rim—

"Presumptuous," Chishiya managed, voice strained. His hips were moving now, fucking into Niragi's fist in short aborted thrusts he couldn't quite suppress. "What makes you think I want your cock this early? Maybe I prefer morning coffee."

"'Cause you're dripping all over my hand and grinding your ass on my dick like you're trying to jack me off with your cheeks." Niragi bit down on Chishiya's shoulder, harder this time, definitely leaving a mark. His hand tightened around Chishiya's cock, jerking him faster. "And 'cause you didn't leave last night. Could've gone back to your room soon as I fell asleep, Didn't."

That... was unfortunately accurate reasoning. Chishiya had indeed remained when he could have easily slipped out once Niragi passed into post-orgasmic unconsciousness. The logical explanation was that moving required effort and he'd been comfortable. The illogical explanation involved words like "wanted to stay" and "feels safer here" which Chishiya refused to dignify with acknowledgement.

"Convenience," Chishiya said instead, slightly breathless now as Niragi's talented hand worked his cock with exactly the right pressure and rhythm. "Your bed was closer than getting dressed and walking back to my room."

"Uh huh. Sure, Boss. Whatever helps you sleep at night." Niragi's tone was knowing, smug, and deeply irritating because he was right. The bastard had somehow learnt to read Chishiya's particular brand of bullshit, could see through the rationalisations to the uncomfortable truth beneath. "Gonna keep pretending you don't want this? Or you gonna let me make you come?"

The question was rhetorical—they both knew Chishiya was already too far gone, cock leaking steadily, hips working in rhythm with Niragi's strokes. But the militant needed the verbal confirmation, the explicit permission. Needed to hear Chishiya choose this, choose him, even in the smallest ways. Needed the reassurance that he wasn't forcing, wasn't taking, that Chishiya wanted him back.

Psychological damage from childhood sexual assault threats manifesting as pathological need for enthusiastic consent. Understandable. Exploitable. And in this moment, easy enough to give.

"Make me come," Chishiya said, low and commanding despite his breathless state. "And you can fuck me after."

Niragi groaned, hips jerking forward in an involuntary thrust that dragged his cock hard through Chishiya's crease, metal piercing catching briefly on his rim before sliding higher. "Fuck yeah. Okay. Yeah."

His hand moved faster, grip perfect, and Chishiya stopped fighting the pleasure building hot and liquid in his belly. Let himself press back into Niragi's chest, let those powerful hips grind against him, let clever fingers work his cock exactly how he needed. This was strategic—allowing Niragi those moments of perceived control actually reinforced Chishiya's dominance. By granting permission, he maintained the power. Basic psychology.

(The fact that it felt good, that some animal part of his brain purred with satisfaction at being held and touched and wanted so desperately—irrelevant. Side effects. Unimportant.)

"Gonna come on my hand?" Niragi's voice had gone rough and low, lips moving against Chishiya's neck between bites and licks. His tongue piercing traced the tendon there, slick warm metal following the line of Chishiya's pulse. "Gonna make a mess? Get it all over yourself, all over my fingers? Want you to. Wanna feel you lose it."

"Shut up and—fuck—"  Chishiya's spine arched as Niragi's thumb pressed hard against his frenulum, exactly the right spot, exactly the right pressure. His hand flew back to grip Niragi's hip, nails digging in through sleep-warm skin, needing the anchor as pleasure spiked sharp through his nervous system.

"That's it, yeah, fucking take it." Niragi's other hand came up to Chishiya's chest, finding his nipple and pinching, rolling the small bud between rough fingertips. "Come for me, Boss. Wanna see it. Come on, give it to me."

The combination of stimulation—cock, nipple, the hot slide of Niragi's pierced shaft grinding against his ass, the teeth on his neck, the voice rough and desperate in his ear—pushed Chishiya over the edge before he could marshal his usual control. His orgasm punched through him sudden and intense, pleasure whiting out thought for several seconds as his cock pulsed in Niragi's grip, spilling come across those scarred knuckles and onto the sheets beneath them.

"Fuck, yeah, that's so fucking hot." Niragi kept stroking him through it, milking every pulse, drawing it out until Chishiya jerked and hissed from oversensitivity. Only then did his hand gentle, releasing Chishiya's spent cock to trail come-slick fingers up his chest, spreading the evidence of orgasm across pale skin. Marking. Claiming. "So fucking perfect, Boss. Love watching you lose it."

Chishiya's breathing slowly evened out, brain coming back online in stages. Post-orgasmic neurochemistry: oxytocin, prolactin, dopamine flooding his system, creating temporary satiation and false sense of bonding. Biological imperative encouraging pair-bonding through sexual activity. Nothing meaningful, just evolution's clumsy attempt at species propagation.

He told himself that while Niragi's hand drew patterns in come on his chest and he made no move to stop it.

"Sap," Chishiya muttered, turning his head just enough to meet Niragi's eyes over his shoulder. Dark and heated, pupils blown wide, expression open in that way it only got in private. Vulnerable. Desperate. Wanting.

Niragi's responding grin was sharp and genuine, tongue piercing glinting as he flicked it against his teeth. "Yeah, whatever. Roll over. Wanna fuck you proper."

Chapter Text

Niragi watched Chishiya turn over in his arms with the same attention he usually reserved for tracking targets through a rifle scope. Every micro-movement catalogued, every tiny expression filed away in the part of his brain labelled Important Shit About Chishiya That Keeps Him Here.

The executive's face was flushed, pale skin showing pink across his cheekbones and down his neck where Niragi had bitten him—small marks blooming dark that would be hidden by that stupid white hoodie within the hour. His chest was still marked too, come streaked across that pale skin from Niragi's fingers, the evidence of orgasm drying in cooling trails that Niragi absolutely did not find ridiculously hot. Never marked anywhere visible. Chishiya had rules about that, about keeping their thing private, and Niragi followed them because the alternative was not having this at all.

Small price to pay for permission to touch what his fucked-up brain had decided was the only worthwhile thing in this shithole Borderlands.

Chishiya settled onto his back with casual grace, one hand reaching down to swipe absently at the mess on his chest—smearing it more than cleaning it, like he couldn't be bothered with the effort of actually wiping himself down. His legs fell open without prompting, arms stretching overhead in a deliberate display of flexibility that made Niragi's still-hard cock jerk against his own belly. Showing off. Teasing. Fucking taunting him with that lean body and knowing expression, come-streaked and freshly fucked and still wanting more.

"Well?" Chishiya's tone was bored but his dark eyes were sharp, watching Niragi watch him. "I believe I authorised penetration. Unless you've changed your mind?"

"Fuck no." Niragi was already moving, reaching past Chishiya to fumble in the nightstand drawer for the lube they'd gone through half a bottle of last night. His hands were steady despite the want making his jaw clench, despite the way his whole body thrummed with need to get inside, claim, mine, make him feel it, make him stay.

The lube was room temperature, thick and slick as Niragi squeezed too much onto his fingers—always used too much, paranoid about hurting Chishiya despite the executive's repeated assurances that he wasn't made of glass and knew how to use the word stop. Couldn't help it. The idea of causing pain during sex, of Chishiya tensing up and going somewhere else in his head because Niragi hadn't been careful enough—

"Today would be preferable to next week," Chishiya drawled, one elegant hand drifting down his own body to wrap around his softening cock. Giving himself something to do, keeping the blood flow going, preparing for round... whatever the fuck number they were on.

"Impatient." But Niragi was already sliding his slicked fingers down, finding Chishiya's hole—still pink and puffy from being thoroughly fucked hours earlier, still slightly gaped, still fucking perfect. He pressed one finger inside, felt Chishiya's body accept the intrusion with minimal resistance. Loose and slick, some of Niragi's come from last night leaking out around his finger. The visual punched him directly in his breeding kink, made his cock leak precome across his belly.

Chishiya's expression flickered—just for a second—into something almost soft before settling back into calculated boredom. "It's called efficiency. You're intimately familiar with the territory. A refresher course seems unnecessary."

"Yeah, well, I like the refresher course." Niragi added a second finger, scissoring slightly, watching Chishiya's face for any sign of discomfort. Nothing but that steady dark gaze and slightly parted lips. "Like feeling you. Like knowing I'm the only one who gets to."

"Possessive." But Chishiya's hips shifted down onto Niragi's fingers, taking them deeper, internal muscles clenching in a rhythm that had Niragi's mouth going dry.

"Fuck yeah I am." Third finger, and Chishiya's breath caught just slightly, eyes narrowing. Niragi crooked his fingers, searching, finding—there—the swollen bump of Chishiya's prostate. The executive's spine arched minutely, cock hardening again in his own grip. "Mine. My Boss. My—fuck—mine."

The possessive language was probably creepy as shit, would send any normal person running. But Chishiya just smirked, that infuriating knowing expression that meant he saw right through Niragi to every desperate insecure thought underneath.

"Your Boss," Chishiya agreed, tone mocking but something in his eyes that wasn't. "Who is currently waiting for you to stop fingering him and start fucking him. I've given you explicit verbal consent. Enthusiastic, even. Are you going to continue therapeutic self-reassurance, or are you going to put that pierced cock to use?"

Niragi withdrew his fingers—maybe faster than necessary - and grabbed his cock, squeezing the base hard to stave off the orgasm that wanted to punch through him just from Chishiya's fucking words. Enthusiastic consent. Wants it. Wants you.

He lined himself up, blunt head of his cock pressing against Chishiya's wet used hole, titanium piercing catching on the rim. Watched Chishiya's face as he started to push in—that slight furrow between elegant eyebrows, the way his teeth caught his lower lip, how his fingers tightened around his own cock.

The slide inside was smooth and tight despite the prep, Chishiya's body gripping him in rhythmic pulses that felt like coming home. Every fucking time felt like coming home. Like he'd been built for this specific purpose: filling up this particular asshole with his particular dick.

"Fuck," Niragi breathed, bottoming out, hips flush against Chishiya's ass, buried so deep the titanium barbell pressed against his inner walls. "Fuck, you feel—shit—so fucking good."

"Eloquent." But Chishiya's voice had gone breathy, his free hand coming up to grip Niragi's shoulder, nails pressing in. "Are you going to wax poetic about my internal musculature, or are you going to move?"

Niragi moved.

He pulled out halfway and thrust back in, establishing a rhythm that was harder than last night's lazy fuck, more desperate than the door-slam earlier. Something in between: intense but controlled, deep and claiming. His favourite way to fuck Chishiya—hard enough to feel, slow enough to last, possessive enough to satisfy the screaming need in his brain that demanded mark him, fill him, make him yours, keep him.

Chishiya's legs came up around Niragi's waist, heels digging into his ass, urging his deeper. His hand on Niragi's shoulder migrated to his back, nails dragging down his spine hard enough to leave red lines. The pain was grounding, perfect, exactly what Niragi needed to stay present instead of flying apart.

"Good," Chishiya murmured, and Niragi's brain lit up like a fucking Christmas tree. Praise. Good. "Just like that. Deeper."

"Yeah, fuck, yeah." Niragi adjusted the angle, hiking Chishiya's hips higher, and thrust in hard. The new position let him hit Chishiya's prostate dead-on, made the executive's breath punch out sharp, his cock leaking steadily onto his belly as he worked himself in time with Niragi's thrusts. "Like this? This good?"

"Adequate." But Chishiya's smirk was strained, his breathing uneven, his internal muscles clenching rhythmically around Niragi's cock in a way that felt fucking incredible. "You can—ah—go harder. I won't break."

Permission. Encouragement. Niragi's control slipped and he fucked in harder, faster, the slap of skin on skin obscene in the quiet room. His piercing dragged against Chishiya's rim on every thrust, adding texture and sensation that made them both groan. The titanium warmed from friction and body heat, the slight extra girth of the barbell stretching Chishiya's hole just that fraction more.

"Gonna come inside," Niragi panted, already feeling his orgasm building at the base of his spine, balls drawing tight. "Gonna fill you up. Want it. Fuck, want to breed you so bad."

"Biologically—fuck—impossible." But Chishiya's hand moved faster on his own cock, his hips rolling up to meet Niragi's thrusts. "But feel free to—ah, there—try."

The permission to indulge his breeding kink, even mockingly, was enough to send Niragi careening toward the edge. He shifted his weight to one arm, other hand gripping Chishiya's hip hard enough to bruise, and fucked into him with everything he had. Deep, hard, desperate, trying to get so deep inside that Chishiya could never get him out.

"Mine," Niragi growled, bending to bite at Chishiya's collarbone, teeth scraping skin. "Mine, fuck, all mine, only mine."

"Yours." Chishiya's agreement was quiet, nearly lost under the sound of their bodies meeting, but Niragi heard it. Catalogued it. Treasured it like the rare fucking gift it was. "Only yours. Now make me come again before I—fuck—die of old age."

Niragi reached between them, batting Chishiya's hand away to wrap his own larger one around that pretty cock. Stroked him exactly how he liked—firm, fast, slight twist, attention to the head—while continuing to pound into his ass with single-minded focus.

Chishiya came first, spine arching, head tilting back to expose his throat, mouth falling open on a silent cry as his cock pulsed in Niragi's grip. His ass clenched down hard, vice-tight around Niragi's shaft, and that was it. Niragi thrust in one more time, as deep as he could get, and came with a guttural groan—filling Chishiya's clenching hole with his release, the Prince Albert ensuring it went deep, marking him from the inside out.

Mine. Mine. Only fucking mine.

The orgasm seemed to last forever, pleasure wringing him out until his arms shook and he collapsed forward onto Chishiya's chest, face buried in that elegant neck, breathing in the scent of sex and sweat and that clean soap smell that was purely Chishiya.

Clever fingers found his hair, threading through and scratching lightly at his scalp. Soothing. The kind of gentle touch Niragi never got anywhere else, from anyone else. The kind that made his chest feel too tight and his eyes burn.

"Sap," Chishiya murmured, echoing his earlier accusation.

"Fuck you."

"You just did." That dry tone, but the fingers in his hair continued their gentle movement. "Three times in eight hours. I'm keeping track. That's six times this week. We're averaging—"

"Shut the fuck up with your math." But Niragi was grinning against Chishiya's neck, unable to help it. This. This weird-ass afterglow banter where Chishiya calculated their sexual frequency like he was filing a lab report and Niragi pretended to be annoyed instead of fucking charmed.

They lay there for several minutes, Niragi's softening cock slipping out of Chishiya's body, bringing a trickle of come with it that Niragi absolutely did not stare at like it was the best thing he'd ever seen. Definitely didn't think about how Chishiya was literally leaking him right now, marked inside and out.

Fucking breeding kink. Gonna be the death of him.

"We should shower," Chishiya said eventually, though he made no move to push Niragi off. "You have patrol in an hour."

"Don't wanna."

"Compelling argument."

"Five more minutes."

"That's what you said yesterday when I suggested you set an alarm."

"Didn't hear you complaining when my cock was in your ass."

"Fair point." Chishiya's fingers continued their path through Niragi's hair, the touch grounding and perfect and everything Niragi never knew he needed until this asshole executive had waltzed into his life and proceeded to dismantle every defence he'd built. "Fine. Five more minutes. Then you're showering. You smell like a distillery that fucked a gun range."

Niragi laughed, the sound rough but genuine, and tightened his arms around Chishiya's lean frame. "Sweet talker."

"I contain multitudes."

Yeah. Yeah, he fucking did. And somehow, impossibly, Niragi had gotten permission to know them. To touch them. To be here, in this moment, holding the one person in this death game who looked at him and saw everything—the monster, the victim, the brilliant programmer he'd buried, the violent killer he'd become—and stayed anyway.

Five more minutes of this.

He'd take it.

Chapter Text

The Beach pool area at noon was a study in controlled chaos masquerading as paradise, and Chishiya observed it all from his preferred vantage point on the third-floor balcony with the same clinical detachment he'd once applied to cadaver dissection.

A glass of cold tea sat untouched at his elbow, condensation beading on the surface, while Chishiya's hands remained buried in his hoodie pockets. The white fabric was pristine despite this morning's activities—he'd showered in Niragi's cramped bathroom (emerging to find the militant meticulously cleaning his rifle, tongue piercing clicking against his teeth in that unconscious tell of concentration), changed into fresh clothes from the spare outfit he'd started keeping in Niragi's closet (unacknowledged, both of them pretending it meant nothing), and returned to his own room to complete his morning routine.

Now, positioned exactly where he wanted to be, Chishiya watched the Beach's ecosystem unfold below.

The pool glittered obscene blue under summer sun, surrounded by bodies in various states of undress and inebriation. Music thumped from somewhere—American pop garbage that Hatter insisted made the Beach "fun"—and the air smelled like chlorine, sunscreen, and desperation. People laughed too loud, drank too early, fucked in semi-public corners, all pretending they weren't living in a death game where their next card might be their last.

Denial as coping mechanism. Understandable. Ineffective long-term.

Chishiya's gaze tracked individuals and groups with the precision of a predator identifying herd dynamics. There—Aguni's militants clustered near the north corner, weapons visible, cultivating their dangerous aesthetic. Last Boss was showing off some knife trick while the others watched with varying degrees of interest. Useless peacocking.

Southeast corner—Ann at a table with her laptop, pretending to work on game pattern analysis while actually running what Chishiya had identified as Beach resource inventory. Smart woman. Probably the only executive besides himself who understood they were living in a house of cards built on Hatter's increasingly unstable charisma.

Near the bar—Kuina, her presence immediately identifiable by the ratio of bare skin to bikini coverage and the cigarette dangling from her lips. As Chishiya watched, she looked up, scanned the building's balconies, and locked eyes with him across the distance.

She grinned, waved, and made an exaggerated beckoning gesture.

Chishiya considered pretending he hadn't seen her. Calculated the social cost of ignoring his closest approximation of a friend versus the effort of relocating. Decided the path of least resistance was compliance—if he didn't go to her, she'd come to him, and he preferred his observation post private.

He unfolded from his lean against the railing with unhurried grace and made his way down.

The heat hit him the moment he stepped outside, sun baking the concrete and turning the pool area into a convection oven. Chishiya's skin prickled with immediate discomfort—too hot, too bright, too many people, too much noise—but he kept his expression neutrally bored as he crossed to where Kuina had claimed a shaded table.

"Morning, princess." Kuina's grin was sharp as she kicked out the chair across from her. "Or should I say afternoon? Heard you didn't sleep in your room again last night."

Chishiya settled into the offered seat, hands finding his pockets. "Heard from whom?"

"Little bird. Several little birds, actually. Beach gossip travels fast." She took a drag of her cigarette, blowing smoke away from his face in the one concession to his preferences she reliably made. "You're getting sloppy with the sneaking, honey. People are starting to notice the pattern."

"People should mind their own business."

"People should. They don't." Kuina leaned forward, elbows on the table, expression shifting from teasing to something more serious. "I'm not judging, you know. Whatever you've got going with Tall Dark and Psychotic is your thing. But you need to be careful. Militants are Aguni's territory, executives are Hatter's. Those two hate each other. If it gets out that you're fucking Niragi—"

"I'm not sleeping with Niragi." The lie came automatic, smooth utterly unconvincing to anyone with functioning pattern recognition.

Kuina's look said really? That's the defence you're going with? out loud without words.

Chishiya sighed. "It's complicated."

"Most things worth doing are." She stubbed out her cigarette, immediately fishing for another. "Look, I don't care who you're screwing, or how, or how often. Your dick, your business. But the politics here are a powder keg. Hatter's losing his grip, Aguni's positioning for takeover, and you're—what, exactly? Playing both sides? Using Niragi as a weapon?"

All accurate assessments. Chishiya had indeed been leveraging his connection to Niragi for information and strategic advantage, using the militant's obsession to gather intelligence on Aguni's faction while maintaining his own executive position. The sex was—initially—just an efficient method of control.

Initially.

"Something like that," Chishiya agreed, because it was easier than explaining that the arrangement had evolved beyond simple manipulation into something he couldn't quite categorise. Something that involved waking up in Niragi's bed more often than his own and allowing touches he'd tolerate from no one else.

Kuina studied him for a long moment, dark eyes sharp. "You like him."

"I find him useful."

"You like him." Her voice gentled slightly. "Chishiya, I've known you for what, six months now? I've never seen you give a single fuck about anyone. But him? You watch him. Track him across rooms when you think no one's looking. I've seen you smile—actually smile, not that creepy smirk thing—when he says shit that by all rights should just annoy you."

Chishiya's jaw tightened. This was why he avoided emotional connections. People started observing, started drawing conclusions, started seeing past the carefully constructed façade to the uncomfortable truths beneath.

"Your point?" His tone was arctic.

"My point is be careful. And maybe think about what you want here." Kuina lit her fresh cigarette, leaning back in her chair. "Because that man? He'd burn this whole place down for you. And I'm not entirely sure you'd stop him. Which is either really romantic or really fucking terrifying, depending on your perspective."

Both, Chishiya's mind supplied unhelpfully. Both romantic and terrifying, the way Niragi had looked at him this morning with naked devotion and possessive hunger, like Chishiya was the only thing in the Borderlands worth protecting.

The way Chishiya had—just for a moment—wanted to stay in that bed forever, surrounded by ammunition and cigarette smoke, Niragi's heart steady against his back.

"I'll be careful," he said instead of any of that.

Kuina looked sceptical but didn't push. "Good. Because here comes your favourite topic of conversation, and he looks pissed."

Chishiya followed her gaze to find Niragi stalking across the pool deck like a predator that had spotted prey, rifle slung over his shoulder, tactical vest straining across his chest, face set in its customary expression of controlled aggression. His hair was pulled into a messy bun, sweat already beading his temples in the heat, tattoo sleeve vivid against sun-browned skin.

Objectively speaking, the man was—Chishiya's brain supplied before he could stop it—attractive in a violent dangerous way that should repel but somehow didn't.

(Oxytocin. Dopamine. Neurochemical cascade compromising rational function. Predictable. Irritating.)

Niragi's dark eyes found Chishiya across the crowded space, and his expression shifted microscopically. Still aggressive to anyone else's observation, but Chishiya had learned to read the minute tells: the slight relaxation of shoulders, the way his jaw unclenched, how his hand dropped away from his rifle.

Seeing Chishiya equalled safety equalled relaxation.

Pavlovian conditioning working both directions, apparently.

"Boss." Niragi reached their table, looming over them both, presence aggressive enough that nearby Beach residents immediately gave them a wider berth. "Kuina."

"Niragi." Kuina's tone was carefully neutral—she'd never liked the militant, made no secret of her distrust, but she tolerated him for Chishiya's sake. "Patrol go well?"

"Found two guys trying to hoard food in their room. Taught 'em about sharing." The way Niragi said it, combined with the fresh blood splatter on his boots, suggested his lesson had been violent and emphatic. "Aguni wants a meeting. Executives and militants. Tonight, after dinner."

Chishiya's mind immediately began calculating. Joint meeting was unusual—Hatter preferred keeping the power structures separate, meeting with groups individually to maintain control. Aguni calling a combined session meant he was making a move, consolidating power, preparing for something.

"Interesting," Chishiya murmured. "Did he specify the topic?"

"Nah. Just said mandatory attendance." Niragi's eyes hadn't left Chishiya's face, tracking his expression with the intensity of someone trying to read tea leaves. Looking for—what? Approval? Acknowledgement? Some sign that Chishiya was pleased to see him?

Needy. Pathetic. Endearing.

"I'll be there." Chishiya paused, then added, "Good work on the patrol."

The way Niragi's entire demeanour brightened was barely visible to casual observation, but Chishiya saw it. The minute shift in posture, the ghost of a smile, the way his shoulders rolled back with pride. Praise received and treasured like a fucking love letter.

Kuina made a small sound that might have been a cough or might have been a laugh.

"Yeah, well." Niragi's hand came up to rub the back of his neck, suddenly awkward. "Anyway. Gotta get back. Just wanted to—uh. Tell you. About the meeting."

He could have sent a message with any number of people. Could have waited until later. Had specifically sought Chishiya out to deliver information that wasn't time—sensitive.

Looking for excuse for proximity. For acknowledgment. For proof that Chishiya hadn't already forgotten this morning, hadn't written him off, still wanted—

"Appreciated," Chishiya said, tone mild. Then, because he was apparently capable of small mercies when sufficiently motivated: "I'll see you later."

The promise was vague, could mean the meeting, could mean nothing. But Niragi heard it for what it was—I'll come to you tonight, after, we're not done—and his expression shifted into something satisfied and possessive.

"Yeah. Later, Boss." He nodded to Kuina. "Kuina."

Then he was stalking off again, crowds parting around him, rifle glinting in the sun, every inch the violent enforcer. But Chishiya could see the slight spring in his step, the energy in his movements. A satisfied predator heading back to patrol with the knowledge that his territory was secure, his claim acknowledged.

"Oh honey," Kuina said once Niragi was out of earshot. "You are so fucked."

"Eloquent."

"But accurate." She lit another cigarette, studying Chishiya through the smoke. "That man would literally kill for you. Has killed for you, probably. And you just made his whole day by saying one word of praise and implying you'll fuck him later."

Chishiya said nothing, watching Niragi's retreating form disappear into the Beach's interior. His mind was already spinning through implications of the evening meeting, calculating power dynamics and possible moves, but part of his attention remained fixed on that tall figure with its violent grace and desperate devotion.

Kuina was right. He was fucked.

Question was: when had he stopped seeing that as a tactical liability and started seeing it as... something else?

Something he might actually want to keep?

Chapter Text

The abandoned hotel corridors that made up the Beach's outer perimeter were Niragi's favourite patrol route for three reasons: nobody else wanted them (dark, isolated, actually dangerous), they let him smoke without someone bitching about it, and he could think without interruption.

Thinking was dangerous. Thinking led to shit like I'm in love with a manipulative asshole who probably sees me as a convenient dick with a gun and what the fuck am I gonna do when this all ends and he goes back to his real life without me and I would literally murder every person in this building if he asked nicely.

So Niragi tried not to think too much. Focused on the physical instead: heavy weight of his rifle, familiar and grounding; the rhythm of his boots on tile; the way his tongue piercing clicked against his teeth when he ran it over them compulsively; the heat of the afternoon sun coming through broken windows.

He was on his second cigarette of the patrol and his third mental replay of this morning's fuck when voices echoed from a stairwell ahead.

Loud voices. Aggressive.

Niragi's hand went to his rifle automatically, muscle memory from months of Borderlands violence. He moved silent despite his size, years of gaming raids teaching him how to approach enemy positions without alerting them to his presence.

The voices resolved into words as he got closer.

"—don't care what Hatter says, that executive prick thinks he runs shit—"

"Chishiya's protected, man, you can't just—"

"Fuck protected. Someone needs to teach that smug asshole a lesson."

Niragi's vision went red at the edges.

Chishiya.

They were talking about Chishiya.

He rounded the corner to find three militants—not his squad, Aguni's men, tier-two losers who thought they were hot shit because they could follow orders and shoot straight—clustered in the stairwell. One of them, a stocky guy with a shaved head that Niragi vaguely recognised from meal rotations, was holding what looked like a plan drawn on notebook paper.

"Thinking about executive management?" Niragi's voice came out flat and cold, the tone he used right before he killed someone. "That's above your pay grade, boys."

All three spun, hands going to weapons, but they relaxed incrementally when they saw it was him. Fellow militant. Same faction, theoretically.

Fucking idiots.

"Niragi." Shaved-head tried for casual and landed somewhere near nervous. "Didn't hear you coming, man. We were just—talking. Blowing off steam."

"Uh huh." Niragi took a long drag of his cigarette, letting the smoke curl out slow between his teeth. His finger rested near his rifle's trigger guard. Not actively threatening. Yet. "Sounded like you were planning something stupid. Want to rethink that and tell me what the fuck you idiots are actually doing?"

The other two exchanged glances. Younger guys, early twenties maybe, all tattoos and posturing. Thought they were hard because they'd survived a few games.

"Look," shaved-head said, clearly appointed spokesman. "We're just saying. Chishiya's been making moves. Talks to Hatter, talks to Aguni, plays them against each other. He's dangerous. Someone needs to put him in his place before he fucks things up for everyone."

"Put him in his place," Niragi repeated, voice still flat. "And how exactly were you planning to do that?"

"Just a beating. Nothing fatal. Just enough to remind him that executives aren't untouchable."

The red at the edges of Niragi's vision spread inward. His hand tightened on his rifle. Every muscle in his body went wire-taut with the effort of not immediately opening fire.

They want to hurt him. They want to touch him. They want to put their hands on what's mine and hurt him.

"I see." Niragi dropped his cigarette, grinding it out under his boot with deliberate precision. "Here's what's gonna happen instead. You're gonna hand me that paper. You're gonna forget this conversation happened. You're gonna go back to your regular patrols. And you're never gonna think about Chishiya Shuntaro again."

Shaved-head's expression shifted from nervous to defiant. "Or what? You gonna tell Aguni? He doesn't give a shit about some executive. Might even approve."

Wrong answer.

Niragi moved.

His rifle butt caught shaved-head in the face, snapping his head back with a crunch of cartilage and bone. Blood sprayed as the man dropped, hands flying to his shattered nose, scream of pain echoing in the stairwell.

The other two went for their weapons but Niragi was faster—months of shooter game reflexes translating to real-world violence with terrifying efficiency. He swept the first guy's legs, sending him crashing into his buddy, both going down in a tangle of limbs. Niragi's boot found ribs, driving the air from lungs in a whoosh. His rifle butt came down again in someone's knee—heard it crack, heard the scream.

Then he had his rifle up and pointed, muzzle tracking between the three groaning bleeding men with cold precision.

"Let me be real fucking clear," Niragi said, voice dropping into that dangerous purr that meant someone was about to die. "Chishiya Shuntaro is off limits. Not just to you. To everyone. You don't talk about him. You don't look at him. You don't plan shit involving him. Because if I hear—if I even suspect—that someone's thinking about hurting him, I'm gonna find them. And what I just did to you? That was me being nice."

Shaved-head was crying now, blood pouring between his fingers from his ruined nose. "Fuck—fuck you, man, we're on the same side—"

"We're not on shit." Niragi's finger moved to his trigger. "I'm on his side. Only his. And you just threatened him. Give me one good reason I shouldn't kill all three of you right fucking now."

Silence. Heavy breathing. Pain whimpers.

The truth was, Niragi wanted to. Wanted to pull the trigger, watch their brains paint the walls, eliminate the threat permanently. The urge sang through his blood, familiar and seductive. How many people had he killed in games? How many violent deaths had he witnessed? What were three more?

But.

Chishiya wouldn't approve. Chishiya had explained—with that patient condescending tone he used when teaching Niragi something obvious—that killing militants within the Beach caused more problems than it solved. Created investigations, disrupted power balances, drew attention.

And Niragi had listened because when Chishiya talked, Niragi shut the fuck up and paid attention like his life depended on it.

(Because it did. Because Chishiya was the only reason Niragi hadn't completely lost himself to the violence, hadn't become just another psycho killer with no purpose. Chishiya gave him direction, boundaries, something worth protecting beyond himself.)

So instead of shooting, Niragi lowered his rifle. Slightly.

"You're gonna tell Aguni you fell down some stairs during patrol," he said. "Tragic accident. Happens all the time. And if any if you ever—ever—mention Chishiya again, I'll make sure the next accident is fatal. We clear?"

Nods. Frantic nods. Shaved-head trying to speak through his destroyed face, coming out as garbled agreement.

"Good." Niragi bent, snatched the notebook paper from where it had fallen, crumpled it, and shoved it in his pocket. Evidence. He'd burn it later. "Now get the fuck out of my sight because I change my mind."

They scrambled up—or tried to, the one with the shattered knee had to be hauled by his buddies—and limped-crawled-fled down the corridor like rats abandoning ship.

Niragi watched them go, breathing hard, adrenaline singing in his veins. His hands shook slightly as he lit another cigarette, the familiar ritual grounding him back into his body.

They wanted to hurt him.

The thought circled in his head like a shark. Chishiya could take care of himself—was probably more dangerous than half the militants despite his size and build, had that brilliant strategic mind that could talk people into anything. But he was still physically vulnerable. Still just human flesh and bone that could be damaged, broken, destroyed.

And these idiots had been planning to do exactly that.

Niragi pulled out his phone—no service, hadn't been since they entered the Borderlands, but the device still functioned as camera and notepad—and opened his notes app. He had a running list there, names and faces of people he'd identified as threats to Chishiya. Started it after the third time someone had made a dismissive comment about "that weird executive" and Niragi's vision had gone red.

Added three new names now. Pulled up the crumpled paper, photographed it (evidence, just in case), then burned it with his lighter and watched the ash scatter.

His patrol route would take him past Chishiya's observation balcony. Maybe he'd catch a glimpse. Maybe Chishiya would be there, safe and untouched, that smug expression in place like armour.

Maybe Niragi would stop thinking about all the ways someone could hurt him.

(Maybe he'd stop lying to himself about what Chishiya meant, what this thing between them was, what he'd do to keep it.)

Probably not.

But he could pretend for another few hours that this was just sex and strategy, this his obsession was controllable, that he wasn't completely fucked if Chishiya ever decided to cut him loose.

His cigarette burned down to the filter as he resumed his patrol, rifle heavy and comforting against his shoulder, mind spinning through violence scenarios and protection plans and the memory of Chishiya's body warm and pliant in his arms this morning.

Mine, his brain insisted. Mine to protect, mine to keep, mine.

And fuck anyone who thought different.

Chapter Text

The executive meeting room was exactly what happened when someone with more money than sense tried to recreate a corporate boardroom in a resort hotel: all dark wood and leather chairs arranged around a table that could seat twenty, floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the Beach grounds, wet bar in the corner stocked with expensive liquor.

Hatter sat at the head of the table in his ridiculous robe, sunglasses on indoors because apparently sanity was optional, spinning a glass of whiskey between his palms. To his right, Ann had her laptop open, pretending to review data while actually observing everyone's micro-expressions. Smart woman.

The other executives filtered in gradually: Kuzuryu looking nervous (as always), Hatter projecting false confidence, a handful of others whose names Chishiya hadn't bothered learning because they were irrelevant to his calculations.

Aguni entered with his militant contingent: Last Boss trailing behind like a loyal dog, three other militants Chishiya recognised as Aguni's inner circle, and—

Niragi.

The man filled the doorway for a moment, scanning the room with the automatic threat assessment of someone expecting ambush at all times. His eyes found Chishiya, paused, tracked over him head to toe in a quick evaluation (safe, unharmed, here), then settled into the aggressive neutral expression he wore in public.

To anyone else, Niragi looked bored and vaguely threatening as he claimed a position leaning against the wall, rifle slung casual over his shoulder.

Chishiya could see the tension in his shoulders, the way his hand rested near his weapon, how his gaze kept drifting back to Chishiya's position at the table every thirty seconds.

Hypervigilant. Protective. On edge.

Something had happened. Chishiya filed that away for later interrogation.

"Excellent, we're all here." Hatter's voice was too loud, too cheerful, the manic edge more pronounced than it had been even a week ago. He was deteriorating faster, sanity eroding under the pressure of maintaining his Beach utopia while people died in games every night. "Let's begin this productive collaboration between our organisational structures."

Aguni's expression suggested he'd rather eat glass than collaborate, but he settled into a chair with deliberate calm. "We need to discuss game assignments. The rotation system isn't working."

"The rotation system," Hatter said, smile fixed and terrifying, "ensures everyone contributes equally to our community's survival."

"The rotation system gets people killed." Aguni leaned forward, hands flat on the table. "We're sending inexperienced players out alone while our best fighters sit the bench waiting their turn. My militants should be accompanying the weaker members—strategic support, not equal distribution of risk."

Chishiya watched the exchange with detached interest. This wasn't about game assignments—this was about control. Aguni arguing for militant escorts meant arguing for militant supremacy, positioning his faction as essential protectors deserving of special privileges. Hatter's rotation system treated everyone as equal contributors, maintaining his democracy-via-chaos approach.

Both systems were flawed. Both men were idiots. The real answer was much simpler: identify the game locations showing recent patterns changes, track which areas spawned deadlier venues, and ensure you were conveniently unavailable for participation on high-risk nights.

Which Chishiya had been doing quietly for weeks.

"The militants certainly provide valuable support," Ann interjected smoothly, her tone diplomatic. "But flooding games with armed players doesn't guarantee survival. We've lost just as many militants as civilians. Sometimes intelligence and adaptability matter more than firepower."

"And when's the last time you went into a game, Ann?" One of Aguni's militants—not Niragi, thankfully, though Chishiya saw the way Niragi's hand tightened on his rifle at the challenge to Ann. "Easy to strategise from a laptop."

"Last week," Ann replied, unruffled. "Seven of spades. Cleared it. You were saying?"

The tension ratcheted higher, the room dividing along factional lines. Executives on one side, militants on the other, Hatter at the head trying to maintain his crumbling authority through force of personality.

Chishiya let it wash over him, contributing nothing, making himself small and forgettable in his chair. This was perfect—let them focus on each other, let them argue and posture while he observed and calculated.

Except.

Niragi was staring at him.

Not obviously—the militant was still tracking the room, still projecting aggressive readiness—but Chishiya could feel the weight of that gaze like physical pressure. Checking on him. Making sure he was safe. Prepared to intervene if this escalated to violence.

Protective, his mind supplied. He's being protective. Of you.

That shouldn’t feel like anything. Shouldn’t register as more than tactical advantage—having a violent enforcer who'd defend him was strategically useful.

But it did feel like something. Felt like warmth in his chest, like security, like—

No. Analysis later. Observation now.

"Perhaps," Chishiya said into a brief lull in the argument, his soft voice cutting through the rising tension, "we could compromise. Voluntary pairing for those who want militant escorts, with a mandatory minimum participation rate to prevent exploitation. Those who consistently survive earn lighter rotation schedules. Those who don't contribute adequately lose privileges."

The room turned to look at him—he'd been silent so long they'd nearly forgotten his presence. Perfect.

"Meritocracy with built-in protections," Chishiya continued, tone mild and reasonable. "Satisfies both concern. The skilled can prove themselves through survival rates, the inexperienced can request support, and no one's forced into partnerships they don't want."

Hatter's eyes narrowed behind his sunglasses. Aguni's expression shifted to consideration/

"And who decides what constitutes adequate contribution?" Aguni asked.

"The game results speak for themselves." Chishiya gestured vaguely. "Survive consistently, earn reduced rotation frequency. Refuse to participate, lose privileges. Simple metrics tied to card collection rates."

It was a shit suggestion, full of holes, but that wasn't the point. The point was redirecting the argument away from direct militant-versus-executive conflict into a policy discussion everyone could feel smart arguing about.

And it worked. The room erupted into debate about implementation details, everyone eager to contribute their opinion, the dangerous territorial tension defusing into bureaucratic bickering.

Chishiya settled back in his chair, hands returning to his pockets, and allowed himself a small internal satisfaction. Manipulation via redirection: offer an imperfect solution that everyone can improve on, let them feel ownership of the final policy, everyone leaves thinking they won.

His gaze drifted toward where Niragi still leaned against the wall.

The militant was smirking, barely visible, clearly having recognised exactly what Chishiya had done. Their eyes met for a brief moment, and Niragi's smirk deepened into something knowing and appreciative.

Clever, that expression said. That's my Boss. Fucking genius.

Chishiya looked away before anyone else noticed the exchange, but something warm had settled in his chest next to the strategic satisfaction.

Niragi saw him. Saw through the manipulation to the intelligence beneath, and instead of being threatened or disgusted, he was impressed. Got off on watching Chishiya play the room like a violin, found the casual psychological warfare attractive.

Fucked up.

Perfect.

The meeting dragged on for another forty minutes before Hatter declared it "productively resolved" (translation: no one had been shot, marginally successful), and the room began to empty. Executives filing out first, militants after, everyone maintaining the careful hierarchical dance that kept the Beach from imploding.

Chishiya rose from his chair with unhurried grace, collecting his untouched water glass to bus to the bar—small courtesies that made him appear considerate, helpful, non-threatening.

Niragi was waiting in the hallway when Chishiya emerged.

Not obviously—the militant was leaning against the wall a few doors down, apparently absorbed in his phone, rifle propped beside him. But Chishiya knew. Had felt that presence tracking him through the meeting, had anticipated this intercept.

He walked past without acknowledgment, heading toward the stairs that would take him back to the executive quarters.

Heavy footsteps fell into step behind him, Niragi following at a casual distance that wouldn’t draw attention. To observers, they weren’t together—just happened to be going the same direction.

They maintained the fiction through two corridors and up one stairwell before Niragi's patience ran out. A large hand closed around Chishiya's wrist, tugging him sideways into an empty hallway—service corridor, rarely used, private.

Chishiya let himself be maneuvered, allowed his back to meet the wall with Niragi's bulk caging him in. This close, the scent of cigarettes and gunpowder and masculine sweat was overwhelming. Niragi's dark eyes were intense, searching Chishiya's face like he could read answers there.

"What happened," Chishiya said. Not a question. Statement. Something had put Niragi on edge, he'd been wound tight all evening.

"Some militants were talking shit." Niragi's free hand came up to brace against the wall beside Chishiya's head, boxing him in further. "Planning shit. About you."

Interesting. "And?"

"And I explained why that was a bad idea." Niragi's jaw clenched. "Aggressively."

Which meant violence. Meant Niragi had hurt people—possibly badly—for the crime of discussing Chishiya in unflattering terms. Should be concerning, that level of possessive violence. Should send every red flag in Chishiya's psychology education waving frantic.

Instead what he felt was—safe. Protected. Valued enough that Niragi would risk his position to defend even Chishiya's reputation.

"How aggressively?" Chishiya asked, because details mattered.

"Broken nose, busted knee, maybe some ribs. Nothing fatal." Niragi leaned closer, breath warm against Chishiya's face. "Wanted to kill them. Wanted to so fucking bad. But you said no killing inside the Beach unless necessary. So I didn't."

He'd followed Chishiya's directive. Had overridden his own violent impulses because Chishiya had established that as a boundary. The implication was staggering: Niragi's control, his restraint, his decision-making—increasingly filtered through what Chishiya would approve of.

Devoted, Chishiya's mind supplied. He's devoted to you.

"Good," Chishiya said, and watched Niragi's entire expression brighten at the praise. "Efficient solution. Minimal complications."

"Yeah?" Niragi's hand slid from the wall to cup Chishiya's jaw, thumb tracing his lower lip. "Thought you'd be pissed. That I started shit."

"You ended a potential problem before it escalated." Chishiya allowed the touch, even leaned into it fractionally. "That's exactly what I'd expect from you."

Good boy, he didn't say but Niragi heard anyway if his sharp intake of breath was any indication.

"Fuck," Niragi breathed, pupils dilating. "You can't just—say shit like that when I can't—we're in public, Boss."

"Are we?" Chishiya glanced meaningfully at the empty corridor. "Seems fairly private to me."

"Anyone could walk by."

"Then you'd better be quick."

Niragi groaned, a sound of pure frustration, and then his mouth was on Chishiya's—hot and demanding, tongue piercing clicking against teeth before delving deeper. The kiss was aggressive and claiming, all the tension from the evening channelled into the slide of lips and tongue.

Chishiya kissed back with calculated enthusiasm, hands coming up to grip Niragi's vest, pulling him closer. Let the militant take what he needed, let him claim and possess through the medium of kisses that tasted like cigarettes and desperation.

When they broke apart, both breathing hard, Niragi's expression was wrecked—desperate and wanting and so fucking needy it should be pathetic.

Wasn't, though. Was just... Niragi.

"Your room or mine," Niragi asked, forehead pressing against Chishiya's, voice rough.

Chishiya considered. His room was closer, cleaner, less likely to have contraband weapons lying around. Niragi's room was where they always ended up anyway, where Niragi was most comfortable, where Chishiya had started keeping spare clothes and toothbrush.

"Yours," he said, because strategic disadvantage be damned, he wanted Niragi relaxed and pliant, not on edge in unfamiliar territory.

The smile that split Niragi's face was genuine and bright, transforming his features from threatening to almost boyish. "Yeah? Okay. Fuck, okay."

He stepped back, creating distance, hand trailing down Chishiya's arm to link their fingers briefly before letting go. Public propriety reasserting itself.

They walked separately again through the Beach corridors, maintaining careful distance, just two residents heading to their respective rooms. But Chishiya could feel the anticipation thrumming between them, the promise of later hanging heavy in the air.

When they reached Niragi's door, the militant unlocked it with fumbling hands, practically vibrating with want.

Chishiya stepped inside, heard the door close and lock behind him, and prepare himself for whatever desperate claiming Niragi had planned.

He was not disappointed.

Chapter Text

Niragi had Chishiya pinned against the door before the lock fully clicked, hands already working at that stupid white hoodie, needing skin contact, needing confirmation that Chishiya was here and safe and his.

"Impatient," Chishiya observed, but he was helping, shrugging out of the hoodie, letting it drop to the floor in a way he never usually did because Chishiya didn’t do mess, didn’t do careless, only got like this when he wanted something badly enough to override his usual control.

"Fuck yeah I'm impatient." Niragi's hands found bare skin under Chishiya's shirt, mapping ribs and spine and all that lean muscle with reverent intensity. "Been thinking about this all fucking day. About you. About getting you here and making you fall apart.

"Confident." But Chishiya's head tilted back against the door, exposing his throat, and his hands were tugging at Niragi's vest with increasing urgency. "Going to back that up with performance?"

"Fuck yes." Niragi bit down on the offered throat, sucking a mark into pale skin that would be hidden by collar later but was his to make now. His fingers found Chishiya's nipple through his shirt, pinching and rolling until Chishiya's breath hitched. "Gonna make you forget every word in that genius brain. Gonna fuck you until you can't remember your own name."

"Again, very—ah—confident." Chishiya got Niragi's vest unclipped, shoved it off broad shoulders, hands immediately going to work on the mesh shirt underneath. "Though I appreciate the—fuck—enthusiasm."

Niragi grinned against his throat, pleased with the curse, with the slight tremor in Chishiya's usually steady voice. He loved this—reducing the most controlled person he'd ever met into someone who couldn’t quite maintain composure, who said fuck and gasped and grabbed at Niragi like an anchor.

His shirt joined the vest on the floor and then it was skin on skin, Chishiya's cool smooth chest against Niragi's warmer broader one, the contrast perfect. Niragi walked them backwards toward the bed, hands on Chishiya's hips, keeping their bodies pressed together.

"Want you naked," Niragi said against Chishiya's mouth between kisses. "Wanna see all of you. Everything."

"Then perhaps—" Chishiya pushed at Niragi's chest, forcing space between them. "You should stop mauling me long enough to actually remove clothing."

"Bossy." But Niragi stepped back, giving Chishiya room.

They stripped with practiced efficiency—this dance familiar now, choreographed through repetition. Niragi's pants hit the floor, his cock already hard and curving toward his belly, Prince Albert glinting in the low light. Chishiya's pants followed, his more modest arousal on full display, pale skin flushed pink across his chest and cheeks.

Fuck, he was beautiful. All elegant lines and defined muscle, lean and perfect, looking at Niragi with those dark knowing eyes like he could see straight through to every desperate thought.

Niragi's hands itched to touch, to claim, to possess.

"Bed," he managed. "Get on the bed, Boss."

Chishiya's eyebrow rose. "Asking or telling?"

"Both? Either? Fuck, just—please get on the bed so I can make you feel good."

The please did it—Chishiya's expression softened microscopically and he moved to the bed, settling on his back with his legs falling open in clear invitation. Presenting himself. Offering.

Trusting.

Niragi's chest went tight with something that definitely wasn't cardiac arrest but felt equally life-threatening. He grabbed the lube from the nightstand—they'd gone through three bottles this month, was seriously considering stealing in bulk—and joined Chishiya on the bed, settling between those spread thighs.

"How do you want it?" Niragi asked, because he always asked, always needed confirmation, even though they both knew what the answer would be.

"Hard," Chishiya said, like always. "Rough. Make me feel it tomorrow."

"Fuck." Niragi's cock jerked, precome leaking, his breeding kink already purring at the idea of marking Chishiya from the inside. "Yeah. Okay. Gonna prep you first though."

"Unnecessary. I'm still—from this morning—"

"Don't care." Niragi was already slicking his fingers, already pressing the first one inside Chishiya's hole. "Wanna feel you. Wanna take my time. You said I could fuck you—didn't say I had to rush."

Chishiya made a small sound that might have been frustration but his hips canted up, taking Niragi's finger deeper. "Sadist."

"Yep." Second finger, stretching, searching for—there. Chishiya's back arched, breath punching out, when Niragi found his prostate. "Found it. Gonna make you come just from this. Gonna edge you until you're begging."

"I don't—ah—beg."

"Yeah you do. Did this morning. Sounded so fucking pretty too." Third finger, and Chishiya was rocking into it, taking them deep, his cock hard and leaking against his belly. "Gonna make you do it again. Gonna make you want it so bad you forget about being proud."

"Presumptuous—fuck—asshole—"

"Your asshole." Niragi crooked his fingers, rubbing firm circles against Chishiya's prostate, watching his face go slack with pleasure. "Your presumptuous asshole who knows exactly how to make you fall apart."

Chishiya's hand shot down to grip his own cock, clearly planning to bring himself off, but Niragi was faster. Caught his wrist, pinned it to the bed above his head.

"Nuh uh. No touching." Niragi's other hand continued its work inside Chishiya, three fingers now stretching him open, preparing him to take cock. "You come when I say. From what I give you. That's the rules."

"Whose—ah god—rules?"

"Mine. Right now. You gave me permission to fuck you how I wanted." Niragi leaned down, biting at Chishiya's collarbone, leaving marks. "This is how I want. Want you desperate. Want you needing it so bad you can't think."

"Cruel." But Niragi's other hand came up to tangle in Niragi's hair, pulling hard, the pain grounding and perfect.

"Little bit." Niragi withdrew his fingers, ignored Chishiya's sound of protest, and reached for the lube again. Slicked his cock thoroughly, the slide of his hand on his own shaft making him groan. His piercing caught on his palm, dragging, sensation heightened.

He lined himself up, blunt head pressing against Chishiya's rim, and met those dark eyes. "Ready?"

"Obviously." But there was want in that gaze, heat and need and trust that made Niragi's chest tight again.

He pushed in slow, savouring every inch of the slide, the way Chishiya's body accepted him with slick heat and rhythmic clenching. The Prince Albert dragged against sensitive tissue, making them both gasp, adding texture to the penetration.

"Fuck," Chishiya breathed when Niragi bottomed out, hips flush against his ass. "So—fuck—"

"Yeah." Niragi held still with monumental effort, letting Chishiya adjust, letting them both feel the connection. "Feel so good around me. Perfect. Like you were made for this. Made for my cock."

"Biologically—inaccurate—"

Niragi rolled his hips, grinding in deep, and Chishiya's words cut off in a moan. "Fuck, I love your brain. Even now—even with my cock buried in you—still gonna be a genius about it." He thrust harder, punctuating. "So fucking smart. So fucking mine. Gonna make you forget your own name but you'll still remember the biology, won't you? That's what makes you perfect."

"Already—said that—repetitive—"

"Shut up and let me fuck you."

"Finally—decent idea—"

Niragi pulled out and slammed back in, cutting off Chishiya's sarcasm with the force of the thrust. Established a rhythm that was hard and deep and possessive, exactly how Chishiya liked it, exactly what Niragi needed.

The room filled with the sounds of sex—skin slapping skin, bitten-off moans, the wet slide of cock in ass, the creak of bedsprings that had seen too much action. Niragi's hands gripped Chishiya's hips hard enough to bruise, holding him in place, controlling the angle and depth.

"Touch yourself," he commanded, and Chishiya's hand immediately flew to his cock, wrapping tight and stroking in time with Niragi's thrusts. "That's it. Fuck, yeah. Show me. Want to watch you."

Chishiya's eyes stayed open, locked on Niragi's face, even as his expression went slack with pleasure. His free hand clawed at Niragi's back, nails dragging lines of fire down his spine. His internal muscles clenched rhythmically around Niragi's shaft, so tight and hot and perfect.

"Gonna—" Chishiya's breath was coming in pants now, rhythm breaking. "Close—"

"Not yet." Niragi grabbed Chishiya's wrist again, pulled his hand away from his cock despite the executive's sound of protest. "Not until I say."

"Sadist—fuck—please—"

There it was. Please.

"Yeah?" Niragi shifted the angle, hitting Chishiya's prostate dead-on with every thrust now, watching him writhe. "Please what?"

"Please—let me—need to—"

"Need to what? Use your words, Boss."

"Come—fuck—need to come—please let me—"

"Good." Niragi leaned down, biting at Chishiya's jaw. "Such a good boy, asking so pretty. Yeah, you can come. Come for me."

Permission granted, Chishiya's hand flew back to his cock and it only took three strokes before he was arching off the bed, coming hard across his own chest and belly, internal muscles clamping down on Niragi's shaft like a vice.

"Fuck—" Niragi's rhythm faltered, the sensation of Chishiya's orgasm triggering his own. He managed three more desperate thrusts and then he was coming too, buried deep inside Chishiya's ass, cock pulsing as he filled him with spurt after spurt of come.

His breeding kink roared in satisfaction—marked him, claimed him, bred him, mine—even though the logical part of his brain knew conception was impossible.

Didn’t matter. Didn’t fucking matter because Chishiya was underneath him looking fucked-out and satisfied, come cooling on his chest, Niragi's cock still buried inside him, Niragi's release painting his insides.

Mine.

Niragi collapsed forward, catching himself on his elbows at the last second to avoid crushing Chishiya completely. Buried his face in that elegant neck, breathing hard, trying to get his heart rate under control.

Clever fingers found his hair again, gentler this time, petting through the strands with almost-tender pressure.

"Heavy," Chishiya murmured, but made no move to push him off.

"Mmf."

"Eloquent."

"Gimme a minute. Just fucked your brains out. Need recovery time."

"My brains are intact. Questionable whether yours ever were."

But the words lacked heat, came out fond almost, and Niragi grinned against Chishiya's neck.

They lay like that for several minutes, breathing evening out, sweat cooling, Niragi's cock softening and slipping free with a trickle of come that made his hindbrain purr with satisfaction.

Eventually Niragi rolled off, immediately reaching for the cigarettes on his nightstand. Lit one, took a long drag, held it out to Chishiya in offering.

Chishiya took it, brought it to his lips, inhaled and immediately coughed. "Disgusting habit."

"You're literally lying in my bed covered in come—mine and yours—and you're judging my smoking?"

"I contain multitudes." But Chishiya took another drag, smaller this time, and passed it back.

Niragi smoked in comfortable silence, watching Chishiya's profile in the low light. The executive hadn’t moved beyond turning his head, still sprawled on his back, looking relaxed in a way he never did around anyone else.

"Should shower," Chishiya said eventually.

"Yeah."

Neither of them moved.

"There's come dripping out of me onto your sheets."

"Hot."

"You're impossible."

"You like it."

Chishiya turned his head to meet Niragi's eyes. "Unfortunately accurate."

And there—in that small admission, in the way Chishiya was still here instead of immediately fleeing to his own sterile room—Niragi found what he'd been looking for all day. Confirmation. Permission. Proof that this meant something beyond convenient sex and strategic alliance.

He stubbed out his cigarette and rolled back to Chishiya, pressing a kiss to his temple. Soft. Gentle. The kind of affection he'd never learned to give before this, before them.

"C'mon," Niragi said against Chishiya's hair. "Shower. Then you're staying the night again."

"I don't recall agreeing—"

"You will though." Niragi pushed up to sitting, held out his hand. "You always do."

Chishiya studied the offered hand for a long moment, dark eyes calculating. Then his fingers slid into Niragi's palm, allowing himself to be pulled upright.

"Presumptuous," he said, but he was smiling—that small private expression Niragi had learned meant actual happiness, actual contentment.

"Yeah," Niragi agreed. "But right."

Always right when it came to this. When it came to them.

Chapter Text

The shower had been efficient if prolonged, Niragi's hands wandering with more affection than lust, washing Chishiya's hair with careful fingers that somehow knew how much pressure to apply to his scalp. Afterward, Chishiya had borrowed one of Niragi's oversized shirts and a pair of boxers—his own clothes were scattered across the floor and he couldn’t be bothered to retrieve them yet.

Now he sat on Niragi's bed, back against the headboard, watching the militant perform his nightly rifle maintenance ritual with the focused intensity of a religious ceremony.

Niragi sat cross-legged on the floor, rifle disassembled before him in precise order, cleaning cloth in one hand, gun oil in the other. His hair was down from its usual bun, still damp from the shower, falling past his shoulders in dark waves. He wore only black boxers, tattoos and piercings on full display, tongue piercing clicking against his teeth in that unconscious rhythm that meant he was concentrating.

Domestic, Chishiya's mind supplied unhelpfully. This was domestic. Comfortable. The kind of scene that belonged to couples who'd been together for years, who had routines and rhythms and trust.

Terrifying.

"You're starting," Niragi said without looking up, fingers working to clean the barrel with practiced motions.

"Observing."

"Same thing." Niragi glanced up, expression soft. "What're you observing?"

That I'm more comfortable in your disaster of a room than my own sterile space. That watching you clean your weapon is somehow soothing. That I haven't slept in my own bed in four days and haven’t wanted to. That you’ve become necessary instead of useful and I don’t know when that shift happened.

"Your cleaning technique," Chishiya said instead. "Thorough. Almost obsessive."

"Gun jams, people die. Can't afford sloppy maintenance." Niragi returned his attention to the rifle, wiping down each piece with care. "Beside, it's... calming. Repetitive. Lets me think."

"What do you think about?" Chishiya asked, genuinely curious.

Niragi was quiet for a moment, hands still moving through the familiar routine. "Lots of things. Games. Survival odds. Beach politics." A pause. "You."

Chishiya's chest did something complicated. "Me?"

"Yeah." Niragi started reassembling the rifle with the same methodical care he'd used to dismantle it. "Think about keeping you safe. About what I'd do if someone tried to hurt you. About how long this can last before it all goes to shit."

"Optimistic."

"Realistic." Niragi's jaw clenched. "This place—the Beach, the Borderlands, all of it—it's temporary. Either we find a way out of we die trying. And when it ends..."

He didn’t finish the sentence, but Chishiya understood. When it ends, you'll go back to your real life and I'll go back to mine, and this thing we have won't exist outside this bubble.

The thought should be comforting. Return to normalcy, to the life Chishiya had built before this—solitary, controlled, uncomplicated by messy things like attachment.

Instead it felt like loss.

"You're thinking about it too," Niragi observed, clicking the rifle's magazine into place with practiced ease. "Can see it on your face. You do this thing with your eyes when you're processing uncomfortable shit. Get all narrow and distant."

"I wasn’t aware I had tells."

"You do. With me at least." Niragi set the reassembled rifle aside, finally looking at Chishiya fully. "I pay attention. Notice things about you. Like how you tilt your head when you're actually curious versus when you're pretending to be. How you put your hands in your pockets when you're uncomfortable. How you only say 'interesting' in that flat tone when you're actually bored."

He'd been cataloguing Chishiya's microexpressions and behavioural patterns. Had been studying him with the same intensity Chishiya usually applied to others.

Information asymmetry: compromised.

"Observant," Chishiya said carefully.

"About you, yeah." Niragi stood, crossed to the bed, settled next to Chishiya with their shoulders touching. "Look, I know this is—fuck, I don’t even know what this is. But I know I don’t want it to end. Know I'd do pretty much anything to keep it."

"Including following me back to reality if we escape?"

The question came out before Chishiya could stop it, vulnerability on display in a way that made his skin crawl with discomfort.

Niragi turned to face him fully, dark eyes intense. "Yeah. Including that. I'd follow you anywhere, Boss. Borderlands, real world, hell, fucking moon if you wanted. I'm—"

He stopped, jaw working like he was trying to find words for something too big to articulate.

"You're what?" Chishiya prompted, quietly.

"I'm yours." Niragi's hand found Chishiya's knee, fingers tracing patterns on skin through borrowed boxers. "Have been for a while now. Probably since you first looked at me like you could see straight through my bullshit to the fucked-up mess underneath and didn’t flinch. Since you let me touch you even though you hate being touched. Since you stayed the first time instead of running."

Chishiya's throat felt tight. This was too much honesty, too much emotion, too much everything. He should deflect, make a joke, retreat behind clinical analysis.

"I don’t hate being touched," he heard himself say instead. "I hate being touched by most people. You're..."

"Different?"

"An exception."

Niragi's expression went soft, almost reverent. His hand came up to cup Chishiya's jaw, thumb tracing his cheekbones. "Yeah? I'm an exception?"

"Don't let it go to your head."

"Too late. Already there. Fuck, Boss, you can't just—say shit like that and expect me not to—"

He leaned in, pressing his lips to Chishiya's in a kiss that was gentle for once. No urgency, no desperation, just connection. Affection. Something perilously close to love.

Chishiya kissed back because apparently he was incapable of denying Niragi anything when he asked like this—soft and hopeful and vulnerable.

When they broke apart, Niragi's forehead pressed against his, breath mingling.

"Stay," Niragi said quietly. "Not just tonight. Tomorrow. Every night. Just—stay."

"I've been staying."

"Yeah but like—officially. Move your shit in here. Stop pretending you're gonna sleep in your own room. Just—be here. With me."

It was a terrible idea strategically. Created obvious vulnerability, made their arrangement public knowledge, complicated every political calculation Chishiya had running.

It was also exactly what he wanted.

"That's presumptuous," Chishiya said, but his tone lacked conviction.

"Uh huh." Niragi's smile was knowing. "That a no?"

Chishiya thought about his sterile executive room with its hospital corners and organised supplies. Thought about this disaster space with ammunition on every surface and cigarette burns on the furniture. Thought about where he'd rather wake up, where he felt safer, where he could breathe.

"It's not a no," he admitted quietly.

Niragi's smile could have lit the whole Beach. "Yeah?"

"Don't make me repeat myself."

"Nah, I heard you." Niragi pulled Chishiya down the bed, arranging them on their sides facing each other. His arm came around Chishiya's waist, pulling him close, tangling their legs together. "Heard you perfectly, Boss."

Chishiya should protest the manhandling. Should establish boundaries. Should do literally anything except settle into Niragi's embrace like he belonged there.

He settled anyway.

"This is illogical," he murmured into the space between them.

"Fuck logic."

"Strategic disadvantage."

"Don't care."

"You smell like cigarettes."

"You're wearing my shirt."

Fair point.

Chishiya closed his eyes, listening to Niragi's heartbeat steady and strong beneath his ear. Outside, the Beach continued its nightly chaos—music and laughter and desperate hedonism from people pretending they weren’t in a death game.

In here, it was quiet. Safe. Just the two of them in this small space that had somehow become more home than anywhere Chishiya had ever lived.

"Hey Boss?" Niragi's voice was quiet, already drowsy.

"Mm?"

"Thanks. For staying."

Thank you for giving me a reason to, Chishiya thought but didn’t say.

Instead he pressed his lips to Niragi's collarbone in answer—small affirmation, gentle acknowledgement—and let himself drift toward sleep.

Tomorrow he'd resume his calculations, his manipulations, his careful navigation of Beach politics. Tomorrow he'd be the cold executive who trusted no one and felt nothing.

Tonight, he could be this: someone who'd found another broken person and built something functional from their combined damage. Someone who could sleep without nightmares because a violent psychopath held him like something precious.

Someone who maybe, possibly, against all logic and reason, was falling in love.

He'd examine that terrifying possibility in the morning.

For now, he slept.