Archive of Our Own

“Quit squirmin’.”

“I ain’t squirmin’,” Saejima hissed, squirmin’. “I’m just tryin’ not to blink. I can do one or the other.”

Majima’s face was four inches from his, nostrils flared, tongue between his teeth as he dunked the mascara stick back into the tube and twisted it around. He removed it with a clump of black muck stuck to it and went for Saejima’s watering eye again. Saejima blinked down onto the bristles as a reflex, and could feel it smear over his eyeball as he shoved Majima backwards and stood up to wash his eye out with tapwater.

Majima sighed heavily and sat down in Saejima’s vacated chair, sprawling out with a groan. “He can take twenty guys but not a little mascara.”

“You take twenty guys.” Saejima snapped back at him, staring down miserably at the black smudges on the wet washcloth in his hands. “A night.”

“You fuckin’ bet, bro.” Majima answered, smiling like a pervert and jerking his hips in the chair in some approximation of a thrust. “Come on, wash off the mess and get back here. We gotta do this right. You promised.”

Saejima grumbled quietly but rubbed a last decisive swipe over his eye with the washcloth and swapped places with Majima again, steeling himself. Majima got somehow closer, this time chucking Saejima’s chin and saying “Keep ‘em open but look down.” That method worked better, and Saejima only flinched a little before Majima moved to his other eye, repeated the dunk-twist-creepSaejimaout process with a little more confidence, then leaned back and said “Almost done, you baby.”

Majima tossed the mascara tube onto the counter and dug around in Yasuko's little canvas makeup bag, removing another tube and biting the cap off, spitting it toward the counter, too. It bounced off the corner and fell on the floor, but Majima was too busy rubbing the tip of his ring finger on the flattened end of the delicate pink lipstick to pick up pigment. He frowned hard in concentration as he softly but deliberately rubbed the color over Saejima's lips, opening his own mouth slightly in a wordless order for Saejima to do the same. His finger slid on the inside edge of Saejima's wet lip and he rolled his eyes, gathering more onto his middle finger.

"You're so spitty." Majima accused. "You can't be droolin' yet, she ain't even here."

"Shut up." Saejima said back.

Majima grinned and sat down hard and sidesaddle on Saejima's leg, wrapping an arm around the back of his neck for stability, prim as a grandmother at a funeral as he spread more lipstick over Saejima's top lip. "You got a pouty face. Looks cute." Majima informed him very seriously, using the edge of a bitten-down thumbnail to correct a smudge at the corner of Saejima's mouth. He patted Saejima's cheek a little too hard, then jumped up like he remembered something suddenly and dove back into the bag, coming up with a round palm-sized case. Inside was a little brush and a cake of more pink, which Majima dusted onto Saejima's cheeks with apparent abandon. "Smile."

Saejima did, and Majima put a little more powder onto the round parts of his cheeks and clicked the compact shut, blowing swiftly on either side of his face before packing Yasuko's makeup back into the bag. He brushed his hands together like he'd finished a day of hard labor and grabbed Saejima's wrist, dragging him to Yasuko's bedroom door. He let go of Saejima, and surveyed him with a solemn gaze he usually reserved for pretending he wasn't falling asleep at clan meetings. He reached out, adjusted the soft fabric on Saejima's shoulders and flipped the pendant around on the long chain that hung down his chest, into the severe v-neck of the green patterned dress he wore.

"Yo, Yasuko-chan, I brought a stranger to meetcha!" Majima called.

"Taiga says I shouldn't talk to strangers!" Yasuko called back. Saejima could hear her dropping whatever she was holding--maybe a book--onto the floor next to her as she presumably rose to her feet. "Especially ones you bring around!"

"Open the door and meet your long-lost sister!"

Yasuko didn't respond, but the door flew open a second later, and Saejima suddenly felt shy and stupid in the dress and makeup, his hair curled into soft, surprisingly hefty waves by some magic Majima pulled off with a handful of disposable chopsticks and the clothes iron. He felt too big and a little ugly, aware of how much chilly autumn air coming through the windows they'd opened to enjoy it was cooling his neck, chest, and limbs, cutting through the garment itself to ice his stomach as he waited for Yasuko to respond.

This was Majima's thing, not a thing for him. He didn't know why Majima wanted to see him in a dress so bad when he himself looked so nice in them already, but Majima had drunkenly whisper-yelled at him with damp-eyed sincerity that he wanted to share Goromi with Saejima in a way that didn't involve their dicks (but, he also made perfectly clear, definitely could if he wanted). Saejima's indulgence of Majima's terrible ideas was only rivaled by Majima's indulgence of Saejima's equally terrible ones, but Saejima owed him one bigtime after the 11 Really Mean Birds Incident.

"Taiga!" Yasuko said loudly, her arms suddenly around his waist. "It looks so nice on you!"

Saejima shook his head. "It looks like a swamp monster spit me out in Kamurocho to learn a lesson about humility."

Majima laughed. "You say the weirdest shit, bro." he informed him cheerfully. "Look at his hair! It took me two hours!"

"I know, I had to pretend to do my homework the whole time!" Yasuko shot back.

"What?" Saejima asked, as Majima pried them apart and made Saejima do an awkward twirl that fluttered out the floaty bottom of the dress. He made him do it two more times until Saejima knocked his knuckles into Majima's gut and walked past him to the small bathroom to survey the damage, his sister and brother in tow. The yellowed glass of the light fixture didn't do him any favors, and for all the time and effort it took, Majima hadn't gone overboard on his face. He still didn't look great, and felt like Godzilla forced into a tea party in the dress, but he didn't completely abhor it like he assumed he would.

"See? Toldja you'd like it." Majima said, bullying Yasuko further into the cramped bathroom so they could lean in and push their faces up next to either side of his and talk to each other in the mirror.

"No you didn't. You said 'yer gonna hate this,' and squirted lemon juice in my eyes to 'freshen up my complexion.' Asshole."

"See? And that was a great fight!" Majima tapped the big bruise on his chest. "Listen, it's just one night. I'll even bring an extra pair of pants in case you decide to bail."

"I ain't fuckin' bailin'. You made this princess outta me. You're takin' us out for drinks."

"Am I included in the 'us'?" Yasuko asked hopefully. Saejima let Majima sneak a hand over his shoulders and ruffle her hair in the way she hated most in revenge for the dumb question, and she elbowed both of them out of the way to stomp out to the kitchen.

Majima smiled into the mirror at him, resting his head on Saejima's shoulder.

"We're gonna have fun." Majima promised.

Saejima sighed. "We better."

Majima disappeared for a while and left Saejima to boredly chew most of his lipstick off on the couch while he read about yesterday's game, and when he came out, there was Goromi. Her makeup was more lush than his, her hair bigger and longer and somehow darker, her slinky gold dress hugging her close as Saejima wanted to. It was Saejima's favorite dress on her--sometimes it made her look startlingly thin, like when jobs would die off for a couple weeks and Majima skipped eating in favor of whatever wild pills Shimano got his hands on that'd take the hunger pangs away until they could afford food again--but work had been steady, Yasuko had been healthy, and Majima's perky little regular-meals ass and thighs made the dress shorter and tighter on Goromi than it would be otherwise. She looked beautiful, like a glittering knife in the gathering dark of the apartment.

Saejima looked like an office worker who'd given up the ghost in comparison.

Goromi was taller than him when she stepped into the shiny black heels she carried with her, tossing her hair as she adjusted her stockinged toes. "You ready?" she asked.

"Absolutely not."

Goromi giggled and grabbed his hand and pressed her plum-colored lips to his scarred knuckles. "Yeah ya are." she said softly. Then, in a shriek that made Saejima scowl so hard his head started hurting:"Yasuko-chan, let's fuckin' go!"

She trudged out with her backpack on and a small, battered overnight bag clutched to her chest, scowling pretty similarly to Saejima considering they weren't blood. "It ain't fair." she said.

"We didn't get to do fun shit at thirteen, either, pipsqueak." Goromi assured her. Saejima turned his laugh into a cough. They'd already met by then, and while he couldn't approve of a bald-faced lie to his little sister, he respected Goromi's point and didn't let Yasuko argue.

"We'll pick ya up and get breakfast tomorrow." Saejima promised. "Tell ya all about it."

"Aaaaallllll about it." Goromi echoed, waggling her eyebrows. Yasuko nearly screamed and shoved her overnight bag at Goromi's head in an effort to make her stop doing that with her face, and Saejima elbowed Goromi so hard she snorted out her laugh and slapped him on the arm for forcing her to make such a stupid noise. "Just kiddin'. You'll get the edited version for little babies."

"Goromi," Yasuko began seriously, slipping on her shoes and stepping out the front door before turning back to face them both. "Bite me."

Saejima forgot the name of the club they ended up at about four beers in. It looked much like any other--raised neon-lit dance floor, a DJ booth in the corner opposite the bar, couches around the perimeter, a few booths. Pretty people being Pretty where other pretty people could see them. Saejima liked quiet, but the music was good. Plus, whenever Goromi got up to dance, she came back flushed and fun, and with a little more of her lingerie showing from the heart-shaped neckline or the lacey, sequined hem of her dress. After almost the third hour, fifth beer, and sixth consecutive song Goromi returned from abandoning him to go dance to, Saejima reached out and snapped the satiny black strap holding her stockings as hard as he could against the back of her thigh, seizing his opportunity when she bent over in front of him to pick up a bangle bracelet he'd dropped on purpose. She squawked indignantly and reached back to dig her fake nails into his bare knee, but he grabbed her hand and turned her into him, fitting her between his spread legs.

"You should sit like a lady," Goromi breathed into his face, smelling like cigarette smoke and the sweet fruit drinks she'd been tossing back with all the cute, enthusiastic girls who were dancing with her onstage.

"How's that?" Saejima asked.

Goromi smiled serenely, stepping back from him and pushing his legs back together, smoothing the skirt back down over his thighs. He felt a little drunken pang of disappointment at being covered back up. He'd gotten so comfortable in the soft cotton, he hadn't even noticed it was riding up his legs. Or that it actually looked sort of nice riding up his legs. Once Goromi got him back into some semblance of propriety, she hopped up near-gracefully onto his lap and crossed her own long legs easily, resting her elbow on her top knee and her chin on her knuckles to stare down at him from very close. "Stop lettin' everybody get a look at the goods. Those are for me only." She told him, biting the tip of his nose. Saejima wrapped his arms around her, and she moved her hand to slide the loosening top of Saejima's dress off to the side a bit, rubbing at the bared muscle of his shoulder. "Looks nice on ya."

"Feels nice." he grumbled, his face pressed into her dress so hard he thought he might have sequins embedded in his forehead. She tried to hop down when another song she knew came on and he hugged her tighter until she settled down against him, playing with one of the curls dangling around his ear

"Wasn't kiddin', you know. If you like it, I'd buy ya more, bro."

Saejima considered her, trusting the open look in her glassy eyes. "Think this is good for now. Somethin' for...y'know, special occasions. Holidays."

"Hostess dates." Goromi said with a little giggle.

"Clan parties."

Goromi laughed out loud, the sound so obnoxious and lovely Saejima found an extra reserve of strength to hug her even tighter. When she stopped, she toyed with the necklace clasp at the back of his neck in silence.

Saejima dragged his hand up the inside of her warm thigh, prompting her to uncross her legs and push it beneath her skirt, placing it firmly on her dick with a steely glint in her eyes and a confident finality to her movements that could only come from being seriously gutterblasted off her tits on Midori sours and shitty whiskey. Saejima gave her a fond squeeze and slid off the barstool, not putting her down. He flipped her up over his shoulder, a confident finality to his movements that could only come from several bad beers and some brightly-colored shots he’d found and stolen, snapped her suspender so hard she yelped straight into a fit of giggles, and carried her out into the night.

He brought her back to their shitty apartment, only stopping once or twice to lay down in the grass for a minute, and was fully prepared to while away the rest of the evening as far inside her as he could get. But she was snoring softly against his back, limp like a doll. He pulled her shoes off and kicked off his own sensible flats, stumbling slightly on his way to their room to lay her down on the futon as gently as he could. Her wig was a little askew, her dress rucked almost backwards on her torso from the ride. He eased her out of the dress and her pretty lingerie, unpinning the wig like he'd seen her do and slipping the wig cap off, mussing up her hair with his fingers. He washed his face in the bathroom and tucked himself in behind her, smelling the bar and the perfume she liked enough to buy a whole bottle of and Yasuko's shampoo Majima was constantly stealing.

Saejima thought about taking his own dress off as he slid down into sleep, but the apartment was a little cool, and he didn't want anything more at that moment than to make sure his bro stayed warm.