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“Isn’t Jenga… kind of boring?”
Denji hasn’t been to a party before, but he’s heard of the games. Spin the bottle, 7 minutes in heaven, truth or dare. Games where you get to snog girls, or maybe even touch some boobs if you’re lucky. Those are the kind of games Denji wants to play.
“It’s special Jenga,” Yoshida explains as he leads the way to the circle, settling on the floor and gesturing for Denji to join him. Denji sits down on his left.
“Special? How?”
“There are instructions written on each block. When you pull a piece, you have to read the instructions and do whatever it tells you.”
Tilting his head, Denji squints at the tower being constructed in the middle of the circle. His mind is a little fuzzy—he’s had a couple of beers—so he still doesn’t understand the appeal.
“What kind of things does it tell you?” he asks Yoshida, who simply smirks in response.
“Wait and see.”
Once the tower is assembled, Power pulls the first one, a piece from the centre that slides out with ease.
“Drink if you have a cat,” she reads aloud. She pauses for a moment, before squealing: “I have a cat!!” Without further ado, she knocks back her cup, downing her drink.
“You don’t have to finish it…” Kobeni tells her, toying with a fraying cuff. Power simply burps in response.
When it’s Yoshida’s turn, Denji leans over his shoulder to read what the block says.
‘Take your top off!!’ is scrawled in black ink on its side.
Yoshida shrugs, and without further ado pulls his shirt over his head, tossing it carelessly somewhere behind him. There’s some hollering from the boys and squealing from the girls, almost all of whom seem to turn a different shade of pink.
Denji doesn’t know what the big deal is. Frowning, he turns to look at Yoshida, who’s leaning on his hands, unphased.
Denji’s mouth runs dry with what must be jealousy. Yoshida is stacked—tight, rippling muscle and smooth, pert pecs—not too cut, nor too soft. Lean and athletic with just the right amount of bulge.
Denji kind of wants to poke him, to see if something so perfect could be real.
“It’s your turn,” Yoshida says without looking at Denji.
Flustered, Denji reaches for the nearest block he sees, and nearly pulls the tower down in the process.
Thankfully, it stays upright. He looks at the block in his hand.
‘Sit on the person to your right’s lap.’
It takes him a second to remember which way is right. When he does, he throws the block across the room. It clatters against the wall and falls to the floor.
“No fair!” he protests. “How come Kanta got to cop a feel, and I have to sit in a boy’s lap?”
“Don’t be a little bitch, Denji!!” Power yells, jabbing her finger at him from across the circle. “Jenga is god tonight!”
“Don’t wanna! This game sucks!”
“Do it, or you get a penalty,” someone else says.
“What’s the penalty?” he asks.
“Hm. How about no action for the whole night.”
Denji groans. He doesn’t know how they’d enforce that, but everyone is looking at him with raised eyebrows, silently urging him to hurry the fuck up. Grumbling beneath his breath, he clambers into Yoshida’s lap. The game immediately moves on.
Yoshida’s body is warm and firm. Denji doesn’t want to settle into it, but he can’t really help it—leaning back against the other boy’s chest just feels too good.
Behind him, Yoshida hums and slots his head over Denji’s shoulder. With one hand, he rubs circles into Denji’s thigh, snaking the other arm around his waist to pull him even further back so he’s firmly seated in Yoshida’s lap.
Denji wriggles to get comfortable, and hears the other boy release a soft sigh. Denji feels hot and tingly, like his entire body is on fire. He doesn’t know why.
It’s Yoshida’s turn again before Denji knows it—he had barely been paying attention.
Yoshida leans forward, pressing even closer against Denji’s back, to smoothly extract a block. He holds it in front of the two of them, so they can read it at the same time.
‘Kiss the person on your left.’
Denji whips his head to the left. Next to them sits Kobeni. A slimy, ugly feeling coils up his gut and settles in his throat—no way is Yoshida going to kiss her. The thought makes Denji sick.
“Denji?” the other boy murmurs.
“What?” he snaps, turning back around and twisting in his seat to look at Yoshida. “What’s—“
Yoshida kisses him. Slides a hand up his back to his nape, holding Denji’s head firmly in his grip, urging his head down as he tilts his own up.
His mouth is soft and warm, easy beneath Denji’s own. He presses firmly against him, rubbing his thumb across the back of his neck, tilting his head ever so slightly in a way that makes Denji feel his eyes cross behind his closed eyes. When did they close? He doesn’t know–
Yoshida is kissing him, he realises with a start. He’s kissing a boy. He opens his mouth to protest, but Yoshida simply uses the opportunity to slip his tongue inside Denji’s mouth, flicking against the roof of it and pressing into Denji’s own wet muscle.
Denji hears a groan, and realises it’s coming from himself. Distantly, he hears some jeering, someone saying “Just move on. Look at them—Yoshida’s not letting him go anytime soon,” but he doesn’t really register it. He’s thinking about the pulse of pleasure between his legs, the powerful, assured way Yoshida leads their kiss, the nip of teeth, the caress of tongue, the way he aches for Yoshida’s hands to steer him whatever way he wants. His taste; fresh and masculine, hoppy with beer. The way he devours Denji’s mouth, like he’s ravenous, like he doesn’t know when he’ll kiss again.
Denji mewls and shifts in place, wriggling with desire, with unbridled need—and feels something hard pressing into his ass. He gasps, but Yoshida once again swallows the sound, his hand at the back of Denji’s neck not permitting any escape.
Denji feels him buck his hips ever so slightly, feels the steel of it—so long, so so thick—against his cheeks, and realises with sudden urgency that he needs more.
“Can you guys not like, fuck right here? Use Yoru’s bedroom or something.”
“Hey!”
Yoshida finally pulls back. Denji falls forward into his arms, entirely at his mercy.
“We’re leaving.”
“What? Seriously!?”
“What about your shirt?”
“Keep it,” Yoshida says, standing. He picks Denji up as he moves, gathering him in his arms so he’s clinging to his body like a koala bear.
He grabs their coats and shrugs his on, sliding on his shoes and grabbing Denji’s pair, before walking out the door. Denji just lets him carry him. He’s too riled up to think straight, thrusting in nervous, aborted motions against Yoshida’s abdomen, eager for any kind of relief on his flushed cock.
“I’ll touch you soon, puppy,” Yoshida reassures. “Ten minutes.”
Denji doesn’t know if he can wait ten minutes; he whines, and the other boy laughs. “Okay, fine. I’ll find us somewhere sooner. Be patient for me, pup.”
Denji nuzzles into Yoshida’s neck, nodding. It hurts, but he can do as he’s told for Yoshida.