the way chishiya is perfect for niragi because who else is going to witness the switch flipping between uninhibited violence to barely concealed yearning without batting an eye
Chishiya eating a popsicle with Niragi (They have separate ones) while Niragi is watching him, fantasizing about it being something else if you know what I mean 😇🤔
✮ COLD FRONT ✮
Ship: Niragi/Chishiya (Nirashiya)
Words: 4.6~k
Tags: explicit, oral fixation, Niragi being disgusting in his own head, blowjob, dirty talk, Chishiya being a menace on purpose
The Beach had one working freezer and Chishiya had gotten into it.
This wasn't surprising. Nothing at the Beach locked, Hatter had seen to that personally, every keyhole on the property filled with superglue so nobody could hide anything from anybody, but somehow Chishiya still got to things first. Kitchen inventory. Executive stock. Whatever room Hatter was pretending to sleep in. In a building with no locks left he was still the one who arrived before you That was the thing that made Niragi want to press a rifle barrel to the back of his skull and also, on bad days, do other things to him.
So, one working freezer, a box of popsicles, and Chishiya sitting on the low concrete wall at the edge of the pool deck with his legs crossed at the ankle and two of them in his hand.
"You want one?"
The sun was brutal on the back of Niragi's neck. Thirty-eight degrees, humidity like a wet towel over his face, and he was in the giraffe-print shirt and black leather pants and the heeled boots. The swimsuit rule was for people who might be hiding a weapon. Militants didn't hide theirs. Nobody had ever written that exemption down and nobody had ever needed to, and down on the sand two hundred people in swimwear went on pretending not to look at the rifle.
Chishiya had split the difference, because of course he had. White board shorts, blue pattern, obedient. Flip-flops. And then the hoodie over the top with nothing at all underneath it, zip halfway, a stripe of bare chest showing all the way down to his stomach. Technically compliant. Spiritually taking the piss. Sitting in direct sun at thirty-eight degrees in long sleeves like a man who'd never been told what his body was supposed to do about heat.
"Give it."
Chishiya held one out. Red. Cherry, that fake chemical scarlet that didn't exist in nature. Niragi took it and the cold was so good it was almost violent, and he tore the wrapper with his teeth and then stopped, because the other one, the one still in Chishiya's hand, was blue.
"You had first pick and you took the blue one."
"I like the blue one."
"Blue isn't a flavour."
"Neither is red." Chishiya peeled his wrapper down neatly, like he was unwrapping a scalpel, and set the crumpled plastic on the wall beside his hip. Then he put the whole tip of it in his mouth.
Niragi looked at the pool. Chlorine-bright, empty except for one floating lounger going in slow circles. Perfectly normal pool. He got his own popsicle up to his mouth and bit a chunk off the corner, ice cracking between his molars, and the steel ball through his tongue went cold enough to ache down into the root of it. The chill shot up into his sinuses and made his eyes water. That was good. That was a distraction.
Chishiya made a small sound. Just the little wet noise of a mouth adjusting around something, a suck-and-shift. Niragi's whole body reoriented toward it like a compass needle.
He looked.
Chishiya had it maybe halfway in. Cheeks hollow, the shape of it visible in the flex of his jaw, eyes half-lidded against the glare off the water. He drew back slow. The popsicle came out of his mouth glossy-wet and slimmer than it had been, the tip worn down to a smooth knob by his tongue, a string of melt connecting his lower lip to it for half a second before it broke.
His mouth was stained blue around the edges. The inside of his lower lip, that soft line, gone the colour of something dead in cold water.
Niragi's dick, which had been minding its business, started to thicken in leather that had been a bad decision since roughly ten in the morning.
Great. Thirty-eight degrees and a hardening cock in trousers with no give in them anywhere. He hitched the rifle strap off his shoulder and let the thing lie across his lap, casual, like a man taking a load off. Nothing weird happening here.
Chishiya went back down on it.
And that was the problem, because there was no way, no way, a person went about it like that by accident. You bite a popsicle. That's the correct method. You bite it, you crunch it, you get brain freeze, you complain. You don't slide it past your lips and let it sit there and work at it, tongue going somewhere under it, throat moving as you swallow the melt. You don't come off it with a soft wet pop and then chase a bead of blue down the wooden stick with the flat of your tongue, all the way to your own knuckles, and lick your knuckles clean too.
He did exactly that. Melt had gotten away from him and run down over his thumb toward his wrist, and he tipped his hand and followed it down and cleaned the whole line off his skin with two passes and then sucked his thumb into his mouth to get the last of it. What he missed went down onto the white shorts. Blue on white, spreading.
Niragi's teeth came together so hard his jaw clicked and the stud clipped the back of them.
Fuck. That mouth. That was always the thing about him. Stupid small pretty mouth he used exclusively to say things that made you want to bury him in the sand up to the neck and wait for the tide. It looked soft. Everything else about Chishiya was blades and math but his mouth looked soft, and that had been sitting under Niragi's ribs like a swallowed pin for weeks. And here it was, wrapped around something and sucking, three feet away, in high definition.
He knew what it would be like. He'd built it already, in the dark, more than once. It went like this:
Chishiya on his knees on the tile in the storage corridor under the hotel where the strip light flickered and nobody came. That white hoodie bunched around his thighs where he sat back on his heels. Hands on his own knees to start with, being good, being obedient in that mocking way where the obedience was itself the insult.
Niragi with his fly open and his cock out, thick and already leaking at the slit, and Chishiya looking up at him with those irritatingly condescending eyes and not touching it. Waiting. Making him ask.
He wouldn't ask. He'd take a fistful of that pale hair and shove.
And that mouth would open. That was the part he came back to, the part that got him every time. The way the lips would part around the fat head, that first inch, the stretch of it, how obscene it would look immediately because Chishiya's mouth was too small for what Niragi was putting in it. Tongue flattening under the shaft. Heat and slick and the tight ring of his lips dragging as Niragi fucked in, Chishiya's cheeks going hollow just like they were going hollow right now around cheap blue ice. And there'd be spit. So much spit. Chishiya kept himself immaculate and Niragi wanted him ruined. Wanted drool running off his chin in strings and down inside that opened collar, wanted it on his bare chest, wanted him gagging, wanted the sound of it, the thick wet choke of a throat being used, echoing off concrete walls.
He'd hold him there. Nose in the coarse hair at the base, throat working, eyes streaming. Count to ten. Let him up to gasp and cough and then do it again before he'd got his air back. Chishiya's hands would grab at his thighs, nails through the fabric, not pushing him away. Never pushing him away, that was the fantasy, that he'd just take it, let Niragi wreck his throat and look up through wet lashes like he was still winning somehow—
"You've stopped eating that."
Niragi came back into his body from a distance.
His popsicle had melted. Red had run all down over his fingers and into his palm and was dripping off the heel of his hand onto the concrete between his boots, one bright bead at a time, pooling like something out of a body. The thing left on the stick was a sad translucent nub the size of a molar.
Chishiya's had barely lost its shape. Of course it hadn't.
"It's hot," he said. His voice came out wrecked.
"It is." Chishiya turned his head. Sunlight caught in the fine hair at his temple, sweat gathered in the notch at the base of his throat where the zip stopped, and his mouth was still stained and shining. He took a small unhurried lick of his own popsicle while he looked at Niragi looking at him. "Your hair's stuck to your neck."
"I'll cope."
"You could take the shirt off."
"You could shut the fuck up." Niragi put his tongue out when he said it, the way he did at players who needed reminding what he was, silver ball sitting wet and obvious on the flat of it.
Chishiya looked at it. Just looked. The way you'd look at a chart, or a symptom. Then went back to his popsicle.
Niragi's jaw worked. He had spent money he no longer had and pain he still remembered assembling this face. The metal, the ink, the height of the boots, the specific way he stood in a doorway. All of it built after graduation, built to a spec, built so that nobody would ever look at him the way they'd looked at him with a bat in their hands and a bucket of rice going bad in the sun. It had worked on every single person he'd met since. Everyone looked away first.
Chishiya was looking at a popsicle.
"Mm." Chishiya glanced down. Barely. A fraction of a second, at the rifle and what the rifle was resting on. Then back up to Niragi's face with absolutely nothing in his expression, which was so much worse than a smirk would have been that Niragi felt the back of his neck go hot in a way the sun hadn't managed.
"What," Niragi said.
"Nothing."
"Say it."
"I didn't say anything." Chishiya took the popsicle out of his mouth, considered the wet blunted end of it, and then drew his tongue up the whole length of the underside, base to tip, slow. Niragi watched the blue streak spread on that pink tongue and heard his own breath stop working right. "Your popsicle's on the ground."
"Yeah."
"That's a waste."
"Chishiya."
"Hm?"
"You're doing that on purpose."
The pause that followed had teeth. Chishiya's head tilted a degree, the way it did in the games when he'd already solved something and was deciding how much to tell anyone. A bird went over. The bass down on the beach dropped out and came back in.
"Doing what?" he said, and put it back in his mouth, deep, all at once. Niragi could see the stick sitting between his lips with barely any blue left showing. Chishiya drew off it and let his tongue linger on the tip, mouth wet, coloured, working around the taste. "You're very easy, you know."
"Fuck you—"
"That's not a no." Chishiya slid off the wall. The flip-flops slapped down on the deck and he crossed the three feet between them without hurrying, still holding the popsicle. Niragi's grip on the rifle went white-knuckled. "Get up."
"Why."
"Because there are cameras on the pool deck and the corridor to the freezer room doesn't have any." He said it like he might have said because it's Tuesday. "And because you've been staring at my mouth for eleven minutes."
Niragi got up.
He'd like to say he thought about it. He'd like to say there was some internal debate, a flash of this is a trap, everything with this rat is a trap, he collects things to use later and he's about to collect you. There wasn't. There was a corridor and a fire door propped with a brick and Chishiya's back going through it ahead of him, hood down, the pale nape of his neck exposed and sweat-damp. Niragi followed like a dog on a string, heels loud on concrete the whole way.
The temperature dropped six degrees the second the door shut. Concrete walls, no windows, one strip light buzzing overhead with a dead fly in it. Boxes of tinned peaches to the ceiling on the left. At the far end the chest freezer sat humming, propane-fed, the one machine on the property anybody had bothered to keep alive, and apart from that there was nothing but the muffled ghost of the party outside.
Niragi knew this corridor. Not the way you know a place you've walked through. The way you know a room you've built in your head at three in the morning with your hand around your cock. Same flicker. Same wet-concrete smell. He'd been picturing this exact fucking hallway for weeks and had never once wondered why.
Chishiya turned around and leaned back against the freezer and finished his popsicle.
Not fast. He stood there in the flickering light with it between his lips and worked the last of it down while Niragi stood four feet away with his rifle in one fist and melted red drying tacky all over the other, breathing like he'd run up stairs. The last inch went into Chishiya's mouth whole. His jaw shifted. There was a crunch, finally, the first bite of the entire performance, and it went through Niragi like a hand on his throat, and then Chishiya took the bare stick out, examined it, and dropped it on the floor.
"Well?" he said.
"Well what."
"You've had eleven minutes to think of something to say."
"I wasn't thinking about talking."
"No," Chishiya agreed. "You weren't." He considered Niragi for a second. "You put your tongue out when you want somebody to look at your mouth."
"I do it to make people piss themselves."
"That's the same sentence." Chishiya's head tilted that degree again. "You want to be looked at. You've just picked a way of asking that lets you be angry when it works."
Niragi put the rifle down. Leaned it against a pallet of peaches, careful, because dropping it would have been embarrassing and his hands weren't entirely steady and he needed a second. His own stick went down beside it, that pathetic melted nub, and it landed in the dust and he didn't look at it again.
Then he closed the distance and got his sticky hand around Chishiya's jaw and tipped his face up.
Up close the mouth was worse. Stained blue at the corners, the lower lip slightly swollen from eleven minutes of it, shiny, cold to the touch when Niragi dragged his thumb across it. There was a mole under his left eye that the hair usually hid. Chishiya let him look at all of it. Didn't blink, didn't flinch, just stood there against the humming freezer with his hands loose at his sides and let a man twice his size handle his face. That little glitter in his eyes. Go on then, prove me right.
"Open."
Chishiya opened his mouth.
Niragi pushed his thumb in. It was cold in there, shocking, the whole cavity of him chilled down from the ice, tongue like something taken out of the fridge. It curled up around the pad of his thumb without being told and sucked, once, deliberately. Cherry sugar off Niragi's own skin, and Chishiya's eyes didn't leave his while he cleaned it off. The suction pulled at something low in Niragi's gut and his hips twitched forward, involuntary, into nothing.
"Jesus fucking Christ."
Chishiya's eyebrows went up around his thumb, amused.
"Get down."
He got down. Folded, more like. One hand on the front of Niragi's thigh for balance and then he was kneeling on the concrete in the flickering light, face level with Niragi's belt. This was it. The thing Niragi had been running behind his eyes on loop for weeks. The reality had a detail he'd never invented. Chishiya reached up and undid the buckle himself, two-handed, quick and neat. Hands that had spent years inside other people's chests, doing this.
"You've thought about this," Chishiya observed. He got the button. He got the zip, and the sound of it in that concrete room was enormous.
"Shut up."
"How many times?"
"Shut up."
"That's a lot, then." He worked the leather down off Niragi's hips. It did not go easily, and neither of them acknowledged that. Niragi's cock came out heavy and hard and already leaking, thick and flushed dark at the head, standing off his belly. Chishiya looked at it with clinical interest for a second too long. Then he took the base in one cool hand and Niragi's breath left him in a hiss.
"Fuck—your hands are freezing—"
"You'll manage."
He didn't tease. That was the surprise. Niragi had braced for teasing, for that mouth an inch away breathing on him and saying something in that flat little voice designed to strip skin. Instead Chishiya leaned in and took the fat head between his lips and sank down.
Cold and then hot. The first inch was shocking, the leftover chill of the ice along the roof of his mouth and that wet tongue like something out of a cooler. The deeper he went the warmer it got, cold mouth and hot throat, and Niragi made a noise he'd deny to his grave, some strangled animal thing, and slammed one hand out against the freezer lid to keep himself upright.
The suction. Fuck, the suction. Cheeks hollowing, exactly like the popsicle, exactly the way he'd been sitting on that wall demonstrating it in broad daylight for eleven minutes. Now the same technique was being applied to Niragi's dick and it was every bit as filthy as advertised. Chishiya took him about halfway and worked there, sliding, letting spit build until it went slick and easy and started to run. His tongue was doing something on the underside, pressing and dragging along the ridge. No hesitation anywhere in it.
"You've done this before." It came out shaky and accusatory.
Chishiya hummed. The vibration went straight through the head of his cock and up his spine.
Niragi got a hand in his hair. Fistful of it, that soft pale mess, and it was soft. Ridiculous how soft it was. He twisted his fingers in tight and Chishiya's eyes came up to meet his without one flicker of protest. Just and?
So he shoved.
He shoved and Chishiya took it, three more inches in one go, and gagged. A real one, a wet convulsive glk deep in his throat. Niragi felt the whole spasm around his cock and nearly came right there. Chishiya's hand flew up and gripped his hip, hard, nails digging, and he swallowed, and swallowed again, forcing his throat open around the girth, and the sound of him struggling in that concrete room was the single best thing Niragi had heard since he got here.
"There it is," he said, voice gone rough and low and mean. "There you fucking go. Not so smart with your mouth full, are you."
Chishiya's eyes watered. He held Niragi's gaze the entire time. It wasn't submission. It was never going to be submission. It was a man taking notes.
Niragi didn't care. Niragi held him down for a slow count of five and watched the tears come up and slide, watched drool spill out around the seal of his lips and run down his chin and go over his collarbone, in under that open zip, down bare skin. There, the ruin, the exact thing he'd pictured and better than he'd pictured because there was no shirt in the way of it. Then he pulled him off by the hair and Chishiya came up gasping, mouth open, a bridge of spit still hanging between his bottom lip and the wet head of Niragi's cock. His chest heaved, wet and shining in the gap of the hoodie.
"Again," Niragi said.
Chishiya wiped his mouth with the back of his wrist. It achieved nothing. "Say please."
"I'll hold you down till you pass out."
"Mm." He opened his mouth.
Niragi fucked into it. Both hands in his hair now, the rifle forgotten, the freezer humming against his knuckles, and he set a pace that had nothing considerate in it. Short brutal strokes into the front of that mouth and then long ones all the way back into the throat. Chishiya took every one of them. He learned fast. By the fourth or fifth deep push he'd figured out the timing, breathing in the shallow moments, tilting his head to let the angle open up, one hand braced on Niragi's hip and the other shoved down the front of his own shorts.
"Look at you." The words came out mangled around his own breathing. "Fucking touching yourself. Rat's got a mouthful of cock and he's—ah, fuck, fuck—"
The noises were unbelievable. Wet slap of his hips against Chishiya's face. Choking, swallowing, the desperate suck on every backstroke like he didn't want to lose it. Spit everywhere now, running down over Niragi's heavy balls, soaking into the leather bunched at his thighs, sheeting down Chishiya's throat and chest into the waistband of the white shorts.
"That's what you wanted, right? Sitting out there in the sun with your legs crossed, sucking on that thing like a—" He hit the back of Chishiya's throat and had to stop, grit his teeth, breathe. "Like a fucking whore. Playing dumb. You knew exactly what you were doing to me."
Chishiya's eyes flicked up. Unmistakable laughter in them.
That did it. Something snapped behind Niragi's sternum and he hauled him in flush, nose to skin, and held him there while his balls drew up tight and his thighs shook and the whole room went white at the edges.
"Take it—take it—"
He came down Chishiya's throat in long pulses, hips stuttering, hands locked in his hair. Chishiya swallowed around him and choked and swallowed again, throat working convulsively on every spurt of cum. Some of it got past. Niragi felt it leaking out around the seal, warm and slick. He held on through all of it, through the aftershocks, through the moment Chishiya's whole body locked underneath him, the hand in his shorts going still and his fingernails carving crescents into Niragi's hip, throat clenching around him in a rhythm that had nothing to do with swallowing. He came with his mouth full and made almost no sound doing it. Even that, he kept.
Niragi held on until his knees genuinely threatened to go.
He let go.
Chishiya came off him and folded forward and coughed. Really coughed, a wet ragged fit of it with one hand flat on the floor. Cum and spit strung off his chin and dripped onto the concrete between his knees. When he finally looked up his mouth was a disaster. Swollen, slick, smeared, a white streak at the corner and the ghost of blue staining the rest. His eyes were red-rimmed. His hair was standing up in the shape of Niragi's fist. Everything from his throat to his stomach was wet.
Niragi looked at him and felt his cock give one last hopeless twitch.
And underneath the wreckage of his own pulse, something cold started up. In the version he'd built in the dark, Chishiya knelt with his hands on his knees and waited to be told. Obedient. Following. That was the whole shape of it, that was the part Niragi had jerked off to. Being the one who decided.
Chishiya had undone the belt himself. He'd chosen the room. He'd got himself off on the floor with a cock in his throat and hadn't asked permission for a single second of it.
Niragi hadn't taken anything. He'd been used, and expertly, and he'd come harder than he ever had in his life doing it.
"You're an animal," Chishiya said. Shredded. Barely a voice at all.
"You knelt down on your own."
"I did." He got his hand out of his shorts. There was a wet patch there, high on the front, dark on the pale fabric. He looked at his own fingers with mild annoyance. "You're louder than I expected."
Niragi's brain wasn't back yet. He leaned a shoulder into the freezer and dragged in air and said the thing he'd been carrying around for weeks, because he was wrecked enough to say it and because he needed it to be true.
"We're the same, you and me."
Chishiya paused, halfway through wiping his mouth on the hem of the hoodie, a strip of stomach showing.
"Everyone in this place is playing at being a person," Niragi said. "You're not. I'm not. That's why you—" He gestured at the floor, the freezer, the entire eleven minutes. "That's why."
"Mm."
"Don't do that."
"Do what?"
"That fucking noise. Say it."
Chishiya finished wiping his mouth. He inspected the mark it left on the fabric, ruined, absolutely ruined, that pristine white, spit and cum and blue dye and dust, and seemed less bothered by it than by the state of his hair, which he pushed back into approximate order with both hands.
"I hadn't thought about it," he said.
It took a second to land. When it did it went in under the ribs and kept going.
Because that was the choice, wasn't it. Either it was true, and Niragi had spent weeks building a theory of the two of them out of nothing while Chishiya hadn't spared him a single thought. Or it was a lie, and the man who had bought two popsicles and picked a room without cameras and counted to eleven had just looked him in the face and decided the cruellest available answer was that he'd never bothered to look.
Niragi couldn't tell which. He was never going to be able to tell which. That was the point.
"The cameras," he said, because his mouth needed something to do.
"Mm?"
"You said there's cameras on the pool deck."
"There are."
"You sat out there for eleven minutes doing that."
"I did." Chishiya didn't even have the decency to look pleased about it. He said it the way he'd said because it's Tuesday. "Nobody watches the tapes but me."
Niragi's stomach went through the floor.
"There's more in the freezer," Chishiya said.
Niragi stared at him.
"Popsicles." Chishiya lifted the lid. Cold fog rolled out over the edge and down into the dim. He reached in and rummaged and came out with two, and held one up. Blue. "You should try this flavour."
"You're joking."
"I'm never joking." He put his own between his teeth to tear the wrapper, and then pressed the other into Niragi's chest until Niragi's hand came up to take it, and his voice went even flatter, even quieter. That was the moment Niragi understood he'd been out-played from the moment he was handed a red one. "Eleven minutes, Niragi. Same time tomorrow?"
He walked out with the wrapper in his fist and his hood up and his ruined collar showing. The fire door swung shut behind him. Niragi stood alone in the buzzing light with the leather around his thighs and a popsicle he hadn't agreed to take starting to sweat in his hand.
the idea that every summer will be as hot if not hotter than this for the rest of my life is unbearable i need to (remembers suicide jokes are bad for my mental health) murder an oil executive
it’s funny to think about cause he’s so tall, but niragi’s definitely the one climbing over chishiya to make out on the sofa. like, no way is my short, blonde, hoodie-clad gremlin climbing into anyone’s lap. he wouldn’t be caught dead.
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