Chapter Text
Kamurocho was one hell of a red-light district, there was no doubt about that. It had taken Majima several nights of popping from one hostess club to another before finding the “one” for him: Club Persephone. It was a popular club for those who did not wish to be seen. It wasn’t that Majima didn’t wish to be seen- quite the opposite, in fact. Everything about him, from his snakeskin jacket to his leather pants and zany demeanor demanded attention, demanded reverence, demanded respect, demanded submission. No, it was not the secluded nature of Club Persephone but a hostess that drew him to this club, night after night. He had been a regular for a couple of weeks now, and still he had not said one word to her: the girl with the green eyes. She wasn’t always there when he came in, and when she was, before he could even request her, he was swept into the waiting arms of an “excellent girl”, which Majima knew meant “top earner”. When Majima would grumble about this to Nishida, his right-hand man’s response was, “well, why not speak up and make sure you get her?” Majima had cackled and said, “how silly of me!” in keeping with his Mad Dog of Shimano persona. Really, he had asked about her, only to be told by the manager and other girls that she was a foreigner (an American, no less), far beneath his status, not worth his time. So instead, he let them seat him in a booth where he could still watch her only because the words “bring me the girl with the green eyes that sparkle as though they are the stars themselves” seemed too school-girlish and got caught in his throat.
Majima walked into the club, expecting to be placed one more with a beautiful girl who did nothing to stir his arousal.
“I’ve told you, I have a rule about this!” Majima heard the voice before he saw its owner: the girl with the green eyes. And she looked pissed! Majima gave a low, quiet whistle. All agitated like that, she was a sight to behold. Her eyes were hard as she regarded a fat, old man. Majima could see his erection through his pants- the man did nothing to hide it.
“I’m sure you can make an exception for me, sweetheart. I pay well, and I’m a regular. That means something, you know.” The old man sneered and wrapped his talon-like hand around the girl’s upper arm. She did her best to pry him off, her face beat red. Majima was incensed, his short fuse tripped by this pompous asshole.
“Oi,” he barked, startling the old man, “the lady said ‘no’. If ya won’t listen t’ her, perhaps you and I need to have a little chat.” Majima rolled his neck and shook out his arms before fixing the old man with a crazed one-eyed stare. The man’s wrinkly eyes widened, realizing who he was dealing with, and he quickly tottered off as the manager approached. The girl visibly relaxed and bowed to him in appreciation.
“Majima-sama! Is there a problem here?” the manager smiled, clasping his hands together. He looked rather like a mole, his face pinched in a tight smile.
Majima sneered. “People who can’t respect a lady’s boundaries. Now, I’d like my usual table. I’ll be takin’ this girlie with me.”
“Majima-sama, are you sure? I have many other-” Majima held up his hand, silencing the manager.
“I know what I want. I expect a bottle of Champagne, immediately. Now,” he said, turning to the girl and offering his arm, “allow me.” The girl wrapped her arms around his and let him lead her to his usual table, secluded from the rest, but still allowing him to keep an eye on, well, her. He noticed with a small smile that her fingertips traced over the snakeskin of his jacket, almost absentmindedly. Majima offered for her to sit before he settled himself beside her, keeping her on his right side. The manager scuttled over, full of apologies to the girl, with a bottle of Champagne and two glasses.
“Thank you for rescuing me,” the girl spoke as soon as the manager’s back was turned. “All the girls think that guy is a creep. I drew the short straw tonight, as usual. Most of the girls don’t care for me that much.” She rolled her eyes as Majima began to take her in up close for the first time. Those eyes… he could look in to them all day. They were so expressive.
“So, tell me,” he purred, “do ya refuse to sleep with all yer customers, or just the old men?” She flashed him a genuine smile, showing him straight, white teeth surrounded by full kips.
“It’s everyone, Majima-san, not just wrinkly old men who smell of death and cheap cologne,” she said, her voice and eyes so full of mirth. She fluttered her eyelashes at him flirtatiously. Majima fought the urge to laugh, himself. The girl with the green eyes was quite charming, but was it all a ruse to get him to spend money and time chasing a mirage, like it was for many of the other girls?
“Oh?” he prodded quietly, leaning into her conspiratorially. Just because it might all be for show didn’t mean he wouldn’t be a willing audience. The point, after all, of a hostess club is to enjoy a drink and a woman’s company.
“It keeps me safe. I don’t know if any of these guys are secret, uh, oh, what’s the word…” she paused and tapped a finger to her chin. Her eyes clouded over as she thought. “I know the word in English,” she said, more to herself than to him. She pouted. Majima thought to himself that, if she did it again, he’d have to bite that bottom lip, just to see if it was as full as it looked. “Oh well,” she continued, shaking her head, “I just mean I could get murdered!” she laughed, a musical sound. Majima chuckled right along with her. “No, but, really, it keeps the two parts of myself from meeting. I-I have another job, one where this kind of work would be frowned upon, maybe even get me fired. And at any rate, the manager,” she scooted closer to him, which created an energy Majima hoped he wasn’t the only one to feel. Her voice dropped to a whisper, “he’s fond of ignoring the ‘no touching’ thing and encourages us, especially in the privacy of these booths, to-ah- bend the rules for extra yen.” Mercifully, she scooted away from him as she finished her explanation. Her warm breath on his ear and neck made him hold his breath.
Exhaling, he said, “So, what is it that ya do, outside the walls of this club?”
Her demeanor changed instantly. It was as if a mask had clicked into place. Gone was the mirthful, genuine, creature that was laughing with him moments before. “Oh, silly Majima-san,” she batted her eyes coquettishly, “you don’t want to hear about that! C’mon. Let me pour us a drink and we can talk about something more fun.” Her words were just a little too bright, a little too musical. Majima frowned, searching her now-vacant eyes for some tell, some personality. It had all gone. Too bad, he had thought she’d be honest with him, her rescuer, that there’d be more to the girl with such-
It was then that he spotted it: a lock of mousy brown hair poking out from underneath the black of what Majima now knew to be a wig. The girl had paused, noticing Majima’s rigid silence. The mask slipped from her eyes as her brows knitted in concern. “Majima-san,” she began.
“Take off yer wig,” he ordered quietly. Her hands flew up to her hair, her face dropping as her cheeks reddened with shame.
“I’ve angered you, haven’t I?” her hands tugged anxiously at her black hair. “Oh, even my manager doesn’t know” she fretted.
“It’s okay,” Majima said, still quiet. “I won’t tell. I just want my girl- uh, my hostess- to be as real with me as she can. Ya seem- ya seem more, I dunno,” Majima scratched the back of his head, looking for the right words. “More like, if I slapped ya, ya’d slap back, ya know?” The worry faded from her face.
“Okay, I’ll take it off, but my real hair, it’s, it’s nothing to write home about.” She blushed again, though not in shame. Majima counted this as a win.
“Good girl,” he whispered, and her cheeks went from rose petals to deep crimson. He chuckled and watched as her hands slowly came up and pulled off the wig, letting it fall into a heap on the plush velvet booth. Long brown hair fell to midway down her chest, complimenting, in Majima’s experienced opinion, the petal pink dress she wore. If anyone had a great sense of style, it was Majima. The girl hurriedly smoothed her frizzy hair as best she could, avoiding his eye.
“Well,” she said, “here you go.” She bit her lip, still avoiding eye contact. It was absolutely sinful how hot that made him. Not a single word crossed his mind, it was all static. His jaw was slack. When those green eyes finally looked at him again, searching his face for a reaction, he acted on instinct. He took her chin in between his gloved fingers and slowly, reverently, brought her face closer to his, his right eye staring deeply into her green ones. Carefully, confidently, he brought her lips to meet his, eye closing. She tasted not of old man, like he feared, but of vanilla and possibilities. Their lips held together for several moments, though the kiss was chaste. His grip on her chin was loose enough for her to pull away, and yet she continued to keep her lips pressed against his. It was like the world had stopped turning, like the music in the club had fallen silent, and Majima existed in his own universe, accompanied only by the girl with the green eyes. It felt like that, that is, until Majima realized he needed to release the breath he had apparently been holding. He pulled away, eye opening, to take in the girl with the green eyes. Those eyes were still closed, a smile tugged at the corners of her lips. When she finally opened her eyes, the sparkle, the life within them, was seemingly multiplied ten-fold.
“Like that did ya?” Majima grinned. She blushed and nodded.
“I don’t get many kisses without expectation of something more,” she responded, her knees moving to touch his.
“There’s more where that came from,” Majima said with a wink. “Aside from needin’ to hide yer identity, why a wig? Why a black wig? ‘s not exotic. Blonde or red head, maybe, then ya’d be a commodity.”
She giggled. “I always wanted black hair. We always want what we do not have, Majima-san.”
“Why would ya wan’ that? Why change what is already beautiful?” he asked, picking up a lock of her hair and letting it slide along his gloves. It looked soft.
The mercurial hostess returned to a softer demeanor, sounding wistful when she said, “I dunno. I guess I idolized the way it looked. I thought it would make me feel closer to good enough, worthy enough to be wanted and loved.” She stared beyond him, into a past he wished he could see. She was only gone into this unknown for a moment before she snapped back to her bubbly hostess self. Majima remained silent, resenting the cord her words struck. “Anyway, I believe I was about to pour us some Champagne!” She reached for the bottle, which was placed in a bucket of ice on the table in front of their booth. Two glasses waited for them, as well. Majima caught her hand in his own, brought it to his lips, and kissed it softly, his lips brushing her soft skin.
“Allow me,” he said as he popped the cork and poured them each a glass. Majima raised his. “A toast: to the most beautiful girl in Kamurocho.” She blushed and clinked her glass against his.
The girl with the green eyes asked, “So, Majima-san, what is it that you do for a living? Whatever you do, it must pay well to keep you in fine Champagne and a jungle’s-worth of snakes.” Her hand came to rest on his forearm, fingers feeling the texture of his jacket.
“I own my own construction company,” Majima said confidently, relaxing back into the plush booth and spreading his legs, forcing the girl to keep her legs close to his.
“Is that how you stay so strong, Majima-san?” the girl asked, running a finger down his bare abdomen. Her touch lit a fire; he needed to feel her.
“Naw, sweetheart. The fine physique you see here comes from fightin’ anyone who gets in my way, even a guy I once saw litterin’. And from fightin’ with my buddy, Kiryu-chan, whose ass I’m gonna kick one day soon!” The girl with the green eyes laughed. It wasn’t the flirty giggle of a hostess aiming to impress, but peals of laughter from genuine amusement. Encouraged, Majima pulled her onto his lap. He tried not to focus on the fact that the only thing between his cock and her pussy were some panties and his leather pants. “I also use this strength for pinnin’ pretty girls who need a good torturin’.” With that, Majima’s gloved fingers began to relentlessly tickle her sides, causing her to thrash around and laugh uncontrollably. He continued to tickle her mercilessly, enjoying watching her lose control in this innocent situation. He let up when he noticed her face go deep red, her peels of laughter beginning to mix with gasps for air. “Ya wanna surrender?” He asked playfully, fingers ghosting up her sides. Her hands moved up his abdomen and rested on his pectorals, fingertips brushing the twin snakes on each side. Majima’s breath hitched as she did so.
“Hmm… I think, no,” she decided, hands moving away from each other. Her movements caused his jacket to open a bit more, exposing more of his tattoos. If she knew he was a Yakuza, it didn’t seem to bother her. “I want revenge!” she cried as she launched an assault on his armpits. That would never do! Majima was caught laughing until he managed to focus himself enough to grab both of her wrists with his gloved hands. Her eyes widened- she knew she was in for it now. Without a word, Majima shifted them both and pinned her underneath him, placing both wrists into one hand. Oh, how he wanted to feel her skin, taste her, watch her squirm, helpless, as he had his wicked way with her. He could make two of these things a reality. Why not take advantage of the situation. He tugged his right glove off with his teeth before saying, “I’m gonna ask ya again: do ya wanna surrender?”
Her tongue poked defiantly out at him. “Never!” she crowed. Just what the Mad Dog of Shimano wanted to hear. He launched a vicious one-handed attack. No part of her body was safe. The tops of her thighs were particularly sensitive, he noted with delight.
His merciless assault against the girl with the green eyes lasted longer this time. He was going to make her admit defeat, admit submission. She finally managed to choke out, “Ma-maji-Majima, y-you wi-win,” between gasps and giggles.
“As I thought,” he said proudly, sitting them up and tucking her close to him. He leaned down and pressed his nose into her hair. She smelled delightful. Not floral, like most of the other hostesses, but something a bit different, something darker, with a hint of lemon. “You are, though, a worthy opponent. I was not expecting such a counterstrike,” Majima conceded. “I like a feisty little thing”. The girl flushed with pride.
“I like a Yakuza who can have fun,” the girl said in response.
“I ain’t really a Yakuza anymore, not as much as I once was. Just a captain now.”
“O-oh. I’m sorry, I think.” She nestles into him. “I didn’t mean to offend you or anything.” He began to stroke her hair.
“Naw, ‘s nothin’. I’m still a Yakuza through and through.” She nodded, her head coming to rest comfortably on his chest. Majima liked the way she fit there. Their glasses of Champagne sat, abandoned, but Majima was not going to disturb the beautiful creature on his chest just for a drink. “So,” he began, ready to shift attention off of his Yakuza doings, “What brought you to Japan?” She looked up into his eye, almost surprised by the question. Majima would guess not many men actually asked what brought her here. It is best, sometimes, not to question providence.
“After college I- I needed to from home, from an ex, from my mom, from life as I knew it. I got about as far away as I could get, I guess.” She laughed softly. Majima smiled and nodded encouragingly. “I found work here fairly easily, my other job, and I never looked back.” Fearless young thing.
“Whatever else yer doin’ in can’t pay well, if yer workin’ here, baby.” She looked at him, something Majima didn’t yet understand playing out behind her eyes.
“It pays enough. Well, it would, but I have to send a lot of money back home.” She bit her lip. Majima didn’t know whether to press or not. Why would she trust him? “It’s just, you know, student loans. Or maybe that’s just an American thing?” She made the decision for him; Majima was a bit surprised, and he hung on her every word. “I wouldn’t have to work here, though, if it was just student debt. I wish that was the only thing. It’s my mom. She got some problems.” The girl paused again. Majima just quietly looked at her and stroked her hair as she searched for what to say. “She’s an addict. If I don’t send money home, they’ll lose the house. My poor dad. He works so hard for them and she just-” the girl trails off, frustrated. She sighed, and Majima felt his heart ache for her. That was a new feeling. “I don’t know why I’m telling you all this,” she went on, “I guess I just… I feel like I can trust you. Like I can talk to you. You’re easy to talk to. But I’m supposed to be your hostess, show you a good time, all that jazz.”
Majima felt something warm stir in his chest. He smiled down at her, looking into her soft eyes, seeing a worn-out tiredness that had crept through. Majima’s right hand softly stroked her cheek. “I wanna talk to ya, the real version of ya.” He kissed her forehead, not something he usually did with hostesses. “Yer interestin’, and I’m havin’ a good time. We don’t have ta talk about this stuff if ya don’t want.”
She sniffled. “It’s okay. It felt nice to finally let it out and tell someone. Certainly no one here knows, barely anyone back home… Thank you, Majima-san.” She shifted, putting herself eye-to-eye with him. Majima’s hands, gloved and ungloved, came up to cup her face. The girl leaned in and tentatively pressed her lips to his. He leaned into the kiss, deepening it. Her lips parted slightly, and Majima took the opportunity to swipe his tongue along her bottom lip. The taste of her was exquisite. Once again, it felt like time had stopped. The music had faded into the background. Majima could only hear the beating of his heart and the girl’s breath.
His hands moved to wrap around her and draw her close to him. Her fingers traced their way blindly along his jaw and up into his hair, bringing him that much closer to her. He wanted to devour her, claim her, keep her by his side forever.
Instead, he laid her down on the booth and broke this kiss, looking into those green eyes. “Say yer mine,” he whispered to her before he buried his face in her neck, kissing, nipping, taking in her warmth, her scent, the soft moans, the hum of her voice as she whispered-
“I’m yours.”
Majima worked his way from her neck to her ear before his whispered, “From now on, ya won’t see anybody here but me. Don’tcha worry babydoll, I’ll see to it. When yer workin’, yer my girl. Ya could say I’ve taken a shine to ya.” He ran his teeth along the edge of her ear, eliciting a strangled cry and a buck of her hips. “What do ya think?” he asked, remembering in the heat of the moment that he was kind of a gentleman who considered the feelings of his women.
“Y-yes. I like that.”
“Yer Majima’s girl.” He pulled back, wondering if he had pushed too par, searching her face, but all he saw was a smile and flushed cheeks, a heaving chest he wanted to bury his face in. She seemed to almost relax beneath him as he gazed at her.
“I- thank you.” She leaned up and kissed his cheek. “Maybe it’s because you rescued me, maybe it’s because you’re genuinely kind to me, maybe it’s the way I’ve seen you with the other girls- always kind, polite, with a laugh I can hear across the room, but I trust you. I shouldn’t trust you, not at all, but I feel like I can’t help myself. I feel pulled into you, Majima-san, like a magnet.” She blushed deeper, avoiding eye contact after revealing such truths.
“Majima,” he corrected gently. “My girl doesn’t need an honorific for her man.” He kissed her again, letting his hands roam freely along her sides. She pressed herself close to him. Her hands slid up under his jacket, exploring his back, feeling him.
Their kisses turned from sweet to lustful, full of nipping, licking, teeth, desperation for more, but their hands remained chaste. It was quite a lot of work and self-control for Majima to keep his hands from sliding up between her thighs to the center of her warmth. When Majima felt his self-control begin to waver, he broke their trust and pulled away to gaze down at her once more. Her face was flushed, her lips swollen. Majima had left a hickey on the left side of her neck, by her jawline. He dragged his thumb across it slowly, eliciting a smile. Her hair was tussled, and her wig had slid off the booth entirely, vanishing. She was innocence and debauchery rolled into one, and the throbbing cock in Majima’s pants told him that if he did not stop here, he would spend the next week ravaging her here in this booth. Nishida would worry.
He sat them up, still keeping her close to him. He drained his glass of Champagne, hoping it would douse the fire within him. It was no use, of course, so Majima decided to ask the question that usually lurked in the back of his mind around women he intended to see more than once: “Doesn’t it bother you, who I am?” His eye searched both of hers, looking for telltale signs of fear.
“I mean, you’re a little intimidating at first. I really thought you were going to snap that old guy in half, but it seems like you’re a big softy on the inside,” the girl said matter-of-factly.
Majima huffed. “That’s not what I-”
“I know,” she interjected, waving her hand to dismiss his exasperation. “I was just fucking with you.” She laughed.
Majima stifled a giggle his own self, instead cracking a small smile. “Yakuza aren’t to be fucked with. I’m a dangerous man, especially to those around me.”
“Yeah, I’m real scared.” She snorted. “I don’t think you’d hurt me, Majima, not in a way I didn’t like.” She winked.
“It’s not just me out there, girlie. If someone has a problem with me, and they figure out I hang around ya, they might, well, it won’t be pretty.”
“Oh. That. I’m not so worried, Majima. They’d have to catch me, first. My other life necessitates caution in this one. I don’t arrive and leave with black hair. A lot of the girls wear wigs to come and go. Avoids obsessive men.” Majima nodded, satisfied for now. “Speaking of,” she continued, “you’re not a stalker, are you?” She regarded him with narrowed eyes and a smirk on her lips.
“I like to think of myself as a benevolent stalker, only looking out for your best interests and safety,” Majima answered honestly, laughing. He’d rather pass this off as a joke, for now, especially because she was already going to make it difficult for him to keep tabs on her.
“You’re crazy!” she exclaimed as she swatted him lightly on this chest. Her fingers came back and lingered, tracing absent-minded patterns as she leaned into him and whispered conspiratorially, “I like that.”
They sat in silence for a while. Majima refilled his Champagne glass and topped hers off. Majima’s free hand ran through her hair, bare fingers enjoying the softness. It was a comfortable silence, the silence of two people who were comfortable enough in each other to just exist for a moment. The music played, but it seemed quieter, like Majima and the girl were in their own bubble in the privacy of their booth.
“Your Japanese is pretty good.” Majima broke the silence. “How long have you been here?”
“Six months. I’ve only worked here for three, though. The first half of my time here was intensive training and, basically, more school. I’d just graduated from college, so you can imagine that I was thrilled.” She playfully rolled her eyes. “No, but, actually it was kinda fun. Plus, I learned a new language. Well, mostly, anyway. My speaking and listening is good, but don’t ask me to read or write. I’m a disaster!” She laughed, leaning into him. He laughed along with her. “My day job is mostly in English, otherwise I’d be in serious trouble.”
“If yer ever in trouble, I guess I’ll just have ta save ya.” Majima kissed her forehead. “Just tell me yer name, so I can find ya in the crowded Kamurocho streets.” As if those green eyes could ever hide from him for long.
“I’ve broken enough rules for you, tonight,” she said, softly. She looked into his eye. Hers eyes were guarded, now, harder to read.
“It don’t need to be yer real name, of course,” he said. He just needed something, anything. A name to whisper as he touched himself, a name to think of in the wee hours of the morning when he couldn’t sleep, a name to tuck away in the corner of his heart and keep forever, even after she wised up and left him behind.
“Oh, okay, right. I meant that more to myself, anyway. I-I kinda wish I could tell you everything, including my real name. But, for now, call me Loki.”
The promise of “for now” was enough for Majima to bring her lips to his once more.