Nibiiro no Hana: Chapter 16

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Shikkoku no Hana: Part 3

(lit. "Jet-Black Flower" or more freely, "Dark Bloom" or "Flower of Darkness")

The hallway was already narrow, and with potted houseplants lining either wall, it felt annoyingly cramped. Sagawa Ryousuke weaved left and right like dodging opponents in a game of dribbling, making his way forward when he ran into Toichi at the end of the corridor.

“Oh, are you sneaking a smoke?”

Toichi gave a sheepish grin and nodded. A glimpse of yellowed teeth flashed at the corner of his mouth.

“Yeah, this place is non-smoking. It’s rough.”

Toichi was a heavy smoker, often spotted in the smoking area at work. Sagawa smoked too, but only one or two a day—just a casual habit.

“The atmosphere here is nice, though,” Sagawa offered.

They were at a newly opened Asian-fusion restaurant, where the interior featured soft indirect lighting and a relaxed ambiance. Gentle Oriental music played in the background, and the faint scent of incense drifted through the air. It was exactly the kind of place women tended to like. Whoever organized the group date clearly understood the assignment, but Sagawa wasn’t big on Asian cuisine. He didn’t care for strong herbs, and every dish that came out was overloaded with cilantro, making him feel completely out of place.

“What do you think of today?” Toichi asked, giving him a searching look.

“Miss,” Sagawa replied plainly.

“Right? Waste of money.”

It was a group date organized by their junior colleague Iwata with a crew from an apparel company. The women were about twenty-two or twenty-three, and while they were decent-looking with okay figures, the conversation was completely off. Painfully off. Judging by their flashy style, they likely worked for teen-targeted brands, not the sophisticated office-lady type. They spoke casually even to older guys and didn’t even bother with basic courtesy like serving food from shared plates. Youth seemed to be their only selling point, and in five years they’d be on clearance, no doubt about it.

“Iwata has terrible taste, huh,” Sagawa muttered.

“He said he’s into gyaru types. I should’ve known better than to get my hopes up,” Toichi said, rubbing his jaw.

“Wait, weren’t you saying you were gonna start dating that girl from the mixer two weeks ago?”

“I am. She’s got the specs, no complaints there. Just… not enough sex appeal.”

“Ah, I get that. Damn, you’re picky though.”

After weighing their options, the two of them decided to escape the mixer using the classic excuse: Toichi didn’t feel well, and Sagawa, being the good guy, would escort him home. Once they were out of the building and around the corner, Toichi suddenly straightened up and said, “Let’s go for another round.”

He took Sagawa to a tiny, grungy izakaya with just a counter. The interior was a bit grimy and filled with men, but the pickled veggies and rolled omelet hit the spot.

“Man, every one of those girls today was fat,” Toichi said, crunching on a slice of lightly pickled cucumber while sipping shochu at the far-right end of the counter.

They’d all seemed average in size to Sagawa, but Toichi’s standards were impossibly high—if they didn’t look like fashion models, they didn’t make the cut. Sagawa just offered a noncommittal “Maybe,” as a response.

“By the way, Shinohara Haru just retired,” he said, changing the subject to a magazine idol Toichi had once called the pinnacle of feminine beauty.

“Worst news ever,” Toichi grimaced openly.

“And she’s pregnant and getting married? Must’ve been an accident. Kinda unprofessional.”

“She was my number one jerk-off material, and now I can’t even get hard to her anymore.”

Toichi ground his teeth in frustration.

“Magazine idols probably all do casting couch gigs anyway. They’re dirty from the start.”

“No way,” Toichi said firmly, clenching both fists and shaking his head.

“Pregnancy makes it too real, you know? It’s like cold, hard proof she was sleeping with someone else.”

“But it’s not like you thought she was a virgin, right?”

“I know, I know, but still—it’s like a dream got shattered or something,” Toichi groaned and knocked back the rest of his shochu, immediately ordering another round. Sakawa leaned back in his chair with a faint smirk.

“I love sluts, though. And honestly, don’t you think magazine idols have it easy? Sleep with some guys to get work, rake in cash from photobooks, and everyone fawns over them even if they’re not that pretty.”

With bloodshot eyes from the alcohol, Toichi leaned on the table, resting his cheek in one hand.

“You say you love sluts, but every girl you go after is all elegant and uptight.”

“Well, fun’s fun, love’s love. If it’s just about getting laid, nothing beats going to a brothel. No strings attached.”

Toichi let out a theatrical sigh and gave him a look of disbelief. “You’re seriously a scumbag.”

“Thanks, I’ll take that as a compliment,” Sakawa replied with a bright smile.

“You’re one of those guys—bookish glasses on the outside, party-boy dirtbag on the inside. Guys like you get promoted, steal the best women, and the world just lets it happen. It’s messed up.”

“I put in the work, you know,” Sakawa said lightly.

But Toichi didn’t seem to care. “Guess that’s why losers like me can’t catch a break,” he said, scratching at his head.

“And that headhunting to the head office? That was a hell of a promotion. Honestly, I thought if anyone was going to HQ, it’d be Tennoji.”

Others had said the same thing. Even those who didn’t voice it probably thought it. But no matter what people thought, Sakawa had been the one to receive the rare ticket to Eric & Ronald’s global headquarters—an opportunity that only came around once every few years.

“I was surprised too. I mean, Tennoji’s got the better sales record and his English is stronger. He’s a decent guy. So maybe the reason wasn’t performance or personality. Maybe HQ made an offer and he turned it down because of family stuff—maybe he can’t do overseas assignments long-term.”

It was a convenient excuse, but Toichi nodded as if convinced. “Yeah, maybe,” he said, and gave Sakawa’s shoulder a light bump.

“Is it true the salary at headquarters is three times what we get here?”

He lowered his voice even though there was no real need to whisper.

“It’s true,” Sakawa replied in a matching whisper.

Toichi clicked his tongue and made a face. “Damn. You’re footing the bill tonight.”

“Well, I guess I have no choice.”

Toichi quickly ordered another glass of sweet potato shochu. When his preferred brand turned out to be unavailable, he struck up a conversation with the owner about alternatives, and before long, they were deep in a shochu discussion.

Sakawa pulled out his phone and opened his messaging app. There was a text from Reina—the plain but pretty woman he’d met at a mixer a few weeks ago. “Just got off work,” she wrote. “Train’s packed.” He replied, “Nice work today. I’m out with a senior at an izakaya. Getting vented at.”

She sent back a “Hang in there” message along with a cute sticker. They’d seen each other three times so far, including the mixer. They’d kissed goodbye the last time. Next time, if he made a move, she’d probably let him. She was his main prospect, so he was taking his time building things up.

“What are you up to?”

Toichi leaned over to peek at his phone from the side. Sakawa hurriedly closed the chat with Reina. He had a privacy screen on, so the contents shouldn’t have been visible.

“She messaged me.”

Toichi gave him a rough slap on the shoulder and collapsed face-down onto the table. Sakawa thought he’d passed out drunk, but the man suddenly lifted his face and muttered, “...I want a girlfriend.”

“With your standards, maybe you should loosen up a little?”

“I’m not budging on under 155 centimeters (5 ft) and under 45 kilograms (100lb).”

That kind of girl, even if she’s cute and bubbly, isn’t likely to go for a plain guy like Toichi. If he could compromise a little, he might get somewhere, but he can’t, so it’s his own fault. Toichi let out a long, annoying sigh through vacant eyes.

“You ever think seriously about getting married?”

“Where’s this coming from?”

“Well, if you’re splitting girls into ‘girlfriend’ and ‘just for fun,’ that’s what it means, right?”

“For now, I’m still seeing how things go.”

Reina worked as a personal secretary to the CEO at a solid trading company. She was attentive, tidy, beautiful, and smart. On top of that, her father ran a small business, which meant she’d have connections and fallback options if anything ever happened. The only drawback was that the company wasn’t particularly well-known—but still, she was clearly top-tier. Sakawa was twenty-seven now. He figured he could keep his charm up until thirty-two or thirty-three, so for now, he planned to keep Reina on standby while scouting for something even better.

Of course, real top-tier women—famous, wealthy, or daughters of CEOs—didn’t show up at mixers. They got snatched up by equally elite men through arranged meetings or introductions long before that.

Another message arrived. He had a feeling it was him, and sure enough, it was: come right now. His mood sank. Today wasn’t “one of those days,” but the previous evening had been canceled due to the guy’s business trip, so this was the makeup call. Even if plans changed because of work, the man never failed to follow through. Delaying it just meant he’d have to deal with it eventually. He replied roger that and slipped the phone into his bag.

“Sorry, my girlfriend’s calling me. Gotta head out. Here’s for the bill.”

He placed a ten-thousand yen note on the table, its weighty glow putting Toichi in a better mood. “Get outta here, you sleazebag,” he said with a raised middle finger and a grin.

Outside, the distant streetlights blurred slightly. His glasses were fogging up from the drizzle. It wasn’t worth opening an umbrella, but the rain was still annoying. This year’s rainy season had been relentless. The sky was always gray. His American boss, Betty, had grumbled, “It rains every day. I swear my brain’s growing mold.”

He stood at the edge of the sidewalk and flagged down a taxi. Just last year, his go-to for getting around had been the train. The fact that he now casually used taxis meant his standard of living had definitely risen. His current place was a cramped one-bedroom, but he planned to move into a brand-new condo this fall. The rent would triple, but with his salary increase, it was within reason.

After graduating from university, Sakawa had joined the Japan branch of the foreign food company Eric & Ronald. Technically a foreign company, but local hires like him were treated as domestic employees, meaning their salaries followed Japanese standards and were significantly lower than those at headquarters. Promotions also had a ceiling—department manager at most. But high performers might be headhunted and transferred to the headquarters, receiving the same pay and benefits as full international staff. Still, such transfers only happened once every few years, if that. He’d heard the last person to be pulled to HQ had been promptly relocated to their New York office.

The company structure could be compared to a command center and a field unit—headquarters issued directives, while the Japan branch acted as the operational arm. Though they shared the same eighteen-story building, the Japan branch occupied floors one through fifteen, while headquarters resided from the sixteenth floor upward. All fifteen people in the headquarters, including the president of the Japan branch, were foreign nationals.

Sakawa had pulled off a remarkable feat, being headhunted into the headquarters at the age of twenty-six—an extraordinary promotion that had surprised everyone. With the switch to headquarters, he had also transferred from sales to the administrative department, and his salary had tripled. Toichi, a senior from his sales days, still occasionally invited him out for drinks despite their different departments. He wasn't particularly competent and had a sloppy personality, but he loved gossip, making him a useful source for inside information.

By the time he dozed off and awoke again, the taxi had arrived at a foreigner-oriented apartment complex in Roppongi. He keyed in the code to unlock the front door and stepped into the spacious lobby with its tall atrium. During the day, a silver-haired concierge would usually be stationed near the elevator. At first, the presence of a foreign concierge had been intimidating, but after a year of visits, Sakawa had grown used to it—whether being spoken to in the elevator or walking down the carpet-lined hallways reminiscent of a hotel.

He got off on the 22nd floor and walked to the corner unit at the end of the hall. After pressing the intercom and waiting a moment, the door clicked open and swung wide. There stood a man with ash-blond hair and green eyes, his deeply chiseled face showing slightly sunken eye sockets. Though he typically changed out of his work clothes immediately upon returning, tonight he was still in a shirt and tie.

“Come in.”

If he was tired, he shouldn't have called him over—Sakawa thought irritably, stepping inside. Though designed for residents to wear shoes indoors, when Sakawa once mentioned he preferred removing his shoes at home, the man had the entryway modified the following week to include a proper space for that.

He passed through the broad hallway and entered a living room roughly 33 square meters (20 tatami mats). Thanks to twice-weekly house cleanings, the place was always spotless. In front of the large windows offering an expansive nighttime view sat a dark brown leather sofa. The lack of any personal touches made the space feel more like a model room or a luxury hotel than someone's home.

“I’m going to take a shower. Want to go first?”

“I’ll go after.”

The man dropped heavily onto the sofa and crossed his legs. He seemed to be in a resting mood. His inseam was absurdly long. Though only a few centimeters taller than Sakawa at 187 cm (6’1”), standing side-by-side made the difference in waist height staggering—it was a stark reminder of different builds, different races.

The bathroom was designed in a Western style, with the toilet and bath in the same space, doubling as a powder room. It was so spacious two or three people could easily lie down in it.

Using the supplies always stocked in the cabinet, Sakawa cleaned himself thoroughly, including inside. He removed his glasses and stepped into the shower booth. As he was rinsing out his rear again, the door suddenly slammed open and the man entered, beginning to undress. Sakawa had a bad feeling—and sure enough, the man stepped into the booth with him.

He was wrapped from behind by a solid, well-built body, his chin lifted, and their lips pressed together. A tongue slipped inside, swirling slowly, carrying the faint scent of mint. It was always the same with this man’s kisses... at least in the beginning.

Pale fingers pinched both of Sakawa’s nipples, kneading them between thumb and forefinger, then scratching with a nail. Once the nipples began to swell and harden from stimulation, the man gave them a sudden, sharp tug. A dull ache spread from the tugged nerves.

“No, stop.”

He squirmed away, but the man only murmured, “But you like it when it hurts, don’t you?”

“That spot… it’s gotten bigger than before.”

The nipples he pinched were now a glaring red, like neon-colored gummies.

“That’s because you keep messing with them, tugging and sucking all the time.”

“Oh? You want me to suck them?”

“No one said that, dammit!”

He was flipped onto his back, the man latching onto his chest. He always pretended his Japanese wasn’t fluent enough, twisting everything into convenient misunderstandings. It was cunning.

The suction was sharp enough to sting, his tongue tracing cruel circles. It felt so good his back tingled all over. That sensation spread through his whole body, leaving his knees weak. As his chest was sucked on, he slid down the shower wall, collapsing into a sitting position.

After tormenting his nipples until they were swollen and burning red, the man kissed him again, sloppy and obscene. His mouth was licked open, his rear stroked, and then a finger slipped inside.

“H-Hey—”

“I thought you cleaned yourself out already.”

That low voice, with its slightly odd Japanese intonation, buzzed down to his core.

“Well yeah, but… don’t just go shoving things in all of a sudden…”

Two fingers slowly twisted inside, and his scrotum twitched. That involuntary reaction felt disgusting… and good… and frustrating all at once. The man leaned in and whispered at his ear.

“I want to stuff my thick cock into your filthy little hole.”

He deliberately chose the most vulgar phrasing. Glaring up, he met those smiling green eyes.

“Quit practicing the wrong kind of Japanese.”

The fingers inside slowly spread apart. The sensation of being opened to the outside world was a little frightening.

“My cock’s twitching to get inside you.”

As he spoke, he rubbed his already erect shaft between Sagawa’s thighs. They’d agreed that on weekdays—except Fridays—there would be no penetration, and yet here he was, breaking the rule and pleading for it.

“I’ve got work tomorrow. I don’t want to.”

“Just the tip. I want to come inside you.”

He licked behind his ear, gently biting the lobe. His weak spots were hit so precisely that soft moans escaped.

“I’ll clean it out properly afterward.”

“But still…”

“Baby, just the tip.”

He was being persistent tonight. And when he got like this, he usually wouldn’t back down. Figuring he might as well minimize the damage to tomorrow, Sagawa made him promise: “Only the tip. I mean it.”

“And before you come, make sure I come first.”

The man narrowed his eyes and whispered, “Okay,” and suddenly began moving his fingers aggressively inside him.

“Ah—ah—ahh!”

The way his fingers moved was rough enough to be scary, but they struck that sweet spot over and over from the inside, making Sagawa’s erection throb even harder.

“Hah—ahn—gonna—gonna come—”

As he moaned, he was kissed. His tongue was sucked in roughly, and that kiss flipped the switch. The pleasure shot straight to his brain, white-out blinding, and he came in bursts, spurting white across the shower booth wall.

Then he was turned onto all fours on the wet floor. The man’s cock, swollen and flushed dark red, pressed between his thighs. When it had reached full size, he grabbed Sagawa’s ass and spread him open. The hot, swollen tip touched the entrance—already sore and tingling from earlier fingers—and began to press inside, slowly. Just as promised, only the head. It didn’t go deep, and it didn’t move.

Sagawa had said “just the tip” himself, and yet his tailbone itched with need. He wanted it to go deeper, to be rubbed against his inner walls. But if that happened, it would affect his work. He held back, resisting the urge to move his hips—and just then, his ass was grabbed hard, and a hot spurt poured into him.

With a sticky squelch, the tip was pulled out. From the still-loose opening, something warm trickled down his thigh.

“Look at that filthy hole of yours, leaking my cum.”

“…I can’t help it… it doesn’t close right away…”

“What a shameful little hole.”

A finger was thrust in and dragged across the inside, scooping it out. The sharp, tingling pleasure sent Sagawa’s whole body trembling.

“Ah—no, stop!”

“Keep your hips up.”

Watching with amusement as cum clung to his fingers and slid out, the man licked his lips like a wild animal.

After he scraped out everything he’d poured inside, he rinsed it all off in the shower. Then, crouching down, he lifted Sagawa into his arms and carried him out of the bathroom. Though the man looked slender, he had surprising strength—his hobby being triathlons—and though he was nearing forty, his stamina remained overwhelming. Sagawa, the younger one, always ended up giving out first.

The man laid Sagawa down on the bed, and then slipped in beside him. Usually, he’d go for a second or third round, but perhaps he was truly tired tonight. He simply kept kissing Sagawa without pushing things further. Soon, Sagawa could hear quiet breathing at his ear. The soft waves of his light brown hair swayed near his nose, reminiscent of a golden retriever. Though the man wasn’t as sweet or friendly as one.

Sex felt good. And with a man, there were no complications—it was easier. He suddenly thought of that magazine idol who retired after getting pregnant. Just lying there naked, getting pleasure and money at the same time… Women really did have it easy. Life should be comfortable and pleasurable—that was enough.

In the dim glow of the ambient lighting, Sagawa reached out playfully and pinched the man’s high nose.

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