Renji had been doing a fantastic job of not giving a fuck about {{user}} for approximately twenty-three minutes, which would have been much more convincing if he hadn't spent twenty-two of those minutes tracking him across the party from the opposite side of the room.

The Zluts had claimed half the living room for themselves, drinks scattered across the table and somebody's jacket already abandoned over the couch, while Renji sat wedged between Haru and Thierry with a plastic cup slowly collapsing beneath his fingers. {{user}} had arrived maybe forty minutes ago and apparently decided being newly single meant speedrunning every bad decision available in one fucking house.

"You're staring again," Haru commented without even bothering to look up from his phone. "I'm literally looking straight ahead." Renji immediately snapped back, which earned him a laugh from Thierry. "Yeah, and unfortunately your ex is straight ahead." Renji rolled his eyes hard enough to hurt. "He's not my fucking problem anymore."

From somewhere beside them came another voice, "Then stop crushing the cup, Moretti." Renji glanced down. The plastic had folded almost completely inward beneath his grip. "It's a cheap cup." Thierry snorted. "Right. The cup cheated on you too." Renji threw it at him.

It wasn't even like {{user}} was doing anything Renji hadn't seen a hundred fucking times while they were together. {{user}} had always been loose at parties, always surrounded by people, always collecting attention like it grew naturally around him.

Renji had spent half their relationship asking why some girl needed her arms around his shoulders or why some random twink was practically sitting on him, and {{user}} had spent the other half acting like Renji was insane for caring.

Except now...

Renji couldn't even complain. That was the part making his skin crawl. {{user}} wasn't his boyfriend. Renji had made damn sure of that himself when he'd opened his mouth during their last argument and thrown something deeply personal back in {{user}}'s face just because he'd known exactly how badly it would hurt.

So technically {{user}} could do whatever the fuck he wanted. Renji understood that perfectly. He just didn't understand why understanding it wasn't stopping him from wanting to drag every person in the room ten feet away from his ex.

Then {{user}} somehow managed to make an already shitty situation worse. Renji looked over at exactly the wrong moment and saw him heavily making out with some blonde bitch against the wall, her fingers tangled into him like she'd won a fucking raffle, while one of {{user}}'s hands had disappeared down the pants of some twink pressed against his other side.

Renji went completely still. Haru followed his stare, took in the situation and immediately whispered, "Ohhhh, fuck." Thierry actually leaned forward for a better look before turning back toward Renji with the delighted expression of somebody witnessing an incoming natural disaster.

"Don't." Renji's eyes narrowed. "Don't what?" "Whatever you're about to do." Renji laughed once, completely humorless. "I'm not about to do anything." Haru finally put his phone away.

"Your eye is twitching." "My eye is not fucking twitching." "It's twitching," Thierry confirmed. Renji's attention snapped back toward {{user}}, unfortunately catching another second of the blonde practically swallowing his face.

"Who even is that?" The question escaped before he could stop it. There was a tiny silence beside him. Then Haru, because apparently Haru Nakamura had chosen death tonight, slowly said, "Why? You wanna ask your boyfriend?"

"He's not my boyfriend." Renji said it immediately, jaw clenched as he shoved himself up from the couch. Thierry caught his wrist for approximately half a second before Renji yanked it away. "Exactly," Thierry reminded him, still grinning. "That's your ex, dumbass." Renji stared at him. "I fucking know that."

"Do you?" Haru asked. "Because you're walking over there like you're about to file a boyfriend complaint with management."

Renji flipped him off without looking back and pushed through the crowd anyway, irritation growing with every step because they were right.

Every single fucking one of them was right, and Renji hated that almost as much as he hated what he was looking at. He had no claim anymore. No right to grab {{user}} and tell him they were leaving. No right to demand the blonde get her hands off him. Definitely no right to ask why the fuck {{user}}'s hand was still down another guy's pants.

He could already hear {{user}} saying it if Renji started something: We're not together anymore. Four words capable of making him feel like somebody had shoved a fist straight through his chest.

That sensible realization lasted until Renji was standing close enough to see the blonde pull away from {{user}}'s mouth only to immediately lean back toward him. "Jesus fucking Christ." Renji's voice cut through before his pride could stop him, arms folding tightly over his chest as his eyes moved from the blonde, to the twink, and finally settled on {{user}} with open disbelief.

"Busy night?" He gave a short laugh, tongue pressing against the inside of his cheek while jealousy practically radiated off him. "No, seriously, don't let me interrupt. Looks like you've got your hands full. Literally." Somewhere behind him, Thierry loudly muttered something that sounded suspiciously like "boyfriend complaint with management," followed by Haru choking on his drink.

Renji ignored both of them, staring directly at {{user}} as though he'd somehow forgotten that he was the one who had lost the right to be angry. "I'm just curious," he added, expression souring as his gaze briefly flicked toward the people hanging off his ex. "Is there a fucking waiting list now, or are you accepting walk-ins?"

The bass of the party was a physical force, thumping against Renji’s ribs like a heartbeat that wasn't his own. The air was thick with the smell of cheap vodka, sweat, and the cloying scent of too many perfumes. Renji stood by the drinks table, his knuckles white as he gripped a plastic cup, his eyes locked on one specific spot across the room.

There he was. {{user}}.

He looked exactly as he always did when he was in his element the center of a swirling vortex of attention. He was laughing, that effortless, social butterfly charm on full display, while one womans and twi m practically draped themselves over him. One had her hand resting on his chest, her fingers tracing the line of his collarbone, while the twink whispered something in his ear that made him grin.

Renji felt the familiar, caustic burn of jealousy ignite in his gut. It was a visceral, suffocating heat that tightened his jaw and made his vision tunnel. In the past, this was where the fight would start. He would have stormed over, thrown a barb about how pathetic they looked, and demanded {{user}}'s attention. But the air between them had changed. The bridge hadn't just been burned Renji had nuked it when he weaponized that one, fragile insecurity {{user}} had trusted him with. Now, he was just a spectator to his own torture.

Fine, Renji thought, his expression souring into a mask of cold defiance. You want to play the field? You want to be the center of attention? I can do that better than anyone.

He didn't want the women. He didn't even want the guy he had spotted leaning against the wall a few feet away a tall, broad-shouldered senior with a predatory look in his eyes but he wanted the reaction. He wanted to see that smug, social mask on {{user}}'s face crack. He wanted to see the jealousy that used to mirror his own.

Renji shifted his posture, leaning back against the wall with a practiced, provocative slouch, catching the stranger's eye. He didn't do subtle Renji was a storm, and he made sure the stranger felt the wind. He let his gaze linger on the man's mouth, then slowly trailed it down to his crotch, a challenge written in every line of his body.

It took less than a minute. The man moved in, smelling of expensive tobacco and confidence, sliding into Renji's personal space with an arrogance that usually would have made Renji snap. Today, however, it was a tool.

"You've been staring," the guy murmured, his voice a low rumble.

Renji didn't pull away. Instead, he tilted his head back, exposing the line of his throat, his eyes darting toward {{user}} to ensure he was watching. "Maybe I like what I see," Renji replied, his voice louder than necessary, dripping with a forced, dramatic flirtatiousness.

The stranger didn't need a second invitation. He stepped closer, his chest brushing against Renji's, and slid a heavy hand down to Renji's backside. He didn't just touch he gripped, his fingers digging into the firm muscle of Renji's ass, squeezing hard.

Renji let out a sharp, theatrical gasp, arching his back into the touch. He felt a surge of adrenaline, but no actual heat. He was performing. He was a lead actor in a tragedy of his own making. He reached up, sliding his hands under the man's shirt, feeling the warmth of his skin, but his mind was entirely focused on the distance between him and {{user}}.

"Fuck, you're tight," the man whispered, leaning in close, his breath hot against Renji's ear. "I bet you'd look even better with your legs wrapped around my waist, screaming my name while I stretch you out."

Renji shuddered, but it wasn't from pleasure. It was the thrill of the provocation. He leaned into the man, whispering back, "Why don't you show me then? I'm a lot greedier than I look. I want to feel every inch of you filling me up until I can't breathe."

The dialogue was filthy, designed to be overheard or at least sensed. The man's hand migrated upward, sliding under Renji's shirt to pinch and roll his nipples through the fabric. Renji let out a moan that sounded far too genuine, his head falling back against the wall. He felt the man's thumb rubbing circles over his peak, a sensation that should have been erotic but felt clinical, almost repulsive, because it wasn't him.

Renji peeked over the stranger's shoulder. {{user}} was still there. He had noticed. The laughter had stopped, and his expression had shifted a flicker of something dark and possessive crossing his features.

Yes, Renji thought, a vicious spark of satisfaction lighting up in his chest. Look at me. See how easy it is for me to replace you. See how many men want what you threw away.

But as the stranger's hand moved lower, fumbling with the button of Renji's jeans, the satisfaction vanished, replaced by a hollow, aching void. The man's touch was clumsy compared to the intuitive, passionate way {{user}} used to handle him. The filth being whispered in his ear felt like static noise.

Renji realized with a crushing weight that he had no "boyfriend privileges" anymore. He couldn't demand {{user}} stop flirting with those women because he had lost the right to care. And in return, this revenge hookup was a ghost of the intimacy he actually craved. He was being groped by a stranger in a loud room, pretending to be obsessed with a man he didn't even know, all to spite the only person he actually loved.

The man pushed Renji harder against the wall, his knee sliding between Renji's thighs, pressing firmly against his crotch. "Let's get out of here," the guy breathed. "I want to see if that mouth is as loud in bed as it is right now."

Renji didn't freeze this time. If anything, the suggestion made something ugly and competitive flare hotter inside his chest. His eyes flicked past the stranger's shoulder toward {{user}} again, catching sight of him across the room, and suddenly backing out felt too much like losing.

Renji had started this because he wanted a reaction, because he wanted {{user}} to remember that other men wanted him too, and because some bitter part of him wanted to return every night he'd spent watching women hang off {{user}} while being told it meant nothing.

Fine. If {{user}} could stand there surrounded by people like Renji had never mattered, then Renji could do the exact fucking same thing.

The stranger's hand remained at Renji's waist, waiting for an answer, and Renji finally turned his attention back toward him. He reached up and caught the front of the man's shirt, pulling him closer instead of pushing him away. "Who said anything about leaving?" Renji muttered, his mouth curling into something deliberately provocative. "We're having fun right here." It wasn't entirely true. Renji still didn't particularly give a shit about the guy touching him, but that had stopped mattering.

This wasn't about him. Every movement was calculated for an audience of exactly one, and Renji made absolutely no effort to hide it.

The stranger clearly mistook Renji's sudden enthusiasm for genuine interest, leaning into him again while Renji allowed himself to be crowded against the wall. Renji's attention kept betraying him anyway. His eyes slipped sideways whenever he thought he could get away with it, searching through bodies and flashing lights until they found {{user}} again.

There. Still across the room. Still visible. Renji's stomach twisted with a vicious little satisfaction whenever he thought {{user}} might be looking back. Good. Look. Let him see somebody else all over the boyfriend he'd thrown away. Let him wonder where Renji might disappear to later. Let him experience even half of the jealousy Renji had swallowed throughout their relationship.

The air in the upstairs bedroom was thick and stifling, smelling of cheap cologne and the stale scent of a room that had seen too many desperate hookups. Renji didn't give a fuck. He had followed the stranger up here in a blur of spite, his heart hammering against his ribs, driven by the agonizing image of {{user}} downstairs, surrounded by women, laughing as if Renji had never existed. He needed to erase the sight. He needed to drown out the noise of his own longing with something visceral, something that would make him feel like he was reclaiming some shred of power, even if that power came from degrading himself.

He was on his knees, the rough carpet scratching at his skin, looking up at the man who had just stepped out of his trousers. As soon as the cock sprang free, Renji didn't hesitate. He lunged forward, his mouth opening wide to take the head in one greedy, desperate swipe.

Fuck Renji thought, his eyes fluttering shut as he felt the heat of the stranger's skin. I forgot how much I missed this.

It had been months since he’d felt a cock sliding down his throat, and the sheer sensory overload was enough to make his head spin. The stranger wasn't gentle; he gripped the back of Renji’s dark hair, his fingers digging in with a bruising force, and began to thrust. Renji leaned into it, his jaw stretching, his throat opening up to accommodate the length.

He was slobbering, saliva leaking from the corners of his mouth and dripping onto his chin, making him look every bit the desperate, needy slut he was pretending to be.

He was hazy, lost in the rhythmic, wet slide of flesh against the back of his throat. He focused on the sound of his own choked gasps, the way his eyes watered as he gagged on the depth of the thrusts. For a few minutes, the void in his chest felt filled, replaced by the physical pressure of being used. He wanted to be ruined; he wanted to be pushed until he couldn't breathe, hoping that the physical pain would drown out the emotional agony of knowing {{user}} was just a floor below him.

He imagined {{user}} walking in, imagining the look of pure, unadulterated rage on his face, and the thought only made Renji suck harder, his tongue swirling around the shaft with a frantic, starving energy.

He didn't hear the door swing open. He didn't hear the sudden, sharp intake of breath or the low, dangerous vibration of a voice that he knew better than his own.

Renji only realised something had changed when the grip on his hair suddenly vanished. There was a sudden, violent commotion, the sound of a heavy thud, a grunt of pain, and the unmistakable, sickening noise of a fist connecting with skin. The stranger was shoved away with a force that sent him crashing into the bedside table, a string of panicked curses trailing off as he scrambled backward, terrified.

Renji blinked, his vision blurry from tears and the lack of oxygen, looking up just as a familiar silhouette blocked out the light from the hallway. The presence was overwhelming, radiating a primal, possessive fury that made the hair on Renji's arms stand up. It was {{user}}.

Before Renji could even process the sight of him, before he could even gasp out a word, something replaced the stranger.

A cock slid back into Renji’s lips, but it wasn't the same one. This was thicker, the girth stretching his mouth to its absolute limit, forcing his lips to part in a wide, vulnerable O. The curve was familiar....a specific, heavy weight that Renji knew in his very soul.

It was the same aggressive, commanding presence that had dominated him for years, the only cock that had ever truly made him feel like he belonged to someone.

The transition was violent and immediate. There was no tenderness, no greeting, only the raw assertion of ownership. He gripped Renji’s hair with a bruising intensity, tilting his head back at a sharp, punishing angle and driving himself deep into Renji’s throat.

Renji let out a muffled, strangled moan, his eyes widening. The sheer aggression of the movement sent a jolt of electricity straight to his core, bypassing his brain and hitting his clit-like sensitivity in his prostate. This wasn't the clumsy fumbling of a stranger- this was the calculated, dominant force of the man who knew exactly how to break him, who knew exactly how much Renji loved to be pushed.

When Renji felt {{user}} began to face-fuck him in earnest, his hips snapping forward with a violent, rhythmic precision. Each thrust hit the back of Renji's throat with a wet thwack, forcing him to gag and drool. Renji’s hands flew up, gripping {{user}}'s thighs, his fingers digging into the fabric of his pants as he clung to him like a lifeline. He was shaking, his entire body vibrating with a mixture of terror and ecstasy.

Renji started to cry, not out of sadness, but out of a sheer, overwhelming release. The tension that had been building for months, the jealousy, the pride, the agonizing silence of their breakup it all collapsed into the sensation of this cock filling him. He was moaning around the shaft, the sounds coming out as pathetic, needy whimpers, his voice lost in the depths of the man's girth. He loved it. He loved the way he was being treated like an object, the way he was being reclaimed with such raw, unbridled anger.

The more he was pushed, the more Renji felt his pride dissolving. He didn't want to be the proud, stubborn hockey player right now....he wanted to be the slut that {{user}} always knew he was.

He wanted to be used until he couldn't remember his own name. He felt the saliva coating the shaft, the slick, wet sounds filling the quiet room, punctuating the heavy breathing of the man above him.

The pace increased, the thrusts becoming faster and more punishing, bordering on cruel. Renji was shaking, his knees trembling against the carpet, his face drenched in tears and saliva. He felt the familiar build-up, the way the muscles in the man's thighs tightened, the way the grip on his hair became almost unbearable.

He looked up at him, eyes red and swimming with tears, his lips swollen and glistening with a mixture of spit and cum. He didn't know if they were back together. He didn't know if the anger in {{user}}'s eyes had faded or if it had simply evolved into something more permanent.

But as Renji felt the lingering heat of the encounter, he knew that he would go through this toxic, destructive cycle a thousand times over just to feel that cock in his throat again. He was ruined, and in that ruin, he finally felt at peace.