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It’s a little after midnight when he finds himself at the restaurant. Fatigue tugs at his muscles, settles deep into his bones, and Kaoru sighs for what feels like the fiftieth time that night. In front of him sits a half empty glass, its golden yellow liquid responsible for the hue of pink that settled on his cheekbones. It’s his fourth glass, maybe his fifth, he stopped counting after three; urged Kojiro to keep it coming and the other man wordlessly complied.
Golden eyes pull themselves away from the wine in front of him – instead settling on the face of his oldest friend. He looks how Kaoru feels, exhausted, mildly confused, and worried. They’re both worried. About the kids, especially the newbie. Langa.
He remembers the look on Adam’s face, Ainosuke as the public calls him these days. Sometimes he gets lost in the aliases, the fake names, the costumes. Wasn’t skating supposed to be fun? Wasn’t it supposed to bring him a kind of excitement? What happened to the thrill, the adrenaline? The satisfaction of coming back from a particularly good run and an amazing victory?
As if on cue, Kojiro says: “Stop thinking so loud.”
Kaoru blinks twice. He knows he shouldn’t be surprised. Kojiro has always been able to read him like an open book, despite the many walls he pulled up. Let it be known that Kaoru is anything but an open book. He is a diary with three different locks, hidden in a secret vault that lays at the bottom of an ocean – unable for anyone to reach. Anyone but Kojiro, apparently.
When he doesn’t answer, Kojiro speaks again; lips pulled into a half-grin. “You’ll get wrinkles. Right there, between your brows.”
It causes the line between Kaoru’s brows to deepen and he scoffs. “You’re the cause of at least sixty percent of my wrinkles. Which do not exist.”
That pulls a chuckle from Kojiro lips; an amused little sound that rumbles through his chest and shouldn’t be so damn attractive, Kaoru thinks. He narrows his gaze at the other, glaring at him in a way that is oh-so familiar, before releasing a sigh. “You’re right,” he mumbles.
“What was that, Kaoru? I am what?”
“Don’t be annoying.”
Another moment of silence passes between them and Kaoru rubs at his temples after downing the remnants of his drink. The familiar buzz washes over him and he leans back in his seat; eyeing Kojiro who crosses his arms in front of his chest and looks as though he’s about to say something wise for once. “It’s not our fault. You know that.”
“Maybe it is,” Kaoru responds. “Maybe we should have stopped him all those years ago.”
Kojiro raises his shoulders in a shrug, briefly looking away from Kaoru in contemplation, “Maybe. But you know how he is. We had no say in whatever he did. When Adam puts his mind to something, nobody can stop him. We can’t change the past, but we can protect those kids, though.”
“Since when did you become so smart? This feels strange.”
“You don’t have the monopoly on intelligence, you know.”
When Kojiro looks back at him, Kaoru – involuntarily – feels the corners of his mouth lift into a smile. He curses his traitorous body and blames the four glasses of wine (Which tasted rather good). When he had entered the restaurant two (or maybe three) hours ago, Kojiro had taken one look at him and pulled out an import bottle; some French brand he doesn’t remember the name of. It sounded fancy and Kaoru was grateful. He then pulled out some German beer for himself to which Kaoru twisted his lips in distaste, uttering how absolutely disgusting beer was. However, it did feel nice to not drink alone.
He eyes the empty bottles on the counter, counting Kojiro’s drinks until he registers the other’s voice right next to him. It pulls him from his thoughts, eyes widening briefly as he glances to the right. When had he moved from behind the counter?
Kojiro lowers himself onto the chair next to Kaoru’s and he’s so close that Kaoru can smell the beer, whatever food Kojiro had cooked prior, and some god-awful brand of aftershave he seemed to be so fond of. He feels Kojiro’s index finger poking his forehead, smoothing out the line between his brows. “Again with the frowning. Really, it’ll ruin your pretty face, Kaoru.”
“Don’t call me pretty, idiot.”
“I can call you ugly and hideous if that makes you feel better?”
This time it’s Kaoru’s turn to release a chuckle. It escapes his throat, spills from his lips, before he even registers it. “Ah, so you can smile,” Kojiro teases, sliding his index finger slide down the slope of Kaoru’s nose and tapping it twice before pulling his hand back.
Kaoru has to stop himself from leaning forward and chase the comfortable touch of the other man.
Normally, this would be the part where he makes some witty remark. They would bicker. An annoying back-and-forth that seems as natural as breathing to them. Instead, he remains quiet. He can still smell Kojiro’s awful aftershave, and he thinks it smells a little better than it did a few seconds ago. It draws him in, makes him lean forward, and he notices that Kojiro doesn’t pull away. Instead, he raises his hand once more; fingers brush through a few strands of pink hair, tucking them behind Kaoru’s ear. It feels strangely intimate.
Something passes over Kojiro’s face, something Kaoru can’t quite place, yet he knows it’s the same something he has felt for ages. There has always been some kind of strange energy between them. A tension that is so tangible that it feels as though he can touch it. They’re drawn to each other, like magnets, even when they couldn’t be any more different. Polar opposites.
And yet he always goes back to Kojiro.
Because Kojiro knows him. Knows him without the mask, without the alias, has known him when they were just Kaoru and Kojiro before they were ‘Cherry Blossom’ and ‘Joe’.
It’s comfort, he thinks. Comfort and something else.
Something more.
Kojiro chooses that moment to ghost his fingertips over Kaoru’s jawline; tracing a line with his fingers that sends a shiver down Kaoru’s spine. His palm is warm when it cups his cheek and he feels himself lean into the touch ever so slightly. He hears Kojiro mumble his name, a quiet, deep, sound that causes the flush on his cheeks to deepen.
A thumb brushes over his lower lip and his eyelids flutter shut momentarily. When he opens them again, Kojiro is even closer. Kaoru feels the warmth radiating off his body, feels it seeping into the fabric of his yukata. His body moves on its own, hands sliding up the expanse of the other’s chest. One hand settles on the back of Kojiro’s neck and he looks up to find those honey-colored eyes looking at him with such gentleness, such warmth, that it causes his heart to stutter.
How long are they going to do this? Dance around the truth and deny something that can’t be denied?
An arm slides around his waist; palm settled against the small of his back and it sends sparks across Kaoru’s skin. There’s another whisper of his name as their noses brush, lips barely touching. He can feel his breath on his skin as he speaks, and he when he thinks Kojiro will finally close the distance between their lips, the other ducks his head. His lips ghost along Kaoru’s jawline, touching his skin so gently that Kaoru’s breath hitches. His heart is hammering against his ribcage and he hopes, prays, that Kojiro can’t hear it. Fingers slide into his hair, tangling themselves in pink strands, as Kojiro’s lips glide along Kaoru’s neck.
It feels if his skin is on fire. As if Kojiro’s lips are made of electricity, leaving little sparks in their wake.
A sound spills from his own lips, a sigh, or a moan – he isn’t even sure – and Kojiro mumbles against him. “Are you sure about this?” he asks, carefully, and all Kaoru can think is yes, yes, yes. He nods, his own fingers threading through Kojiro’s hair, gripping at the strands to both anchor himself and pull Kojiro away from his neck. His heartrate hasn’t slowed down and the warmth in his cheeks only grows hotter, a wave of urgency washing over him. Kaoru knows his expression betrays him, knows that Kojiro can see the desire in his eyes, but he can’t find it in himself to care. Not when it feels as though he’s bursting out of his skin. “I’m very sure,” is all he says before closing the distance between them.
Their lips finally touch and it feels as if someone set off a stream of fireworks in his belly.
The kiss is deep, urgent, and everything he needs in that moment.
Hands settle on his waist and Kaoru feels himself being pulled into Kojiro’s lap, his own arms immediately winding around the other man’s neck. They’re pressed against one another, with Kojiro’s arms tightly wound around his waist and Kaoru’s own grip equally tight around Kojiro’s hair. The position allows him to deepen the kiss and he hears a quiet groan when he digs his teeth into Kojiro’s bottom lip. “You have no idea how long I wanted this,” Kojiro mumbles against his lips and Kaoru huffs, almost laughs, before saying: “Took you long enough.”
They exchange heated kisses, figuring out what the other likes and finding different ways to make each other sigh, moan, shiver and whine.
Kaoru learns that Kojiro’s ears seems to be particularly sensitive, while Kojiro discovers that pulling Kaoru’s hair and pressing his mouth to the hollow of his throat is a great way to draw out a long moan. Especially when he drags his teeth over his skin.
“If you leave a mark, I’ll strangle you,” he warns, absolutely failing to sound threatening. “I could be into that,” Kojiro says without missing a beat. His hands slide underneath Kaoru’s thighs, fingers digging into his skin as he lifts him off his lap and onto the table behind them in one smooth motion. He feels his back hit the wooden surface and then Kojiro is leaning over him; elbows resting atop the table and caging him in with his arms. His own legs almost instantly close around the other’s waist, drawing him closer while his fingers disappear into a mess of green hair. They tug at the strands, scratch at his scalp, as Kojiro leaves a trail of hot kisses from Kaoru’s throat down to his collarbones. There’s a complaint, which Kaoru barely registers; he hears something along the lines of ‘so many damn layers’ while the other pushes and tugs at the navy yukata.
For once, he agrees.
When a hand disappears beneath the fabric of his yukata, trailing its way up his leg and gripping his thigh, Kaoru revels in the warmth of his touch. The obi finally slips from his waist with help from Kojiro, allowing the other to push past layers of fabric and discard the robe entirely. His own fingers curl into the fabric of the Kojiro’s shirt, tugging it over his head and tossing it into a far corner of the restaurant.
Though, when Kojiro pulls back suddenly, Kaoru offers him a confused look as he searches his face. “What?”
“Don’t get me wrong, this is great and, like, fulfills at least ten of my fantasies, but are you still sure about this?”
“Please don’t ruin the moment, yes I’m still sure.”
“I’m not ruining the moment. I’m just checking. You had, like, four glasses of wine.”
“And you had four beers.”
“Still… consent is key, you know.”
Despite the initial annoyance that passed over his features, Kaoru’s gaze softens. “Fine. You’re right,” he admits, resisting the urge to roll his eyes when Kojiro offers him a stupid half-grin that is equal parts hot and equal parts annoying. “Second time I’m right tonight, I think this is a record, Kaoru. Maybe I should seduce you more often.”
“I obviously seduced you.”
“Really, we’re doing this now?”
“You started it!”
A laugh escapes Kojiro’s throat, loud and amused, and Kaoru feels it vibrate through his chest. His glasses are plucked off his nose and put aside before the other leans down again. He presses a gentle kiss to his lips, which is so very different from the rushed, desperate kisses they had been exchanging moments before. Fondness blooms in his chest, spreads through his entire body and settles into a corner of his heart that he kept reserved for him and him alone.
Not that Kojiro needs to know that. Obviously.
When they kiss again, it’s less rushed; it’s slow, deep, meaningful. It’s enough for Kaoru to lower those walls he had carefully built up, and give into the feelings he denied himself for years.