Work Text:
Ueda Tatsuya (vest), Yamashita Tomohisa (black leather/hood), and Kamenashi Kazuya (black leather with patches), as seen in this fic.
Narrative follows the line break.
~~~~~
The bar door jangled as I heaved it open, causing a rush of warm air to gust out into the wintry street. I inhaled deeply as it hit me: cloves, chestnut wood, lime, and...jasmine?
Damn, I can smell him anywhere, huh.
I shut the door and survey the small room. The bartender clocks me, smirking slightly and nodding to our table in the back corner as he dries a rocks glass with a pristine towel.
I had told Kame I had to work late, and that I’d meet him here at Feathers once I was done. While I hated making him wait, I loved getting to surprise him.
He was leaning gracefully on the small bar table, watching some rerun of a baseball game on the tiny television in the corner. I held my breath as I crossed the short distance of the bar to him. I wrapped my arm around his waist from behind, and I felt his body instinctively shift to lean into me. I kissed his head, assaulted by the warmth of his jasmine, vanilla, and spiced amber scent.
“Hey, you. You’re interrupting the game.”
“I know this is a rerun, Kame. You already know how it ends.” I bump his hip with mine, playfully. “What are you drinking?”
“Strawberry something. I never remember the name of it. Ueda knows, though.” He turns to look at me. “Can I tip the waitstaff?” And he kisses me before I can respond, his laugh echoing in my head like bells.
God, he disarms me.
I can’t help but squeeze my arm around his waist and kiss him back before fetching his drink. Who cares. We’re the only ones in this bar. Not that we’d act any differently elsewhere.
The bartender smirks broader this time as I sidle up to the counter. “You’re really smitten, huh?”
I sigh dramatically. “Ueda, I’d tell you to shut up, but I know you’ve got security cameras, and you’d make me watch the playback to prove your point.”
“Damn straight.” He gently places the fifth rocks glass in a neat line, and begins pulling strawberries out of the fridge under the counter. “The usual, then?”
I can’t help but glance down and smile shyly like an idiot with a crush. “Yeah. Kame loves that strawberry-lime thing you do. And I’ll just take whatever you recommend.”
Ueda grinned. It’s funny. His entire aura lashes out in points: his spiky hair, his cord-roped arms, the ripped-up jean-vest he wears, covered with patches he’d won from drinking contests with patrons. But his eyes were warm. Earnest. He accepted Kame and I when our usual bar kicked us out for being too...romantically affectionate, for their taste. He treated us like family.
“One ‘strawberry-lime thing’, and one ‘I’m too lazy to order for myself’, Mr. Yamashita.” Ueda set the glasses down with a definitive thunk, snapping me out of my memory-cloud. He pushed them at me gently. “I’ll put it on your tab.”
I rolled my eyes at my proper name. “Thanks, Ueda-sensei.” I bowed dramatically with the glasses in my hands. He giggled and gestured me back towards Kame.
He was back in position, leaning even more aggressively on the table, his eyes glued to this game I know he’s seen at least twice. I set the glasses on the table gently, and almost subconsciously I murmur, “You’re so petite when you lean like that. It’s so damn cute.”
He blinks suddenly, glancing at me while reaching for his drink. “What did you say?”
“I said it’s cute how petite you look when you lean like that.”
He furrows his (perfect) brows, locking eyes with me, sipping his drink and licking his lips. “I’m not petite.”
It hurts to choke on whiskey, let me tell you.
I cough out a response. “Kame, I didn’t mean to insult you. Truly. I think you’re missing the point here.”
He’s suddenly right next to me, drawn up to his full height. He takes my hips in his hands and firmly adjusts me to stand up straight. “See. We’re not that different in height.” I check his eyes. Slight frustration, but mostly playful. Oh, good, this is fundamentally a stupid argument. Thank God.
I let my warm, flirtatious grin spread across my face, and I kiss his forehead. “I have to lean down to do that. Face it, love, you’re petite.”
Kame shoves me in the stomach. “I am 170 cm, thank you very much!” He pouts dramatically, and I am torn in two by desires to keep this ridiculous fight going or apologize and sweep him into my arms.
I choose the former. “Ueda is 170 cm. And I know he wears flats. You, on the other hand…”
“Pi, don’t you bring my Louboutins into this.” Kame’s eyes narrow with malice, but the smirk lines playing around his mouth betray him. He crosses his arms like a petulant child. “I don’t wear heels to compensate for anything.”
I press my lips together to keep from bursting out laughing, turning to walk towards the bar, grabbing Kame’s hand as I go. He makes noises of protest, but squeezes my hand in affirmation.
“Ueda. Settle a lovers’ quarrel, would you?” My stupid face blushes at my own stupid joke.
The bartender leans across the counter, grinning like a mischievous cat. “Always.”
“Kame claims he’s 170 cm tall. Says that disqualifies him from being considered petite.”
Ueda slowly nods, and motions for Kame to come around behind the bar. He positions Kame just so, then stands back-to-back with him. “Alright, Yamashita, what’s the verdict? Because I’m petite as a pretty pink flower, so if your boy here is shorter than me…”
Both Kame and I lose it for a moment at Ueda, king of “fuck around and find out”, calling himself “petite as a pretty pink flower”, but regain our composure. Kinda.
I dramatically draw my hand across the top of Kame’s head, ruffling his hair as I do so, and sigh. “Love, Ueda’s got you beat by a couple centimeters at least, and I know you’re wearing that new winter collection loafer I bought you that has a solid 7cm heel. Very sexy, by the way.”
Kame blushes as he glances at the floor. Good. I got him, for once. He mutters “Ueda spikes his hair up…” as he slumps on the bar counter. Ueda gently thumps him on the back. “Hey, consolation prize. Lemme teach you how to make the strawberry-lime thing.”
Kame’s entire aura lights up. He loves learning. And food. I take his hand in mine, my other hand catching his face. “Hey. You’re larger than life to me. I love you, Kazuya.” I kiss him gently.
He smiles on my mouth. “I love you too, Tomohisa.” I melt into a puddle when he says my name.
“Oi. Am I teaching you mixology, or are you two making out on my bar?” Ueda playfully bonks our heads together, and we laugh, as the smell of freshly cut strawberries begins to mingle with the lime. The chestnut wood. The cloves.
Jasmine. Vanilla. Spiced amber.