[smapfic] Day will come that I will mourn you (part II)

[hereticpop]

[part I]



“Dear friend,” Shingo said loudly, after contemplating Tsuyoshi with a deep frown for a good minute, “you look like you want a beer.”

Tsuyoshi plopped down on a stool at the bar.

“Yes. Please.”

“On the house,” Shingo opened a bottle and placed it in front of him.

At least the beer tasted as good as only cold beer on a messed up day could.

“You staying for dinner? I’m making steak.”

“I don’t know...” Tsuyoshi trailed off, and that was when his stomach growled, as though suddenly reminded of the existence of food and that Tsuyoshi hadn’t had any since the early morning. “Yeah, I’m staying. If you don’t mind. Kimura said I can sleep here, too?”

Shingo huffed, but there was a smirk pulling at the corners of his mouth. He had a funny mouth. Not as mesmerizing as Kimura’s, but Tsuyoshi found himself quite distracted by the different expressions it took.

“If he’d told you there was only one spare bed and you two needed to share, he was lying.”

That made Tsuyoshi blush, although he didn’t even have a reason. It was obvious Shingo wasn’t judging and if he was mocking anyone, it was most likely Kimura.

“No, he… He didn’t even say if he was staying here too.”

“I’m pretty sure he is,” Shingo muttered under his breath.

He went back to wiping clean glasses and putting them away. Some of the men from the bar were gone now, only one table still occupied. It was fairly quiet. Tsuyoshi found himself spacing out, staring at Shingo’s arms, both of them covered in full tattoo sleeves. They were different than Kimura’s, abstract patterns in vivid colors that left no bare skin. They weren’t exactly psychedelic, but the more Tsuyoshi stared, the more he found himself seeing.

Shingo’s sketchbook was lying off to the side where he’d previously left it, opened on an unfinished page. Tsuyoshi caught a glimpse of it and reached for it curiously, almost knocking down his beer. Shingo sent him a glare, but didn’t protest.

The pictures in the sketchbook were similar to his tattoos, same style of lines and color schemes.

“Did you do them yourself?” Tsuyoshi asked in awe.

“I designed them. I only inked some of these myself,” Shingo pointed to his left forearm. “Perhaps it’s not clear, but I’m not an octopus.”

The dry remark was far from enough to dismay Tsuyoshi.

“So you’re a tattoo artist too?” he beamed.

Shingo put away the last clean glass and leaned against the bar.

“I’m a lot of things,” he said smugly.

If Shingo was implying anything in particular, Tsuyoshi had no idea what it was. Shingo didn’t seem as if he was expecting a reply, though. He opened a beer for himself and clinked the bottle against Tsuyoshi’s.

One of the other customers came up to the bar and Shingo poured him a drink. Although Tsuyoshi wasn’t all that sure if anyone was a customer here. He hadn’t seen anyone pay for anything yet, and oddly, they all seemed to know each other.

Shingo turned back to him with a serious face.

“Whatever you’re thinking right now, he’s not a bad guy,” he said without a preamble.

Blinking in confusion, Tsuyoshi turned towards the man who’d just gone back to his table.

“Not him, dummy,”Shingo rolled his eyes.

Tsuyoshi continued to blink and look around until finally, finally it dawned on him who and what Shingo was referring to.

He leaned on the counter and grabbed his bottle with both hands, tugging at the corner of the label that was peeling off.

“I’ve just met him today…” he said. “And I’ve seen him do things which were… not good.”

“That’s the life.” Shingo said, motioning around. “We do what we have to do.”

Tsuyoshi peeled the label off and started folding it absentmindedly.

“He kind of saved me, though,” he added. There was also the part where Tsuyoshi wouldn’t have needed being saved if it hadn’t been for Kimura. Tsuyoshi ignored that part.

“Like I said,” Shingo shrugged, “not a bad guy. So don’t feel guilty about wanting in his pants.”

Tsuyoshi looked up sharply, blushing again.

“I don’t...”

Shingo just waved him off.

“Come upstairs with me and I’ll show you around. And then you can help me with dinner.”

Tsuyoshi stepped out of the shower and only then realized his backpack was still strapped to the back of Kimura’s bike. He toweled himself off and pulled his dirty clothes back on, making a mental note to ask Shingo to use his laundry machine. When he left the bathroom, the upstairs hallway was dark and empty. Shingo had probably gone back to the bar. As for Kimura, well, Tsuyoshi didn’t know what to expect anymore.

Dinner had been uneventful and Kimura had ignored Tsuyoshi completely. He talked to Shingo about things and people Tsuyoshi had no idea about, although Tsuyoshi had the impression that they were purposefully vague about certain details. Probably highly illegal details. Kimura was sitting there with his long hair let loose, in a t-shirt that was too big for him, the stretched collar hanging rather miserably and almost exposing his shoulder. And he still looked like the most vividly alive, blazing thing that Tsuyoshi could ever dare to want. Tsuyoshi almost managed to convince himself that he’d dreamed up the kissing, that it’d been nothing more than a hungry phantasm fabricated by his overworked consciousness; except that once or twice he caught Kimura casting him a quick glance and immediately looking away when he thought Tsuyoshi had noticed.

So Tsuyoshi was determined to be extra annoying, digging into his steak like it was his last meal and commenting loudly how delicious it was.

Shingo was quite amused. Kimura didn’t bat an eyelash.

Now, Tsuyoshi defiantly decided he wasn’t going to be concerned with Kimura’s hot and cold routine. It was just this morning - which seemed as far away now as everything else Tsuyoshi had been familiar with, including his sanity, sense of safety and clear lines between right and wrong - that he hadn’t even known Kimura, hadn’t even met him and definitely hadn’t struggled with a crippling mix of emotions towards him. Kimura hadn’t been a part of his life and he wasn’t going to be tomorrow, that much was clear. Sure, one session of mind-blowing sex for all his trouble would have been nice… He groaned internally, reliving the memory of Kimura’s mouth on his and Kimura’s hand in his hair. It would’ve been mind-blowing, that much he was willing to bet.

He stomped down the stairs and found the back entrance that led him straight to the parking lot. This side of the building wasn’t very well-lit, but there was an eerie glow from the bar’s neon signs, a reddish pink haze spilling into the night from above. It was enough for Tsuyoshi to locate Kimura’s motorcycle just where they’d left it, in a corner hugged by the dark wall of trees on one side and a grassy field on the other.

The Harley was a beautiful thing. Alone and away from Kimura’s don’t touch it mantra, Tsuyoshi couldn’t help himself. He ran his hand over the cool metal, then gripped the handles. It wasn’t going to hurt anyone if he just sat on it for a moment, imagined what it’d feel like to ride it by himself.

He was just about to swing his leg over the seat.

“Are you trying to steal my bike?”

The voice made him jump away as though the motorcycle caught fire. Tsuyoshi spun around in panic. Kimura was there, very close, the end of his cigarette glowing orange near his unreadable face. Tsuyoshi had no idea where he’d come from. Perhaps he’d been sitting there all along, hidden in some dark hole, waiting for Tsuyoshi to show up and do something stupid, just so that he could catch him red-handed and scold him. As unrealistic as that thought was, it made Tsuyoshi feel oddly warm.

Kimura exhaled a cloud of smoke and tossed the cigarette to the ground. He took a step forward.

Tsuyoshi automatically stepped back.

Another step, and Tsuyoshi was backed against the bike and Kimura was in his space.

“I wasn’t...” Tsuyoshi started, defensive, but Kimura just reached up and placed his finger on Tsuyoshi’s mouth, effectively shutting him up. For the umpteenth time, Tsuyoshi got a feeling that they were playing a game that he didn’t know the rules of.

“Tsuyoshi,” Kimura said quietly. His face was right there and Tsuyoshi couldn’t look. He was too aware of the finger touching his lips, breathing against it through open mouth. If Kimura slipped it in, Tsuyoshi would suck it, the way he would go easily if Kimura pushed him to his knees now. He felt his cheeks grow warm with a flush and prayed that it was too dark for Kimura to see.

The finger brushed along his lower lip and then Kimura was holding his jaw, tilting his head so that Tsuyoshi had to look at him.

The corner of Kimura’s mouth slowly pulled up into a smirk.

“You never learn, do you?” he whispered.

“No,” Tsuyoshi said. “Yes.”

Kimura kissed him.

This time Tsuyoshi got what he’d wanted all along. The ravishing, the insistence, the merciless hunger of the kiss that Kimura had worn around his mouth all day. It was heady and uncoordinated, Tsuyoshi gasping and Kimura muttering some words against his skin that Tsuyoshi didn’t hear and then they were kissing again and again and Tsuyoshi didn’t know anything else anymore. He tried to hold Kimura, but when he grabbed onto his leather, he got a handful of the gun in its hidden holster underneath and he let go immediately. He flailed his arms until Kimura grabbed one of them and guided Tsuyoshi to wrap it around his neck. It made Kimura purr like a satisfied cat, his own hand on Tsuyoshi’s side, pulling his t-shirt up and stroking his naked skin.

Tsuyoshi’s lips tingled and his breathing was shallow and he wasn’t sure if he hadn’t let out a moan or two. He definitely did when Kimura’s hand dipped to rub his cock through his jeans, finding it half-hard already.

Kimura made a noise of approval and leaned in to work his mouth on Tsuyoshi’s neck. When he stepped back again, he was looking at Tsuyoshi with crazy desperation, both hands on Tsuyoshi’s belt buckle.

“Do you want...”

“Yes,” Tsuyoshi said quickly, looking down to watch as Kimura did away with his belt and impatiently tugged at his waistband, making the button come undone. Tsuyoshi wanted to warn that these were vintage jeans and should be treated accordingly, but he didn’t get much chance, as Kimura roughly yanked them down his thighs together with his boxers. The sudden cool breeze of night air on his dick felt thrilling. Tsuyoshi was still staring down when Kimura touched him again, stroked his erection and picked up where he left, sucking at Tsuyoshi’s throat. Tsuyoshi felt like he was being tasted, devoured, like Kimura was going to swallow him up. It was probably just a trick of his foggy brain, but he couldn’t remember being this turned on by someone in his entire life.

“Come on,” Kimura said, taking hold of Tsuyoshi’s shoulders and twirling him around so that he was facing the motorcycle again. Tsuyoshi reached for the bike with his hands to brace himself, but Kimura pressed against his shoulder blade until Tsuyoshi was going down, down, his chest and forearms on the motorcycle seat.

Briefly, Tsuyoshi wondered how many people had been bent over Kimura’s bike before him. Not that it mattered. Kimura stroked Tsuyoshi’s hair telling him how good he was, reassuring and sucking all the remaining thought from Tsuyoshi’s mind.

“Good boy,” Kimura said, moving to stroke his back. Only now as his body relaxed, Tsuyoshi realized how tense he’d been.

“Let’s just make one thing clear,” Kimura paused and the next thing Tsuyoshi knew was a sharp slap to his ass. He reacted instinctively, too stunned to control himself: with a moan, pushing his hips up for more.

He could picture Kimura’s grin even if he couldn’t see it.

“You.” Kimura spanked him again. “Don’t.” Again. “Touch. My bike.” Two more and Tsuyoshi was squirming and groaning, his brain seemingly gone for good. “Without. Permission.”

They weren’t playful slaps, they stung just the right way, the sensation going straight to his groin. Kimura wasn’t even holding him down; he didn’t need to. Tsuyoshi held onto the bike as if his life depended on it.

With the last slap, Kimura’s hand lingered, rubbing the warm spot and sending a shiver through Tsuyoshi’s whole body.

“You like this?”

“Yes,” Tsuyoshi admitted weakly, no point in denying it. He was bent over a motorcycle, getting spanked in a parking lot where anyone could see them and the thought was as embarrassing as it was arousing.

“God, you’ve got a nice ass.” Kimura pressed his hips against him, grinding with purpose. The rough friction of his jeans on Tsuyoshi’s oversensitive skin burned, but Tsuyoshi found himself aching for more. He bit his lip to stop himself from making more noise. “I’ve wanted this since I first saw you.” Honesty or lust-fueled nonsense, it didn’t matter; not when Tsuyoshi felt Kimura’s dick, big and unbelievably stiff, and he pushed back because he wanted this too, he wanted it so much.

Kimura skimmed his hand down Tsuyoshi’s spine and stopped at the hem of his t-shirt, teasing him with feathery touches of his fingers to the bare skin below.

“Please tell me you’ve got lube,” he said, quite breathless.

“In my backpack...” Tsuyoshi jerked up to reach for it. Kimura firmly pushed him down.

“Stay like this,” he ordered.

With Tsuyoshi’s half-coherent directions in the dark, it must have been the magic of sexual frustration that led Kimura to the lube and a condom in the clutter of Tsuyoshi’s stuff. In the awkward silence that followed, Tsuyoshi, still plastered to the motorcycle seat, could only focus on the quiet sounds: the metallic clink of Kimura’s belt buckle, the zipper of his jeans, the rustle of the condom wrapper, the plastic pop of a bottle being uncapped. He thought of Kimura’s cock and he wanted to see it, wanted to touch it, but he wanted this more.

He shuddered when he felt cold hands on his ass, parting his cheeks. Two slick, wet fingers rubbed at his asshole.

“This okay?” Kimura asked in a low, scratchy voice, as though he’d had some late afterthoughts about consent, or he just liked Tsuyoshi saying yes yes yes.

“Yes,” Tsuyoshi whined and then gasped when Kimura pushed two fingers in at once. It felt good, though, stretching him forcefully, Kimura twisting his fingers this way and that way before aiming for his prostate. That left Tsuyoshi to quiver and bite his lip again, but he still couldn’t help the little noises that escaped him.

“You’re so good,” Kimura told him again and like on cue, Tsuyoshi pushed back for more. “Want me to fuck you?”

“Yes, yes.” There was no other word he could form, nothing else on his mind. He gripped the edge of the seat to steady himself. He felt more lube poured down his ass crack, so much lube that it was dripping, and the head of Kimura’s cock pressed against him.

“Open up for me, yeah,” Kimura whispered and without further warning, he entered him with one quick thrust that made Tsuyoshi cry out. Tsuyoshi wasn’t sure if his vision blacked out for a moment because he was staring into the dark trees ahead of him anyway. Kimura held himself back, giving him time to recover before he started pushing further in, slow and careful. It felt like so much, and Tsuyoshi felt so full, and yet he wanted even more. He tried spreading his legs wider, but his jeans were still around his knees, restraining his movement.

Bottoming had been a bit hit or miss for Tsuyoshi, which, he’d suspected, had more to do with the skill and consideration of his previous partners than anything else. He hadn’t done it in a long time, his sex life mostly consisting of hand jobs and blowjobs with random hook-ups that could’ve been more but somehow never were. And yet there he was, hooking up with an outlaw biker, whose cock was buried balls-deep in Tsuyoshi’s ass now, and Tsuyoshi knew they could never be more, but that didn’t mean anything - not as long as he was getting this.

He could smell leather and gasoline, and something else, like dirt and metal at the same time, and his lungs were full of it. Kimura was gripping his waist, fucking him faster, breathing loudly, occasionally letting out a groan. Tsuyoshi’s shirt was riding up and at some point Kimura just tugged it up to his armpits, splayed his fingers on Tsuyoshi naked back as if he was claiming him.

“I should’ve stripped you naked,” he growled, and then launched into a breathless, half-moaned, half-muttered stream of filthy promises that made Tsuyoshi shake. “I will. I’ll take you upstairs, lay you out on the bed and I’ll lick and suck every inch of you. You’ll be begging me to fuck you again. I’ll make you come so many times you’ll be begging me to stop.” He punctuated his sentences with hard thrusts, and Tsuyoshi’s brain had short-circuited somewhere around being promised to be fucked again while he was being fucked. “I’ll eat you out until you scream so loud that everyone will hear and they will know. Just like they know now, they all heard you already, they know how needy you are, how much you want me.”

Perhaps it wasn’t the most creative dirty talk Tsuyoshi had ever heard, but it did its job: his cheeks burned with a flush and his erection ached and he wasn’t even trying to be quiet anymore, moaning Kimura’s name and begging him to go faster. If only he could reach for his cock, he knew he was close, so close to orgasm, but he didn’t feel like he could move, desperately clinging to the motorcycle and letting Kimura use him how he wanted.

“Wait, stop,” Kimura suddenly said, his hips coming to a halt. He pulled out, leaving Tsuyoshi panting and empty and dazed. “Come on.” Firm hands wrapped around Tsuyoshi’s shoulders and helped him up to his feet.

Kimura turned them around, so that he was the one leaning against the motorcycle.

“I can’t have you coming all over my bike,” he said with a grin, shaking his long hair back.

Tsuyoshi needed a moment to comprehend his meaning. When he did, he wanted to tell Kimura how ridiculous he was, but the words died in his throat. Kimura was sitting on the bike sideways, his jeans pooling around his ankles, legs wide and cock hard, one hand wrapped around the base. He patted his thigh with his other hand.

As clumsy as his state of undress made him, Tsuyoshi managed to step in between Kimura’s legs facing away from him, letting Kimura’s grip on his hips guide him back onto his cock. “Fuck yesss,” Kimura hissed when Tsuyoshi lowered himself slowly, grabbing onto Kimura’s legs for support.

It took him a moment to find a comfortable position, but when he started riding Kimura in earnest, Kimura wasn’t talking anymore, just groaning, cursing and uttering some half-formed words of encouragement. Even like this, Tsuyoshi didn’t feel like he had much control. Kimura set the pace, thrusting up into him, faster, and Tsuyoshi did what he could to meet it and not fall off his lap. He wouldn’t fall; Kimura was holding him tight, almost desperate, fingers digging into flesh.

“Fuck, Tsuyoshi, fuck, I need, uh,” and Tsuyoshi did too. One of Kimura’s hands closed around his erection and worked him with quick tugs, not in a place for sophistication, until Tsuyoshi was all noise and tensing muscles and coming, bearing down on Kimura’s cock.

Kimura faltered, another breathless whisper of Tsuyoshi’s name escaping his lips, and then Tsuyoshi felt him buck off the bike. He collapsed, forehead pressing against Tsuyoshi’s neck. Tsuyoshi rocked his hips slower and gentler till everything was gone and he was absolutely boneless.

They disentangled from each other without a word. Kimura chucked the used condom into the bushes and did up his jeans while Tsuyoshi was still pulling his on, looking mostly towards the ground or at his own hands.

“Hey,” he heard and before he knew it, Kimura was in his space, an unlit cigarette in his mouth, straightening Tsuyoshi’s t-shirt and brushing imaginary dust off. “You alright?”

Tsuyoshi nodded. He felt sweaty and overheated.

“This was good. Really good.” Kimura leaned in and kissed him, brief and almost obscenely chaste in comparison to what they’d just done. “I’ll see you later, ‘kay?”

He left, not waiting for a reply. Tsuyoshi still stood in the same place when he heard the click of Kimura’s lighter, echoing through the parking lot.

With a feeling that everything that could happen had already happened and there was nothing to stop him, Tsuyoshi ostentatiously sat on the motorcycle. He didn’t care if Kimura saw him.

Judging by the laughter he heard from the distance, Kimura did see.

Kimura had been honest with him up until that point, but Tsuyoshi suspected that the promise to see him later was nothing more than a matter of courtesy. When Tsuyoshi went back inside, Kimura was nowhere to be found. Not that Tsuyoshi searched for him. He didn’t think they had anything to say to each other, so unless Kimura was up for more sex (which Tsuyoshi definitely, certainly, without a doubt was), they could part ways without saying goodbye.

And still Tsuyoshi felt oddly sulky about that. He spent a considerable amount of time sitting on the concrete step in front of the bar by himself, before Shingo came to lock up. Shingo just looked at him, then went inside and came back with two bottles of beer. He gave one to Tsuyoshi and they sat there in companionable silence, drinking and staring into the far away lights. Finally, Tsuyoshi patted Shingo’s shoulder saying goodnight and retreated to the guest room, Kimura, predictably, nowhere in sight.

Tsuyoshi was rolling on the bed from one side to the other, trying to fall asleep, increasingly aware of how late it was and how he was going to be exhausted tomorrow. He couldn’t shut down his buzzing head, though, the events of the whole day reeling on the inside of his eyelids, in increasingly absurd sequences. Finally he just laid on his back, eyes open, staring at the ceiling.

He didn’t hear the footsteps. The creak of the door surprised him, and then it closed with a click and Kimura was standing there in the dark. Tsuyoshi had seen him shirtless before, but now, in nothing but a pair of shorts and only illuminated by the moonlight, he seemed startlingly skinny and young, all bone and sinew, sharp angles and edges. He had that contradictory stance, just a flicker of motion between uncertain and confident. Tsuyoshi couldn’t see the expression on his face, but he knew Kimura was looking at him, even as he pushed the shorts down his hips, dropped them to the floor and slid under the blanket.

“Hey,” he whispered, leaning on his elbow.

“Hey,” Tsuyoshi whispered back.

“Did I wake you up?”

Tsuyoshi shook his head on the pillow.

“Then come here,” Kimura said, although he was the one who rolled on top of Tsuyoshi and started kissing him.

He was different now, thorough and tactile, when before it was all hurry and need. Kimura touched Tsuyoshi everywhere he could reach, stroked his skin, kissed his jaw, his neck and his chest. Tsuyoshi remembered his dirty promises and stirred with arousal, but Kimura didn’t seem to aim for anything. He was slow, almost sleepy, and not all that focused.

And somehow that was enough to make Tsuyoshi’s breath hitch more than once.

“I still want you,” Kimura murmured between the kisses. “I thought I would have you once and that would be enough… But I can’t help it, I can’t… stop...”

“Kimura,” Tsuyoshi broke away, “are you drunk?”

“Maybe.”

“You smell like booze.”

Kimura pulled back enough to look at Tsuyoshi’s face, trying to read it.

“I can go,” he said solemnly.

Tsuyoshi wasn’t sure if Kimura actually looked nervous or if it was the shadows playing tricks on him.

“No, stay,” he said. “Please.”

Kimura lodged on Tsuyoshi’s chest. He made a half-attempt to stroke Tsuyoshi’s cock, but his grip was loose and sluggish. He muttered something incomprehensible into Tsuyoshi’s skin and soon he was snoring away.

Tsuyoshi was racking his brains for a witty remark he could make about that the next morning, but before he managed to piece anything together, he fell asleep too, feeling like he was floating on the waves, Kimura’s hair spilled over his body like seaweed.

No witty remark would’ve made a difference. It was well around noon when Tsuyoshi woke up, the sun high in the sky, and Kimura was gone. Not just from the bed, but from the bar, his motorcycle no longer in its spot (which Tsuyoshi was well acquainted with, thank you very much; even through the disappointment, his cheeks grew warm at the memory).

“Omelet?” Shingo asked, placing a plate in front of him when Tsuyoshi sat down at the bar. A cup of coffee was already waiting for him.

There had been two other motorcycles and a car parked outside and three bearded men sat at a table in a corner. Tsuyoshi wasn’t sure if they had been there the previous night, but they didn’t pay attention to him, so, he figured, if they had been there, at least they weren’t privy to his parking lot transgressions.

Shingo, however, was another story. He kept smirking at Tsuyoshi in a way that made Tsuyoshi frantically avoid his eyes.

“Did you sleep well?” Shingo asked, loading Tsuyoshi’s plate with a freshly cooked omelet.

Tsuyoshi nodded into his coffee, adamant not to expand the topic.

Shingo didn’t mention Kimura and Tsuyoshi didn’t ask. There didn’t seem to be a point. Now that he was stuffing himself with the food and thinking more clearly, he decided he was actually relieved. Kimura saved him from a rather awkward morning and a more awkward goodbye. Just because he could still feel the rough imprints of Kimura’s hands on his skin if he concentrated enough, it didn’t mean they were going to be friends.

“So you’re heading out?” Shingo was still looking at him curiously.

“Yes. I’m not entirely sure where I am, though.” He had been too distracted by everything else yesterday to pay any attention to where Kimura was taking him.

Shingo pulled up a map on his phone and showed him which way would lead him back to his original route.

“You know what,” he said, as Tsuyoshi was peering at the screen, “if you don’t have a plan anyway, I could probably use another pair of hands around here. As a matter of fact, I have a vacancy that hasn’t been filled in quite a while.” He tilted his head as if trying to remember something. “Ah, no, there was a girl last month, but she quit after a week when she got shot at.”

Tsuyoshi wondered if he’d heard that right, but then he remembered Kimura aiming his gun at his head just twenty four hours earlier.

“Does that kind of thing happen often?” he asked slowly.

“Oh, that was just a minor misunderstanding. An accident, mostly.” He leaned down and lowered his voice. “The real bad stuff usually happens far from here. I’m just dealing with the consequences. Like you did yesterday.”

That basically meant sewing up bullet wounds would be part of his hypothetical job description, but Tsuyoshi didn’t realize it at the time.

“Can I think about it?”

“Sure.”

“I’ll get to the town, maybe find a place to stay for a couple more days and then I’ll give you a call… Oh.” Tsuyoshi automatically reached to his pocket and then remembered he didn’t have his phone anymore. “Well, I guess I’ll buy a phone first,” he said, crestfallen at the prospect of depleting his already tight budget. He needede a job, whether he was going to take Shingo up on the offer or not.

“Right.” Shingo picked something up from under the counter and placed it in front of Tsuyoshi. “Kimura said to give it to you.”

It wasn’t a new model or anything, but it was a cell phone. Tsuyoshi was staring at it, not sure why he was reluctant to touch it.

“It’s okay, it’s not gonna explode,” Shingo laughed at him.

Tsuyoshi couldn’t help being suspicious. He thought he was rather justified in the circumstances. “Is it stolen?”

Shingo rolled his eyes. “Please. We’re not some petty thieves. It’s a burner phone, but no one has used it, so it’s clean.”

Tsuyoshi raised his eyebrows.

“It’s safe,” Shingo pushed it towards him. “And my number is already in there if you need it. Well, take it or leave it. Literally. I’m busy here, so you can let yourself out.” With that, he disappeared in the back room.

Tsuyoshi glanced at the bikers occupying the table, but they still didn’t seem to pay him any attention.

With a sigh, he pocketed the phone, picked up his backpack and walked out the front door.

It was a perfect sunny day. The road was nearly empty. Three cars went by and Tsuyoshi only half-heartedly waved at the last one. It didn’t stop. He was fine walking, though, especially after he passed the trees and the side of the road turned to hard, even surface.

He still felt too surreal to reconcile the day before yesterday and now, so similar except for what came in between. He was still on the road, he still lacked direction and a plan for the future further than tomorrow. He wasn’t sure what had changed, if anything had changed at all, and yet he couldn’t quite shake off the feeling that he was walking away from something that could have been an answer. To a question. He didn’t know the question. He didn’t really know a lot.

He knew what a Harley engine sounded like when it was approaching.

He didn’t turn around at first. It was most probably one of the bikers from the bar, going this way, and Tsuyoshi definitely wasn’t going to try and hitch rides with any more bikers. But it sounded familiar, way too familiar. He looked over his shoulder.

And he stopped and looked, because it was a sight.

There were three of them, all in black, all in leather; straight backs and firm grips on the handles. And the air of unattainability, that one thing that had grasped Tsuyoshi from the beginning. Kimura was riding in the middle, but as they were getting closer, he accelerated and moved to the front. Tsuyoshi watched him get nearer. He wasn’t slowing down.

Kimura passed him and Tsuyoshi didn’t turn to see him go. He kept looking at the other two riders, until they passed him too. Smiling wistfully to himself, he turned back on his way, kicking the dirt under his feet.

He could still hear a running engine.

Kimura stopped ahead of him. He was staring at the sky, not a care in the world, as if he was waiting for a traffic light change, except that there was no traffic and no lights; only Tsuyoshi.

Tsuyoshi started walking fast, just to give in and break into a jog.

He was panting when he reached the motorcycle.

“Hey,” Kimura said, nonchalantly lowering his sunglasses to glance at him over their frame. “You need a ride?”

Tsuyoshi’s gaze immediately traveled to Kimura’s crotch.

Kimura didn’t miss it.

“I wasn’t even going for a double meaning!” he protested, but he was losing a fight with a smile twisting at his lips. “Get on or get lost.”

He had an extra helmet for Tsuyoshi this time.

Tsuyoshi slid his backpack off his shoulders and hurriedly strapped it to the back of the bike.

“But if you do need something else to ride on...” Kimura turned around to wink at him.

Tsuyoshi winced as he straddled the seat. His ass was still sore and this was going to be a nightmare.

He grabbed Kimura’s waist and that, at least, felt absolutely right.

“So where are we going?” Tsuyoshi asked.

Kimura revved the engine.

“Where do you want to go?”

xxx

notes: ...and it ended with some bad jokes and cliches. honestly though. if it feels like some things were left unfinished and some threads untied, that is correct. I've done way way too much world-building for this one fic. which does not mean I'm doing a series. but I do have ideas. there's still a couple of things I'd have to figure out first, like, where the fucking fuck this fic takes place because I have no idea. it's like some fantastical remix of California (because SoA) and Japan (because, duh), and it makes no sense. I also have no idea for the name of Kimura's MC - and I refuse to call it SMAP - which you might have guessed, Nakai and Goro are also members of. and that's probably all the members. RIP Mori. it's like the only MC in the world consisting of queer Japanese men.

other things missing from this fic:
- the conversation Kimura has with Shingo sometime between sex with Tsuyoshi and going to Tsuyoshi's room, while he's been helping himself to Shingo's booze and considering his poor life choices
- the full count of Kimura's tattoos, of which he has more. there'd be a big piece on his back, and one more on his hip because I'm weak like that
- the identity of Shingo's mystery lover who is also Kimura's ex (you might've g-g-guessed, though)
- an angry Nakai, wondering where his vice-president has fucked off to when all he had was a simple job of shooting three guys

and I do have more. but I will stop now. just in case I do end up writing more in this universe.