Happy Santa_Smex, giving_ground!
To: giving_ground
From: shikishi
Title: if there be ghosts
Recipient's name: giving_ground
Rating: R
Pairing(s): Yagyuu/Niou, background hinting to Yukimura/Sanada
Warning: AU (cyberpunk, future fic, yakuza influences), angst, drug use, character death (prior to fic setting but part of the plot)
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created by Konomi Takeshi. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. I do not own any of these lovely characters, nor the head chip. That would be loosely based on an idea belonging to William Gibson.
Author's Notes: Much thanks and adoration to K and A for all their hand holding. giving_ground this was my first foray into AU but from your prompt it seemed to be something you really wanted. Hopefully this meets your expectations!
The lights inside the sky shuttle flickered and came on as a tinny mechanical voice announced “New Tokyo. This is the final stop for this aircraft. Now arriving, New Tokyo”.
Yagyuu shifted and yawned, looking around the nearly empty compartment. He pulled the sleeves of his PVC undershirt down around his wrists, checking to make sure his tattoos were completely covered and already missing the tailored suit he’d had to leave behind six hours earlier. The second hand jeans, a pair that had belonged to Jackal in a previous life, hung low on his hips, exposing his stomach when he lifted his travel case off the floor and onto his shoulder. Yagyuu shrugged and pressed the small button on the side of his glasses, blinking as they darkened before stepping out into the too bright sunlight of the station.
He cracked his neck, stiff from hours of commuter traveling, and ran a hand over the shaved portion of his head, feeling the prickle of stubble and wishing he’d remembered to pack a hat with the costume. But, glancing at the various hairstyles presented by the locals milling around him, he thought that maybe his hair would possibly go unnoticed - for now anyways, or unless he happened to run into someone smart enough to recognize one of Yukimura’s trademarks - and dumb enough to open their mouth about it.
Yagyuu stepped out of the station, wrinkling his nose in distaste as the fetid damp smell of the city washed over him. It was difficult to make out any one particular scent, any one particular person in the putrid air, and that was one of many reasons Yagyuu Hiroshi hated New Tokyo. But he’d been sent here with a mission, and Yagyuu Hiroshi was good at his job. Despite the desire to vomit in the nearest trash bin and run, he reached to the back his neck, running his hand over the control panel imbedded in the skin there, hidden beneath the long sweep of his hair that fell from the crown and which he hadn’t bothered to tie into a topknot. He heard it humming to life, a distant, comforting familiarity and started to walk.
New Tokyo was an easy place to get lost in, and that was exactly what most of its inhabitants were looking for. The streets were narrow, uneven, and there was nothing much to look at unless you knew what you were looking for. Three left turns and a few dozen streets later, Yagyuu found exactly that.
The street he turned onto reminded him vaguely of Akihabara, or at least the Akihabara of his childhood. And if Akihabara had specialized in whores and drug peddling, that is. The shops on the street were stacked on top of one another in a sort of dangerous mish-mash; it looked as though one good sneeze and the entire place would come toppling down. The front of every store had crudely designed noren covering the open spaces where a door should have been, identifying their wares in bright neon colors.
Yagyuu breathed deeply, sorting out the different aromas in his head and nearly gagging in the process. Under the layers of filth and disease, sex and drugs, he found what he was looking for. He closed his eyes momentarily, grounding himself, making sure he wasn’t going into the depths of the city on a fool’s mistake. A faint crackling in his head caught his attention and he adjusted his glasses, turning on the sensor that Renji had installed a few months ago that allowed him to see as well as hear the person speaking to him. Genichirou’s face was only mildly distorted, much better than the original version Yagyuu thought, as he waited for the other man to speak.
“Hiroshi.”
Yagyuu hummed in response, sending Genichirou an irritated thought wave. It was clear that he’d not been the second-in-command’s first choice for this mission, but then Sanada Genichirou’s first choice had come back from his attempt half mad and now spent his days wandering though Jackal’s private quarters making endless parfaits that no one dared eat due to their questionable ingredients.
Genichirou did not bother with formalities. “Seichii wants you back quickly. And he wants him with you, regardless of condition.”
Yagyuu was just about to reply when he caught the smell, as known to him as his own, as his mother’s; a scent that hadn’t changed in all the years he’d known him, despite circumstances that had led him here to this city.
Niou Masaharu was close by.
Yagyuu smiled and watched Genichirou in his glasses as the other man frowned and leaned forward, he’d still yet to answer.
“Do you hear me, Hiroshi?”
“I hear you. Let Yukimura know I should be back in a few days with the target, a week tops.” Yagyuu addressed Yukimura Seichii as an underling would, by his surname, despite the years they’d spent together. The only one who didn’t risk losing a body part for calling him by his given name was Genichirou, and no one in the organization had any doubts as to how that connection had been made.
“I’ll leave you to it then.”
Yagyuu nodded and clicked his glasses back to normal vision. He breathed deep, categorizing, searching, and when he latched onto it he smiled and started for a small dingy shop at the end of the narrow street.
~*~*~*~*~*~
Niou leaned back against the lumpy couch in the corner of the room, pulling the girl against him in a messy sprawl of limbs. She barely turned her head in complaint; her eyes heavy lidded, and the pupils enlarged so that they looked like black fireless pools. Niou ran his hand over her chest, counting the ribs as he went and singing a tuneless childhood song under his breath. He stopped at the top of her t-shirt and dipped his hand inside, resting the palm over her heart. He closed his eyes, feeling the rhythmic ba-dum and trying to mimic it with his breathing: in, hold, out, hold. It left him languid and sleepy; he almost didn’t notice the change in the room when another customer ducked through the tattered cloth covering the doorway.
When he did, he was glad he’d held off on his second dose of the morning, opting instead to follow the spiral downwards until the itching started, and the headaches. Niou liked the headaches least of all.
He felt the girl against him stiffen slightly and he wondered idly if she was having a seizure, it wasn’t uncommon at the Drowsy Lion for the customers to have them periodically through out the day and no one paid much mind unless they thought it was an OD. Then Jin was quick and quiet and had you out the back door before it disrupted the rest of the clientele.
Niou liked Jin; the man knew how to do his work without making a scene. In a past life Niou would have been glad to have someone like him by his side.
Niou opened his eyes slowly, losing the hazy sleepy feeling immediately as his vision cleared and Yagyuu Hiroshi stood at the end of the couch looking as out of place as an elephant in a china shop. Niou chuckled at the terrible cliché; he wasn’t even sure where he’d gotten it from. He pushed the girl off him, ignoring her protest as she worked her way over to the other side and spread out against someone else, and he smiled, intentionally showing too much teeth and knowing that the scar running down the outside of his left jaw would pull it into something far from pleased looking.
Hiroshi merely nodded, adjusting the strap of his carrying case over his shoulder.
“You look good, Hiroshi. Here for pleasure or business?” Niou sat up, running a hand through his messy brown hair. He’d long since given up bleaching it.
Hiroshi’s mouth quirked, a small nearly undetectable motion. “Perhaps both?”
Niou raised his eyebrow in interest and waited. After a few moments Hiroshi turned away, staring across the room in mild disgust. A few steps away from the door he stopped and looked over his shoulder, “Any place half assed decent around here to eat? I’m starving.”
Niou stood up, wobbling slightly as his knees liquefied before locking into place. He barely remembered to pick up his jacket off the floor beside the couch before heading to the door and walking past Hiroshi into the harsh daylight. He blinked and pulled his hair down in front of his face like a shield.
“Follow me.”
And Hiroshi did.
~*~*~*~*~*~
They ate in silence at a ramen stand set in the back of an alley. Or, Masaharu ate and Yagyuu pushed around a grayish piece of meat through the thick layer of grease covering the broth in his bowl. Masaharu picked up his bowl, slurping the remains of his meal and letting it dribble over his chin. Yagyuu suppressed a shudder of disgust at Masaharu putting his mouth on the disgusting plastic and leaned back in his chair, waiting for Masaharu to start talking.
It took longer than expected. Masaharu seemed content to sit across from Yagyuu, starring out at the street and smoking cheap, thinly rolled cigarettes that he pulled from a worn looking pack inside of his coat. Yagyuu snickered to himself and wondered if Marui had even gotten this far. Marui hated silence more than anything and Niou Masaharu knew it and excelled at it; silence had always been one of his best weapons.
A faint buzzing in his head alerted him to Renji checking in. Yagyuu sighed and mentally transmitted that, as of yet, he had nothing to report. Renjii hummed and signed off again. Sometimes Yagyuu hated technology.
Across the table from him Masaharu smiled and tapped at the back of his head. He knew Yagyuu, even after all these months apart, and could decipher even the smallest change in his normally stone faced expression. Yagyuu took note of the scar, a new one he’d never seen before and badly healed. Masaharu must have gotten it since arriving here.
“How are the boys?” Masaharu asked, stubbing out his cigarette on the edge of the table and blowing out a cloud of smoke.
Yagyuu was not here for chit-chat. He cracked his neck, folding his hands in front of him on the table. “Yukimura wants you back.”
He watched Masaharu for a reaction.
Masaharu dug in his pocket for another cigarette, lighting it and staring out at the street, busier now as the sun started its decline and the long night descended. Not everyone in New Tokyo spent their days in a drug den, but most people spent a good portion of their evenings there. And really, if you lived in New Tokyo, it was the only way to not go completely bat shit insane.
Finally Masaharu turned back to Yagyuu and stared at him levelly. “Yukimura doesn’t want me back, Hiroshi. He wants me dead.”
~*~*~*~*~*~
When the headache started Niou stood up without saying a word to Hiroshi and headed back to the Drowsy Lion. He knew Hiroshi would follow him.
By the time they got there, Niou felt like shit. He passed by the crowds lounging in the front room, barely managing a nod at Jin as he passed. Jin nodded back, his grey eyes questioning, but he didn’t ask about Hiroshi and let Niou pass into the back room without stopping them.
Niou blinked in the dim light, looking for the dark hair and flashing wide eyes of the owner of the den. Niou was a preferred customer at the Lion and didn’t have to waste his time trying to wheedle a hit off one of the peddlers in the front; that scene was primarily for amateurs and thrill seekers, and Niou was neither.
He spotted Taichi in the back, reigning over the room from his favorite leather chair. Taichi leaned forward, running his fingers through the hair of one of the minions collapsed at his feet and talking to a guard standing off to his side. Dan Taichi had guards every where, and with good reason. There were many people in New Tokyo who would love to rid themselves of the competition.
Niou walked over to him, smiling his best, brightest smile and draped himself over the arm of the chair. He could feel Hiroshi stiffen behind him but right now he couldn’t give a flying fuck about what Yagyuu Hiroshi thought. He needed a fix.
Taichi turned and ran his hand over Niou’s face, a motion that made Niou shiver and he tried his best not to pull away from the touch. Taichi kissed him softly, tasting of mint and the underlying bitterness of poppies. Taichi never partook of the synthetics he sold, but he did like to indulge in the more classic, harder to obtain, opium. Niou nuzzled his head under Taichi’s chin and made his request.
A moment later the guard standing behind Taichi slipped a small baggie into Niou’s hand and Niou quickly removed himself from Taichi’s presence. He felt Hiroshi move in beside him, a hand on his elbow as he weaved his way across the room unsteadily. Niou found an empty lounge in a dark corner and flopped onto it, holding his head in his hands and pressing at his temples with his fingers. His hands shook and he thought for a minute he was going to puke.
Hiroshi gently moved Niou’s hands, pulling them away from his head with a soft pressure and replacing them with his own. Niou laughed and spit on the floor, feeling sick.
“It won’t work, Hiroshi. I had it removed a long time ago.”
Hiroshi hummed, a soft annoyed sound, and helped Niou open the bag he held in a twisted grip. Niou pulled a small clay pipe shaped like a dragon out of his jeans and dipped it in the bag Hiroshi held open for him. He pressed his finger into it, packing the fibrous white powder down and fished his lighter out of his jacket, igniting it and setting it against the bowl of the pipe. He inhaled deeply and within seconds felt the headache receding.
Next to him Hiroshi sat back against the wall, feet planted firmly on the floor, and said nothing. This was fine with Niou, as he didn’t really feel like talking anyway.
He lit the bowl three more times until he inhaled an acrid ball of smoke that set his throat on fire. He gagged, coughing hard enough to double him over, and put it away in his pocket. The room before him was cloudy and he blinked several times before closing his eyes and falling sideways. He breathed heavily, slowly, and sighed against Hiroshi’s chest, letting the comfortable, familiar scent envelope him.
After awhile he came to. Hiroshi had moved back on the lounge and had Niou curled up in his lap. Niou smiled, Hiroshi’s legs must be fucking numb from holding him at this angle; but he was too euphoric, too heavy to even consider moving. He could feel Hiroshi’s long fingers against the back of his neck, running through the snarls in his hair and working them out gently, and he hummed in contentment, leaning closer and running his tongue along the skin under Hiroshi’s jaw, tasting the saltiness there. He felt the other man stiffen and pulled back a little.
“Why did they send you this time?” Niou felt like he was speaking through a long, dark tunnel.
Hiroshi grunted and adjusted Niou in his lap so that Niou had to look up at him or fall forward against his belly. He scratched at the side of his shaved head and took a long time answering.
“I think they were hoping that somehow you’d still have feelings for me.”
Niou closed his eyes and breathed deep. He leaned his head against Hiroshi’s chest, listened to the smooth easy ba-dum of his heartbeat.
“And if they were right? It still doesn’t mean I’m going back.”
“They - Yukimura - they just want to talk to you, Masaharu. They need to know what happened.”
Niou laughed, a harsh dog like noise. “You fucking liar.”
Hiroshi shifted and Niou held onto him, the rocking sensation causing a pleasant curl in his belly. He pressed his nose against Hiroshi’s chin and breathed in. He could feel the heat of Hiroshi, the familiar smell of him starting to affect him and he wondered if he should leave now, disappear before he did something stupid. Niou hadn’t missed the fact that Hiroshi hadn’t corrected him.
Niou closed his eyes, letting his hand wander over Hiroshi’s chest and throat. He didn’t miss the slight jerk and swell against the back of his thighs either. Niou smiled and nipped at the tendon standing out in Hiroshi’s throat, sucking on it gently. He hadn’t missed much since leaving Yukimura’s “family”, but he’d definitely missed this; missed Hiroshi.
He didn’t bother asking if Hiroshi had missed him as well, he wasn’t sure he wanted to know the answer.
“Yukimura needs to know what went wrong, Masaharu.”
“Puri,” Niou closed his eyes and tried to let himself drift. He didn’t want to do this, he thought he’d made that more than obvious when they’d sent Marui after him a few months back. The drugs didn’t let him go this time and he swore under his breath.
“I don’t know. I don’t know what happened, alright? Can’t he just be satisfied with that?”
Hiroshi’s hand against his neck was cool. He tilted Niou’s head back gently, forcing him to look up.
“No.”
Niou blinked and tried to focus: finally Hiroshi’s face cleared. Niou reached up, running the pad of his index finger over the bridge of Hiroshi’s nose until it pushed up against his glasses. He leaned forward, almost crawling across Hiroshi’s lap, and kissed him.
Unlike Taichi’s kiss, this one didn’t cause Niou to want to run in revulsion. Instead, Niou pressed closer, biting at Hiroshi’s bottom lip gently to get him to open his mouth and twisting his fingers in the stiff material of Hiroshi’s t-shirt. He could feel the PVC underneath and smiled to himself, knowing how much Hiroshi must be hating having to dress like a commoner.
Hiroshi sighed against Niou’s mouth, wrapping his arms around Niou’s frame and letting them fall backwards. Niou half turned in his arms, straddling Hiroshi’s hips and thrusting his tongue forward, letting it re-familiarize itself with the way Hiroshi’s front teeth were slightly uneven, with the bump in the center of his palette, with the way he always, always tasted of cinnamon and milk tea even when he hadn’t been near either in days. Niou whimpered in the back of his throat and pulled back, breath coming in shaky gasps as he pressed his forehead against Hiroshi’s shoulder.
“I didn’t mean for it to happen, Hiroshi. I just . . . I barely took my eyes off the kid the whole time we were on the mission. But it was over, we’d killed Mizuki. We’d done what Yukimura wanted. I . . .” Niou closed his eyes tight and frowned, the scar on his jaw pulling his mouth down awkwardly. He pushed away from Hiroshi and dug around on the floor for his drugs, pulling his dragon bowl out and shoving it jerkily into the bag. He lit it, inhaling deeply.
“Get the fuck out of here, Hiroshi.”
Hiroshi didn’t move, just stared at him, waiting.
Niou inhaled again, feeling the smoke make it’s way through his head, drifting him away. He leaned forward, bracing his head on his knees.
“I don’t know what happened. I mean, we went out that night to have a few drinks, some fun, and the next thing I knew . . . Some one was tailing us, Hiroshi, but I never got a good look, I never saw who it was.”
Hiroshi hummed and pulled on his arm, pulling Niou back on to his lap and running his hands over Niou’s shoulders. Niou closed his eyes and let himself go. He nodded off to the sound of Hiroshi’s voice telling him it was ok, everything was going to be ok, he was going home.
~*~*~*~*~*~
Yagyuu waited until Niou’s breathing slowed to an unnatural rhythm before cracking his neck again and connecting himself to the small computer installed in the back of his skull. Renjii answered.
“Did you get it?”
Yagyuu chewed on his lower lip, running his hand over Masaharu’s back.
“We got it, but you know it won’t be enough. Yukimura wants him brought back, Hiroshi, regardless.”
Yagyuu closed his eyes, letting his head fall back against the wall.
“Renji . . .”
“Don’t let emotions get in the way of your assignment, Hiroshi.”
Yagyuu closed his eyes and exhaled sharply. “Right.”
He could almost hear the smirk in Renji’s voice as he said good night.
Asshole, Yagyuu thought as he reached behind him and turned off the fucking chip. There were some things even he wasn’t willing to share with the others.
~*~*~*~*~*~
Niou woke with a start, pushing himself away from the body he was leaning against. His vision swam, slow moving lights and smoke, and he blinked several times waiting for it to clear; his breathing was hard, too warm in his nose.
He never fell fully asleep at the Lion; doing so was risking having everything you owned kipped, at best. At worst it meant never waking up again. Niou swore and checked for his jacket, his drugs, and his nearly empty wallet. Everything seemed to be exactly where he’d left it.
A hand on his shoulder made him jump and turn around. Hiroshi leaned against the wall, his eyes tired. Hiroshi - Niou shook his head and frowned.
He stood up, wobbling slightly and leaning against the wall for balance. He shrugged into his jacket and stared down at Hiroshi for a long minute, narrowing his eyes and inhaling the familiar scent. A scent he’d missed in his months in the city. He extended his hand, wrapping his fingers around Hiroshi’s slightly colder ones.
“Come on, let’s get the fuck out of here.”
Niou weaved his way through the front room, ignoring the calls from those regulars still sober enough to notice him. His grip tightened on Hiroshi’s hand as they walked into the cold night and he turned to the left. There was no way he’d take Hiroshi to his place, but Niou knew of a good enough hotel a few streets away. He wondered idly if Hiroshi had already made reservations somewhere else, but didn’t ask.
Hiroshi’s hand in his was comforting and Niou didn’t let himself think about that either. He closed his eyes, breathing deeply and letting the remains of the drug drift over him, making him drowsy despite the cold air. He ran his thumb over the sharp bone of Hiroshi’s wrist as he led them into the hotel, barely remembering to let go when Hiroshi pulled his wallet out to pay for the room.
They walked to the room in silence, all the way to the fifth floor on the deserted staircase since the elevator was broken. The elevators were always broken in New Tokyo. At the door to the room, Hiroshi swiped the neon green card over the sensor and pushed the door open with his hip.
Niou had barely stepped in behind him when Hiroshi rounded on him, pressing Niou against the door, and invading his mouth with his tongue. Niou groaned and kissed him back, fingers clawing in Hiroshi’s shirt. He let his eyes close, inhaling deeply, letting the smell, the scent wash over him.
After a few moments, Niou pushed back, not breaking the kiss but maneuvering Hiroshi backwards until Niou could feel the jolt of his legs hitting the futon. He shoved on Hiroshi’s shoulders, forcing the other man to sit before settling himself on Hiroshi’s lap. Niou pressed forward, rubbing himself against Hiroshi’s erection through their jeans. He breathed through his mouth, tasting the familiar needed odor of Hiroshi’s arousal.
Hiroshi pulled back for a moment, removing his glasses and folding them neatly. He then tucked them inside of a handkerchief he pulled out of his shirt pocket. He blinked, owl like, and smiled.
“One of Renji’s new toys. Don’t need any voyeurs.”
Niou nodded and leaned forward, running his tongue against Hiroshi’s bottom lip before sliding it into his mouth.
Hiroshi groaned against Niou’s mouth, sliding his hands under Niou’s shirt and jerking it up and over his head. Niou let him, letting his head fall to his shoulder as Hiroshi’s mouth left his to land against his collar bone, his chest. Wet licks and small, harsh bites. Niou thrust his hips forward and leaned close, gripping Hiroshi’s shoulder as he worked his hand between them, flipping open the button on Hiroshi’s jeans.
It had been months since Niou’d had more than a hand job from some drugged out junkie in the dens. He didn’t risk it, couldn’t risk someone recognizing the tattoos that decorated his body from the edge of his chest to his thighs, the long red dragon that trailed from his shoulder to the inside of his right elbow. The mark of Yukimura’s hitman. And so now, Niou’s fingers were clumsy, shaking when he shoved them inside Hiroshi’s underwear to wrap around his cock and pull.
But Hiroshi didn’t seem to mind. He let his head fall back, his breath escaping in a low sigh as he thrust upward into Niou’s loose grasp. Niou leaned against him, using his teeth to pull sharply at Hiroshi’s earlobe. Hiroshi growled and pulled at Niou’s hair, shoving his tongue into Niou’s mouth as his hand shoved Niou’s loose jeans down as far as they would go.
Niou scooted backwards, standing slightly and letting the jeans fall off him, along with a pair of once white boxers. He shoved Hiroshi backwards on the futon, pulling his jeans from him as well before crawling back up the length of his body. Niou let his bottom press against Hiroshi’s erection and wriggled a little, settling his weight. Hiroshi groaned and bit the underside of Niou’s arm.
Hiroshi’s voice was rough when he pulled back, shoving Niou’s hair out of his eyes with a soft hand.
“I didn’t bring anything with me.”
Niou smiled and reached for his wallet.
“I did.”
Hiroshi pulled him down, kissing him while his hands took the two small plastic wrapped items from Niou’s hand. Niou sucked on his tongue, happy and grinning as Hiroshi struggled with the tiny vending machine issued lube. At least, he thought, some things never changed. He moved against Hiroshi, rubbing his cock on Hiroshi’s belly, against Hiroshi’s hip.
“Will you hurry the fuck u . . .”
Niou gasped as Hiroshi pressed one cold slicked finger against him. He pressed back, gasping and squirming. Hiroshi’s breathing was hot against his neck.
“Don’t need this . . . don’t, please, now.”
Niou pulled on Hiroshi’s wrist and he fumbled with the package of the condom, tearing it at an angle. He slipped it over the tip of Hiroshi’s cock, pushing it down quickly and wrapped his fingers around Hiroshi’s erection. He clumsily reached across the futon for the lubricant, not bothering to warm it up before pouring it over them. He worked his fist a few times, felt Hiroshi bite his ribcage just below his nipple, and adjusted himself, sinking slowly downward. Niou’s breath sharpened, came out as a ragged gasp and Hiroshi leaned up on his elbows, kissing him softly, holding him steady with his hands on Niou’s hips as Niou’s body re-familiarized itself to having Hiroshi inside of him.
When his breathing finally calmed, Hiroshi collapsed back against the futon, dragging Niou down with him, their mouths together as he thrust sharply upward. Niou groaned and bit Hiroshi’s lip, Hiroshi smiled against him and thrust again.
It didn’t last long, and it wasn’t the most mind blowing sex; but Niou collapsed against Hiroshi’s chest afterward, breathing in the scent of him, and smiled lazily. If only this could last, he thought as he let his hand trace over the dragon on Hiroshi’s bicep, the fine details of the scales, the long whiskers that trailed down the outside and over his elbow, stopping finally on the tender skin of his forearm. If only this could last.
~*~*~*~*~*~
Yagyuu woke slowly, his limbs tired, heavy as he stretched in the bed. He sniffed, the air stale, unfamiliar. He knew Masaharu was long gone.
Yagyuu sat up, swinging his legs over the edge of the futon and rubbed at the back of his head. His fingers hesitated over the switch there and he swore, standing up and heading towards the shower. He’d figure out what to say to the team later, for now he needed hot water and possibly something to eat that wasn’t floating in grease.
Art by Negahyst