Right Down The Line 8/9
+part seven
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Kame should have known when he woke up the next day, not with a hangover, but with a nagging headache nonetheless, that it was going to be one of those days. Not that the days have been particularly easy of late. Not like he expected Black Friday, the biggest shopping day of the year, to be anything less than a zoo pretty much everywhere. And it is. Kame swallows a bunch of painkillers with a cup of coffee and a croissant at eight in the morning with Haruka before heading with her to the Greenmarket. After their shopping expedition, he takes over a corner of the Zenzero prep kitchen to work on his dishes for Outlandish, trying to stay out of everyone's way as they get ready for a busy day. Late in the afternoon, he holes himself up in Haruka's office to write a long overdue blog entry and get some paperwork done. He loses track of time, staying there deep into dinner service. Haruka kicks him out at ten, hinting that he needs his stamina for later, which Kame doesn't understand, but he's used to that. Nursing the remnants of the headache that never quite left, Kame walks home with his bag slung across his chest, the crisp autumn air reviving him somewhat. Sanjay calls halfway through his walk to update him on Sesamo in DC. Kame's making his way into his building when another call comes through so he finishes with Sanjay to answer it.
It's Jin, almost yelling across the connection, and it's somewhat garbled so it takes a minute or so before he understands that Jin is out at some noisy restaurant, and the whole elevator ride up to his flat, Jin makes the case for Kame to come out and join them, whoever they are.
"You're not allowed to say no," Jin is saying. "It'll be good for you." Kame gets his door open and leans back against it, eyes closed.
"Jin-" he tries to cut in, because really, he was just planning to eat some of the noodles Haruka's sous chef, Miriam, had packed up for him, and have a couple beers over his notes for Outlandish and the new menu items he wants to discuss with Andrew and Sanjay for both Sesamo restaurants.
"I happen to know that you spent the entire fucking day at Zenzero," Jin says, not unkindly, and it's suddenly quiet on Jin's end, he's speaking in an-almost normal volume, aside from the bright buzz Kame can hear, a familiar sound that means Jin's had a couple drinks already. He must've ducked into a bathroom or something.
Kame frowns. "How do you know that?"
Jin's laugh, when it comes across, is a throaty chuckle that sends a surge of enervating adrenaline through him. "How do you think?"
"What, you're corrupting my employees now?" Kame asks, trying to sound irritated, but he's strangely touched.
"Haruka's worried about you," Jin says. "Come out, Kame. I can't believe I have to twist your fucking arm. You. Haruka said you'd be a sure thing."
Kame sighs, pinches the bridge of his nose. He's wondering when this happened, when Jin infiltrated all these odd corners of Kame's life. Jin seems to know practically everyone now, and at times that can be damned inconvenient.
And if anyone other than Jin had asked, he probably wouldn't be hesitating. He isn't even sure why.
"Where?"
When Jin tells him, Kame's even more uneasy. Definitely not some after-hours dive for cooks with grimy floors and good beer on tap; instead of a jukebox, there'll be DJs, a lighting rig and overpriced cocktails. He'll have to dress for this.
"Who's with you?"
"Yamapi, Toma, Tatsuya," Jin lists off, "Rowan, Haruka and Runa are coming when they're done with work. Haruka's threatened me with glitter if I don't get you here."
Jin's voice drops a register, sending a curl of heat through Kame's belly: "Come on, Kame. Please. Wear something nice and come save me."
--
It occurs to Kame later, much later, that he's the one who needs saving.
Haruka and Tatsuya have been pouring drinks into him all night and it's not that he's opposed to dancing, because he isn't, but being sandwiched between two hot guys on a dance floor, feeling all inhibition ebb away, isn't exactly how he thought the night would go. Yamapi and Toma haven't emerged from the VIP booth but the others had clearly only ever planned to drink and dance. And Jin hasn't looked like he's needed rescuing at any point, certainly not while he's been downing shots and getting hit on every which way.
In the beginning, Kame isn't sure what he's doing there. He spends the first hour fending off admirers for reasons he doesn't wish to examine until Runa leans into his ear and points out they didn't ask him to come so he could stand around by himself all night. She pulls back and follows his gaze to where Jin is dancing with a tall, shirtless guy sporting magnificent ink. Unless he gets off on watching, Runa continues with a lifted eyebrow, in which case-
She doesn't finish, but offers him a sweet, wicked smile and pats his cheek before snagging her drink and following Haruka.
Truthfully, if it wasn't for Haruka and Runa, he might have left: everything about the evening is throwing up all kinds of red flags, and he hasn't been great about self-control in situations like these. Kame considers just how much trouble he can get in with enough booze, deafening music, and friction.
Standing near the bar, watching Jin becomes a kind of sharp, sweet pain from which he can't bring himself to look away. Allowing himself to be pulled to the dance floor is a welcome distraction that only turns out to be not engrossing enough.
Tatsuya dances alone nearby, circled by devotees, but clearly in a world of his own, swirling and twining his limbs sinuously while Rowan is locked with a guy whose hair is as pale as Rowan's is dark. Runa and Haruka were in sight but have been swallowed by the grinding, swaying throng. Kame's mind goes blissfully blank as he lets himself move to the insistent beat, supported by the bodies pressed against him. He leans his head back on someone's shoulder, closing his eyes briefly, feels a stubbled cheek against his face. He doesn't know either of the guys, but they feel good, their hands hot and hard against his hips and waist, he feels good, but when he opens his eyes, he homes in on Jin once more, directly in his line of sight, just past an inked shoulder.
Jin, who's leaned back against some guy with restless, grasping hands whose mouth is open against Jin's ear, and Kame's taunted by the delicate curving lines of the tattoo climbing the side of Jin's neck. Kame knows he's well and truly fucked when he has to think hard about why he shouldn't go over there and lick that tattoo all the way up to Jin's ear.
Watching Jin, he feels himself teetering on a knife edge, torn between too many conflicting wants, as mixed up as he's ever been. Never has Jin seemed more remote than this moment, when he's only a few paces away, wholly unattainable.
There is a line here that Kame won't let himself cross. Not again.
He knows he can crook his finger at the guys dancing with him, and he wants to. For no good reason he can think of just then, Kame hasn't gotten laid in months. No good reason aside from an obviously misguided attempt at better choices. But, for what, to what purpose, if he has to be here now, cruelly provoked to distraction.
Jin is staring straight at him from over a stranger's shoulder, eyes glittering under the shifting colored lights, his expression entirely unreadable. Kame wants to know what all of this means. Why he was harangued into coming here. Why Jin hasn't come closer than a meter on this goddamned dance floor. Why the fuck Kame's watching a show. Why he's putting one on.
Kame deliberately closes his eyes, giving himself over to the music and the bright pulse of booze and desire throbbing in his blood. He tells himself it's okay. That it isn't retaliation. That it doesn't mean anything when he reaches back with one hand to cup the head of the guy behind him, not-so-gently pulling him closer, when he palms the other's neck. That he can do this, and it's all okay, and in the morning, he'll say he was just having a good time.
--
The next morning, Kame wakes up alone - face down and fully-dressed - in his own bed, without any recollection of how he got there.
--
It's childish and he isn't precisely sure why, but Kame ignores Jin's calls and messages that come through that afternoon before he hits the gym. Maybe it's self-preservation. Maybe it's the cold pit of dread in his stomach - the black hole at the end of his night.
And yet, despite a rotten hangover, he has a reasonably good session that eventually clears his head of cobwebs; his trainer now forces him to wear headgear so he won't suffer any truly stupid mistakes involving his face. Doesn't mean he doesn't take a beating, though: he's sore and achy by the time he spits out his mouthpiece, already feeling the beginnings of some spectacular bruises along his torso and his thigh, but the pain feels clean, somehow. Purifying.
His restored sense of well-being and accomplishment evaporates when he sees Jin sitting in a chair near the entrance, tapping out something on his pad. Jin looks about as bad as Kame felt when he woke up; behind his glasses, Jin's eyes are tired and puffy, his face is waxy and pale, as if he's barely slept.
Kame comes to a stop in front of him and watches Jin start in surprise when he glances up.
"You're stalking me?" Adrenaline is still coursing through Kame and he feels himself gearing up for a fight.
Jin frowns, slips his pad into his messenger bag and stands, leaving little space between them when Kame doesn't retreat.
"We have plans," Jin says stubbornly, looking confused and determined. Kame watches a muscle in Jin's jaw twitch with a strange sense of detachment. "Are you blowing me off?"
Kame doesn't have an answer for that. He turns, not caring if his gym bag bumps against Jin, and he makes for the door.
Jin falls into step beside him as Kame hits the pavement and begins his walk home. He'd walk faster if he could, but the hits he took force him to a slower pace.
"Why are you being like this?" Jin asks a few blocks later.
Kame stops and rounds on Jin, heedless of the people they're blocking on the sidewalk behind them. "Me?" he says with a contemptuous snort. "I'm not being like anything."
Jin goes still, his face suddenly cold and expressionless. "Yeah," he says, "you are."
Kame huffs and adjusts the strap of his gym bag, turns and continues walking.
"How'd you find my gym?" he asks after another long stretch of silence.
"You told Tatsuya, remember?" Jin's mouth is set in a straight line.
Kame silently groans. Of course he told Tatsuya, who also boxes and was curious about Kame's workout regimen. Kame bites the inside of his cheek hard, using the pain to stop himself from saying anything further.
Eventually they reach Kame's building and Kame stops short of the entrance.
"You're seriously blowing me off," Jin says again, sounding tired and disbelieving - and hurt. He steps in front of Kame, forcing Kame to look at him. Kame presses his lips together briefly before he moves away and doesn't stop Jin when he follows.
Kame's heart rate hasn't exactly backed down during the walk home; he feels it pounding in the back of his head, pulsing in his throat along with his irritation and that cold knot of dread when Jin dogs his heels into the flat, as if Jin's afraid Kame will shut the door on his face. Kame toes out of his sneakers just beyond the entrance and keeps walking, dropping his gym bag and proceeding straight into the bathroom where he unsuccessfully attempts to shut out all thought of Jin as he turns on the shower and peels out of his clothes. He spends the entire time under the hot spray turning it over in his head: gnawing on the scary gap in his memory and whatever stupid things he did that he can't remember, what he should do with Jin in his flat. He's no closer to finding any answers when he turns the water off and climbs out, his skin hot and tight.
He should just man up and ask, he knows that. But he can't. He's too irrationally angry with Jin for - for so many things - for being beautiful and desirable and untouchable - for things that don't make sense even in his own head. Kame struggles to shove it all down so he can be a normal human being with normal thoughts that don't involve punching Jin the face.
In his bedroom, he relies on the small lamp on his dresser to find an old worn Zeppelin t-shirt and a pair of jeans which he pulls on slowly, his mind going blank and his insides churning in nervous, unhappy anticipation of whatever confrontation awaits him outside his bedroom door.
It's dark in the living room when Jin looks up in response to the slap of Kame's bare feet against the wood flooring. He's perched on the edge of the couch just beyond the dining table, leaned forward, flipping his phone end over end in his hands.
Kame pauses at the end of the dining table, three paces away, rests his hand lightly on a chairback.
"Kame-" Kame hears Jin's swift intake of breath and in the dim light coming from behind him, he sees Jin's hand squeeze tight around his phone.
"Look, I'm sorry," Jin says in a rush, "whatever I did, whatever..." He trails off, faltering. "I'm sorry."
Kame goes cold all over. "What," he says, "are you apologizing for?"
"You're angry-" Jin begins, his eyebrows coming together in some sort of confused contortion, like he isn't sure how or why that should be the case.
Kame snorts.
Jin takes a breath, frowns. "Okay," Jin says. "Maybe you should tell me why you're angry."
Thing is, Kame can't. He can't. He opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. He can't explain why he's angry because that would mean admitting to whatever this hard, pulsating thing is that's inside of him.
Jin looks up at him, waiting. Kame, instead, stares at Jin's hands where they're clenched together around his phone and all he can think is: oh, god, I'm so fucked. Kame closes his eyes, takes a breath, turns away.
He walks slowly into the kitchen, trying not to favor his right leg where a deep bruise is forming on top of his quadricep from a sharp jab he took near the end. He opens the freezer, feeling around in the dark for the gel packs he keeps in the door.
"You're hurt," Jin says in a concerned voice, standing in the entry to the darkened kitchen.
"Just the usual," Kame says. "This is nothing."
"Really," Jin says, unconvinced.
"Yeah, really," Kame retorts. "You think I would do it if I couldn't take a little pain?" Kame fumbles in a drawer for a couple dish towels.
"Honestly?" Jin steps closer and he takes the towels from Kame's hands. "I don't know what to think about you right now."
"What're you-" Kame begins, shrinking away slightly.
"I think you get off on the pain," Jin says. Jin's close enough that Kame can feel the heat rolling off him in anxious waves. Although Kame wants to step back, he doesn't.
"What's going on?" Jin says, laying a towel on the counter, centering a gel pack, folding the towel over. He thrusts the bundle into Kame's hands.
After a tense moment, Kame's obstinate resistance abates a little.
"I - I don't remember how I got home," Kame admits, as if that explains everything. He doesn't look at Jin, sensing, rather than seeing Jin's nod.
"Yamapi got you home," Jin says in a thin, colorless tone. "You were totally wasted."
Kame huffs out a breath, a kind of relief washing over him.
"But not you," Kame hears himself say.
Jin steps back at that. When Kame looks up, Jin's rigid with one hand wrist-deep in his hair, and his face, what Kame can see of it, is in sharp profile in the dimness, illuminated by the light from the hall.
"Not me, what?" Jin says at last.
"So you weren't wasted? You looked like you were having a good time." Kame turns away, not waiting for an answer.
"So did you," Jin says, his voice containing the tiniest crack.
"Come on, Jin," Kame says after a beat, propping himself against the refrigerator. He pushes up his t-shirt and gingerly presses the cold pack to his side, tilts his head back. "Just say whatever it is you need to say."
"What I need to say-?" Jin's voice is choked.
"You stalked me to my gym, so yeah, you must have something you need to get off your chest."
"And you don't?" Jin's frustration erupts. "You ignored all my messages, and, you know, stop me if I'm wrong, but you were going to bail on me for tonight. Which is work, remember? What time do you think we have to fuck around? This is how you handle things? You get angry or jealous or horny or whatever the fuck happened and you fall into this passive-aggressive avoidance bullshit. What exactly would you like me to do? I should just let you stew? I should leave you alone? Don't you think I left you alone for long enough?"
Kame blinks rapidly at Jin's tirade, listening to the harsh sound of Jin's breathing.
And - wow. There's so much in there he can't even wrap his head around all of it. An abrupt red haze flashes before Kame's eyes and he has to struggle with himself, really struggle to not charge at Jin, shove him in the chest, slam him against a wall. The visualization is so powerful, he can almost feel the impact shiver up his arm.
Instead he curls that arm around his lower ribs as hard as he can, using the pain to ground him through his fury.
"You fucker," Kame bites out. "Why did you ask me to come last night night? Tell me that - and be honest, asshole."
When Jin doesn't immediately answer, Kame grates out a bitter laugh. "That's what I thought. Well, fuck you."
"Kame-"
"I think you should go."
"Well, I don't."
And Kame doesn't have to see Jin clearly to know that his chin is jutting, that his eyes are flashing, to feel the waves of rage - and something like hurt - coming off him. And yet Jin surprises him by stepping closer, caging Kame with both his arms, and pushing his face in close, not touching, but almost. Kame flinches away, but he's trapped.
"What - what are you doing?"
"What am I doing?" Jin grits out angrily. "This is what I'm doing. I'm not fucking leaving. Not again."
"But - why?" Kame shakes his head minutely in confusion.
Jin stiffens, and Kame hears Jin's fingers scrape against the surface of the refrigerator.
"You really don't know?" Jin asks. "You don't remember." That last isn't even a question; there's something terribly wrong in Jin's tone.
"No," Kame answers slowly, that dread uncoiling again and sending out its icy tentacles. "What are you talking about?"
Jin subsides, straightens. The light from the hall gleams off the whites of Jin's eyes.
"You're right, I guess," Jin begins after a long silence. Kame can hear the click in Jin's throat as he swallows. He huffs out a breath. "My, uh - my motives weren't exactly pure last night."
Kame waits for him to continue but when Jin doesn't explain further, Kame asks: "And they were?"
Jin's head jerks as if to shake his head but he stops and holds himself still. Kame shifts a little to angle toward Jin so he can see Jin's face more clearly.
Jin's throat works before he speaks again. "Don't-" he finally says.
Kame's frown deepens. "Don't what."
"I can't-" Jin shakes his head. "You're right, I'm an asshole. I just-" In an abrupt motion, Jin steps away and pulls off his glasses, presses the heel of one hand to an eye. Kame hears the clatter as Jin tosses his glasses onto the counter. He turns his head, tracking Jin's jerky motion as he wraps one of the other gel packs in a towel.
"Where do you need it?" Jin asks, voice tinged with impatience.
Kame awkwardly shifts the first cold pack to his other side and is about to accept the new one when Jin shifts into his space and lays it against his lower ribs, pressing it against him in nearly the right place. Kame flinches and sucks in his breath in surprise.
Kame feels sure he should be protesting, trying to get away, but he stays still, paralyzed and barely breathing as Jin looks down at him, just looking, until finally he skims the knuckles of his free hand over Kame's cold skin, right down the hollow of his ribcage. Kame shivers, immediately breaking out into gooseflesh. Jin crowds closer.
Kame's breath catches as Jin ghosts his knuckles up the indentation in the center of Kame's chest and back down to the top of his jeans where it bites into his hips. Just once, before he drops his hand. Before Kame finally manages to get the words out, his voice barely above a whisper: "What - what are you doing?"
Jin's voice, when he finally speaks, is equally quiet. "You have no idea."
Kame makes a noise in the back of his throat, and like that, the moment is gone. Jin loosens his hold on the other cold pack, leaving Kame to fumble for it so it doesn't fall to the floor.
--
Kame stays in the kitchen several minutes longer, trying get his heart rate under control, his arm wrapped tight around his midsection. The cold feels good, bracing, but it's not enough, not nearly.
He forces himself out of the kitchen.
"What-" Kame begins again before Jin interrupts him, words flooding out of him as he paces in front of the couch: "I knew it wasn't fair to you, I knew it wasn't, but I had to know and I. I don't know how the fuck to talk to you anymore. So - I was an idiot - and you didn't seem to care, you - I saw you with those guys and-" Jin stops.
Kame holds his breath, waiting for him to continue
"I thought you left with them," Jin says after an audible inhale that he holds in briefly. "They had their fucking hands all over you and - and then you were gone. I thought you'd left." There's a laugh, painful and uneven.
Kame almost misses the bitter resentment in Jin's voice from focusing on the rest. He remembers the guys, he remembers they were hot and they were into him, and Jin - Jin might as well have been on another planet; Kame remembers drinking with them, dancing, yes - but he doesn't remember leaving with them. After a certain point, he doesn't remember anything.
"I don't remember," Kame says, shifting his head to find and hold Jin's shadowed eyes. "I don't remember leaving. I don't remember any of that."
"You came back," Jin says. Kame watches Jin shove his hands in his pockets, hunch his shoulders as he steps closer, carefully avoiding Kame's eyes.
"And?" Kame asks faintly.
"You kissed me," Jin says, his voice cracked, disbelieving. He gives a rough laugh, rubs his fingers across his mouth. "-strike that," he's saying. "More like you fucking attacked me."
Kame's first instinct is deny it, as if Jin's announcement must be part of some cruel, elaborate joke. But from the naked expression on Jin's face, he knows Jin's telling the truth.
Beyond that, he's at a loss. Kame fumbles at one of the chairs at the table and drops into it heavily, discarding the cold packs on the table and awkwardly pulling his t-shirt down over his cold torso with shaking hands.
"Say something," Jin says. Kame looks down at his hands, feeling much as if they don't belong to him.
Kame doesn't turn his head when Jin sits beside him. Finally Kame screws his face up in a grimace, ducks his head and says: "I'm sorry." He doesn't dare look at Jin.
"You're sorry." Jin's voice is dull.
"I was drunk," Kame says breathlessly, "I don't remember. I'm sorry." He pushes his face into one hand for a few seconds before dropping his hand onto the table, tightens it into a fist.
"Okay," Jin says, sounding distant and fogged. Kame glances aside at him in time to see Jin grinding the heels of both hands to his eyes. "That's great. You're sorry. Thanks for that."
"What - what did you mean," Kame asks suddenly, before he can stop himself, "when you said I was angry or jealous or horny?" It still rankles, too close to truth for comfort.
Jin turns on him. "I don't think I need to answer that," he says.
Kame swallows. "Why not? You said it. You must have meant it."
"Oh, my god, Kame. I could fucking strangle you," Jin groans from behind his hands.
Kame frowns, looking over to meet Jin's sparking eyes. "Okay," Kame says, without understanding, without wanting to.
He nods to himself and, like that, hits the kill-switch. Shoves everything down, the whole fucking maelstrom, where it can't touch him. He pushes his hands onto the table and makes to stand up.
"Kame, wait-" Jin begins. Kame cuts him off with a single sharp glare.
"Let's go. You wanted to work on the menu," Kame says. "You're right, tick tick. We have a job to do. We'd better get to it. Are we working at your place? Do we need to pick up anything, or are you all set for supplies?" He glances at his watch: it's just six. Plenty of time.
"You know what? Stop it," Jin says, standing. Kame keeps going, rifling around in the dark of his bedroom to find a hoodie he can pull on over his t-shirt and he rummages in his closet for a jacket against the chill of the late November evening. Beyond his windows, it's already full-dark. While the day had been mild, by the time they finish up, most likely late, it'll probably be freezing.
"Hey, are we getting dinner first, or do you want to eat and work?" Kame calls out from the recesses of his closet. His throat is tight and his eyes sting, but he's pretty good at this compartmentalizing thing. He'll be fine. Everything will be fine.
After a moment, he raises one hand to touch his lips. He kissed Jin. And he doesn't even fucking remember.
When Kame turns around, although it's still dark in his room, he's knows he's not alone.
"You sonofabitch, Kamenashi," Jin says in a low voice that sends a shiver through Kame. "You're an oblivious fucking pezzo di merda."
Kame chuckles when he hears that because it's all he can do. "Aw, honey," he says, "you say the sweetest things."
Kame knows he's not handling this well, but he can't bring himself to care. Not when it feels like the roof is coming down around his ears.
There's silence, and then the shuffle of footsteps, quick, anxious, and the darker shadow of Jin coming fast. Kame backs up a step until there's nowhere left to go, trapped as he is between Jin and the wall.
Kame forces himself to laugh again. "Now you're just being melodramatic," he says.
"And you aren't?" Jin's tone is almost mild.
"Oh, come on. This is ridiculous. I already apologized. What else do you want from me? I'm sorry I ruined your fucking evening."
"You didn't ruin my fucking evening!"
"Then what did I do?" They're getting closer to tearing away the bandage.
Jin's hand fists in Kame's t-shirt and he leans in close, nearly nose to nose. "You're a coward," Jin hisses.
Kame feels something wild break loose in his chest, his pulse hammering in ears, but he laughs breathlessly, this time for real. "Oh, fuck you, Akanishi. As if you're any different."
Jin doesn't have a response to that, just an impatient - or frustrated? - exhalation that huffs against Kame's eyelids.
"What do you want?" Kame asks. "What do you want from me."
"Honesty," Jin fires back without hesitation.
"Funny," Kame says. "Me, too."
"Good," Jin snaps. He reaches out with one hand and grabs Kame's jaw in a bruising grip, giving Kame no chance to escape in the second or so before Jin kisses him. It's a violent clash, pitiless and furious, knocking Kame's head back into the wall, and Kame struggles against it briefly, his grunt on impact unheeded.
It feels like revenge, Jin bearing down on him in a remorseless clash of teeth and tongues, but if it's revenge, Kame discovers he's just as intent on exacting his own, battling forward with his own not inconsiderable weapons, hands slapped around both sides of Jin's neck, shoving up into Jin's hair, dragging Jin down and crowding closer to crush his hips against Jin's. When Jin groans into Kame's mouth, Kame feels a feral sort of satisfaction, and he hangs on, determined to ride whatever this bucking thing is all the way down.
Jin might be taller, but Kame has fury, strength, and training on his side to generate the leverage and momentum to propel Jin the few steps backward until the backs of Jin's knees hit Kame's bed. At that point, it's child's play for Kame to kick Jin's legs out from under him until he loses his balance and collapses backward with a swallowed grunt. The light from the hall spills into the dark room, so when Kame opens his eyes, he gets the sweep of Jin's eyelashes close to his. Kame squeezes his eyes shut, breathing in Jin's scent, finding and touching long stretches of warm skin.
Seconds tick by, minutes, hours, before awareness returns slowly, by degrees. Kame finds himself lazily rocking against Jin who remains a solid line of heat beneath him, and with one hand loosely carded into Jin's hair, Kame's propped on his elbows, trading warm, slick kisses, sharing air.
Jin's brutal grip is gone and both his hands have found their way down to cup Kame's ass, an insistent pressure that urges on the delicious friction between them as Jin's hips push into him.
Kame loses himself in it, in the mounting pressure, shifting his weight to find a better angle and he abandons Jin's mouth to trail his lips along Jin's long jaw, listening to Jin's panting breath, pressing his mouth to the tender skin below Jin's ear, letting his tongue search out and paint Jin's tattoo, finally, finally.
"Kame," Jin breathes, and even as little more than an exhalation, it breaks Kame's trance. He stills.
"Hey," Jin whispers, shifting until he manages to tilt them onto their sides, limbs intertwined, hips still pressed together. Kame's achingly hard in his jeans but the paralysis of fear is stealing through him.
Jin dips forward to kiss Kame again, tasting, remembering. But after a few minutes, he relaxes, lays his head down on the comforter and watches Kame with wide eyes.
Kame is trying really fucking hard not to freak out.
He senses Jin's eyes on him, and then he feels the vibration just before he hears Jin's quiet laughter break.
"God, Kame," he says, his abdomen fluttering against Kame sore ribcage. "I can't believe I forgot how stupid you are."
Kame bristles.
"Shhh," Jin says. "Don't fucking argue with me about this. You're an idiot. I am, too, but I think you win this round, and the only thing I want to know is are you really that deluded? Because I know you're a smart guy. You were always smart. So why the fuck-" Jin doesn't finish because Kame's dipped back for another taste, just to shut Jin up.
Breathe in, breathe out. Don't panic.
When Kame disentangles himself, Jin lets him go. Kame sprawls out on his back and blinks up at his ceiling, one arm flung over his head and he presses the heel of his other hand between his legs, cupping himself, bites his lip.
Kame's heartbeat thunders in his ears as he sucks in a shuddery breath. His brain is crowded with too much to sort out, so he doesn't. He can't. He's too terrified to think past his next breath.
He rolls his head back to Jin when he hears the rustle of movement and the shift of weight beside him. Jin's head is propped on one hand, and he looks down at Kame, his eyes glittering in the light from the hall.
"Do you want help with that?" Jin asks, looking down significantly to where Kame's hand is moving over himself in small motions. Kame shakes his head a little.
"N-no," he manages. "I'm good."
Jin's mouth curves in the barest smile. "You sure about that? Because-" But he doesn't finish because he's lowered his head to drop another long kiss onto Kame's mouth, kissing Kame senseless once again.
Kame floats with it, drugged and hazy so it takes him a moment to realize that Jin's pushed his hand away and is opening Kame's jeans with his free hand. Kame's throat works for two seconds before he breathes "No-" into Jin's mouth, but it's too late, Jin's already reached in and carefully drawn him out.
Jin leaves off kissing him to find Kame's eyes. "Tell me to stop," he says roughly. "You tell me to stop and I will." But Jin's hand is hot and familiar and it's been so many fucking years since Kame's had this-
Kame shudders and his hips buck up, just enough to provide a kind of answer. His entire body is wound up so tight with arousal, Jin's hand on him, Jin dropping kisses into his mouth, Jin's fingernail delicately scratching up exactly the way he always loved it. Kame shifts, his thighs spreading, laying himself out, and he tilts his head back into the mattress, arching his throat, when Jin's hand begins to move.
"Tell me you want this, Kame," Jin says, and his voice is low, a sandpaper scrape. And - there's something there. Somehow it feels important, what Jin wants from him, what he's asking. Almost as if - as if it isn't just about this moment, Jin's hand down his pants and quick, fumbled sex, that Jin's asking.
Kame feels his body melting away to leave only this, this one point of contact between them, Jin anchoring him, teasing, offering, taking.
Kame reaches out blindly, finds Jin's arm where he's holding himself up and Kame grabs on, covering his eyes with a forearm. He lets his lips form the words "yes" and "please," which Jin takes from his mouth with another kiss. When Jin's hand slides up and down in a smooth motion, Kame nearly weeps with relief at the sweet, welcome friction, the gliding twist of Jin's practiced hand. Jin knows what he's doing, as if he hasn't forgotten a thing in ten years, his grip exactly, perfectly right, as if there's been no distance at all between this time and the last.
When Kame comes, Jin works him through it as Kame's back arches, until he's convulsing and bucking, until there's nothing left and he's boneless and spent, pressed into the mattress where Jin's half-draped over him, an arm curled around Kame's head, kissing him as though he can't stop. Kame registers the hard line of Jin's arousal rocking against his hip, and he tries to move to return the favor, but Jin presses down on him, holding both of Kame's wrists down above Kame's head, heedless of the sticky drying slick on his hand, and the mess between them where Kame's t-shirt is rucked up.
Jin comes fast and hard, shaking apart before he falls down over Kame, panting into the crook of Kame's neck. Jin loosens his fingers where they've bitten into Kame's wrists, and Kame finally tries to move, squirming out from under Jin who curls onto his side before rolling over onto his back.
Unsteadily Kame climbs off the bed, leans over it, propped on his elbows, head hanging down over his chest. Jin's arm snakes out, covers one of Kame's hand with his, his head rolled to watch Kame. After a moment, Jin squeezes Kame's hand.
A little while later, Kame comes back from the bathroom, naked, looking for clean clothes. Jin pushes himself up on his elbows and watches him. Kame is only slightly self-conscious as he dons fresh underwear, a different pair of jeans, and an old Hendrix t-shirt. When he turns, a smile spreads across Jin's face.
"I have that same t-shirt," he says. Kame looks down at what he's wearing, and he remembers.
"Because I gave it to you," Kame says. "You still have it?"
"Of course I have it," Jin says, pushing himself up to sit on the edge of the bed. He shifts uncomfortably, plucking at the front of his jeans. "It came with me all over Asia."
And that - Kame doesn't know what to do with that. He's afraid to make too much of it, so he forces himself to smile and says: "Really? Imagine that." But his tone is off, he can hear it.
"Kame," Jin says, his shoulders hunching. "What - what's up?"
Kame looks across at Jin and smiles faintly, drifts nearer. He reaches out to cup the side of Jin's face, feeling a warm glow in his chest when Jin leans into his hand.
"This...this is a lot," he says after a hard swallow.
Jin's hand comes up to cover Kame's hand. "What does that mean?" he asks, studying Kame with steady eyes.
"I mean-" Kame ducks his head and clears his throat. "Please don't hate me for saying this," he begins. "But - but can we. Can we, uh, table this? For now. Just until we get through the next two weeks. Just until - you know. You know how I get. I'm not sure I can do this, not on top of everything else, not right now. There's so much to do, I'm working three shifts at Sesamo next week and there's this other thing, and. I - I-"
"I get it," Jin says, and he stands, catching Kame's hand when it falls from his face and he squeezes it before letting go. "I do." Jin ducks his head and stares at his feet. "You got it." He sneaks a look back up at Kame. "Two weeks then. Until after we finish our weekend at Outlandish. Then-"
"-then we'll talk," Kame finishes, nodding.
Jin gives him a look. "Just talk?" he asks.
Kame returns his look and says "No questions. No nothing. I'm begging you. Just let me - let me get through this, and then we can figure everything else out."
Jin's jaw works for a few seconds before he looks away, nods his head once. "Okay. I'll wait."
Kame's silent for a beat, feeling a rush of gratitude. "Thanks," he says. His smile, when it comes, is uneven, and Jin's matches it.
"Let's work?" Jin says. Kame nods. Jin sets his shoulders and Kame takes a deep breath. They both shift away, thin professional veneers falling into place.
--
It's a long two weeks. Kame doesn't get much sleep. Pretty much as soon as Susanna's departure lands on the internet, Kayakuya begins taking hits in the gossip blogs where rumors swirl of their troubled enterprise and friction between Sesamo's owners and the executive chef. It's hard to deny that they're having problems, when the food clearly begins to suffer. Kame takes to popping antacids like candy and as much as he'd like to drown himself in a vat of liquor, he can't afford to be off his game even a little bit.
In the spaces between everything else going on in his life, he and Jin spend early mornings or late evenings - or whatever few hours they can paste together - tinkering with their Outlandish menu; in a fit of paranoia, Kame even has them stage a couple post-midnight dry runs for Yamapi, Rowan and a couple others, so they can work on their timing. Neither Kame nor Jin pretend that getting through those two weeks is anything less than uncomfortable, but Kame's grateful that Jin's true to his word, that he sticks to the job.
Which doesn't necessarily mean that Jin is always nice, or easy to work with, because then it wouldn't be Jin. Kame's well aware of his own shortcomings, chiefly that he doesn't always handle stress well either, so in those last few days, they're both snappish, taking jabs at each other and trying to avoid venting their stress on the sous chef Jin rustled up: a twenty-eight year old kid who apprenticed with Serpico and Chang. Yamada turns out to be an annoyingly efficient and competent cook who never needs to be upbraided about cleaning his work space or wearing a dirty coat. Instead, he asks a lot of questions, cooks a lot of good food, and he's managed to become the laconic snark-wielding peacemaker in the tiny Outlandish kitchen.
Truth is, it's exhilarating working with Jin again. Kame tries to remind himself how much they've both grown apart and changed and how even their cooking styles have evolved separately, but it's hard to stay objective when Jin's at his elbow, flipping his knife like a showboating idiot but also turning out beautiful, perfect little shrimp dumplings with quick, deft fingers, cracking a dumb joke all at the same time. When he's on, he's on, head neatly wrapped in a bandana, focused and always thinking ahead, not to the next thing, but to the tenth thing down the line. Just like Kame.
It's everything Kame learned to live without, and he was okay with it. Yamapi filled the hole for a while. He wasn't nearly as much fun as Jin but Yamapi still shared Kame's vision and his work ethic and he cooked some damn fine food. Kame's been okay for ten years, and if once in a while he let himself regret what might have been, well, that was only normal, right?
But with Jin beside him, however, Kame realizes it was simpler, then. It was easier to stay angry. It's harder to do this, to be friends - or whatever it is they are, whatever they're becoming.
And to face the inconvenient truth that his body, now reminded, hasn't forgotten a damned thing.
--
Kame holds his breath through nearly the entire Friday night service.
Jin chats easily with their guests, and but Kame's hyperaware of their jaded palates, of how far each dish has to go to impress this bunch. They sit there, four men and two women: food writers, cooks and eaters, and Kame's belly stays tight and anxious as he puts his head down and steadily plows through the menu. He tries to stay loose and responsive, to smile and explain each dish as evocatively as he can, but he can't match Jin's casual confidence.
Kame spends a lot of the last two hours trying to understand what's going on inside his head, why he's freaking out. He knows how to do this. He's a fucking pro, that's what he reminds himself. He's done this countless times before. It's more than the simple act of preparing this meal. Maybe because there's nothing simple about doing it with Jin.
It isn't until the last of their guests have left, until the door is locked behind them, the kitchen is once again sparkling clean, and Yamada is gone that Kame retreats to the walk-in freezer, cracking the door behind him, and he leans against the shelves. Braces on his forearms, head sunk, chin on his chest. Distantly he hears the sounds of Raul's sneakers and the wet sound of the mop over the tile floor.
A shadow blocks the light coming in through the narrow gap of the door.
"Kame?"
"Mmmm?" Kame doesn't move, eyes closed, sucking in deep rapid breaths of frosty air. He feels like he's burning up and the butterflies in his stomach won't dissipate.
"What are you doing?"
"Nothing," Kame answers, praying to be left alone.
Jin doesn't press him, but his shadow doesn't move away. Kame's ears strain for Raul's squeaky sneakers, but there's nothing now beyond the mechanical hum of the refrigerated walk-in. The butterflies feel like a swarm of bats dive-bombing around inside his gut.
There's the faint sound of the door opening wider, and the shuffle of Jin's step. Kame's heart rate kicks up, but he remains still, trying to center himself in his breathing.
"Hey," he hears after a while, he doesn't know how long.
"Hmmm."
"Kame-" He hears the click in Jin's throat, and Kame's pulse quickens again, and he's dizzy, disoriented, and he can no longer feel his hands or his feet. A moment later, Jin's large hand settles on his shoulder, fingers curving into him, bleeding heat into muscle and bone. Kame tries to relax, but every muscle tightens. He wants to shake Jin off, but he doesn't, can't.
"Hey - hey," Jin says with a note of concern, palm pressing into him and trying to turn him. Kame shakes his head, trying to wrestle it down, the panic rising up, shaking him, choking him. He can't breathe.
"Kame? What's going on? Are you-" He's aware just enough to detect the clear alarm in Jin's voice.
Kame squeezes his eyes tight and tries to suck in a lungful of air.
"Shit," Jin mutters. "Shit, Kame, come on, bend over." Jin's warm hand is on his neck now, pressing him down and Kame fights him, but Jin has leverage and his grip is inexorable, and he's talking the whole time, saying: "You're a fucking idiot, Kame, just bend over. You're hyperventilating. Get your head down. Fucking breathe, you idiot."
Jin's touch vanishes and Kame finds his knees buckling until he's crouched near the floor, one hand gripping the metal shelf tight, the freezing cold searing into his palm, his other hand braced against the floor.
"Breathe," Jin's voice comes from nearby, speaking into Kame's ear. From somewhere Jin's found a bag which he pushes into Kame's face. Kame doesn't open his eyes, but he obeys, panting into the bag until the dizziness begin to fade. After a while, Kame bats the bag away, blindly wrapping his fingers around Jin's wrist. He drops his head, butting into Jin's solid form which stops him from pitching forward.
When Kame opens his eyes, Jin is on his knees in front of him, still holding the bag in a hand, and he's staring at Kame with a furrowed brow.
"What the fuck happened?" he asks as Kame's gaze focuses. Kame shakes his head. His heart is still pounding, and he's growing limp, tilting backward.
Jin's reaches out with his free hand and grabs Kame's right shoulder, anchoring him upright.
"Okay now?"
Kame tries to nod, but he thinks it comes out in a confused circular movement. "Don't know."
"All right. Take it easy then. Just sit a moment." Jin's hand slides up from Kame's shoulder to cup the side of his neck. Unthinkingly, Kame leans into it, turning his head slightly.
"I'm all right," Kame says and his voice is hoarse. Jin is closer now and he smells faintly of cologne and more of sweat and Kame feels himself swaying forward.
"Kame?" Jin says. It's almost a whisper.
Kame hums.
Jin's hand slides up to cradle the back of Kame's head. Leans in to catch the corner of Kame's mouth with his dry, parted lips.
Kame feels a small sound escape this throat then, and he turns just enough to meet Jin fully, inhaling hard through his nose as Jin hungrily presses into his open mouth.
Kame releases Jin's wrist to fist one hand in Jin's shirt and haul him closer. His mind is blissfully empty at last and he's floating in still calm. There's only Jin's mouth, his tongue and teeth, his heat, and his large hand spread across the back of Kame's head like it's the only thing in the world holding him up. Kame's blood thunders in his ears.
"Kame," he hears some time later. Jin's lips are on his neck, just below his ear and they're leaving a searing trail as they move down Kame's arched throat.
The raw scrape of Jin's voice lands like a wrecking ball swinging into his perfect calm, and Kame comes back to himself with a sick lurch. Jerking back, he lands on his ass, a defensive hand up between them. Jin's eyes appear huge and bright in the walk-in's flickery fluorescent light, and his lips glisten.
Kame realizes he's painfully hard inside his checked trousers. Jin whimpers and teeters forward for a second, as though he wants to fall down over Kame and Kame can see his desire and intent clearly writ in Jin's eyes as if he'd spoken it aloud. Kame feels certain that if not for Kame's upraised arm between them, Jin would spread him out right there on the floor of the walk-in.
"Kame?" Jin says, and there's helpless distress in his voice, distress lining his features, chagrin and something deeper, aching loss, in his dark brown eyes.
Kame shakes his head and closes his eyes, panting.
"Two more nights," he says. "Just two. Just - just wait." He scoots backward, crab-like, and scrambles to his feet. Looks down at Jin who's slumped from his knees to sit on his heels.
"I should -" Kame begins, his voice unsteady as fuck. "I'm just - just gonna go." He stumbles past Jin, praying Jin won't touch him again or his self control will shiver to dust.
He stops when he's at the door, a hand on the door jamb, the other flat against the ice-cold door. He looks back.
"Thanks," Kame makes himself say.
Jin shifts, pushes himself to his feet and stands. Kame watches Jin's shoulders rise and fall in a deep breath before he turns.
When Jin faces him, his face is composed once more with a faint smile.
"Most people have their panic attack before service," he says, but his voice sounds all wrong.
Kame tries to laugh and nods. "Yeah," he replies. "Too bad I'm not most people."
"Are you going home?" Jin asks.
Kame wavers. He should. He should run home. Jin probably sees his hesitation.
"Let's grab a beer, Kame. It's been a long night. But it was good, you know? You know it was good. Not sure what you had to panic over, but I think..." He stops and bites his lip. "Let's celebrate."
Kame watches him for a long moment, wondering at the almost-pleading tone of Jin's voice. Finally he nods. "Okay," he says. "One beer."
Jin's shoulders sag just slightly, in relief, Kame thinks. "Great," Jin says, smiling more steadily now. "Great. Let's get the fuck out of here."
They're quiet as they check through the kitchen one last time, and they turn out the lights, one by one.
Kame says "You want chicken?" after they've changed back into their street clothes and they're locking up. Off Jin's nod, they end up at a late-night spot in K-town, at a table in a corner, a heaping platter of chicken wings and drumsticks between them and a pitcher to split, and then two - enough to get them very pleasantly wasted.
Kame digs in ravenously, and Jin follows suit. They break down the evening's service over a growing pile of bones. It's straight shop talk for which Kame is infinitely relieved as he relaxes into the beer and a bellyful of chicken and grease.
When they finally stumble out, it's four in the morning and they're leaning on each other and laughing on the sidewalk.
Jin tries to stand up straight, and Kame laughs some more. Watches as Jin pushes the hair back from his face and resettles the strap of the bag slung across his chest.
"'Night, Kame," Jin says. His expression flickers at the last instant before he turns, and Kame has the overpowering urge to grab Jin's hand and push him into a taxi, make out with him all the way home.
"'Night, Jin," Kame says, all laughter gone. He watches Jin turn away. Jin's arms stretch up and his gloved hands lace around the back of his head, elbows tucked in tight around his ears. Kame listens to the slap of Jin's sneakers on the cold pavement as his footsteps retreat, as Jin disappears around the corner.
Kame turns up his collar, shoves both hands in the deep pockets of his wool coat, and pivots to make his own way home.
--
It's Sunday and loud Rolling Stones is blasting through the Outlandish kitchen: "Salt of the Earth" competing with Ray LaMontagne playing out in the bar.
One of the bartenders has been back to ask them to turn it down once already, but Jin had just grinned from where he was cleaning around the grill and told her not to worry, they'd be gone soon.
The bartender had cocked her head at Kame who was wiping down a counter and she rolled her eyes behind purple Prada frames, her long, dangly earrings swinging.
"You know, your partner's a pain in my ass. Can't you control him?"
Kame had to laugh. "I wish," he'd told her, trying not to get caught on that word: partner.
When Kame looks over, Jin's grooving along to "Can't You Hear Me Knockin,'" dancing around the kitchen with a sponge and bumping into Kame suggestively whenever he has the chance. "Help me, baby," he sings into Kame's ear, "ain't no stranger," and Kame flushes.
Now that it's over, Kame feels buoyant and a hundred times lighter, relieved and happy that their first weekend rotation for Outlandish was more or less a success. When there are only six diners and he's working only an arms' length away from them across a bar, it's fairly easy to gauge satisfaction, so he's reasonably certain that each set of guests they cooked for over their three day stint went home happy. Jin's told him this is one of the things he loves about doing his Lupo dinners: he has the chance to observe his guests and tailor dishes and time their presentation based on what he's seeing in their reactions. Kame's always been a restaurant kitchen cook, usually behind a door or a high pass - unlike Yamapi who, as their public face, has often done demonstrations and public cooking events. Kame isn't used to it at all. In fact, he thinks there's a weird element of voyeurism about it: when he sees diners especially enthralled with a dish - it becomes a bit peculiar to observe what can look like a very private moment between the diner and their food.
Kame catches Yamada looking over at them from the sink, and the kid is shaking his head. "Now you like each other," he says in deeply sarcastic tones. "I had no idea." And yet when he turns back to the tray he's cleaning, he's smiling.
"Of course we like each other," Jin says, draping an arm across Kame's shoulders. "Don't we, Kame?" Kame tips his head away and pretends to study him.
"Maybe," he says, returning to plastic-wrapping a quart container of XO sauce, trying to ignore the curl of heat low in his belly from the heavy, warm weight of Jin's arm over him. "Jury's still out." But his lips twitch up in a tiny smile.
The next thing he knows, Jin's leaned into his ear, his warm breath sending chills down Kame's spine and Jin says "You know you love me," hitting just the right pitch to raise the hair on Kame's arms. Kame's grip tightens on the container and he has to grit his teeth against the flood of arousal that rushes through him. Kame turns on Jin who's back to dancing near him, in full-on dork mode. Kame narrows his eyes before self-consciously glancing around to see if Yamada was watching.
"Chill," Jin says, catching Kame's eyes, "Relax. You did it. It's over and it was awesome."
"We did it," Kame murmurs, reaching for the dish of shiso leaves. He glances up, leaning one hip into the counter. Jin's flushed and he's sucking on one corner of his lower lip. Jin nods.
"Yeah," he says. "We."
That's when it hits Kame: this is why he's been freaking out. The elation expands in his chest until he feels warm everywhere. This weekend at Outlandish, all the months of planning and prep, everything that went into making this weekend what it's been - it's the first time they've worked together in ten years. And - for better or for worse - he loved it. It was terrifying and stressful, but it's also been some of the best fun Kame's had in recent memory. It's what he's been missing for far too long.
"Gentlemen," Kame hears and he looks up to see Rowan approaching. "Congratulations!" He comes closer and high fives each of them with a big, pleased smile. "I don't care what anyone says. I think you guys cooked your motherfucking asses off. And now I'm taking your motherfucking asses out to celebrate."
"Dude, I am so there," Yamada says, untying his apron and pulling off his bandana, fluffing out his jet-black hair. "Where to, boss?"
Rowan names the venue and Jin whistles. "Classy."
Rowan shrugs. "I considered taking you to my favorite leather bar," he says with a wry grin. He turns to look over his shoulder at Yamada and he calls out to Yamada's retreating back "but I wouldn't if you're not into it." Yamada pivots, his mouth teased up in a bow of a smile. "Who says I wouldn't be into it?" he retorts.
Rowan turns back to Jin, grinning and shaking his head. "So. You guys just about done here? Should I wait for you or you want to meet us there?"
Kame doesn't look at Jin when Jin immediately says: "We'll meet you there. Just let us finish up a few more things and we'll head right over."
Rowan nods and cuts his eyes over to Kame who straightens and hopes his expression doesn't betray how his heart rate just kicked up another ten notches.
Jin moves around restlessly and turns off most of the lights, throwing the kitchen into shadow. He waits five minutes until he's sure both Rowan and Yamada are gone before he pulls Kame up from the low-boy where he's crouched down, stacking the leftover ingredients in the refrigerator under the counter. Once Kame's on his feet and the low-boy door is kicked closed, Jin spins him and walks Kame back into the corner where the two counters join.
Kame sends one last look down the back of the kitchen, but it's empty, and with a small smile, Jin lifts something small and swipes his thumb: the music abruptly cuts out.
Kame watches Jin's tongue poke out to swipe across his lips. "Time's up," he says and Kame shivers at the almost-growl he hears in Jin's voice.
"Mmmm," Kame says, tilting his head back just a little. His eyes on Jin's mouth, Kame tugs at the neck of his chef's coat, pulling the flap away and baring his throat. He inhales once, twice, watches Jin's chest rise and fall rapidly at the invitation.
So Kame's surprised when Jin gently turns him instead, guiding Kame's hands to rest on the counter. Kame turns his head over his shoulder where Jin kisses him hard on the mouth, one hand splaying across the front of Kame's working throat in a shockingly intimate, possessive hold. His other hand goes to the front of Kame's coat, tugging the flaps until it's wide open, and rucking Kame's t-shirt up so he can lay a searing hand against Kame's belly, just below his navel.
"Jin," Kame says when they both break apart after a long, drugging kiss. He leans his head back on to Jin's shoulder, baring his throat for Jin's lips to trail kisses down. Kame feels himself melting back into Jin's arms, held and cradled, Jin's fingers stroking up the hollow of Kame's ribcage and over to lightly brush a nipple. Kame goes rigid at the lightning flash of sensation and he gasps.
"Shhh," Jin says, "I've been dying to do this for months. Just - just let me-" He doesn't finish, finds Kame's mouth again and smothers his half-hearted protest. Kame's so absorbed by Jin's attentions that he nearly misses that word: months. But there's no time and fewer brain cells to analyze it. Not when he's blindingly hard and drowning in Jin wrapped around him, in his scent, in the taste of Jin in his mouth.
He feels every sense heightened, alive to Jin's touch, to the sensation of Jin's muscles contracting where he's managed to find a hold, to Jin's legs intertwining with his, their kitchen clogs knocking together as Jin crowds him against the counter.
Finally, after what seems like an eternity of enervating touches and burning lips, of Jin's hand massaging the front of Kame's trousers while gently thrusting against him from behind, Kame pants Jin's name again, says: "Wait."
Jin's hands still and he sags, dropping his forehead to Kame's shoulder. "God, Kame. You're killing me."
Kame turns, hooking one elbow around Jin's neck to draw him in, and pressing a hand to Jin's forehead with the other, he smooths Jin's hair back where it's come loose from the bandanna which slides away under his hand. Kame kisses him as warmly as he dares, sliding his tongue along Jin's and inhaling hard through his nose when the kiss deepens and they're both straining against each other, fingers striking hard, hips tucked in tight, one of Jin's legs between Kame's and he's found that perfect groove to thrust into, and they're both making involuntary noises in the back of their throats.
It's Jin who breaks off with a groan, pushing himself back and raising a hand to his mouth. Kame falls against the counter, his elbows coming up when he grips the edge behind him as hard as he can to keep from launching forward and dragging Jin's mouth back down.
"You're right," Jin rasps, although Kame hasn't said anything. "They're gonna wonder where we are."
Kame squeezes his eyes shut briefly before he opens them and raises one eyebrow. "Gonna?" he says thickly. "Try time to send out a search party," Kame says. One quick glance at his watch confirms his suspicion. "Shit."
Reluctantly Jin nods and raises both his hands to his face, scrubbing at his cheeks and rubbing the back of his hand over his forehead. "Fuck." His eyes snap back to Kame's.
"To be continued," he says with a strained, embarrassed smile.
Kame nods, echoing with his own smile. "To be continued."
--
Two hours later, they're standing side by side in the back hall of the cocktail bar where Rowan's taken them, each with a drink in hand, phone in the other, hunting through their calendars for a few hours - consecutive hours before two in the morning -to scrape together during the next seven days. Kame's already explained that he's headed to Madrid for the holiday to spend Christmas with his eldest brother's family, the first time he'll get to see any family for Christmas in five years and the first Christmas back in Madrid since he left home as a teenager.
"I'll be back soon," Kame offers when it becomes clear that drunkenly staring at their phones isn't going to make any time magically appear. Kame gently lists against Jin's shoulder.
Jin snorts. "Not soon enough," he says after a long pause. "You know we need to talk." He shoves his phone back into his pocket, and he sighs noisily.
Kame doesn't look up. After a while, he rolls off the wall and turns into Jin's shoulder, resting his chin there, allowing Jin to wrap him in a one-armed hug. It's the talking Kame's afraid of. It's the talking that always gets them - him - in trouble. And this talk, the one they're still not having, looms large in Kame's head. It feels portentous.
"I know," Kame says at last. He lets out a slow breath. "We will."
+part nine
::::
::::
Kame should have known when he woke up the next day, not with a hangover, but with a nagging headache nonetheless, that it was going to be one of those days. Not that the days have been particularly easy of late. Not like he expected Black Friday, the biggest shopping day of the year, to be anything less than a zoo pretty much everywhere. And it is. Kame swallows a bunch of painkillers with a cup of coffee and a croissant at eight in the morning with Haruka before heading with her to the Greenmarket. After their shopping expedition, he takes over a corner of the Zenzero prep kitchen to work on his dishes for Outlandish, trying to stay out of everyone's way as they get ready for a busy day. Late in the afternoon, he holes himself up in Haruka's office to write a long overdue blog entry and get some paperwork done. He loses track of time, staying there deep into dinner service. Haruka kicks him out at ten, hinting that he needs his stamina for later, which Kame doesn't understand, but he's used to that. Nursing the remnants of the headache that never quite left, Kame walks home with his bag slung across his chest, the crisp autumn air reviving him somewhat. Sanjay calls halfway through his walk to update him on Sesamo in DC. Kame's making his way into his building when another call comes through so he finishes with Sanjay to answer it.
It's Jin, almost yelling across the connection, and it's somewhat garbled so it takes a minute or so before he understands that Jin is out at some noisy restaurant, and the whole elevator ride up to his flat, Jin makes the case for Kame to come out and join them, whoever they are.
"You're not allowed to say no," Jin is saying. "It'll be good for you." Kame gets his door open and leans back against it, eyes closed.
"Jin-" he tries to cut in, because really, he was just planning to eat some of the noodles Haruka's sous chef, Miriam, had packed up for him, and have a couple beers over his notes for Outlandish and the new menu items he wants to discuss with Andrew and Sanjay for both Sesamo restaurants.
"I happen to know that you spent the entire fucking day at Zenzero," Jin says, not unkindly, and it's suddenly quiet on Jin's end, he's speaking in an-almost normal volume, aside from the bright buzz Kame can hear, a familiar sound that means Jin's had a couple drinks already. He must've ducked into a bathroom or something.
Kame frowns. "How do you know that?"
Jin's laugh, when it comes across, is a throaty chuckle that sends a surge of enervating adrenaline through him. "How do you think?"
"What, you're corrupting my employees now?" Kame asks, trying to sound irritated, but he's strangely touched.
"Haruka's worried about you," Jin says. "Come out, Kame. I can't believe I have to twist your fucking arm. You. Haruka said you'd be a sure thing."
Kame sighs, pinches the bridge of his nose. He's wondering when this happened, when Jin infiltrated all these odd corners of Kame's life. Jin seems to know practically everyone now, and at times that can be damned inconvenient.
And if anyone other than Jin had asked, he probably wouldn't be hesitating. He isn't even sure why.
"Where?"
When Jin tells him, Kame's even more uneasy. Definitely not some after-hours dive for cooks with grimy floors and good beer on tap; instead of a jukebox, there'll be DJs, a lighting rig and overpriced cocktails. He'll have to dress for this.
"Who's with you?"
"Yamapi, Toma, Tatsuya," Jin lists off, "Rowan, Haruka and Runa are coming when they're done with work. Haruka's threatened me with glitter if I don't get you here."
Jin's voice drops a register, sending a curl of heat through Kame's belly: "Come on, Kame. Please. Wear something nice and come save me."
--
It occurs to Kame later, much later, that he's the one who needs saving.
Haruka and Tatsuya have been pouring drinks into him all night and it's not that he's opposed to dancing, because he isn't, but being sandwiched between two hot guys on a dance floor, feeling all inhibition ebb away, isn't exactly how he thought the night would go. Yamapi and Toma haven't emerged from the VIP booth but the others had clearly only ever planned to drink and dance. And Jin hasn't looked like he's needed rescuing at any point, certainly not while he's been downing shots and getting hit on every which way.
In the beginning, Kame isn't sure what he's doing there. He spends the first hour fending off admirers for reasons he doesn't wish to examine until Runa leans into his ear and points out they didn't ask him to come so he could stand around by himself all night. She pulls back and follows his gaze to where Jin is dancing with a tall, shirtless guy sporting magnificent ink. Unless he gets off on watching, Runa continues with a lifted eyebrow, in which case-
She doesn't finish, but offers him a sweet, wicked smile and pats his cheek before snagging her drink and following Haruka.
Truthfully, if it wasn't for Haruka and Runa, he might have left: everything about the evening is throwing up all kinds of red flags, and he hasn't been great about self-control in situations like these. Kame considers just how much trouble he can get in with enough booze, deafening music, and friction.
Standing near the bar, watching Jin becomes a kind of sharp, sweet pain from which he can't bring himself to look away. Allowing himself to be pulled to the dance floor is a welcome distraction that only turns out to be not engrossing enough.
Tatsuya dances alone nearby, circled by devotees, but clearly in a world of his own, swirling and twining his limbs sinuously while Rowan is locked with a guy whose hair is as pale as Rowan's is dark. Runa and Haruka were in sight but have been swallowed by the grinding, swaying throng. Kame's mind goes blissfully blank as he lets himself move to the insistent beat, supported by the bodies pressed against him. He leans his head back on someone's shoulder, closing his eyes briefly, feels a stubbled cheek against his face. He doesn't know either of the guys, but they feel good, their hands hot and hard against his hips and waist, he feels good, but when he opens his eyes, he homes in on Jin once more, directly in his line of sight, just past an inked shoulder.
Jin, who's leaned back against some guy with restless, grasping hands whose mouth is open against Jin's ear, and Kame's taunted by the delicate curving lines of the tattoo climbing the side of Jin's neck. Kame knows he's well and truly fucked when he has to think hard about why he shouldn't go over there and lick that tattoo all the way up to Jin's ear.
Watching Jin, he feels himself teetering on a knife edge, torn between too many conflicting wants, as mixed up as he's ever been. Never has Jin seemed more remote than this moment, when he's only a few paces away, wholly unattainable.
There is a line here that Kame won't let himself cross. Not again.
He knows he can crook his finger at the guys dancing with him, and he wants to. For no good reason he can think of just then, Kame hasn't gotten laid in months. No good reason aside from an obviously misguided attempt at better choices. But, for what, to what purpose, if he has to be here now, cruelly provoked to distraction.
Jin is staring straight at him from over a stranger's shoulder, eyes glittering under the shifting colored lights, his expression entirely unreadable. Kame wants to know what all of this means. Why he was harangued into coming here. Why Jin hasn't come closer than a meter on this goddamned dance floor. Why the fuck Kame's watching a show. Why he's putting one on.
Kame deliberately closes his eyes, giving himself over to the music and the bright pulse of booze and desire throbbing in his blood. He tells himself it's okay. That it isn't retaliation. That it doesn't mean anything when he reaches back with one hand to cup the head of the guy behind him, not-so-gently pulling him closer, when he palms the other's neck. That he can do this, and it's all okay, and in the morning, he'll say he was just having a good time.
--
The next morning, Kame wakes up alone - face down and fully-dressed - in his own bed, without any recollection of how he got there.
--
It's childish and he isn't precisely sure why, but Kame ignores Jin's calls and messages that come through that afternoon before he hits the gym. Maybe it's self-preservation. Maybe it's the cold pit of dread in his stomach - the black hole at the end of his night.
And yet, despite a rotten hangover, he has a reasonably good session that eventually clears his head of cobwebs; his trainer now forces him to wear headgear so he won't suffer any truly stupid mistakes involving his face. Doesn't mean he doesn't take a beating, though: he's sore and achy by the time he spits out his mouthpiece, already feeling the beginnings of some spectacular bruises along his torso and his thigh, but the pain feels clean, somehow. Purifying.
His restored sense of well-being and accomplishment evaporates when he sees Jin sitting in a chair near the entrance, tapping out something on his pad. Jin looks about as bad as Kame felt when he woke up; behind his glasses, Jin's eyes are tired and puffy, his face is waxy and pale, as if he's barely slept.
Kame comes to a stop in front of him and watches Jin start in surprise when he glances up.
"You're stalking me?" Adrenaline is still coursing through Kame and he feels himself gearing up for a fight.
Jin frowns, slips his pad into his messenger bag and stands, leaving little space between them when Kame doesn't retreat.
"We have plans," Jin says stubbornly, looking confused and determined. Kame watches a muscle in Jin's jaw twitch with a strange sense of detachment. "Are you blowing me off?"
Kame doesn't have an answer for that. He turns, not caring if his gym bag bumps against Jin, and he makes for the door.
Jin falls into step beside him as Kame hits the pavement and begins his walk home. He'd walk faster if he could, but the hits he took force him to a slower pace.
"Why are you being like this?" Jin asks a few blocks later.
Kame stops and rounds on Jin, heedless of the people they're blocking on the sidewalk behind them. "Me?" he says with a contemptuous snort. "I'm not being like anything."
Jin goes still, his face suddenly cold and expressionless. "Yeah," he says, "you are."
Kame huffs and adjusts the strap of his gym bag, turns and continues walking.
"How'd you find my gym?" he asks after another long stretch of silence.
"You told Tatsuya, remember?" Jin's mouth is set in a straight line.
Kame silently groans. Of course he told Tatsuya, who also boxes and was curious about Kame's workout regimen. Kame bites the inside of his cheek hard, using the pain to stop himself from saying anything further.
Eventually they reach Kame's building and Kame stops short of the entrance.
"You're seriously blowing me off," Jin says again, sounding tired and disbelieving - and hurt. He steps in front of Kame, forcing Kame to look at him. Kame presses his lips together briefly before he moves away and doesn't stop Jin when he follows.
Kame's heart rate hasn't exactly backed down during the walk home; he feels it pounding in the back of his head, pulsing in his throat along with his irritation and that cold knot of dread when Jin dogs his heels into the flat, as if Jin's afraid Kame will shut the door on his face. Kame toes out of his sneakers just beyond the entrance and keeps walking, dropping his gym bag and proceeding straight into the bathroom where he unsuccessfully attempts to shut out all thought of Jin as he turns on the shower and peels out of his clothes. He spends the entire time under the hot spray turning it over in his head: gnawing on the scary gap in his memory and whatever stupid things he did that he can't remember, what he should do with Jin in his flat. He's no closer to finding any answers when he turns the water off and climbs out, his skin hot and tight.
He should just man up and ask, he knows that. But he can't. He's too irrationally angry with Jin for - for so many things - for being beautiful and desirable and untouchable - for things that don't make sense even in his own head. Kame struggles to shove it all down so he can be a normal human being with normal thoughts that don't involve punching Jin the face.
In his bedroom, he relies on the small lamp on his dresser to find an old worn Zeppelin t-shirt and a pair of jeans which he pulls on slowly, his mind going blank and his insides churning in nervous, unhappy anticipation of whatever confrontation awaits him outside his bedroom door.
It's dark in the living room when Jin looks up in response to the slap of Kame's bare feet against the wood flooring. He's perched on the edge of the couch just beyond the dining table, leaned forward, flipping his phone end over end in his hands.
Kame pauses at the end of the dining table, three paces away, rests his hand lightly on a chairback.
"Kame-" Kame hears Jin's swift intake of breath and in the dim light coming from behind him, he sees Jin's hand squeeze tight around his phone.
"Look, I'm sorry," Jin says in a rush, "whatever I did, whatever..." He trails off, faltering. "I'm sorry."
Kame goes cold all over. "What," he says, "are you apologizing for?"
"You're angry-" Jin begins, his eyebrows coming together in some sort of confused contortion, like he isn't sure how or why that should be the case.
Kame snorts.
Jin takes a breath, frowns. "Okay," Jin says. "Maybe you should tell me why you're angry."
Thing is, Kame can't. He can't. He opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. He can't explain why he's angry because that would mean admitting to whatever this hard, pulsating thing is that's inside of him.
Jin looks up at him, waiting. Kame, instead, stares at Jin's hands where they're clenched together around his phone and all he can think is: oh, god, I'm so fucked. Kame closes his eyes, takes a breath, turns away.
He walks slowly into the kitchen, trying not to favor his right leg where a deep bruise is forming on top of his quadricep from a sharp jab he took near the end. He opens the freezer, feeling around in the dark for the gel packs he keeps in the door.
"You're hurt," Jin says in a concerned voice, standing in the entry to the darkened kitchen.
"Just the usual," Kame says. "This is nothing."
"Really," Jin says, unconvinced.
"Yeah, really," Kame retorts. "You think I would do it if I couldn't take a little pain?" Kame fumbles in a drawer for a couple dish towels.
"Honestly?" Jin steps closer and he takes the towels from Kame's hands. "I don't know what to think about you right now."
"What're you-" Kame begins, shrinking away slightly.
"I think you get off on the pain," Jin says. Jin's close enough that Kame can feel the heat rolling off him in anxious waves. Although Kame wants to step back, he doesn't.
"What's going on?" Jin says, laying a towel on the counter, centering a gel pack, folding the towel over. He thrusts the bundle into Kame's hands.
After a tense moment, Kame's obstinate resistance abates a little.
"I - I don't remember how I got home," Kame admits, as if that explains everything. He doesn't look at Jin, sensing, rather than seeing Jin's nod.
"Yamapi got you home," Jin says in a thin, colorless tone. "You were totally wasted."
Kame huffs out a breath, a kind of relief washing over him.
"But not you," Kame hears himself say.
Jin steps back at that. When Kame looks up, Jin's rigid with one hand wrist-deep in his hair, and his face, what Kame can see of it, is in sharp profile in the dimness, illuminated by the light from the hall.
"Not me, what?" Jin says at last.
"So you weren't wasted? You looked like you were having a good time." Kame turns away, not waiting for an answer.
"So did you," Jin says, his voice containing the tiniest crack.
"Come on, Jin," Kame says after a beat, propping himself against the refrigerator. He pushes up his t-shirt and gingerly presses the cold pack to his side, tilts his head back. "Just say whatever it is you need to say."
"What I need to say-?" Jin's voice is choked.
"You stalked me to my gym, so yeah, you must have something you need to get off your chest."
"And you don't?" Jin's frustration erupts. "You ignored all my messages, and, you know, stop me if I'm wrong, but you were going to bail on me for tonight. Which is work, remember? What time do you think we have to fuck around? This is how you handle things? You get angry or jealous or horny or whatever the fuck happened and you fall into this passive-aggressive avoidance bullshit. What exactly would you like me to do? I should just let you stew? I should leave you alone? Don't you think I left you alone for long enough?"
Kame blinks rapidly at Jin's tirade, listening to the harsh sound of Jin's breathing.
And - wow. There's so much in there he can't even wrap his head around all of it. An abrupt red haze flashes before Kame's eyes and he has to struggle with himself, really struggle to not charge at Jin, shove him in the chest, slam him against a wall. The visualization is so powerful, he can almost feel the impact shiver up his arm.
Instead he curls that arm around his lower ribs as hard as he can, using the pain to ground him through his fury.
"You fucker," Kame bites out. "Why did you ask me to come last night night? Tell me that - and be honest, asshole."
When Jin doesn't immediately answer, Kame grates out a bitter laugh. "That's what I thought. Well, fuck you."
"Kame-"
"I think you should go."
"Well, I don't."
And Kame doesn't have to see Jin clearly to know that his chin is jutting, that his eyes are flashing, to feel the waves of rage - and something like hurt - coming off him. And yet Jin surprises him by stepping closer, caging Kame with both his arms, and pushing his face in close, not touching, but almost. Kame flinches away, but he's trapped.
"What - what are you doing?"
"What am I doing?" Jin grits out angrily. "This is what I'm doing. I'm not fucking leaving. Not again."
"But - why?" Kame shakes his head minutely in confusion.
Jin stiffens, and Kame hears Jin's fingers scrape against the surface of the refrigerator.
"You really don't know?" Jin asks. "You don't remember." That last isn't even a question; there's something terribly wrong in Jin's tone.
"No," Kame answers slowly, that dread uncoiling again and sending out its icy tentacles. "What are you talking about?"
Jin subsides, straightens. The light from the hall gleams off the whites of Jin's eyes.
"You're right, I guess," Jin begins after a long silence. Kame can hear the click in Jin's throat as he swallows. He huffs out a breath. "My, uh - my motives weren't exactly pure last night."
Kame waits for him to continue but when Jin doesn't explain further, Kame asks: "And they were?"
Jin's head jerks as if to shake his head but he stops and holds himself still. Kame shifts a little to angle toward Jin so he can see Jin's face more clearly.
Jin's throat works before he speaks again. "Don't-" he finally says.
Kame's frown deepens. "Don't what."
"I can't-" Jin shakes his head. "You're right, I'm an asshole. I just-" In an abrupt motion, Jin steps away and pulls off his glasses, presses the heel of one hand to an eye. Kame hears the clatter as Jin tosses his glasses onto the counter. He turns his head, tracking Jin's jerky motion as he wraps one of the other gel packs in a towel.
"Where do you need it?" Jin asks, voice tinged with impatience.
Kame awkwardly shifts the first cold pack to his other side and is about to accept the new one when Jin shifts into his space and lays it against his lower ribs, pressing it against him in nearly the right place. Kame flinches and sucks in his breath in surprise.
Kame feels sure he should be protesting, trying to get away, but he stays still, paralyzed and barely breathing as Jin looks down at him, just looking, until finally he skims the knuckles of his free hand over Kame's cold skin, right down the hollow of his ribcage. Kame shivers, immediately breaking out into gooseflesh. Jin crowds closer.
Kame's breath catches as Jin ghosts his knuckles up the indentation in the center of Kame's chest and back down to the top of his jeans where it bites into his hips. Just once, before he drops his hand. Before Kame finally manages to get the words out, his voice barely above a whisper: "What - what are you doing?"
Jin's voice, when he finally speaks, is equally quiet. "You have no idea."
Kame makes a noise in the back of his throat, and like that, the moment is gone. Jin loosens his hold on the other cold pack, leaving Kame to fumble for it so it doesn't fall to the floor.
--
Kame stays in the kitchen several minutes longer, trying get his heart rate under control, his arm wrapped tight around his midsection. The cold feels good, bracing, but it's not enough, not nearly.
He forces himself out of the kitchen.
"What-" Kame begins again before Jin interrupts him, words flooding out of him as he paces in front of the couch: "I knew it wasn't fair to you, I knew it wasn't, but I had to know and I. I don't know how the fuck to talk to you anymore. So - I was an idiot - and you didn't seem to care, you - I saw you with those guys and-" Jin stops.
Kame holds his breath, waiting for him to continue
"I thought you left with them," Jin says after an audible inhale that he holds in briefly. "They had their fucking hands all over you and - and then you were gone. I thought you'd left." There's a laugh, painful and uneven.
Kame almost misses the bitter resentment in Jin's voice from focusing on the rest. He remembers the guys, he remembers they were hot and they were into him, and Jin - Jin might as well have been on another planet; Kame remembers drinking with them, dancing, yes - but he doesn't remember leaving with them. After a certain point, he doesn't remember anything.
"I don't remember," Kame says, shifting his head to find and hold Jin's shadowed eyes. "I don't remember leaving. I don't remember any of that."
"You came back," Jin says. Kame watches Jin shove his hands in his pockets, hunch his shoulders as he steps closer, carefully avoiding Kame's eyes.
"And?" Kame asks faintly.
"You kissed me," Jin says, his voice cracked, disbelieving. He gives a rough laugh, rubs his fingers across his mouth. "-strike that," he's saying. "More like you fucking attacked me."
Kame's first instinct is deny it, as if Jin's announcement must be part of some cruel, elaborate joke. But from the naked expression on Jin's face, he knows Jin's telling the truth.
Beyond that, he's at a loss. Kame fumbles at one of the chairs at the table and drops into it heavily, discarding the cold packs on the table and awkwardly pulling his t-shirt down over his cold torso with shaking hands.
"Say something," Jin says. Kame looks down at his hands, feeling much as if they don't belong to him.
Kame doesn't turn his head when Jin sits beside him. Finally Kame screws his face up in a grimace, ducks his head and says: "I'm sorry." He doesn't dare look at Jin.
"You're sorry." Jin's voice is dull.
"I was drunk," Kame says breathlessly, "I don't remember. I'm sorry." He pushes his face into one hand for a few seconds before dropping his hand onto the table, tightens it into a fist.
"Okay," Jin says, sounding distant and fogged. Kame glances aside at him in time to see Jin grinding the heels of both hands to his eyes. "That's great. You're sorry. Thanks for that."
"What - what did you mean," Kame asks suddenly, before he can stop himself, "when you said I was angry or jealous or horny?" It still rankles, too close to truth for comfort.
Jin turns on him. "I don't think I need to answer that," he says.
Kame swallows. "Why not? You said it. You must have meant it."
"Oh, my god, Kame. I could fucking strangle you," Jin groans from behind his hands.
Kame frowns, looking over to meet Jin's sparking eyes. "Okay," Kame says, without understanding, without wanting to.
He nods to himself and, like that, hits the kill-switch. Shoves everything down, the whole fucking maelstrom, where it can't touch him. He pushes his hands onto the table and makes to stand up.
"Kame, wait-" Jin begins. Kame cuts him off with a single sharp glare.
"Let's go. You wanted to work on the menu," Kame says. "You're right, tick tick. We have a job to do. We'd better get to it. Are we working at your place? Do we need to pick up anything, or are you all set for supplies?" He glances at his watch: it's just six. Plenty of time.
"You know what? Stop it," Jin says, standing. Kame keeps going, rifling around in the dark of his bedroom to find a hoodie he can pull on over his t-shirt and he rummages in his closet for a jacket against the chill of the late November evening. Beyond his windows, it's already full-dark. While the day had been mild, by the time they finish up, most likely late, it'll probably be freezing.
"Hey, are we getting dinner first, or do you want to eat and work?" Kame calls out from the recesses of his closet. His throat is tight and his eyes sting, but he's pretty good at this compartmentalizing thing. He'll be fine. Everything will be fine.
After a moment, he raises one hand to touch his lips. He kissed Jin. And he doesn't even fucking remember.
When Kame turns around, although it's still dark in his room, he's knows he's not alone.
"You sonofabitch, Kamenashi," Jin says in a low voice that sends a shiver through Kame. "You're an oblivious fucking pezzo di merda."
Kame chuckles when he hears that because it's all he can do. "Aw, honey," he says, "you say the sweetest things."
Kame knows he's not handling this well, but he can't bring himself to care. Not when it feels like the roof is coming down around his ears.
There's silence, and then the shuffle of footsteps, quick, anxious, and the darker shadow of Jin coming fast. Kame backs up a step until there's nowhere left to go, trapped as he is between Jin and the wall.
Kame forces himself to laugh again. "Now you're just being melodramatic," he says.
"And you aren't?" Jin's tone is almost mild.
"Oh, come on. This is ridiculous. I already apologized. What else do you want from me? I'm sorry I ruined your fucking evening."
"You didn't ruin my fucking evening!"
"Then what did I do?" They're getting closer to tearing away the bandage.
Jin's hand fists in Kame's t-shirt and he leans in close, nearly nose to nose. "You're a coward," Jin hisses.
Kame feels something wild break loose in his chest, his pulse hammering in ears, but he laughs breathlessly, this time for real. "Oh, fuck you, Akanishi. As if you're any different."
Jin doesn't have a response to that, just an impatient - or frustrated? - exhalation that huffs against Kame's eyelids.
"What do you want?" Kame asks. "What do you want from me."
"Honesty," Jin fires back without hesitation.
"Funny," Kame says. "Me, too."
"Good," Jin snaps. He reaches out with one hand and grabs Kame's jaw in a bruising grip, giving Kame no chance to escape in the second or so before Jin kisses him. It's a violent clash, pitiless and furious, knocking Kame's head back into the wall, and Kame struggles against it briefly, his grunt on impact unheeded.
It feels like revenge, Jin bearing down on him in a remorseless clash of teeth and tongues, but if it's revenge, Kame discovers he's just as intent on exacting his own, battling forward with his own not inconsiderable weapons, hands slapped around both sides of Jin's neck, shoving up into Jin's hair, dragging Jin down and crowding closer to crush his hips against Jin's. When Jin groans into Kame's mouth, Kame feels a feral sort of satisfaction, and he hangs on, determined to ride whatever this bucking thing is all the way down.
Jin might be taller, but Kame has fury, strength, and training on his side to generate the leverage and momentum to propel Jin the few steps backward until the backs of Jin's knees hit Kame's bed. At that point, it's child's play for Kame to kick Jin's legs out from under him until he loses his balance and collapses backward with a swallowed grunt. The light from the hall spills into the dark room, so when Kame opens his eyes, he gets the sweep of Jin's eyelashes close to his. Kame squeezes his eyes shut, breathing in Jin's scent, finding and touching long stretches of warm skin.
Seconds tick by, minutes, hours, before awareness returns slowly, by degrees. Kame finds himself lazily rocking against Jin who remains a solid line of heat beneath him, and with one hand loosely carded into Jin's hair, Kame's propped on his elbows, trading warm, slick kisses, sharing air.
Jin's brutal grip is gone and both his hands have found their way down to cup Kame's ass, an insistent pressure that urges on the delicious friction between them as Jin's hips push into him.
Kame loses himself in it, in the mounting pressure, shifting his weight to find a better angle and he abandons Jin's mouth to trail his lips along Jin's long jaw, listening to Jin's panting breath, pressing his mouth to the tender skin below Jin's ear, letting his tongue search out and paint Jin's tattoo, finally, finally.
"Kame," Jin breathes, and even as little more than an exhalation, it breaks Kame's trance. He stills.
"Hey," Jin whispers, shifting until he manages to tilt them onto their sides, limbs intertwined, hips still pressed together. Kame's achingly hard in his jeans but the paralysis of fear is stealing through him.
Jin dips forward to kiss Kame again, tasting, remembering. But after a few minutes, he relaxes, lays his head down on the comforter and watches Kame with wide eyes.
Kame is trying really fucking hard not to freak out.
He senses Jin's eyes on him, and then he feels the vibration just before he hears Jin's quiet laughter break.
"God, Kame," he says, his abdomen fluttering against Kame sore ribcage. "I can't believe I forgot how stupid you are."
Kame bristles.
"Shhh," Jin says. "Don't fucking argue with me about this. You're an idiot. I am, too, but I think you win this round, and the only thing I want to know is are you really that deluded? Because I know you're a smart guy. You were always smart. So why the fuck-" Jin doesn't finish because Kame's dipped back for another taste, just to shut Jin up.
Breathe in, breathe out. Don't panic.
When Kame disentangles himself, Jin lets him go. Kame sprawls out on his back and blinks up at his ceiling, one arm flung over his head and he presses the heel of his other hand between his legs, cupping himself, bites his lip.
Kame's heartbeat thunders in his ears as he sucks in a shuddery breath. His brain is crowded with too much to sort out, so he doesn't. He can't. He's too terrified to think past his next breath.
He rolls his head back to Jin when he hears the rustle of movement and the shift of weight beside him. Jin's head is propped on one hand, and he looks down at Kame, his eyes glittering in the light from the hall.
"Do you want help with that?" Jin asks, looking down significantly to where Kame's hand is moving over himself in small motions. Kame shakes his head a little.
"N-no," he manages. "I'm good."
Jin's mouth curves in the barest smile. "You sure about that? Because-" But he doesn't finish because he's lowered his head to drop another long kiss onto Kame's mouth, kissing Kame senseless once again.
Kame floats with it, drugged and hazy so it takes him a moment to realize that Jin's pushed his hand away and is opening Kame's jeans with his free hand. Kame's throat works for two seconds before he breathes "No-" into Jin's mouth, but it's too late, Jin's already reached in and carefully drawn him out.
Jin leaves off kissing him to find Kame's eyes. "Tell me to stop," he says roughly. "You tell me to stop and I will." But Jin's hand is hot and familiar and it's been so many fucking years since Kame's had this-
Kame shudders and his hips buck up, just enough to provide a kind of answer. His entire body is wound up so tight with arousal, Jin's hand on him, Jin dropping kisses into his mouth, Jin's fingernail delicately scratching up exactly the way he always loved it. Kame shifts, his thighs spreading, laying himself out, and he tilts his head back into the mattress, arching his throat, when Jin's hand begins to move.
"Tell me you want this, Kame," Jin says, and his voice is low, a sandpaper scrape. And - there's something there. Somehow it feels important, what Jin wants from him, what he's asking. Almost as if - as if it isn't just about this moment, Jin's hand down his pants and quick, fumbled sex, that Jin's asking.
Kame feels his body melting away to leave only this, this one point of contact between them, Jin anchoring him, teasing, offering, taking.
Kame reaches out blindly, finds Jin's arm where he's holding himself up and Kame grabs on, covering his eyes with a forearm. He lets his lips form the words "yes" and "please," which Jin takes from his mouth with another kiss. When Jin's hand slides up and down in a smooth motion, Kame nearly weeps with relief at the sweet, welcome friction, the gliding twist of Jin's practiced hand. Jin knows what he's doing, as if he hasn't forgotten a thing in ten years, his grip exactly, perfectly right, as if there's been no distance at all between this time and the last.
When Kame comes, Jin works him through it as Kame's back arches, until he's convulsing and bucking, until there's nothing left and he's boneless and spent, pressed into the mattress where Jin's half-draped over him, an arm curled around Kame's head, kissing him as though he can't stop. Kame registers the hard line of Jin's arousal rocking against his hip, and he tries to move to return the favor, but Jin presses down on him, holding both of Kame's wrists down above Kame's head, heedless of the sticky drying slick on his hand, and the mess between them where Kame's t-shirt is rucked up.
Jin comes fast and hard, shaking apart before he falls down over Kame, panting into the crook of Kame's neck. Jin loosens his fingers where they've bitten into Kame's wrists, and Kame finally tries to move, squirming out from under Jin who curls onto his side before rolling over onto his back.
Unsteadily Kame climbs off the bed, leans over it, propped on his elbows, head hanging down over his chest. Jin's arm snakes out, covers one of Kame's hand with his, his head rolled to watch Kame. After a moment, Jin squeezes Kame's hand.
A little while later, Kame comes back from the bathroom, naked, looking for clean clothes. Jin pushes himself up on his elbows and watches him. Kame is only slightly self-conscious as he dons fresh underwear, a different pair of jeans, and an old Hendrix t-shirt. When he turns, a smile spreads across Jin's face.
"I have that same t-shirt," he says. Kame looks down at what he's wearing, and he remembers.
"Because I gave it to you," Kame says. "You still have it?"
"Of course I have it," Jin says, pushing himself up to sit on the edge of the bed. He shifts uncomfortably, plucking at the front of his jeans. "It came with me all over Asia."
And that - Kame doesn't know what to do with that. He's afraid to make too much of it, so he forces himself to smile and says: "Really? Imagine that." But his tone is off, he can hear it.
"Kame," Jin says, his shoulders hunching. "What - what's up?"
Kame looks across at Jin and smiles faintly, drifts nearer. He reaches out to cup the side of Jin's face, feeling a warm glow in his chest when Jin leans into his hand.
"This...this is a lot," he says after a hard swallow.
Jin's hand comes up to cover Kame's hand. "What does that mean?" he asks, studying Kame with steady eyes.
"I mean-" Kame ducks his head and clears his throat. "Please don't hate me for saying this," he begins. "But - but can we. Can we, uh, table this? For now. Just until we get through the next two weeks. Just until - you know. You know how I get. I'm not sure I can do this, not on top of everything else, not right now. There's so much to do, I'm working three shifts at Sesamo next week and there's this other thing, and. I - I-"
"I get it," Jin says, and he stands, catching Kame's hand when it falls from his face and he squeezes it before letting go. "I do." Jin ducks his head and stares at his feet. "You got it." He sneaks a look back up at Kame. "Two weeks then. Until after we finish our weekend at Outlandish. Then-"
"-then we'll talk," Kame finishes, nodding.
Jin gives him a look. "Just talk?" he asks.
Kame returns his look and says "No questions. No nothing. I'm begging you. Just let me - let me get through this, and then we can figure everything else out."
Jin's jaw works for a few seconds before he looks away, nods his head once. "Okay. I'll wait."
Kame's silent for a beat, feeling a rush of gratitude. "Thanks," he says. His smile, when it comes, is uneven, and Jin's matches it.
"Let's work?" Jin says. Kame nods. Jin sets his shoulders and Kame takes a deep breath. They both shift away, thin professional veneers falling into place.
--
It's a long two weeks. Kame doesn't get much sleep. Pretty much as soon as Susanna's departure lands on the internet, Kayakuya begins taking hits in the gossip blogs where rumors swirl of their troubled enterprise and friction between Sesamo's owners and the executive chef. It's hard to deny that they're having problems, when the food clearly begins to suffer. Kame takes to popping antacids like candy and as much as he'd like to drown himself in a vat of liquor, he can't afford to be off his game even a little bit.
In the spaces between everything else going on in his life, he and Jin spend early mornings or late evenings - or whatever few hours they can paste together - tinkering with their Outlandish menu; in a fit of paranoia, Kame even has them stage a couple post-midnight dry runs for Yamapi, Rowan and a couple others, so they can work on their timing. Neither Kame nor Jin pretend that getting through those two weeks is anything less than uncomfortable, but Kame's grateful that Jin's true to his word, that he sticks to the job.
Which doesn't necessarily mean that Jin is always nice, or easy to work with, because then it wouldn't be Jin. Kame's well aware of his own shortcomings, chiefly that he doesn't always handle stress well either, so in those last few days, they're both snappish, taking jabs at each other and trying to avoid venting their stress on the sous chef Jin rustled up: a twenty-eight year old kid who apprenticed with Serpico and Chang. Yamada turns out to be an annoyingly efficient and competent cook who never needs to be upbraided about cleaning his work space or wearing a dirty coat. Instead, he asks a lot of questions, cooks a lot of good food, and he's managed to become the laconic snark-wielding peacemaker in the tiny Outlandish kitchen.
Truth is, it's exhilarating working with Jin again. Kame tries to remind himself how much they've both grown apart and changed and how even their cooking styles have evolved separately, but it's hard to stay objective when Jin's at his elbow, flipping his knife like a showboating idiot but also turning out beautiful, perfect little shrimp dumplings with quick, deft fingers, cracking a dumb joke all at the same time. When he's on, he's on, head neatly wrapped in a bandana, focused and always thinking ahead, not to the next thing, but to the tenth thing down the line. Just like Kame.
It's everything Kame learned to live without, and he was okay with it. Yamapi filled the hole for a while. He wasn't nearly as much fun as Jin but Yamapi still shared Kame's vision and his work ethic and he cooked some damn fine food. Kame's been okay for ten years, and if once in a while he let himself regret what might have been, well, that was only normal, right?
But with Jin beside him, however, Kame realizes it was simpler, then. It was easier to stay angry. It's harder to do this, to be friends - or whatever it is they are, whatever they're becoming.
And to face the inconvenient truth that his body, now reminded, hasn't forgotten a damned thing.
--
Kame holds his breath through nearly the entire Friday night service.
Jin chats easily with their guests, and but Kame's hyperaware of their jaded palates, of how far each dish has to go to impress this bunch. They sit there, four men and two women: food writers, cooks and eaters, and Kame's belly stays tight and anxious as he puts his head down and steadily plows through the menu. He tries to stay loose and responsive, to smile and explain each dish as evocatively as he can, but he can't match Jin's casual confidence.
Kame spends a lot of the last two hours trying to understand what's going on inside his head, why he's freaking out. He knows how to do this. He's a fucking pro, that's what he reminds himself. He's done this countless times before. It's more than the simple act of preparing this meal. Maybe because there's nothing simple about doing it with Jin.
It isn't until the last of their guests have left, until the door is locked behind them, the kitchen is once again sparkling clean, and Yamada is gone that Kame retreats to the walk-in freezer, cracking the door behind him, and he leans against the shelves. Braces on his forearms, head sunk, chin on his chest. Distantly he hears the sounds of Raul's sneakers and the wet sound of the mop over the tile floor.
A shadow blocks the light coming in through the narrow gap of the door.
"Kame?"
"Mmmm?" Kame doesn't move, eyes closed, sucking in deep rapid breaths of frosty air. He feels like he's burning up and the butterflies in his stomach won't dissipate.
"What are you doing?"
"Nothing," Kame answers, praying to be left alone.
Jin doesn't press him, but his shadow doesn't move away. Kame's ears strain for Raul's squeaky sneakers, but there's nothing now beyond the mechanical hum of the refrigerated walk-in. The butterflies feel like a swarm of bats dive-bombing around inside his gut.
There's the faint sound of the door opening wider, and the shuffle of Jin's step. Kame's heart rate kicks up, but he remains still, trying to center himself in his breathing.
"Hey," he hears after a while, he doesn't know how long.
"Hmmm."
"Kame-" He hears the click in Jin's throat, and Kame's pulse quickens again, and he's dizzy, disoriented, and he can no longer feel his hands or his feet. A moment later, Jin's large hand settles on his shoulder, fingers curving into him, bleeding heat into muscle and bone. Kame tries to relax, but every muscle tightens. He wants to shake Jin off, but he doesn't, can't.
"Hey - hey," Jin says with a note of concern, palm pressing into him and trying to turn him. Kame shakes his head, trying to wrestle it down, the panic rising up, shaking him, choking him. He can't breathe.
"Kame? What's going on? Are you-" He's aware just enough to detect the clear alarm in Jin's voice.
Kame squeezes his eyes tight and tries to suck in a lungful of air.
"Shit," Jin mutters. "Shit, Kame, come on, bend over." Jin's warm hand is on his neck now, pressing him down and Kame fights him, but Jin has leverage and his grip is inexorable, and he's talking the whole time, saying: "You're a fucking idiot, Kame, just bend over. You're hyperventilating. Get your head down. Fucking breathe, you idiot."
Jin's touch vanishes and Kame finds his knees buckling until he's crouched near the floor, one hand gripping the metal shelf tight, the freezing cold searing into his palm, his other hand braced against the floor.
"Breathe," Jin's voice comes from nearby, speaking into Kame's ear. From somewhere Jin's found a bag which he pushes into Kame's face. Kame doesn't open his eyes, but he obeys, panting into the bag until the dizziness begin to fade. After a while, Kame bats the bag away, blindly wrapping his fingers around Jin's wrist. He drops his head, butting into Jin's solid form which stops him from pitching forward.
When Kame opens his eyes, Jin is on his knees in front of him, still holding the bag in a hand, and he's staring at Kame with a furrowed brow.
"What the fuck happened?" he asks as Kame's gaze focuses. Kame shakes his head. His heart is still pounding, and he's growing limp, tilting backward.
Jin's reaches out with his free hand and grabs Kame's right shoulder, anchoring him upright.
"Okay now?"
Kame tries to nod, but he thinks it comes out in a confused circular movement. "Don't know."
"All right. Take it easy then. Just sit a moment." Jin's hand slides up from Kame's shoulder to cup the side of his neck. Unthinkingly, Kame leans into it, turning his head slightly.
"I'm all right," Kame says and his voice is hoarse. Jin is closer now and he smells faintly of cologne and more of sweat and Kame feels himself swaying forward.
"Kame?" Jin says. It's almost a whisper.
Kame hums.
Jin's hand slides up to cradle the back of Kame's head. Leans in to catch the corner of Kame's mouth with his dry, parted lips.
Kame feels a small sound escape this throat then, and he turns just enough to meet Jin fully, inhaling hard through his nose as Jin hungrily presses into his open mouth.
Kame releases Jin's wrist to fist one hand in Jin's shirt and haul him closer. His mind is blissfully empty at last and he's floating in still calm. There's only Jin's mouth, his tongue and teeth, his heat, and his large hand spread across the back of Kame's head like it's the only thing in the world holding him up. Kame's blood thunders in his ears.
"Kame," he hears some time later. Jin's lips are on his neck, just below his ear and they're leaving a searing trail as they move down Kame's arched throat.
The raw scrape of Jin's voice lands like a wrecking ball swinging into his perfect calm, and Kame comes back to himself with a sick lurch. Jerking back, he lands on his ass, a defensive hand up between them. Jin's eyes appear huge and bright in the walk-in's flickery fluorescent light, and his lips glisten.
Kame realizes he's painfully hard inside his checked trousers. Jin whimpers and teeters forward for a second, as though he wants to fall down over Kame and Kame can see his desire and intent clearly writ in Jin's eyes as if he'd spoken it aloud. Kame feels certain that if not for Kame's upraised arm between them, Jin would spread him out right there on the floor of the walk-in.
"Kame?" Jin says, and there's helpless distress in his voice, distress lining his features, chagrin and something deeper, aching loss, in his dark brown eyes.
Kame shakes his head and closes his eyes, panting.
"Two more nights," he says. "Just two. Just - just wait." He scoots backward, crab-like, and scrambles to his feet. Looks down at Jin who's slumped from his knees to sit on his heels.
"I should -" Kame begins, his voice unsteady as fuck. "I'm just - just gonna go." He stumbles past Jin, praying Jin won't touch him again or his self control will shiver to dust.
He stops when he's at the door, a hand on the door jamb, the other flat against the ice-cold door. He looks back.
"Thanks," Kame makes himself say.
Jin shifts, pushes himself to his feet and stands. Kame watches Jin's shoulders rise and fall in a deep breath before he turns.
When Jin faces him, his face is composed once more with a faint smile.
"Most people have their panic attack before service," he says, but his voice sounds all wrong.
Kame tries to laugh and nods. "Yeah," he replies. "Too bad I'm not most people."
"Are you going home?" Jin asks.
Kame wavers. He should. He should run home. Jin probably sees his hesitation.
"Let's grab a beer, Kame. It's been a long night. But it was good, you know? You know it was good. Not sure what you had to panic over, but I think..." He stops and bites his lip. "Let's celebrate."
Kame watches him for a long moment, wondering at the almost-pleading tone of Jin's voice. Finally he nods. "Okay," he says. "One beer."
Jin's shoulders sag just slightly, in relief, Kame thinks. "Great," Jin says, smiling more steadily now. "Great. Let's get the fuck out of here."
They're quiet as they check through the kitchen one last time, and they turn out the lights, one by one.
Kame says "You want chicken?" after they've changed back into their street clothes and they're locking up. Off Jin's nod, they end up at a late-night spot in K-town, at a table in a corner, a heaping platter of chicken wings and drumsticks between them and a pitcher to split, and then two - enough to get them very pleasantly wasted.
Kame digs in ravenously, and Jin follows suit. They break down the evening's service over a growing pile of bones. It's straight shop talk for which Kame is infinitely relieved as he relaxes into the beer and a bellyful of chicken and grease.
When they finally stumble out, it's four in the morning and they're leaning on each other and laughing on the sidewalk.
Jin tries to stand up straight, and Kame laughs some more. Watches as Jin pushes the hair back from his face and resettles the strap of the bag slung across his chest.
"'Night, Kame," Jin says. His expression flickers at the last instant before he turns, and Kame has the overpowering urge to grab Jin's hand and push him into a taxi, make out with him all the way home.
"'Night, Jin," Kame says, all laughter gone. He watches Jin turn away. Jin's arms stretch up and his gloved hands lace around the back of his head, elbows tucked in tight around his ears. Kame listens to the slap of Jin's sneakers on the cold pavement as his footsteps retreat, as Jin disappears around the corner.
Kame turns up his collar, shoves both hands in the deep pockets of his wool coat, and pivots to make his own way home.
--
It's Sunday and loud Rolling Stones is blasting through the Outlandish kitchen: "Salt of the Earth" competing with Ray LaMontagne playing out in the bar.
One of the bartenders has been back to ask them to turn it down once already, but Jin had just grinned from where he was cleaning around the grill and told her not to worry, they'd be gone soon.
The bartender had cocked her head at Kame who was wiping down a counter and she rolled her eyes behind purple Prada frames, her long, dangly earrings swinging.
"You know, your partner's a pain in my ass. Can't you control him?"
Kame had to laugh. "I wish," he'd told her, trying not to get caught on that word: partner.
When Kame looks over, Jin's grooving along to "Can't You Hear Me Knockin,'" dancing around the kitchen with a sponge and bumping into Kame suggestively whenever he has the chance. "Help me, baby," he sings into Kame's ear, "ain't no stranger," and Kame flushes.
Now that it's over, Kame feels buoyant and a hundred times lighter, relieved and happy that their first weekend rotation for Outlandish was more or less a success. When there are only six diners and he's working only an arms' length away from them across a bar, it's fairly easy to gauge satisfaction, so he's reasonably certain that each set of guests they cooked for over their three day stint went home happy. Jin's told him this is one of the things he loves about doing his Lupo dinners: he has the chance to observe his guests and tailor dishes and time their presentation based on what he's seeing in their reactions. Kame's always been a restaurant kitchen cook, usually behind a door or a high pass - unlike Yamapi who, as their public face, has often done demonstrations and public cooking events. Kame isn't used to it at all. In fact, he thinks there's a weird element of voyeurism about it: when he sees diners especially enthralled with a dish - it becomes a bit peculiar to observe what can look like a very private moment between the diner and their food.
Kame catches Yamada looking over at them from the sink, and the kid is shaking his head. "Now you like each other," he says in deeply sarcastic tones. "I had no idea." And yet when he turns back to the tray he's cleaning, he's smiling.
"Of course we like each other," Jin says, draping an arm across Kame's shoulders. "Don't we, Kame?" Kame tips his head away and pretends to study him.
"Maybe," he says, returning to plastic-wrapping a quart container of XO sauce, trying to ignore the curl of heat low in his belly from the heavy, warm weight of Jin's arm over him. "Jury's still out." But his lips twitch up in a tiny smile.
The next thing he knows, Jin's leaned into his ear, his warm breath sending chills down Kame's spine and Jin says "You know you love me," hitting just the right pitch to raise the hair on Kame's arms. Kame's grip tightens on the container and he has to grit his teeth against the flood of arousal that rushes through him. Kame turns on Jin who's back to dancing near him, in full-on dork mode. Kame narrows his eyes before self-consciously glancing around to see if Yamada was watching.
"Chill," Jin says, catching Kame's eyes, "Relax. You did it. It's over and it was awesome."
"We did it," Kame murmurs, reaching for the dish of shiso leaves. He glances up, leaning one hip into the counter. Jin's flushed and he's sucking on one corner of his lower lip. Jin nods.
"Yeah," he says. "We."
That's when it hits Kame: this is why he's been freaking out. The elation expands in his chest until he feels warm everywhere. This weekend at Outlandish, all the months of planning and prep, everything that went into making this weekend what it's been - it's the first time they've worked together in ten years. And - for better or for worse - he loved it. It was terrifying and stressful, but it's also been some of the best fun Kame's had in recent memory. It's what he's been missing for far too long.
"Gentlemen," Kame hears and he looks up to see Rowan approaching. "Congratulations!" He comes closer and high fives each of them with a big, pleased smile. "I don't care what anyone says. I think you guys cooked your motherfucking asses off. And now I'm taking your motherfucking asses out to celebrate."
"Dude, I am so there," Yamada says, untying his apron and pulling off his bandana, fluffing out his jet-black hair. "Where to, boss?"
Rowan names the venue and Jin whistles. "Classy."
Rowan shrugs. "I considered taking you to my favorite leather bar," he says with a wry grin. He turns to look over his shoulder at Yamada and he calls out to Yamada's retreating back "but I wouldn't if you're not into it." Yamada pivots, his mouth teased up in a bow of a smile. "Who says I wouldn't be into it?" he retorts.
Rowan turns back to Jin, grinning and shaking his head. "So. You guys just about done here? Should I wait for you or you want to meet us there?"
Kame doesn't look at Jin when Jin immediately says: "We'll meet you there. Just let us finish up a few more things and we'll head right over."
Rowan nods and cuts his eyes over to Kame who straightens and hopes his expression doesn't betray how his heart rate just kicked up another ten notches.
Jin moves around restlessly and turns off most of the lights, throwing the kitchen into shadow. He waits five minutes until he's sure both Rowan and Yamada are gone before he pulls Kame up from the low-boy where he's crouched down, stacking the leftover ingredients in the refrigerator under the counter. Once Kame's on his feet and the low-boy door is kicked closed, Jin spins him and walks Kame back into the corner where the two counters join.
Kame sends one last look down the back of the kitchen, but it's empty, and with a small smile, Jin lifts something small and swipes his thumb: the music abruptly cuts out.
Kame watches Jin's tongue poke out to swipe across his lips. "Time's up," he says and Kame shivers at the almost-growl he hears in Jin's voice.
"Mmmm," Kame says, tilting his head back just a little. His eyes on Jin's mouth, Kame tugs at the neck of his chef's coat, pulling the flap away and baring his throat. He inhales once, twice, watches Jin's chest rise and fall rapidly at the invitation.
So Kame's surprised when Jin gently turns him instead, guiding Kame's hands to rest on the counter. Kame turns his head over his shoulder where Jin kisses him hard on the mouth, one hand splaying across the front of Kame's working throat in a shockingly intimate, possessive hold. His other hand goes to the front of Kame's coat, tugging the flaps until it's wide open, and rucking Kame's t-shirt up so he can lay a searing hand against Kame's belly, just below his navel.
"Jin," Kame says when they both break apart after a long, drugging kiss. He leans his head back on to Jin's shoulder, baring his throat for Jin's lips to trail kisses down. Kame feels himself melting back into Jin's arms, held and cradled, Jin's fingers stroking up the hollow of Kame's ribcage and over to lightly brush a nipple. Kame goes rigid at the lightning flash of sensation and he gasps.
"Shhh," Jin says, "I've been dying to do this for months. Just - just let me-" He doesn't finish, finds Kame's mouth again and smothers his half-hearted protest. Kame's so absorbed by Jin's attentions that he nearly misses that word: months. But there's no time and fewer brain cells to analyze it. Not when he's blindingly hard and drowning in Jin wrapped around him, in his scent, in the taste of Jin in his mouth.
He feels every sense heightened, alive to Jin's touch, to the sensation of Jin's muscles contracting where he's managed to find a hold, to Jin's legs intertwining with his, their kitchen clogs knocking together as Jin crowds him against the counter.
Finally, after what seems like an eternity of enervating touches and burning lips, of Jin's hand massaging the front of Kame's trousers while gently thrusting against him from behind, Kame pants Jin's name again, says: "Wait."
Jin's hands still and he sags, dropping his forehead to Kame's shoulder. "God, Kame. You're killing me."
Kame turns, hooking one elbow around Jin's neck to draw him in, and pressing a hand to Jin's forehead with the other, he smooths Jin's hair back where it's come loose from the bandanna which slides away under his hand. Kame kisses him as warmly as he dares, sliding his tongue along Jin's and inhaling hard through his nose when the kiss deepens and they're both straining against each other, fingers striking hard, hips tucked in tight, one of Jin's legs between Kame's and he's found that perfect groove to thrust into, and they're both making involuntary noises in the back of their throats.
It's Jin who breaks off with a groan, pushing himself back and raising a hand to his mouth. Kame falls against the counter, his elbows coming up when he grips the edge behind him as hard as he can to keep from launching forward and dragging Jin's mouth back down.
"You're right," Jin rasps, although Kame hasn't said anything. "They're gonna wonder where we are."
Kame squeezes his eyes shut briefly before he opens them and raises one eyebrow. "Gonna?" he says thickly. "Try time to send out a search party," Kame says. One quick glance at his watch confirms his suspicion. "Shit."
Reluctantly Jin nods and raises both his hands to his face, scrubbing at his cheeks and rubbing the back of his hand over his forehead. "Fuck." His eyes snap back to Kame's.
"To be continued," he says with a strained, embarrassed smile.
Kame nods, echoing with his own smile. "To be continued."
--
Two hours later, they're standing side by side in the back hall of the cocktail bar where Rowan's taken them, each with a drink in hand, phone in the other, hunting through their calendars for a few hours - consecutive hours before two in the morning -to scrape together during the next seven days. Kame's already explained that he's headed to Madrid for the holiday to spend Christmas with his eldest brother's family, the first time he'll get to see any family for Christmas in five years and the first Christmas back in Madrid since he left home as a teenager.
"I'll be back soon," Kame offers when it becomes clear that drunkenly staring at their phones isn't going to make any time magically appear. Kame gently lists against Jin's shoulder.
Jin snorts. "Not soon enough," he says after a long pause. "You know we need to talk." He shoves his phone back into his pocket, and he sighs noisily.
Kame doesn't look up. After a while, he rolls off the wall and turns into Jin's shoulder, resting his chin there, allowing Jin to wrap him in a one-armed hug. It's the talking Kame's afraid of. It's the talking that always gets them - him - in trouble. And this talk, the one they're still not having, looms large in Kame's head. It feels portentous.
"I know," Kame says at last. He lets out a slow breath. "We will."
+part nine