Gift Fic for lilly0

[foreveryoungmod]

A piece of Senpai love for lilly0

Title: Maybe
Pairing/Group: Kimura/Goro (SMAP)
Rating/Warnings: Hard R for non-graphic descriptions of sex
Summary: Little puzzle pieces of intimacy between the number one host and his client lead to one big, final picture.
Notes: In which Kimura is a host and &G decides to take a chance. This was written in one long stream of consciousness so it's probably kind of wonky. I'm sorry if it seems kind of pointless.

This is finality--a finality coated in alcohol and bright lights and fancy dark suits, in his fingers grasping long hair and a darling mouth pressed to his own; in a tongue that’s even more darling and teeth that like to bite, in the slide of hands down his body and warm breath and nails in his hips and one kiss, two kiss, three kiss, four--would you look at that, Inagaki-san wants more...

He tells himself that it shouldn’t matter as much as it does. That it shouldn’t feel as cathartic as it does, whatever it is that’s happening between them.

That 'whatever it is' being this: the fact that it’s Kimura’s name that he cries out between gritted teeth, and the fact that it’s Kimura who touches him, Kimura who feels him, who fills him, who whispers sugar-sweet promises in his ears that Goro wouldn't have believed before but does with all his heart now. It shouldn’t feel like some gate’s been opened and that light is pouring in when it’s Kimura who groans as Goro’s legs tighten around his waist, that it’s Kimura’s grin that he feels stamped into his jaw like it’s made of hot metal instead of white teeth.

But his entire world has dimmed to this: to Kimura, Kimura, Kimura. The air smells like their sweat and their sex and the room is starting to spin, but still all he can think of is the man above him, the man inside him, the man who gasps with him and laughs with him and sounds like he’s found his catharsis, too. While the bed frame creaks in protest and Kimura’s hips smack against his thighs, Goro realises around all the noise that his mouth’s lolled open and he’s begging for more.

And Kimura, so lovely and charming and always so good to his clients, is giving it to him, laughing again and groaning again and gripping Goro too tight as if he’d known all along that Goro’s wanted bruises shaped like his hands from the beginning.

“He’s our best host,” says the owner, and Goro watches with his teeth digging lightly into his bottom lip as one man makes four women laugh at once. It’s an amazing feat--Goro’s never managed to do it once in his life. While he’s not sure what it is he’s supposed to think, being offered the number one host like this just because &G happens to be interested in men, the moment said host lifts his head and smirks at him he knows that it’s too late to back out now.

Like nothing, the host excuses himself from a group of people who cling onto his words like lifelines. Like nothing, he crosses the threshold of a club swathed in lights and diamonds and people with too much time on their hands, his limbs fluid and each step landing light as air.

He comes to where Goro stands and dips his upper body in a bow, but when he straightens his fingers run through his too-long hair like instinct. They push these waves back, smooth and easy, and when his hand pulls away a few of those curls fall ever so gently to frame his face.

It makes him look even more handsome.

“I’m Takuya,” he greets, and with that the corner of his lip quirks into a grin that sears something in Goro he refuses to outwardly acknowledge. “Takuya Kimura.”

For all his attempts to seem calm, Goro feels his palms begin to sweat.

Kimura’s smoking a cigarette now. It’s the most cliché, most ridiculous thing to take note of, but Kimura’s smoking a cigarette. Goro supposes he shouldn’t be surprised, but as he lies there with his cheek against the pillow and his hair stuck to his forehead, he can’t help but feel like the image of it contrasts too highly against the host he’d started to see regularly.

“What, you want a drag?”

Kimura is looking at him, but it’s not like Goro expects him not to. The tip of the cigarette glows a lazy orange in the darkness, a tiny beacon of light, except it doesn’t make it easier to see. Not that it’s important, though--the shifting of the mattress beneath him is enough of an indicator for Goro to know that Kimura’s decided to move closer to him already.

“Really calms you down once you get used to it, I'm tellin' you,” he says, a wine-stained grin seen just vaguely in the inky black that surrounds them both. Kimura’s breath is smoke, his life is smoke, and placed so gently between Goro’s fingers is smoke. “Inagaki-san.”

Goro’s too sore to move, but Kimura gently leads his hand up and tells him to breathe in.

“I moved a lot when I was young,” Kimura says, moving a bit closer with his arm slung over the sofa. Goro ends up moving back a little bit more on his end, but Kimura takes it in stride and acts as if he didn’t notice, his arm withdrawing and his fingertips brushing just lightly over Goro’s bicep. “I was in Osaka for a while, you know? Osaka! Then we moved to Tokyo, but it didn’t mean we were any better-off than before.”

“And how do you like Tokyo?” Goro tries not to pay attention to the goosebumps that ride up his skin or the way Kimura looks up at him through his lashes like he can tell that they are. And, hell, maybe he can, if the trickling feeling of his fingertips along the length of Goro’s arm tells him anything. Goro would pull away, but that would be like admitting weakness. So he stays. And he shivers.

After being asked a question, Kimura acts like he’s mulling over it, but Goro knows he’ll receive something practised in return. It’s always like this with hosts, he thinks: stories and comments and things Kimura’s said to so many other clients recycled and re-used. There’ve been so many other people he’s had to entertain just like this, with wine and with the lights around them dim and with his lips turning a sinful smile. There is nothing special here. There is nothing new.

“I like Tokyo,” Kimura finally answers, bait dangling off his lips. As he tilts his head to the side, the lighting seems to take him in kind. His eyes are practically sparkling.

Goro’s no fool, but he allows himself to take said bait, anyway. “Why is that?”

“Because.” Kimura moves closer again, but this time their gazes lock and Goro feels like he’s frozen. He's being reeled in too quickly; the ocean keeps slamming against him and he was a foolish fish who bit into a hook. “In Tokyo, people like you notice me.”

He’s coughing too hard and Kimura’s laughing at him.

“I knew you weren’t the type,” he chortles out, taking the cigarette from Goro’s fingers and putting it back between his own lips. “I just knew it. Oh, Christ. You’re not dying, are you? You’re fine, aren’t you?”

Goro coughs a bit more, his eyes watering, and with one forearm keeping his upper body lifted, his free hand pounds a fist against his chest. “I’m fine,” he manages, but his voice sounds dry and forced and Kimura must not believe him.

“God, you’re so cute. I can’t believe it...” The cigarette glows orange again around one more inhalation, and the air around them reeks when Kimura exhales. “You know coughing makes the smoke get stuck in your throat or lungs or some shit, right? You’re basically making it poison your body even more when you do it like that.”

“Should I be worried?” Goro murmurs, his voice slowly coming back to him in more than coughing rasps. He turns over onto his back, then thinks better of it and sits up entirely. He notes Kimura’s head turning towards him in the darkness, but also notes how he turns away again.

“I mean, you want lung cancer?”

“It was just one cigarette.”

“Sure, but who knows how weak your lungs...” Kimura goes quiet, then laughs as he reaches over to tap against an ashtray.

To his side, Goro’s hand brushes lightly over his thigh, and he’s more thankful than ever that it’s as dark as it is as he turns pink. Kimura isn't allowed to see that blush right now. Kimura can’t know how warm he makes him feel. “I ought to wash it down with... something, maybe?” is what he says, and it’s the most pathetic double entendre to ever exist, but he gives it, anyway.

It might be mercy or it might be boredom or it might be what Goro thinks is weakness towards him, but the cigarette is left alone as Kimura’s legs spread wide for him and his hands guide him home.

Kimura sits after ordering another bottle of wine, his elbow on the backrest and his knuckles pressed to his cheek. “So, when’d you find out you liked guys, huh?”

“Liked guys?” Goro echoes.

“Yeah,” Kimura answers. “I mean, you could’ve gone to a hostess club, right? &G’s a famous name and anyone’d take you in. But you came here for a reason.”

“I like women,” Goro murmurs, his fingers lightly tugging on the ends of his button-down. His ears are getting hot and he hates it. “Don’t be mistaken.”

“Okay, so let’s assume you still like tits. Why do you pick me for a host all the time then, huh?”

“Because you help pass the time.”

Kimura says an ‘ow’, one hand lifting to press against his chest. Goro does his best to ignore the melodramatics, but Kimura’s gaze has a magnetism about it that he can't possibly ignore. “Is that really what you think of me, Inagaki-san?”

“Yes.”

“Fucking liar.”

Goro’s about to protest to that, but the wine comes and Kimura’s opening it like he should. He pours it into a glass like he should, offers it to Goro like he should, and then pours one for himself without any prompting. They’ve gone through this routine enough that everything is second nature, and Goro thinks maybe Kimura’s got a point.

“You’re attracted to both men and women, then. That’s your deal.”

Goro swallows half a mouthful of wine and shakes his head. “I realised I don’t like men all that much, after all. I thought I did, but...”

“So you’re attracted to women and me.”

Silent, Goro watches the multiple ripples in his wine glass until his hand stops trembling, but when he looks up Kimura’s watching him with the most intuitive set of eyes he’s ever had to meet the gaze of.

“I'm not,” Goro says, the back of his neck prickling.

Kimura grins, his untouched wine swirling around the glass. “Fucking liar.”

He hates that Kimura likes to hold his hair. He hates it. He hates that an hour and fifteen minutes of work is so easily destroyed in Kimura’s thick fingers, but he supposes it’s better than having those fingers grip his ears.

Goro’s no good at this and he nearly chokes more times than he’s proud of, and he’s sure that’s what has Kimura tugging his head up and his mouth off, his lips slick and shining with saliva. He must be dissatisfied. He must never want Goro to touch him again--

“Ride me,” Kimura says instead.

Goro's heart jumps to his throat. “What?”

“I’m saying ride me.”

Goro’s face burns red, and this time there’s no hiding it as Kimura’s fingers brush down through his curls and his hand moves to cup his cheek.

“Inagaki-san,” Kimura coos, and one hand trails down Goro’s spine and between his legs and earns a gasp for its efforts. And, Christ, if it doesn’t feel different being touched after they’ve already had sex once--so much so that before he knows it there’s a sound coming from his mouth and a laugh in Kimura’s voice as he’s being pulled forward by the hips, his knees moving almost on instinct to rest on either side of Kimura’s thighs.

From there, Goro knows he’d be hard-pressed to say ‘no’, but he finds himself incapable of speech altogether as his hips sink lower and Kimura’s drag up to meet him halfway.

“What’s it like being a superstar?” Kimura asks, fresh from his last client and smelling vaguely of her perfume. Goro, too, is fresh from his last work obligation, but he smells like grilled meat and he thinks smelling like perfume would’ve been better.

He folds his coat over the back of the sofa, leaning into it in an attempt to get himself to feel more comfortable. “It’s normal,” he says.

“That’s bullshit,” Kimura retorts with a laugh. “Being famous isn’t supposed to be normal. It’s the complete opposite of normal.”

“I’ve been releasing music long enough for it not to matter so much,” Goro answers, his fingers lightly clutching the fabric of his trousers and then releasing. “You get used to sneaking around and avoiding the paparazzi, to the hectic schedules, to having to hide your friends and lovers, to all these people trying to talk to you...”

Kimura hums, fingers slowly brushing over an exposed wrist and up Goro’s forearm. Despite his better judgement, Goro knows the goosebumps are forming on his skin again. “But you aren’t much of a talker, are you?” he muses. “You’ve been seeing me here for months and I still don’t know as much about you as you do of me.”

“The client doesn’t want to talk about himself,” Goro answers, resisting the urge to pull his wrist away. Apparently this is Kimura's opening, because something in him is smiling as he leans in a little closer.

“What about if I asked just one question?” Kimura continues, his thumb brushing over the heel of Goro’s palm and then slipping towards the centre of it. “Just one in exchange for the ten million things I've said about myself. Would that be okay?”

Weighing the options he has, Goro finally decides on a nod. He tries not to pay attention to how good it feels when that same thumb gently presses into his skin and against his muscle--as if he was so starved of touch, honestly.

The question is an unexpected one: “Does it ever get lonely being famous?”

So soft is Kimura’s voice, so kind and quiet, that Goro doesn’t think twice before he answers with a ‘yes’. Only after, when he realises what it is his mouth has formed, does he frown and tug his hand away. Kimura looks at him with an expression he can’t quite decipher before turning to order a bottle of wine for them, his mouth forming the syllables for ‘Inagaki-san’ and making Goro’s stomach flip. He doesn’t have to ask for Goro’s permission for him to know he wants Sauvignon Blanc, and Goro doesn’t have to ask Kimura how he knows which one to order.

“Oh... oh...”

“That’s it,” Kimura breathes, warm and delightful into the sweat on Goro’s neck. His hands have slid over his hips, trailing up the flesh of his back, and Goro knows he’s whimpering as his toes curl towards his feet.

“Kimura--ah, Kimu--! I--ohhh...”

Goro’s going to burn out. He knows he’s going to burn out. He knows it as his head falls back and more of his neck is exposed, and he knows it when Kimura’s kisses start to feel more like brands being seared into his skin. He’s aiming for it--the exhaustion, the liquefying, the anything and everything that has to do with Goro turning into a useless pile of a human being. He’s aiming for it and Goro can’t bring himself to be angry about it. He can’t when Kimura’s hands are so warm, when his lips are dragging up his throat and finding his mouth instead and Goro can't believe how much he loves to be kissed.

His tongue moves into him with the same passion as his sex does.

And Goro, weakened and broken, moans quietly against his lip.

“More,” he whispers, nails dragging down Kimura’s shoulders and down his back. “More,” he orders, dropping himself harder and hearing the way Kimura’s breath hitches just for him.

“I’ll give you more,” Kimura promises, but says nothing else because Goro’s tongue's pressed to his own.

And then he does.

“Sometimes I think I don’t want to be a host any more.”

Kimura’s plopped onto the sofa, whatever grace he might’ve had forgotten in the wake of his exhaustion. It’s not that Goro blames him, either--it’s two in the morning, the club is about to close, and Goro made a poor decision by coming at this time instead of waiting until the next day. He almost wants to apologise, but instead he leans in a little, his head tilted and his fringe brushing over his forehead.

“Why’s that?”

“There isn’t much here that’s genuine,” Kimura gripes, both his hands resting behind his head. His legs are spreading wide, his mouth opening in a yawn, and while the sight isn’t entirely new to Goro, it’s not something he’s particularly used to, either. But it’s late enough that this is normal, so he understands. It’s late enough that Kimura couldn’t give a shit about the way he looks.

“I mean, you know the stories I told you the first week, right? ‘s not like they ain’t true, but it’s not like they ain’t nothin’ special, neither.” Kimura grunts, turning on the sofa and resting his bicep against the back of it. His cheek leans against this, too, and his fingers tug absently at his own hair as Goro watches as intently as he can. “Everyone knows I went to Osaka when I was six, and everyone knows that I moved out and headed to Tokyo. Everyone knows I became a host ‘cause I happened to be good at charming people and that my parents don't got a lot of cash and...”

Goro supplies the rest of the sentence easily. “And that you like Tokyo better than Osaka because people notice you here.”

“That’s--ha?” Kimura’s nose crinkles, his face scrunching up, too. “Did I say that?”

“You said that.”

“I didn’t...” Goro watches in silence as wheels turn and grind in Kimura’s head, and he watches in silence as Kimura lights up in something like realisation. “... shit, I did.”

To forget his own repeated introduction must be a sign that Kimura’s had too much to drink tonight. Goro chuckles a bit, but it’s nothing in comparison to the smile that suddenly curves up onto Kimura’s lips--like he’s solved some sort of riddle.

“‘I like Tokyo because people like you notice me,’” he says, reciting the line like an actor in practise. “That’s what I said, wasn’t it?”

“That’s what you said,” Goro agrees.

Kimura hums, his body squirming forward just a bit to bring himself closer. Some instinct rises in Goro to pull away, to bring himself further, but instead he remains. And he remains even when one of Kimura’s hands tugs very lightly on the edge of a lapel.

“You wanna know something hilarious?”

“Your sense of humour is crude, Kimura-kun.”

For that Goro gets a laugh out of him, and like a fool Goro tucks the sound away in his heart.

“I was looking for a ‘yes’ or ‘no’ answer, you moron.”

“... then, yes.”

So Kimura sidles forward a little more in slow, careful movements that keep Goro from wanting to run away. Warm lips brush over his cheek up towards his ear, and while Goro feels like he ought to be squirming, he stays as still as he possibly can.

“Inagaki-san,” he coos.

Goro trips over himself in a rushed, “Is this going to take very long?”

“You’re the only one I’ve ever said that to.”

They fall, sprawled and tired and Kimura’s lips still dancing down Goro’s cheek and jaw and neck. He feels it sometimes, the first press of Kimura’s front teeth into his skin like he wants to bite, and then the inevitable hesitation before he pulls away entirely. Goro feels it and it makes his heart race at the same time it makes his stomach sink into some kind of pit.

“I’m sticky,” Goro whispers, his forehead touching the pillow once more until Kimura rolls him over just a bit. That has him slumping with his cheek against the pillow instead, his body prone and exhausted and drenched in sweat and ropes of white.

“That’s kind of what sex makes you. Sticky.”

“What else does your ingenious brain have to offer, Kimura-kun?”

“I could hum the Pythagorean theorem into your nipple.”

Goro shivers despite himself. Kimura grins, but does little more than sink down onto the mattress, too. A hand lifts to brush fingers through Goro’s hair, but he can only take so many seconds of it before his hand grips a strong wrist and gently urges the intruding limb away.

“You can’t touch my hair yet.”

“Yet? So you’re going to let me one day, right?”

“If I didn’t know where your hands were.”

“Come on, they needed to be in your assho--”

Kimura’s sentence ends in an ‘mmph’ as he receives a pillow to the face, but it’s more so he isn’t able to see even the smallest hint of Goro’s smile in the darkness that surrounds them both.

“I’ve spent five years here, Inagaki-san. Five years.” Kimura’s lips are pursed in something that looks like a pout, his hand pouring two glasses of wine for them both. Tonight it’s Chardonnay, and the familiar scent of it is one that gives Goro comfort--and maybe Kimura, too, if the way his posture’s relaxed since they both got here is any indicator.

Goro hums. “And I’ve been &G for twelve years.”

Kimura scrunches up his nose, handing Goro his glass before taking a sip of his own. “That’s different, you bastard. You like what you do, don’t you?”

Goro can’t argue with that.

“You have your dream job as a performer and people love you--genuinely love you--and they support you and shit, right? The other day I asked one of my clients if she listens to you, and you know how big a fan she was?”

Goro’s smiling even though he doesn’t intend to as he asks, “How big?”

“We spent the whole night talking about Wonderful Life is how big.”

Goro laughs, but it’s apparent that’s the wrong reaction in the wake of Kimura’s glare. “How do you do that?” he starts, and it sounds like a genuine accusation the way he says it. “How do you make people fall in love with you with just your voice and your music and your lyrics? Huh?”

“I don’t know.”

“You gotta know.”

“I don’t.”

“God--” Kimura’s face presses into the bicep he’s got stretched over the sofa. “--you know, what really sucks is that I believe you. I seriously believe you when you say you don’t have any idea how you make people fall the hell in love with you because you’re absolutely hopeless. You want to know how much that pisses me off?”

Goro doesn’t know what it is that has him wanting to squirm, but he resists the urge to as he follows up with a, “How much?”

“It pisses me off...” Kimura turns his head a little as if to look at Goro again, but then huffs as he buries his face into his bicep once more and groans. “... it pisses me off so much I can’t bring myself to really feel it.”

“That doesn’t make any se--”

“Stay here until my shift ends.”

“Excuse me?”

“You have the cash, don’t you?” This time Kimura really does lift his head again, but there’s something different in the way he looks at him that has Goro realising he’s more serious than he’s ever been in their time together. “Tell them you’ll have me ‘till my shift ends.”

“Why?”

“I want you to come home with me.”

Goro sighs, his eyes closed as the pillow finally slips off Kimura’s face and drops down onto the mattress. “Do you know how cheap I feel,” he murmurs, “being brought home for sex like this?”

“What’re you--hey, I confessed fair and square!” Kimura drops unceremoniously onto the bed, frowning hard as he flicks Goro’s forehead. “This was an act of lovemaking!”

“Don’t do that.”

“What,” Kimura starts, flicking Goro’s skin again, “that?”

“Yes--" Goro huffs. "--in any case, a stammered ‘I like you’ and then a kiss is hardly a confession.”

“But I like you!”

“You said lovemaking, not likemaking.”

“Are you seriously gonna...” Goro opens his eyes and he watches Kimura wince and bury his own face into the pillow. The sight of it is endearing--so much so that Goro can feel some parts of him melt away--and just like that he reaches out to take Kimura’s wrist and lead his hand forward to settle it on his hip.

Goro’s voice is soft as he says, “Hold me.”

“You’re not gonna make me say the L-word, are you?”

“I’m going to, but hold me.”

Kimura’s head turns from where it’d buried itself, but Goro can physically feel when he cracks as he shifts forward and wraps an arm around his waist just like he was asked to. While it makes him shiver a little, having to lift his leg the way that he does, it’s worth it to wrap that same leg around Kimura’s middle and tug that part of him forward.

This, too, feels like finality. It feels like finality just as much as the hungry kisses had, and perhaps even more so when Goro’s palm rests on Kimura’s cheek and he feels the flesh there warm with something that certainly couldn’t be over-exertion, what with how a good amount of time’s passed since they’d both tumbled off the edge the way they did.

Kimura's blushing. It's really quite lovely.

“You can say it, right?” Goro murmurs.

“Ugh...” Kimura’s grimace makes him laugh.

“It’s not that bad.”

“It’s bad if you look at me like that. It’s even worse if you tighten your leg around me like that--do you want to go a third time? Is that it?”

“Kimura-kun.”

“You can at least call me Takuya!”

“Then Takuya.”

There’s another grimace, but Goro doesn’t relent. His hand remains on Kimura’s face, his gaze remains steadfast, and he leans in to press a soft, soft kiss to the plump flesh of his lips.

“You said you like when I look at you.”

Kimura squirms. “Sure...”

“So you’ll say it?”

“Nngh...”

“You will, won’t you?”

“Nnnnnnnngh...”

Between them three, tiny words are spoken so quietly, so very softly, that Goro almost believes he’s dealing with a different person altogether. And maybe he would’ve believed it completely, if he hadn’t been able to push back Kimura’s hair only to see the waves of them move to frame his face after. Maybe he would’ve believed it completely if he hadn’t been able to feel the blush that stains his cheeks right now and hadn't heard Kimura's indignant 'Inagaki-san'.

But he'd witnessed and felt them--oh, he really did, even in darkness like this. He'd witnessed them as Kimura whispered 'I love you' and then huffed to bury his face in Goro's hand. And so in his own little voice, he gives four words back, because Kimura had been half-right when he said that Goro was attracted to women and him and Goro's not keen on lying.

He just doesn’t intend to give him that specific admission any time soon.

This time, it's him who's rendered Kimura shy and speechless, and it's something he'll never forget.

"By the way," he says, lifting Kimura's head to kiss between his brows. "Call me Goro."

"Goro..." Kimura says his name with enough love to power all the world's electricity. And himself too, it looks like, because Goro is whining into a pillow not five minutes later and Kimura's repeating that name into his neck again and again.

This is finality, too--this dirty little thing--and Goro's not ashamed to admit he loves it.

Kimura grabs his hair and pulls.

(Maybe.)