[FIC] Dream ~ Yume ~ 夢 chapter 6
Title: Dream ~ Yume ~ 夢 (Multi-chapter 6/10)
Rating: T/R
Warning: Action! And mentions of smex!
Author: Puniyo
Pairing: 2TOP (KimuraxNakai), ShinTsuyo, TakuGoro
Characters: SMAP, Akashiya Sanma, Nakai's manager, others by me
Note:
This is an AU where Nakai is a model, Kimura's a photographer and something more, Tsuyoshi's a person who can't get along with machines, Sanma's a police/detective, Shingo's a fellow detective, and Goro belongs to the yakuza.
Disclaimer: This is the product of my strange mind who recently got addicted with 2TOP. None of what has been written reflect the lifestyles of those mentioned and it means no harm at all. This is purely fiction.
Final notes: A million thanks to
dictionarysays san for being my beta!! *bows*. I'm really sorry for delaying this chapter so much but real life has been really chaotic lately (to the point I even started to write poetry... haha). I hope you are still following this and a million thanks for your support! Hope you enjoy it!! Comments and criticism are welcome ^^
Dream ~ Yume ~ 夢 chapter 6
Inagaki Goro was a person who had learned to accept his past and live the best he could with his yakuza status. With no memory of his childhood, the sommelier went to the finest schools, started to drink wine at the age of 12 and his father taught him everything he knew about guns; how to fire them, how to kill or how to bind a person to a wheelchair for the rest of their days.
Goro was among the elites, always playing the role of model student, well behaved and obedient during the day but deadly and merciless in the endless darkness of the night. He never craved for women or had to look for them either. His family was only worried about an heir and a child wasn't part of his plans. All his supposed dates with powerful princesses from the underworld would end up with him in a hotel room, princesses knocked unconscious; when the morning came, the sommelier would already be gone.
His two cats were probably the friends he had kept the longest. Now, no one had ever had such an impact on him as Kimura had. He remembered it vividly. It was during one winter night when a strange man with middle length hair approached him, ruefully asking for an opinion on the cocktail he was drinking that time.
At first he thought he was someone from the rival groups and if that proved to be true, like all the other times; that man would surely go back to his boss in pieces or missing a part of his body. After some research, the only information he’d got was that Kimura was a simple award winning photographer - nothing more, nothing less.
That's why he never refused the other’s company, both of them sitting and chatting in that bar which eventually led to mind blowing sessions of sex. He didn't love Kimura but the photographer was more than a friend, more than family. He was someone he trusted in the world he lived in.
Kimura wasn't afraid of him, didn't praise him (only in bed; how good and gorgeous he was or how delicious his tight body was) and didn't chase him. The older man didn't treat him like yakuza and didn't follow orders. He looked more like a vagabond, wandering the streets and picking fights in silent dark alleys.
When he found out that the photographer was an undercover detective, part of himself crumbled, not wanting to believe. He felt hurt and betrayed by the person he had trusted (or thought so) the most. After all, he was another spy who faked all the time. Pulling the trigger this time proved to be more difficult and painful. His hands trembled, his eyes blurred, his whole body begged him to stop, afraid he might destroy something he held dear. But there was no other way out, what he had started he had to finish.
Blood ran down Kimura's arm, small drops falling to the floor, his T-shirt stained deep red, warm and real. Yes, real like the bullet that had scratched him at lightning speed and hit the wall behind him. His brain hadn't registered the pain yet, only the sound of gunpowder pushing the small metal piece echoed in his ears and the image of Goro pulling the trigger engraved deep in his mind.
Kimura slid from the kitchen counter, falling to the ice tiled floor, the excruciating pain finally hitting him like thousands of sharp knives. The wound wasn't nice and the blood didn't seem to stop. Goro walked closer, step by step, heavier and heavier, his gun pointed at the photographer, a few inches from his face.
- “Your eyesight’s getting worse again, Goro.”
How could he still joke at a time like this after being shot, the probability of getting killed in the next few minutes high? The sommelier really wanted to pull the trigger again, this time straight into his heart so the bullet would kill him instantly. Yet, his enemy was smiling; grinning like an idiot, as if nothing had happened and that infuriated him more than anything.
He wanted the photographer to cry, to scream, to beg for his life, anything but joke. - “You're really stupid, Kimura.” - He lowered his gun.
- “Maybe I am. But you're even more for letting your emotions take control of you.” - The older man hissed, his hand on the open wound, trying miserably to stop the warm blood from coming out. - “I could kill you now Goro, you know.”
- “You can try, though the pain you're experiencing now must have tamed you a little.” - What was he going to do now? For the first time in his life, he had failed to dispatch an enemy. If his rival groups had knowledge of this day, he would be the laughing stock of the underworld. His powerful status would crumble like a fragile sand castle built near the strong waves.
An annoying headache started attacking his senses, clouding his mind. So troublesome. - “What are your intentions, Kimura? Play the good cop and bring down the bad guys? Really heroic, I must say.”
Kimura's face turned whiter, fatigue becoming more obvious. - “I'll leave these games for others. I have other pending issues to solve, like your brother's identity or how to get an interview with your father without getting my throat cut.”
- “Someone's been doing his homework. And what if you find them?” - So the detective wasn't targeting him but his family and the brother he didn't know existed until a few days ago. Why was he so important? - “What about me? Another piece on your game board?”
The photographer coughed, his throat getting dry. - “You're being too sentimental, Goro-chan.” - Both of them were throwing unanswered questions to the air, without any replies, both unwilling to share the wanted truth.
- “I guess we're over.” - Goro turned his back, ready to leave. Any further talk would only confuse them more.
Kimura lay on the floor, his mind making a huge effort to not to give in to the pain. What mess had he put himself in again? - “We hadn’t even begun.”
This was probably what people called farewell. And those words hurt the sommelier. It's true, he was getting too emotional. However, his downfall hadn't arrived yet. - “Do not interfere with me again, Kimura. Next time, I won't fail.”
The detective heard the yakuza exit his home, his back moving further and further away, not once looking back. - “You know that's impossible. We are both haunted by our pasts, unable to let go.”
*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-
Nakai Masahiro wished his photo shoot was postponed to another day that wouldn’t come so soon. He barely had any sleep last night, the love making session yesterday too overwhelmingly amazing to leave it unfinished. His throat hurt from crying and moaning under the skilled ministrations of the photographer and his body still trembled with only a tiny memory of the previous night, his skin lingering for those heavenly touches.
Now, he was sure he was going to get scolded for the enormous dark circles under his eyes which took more than half an hour to cover with make-up. He couldn’t forget the grin of the hairstylist when she saw his panda face and the red marks on the base of his neck. No one dared ask anything but there were no answers. At least, not the ones they wanted.
Kimura would suffer his rage later. For embarrassing him and for the pain he was experiencing in his lower back. And for the bed sheets he had to change before going to work. When he woke up that morning, the long haired man had already left, not a single message or note left behind, only the warmth next to his pillow hinted at someone actually having slept there. It truly reminded him of those one night stands, typical in romantic movies. It was just that he wasn’t the damsel in distress nor Kimura the shiny knight.
Not that he wanted to wake up in the detective arms, all lovey-dovey, inviting the photographer for some intensive exercise before going to work. He just didn’t know what he wanted or desired.
- “Nakai-san…” - His manager knocked on the door.
- “Come in.” - Nakai started to count mentally how long it would take for Kamikubo to enter his changing room and scold him, probably warning him that modeling was one of the hardest jobs available in the market and how he could lose opportunities for not taking care of himself. The same old song.
- “Are they ready?” - Nakai asked innocently, sucking the last smoke from his cigarette.
- “Nakai-san, I already heard from Mizuno-san. You should sleep more you know, if you get sick we’d all be in trouble. Modeling isn’t that easy.
Bull’s-eye. Bingo. He knew his manager too well to the point of guessing the whole conversation. - “I already know that.”
- “How many times have I told you to stop watching movies until 5 in the morning? And buy something for the mosquitoes.”
Nakai almost choked on his own smoke (if that were possible). Was his manager trying to be funny or did he really have no clue about what happened last night? No need to further the talk though. - “If you know that I’m so tired, let’s finish this quickly so we can all go home watch some baseball on TV and drink some nice cold beer.”
The model stormed out of the room as fast as he could, unwilling to answer useless questions and accidentally throw Kimura’s name in the middle.
The whole photo shoot session went as smooth as Nakai expected, actually too smooth. A disappointed feeling invaded him. It lasted nearly three hours; however, there was no thrill, no excitement, and no passion in those photos. Everything went perfectly fine, the crew praising him non-stop.
He was pretty used to those kinds of jobs, yet he started to long for impulse, for amusement, the thrill he had with Kimura. He was the only photographer who had the chance to capture the real him, no fake smiles or unflappable feelings.
His phone started to ring, an unknown number, someone he didn’t have on his contacts. - “Hai?”
The other side was silent. Only uneven breathing could be heard. - “Moshi moshi?” - Still no one spoke. Right when he was going to press the red button, a faint voice spoke.
- “Hiro-chan…” - Speaking of the devil.
- “Kimura?” - He was sure he hadn’t given his number to the photographer.
- “Are you okay, Nakai?"
- “If talking to you on the phone means I’m fine, then I am.”
- “Ahh… such a bad mood right in the morning.”
Kimura’s voice sounded different, not the usual playful tone or the lively attitude he had.
-“You sound like you just woke up.”
- “Guess I really did. But are you really ok, Nakai?” - Why was the detective being so insistent? Was he really worried about his body?
- “If you’re worried that last night’s sex was too rough on me, you’re wrong.”
Kimura chuckled, the model totally not understanding the danger he could be facing if he met Goro per chance. - “That’s nice to hear, ‘cause we are doing it again.”
Nakai blushed slightly at those words. - “Don’t push your luck. You almost ruined my photo shoot.”
The photographer coughed on the other side for a few seconds, trying to recover his breath. - “So mean, Hiro-chan, even when I took the trouble to call you and check if everything was fine.”
- “Did you catch a cold or what?” - Although he didn’t want to admit it, the model had thought of him all morning, wondering if the detective would show up at the shooting place and how he would face him.
Not that anything had changed between them. One night of intense sex wasn’t so strange, right? And his partner to be that arrogant photographer was the same as anyone else, right?
Kimura’s voice sounded weaker than usual, softer and lower. And he did cough a few times already. Did he really get a cold from the chilly shower? - “Don’t tell me you got shot?” - Nakai teased him expecting another taunting answer from the younger man.
Still, all that came from the other side of the line was silence. - ‘Don’t tell me he…’ - “Kimura?”
- “I’ll see you tonight at your place.” - And hung up the phone.
Nakai didn’t move an inch, his mobile phone still near his ear. Did something really happen to Kimura? His mind was about to short circuit. He wished tonight would come earlier.
*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-
Akashiya Sanma found it strange to have such a quiet morning. No delayed files to fill, no difficult infuriating suspects to interrogate, no Shingo bothering him with some gossip or Kimura’s crazy requests. He just sat behind his desk, his legs crossed, smoking his fourth or fifth cigarette in the last couple of hours, enjoying this so rare and underappreciated silence. Ah… if all his days were like this. No white hairs and recurring headaches would be part of his person.
A loud bang could be heard from the other side of the door. Something probably fell on the floor. What was he saying moments ago? What tranquility was he trying to refer to? Shingo rushed into his office without knocking.
- “Ohayou Sanma! Today’s weather is so nice, ne?”
- “It’s about to rain.” - True. Enormous gray clouds were starting to gather in a fast pace, a warm breeze passing by the trees, the leaves dancing some incomplete choreography of their own.
- “Always in a bad mood in the morning. That’s why you have so many wrinkles on your sour face.” - Shingo made sure to say those words slowly, one by one, almost spelling each letter.
- “You’re being quite affectionate.”
- “Oh it’s nothing. I just had a very nice evening yesterday.” - Just when the blond man was preparing to pick up a report from the organized desk, a hand touched his shoulder.
Kimura entered the room stealthy, quiet as a lion with its eyes set on his prey, invisible and imperceptible to both detectives in the room. Shingo flinched at the contact, almost jumping from where he was standing. - “Kimura-kun! Hello to you too!” - He wanted to crack some joke but the older man’s face clearly showed no signs of amusement.
- “Come with me.”- And grabbed his arm.
Sanma was surprised with himself for not noticing his subordinate. No doubt he was one of the best in his training. - “Kimura, the photos…”
- “Not now, ossan…” - And stormed out of the office, taking Shingo with him. The older detective took him to the woman’s toilets on the third floor, locking the door.
They didn’t utter a single word the whole time, the younger detective sensing something was wrong and he probably was the one responsible for it. The silence was unbearable until Shingo released himself forcefully from the hard grip. - “What’s wrong, Kimura-kun?”
In a matter of seconds, maybe even at the same speed as light, the photographer’s fist was connected to his face, a punch stronger and fiercer than any he had received. And it hurt. A lot. It hurt so much he almost felt tears threaten to fall. His lower lip was bleeding. - “What was that about?” - Yet Kimura fell to the floor, cursing something and someone he had no idea of.
- “What happened?” - That’s when he noticed a red stain on his colleague’s arm.
- “I got shot.” - Kimura sat on the cold black tiles, his back using the wall to support himself. - “Never thought you would sell me out. How much is he paying you?”
Shingo stood in front of him, unable to answer or tell the first lie that occurred to him. - “When did you find out?”
- “From the beginning. You never fooled me. But help me first. Go get some bandages and don’t tell Sanma a word.
The blond detective felt obliged to do what he was told. - “Are you going to kill me?”
Kimura smirked, his eyes locked on Shingo. - “You bet I will.”
Both of them laughed; the awkward atmosphere from before gone, going back to their friends’ status. Shingo quickly came back with a first aid kit, his hands confident in ‘wrapping’ the injured arm, glad that no bullet was embedded.
The older detective hissed during the whole process (which made him wonder if Shingo was really dressing his wound or had a sudden peak of artistic release), making a mental note that his colleague would pay for it later, in painful and lengthy installments. He knew from the day he started investigating Goro that the younger man was leaking information. Shingo lacked experience back then and behaved suspiciously, yet he thought of him as a brother, the ones people like to have under their wings. And the information he had was too precious to let it go to waste.
The blond detective clumsily finished his piece of art, sweat dripping from his forehead, his heartbeat faster than usual, his hands still trembled, a chill running down his spine as he washed his fingers smeared with red.
- “And I always thought you were good at crafts.” - Kimura laughed in spite of the sharp pain. Where were the painkillers when he needed them? - “You mustn’t utter a single word to Sanma, you hear me? I’ll really kill you if you do.”
Shingo gulped. - “He’s acting rather strange lately.” - And threw the remaining bandages in the rubbish bin, hoping no one would suspect their meeting.
- “Define strange. Did he start picking up young girls on the streets again?” - Kimura got up, washing his face with cold water, some strands of hair getting wet in the process.
- “He goes away for long hours, and then locks himself in his office sometimes crying. These last days I found him digging really old files.”
- “How old?”
- “Probably 20 years ago.”
What was Sanma trying to find in those old papers? What secrets was he desperately trying to hide? Everything was running out of control for Kimura; getting shot, the never ending mystery behind his past and the yakuza’s family. When would this all end?
Water droplets crashed on the lonely window on the top of the wall. Its pace increased creating an unsynchronized melody both of them didn’t want to hear. - “Just find me details and report it at the end of the week.” - The older man walked out the door, preparing to leave.
- “Where are you going? What about your cases today?” - Shingo said it in a pitied voice, almost sulking.
- “You can finish them by yourself, can’t you?”
For now, that was how Kimura was going to treat the younger detective. A small reward for sparing his life. - “Mou!” - And resigned to his own lack of luck.
*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-
The rain shower hadn’t stopped since that morning. Moreover, it only got stronger, welcoming a thunderstorm with open arms. The clock marked 11:14 PM and still no apparent sign of the arrogant bastard who called him hours ago and promised a date. Well, there was no promise and it surely wouldn’t be a romantic encounter. Nakai could have just jumped from a 30 floor building for even letting those thoughts invade his innocent mind.
The model was worried about the detective. If he hadn’t joked about the gunshot, his mind would at least feel more relieved. His stomach hurt from all the stress, he was drinking his third beer, his hands tentatively trying to reach for a fourth one.
The mobile phone resting on his lap suddenly vibrated an unknown number again. But he knew who was trying to get in contact with him. - “You’re late, Kimura!”
A raspy voice answered on the other line. - “I see.” - And hung up.
- “Moshi moshi?” - What was happening? Was Kimura sick or something? Nakai ran to open the door, finding the detective standing in the darkest spot of the hall, barely recognizing him.
- “Wow Nakai, you even knew I was here before knocking.”
- “You just called a few seconds ago.”
Kimura entered the apartment, a little dumbfounded. His hair dripping wet. - “Hai? I left my phone at home.”
Nakai didn’t spend anymore thoughts on the anonymous call. Instead, he stared at the younger man in front of him. - “You cut your hair?”
The detective’s cheeks turned into a light subtle shade of pink, his hands playing with the damp ends of his hair. He couldn’t understand why but Nakai mentioning his new style, now much shorter and casual, made him embarrassed.
Ah! That was probably because the model noticed him. His heart skipped a beat. Nakai, on the other hand, couldn’t ignore the man in front of him and his new harsh change. The cut didn’t look bad. Well, he had to admit that it suited him like white clouds on a perfect clear blue sky or matcha ice cream with adzuki beans on top. And deep down in his mind, Kimura looked dazzling, ideal for the same profession as him.
How would it be if the younger man had chosen modeling instead of photography? Having a rival wasn’t such a bad idea. But he wouldn’t lose. Kimura also wouldn’t dare to win over him. Or he could have branched into the entertainment world, becoming an idol, singing silly love songs and acting in sentimental passionate evening dramas. His mind was being swept away, filled with thoughts of the photographer at the same time his eyes fixed in on that same person. The older man didn’t really want to admit it: Nakai Masahiro, the model, was attracted to the detective.
- “Stop looking at me with your predator eyes.”
The shorter man threw him a killer glance, adamant and venomous. - “Who’s the prey here?” - And walked past him, their arms touching each other as he closed the door none gently. The neighbors would complain tomorrow. Let them be.
Kimura hissed at the touch, mentally cussing the useless medicine he took before coming for not taking effect and went straight to the sofa, hoping the model hadn’t noticed his agony. Nakai knew he was suffering, still he wouldn’t ask. His question wouldn’t have an answer. No willing reply to his doubt. He just had to make the detective speak by his own dirty means
The older man turned on the TV and sat next to the detective as if nothing had happened. - “So, how many criminals did you catch today?”
Kimura smiled. - “Not a single one. Tokyo’s a very peaceful city, you know. But you could be the first one or I might get fired.”
- “I got an offer to go abroad.” - He started to prepare his attack.
- “When?” - An indifferent tone came from the detective, his smile fading slowly.
- “France. In a week.” - And sat closer, haltingly invading the photographer’s personal space.
Kimura didn’t sound surprised or disappointed, his fingers playing with themselves, his face supporting a blank expression. The model was starting to panic. His strategy hadn’t worked so well. He expected another reaction from the other man. - “You just can’t forget last night, right?”
- “Huh?” - Before the detective had an opportunity to answer him properly (and not a groan), the model grabbed his chin and pressed his lips softly to his, the free hand making pressure on his neck.
What was happening, Kimura didn’t know and didn’t care. The shy model was kissing him willingly (for the second time), without teasing him and demanding attention. The photographer kissed him back, also too gently, tasting him as time passed, savoring every single second.
Nakai nibbled his lower lip, asking for permission which he granted right away, their tongues shyly touching each others, enjoying it immensely. The model tasted of alcohol, probably why he was so tamed, Kimura thought. But it didn’t matter. He wouldn’t refuse this invitation. Who in his perfect mind would avoid a man as tempting as Nakai?
The older man knew this was the best way to lure the photographer. They both loved playing this game. Nakai stopped to gasp for some air and was satisfied to see the confused look on Kimura.
- “I should be going. I don’t want to ruin your night.”
Unwilling to let this chance escape, Nakai leaned closer, their hot breath teasing each other; his hand skipped into Kimura’s Guns N’ Roses shirt, his toned muscles begging to be touched.
- “Nakai…” - He wanted the older man to stop. No use. His mind was betraying him. When had he become so desperate for these fingers?
The model took the opportunity to forcefully grab the detective’s arm, this time earning a hasty cry. His assumptions were true. The younger man got hurt somewhere that morning. He could feel the bandages through the fabric. - “Why didn’t you tell me about this? Why don’t you trust me?”
- “Should I?” - Kimura groaned, half infuriated for Nakai’s prank, half scared for what was coming. - “Why are you so interested in this injury? Never took a bullet in your life?”
Nakai almost raised his fist to beat the photographer. Why was he so worried about the beast in front of him? His mind wanted to shut down like an outdated engine and remain in the ice tiled bed he had made, yet his eyes were shining in a grey tone of melancholy, his heart beating so fast, out of control, his mouth trying to suppress the countless words he had no idea what but it was better to leave them sealed. - “Why are you…”
The detective didn’t let the older man finish his sentence. - “I just don’t want you in this mess. The more you know, the greater danger you’ll be in.”
That wasn’t the answer he wanted, the words he impatiently tried to decipher since earlier this morning. He didn’t want those cliché sentences anyone could hear in a romantic action movie. What kind of danger would he be drowning into? His heart pounded, his entire body shivered at the thought of running away from some criminals, escaping some kidnapping or some near explosion abandoned warehouse. How thrilling he thought, his blood already burning from excitement. - “What makes you think I’m not already involved in all of this?”
- “I don’t know. Maybe you’re their next target. Maybe they don’t have a clue of who you are. But I believe the less you’re with me, the better for you.”
- “Then why did you come here? Why did you have to show up at my door at this hour?”
Kimura didn’t answer. It might be too frightening to acknowledge it. The image of Goro suddenly appeared in his mind. They were the same, clinging too much on emotions and ephemeral feelings. Curse it!
- “You should get some therapy.” - And stood up. Nakai’s lips were slightly swollen from their previous kiss and his heart was left between excitement and frustration. He was lost. He didn’t know how to continue down this path.
The detective grabbed his hand, the iron grip strong and firm. - “Don’t go.”
The model didn’t look back, almost imagining his inner self commanding him to shake off that hand.
- “Don’t go.” - Kimura had so much to say, so many pleas in his mind, so many excuses, yet those two words were the only ones he managed to spill out.
Nakai’s body trembled; his will weakening, and sat back on the couch. The photographer smiled heartily and laid his head on his companion’s lap, looking up at him, his legs stretched, his injured arm touching the worn out leather.
The older man felt awkward, uncomfortable with the detective’s childish attitude, his face heating up. After some silent glances, he could see how tired Kimura was, his eyes losing that outstanding brilliance. Nakai chuckled at the whole situation, like he was caring for some little young brat; his hands drawn to the cocoa colored hair, playing skillfully with those short strands which were still long yesterday.
- “If you do that, Hiro-chan, I’ll fall asleep in less than a minute.”
Nakai wanted to answer him, giving him permission to rest. The day had been upsetting for the both of them and a fight was the last thing he wanted. Sooner or later, the other man would talk or he would find another strategy.
Kimura closed his eyes, his heart at ease, his whole mind craving for the peace he felt and didn’t want to let go. For the first time, he felt protected and safe, all of him begging for the warmth of those talented fingers, caressing and soothing. He nudged the other’s stomach, fitting like a missing part, tickling Nakai. His eyelids got heavier and heavier but he still battled them. The photographer wanted to see the model’s face and carve it deep into his mind. Soon he lost the struggle.
- “The abroad job was true?” - It was true. Nakai’s manager had told him after his photo shoot that afternoon. He couldn’t miss up an offer like that. He shouldn’t. His confidence was wavering. - “I already decided…”
Kimura was already sleeping; his breath steady and natural, his face still held some traces of innocence. He would just leave the answer for tomorrow.
*Praying that LJ won't shit the configuration*
Rating: T/R
Warning: Action! And mentions of smex!
Author: Puniyo
Pairing: 2TOP (KimuraxNakai), ShinTsuyo, TakuGoro
Characters: SMAP, Akashiya Sanma, Nakai's manager, others by me
Note:
This is an AU where Nakai is a model, Kimura's a photographer and something more, Tsuyoshi's a person who can't get along with machines, Sanma's a police/detective, Shingo's a fellow detective, and Goro belongs to the yakuza.
Disclaimer: This is the product of my strange mind who recently got addicted with 2TOP. None of what has been written reflect the lifestyles of those mentioned and it means no harm at all. This is purely fiction.
Final notes: A million thanks to
dictionarysays san for being my beta!! *bows*. I'm really sorry for delaying this chapter so much but real life has been really chaotic lately (to the point I even started to write poetry... haha). I hope you are still following this and a million thanks for your support! Hope you enjoy it!! Comments and criticism are welcome ^^
Dream ~ Yume ~ 夢 chapter 6
Inagaki Goro was a person who had learned to accept his past and live the best he could with his yakuza status. With no memory of his childhood, the sommelier went to the finest schools, started to drink wine at the age of 12 and his father taught him everything he knew about guns; how to fire them, how to kill or how to bind a person to a wheelchair for the rest of their days.
Goro was among the elites, always playing the role of model student, well behaved and obedient during the day but deadly and merciless in the endless darkness of the night. He never craved for women or had to look for them either. His family was only worried about an heir and a child wasn't part of his plans. All his supposed dates with powerful princesses from the underworld would end up with him in a hotel room, princesses knocked unconscious; when the morning came, the sommelier would already be gone.
His two cats were probably the friends he had kept the longest. Now, no one had ever had such an impact on him as Kimura had. He remembered it vividly. It was during one winter night when a strange man with middle length hair approached him, ruefully asking for an opinion on the cocktail he was drinking that time.
At first he thought he was someone from the rival groups and if that proved to be true, like all the other times; that man would surely go back to his boss in pieces or missing a part of his body. After some research, the only information he’d got was that Kimura was a simple award winning photographer - nothing more, nothing less.
That's why he never refused the other’s company, both of them sitting and chatting in that bar which eventually led to mind blowing sessions of sex. He didn't love Kimura but the photographer was more than a friend, more than family. He was someone he trusted in the world he lived in.
Kimura wasn't afraid of him, didn't praise him (only in bed; how good and gorgeous he was or how delicious his tight body was) and didn't chase him. The older man didn't treat him like yakuza and didn't follow orders. He looked more like a vagabond, wandering the streets and picking fights in silent dark alleys.
When he found out that the photographer was an undercover detective, part of himself crumbled, not wanting to believe. He felt hurt and betrayed by the person he had trusted (or thought so) the most. After all, he was another spy who faked all the time. Pulling the trigger this time proved to be more difficult and painful. His hands trembled, his eyes blurred, his whole body begged him to stop, afraid he might destroy something he held dear. But there was no other way out, what he had started he had to finish.
Blood ran down Kimura's arm, small drops falling to the floor, his T-shirt stained deep red, warm and real. Yes, real like the bullet that had scratched him at lightning speed and hit the wall behind him. His brain hadn't registered the pain yet, only the sound of gunpowder pushing the small metal piece echoed in his ears and the image of Goro pulling the trigger engraved deep in his mind.
Kimura slid from the kitchen counter, falling to the ice tiled floor, the excruciating pain finally hitting him like thousands of sharp knives. The wound wasn't nice and the blood didn't seem to stop. Goro walked closer, step by step, heavier and heavier, his gun pointed at the photographer, a few inches from his face.
- “Your eyesight’s getting worse again, Goro.”
How could he still joke at a time like this after being shot, the probability of getting killed in the next few minutes high? The sommelier really wanted to pull the trigger again, this time straight into his heart so the bullet would kill him instantly. Yet, his enemy was smiling; grinning like an idiot, as if nothing had happened and that infuriated him more than anything.
He wanted the photographer to cry, to scream, to beg for his life, anything but joke. - “You're really stupid, Kimura.” - He lowered his gun.
- “Maybe I am. But you're even more for letting your emotions take control of you.” - The older man hissed, his hand on the open wound, trying miserably to stop the warm blood from coming out. - “I could kill you now Goro, you know.”
- “You can try, though the pain you're experiencing now must have tamed you a little.” - What was he going to do now? For the first time in his life, he had failed to dispatch an enemy. If his rival groups had knowledge of this day, he would be the laughing stock of the underworld. His powerful status would crumble like a fragile sand castle built near the strong waves.
An annoying headache started attacking his senses, clouding his mind. So troublesome. - “What are your intentions, Kimura? Play the good cop and bring down the bad guys? Really heroic, I must say.”
Kimura's face turned whiter, fatigue becoming more obvious. - “I'll leave these games for others. I have other pending issues to solve, like your brother's identity or how to get an interview with your father without getting my throat cut.”
- “Someone's been doing his homework. And what if you find them?” - So the detective wasn't targeting him but his family and the brother he didn't know existed until a few days ago. Why was he so important? - “What about me? Another piece on your game board?”
The photographer coughed, his throat getting dry. - “You're being too sentimental, Goro-chan.” - Both of them were throwing unanswered questions to the air, without any replies, both unwilling to share the wanted truth.
- “I guess we're over.” - Goro turned his back, ready to leave. Any further talk would only confuse them more.
Kimura lay on the floor, his mind making a huge effort to not to give in to the pain. What mess had he put himself in again? - “We hadn’t even begun.”
This was probably what people called farewell. And those words hurt the sommelier. It's true, he was getting too emotional. However, his downfall hadn't arrived yet. - “Do not interfere with me again, Kimura. Next time, I won't fail.”
The detective heard the yakuza exit his home, his back moving further and further away, not once looking back. - “You know that's impossible. We are both haunted by our pasts, unable to let go.”
*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-
Nakai Masahiro wished his photo shoot was postponed to another day that wouldn’t come so soon. He barely had any sleep last night, the love making session yesterday too overwhelmingly amazing to leave it unfinished. His throat hurt from crying and moaning under the skilled ministrations of the photographer and his body still trembled with only a tiny memory of the previous night, his skin lingering for those heavenly touches.
Now, he was sure he was going to get scolded for the enormous dark circles under his eyes which took more than half an hour to cover with make-up. He couldn’t forget the grin of the hairstylist when she saw his panda face and the red marks on the base of his neck. No one dared ask anything but there were no answers. At least, not the ones they wanted.
Kimura would suffer his rage later. For embarrassing him and for the pain he was experiencing in his lower back. And for the bed sheets he had to change before going to work. When he woke up that morning, the long haired man had already left, not a single message or note left behind, only the warmth next to his pillow hinted at someone actually having slept there. It truly reminded him of those one night stands, typical in romantic movies. It was just that he wasn’t the damsel in distress nor Kimura the shiny knight.
Not that he wanted to wake up in the detective arms, all lovey-dovey, inviting the photographer for some intensive exercise before going to work. He just didn’t know what he wanted or desired.
- “Nakai-san…” - His manager knocked on the door.
- “Come in.” - Nakai started to count mentally how long it would take for Kamikubo to enter his changing room and scold him, probably warning him that modeling was one of the hardest jobs available in the market and how he could lose opportunities for not taking care of himself. The same old song.
- “Are they ready?” - Nakai asked innocently, sucking the last smoke from his cigarette.
- “Nakai-san, I already heard from Mizuno-san. You should sleep more you know, if you get sick we’d all be in trouble. Modeling isn’t that easy.
Bull’s-eye. Bingo. He knew his manager too well to the point of guessing the whole conversation. - “I already know that.”
- “How many times have I told you to stop watching movies until 5 in the morning? And buy something for the mosquitoes.”
Nakai almost choked on his own smoke (if that were possible). Was his manager trying to be funny or did he really have no clue about what happened last night? No need to further the talk though. - “If you know that I’m so tired, let’s finish this quickly so we can all go home watch some baseball on TV and drink some nice cold beer.”
The model stormed out of the room as fast as he could, unwilling to answer useless questions and accidentally throw Kimura’s name in the middle.
The whole photo shoot session went as smooth as Nakai expected, actually too smooth. A disappointed feeling invaded him. It lasted nearly three hours; however, there was no thrill, no excitement, and no passion in those photos. Everything went perfectly fine, the crew praising him non-stop.
He was pretty used to those kinds of jobs, yet he started to long for impulse, for amusement, the thrill he had with Kimura. He was the only photographer who had the chance to capture the real him, no fake smiles or unflappable feelings.
His phone started to ring, an unknown number, someone he didn’t have on his contacts. - “Hai?”
The other side was silent. Only uneven breathing could be heard. - “Moshi moshi?” - Still no one spoke. Right when he was going to press the red button, a faint voice spoke.
- “Hiro-chan…” - Speaking of the devil.
- “Kimura?” - He was sure he hadn’t given his number to the photographer.
- “Are you okay, Nakai?"
- “If talking to you on the phone means I’m fine, then I am.”
- “Ahh… such a bad mood right in the morning.”
Kimura’s voice sounded different, not the usual playful tone or the lively attitude he had.
-“You sound like you just woke up.”
- “Guess I really did. But are you really ok, Nakai?” - Why was the detective being so insistent? Was he really worried about his body?
- “If you’re worried that last night’s sex was too rough on me, you’re wrong.”
Kimura chuckled, the model totally not understanding the danger he could be facing if he met Goro per chance. - “That’s nice to hear, ‘cause we are doing it again.”
Nakai blushed slightly at those words. - “Don’t push your luck. You almost ruined my photo shoot.”
The photographer coughed on the other side for a few seconds, trying to recover his breath. - “So mean, Hiro-chan, even when I took the trouble to call you and check if everything was fine.”
- “Did you catch a cold or what?” - Although he didn’t want to admit it, the model had thought of him all morning, wondering if the detective would show up at the shooting place and how he would face him.
Not that anything had changed between them. One night of intense sex wasn’t so strange, right? And his partner to be that arrogant photographer was the same as anyone else, right?
Kimura’s voice sounded weaker than usual, softer and lower. And he did cough a few times already. Did he really get a cold from the chilly shower? - “Don’t tell me you got shot?” - Nakai teased him expecting another taunting answer from the younger man.
Still, all that came from the other side of the line was silence. - ‘Don’t tell me he…’ - “Kimura?”
- “I’ll see you tonight at your place.” - And hung up the phone.
Nakai didn’t move an inch, his mobile phone still near his ear. Did something really happen to Kimura? His mind was about to short circuit. He wished tonight would come earlier.
*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-
Akashiya Sanma found it strange to have such a quiet morning. No delayed files to fill, no difficult infuriating suspects to interrogate, no Shingo bothering him with some gossip or Kimura’s crazy requests. He just sat behind his desk, his legs crossed, smoking his fourth or fifth cigarette in the last couple of hours, enjoying this so rare and underappreciated silence. Ah… if all his days were like this. No white hairs and recurring headaches would be part of his person.
A loud bang could be heard from the other side of the door. Something probably fell on the floor. What was he saying moments ago? What tranquility was he trying to refer to? Shingo rushed into his office without knocking.
- “Ohayou Sanma! Today’s weather is so nice, ne?”
- “It’s about to rain.” - True. Enormous gray clouds were starting to gather in a fast pace, a warm breeze passing by the trees, the leaves dancing some incomplete choreography of their own.
- “Always in a bad mood in the morning. That’s why you have so many wrinkles on your sour face.” - Shingo made sure to say those words slowly, one by one, almost spelling each letter.
- “You’re being quite affectionate.”
- “Oh it’s nothing. I just had a very nice evening yesterday.” - Just when the blond man was preparing to pick up a report from the organized desk, a hand touched his shoulder.
Kimura entered the room stealthy, quiet as a lion with its eyes set on his prey, invisible and imperceptible to both detectives in the room. Shingo flinched at the contact, almost jumping from where he was standing. - “Kimura-kun! Hello to you too!” - He wanted to crack some joke but the older man’s face clearly showed no signs of amusement.
- “Come with me.”- And grabbed his arm.
Sanma was surprised with himself for not noticing his subordinate. No doubt he was one of the best in his training. - “Kimura, the photos…”
- “Not now, ossan…” - And stormed out of the office, taking Shingo with him. The older detective took him to the woman’s toilets on the third floor, locking the door.
They didn’t utter a single word the whole time, the younger detective sensing something was wrong and he probably was the one responsible for it. The silence was unbearable until Shingo released himself forcefully from the hard grip. - “What’s wrong, Kimura-kun?”
In a matter of seconds, maybe even at the same speed as light, the photographer’s fist was connected to his face, a punch stronger and fiercer than any he had received. And it hurt. A lot. It hurt so much he almost felt tears threaten to fall. His lower lip was bleeding. - “What was that about?” - Yet Kimura fell to the floor, cursing something and someone he had no idea of.
- “What happened?” - That’s when he noticed a red stain on his colleague’s arm.
- “I got shot.” - Kimura sat on the cold black tiles, his back using the wall to support himself. - “Never thought you would sell me out. How much is he paying you?”
Shingo stood in front of him, unable to answer or tell the first lie that occurred to him. - “When did you find out?”
- “From the beginning. You never fooled me. But help me first. Go get some bandages and don’t tell Sanma a word.
The blond detective felt obliged to do what he was told. - “Are you going to kill me?”
Kimura smirked, his eyes locked on Shingo. - “You bet I will.”
Both of them laughed; the awkward atmosphere from before gone, going back to their friends’ status. Shingo quickly came back with a first aid kit, his hands confident in ‘wrapping’ the injured arm, glad that no bullet was embedded.
The older detective hissed during the whole process (which made him wonder if Shingo was really dressing his wound or had a sudden peak of artistic release), making a mental note that his colleague would pay for it later, in painful and lengthy installments. He knew from the day he started investigating Goro that the younger man was leaking information. Shingo lacked experience back then and behaved suspiciously, yet he thought of him as a brother, the ones people like to have under their wings. And the information he had was too precious to let it go to waste.
The blond detective clumsily finished his piece of art, sweat dripping from his forehead, his heartbeat faster than usual, his hands still trembled, a chill running down his spine as he washed his fingers smeared with red.
- “And I always thought you were good at crafts.” - Kimura laughed in spite of the sharp pain. Where were the painkillers when he needed them? - “You mustn’t utter a single word to Sanma, you hear me? I’ll really kill you if you do.”
Shingo gulped. - “He’s acting rather strange lately.” - And threw the remaining bandages in the rubbish bin, hoping no one would suspect their meeting.
- “Define strange. Did he start picking up young girls on the streets again?” - Kimura got up, washing his face with cold water, some strands of hair getting wet in the process.
- “He goes away for long hours, and then locks himself in his office sometimes crying. These last days I found him digging really old files.”
- “How old?”
- “Probably 20 years ago.”
What was Sanma trying to find in those old papers? What secrets was he desperately trying to hide? Everything was running out of control for Kimura; getting shot, the never ending mystery behind his past and the yakuza’s family. When would this all end?
Water droplets crashed on the lonely window on the top of the wall. Its pace increased creating an unsynchronized melody both of them didn’t want to hear. - “Just find me details and report it at the end of the week.” - The older man walked out the door, preparing to leave.
- “Where are you going? What about your cases today?” - Shingo said it in a pitied voice, almost sulking.
- “You can finish them by yourself, can’t you?”
For now, that was how Kimura was going to treat the younger detective. A small reward for sparing his life. - “Mou!” - And resigned to his own lack of luck.
*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-
The rain shower hadn’t stopped since that morning. Moreover, it only got stronger, welcoming a thunderstorm with open arms. The clock marked 11:14 PM and still no apparent sign of the arrogant bastard who called him hours ago and promised a date. Well, there was no promise and it surely wouldn’t be a romantic encounter. Nakai could have just jumped from a 30 floor building for even letting those thoughts invade his innocent mind.
The model was worried about the detective. If he hadn’t joked about the gunshot, his mind would at least feel more relieved. His stomach hurt from all the stress, he was drinking his third beer, his hands tentatively trying to reach for a fourth one.
The mobile phone resting on his lap suddenly vibrated an unknown number again. But he knew who was trying to get in contact with him. - “You’re late, Kimura!”
A raspy voice answered on the other line. - “I see.” - And hung up.
- “Moshi moshi?” - What was happening? Was Kimura sick or something? Nakai ran to open the door, finding the detective standing in the darkest spot of the hall, barely recognizing him.
- “Wow Nakai, you even knew I was here before knocking.”
- “You just called a few seconds ago.”
Kimura entered the apartment, a little dumbfounded. His hair dripping wet. - “Hai? I left my phone at home.”
Nakai didn’t spend anymore thoughts on the anonymous call. Instead, he stared at the younger man in front of him. - “You cut your hair?”
The detective’s cheeks turned into a light subtle shade of pink, his hands playing with the damp ends of his hair. He couldn’t understand why but Nakai mentioning his new style, now much shorter and casual, made him embarrassed.
Ah! That was probably because the model noticed him. His heart skipped a beat. Nakai, on the other hand, couldn’t ignore the man in front of him and his new harsh change. The cut didn’t look bad. Well, he had to admit that it suited him like white clouds on a perfect clear blue sky or matcha ice cream with adzuki beans on top. And deep down in his mind, Kimura looked dazzling, ideal for the same profession as him.
How would it be if the younger man had chosen modeling instead of photography? Having a rival wasn’t such a bad idea. But he wouldn’t lose. Kimura also wouldn’t dare to win over him. Or he could have branched into the entertainment world, becoming an idol, singing silly love songs and acting in sentimental passionate evening dramas. His mind was being swept away, filled with thoughts of the photographer at the same time his eyes fixed in on that same person. The older man didn’t really want to admit it: Nakai Masahiro, the model, was attracted to the detective.
- “Stop looking at me with your predator eyes.”
The shorter man threw him a killer glance, adamant and venomous. - “Who’s the prey here?” - And walked past him, their arms touching each other as he closed the door none gently. The neighbors would complain tomorrow. Let them be.
Kimura hissed at the touch, mentally cussing the useless medicine he took before coming for not taking effect and went straight to the sofa, hoping the model hadn’t noticed his agony. Nakai knew he was suffering, still he wouldn’t ask. His question wouldn’t have an answer. No willing reply to his doubt. He just had to make the detective speak by his own dirty means
The older man turned on the TV and sat next to the detective as if nothing had happened. - “So, how many criminals did you catch today?”
Kimura smiled. - “Not a single one. Tokyo’s a very peaceful city, you know. But you could be the first one or I might get fired.”
- “I got an offer to go abroad.” - He started to prepare his attack.
- “When?” - An indifferent tone came from the detective, his smile fading slowly.
- “France. In a week.” - And sat closer, haltingly invading the photographer’s personal space.
Kimura didn’t sound surprised or disappointed, his fingers playing with themselves, his face supporting a blank expression. The model was starting to panic. His strategy hadn’t worked so well. He expected another reaction from the other man. - “You just can’t forget last night, right?”
- “Huh?” - Before the detective had an opportunity to answer him properly (and not a groan), the model grabbed his chin and pressed his lips softly to his, the free hand making pressure on his neck.
What was happening, Kimura didn’t know and didn’t care. The shy model was kissing him willingly (for the second time), without teasing him and demanding attention. The photographer kissed him back, also too gently, tasting him as time passed, savoring every single second.
Nakai nibbled his lower lip, asking for permission which he granted right away, their tongues shyly touching each others, enjoying it immensely. The model tasted of alcohol, probably why he was so tamed, Kimura thought. But it didn’t matter. He wouldn’t refuse this invitation. Who in his perfect mind would avoid a man as tempting as Nakai?
The older man knew this was the best way to lure the photographer. They both loved playing this game. Nakai stopped to gasp for some air and was satisfied to see the confused look on Kimura.
- “I should be going. I don’t want to ruin your night.”
Unwilling to let this chance escape, Nakai leaned closer, their hot breath teasing each other; his hand skipped into Kimura’s Guns N’ Roses shirt, his toned muscles begging to be touched.
- “Nakai…” - He wanted the older man to stop. No use. His mind was betraying him. When had he become so desperate for these fingers?
The model took the opportunity to forcefully grab the detective’s arm, this time earning a hasty cry. His assumptions were true. The younger man got hurt somewhere that morning. He could feel the bandages through the fabric. - “Why didn’t you tell me about this? Why don’t you trust me?”
- “Should I?” - Kimura groaned, half infuriated for Nakai’s prank, half scared for what was coming. - “Why are you so interested in this injury? Never took a bullet in your life?”
Nakai almost raised his fist to beat the photographer. Why was he so worried about the beast in front of him? His mind wanted to shut down like an outdated engine and remain in the ice tiled bed he had made, yet his eyes were shining in a grey tone of melancholy, his heart beating so fast, out of control, his mouth trying to suppress the countless words he had no idea what but it was better to leave them sealed. - “Why are you…”
The detective didn’t let the older man finish his sentence. - “I just don’t want you in this mess. The more you know, the greater danger you’ll be in.”
That wasn’t the answer he wanted, the words he impatiently tried to decipher since earlier this morning. He didn’t want those cliché sentences anyone could hear in a romantic action movie. What kind of danger would he be drowning into? His heart pounded, his entire body shivered at the thought of running away from some criminals, escaping some kidnapping or some near explosion abandoned warehouse. How thrilling he thought, his blood already burning from excitement. - “What makes you think I’m not already involved in all of this?”
- “I don’t know. Maybe you’re their next target. Maybe they don’t have a clue of who you are. But I believe the less you’re with me, the better for you.”
- “Then why did you come here? Why did you have to show up at my door at this hour?”
Kimura didn’t answer. It might be too frightening to acknowledge it. The image of Goro suddenly appeared in his mind. They were the same, clinging too much on emotions and ephemeral feelings. Curse it!
- “You should get some therapy.” - And stood up. Nakai’s lips were slightly swollen from their previous kiss and his heart was left between excitement and frustration. He was lost. He didn’t know how to continue down this path.
The detective grabbed his hand, the iron grip strong and firm. - “Don’t go.”
The model didn’t look back, almost imagining his inner self commanding him to shake off that hand.
- “Don’t go.” - Kimura had so much to say, so many pleas in his mind, so many excuses, yet those two words were the only ones he managed to spill out.
Nakai’s body trembled; his will weakening, and sat back on the couch. The photographer smiled heartily and laid his head on his companion’s lap, looking up at him, his legs stretched, his injured arm touching the worn out leather.
The older man felt awkward, uncomfortable with the detective’s childish attitude, his face heating up. After some silent glances, he could see how tired Kimura was, his eyes losing that outstanding brilliance. Nakai chuckled at the whole situation, like he was caring for some little young brat; his hands drawn to the cocoa colored hair, playing skillfully with those short strands which were still long yesterday.
- “If you do that, Hiro-chan, I’ll fall asleep in less than a minute.”
Nakai wanted to answer him, giving him permission to rest. The day had been upsetting for the both of them and a fight was the last thing he wanted. Sooner or later, the other man would talk or he would find another strategy.
Kimura closed his eyes, his heart at ease, his whole mind craving for the peace he felt and didn’t want to let go. For the first time, he felt protected and safe, all of him begging for the warmth of those talented fingers, caressing and soothing. He nudged the other’s stomach, fitting like a missing part, tickling Nakai. His eyelids got heavier and heavier but he still battled them. The photographer wanted to see the model’s face and carve it deep into his mind. Soon he lost the struggle.
- “The abroad job was true?” - It was true. Nakai’s manager had told him after his photo shoot that afternoon. He couldn’t miss up an offer like that. He shouldn’t. His confidence was wavering. - “I already decided…”
Kimura was already sleeping; his breath steady and natural, his face still held some traces of innocence. He would just leave the answer for tomorrow.
*Praying that LJ won't shit the configuration*