Deserve (1/1) R
JE Fic
Title: Deserve
Pairing: Akanishi Jin/Kamenashi Kazuya
Rating: R for language & smut
Genre: RPF, slash, AU
Wordcount: 2,405
A/N: Akame, 'American Gangster'-style. With apologies to Steven Zaillian. Inspired by Kou, who encouraged me to give it a try. And thanks to Kou & acchikocchi for invaluable comments.
"That's good work," Kamenashi says, splitting his gaze between the vast bulletin board covered in photographs of Tokyo's finest, and the dark-haired man who stands beside it, also eyeing the board with a grim, pleased expression that could not be described as a smile, and yet. The man turns his head slightly, looking back at Kamenashi over his shoulder. Now, he smiles, and his face splits into a wide, easy grin that hints at fatigue.
It's been a long day, the last of many long days since they began this together.
"It is that," Akanishi agrees.
--
"What are you offering?" Akanishi asked in a small gray interview room, meeting Kamenashi's eyes evenly. No beating around the bush then. His handcuffed hands lay on the table, palm down, relaxed. Kamenashi looked at them briefly before he answered.
"You can live well inside for a very long time," he said softly, "or..."
"You want names."
"Yes."
"What kind of names?" Akanishi fired back. "I have all sorts of names. You want cops? Nah, of course you don't. Which ones do you want, idols? Yakuza? Politicians?
Kamenashi held his gaze, and he didn't blink. "I want all of them."
Akanishi stared at him for a long minute, unsure if he'd heard the prosecutor right. "You want cops," he said slowly, and there was a hint of wonder in his voice. He chuckled softly. "I don't believe it."
"What do you want?" Kamenashi asked.
Akanishi turned his head to the window. The view was filled with tall buildings: rich and powerful people in their penthouse apartments and fancy corner offices. He had been one of them. He closed his eyes briefly and pursed his lips, thinking of everything life had been two months ago, before his arrest and the dismantling of his empire. He snapped his eyes back to Kamenashi who was studying him with open curiosity, and something else.
Akanishi tilted his head to one side before speaking. "They took my money," he said in a bitter monotone. "Those fuckers took my money. And now they look at me as if I made them dirty." He barked a short, rancorous laugh. "I made them rich! The sanctimonious pricks. They still want my money, and if you hadn't come along, they'd still be taking it. Not just what I paid them, but whatever they could steal from me, and they'd still call it an honest day's work."
Akanishi's mouth spread wide again, baring his teeth in an unsafe grin. His boys would have recognized it.
"You want to know what I want?" His voice had a harmonious, deceptive sing-song quality to it that sent a tiny electric shiver crawling down Kamenashi's spine. Akanishi chuckled. "Payback."
--
Now they gather their coats: Kamenashi pulls on an old baseball jacket and jams a worn baseball cap down over silky sugar-brown hair while Akanishi shrugs into a long camel trenchcoat before clapping on his hat at a jaunty angle. As Kamenashi locks up the room behind them, he nods at the uniforms in the corridor. Two of them detach from the the wall and follow Akanishi down the long hall.
"You guys all right if we grab a drink?" Kamenashi asks them. Akanishi looks over his shoulder.
"Seriously?"
"Sure," Kamenashi replies easily. "Why not? It's our last day." He glances at the guards, noting the suppressed grins.
"Sure," the short one, Nishikido, says, tugging at his white gloves, "whatever you say, boss."
"Good," Kamenashi smiles, his lips falling open over small teeth. Akanishi has had plenty of time to study him over photograph-littered tables and paper cups of stale coffee, and he knows now that while the prosecutor cuts a slight and too-pretty-to-be-taken-seriously figure, he's anything but. Kamenashi might look like one of those butter-soft bribe-seeking pencil-pushers, but, as Akanishi discovered early on, Kamenashi is his own man, with his own rules. When Akanishi first heard the absurd white-hat stories, he didn't believe them - how could he, when he'd built an empire on the corruptibility of men in Kamenashi's line of work?
It's refreshing, actually. Kamenashi adheres to his own singular sense of morality, to those clichés of truth and justice, and he's never pretended to be anything else.
He's an absolutist, and Akanishi respects that about him. Akanishi considers himself an absolutist as well. It's a relief to finally meet a man who can't be bought.
*
They drink beers in a small bar tucked away in an alley. The uniforms, hand-picked experienced officers that Kamenashi knows he can trust, have both entries to the narrow space staked out. Kamenashi knows he can count on them to watch his back, and they've all been extra-careful to avoid being followed. Until the verdict was handed down, Akanishi-san had been a valuable commodity, so if he's gunned down today, his efforts haven't been wasted. Their case had been strengthened by his living, breathing presence on the witness stand, but Kamenashi feels he owes it to Akanishi. Sure, it's gratitude, but it's more than that.
Kamenashi suspects that nabbing the slippery, unassuming gangster will be the highlight of his career in law enforcement. But more often than not, over these last several months, he's found himself wishing they hadn't ended up on opposite sides in all this, that Akanishi hadn't chosen to bend his particular talents to a criminal life.
Now that it's all over, there's only tomorrow and the next day, and the day after that. Tomorrow brings justice, which where Akanishi's going, will certainly be a rough sort, not the kind that his personal charm or that perfect smile can evade. It's not that he doesn't deserve it, or that he shouldn't pay his debts to society; Kamenashi is quite clear on that. It's just that he wants to see Akanishi live to be a very old man. He doesn't like to consider the alternative.
*
Some rounds later, they find themselves at the batting cages. Akanishi stands outside the chain-link fence with a drink in one hand, and the other pushed into the pocket of his neat slacks, the long front panel of his camel coat tucked behind his elbow. He watches Kamenashi line up, jacket off, sleeves pushed up above his elbows, and he doesn't need to be an expert to know that the prosecutor has excellent form. Kamenashi swings the bat down a few times, shifting his weight. Akanishi recognizes that bull-dog expression; he's been looking at it for many months now.
Watching Kamenashi ferociously drive balls down the length of the cage gives Akanishi a chance to think. The drink in his hand...well, that helps chase the thoughts away. On balance, he thinks it's working out pretty well.
When Kamenashi tosses him a blinding grin after another solid hit and salutes him with the bat, his alcohol-induced haze clears. As he watches Kamenashi line up again, pivoting and swinging with a perfect economy of motion, Akanishi flashes to pushing Kamenashi into the chain-link fence, and what it might be like to-
He finishes his drink in a single draught, tosses it neatly, and goes off to find another, always trailed by at least one uniform. In his coat pockets, his fisted hands don't tremble.
*
"Nightcap?" Kamenashi asks, hands tightening on the steering wheel as he pulls up to the curb outside his apartment. All evening, he's wondered if he has the nerve. He can stare down criminals and always come out on top, but lately, Akanishi turns his mouth to sawdust. "Last chance, you know."
Sobriety is a distant memory. Feeling a twinge in his right shoulder, Akanishi doesn't think twice. Freedom is sweet, and he's going to miss Kamenashi's pretty face. Or freedom. Or both.
"Sure."
The uniforms radio in, and take up positions.
*
Kamenashi pours a few fingers of scotch into a glass while Akanishi takes off his coat and carefully drapes it over the back of a chair. Akanishi accepts the glass and looks around doubtfully.
"Nice place," he says. Except it's not. The walls are dirty and paint is peeling in large patches. There's dust everywhere. It's neat and tidy, but it barely looks lived in.
Kamenashi raises an eyebrow and snorts. Akanishi snickers. Seconds later they're halfway to the floor, laughing their guts out, and Kamenashi stumbles around the corner, half-falling into Akanishi.
"Ha ha," he chokes, "you're funny." He doesn't think about Akanishi's cars, the mansions, his women, or his crimes. He thinks about Akanishi's eyes, and his surprisingly off-beat sense of humor. He thinks about the vengeance that has driven Akanishi this far. He thinks about not seeing this man ever again for the rest of his life.
Akanishi lends him an arm until he regains his feet. Kamenashi flops onto the couch and looks up at him.
"It's a dump." He shrugs. "Work, you know."
"You do love your work," Akanishi agrees, raising his glass in salute.
"And you loved yours," Kamenashi says, returning the salute.
"I did," Akanishi replies thoughtfully, "it was a good life, while it lasted."
"You miss it."
"Sure I miss it. And I gotta say, if you'd've been a different man, you know, less honest...."
"You'd've killed me."
Akanishi looks down at Kamenashi, and his face changes abruptly. "I wouldn't," he says, quiet, "kill you."
"What?"
"I wouldn't kill you. I wouldn't've had you killed. I wouldn't do it. I won't."
Kamenashi sits up, mirth draining away. He watches Akanishi walk toward the windows that face the street, approaching them from an oblique angle, wary to the end. He takes a look outside for a second, before he twitches the curtains shut. Kamenashi holds his breath when Akanishi walks back, only slightly wobbly.
He leans a heavy hand on Kamenashi's shoulder before he collapses onto the couch beside him.
"You understand me?"
Kamenashi turns his head slowly to meet Akanishi's intent eyes. He nods once, jerky.
"I gave the order. You won't be touched. Ever. Not by my guys. No matter who comes after you. You're gonna make a lot more enemies, Kamenashi-san. A lot. But I've got you covered. Even if I'm dead. You'll be protected."
Kamenashi stares at him. His lips are white.
"Why? Why would you do that?"
Akanishi closes his eyes briefly, and when he opens them he lunges toward Kamenashi, hands on his shoulders, driving him back into the side of the brown corduroy couch.
"Because I like you, goddamnit. And I want you to stay alive."
Kamenashi's cheeks burn from the admission, but he doesn't break his gaze. "Why are you telling me this now?" He guesses, of course, but he wants to hear Akanishi say it.
Akanishi's eyes glitter.
"Because tomorrow I'm going to prison," Akanishi says in a tight voice, "for a long time. And I don't know what will happen. I don't know if I'll live or die. I have no idea. So." He sucks in air. "I just wanted you to know."
"Okay," Kamenashi breathes, making a decision, and he doesn't look away. He leans forward a little, just enough, until he sees Akanishi's eyelashes flutter, until, after a ferocious pause, he feels Akanishi's hard mouth give way under his own.
*
Akanishi decides that Kamenashi must be a romantic, and fastidious to boot. Only a romantic would kiss him like that, open mouthed and hungry, before dragging him off for a fast shower. Only a romantic would stroke him into a frenzy while they dripped their way into the bedroom to collapse in a tangle on twisted sheets.
It's not perfect or blissful, or anything like that. This couldn't be anything as prosaic as love, no. Lust, attraction, respect, admiration, yes, all of those things, sure, that's what Akanishi's thinking when he looks down to see Kamenashi sink his teeth into the soft pale flesh of his inner thigh, fingers curled under his buttocks.
Back arching now, muscles cramping, Akanishi fights back the need to cry out from the simultaneous effects of Kamenashi's wet mouth engulfing him and his slick fingers diving and twisting just so. It requires a huge effort to breathe through the blinding waves of heat and desire and force Kamenashi off him.
They haven't spoken in long moments, and they don't speak now as Kamenashi stills, peers up at him, resting his chin on Akanishi's hip. Kamenashi waits. A single eyebrow lifts, and the corner of his mouth quirks up just slightly.
Akanishi shakily pushes himself up on his elbows, and he tries to speak, but all that comes out is a low sound from his throat. It's enough, of course. Kamenashi smiles widely then, a wolfishly pleased grin that somehow makes Akanishi ache even more.
Kamenashi shifts away, and Akanishi gasps as his fingers are abruptly withdrawn. He's only slightly startled when a condom lands on his chest with a small plastic tube. Kamenashi stretches out beside him, and waits, watching as Akanishi rolls on the condom, squirts lube onto his fingers, and reaches for him, all in record time. Akanishi's fingers don't hesitate, and they don't fumble. He's not a kid. This isn't his first time, or even his five hundredth. But he surprised himself, deeply, when he stopped Kamenashi from flipping onto his belly, and now he curls his fingers experimentally, memorizing Kamenashi's beautifully shocked face, and he leans down to kiss Kamenashi's bloodless lips.
Something to remember, Akanishi thinks as he pushes in, hard and fast. He slides out and scrapes in again, rough, rougher than he means to be, but he can't help himself. The expression on Kamenashi's flushed face tells him that it hurts, but there's something else there, too. Something that wants it harder, more, that needs him to leave marks, and not just on his flesh and skin.
He can't remember the last time he's fucked a man to his face; it's not his way, and too late, he remembers why. Near the end, their eyes locked in a combat that rivals muscle and bone, Kamenashi smiles sweetly, jerking, and warmth floods over Akanishi's hand.
It doesn't matter who remembers, Akanishi thinks before he comes. Later, when Kamenashi comes inside him, he desperately wants to weep, but he's stubbornly dry-eyed to the end. It doesn't matter, so long as one of them does.
*
Fifteen years later, when Akanishi is released from prison, his lawyer meets him at the prison gates.
"You ready?" Kamenashi asks.
Akanishi smiles.
FIN
Notes:
- The second section is very similar to a similar scene in the film, but the rest is original.
- The fic is loosely based on the film, not the real persons of Frank Lucas and Richie Robbins, particularly as there is a fair amount of dispute concerning the reality of the characters depicted in the film and their actions.
Sequel: Blind Curve: G, 1, 850 words, July 2008
--
Fanfiction Index
Contact me: shontosgarden at gmail dot com
Title: Deserve
Pairing: Akanishi Jin/Kamenashi Kazuya
Rating: R for language & smut
Genre: RPF, slash, AU
Wordcount: 2,405
A/N: Akame, 'American Gangster'-style. With apologies to Steven Zaillian. Inspired by Kou, who encouraged me to give it a try. And thanks to Kou & acchikocchi for invaluable comments.
"That's good work," Kamenashi says, splitting his gaze between the vast bulletin board covered in photographs of Tokyo's finest, and the dark-haired man who stands beside it, also eyeing the board with a grim, pleased expression that could not be described as a smile, and yet. The man turns his head slightly, looking back at Kamenashi over his shoulder. Now, he smiles, and his face splits into a wide, easy grin that hints at fatigue.
It's been a long day, the last of many long days since they began this together.
"It is that," Akanishi agrees.
--
"What are you offering?" Akanishi asked in a small gray interview room, meeting Kamenashi's eyes evenly. No beating around the bush then. His handcuffed hands lay on the table, palm down, relaxed. Kamenashi looked at them briefly before he answered.
"You can live well inside for a very long time," he said softly, "or..."
"You want names."
"Yes."
"What kind of names?" Akanishi fired back. "I have all sorts of names. You want cops? Nah, of course you don't. Which ones do you want, idols? Yakuza? Politicians?
Kamenashi held his gaze, and he didn't blink. "I want all of them."
Akanishi stared at him for a long minute, unsure if he'd heard the prosecutor right. "You want cops," he said slowly, and there was a hint of wonder in his voice. He chuckled softly. "I don't believe it."
"What do you want?" Kamenashi asked.
Akanishi turned his head to the window. The view was filled with tall buildings: rich and powerful people in their penthouse apartments and fancy corner offices. He had been one of them. He closed his eyes briefly and pursed his lips, thinking of everything life had been two months ago, before his arrest and the dismantling of his empire. He snapped his eyes back to Kamenashi who was studying him with open curiosity, and something else.
Akanishi tilted his head to one side before speaking. "They took my money," he said in a bitter monotone. "Those fuckers took my money. And now they look at me as if I made them dirty." He barked a short, rancorous laugh. "I made them rich! The sanctimonious pricks. They still want my money, and if you hadn't come along, they'd still be taking it. Not just what I paid them, but whatever they could steal from me, and they'd still call it an honest day's work."
Akanishi's mouth spread wide again, baring his teeth in an unsafe grin. His boys would have recognized it.
"You want to know what I want?" His voice had a harmonious, deceptive sing-song quality to it that sent a tiny electric shiver crawling down Kamenashi's spine. Akanishi chuckled. "Payback."
--
Now they gather their coats: Kamenashi pulls on an old baseball jacket and jams a worn baseball cap down over silky sugar-brown hair while Akanishi shrugs into a long camel trenchcoat before clapping on his hat at a jaunty angle. As Kamenashi locks up the room behind them, he nods at the uniforms in the corridor. Two of them detach from the the wall and follow Akanishi down the long hall.
"You guys all right if we grab a drink?" Kamenashi asks them. Akanishi looks over his shoulder.
"Seriously?"
"Sure," Kamenashi replies easily. "Why not? It's our last day." He glances at the guards, noting the suppressed grins.
"Sure," the short one, Nishikido, says, tugging at his white gloves, "whatever you say, boss."
"Good," Kamenashi smiles, his lips falling open over small teeth. Akanishi has had plenty of time to study him over photograph-littered tables and paper cups of stale coffee, and he knows now that while the prosecutor cuts a slight and too-pretty-to-be-taken-seriously figure, he's anything but. Kamenashi might look like one of those butter-soft bribe-seeking pencil-pushers, but, as Akanishi discovered early on, Kamenashi is his own man, with his own rules. When Akanishi first heard the absurd white-hat stories, he didn't believe them - how could he, when he'd built an empire on the corruptibility of men in Kamenashi's line of work?
It's refreshing, actually. Kamenashi adheres to his own singular sense of morality, to those clichés of truth and justice, and he's never pretended to be anything else.
He's an absolutist, and Akanishi respects that about him. Akanishi considers himself an absolutist as well. It's a relief to finally meet a man who can't be bought.
*
They drink beers in a small bar tucked away in an alley. The uniforms, hand-picked experienced officers that Kamenashi knows he can trust, have both entries to the narrow space staked out. Kamenashi knows he can count on them to watch his back, and they've all been extra-careful to avoid being followed. Until the verdict was handed down, Akanishi-san had been a valuable commodity, so if he's gunned down today, his efforts haven't been wasted. Their case had been strengthened by his living, breathing presence on the witness stand, but Kamenashi feels he owes it to Akanishi. Sure, it's gratitude, but it's more than that.
Kamenashi suspects that nabbing the slippery, unassuming gangster will be the highlight of his career in law enforcement. But more often than not, over these last several months, he's found himself wishing they hadn't ended up on opposite sides in all this, that Akanishi hadn't chosen to bend his particular talents to a criminal life.
Now that it's all over, there's only tomorrow and the next day, and the day after that. Tomorrow brings justice, which where Akanishi's going, will certainly be a rough sort, not the kind that his personal charm or that perfect smile can evade. It's not that he doesn't deserve it, or that he shouldn't pay his debts to society; Kamenashi is quite clear on that. It's just that he wants to see Akanishi live to be a very old man. He doesn't like to consider the alternative.
*
Some rounds later, they find themselves at the batting cages. Akanishi stands outside the chain-link fence with a drink in one hand, and the other pushed into the pocket of his neat slacks, the long front panel of his camel coat tucked behind his elbow. He watches Kamenashi line up, jacket off, sleeves pushed up above his elbows, and he doesn't need to be an expert to know that the prosecutor has excellent form. Kamenashi swings the bat down a few times, shifting his weight. Akanishi recognizes that bull-dog expression; he's been looking at it for many months now.
Watching Kamenashi ferociously drive balls down the length of the cage gives Akanishi a chance to think. The drink in his hand...well, that helps chase the thoughts away. On balance, he thinks it's working out pretty well.
When Kamenashi tosses him a blinding grin after another solid hit and salutes him with the bat, his alcohol-induced haze clears. As he watches Kamenashi line up again, pivoting and swinging with a perfect economy of motion, Akanishi flashes to pushing Kamenashi into the chain-link fence, and what it might be like to-
He finishes his drink in a single draught, tosses it neatly, and goes off to find another, always trailed by at least one uniform. In his coat pockets, his fisted hands don't tremble.
*
"Nightcap?" Kamenashi asks, hands tightening on the steering wheel as he pulls up to the curb outside his apartment. All evening, he's wondered if he has the nerve. He can stare down criminals and always come out on top, but lately, Akanishi turns his mouth to sawdust. "Last chance, you know."
Sobriety is a distant memory. Feeling a twinge in his right shoulder, Akanishi doesn't think twice. Freedom is sweet, and he's going to miss Kamenashi's pretty face. Or freedom. Or both.
"Sure."
The uniforms radio in, and take up positions.
*
Kamenashi pours a few fingers of scotch into a glass while Akanishi takes off his coat and carefully drapes it over the back of a chair. Akanishi accepts the glass and looks around doubtfully.
"Nice place," he says. Except it's not. The walls are dirty and paint is peeling in large patches. There's dust everywhere. It's neat and tidy, but it barely looks lived in.
Kamenashi raises an eyebrow and snorts. Akanishi snickers. Seconds later they're halfway to the floor, laughing their guts out, and Kamenashi stumbles around the corner, half-falling into Akanishi.
"Ha ha," he chokes, "you're funny." He doesn't think about Akanishi's cars, the mansions, his women, or his crimes. He thinks about Akanishi's eyes, and his surprisingly off-beat sense of humor. He thinks about the vengeance that has driven Akanishi this far. He thinks about not seeing this man ever again for the rest of his life.
Akanishi lends him an arm until he regains his feet. Kamenashi flops onto the couch and looks up at him.
"It's a dump." He shrugs. "Work, you know."
"You do love your work," Akanishi agrees, raising his glass in salute.
"And you loved yours," Kamenashi says, returning the salute.
"I did," Akanishi replies thoughtfully, "it was a good life, while it lasted."
"You miss it."
"Sure I miss it. And I gotta say, if you'd've been a different man, you know, less honest...."
"You'd've killed me."
Akanishi looks down at Kamenashi, and his face changes abruptly. "I wouldn't," he says, quiet, "kill you."
"What?"
"I wouldn't kill you. I wouldn't've had you killed. I wouldn't do it. I won't."
Kamenashi sits up, mirth draining away. He watches Akanishi walk toward the windows that face the street, approaching them from an oblique angle, wary to the end. He takes a look outside for a second, before he twitches the curtains shut. Kamenashi holds his breath when Akanishi walks back, only slightly wobbly.
He leans a heavy hand on Kamenashi's shoulder before he collapses onto the couch beside him.
"You understand me?"
Kamenashi turns his head slowly to meet Akanishi's intent eyes. He nods once, jerky.
"I gave the order. You won't be touched. Ever. Not by my guys. No matter who comes after you. You're gonna make a lot more enemies, Kamenashi-san. A lot. But I've got you covered. Even if I'm dead. You'll be protected."
Kamenashi stares at him. His lips are white.
"Why? Why would you do that?"
Akanishi closes his eyes briefly, and when he opens them he lunges toward Kamenashi, hands on his shoulders, driving him back into the side of the brown corduroy couch.
"Because I like you, goddamnit. And I want you to stay alive."
Kamenashi's cheeks burn from the admission, but he doesn't break his gaze. "Why are you telling me this now?" He guesses, of course, but he wants to hear Akanishi say it.
Akanishi's eyes glitter.
"Because tomorrow I'm going to prison," Akanishi says in a tight voice, "for a long time. And I don't know what will happen. I don't know if I'll live or die. I have no idea. So." He sucks in air. "I just wanted you to know."
"Okay," Kamenashi breathes, making a decision, and he doesn't look away. He leans forward a little, just enough, until he sees Akanishi's eyelashes flutter, until, after a ferocious pause, he feels Akanishi's hard mouth give way under his own.
*
Akanishi decides that Kamenashi must be a romantic, and fastidious to boot. Only a romantic would kiss him like that, open mouthed and hungry, before dragging him off for a fast shower. Only a romantic would stroke him into a frenzy while they dripped their way into the bedroom to collapse in a tangle on twisted sheets.
It's not perfect or blissful, or anything like that. This couldn't be anything as prosaic as love, no. Lust, attraction, respect, admiration, yes, all of those things, sure, that's what Akanishi's thinking when he looks down to see Kamenashi sink his teeth into the soft pale flesh of his inner thigh, fingers curled under his buttocks.
Back arching now, muscles cramping, Akanishi fights back the need to cry out from the simultaneous effects of Kamenashi's wet mouth engulfing him and his slick fingers diving and twisting just so. It requires a huge effort to breathe through the blinding waves of heat and desire and force Kamenashi off him.
They haven't spoken in long moments, and they don't speak now as Kamenashi stills, peers up at him, resting his chin on Akanishi's hip. Kamenashi waits. A single eyebrow lifts, and the corner of his mouth quirks up just slightly.
Akanishi shakily pushes himself up on his elbows, and he tries to speak, but all that comes out is a low sound from his throat. It's enough, of course. Kamenashi smiles widely then, a wolfishly pleased grin that somehow makes Akanishi ache even more.
Kamenashi shifts away, and Akanishi gasps as his fingers are abruptly withdrawn. He's only slightly startled when a condom lands on his chest with a small plastic tube. Kamenashi stretches out beside him, and waits, watching as Akanishi rolls on the condom, squirts lube onto his fingers, and reaches for him, all in record time. Akanishi's fingers don't hesitate, and they don't fumble. He's not a kid. This isn't his first time, or even his five hundredth. But he surprised himself, deeply, when he stopped Kamenashi from flipping onto his belly, and now he curls his fingers experimentally, memorizing Kamenashi's beautifully shocked face, and he leans down to kiss Kamenashi's bloodless lips.
Something to remember, Akanishi thinks as he pushes in, hard and fast. He slides out and scrapes in again, rough, rougher than he means to be, but he can't help himself. The expression on Kamenashi's flushed face tells him that it hurts, but there's something else there, too. Something that wants it harder, more, that needs him to leave marks, and not just on his flesh and skin.
He can't remember the last time he's fucked a man to his face; it's not his way, and too late, he remembers why. Near the end, their eyes locked in a combat that rivals muscle and bone, Kamenashi smiles sweetly, jerking, and warmth floods over Akanishi's hand.
It doesn't matter who remembers, Akanishi thinks before he comes. Later, when Kamenashi comes inside him, he desperately wants to weep, but he's stubbornly dry-eyed to the end. It doesn't matter, so long as one of them does.
*
Fifteen years later, when Akanishi is released from prison, his lawyer meets him at the prison gates.
"You ready?" Kamenashi asks.
Akanishi smiles.
FIN
Notes:
- The second section is very similar to a similar scene in the film, but the rest is original.
- The fic is loosely based on the film, not the real persons of Frank Lucas and Richie Robbins, particularly as there is a fair amount of dispute concerning the reality of the characters depicted in the film and their actions.
Sequel: Blind Curve: G, 1, 850 words, July 2008
--
Fanfiction Index
Contact me: shontosgarden at gmail dot com