Just For Tonight
Just For Tonight
Chapter: Oneshot
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Tora x Saga
Genre: AU, angst.
Warnings: male x male, sex, coarse language, adult themes.
Summary: A brief encounter between two strangers, just for one night.
Commentary: Guess what? I was feeling angsty…so I wrote some angst. Natural response really. This popped up in my brain and wrote it start to finish in three hours yesterday. I was debating wether or not to post it because it felt a little rough around the edges but decided to go for it anyway. I rarely write AU oneshots, not enough leeway for backstory and details, but I think this turned out pretty good and believable anyhoo. You guys let me know what you think ;) I wrote a lot of this listening to Jeff Buckley, especially "Last Goodbye". Its a gorgeous song, and sometimes I forget that its 15 years old, it could've been released yesterday. Listen to it if you'd like. I hope you guys enjoy this…
***
The music is blaring, lights flashing, obnoxious bass making the floor and the walls and even the drinks tremble on the counter.
Amano Shinji is leaning against the wall, cradling his glass of whiskey in moist fingers. He's loosened his silk tie, undid the few top buttons of his black shirt, and the front of his tailored jacket too.
He rarely frequents those kinds of establishments when in Tokyo, eschewing the noise and the filth of those busy parts of town for finer, more elegant entertainment uptown, somewhere in Ginza where his kind belongs. But the last thing he wanted to do after a day of negotiating with a bunch of oily businessmen in a far too cold conference room was head to a fancy private club full of said businessmen. So he gave his driver the night off, headed down a few blocks from his luxurious hotel to a less reputable part of town, and into the little club. He was given a few odd looks from the bouncer, probably because of his tailor-made italian suit, well kept, artfully tousled hair, manicured nails, a watch worth a little more than a middle-class yearly salary. He was let in anyway, into the smoky, noisy bowels of the darkened club.
He wonders if he should call his father to tell him the deal had gone through without a hitch, but he assumes that his father would not expect a call until morning in Tokyo, late evening in London. His father likes evening calls better, he's a bit of a pain in the morning, even if there's good news at the end of the line. So he pockets his phone again, has a sip of the lukewarm whiskey as he looks up to the throbbing, writhing mass of young bodies on the dance floor. Fancy dressed men and women meshing with the streetwear adorned kids. Worlds colliding.
His father would disapprove.
This isn't a place for men like him. But he's here for a reason.
He's looking for a taste of freedom, for a way to take the edge off his day. He wants to know what it feels like to be young, and beautiful and carefree. If only for a night. Just a casual observer of that beautiful crowd of stylish youth that he was never allowed to join. For him it was tailored suits and ivy league schools, nannies, private tutors, trainers. Tennis and polo in the summer, skiing in the swiss alps in the winter, summer houses and private jets. He's aware of his luck, of his high standing in society, of how he will one day succeed his father at the head of the booming family business. But it doesn't stop his ache for a simpler, less complicated life.
His eyes scan the crowd, vision dulled by the cloud of smoke and the stuttering of the strobes. He feels a bit of a dull thudding behind his eyes, telling himself that maybe he should start heading home, until his gaze lands on him.
He's dancing, slithering, hips swaying to the music. He isn't cheaply dressed, but there's something about him that seems off, that screams easy. Maybe its the half unbuttoned dark silk shirt, the painted-on black jeans, the liberal amount of dark eyeliner rimming coal black eyes. His eyes are like midnight pools, beguiling, calling out to him as their gazes meet over the crowd. He's pale, and slender, too much so, looking so very fragile, like the softest touch would break him, yet he can't stop looking at him. There's a quiet desperation about him that cannot be ignored. He's achingly beautiful.
They study each other for what seems like hours before the crowd swallows him again, out of sight as if he'd never been there. He takes a deep breath, drains his glass. There's this wave of lust overwhelming him. He's not sure if its the whiskey, the throbbing heat of the club or the silent exchange with the young man, a mix of everything perhaps. Maybe he should head back to his hotel before the throbbing in his head turns into a migraine, besides, he's aching for a breath of night air, another cigarette, and he has a meeting in the morning, has to fly back home the next day.
He puts down his glass on the nearby counter, meanders to the exit back into the warm, glittery night. He heads towards his hotel, slow steps, leisurely as he lights a cigarette, pausing as he hears a pained moan coming from a dark space between two buildings. A pained moan and the sharp sound of flesh hitting flesh, a slap. Its none of his business, but there's a piece of him that feels the urge to investigate, even if he knows better than to venture in a dark alley in the middle of the night.
There's a bit of light shining down from a window, just enough to see what's happening in the grimy, dirty alley.
Its the boy from the club, along with two men in dark suits and sunglasses. Thugs, clearly. One tall, burly man trapping his arms behind him while the other shorter one tells him something, too low for him to pick up the words, before he backhands the boy, clearly not for the first time judging from the blood seeping down the young man's chin from a cracked lip.
"What is going on here?" he calls out, startling the two suited men.
The young man doesn't move, eyes downcast, breathing hard. He looks pale, dishevelled, and completely furious. Somehow even more beautiful. He doesn't ask for help, doesn't fight, just stands there with his swollen lips looking gloriously angry.
The shortest one of the two turns towards him, looking rather annoyed from the scowl painted on his lips. Saying that he looks disreputable would be an understatement.
"None of your fucking business. Fucking scram."
He snorts, stubbing his cigarette, loosening his entire body, adrenaline pumping in every muscle as he readies for an eventual scuffle. He knows how to hold his own in a fight, but he's hoping he won't have to practice his right hook tonight, especially not against two guys that could possibly be armed.
"I beg to differ. I make it my business when two men beat up a clearly defenceless young man in a dark alley in the middle of the night. How about you let him go and I forget this happened instead of calling the cops?"
The short one pulls the dark glasses off his nose, revealing small beady eyes and a line of raised scar across his nose, tucking them in his pocket.
"Are you just fucking stupid or completely deaf? I told you to get the fuck out, mind your own business before it bites you in the ass." he turns to the young man, "Who is he?"
"No one." he murmurs.
His voice is low and reedy, threadlike. Too many late nights and cheap whiskey, too many cigarettes. Deceptively calm. It only makes him sound more fragile, and makes Shinji more angry at seeing him carelessly manhandled. He pulls his cell phone out of his pocket, dials, the sound of the three keys being pressed loud in the tense silence.
"I'm not fucking around. Leave the boy alone."
He presses on the call button when the two men stay still, two rings and a female voice, asking him to state his emergency. He does, but as he's talking, the two men curse and let go of the young man, running away in the opposite direction Shinji came from, disappearing in the darkness. He finishes with the woman, she says she's sending patrols his way, just to make sure. The young man leans against the wall, doesn't move, even when he hangs up and moves closer, only to notice that the boy is shivering, trembling, and for the first time he looks afraid, eyes glazed over.
"Are you alright?"
"Yes."
A lie, clearly. Automated response, but he doesn't dwell on it, not now. He digs in his pocked for a handkerchief, white, monogrammed jacquard, and very carefully reaches for the young man's chin with his hand, tilting his head up. He dabs at the blood, carefully, meticulously, gingerly when he reaches the corner of his lips, where the skin is swollen and cracked.
"What did those two men want from you?"
The young man looks up to him, pupils blown, and he looks so vulnerable.
"They wanted to take me somewhere I didn't want to go."
"And where would that be?"
"None of your business." he replies, strangely echoing the thug's words.
There's no malice in the words. Just a clear statement that he will not answer to his prodding. He sighs, resigned, and puts the handkerchief back in his pocket before shrugging out of his jacket.
"C'mere, you're cold." he orders, softly pulling the young man off the wall before draping his jacket on his frail shoulders.
He's very delicate, slender and fragile, the jacket a few sizes too big on him. Now that he's closer, Shinji can study his fine features more intently. Wild, wavy tawny hair, a heart-shaped face with delicate features, a long nose and high cheekbones. Liquid black eyes rimmed with smudged kohl, long fluttery lashes, pale, pale gold skin, too pale, waxy, with a hint of a flush across his nose and cheeks. He has small, delicate hands with black lacquered nails, his wrists so small. He's even more beautiful than he had first thought, so much so that he finds himself reaching up with one hand, gently cupping his cheek, heat coiling in his stomach when the young man closes his eyes, leans against his palm trustingly.
"What's your name?"
"Yours?"
"Amano Shinji."
"Saga. Call me Saga."
Not a real name, but it will do. He catches the blue and red light of the patrol car at the end of the alley out the corner of his eye, turns around as he softly lets go of the young man's face.
"The police is here, you should probably file a report…" he starts, walking towards the light, only to pause when he's not being followed, only his steps echoing.
Saga has quietly disappeared in the night.
***
He hadn't expected an hour of paperwork and questioning for a simple police report, but had submitted himself to it anyway.
The hotel suite is too cold, and he wonders if he should call the front desk to have someone adjust it but relents out of laziness. Its late, he's tired, his head is pounding. All he wants is a shower and sleep. He empties his pockets on a side table, keycard, phone, wallet, the bloodstained handkerchief, wonders if he should call his father again and gives up on the idea. He washes off two painkillers with a swig of lukewarm mineral water, removes the tie, unfastens his cufflinks, dropping them beside his other belongings, starts untucking his shirt from his trousers when he hears a knock at the door.
Three soft knocks.
Who could it be, this late? His chauffeur maybe, or his assistant, making sure he got back safe. He ambles over to the door, pries it open a few inches.
Saga is standing in the hallway. He's wearing a different shirt, a loose black cardigan on bare skin, neckline dipping low on his slender chest. His hair a little more tame, but the kohl around his eyes is smudged even further, his mouth swollen. He looks softer, more fragile, nothing like the cold fury of the dark alley. He looks up from the mascara-thick fringe of his lashes, lifting the jacket he had disappeared with. Lust emerges, unexpectedly, like a tidal wave.
Shinji moves aside, silently inviting him in. An invitation he takes, shuffling in quietly, the door settling into place behind him.
"I came to bring back your jacket."
He takes the jacket from Saga's hands, softly putting it down on a nearby chair.
"Thank you. How did you find me?"
"I followed you, asked the front desk…I came to say thanks, for earlier. I didn't and felt like I should."
Shinji smiles, shoving his hands in his pockets to keep them from fidgeting.
"Any time."
They stand in the room, the silence becoming thick and awkward as they study each other.
"Those two men?"
But Saga nods, dismissing the questions. Because there's a lot of them coming.
"You won't tell me, or you can't?"
"Its complicated. I just came to say thanks."
Saga turns to leave but he gently grabs that too thin wrist, the word out of his mouth before his mind can catch up.
"Stay."
Saga studies him, really studies him for a minute, like he's seeing him for the first time.
"Why?"
"You'll be safe here. Stay, just for tonight."
Saga takes a deep breath, comes closer, closer, too close, chests touching, and Shinji has to fight the tide of desire that engulfs him. He smells musky sweet, like incense and vanilla, and something earthier, more sensual underneath. His lips are chapped and dry, still bleeding at the corner, a crimson bead when he lifts his head up, looking up at Shinji with his liquid-dark eyes.
"Just for tonight." he agrees, voice soft, breathy, before letting their lips touch.
Its a careful, cautious, tentative kiss, only lips and breath, his mouth going gentle on the swollen corner of his mouth. He wants to heal him, protect him, anything to make that unbearable, resigned sadness disappear from his eyes. They part, slow, breathing hard, controlled, until Saga shatters it all.
"Please…" he whispers, his reedy voice full of desperate need.
And then he forgets. Forgets about being careful, forgets about being slow as he crushes their mouths together, hands sliding down Saga's spine , fingers splaying on the smooth curve of his backside, cupping the firm flesh. Only thinking of that yielding mouth, soft skin, of those glimpses of offered flesh in the darkened club that had made his blood boil to a steady simmer. Saga's mouth is a whisper of vodka, cigarettes, the salty-coppery tang of fresh blood as he drags him further into the room.
There's tattoos on the nape of his neck, going down his spine. Traditional crests, revealed one by one as Shinji pushes the open cardigan down Saga's shoulders, down his arms. He knows them. Not all of them but some.
He knows how Yakuza like to brand their possessions, drug mules, sex-slaves, treating other human beings like chattel. The exchange in the alley makes more sense now. A runaway slave, perhaps. There's a tiger on his lower back, snarling, reaching up, encroaching on his hip and side. He touches it with careful fingertips, and Saga tenses.
"Don't. Don't ask…"
As if he knew every single question that he muffles with kisses, against the back of his neck, his shoulders, until Saga relaxes against his bare chest, leaning back.
"When I was a teenaged boy, my friends at school, they called me Tora. I was just thinking its strange that you have one on your skin." he murmurs, between soft presses of his mouth on warm skin, sucking on that sensitive spot underneath his ear.
Saga sighs, guides Shinji's hands down his flat stomach, down to the still clothed warmth between his thighs.
"Tora…it suits you. It really does. That's how I'll call you…" he murmurs, pushing back against him, grinding his rear against his erection.
He licks the smooth line of Saga's nape, shuddering with need.
"God, you're beautiful…so beautiful…" he mumbles in his neck, fingers finding the closure of the jeans, prying the clothing down Saga's narrow hips, dragging the underwear right along with it, impatient.
"You wanted me in the club, didn't you?" Saga whispers, stepping out of his pooled jeans and underwear, walking over to the neatly made bed.
He doesn't answer, hazel eyes flaring, lust exploding inside him when Saga crawls on the bed on all fours, completely naked, parting his legs.
"You imagined me, like this…naked on your bed," he reaches between his thighs, tugging on his erect cock, fingertips gathering the pre-come pearling at the tip, "you thought of what it would be like, to force me on hands and knees, and push your cock in my ass, didn't you?" he asks, smearing the pre-come on his fingers as he reaches up, presses against that tight puckered opening with his fingertips.
His mind hadn't pushed it that far. But he had wondered. He had. And now he wants to know. Has to know.
Saga looks at him hungrily over his shoulder as he fights off his open shirt, the trousers and underwear, tugs off his socks. He reaches in the leather pouch on the nightstand, beyond the toothbrush, comb, cologne bottle, extricates a condom and lube. He hadn't planned on having such an encounter, but he'd packed for it anyway, better safe than sorry.
He joins Saga on the bed, watches fingers slide in his tight opening, in and out, until he can't take it anymore, pulls Saga's fingers out replacing them with his own.
"Fuck me…" Saga begs, voice hoarse with desire, "Fill me with your big cock... Don't be gentle, please…"
He makes quick work of the condom and the lube, grabbing onto Saga's thin hips as he kneels behind him, pushing and pushing against that tight, quivering opening. Harsh, pumping himself in blazing tightness, inch after inch in short bursts while Saga mewls and struggles, pushing back against him.
"Yes…you're so thick…Oh! there…right there…" he breathes, voice trembling as Shinji settles deep inside him, pressing down on that spot that makes stars burst behind his eyes.
He wishes he wasn't rough. He wishes he didn't leave as many marks on that pale skin as he does. He wishes he could take his time with this, but he can't. He's too wound up, Saga begging him to go harder with each stroke. He reaches for Saga's shoulders, pulling him up against his chest as he pounds into him, hips flexing, bucking up. He reaches down Saga's tense, sweat-slick stomach, fingers splaying on the taut skin of his lower belly, until they wrap around his erect cock, stroking him in time with his thrusts.
"Yes…yes fuck me…fuck me hard…Tora..." Saga begs, arching, craving for each hard thrust that makes their flesh meet wetly.
Pressure builds up and up, a tight coil, and then Saga is coming, hot and wet on his hand, spilling on the sheets with desperate cries of pleasure. His hands and knees give out as he trembles and collapses on the bed, slippery with their mingled sweat. He catches him across the waist one armed as he follows him down, fucking him into the mattress as he seeks his own release, hips bucking, a furious rhythm.
"Tora…oh To-ra…" Saga moans, breathlessly.
The way he moans, cries out that most intimate nickname triggers his orgasm, a steady pulse of pleasure uncoiling in his stomach as he spends himself, muffling his pleasured moans against the nape of Saga's neck. It races through him like a tide, before leaving him helpless and gasping with aftershock, plastered to Saga's back.
Sleep swallows him.
***
Saga is curled up on himself while he lays behind him, tracing the smooth lines of his tattoos with gentle, caressing strokes. Slowly, committing them to memory. He pauses when Saga gasps. A muted sob.
"Did I hurt you?"
Saga's voice is small and strained, so helpless.
"Not as much as you could. Not nearly enough." he whispers in response.
Later, he makes love to him. Slowly, with loving, arousing foreplay, a long build-up of pleasure.
"You don't have to do this…" he gasps, when Shinji buries his face in his soft lower-belly, kisses his way down the taut skin.
"I want to."
When he orgasms underneath him, legs wrapped tight around his waist, fingers entwined with his own above his halo of tawny hair, his eyes are glittering with tears. But his smile is almost strong enough to make him forget them.
Almost.
***
Morning comes.
Too soon. Far too soon.
"Stay." he murmurs against the nape of Saga's neck when he feels him stir in his arms.
"I can't."
"Please…"
Lust is like a quick-acting poison in his bloodstream, overwhelming.
"Please, I want you…"
He coaxes Saga to lay onto his back, slides his hips between his thighs, cock hard and ready, rubbing against that soft skin between his hipbones. Their kiss is hungry, full of desperate need as they paw and clutch at each other. The fear and the pain is back in Saga's eyes, and Shinji hates himself for not being able to chase it away.
"No. No stop."
He stops, getting off the slender body he's loved and worshipped all night. He wants to love him all day too. Saga sits up, turns his back to him as he guides his feet off the edge of the bed. Shinji sits up too, his hand sliding down Saga's spine, stopping on the snarling tiger.
"I'll cancel my meetings, stay."
"I have to go."
"I'll cancel my flight home then. Come back tonight. Come back tonight and let me love you tomorrow morning."
"I can't…"
His hand slides back up the too prominent spine.
"Is it because of these?" he gently traces the highest crest, at the very base of his nape, "Someone owns you already?"
Saga sighs, shoulders sagging with a mixture of despair and exhaustion.
"Its complicated. We said just for last night. Please, let me go…"
Shinji lays back against the pillows, defeated and angry, aching for him, body and soul.
"Okay."
Saga gets up, completely naked, finds his scattered clothing. He steps into his underwear and jeans first, and then the thin cardigan, far too large on his frail frame. Wild hair and smudged makeup, purple and red love-bites on his neck. Shinji sits on the edge of the bed, takes a deep breath.
"I could help, you know? I have money, power, connections."
Saga laughs, a desperate, choked sound. More sob than laugh. He comes closer, steps between Shinji's knees, buries his delicate hands in his silky black hair.
"Its too late…Its too late for me."
He presses his face against Saga's stomach, lifts the thin shirt to get to his skin. He still smells musky sweet, tastes of their mingled sweat, the salty bittersweetness of sex.
"God…I want you…" he whispers against that smooth skin, "I'd do anything for you."
Saga sighs, caresses his hair before pulling away.
"You really mean it, don't you? You don't know me…its a lot more complicated than what you might think."
He steps back another pace, and Shinji stands, heedless of his nakedness and the burning weight of his erect cock between his thighs.
"I have to go. Thank you. Thank you for last night." he murmurs, stepping close again, gently guiding Shinji's head down for a kiss.
The last one.
Its soft and bittersweet, full of longing. He closes his eyes, tastes him, knowing its the last goodbye. There's a fleeting caress across his brow, down his temple, cupping his jaw as they part. He wants to capture that hand, drag him back to bed, make love to him all day, all night, until that sadness disappears from his eyes. But he holds back, even when that hand slips away from his face, fleetingly.
"Thank you."
Less than a whisper.
"Any time."
His voice is choked and strained, and he forces himself to watch him go, stepping back a few paces, the lithe gait of a far too thin boy barely making any noise on the carpeted floor. A last wordless exchange, midnight eyes meeting hazel, the click of the door and then silence.
He showers, brushes his teeth, dresses. Mechanically, out of habit. He forces a smile when his assistant arrives at 9 o-clock sharp with a latte to go, half listens when she checks the daily schedule with him.
He goes through his day listlessly, sleeps fitfully on the flight back to London.
He's welcomed home by his proper, submissive fiancée. Natural good looks, Chanel suits and pearl earrings, the huge engagement ring he bought her last year to please his father shining like a beacon. He hates it. Both the gaudy jewelry and this fake, engineered life. This girl, this apartment he didn't choose.
He fucks her, roughly, leaving marks on her buffed skin, thinking of tawny hair, matte-gold skin and midnight eyes.
Of that yielding mouth, his reedy, boyish, desperate voice crying out his name.
Tora…oh yes, Tora…
He comes, mind filled with him.
He lays in the dark, sweat matted skin cooling while she sleeps next to him, wide awake and restless.
Heartbroken.
***
So, how was that? Angsty I know, I was in the mood. But I'm doing much better these days, thanks to everyone who lavished me with attention and kind words. I'm really thankful to all of you that took the time, I'm doing much better already. It should be back to regular programming this weekend with the next chapter of Shou-Chan in Wonderland coming up, this was just a little interlude of sorts. Thanks everyone, I mean it :) See you soon, love y'all xoxo