[Uraboku] Bruises and Bitemarks (1/?)
Title: Bruises and Bitemarks
Author: masanami
Character(s): Hotsuma/Shusei, mentions of Senshirou/Kuroto, Takashiro, Tachibana, and others
Word Count: 6,920
Rating: R
Warnings: Host AU. Suggestive material. Possibly NC-17.
Summary: Shusei's the perfect host and Hotsuma's the perfect person to ruin everything for him.
Author's Note: This is going to be roughly 3-4 chapters, maybe a few more depending on where I take the plot. Kinda interesting writing this, especially since I've never written an AU before, but I literally had to get this idea out after starting it^^ First chapter mostly from Hotsuma's POV, but the majority will be from Shusei's POV :) Title taken from the song Bruises & Bitemarks by Good with Grenades.
The room is stuffy and crowded.
There’s a certain charge in the air from all the whispered conversation, a din that echoes through the walls and sits just above the music murmuring in the background. In this small building there are people huddled together around tables, and there are drinks being passed around. Mirth mingles in with whispers when the shrill surprised scream of a woman soon gives away to laughter. The lights are dim, small candles casting a faint glow that warms the walls and gives little light to the surroundings.
But no one seems to notice because these sorts of places are meant for darkness.
The clink of glasses bashing against each other drifts across the room as a man and woman toast to themselves and down the fluid filled glasses. There is the underline stench of liquor that runs over the light flowery scents that waver from the budding flowers that decorate the spaces between tables, chairs, and crowding bodies.
In one of the dark corners of the bar, Shusei can just make out the features of the woman sitting beside him. Her face is buried in the darkness of the room but she’s sitting close enough for him to feel the warmth of her body and hear the way her bracelets rattle together whenever she moves. Adjusting the collar of his pin-stripe dress shirt, he leaned forward to whisper in her ear.
“You’re beautiful.”
He can see her better now, when he’s leaning close enough to smell the light scent of cigarettes on her clothes. Her hair is long and straight, her legs lean and toned, skin clear, eyes full of life. She’s rubbing his arm, curling her fingers through his knuckles, smiling with white teeth shining. She would make anyone happy. She smiles so easily, with just a few careful words-a simple compliment that she looks nice in that color or that she looks beautiful tonight-or even just a smile can make her heart flutter.
Sometimes Shusei wonders if it’s wrong that she does nothing for him, as if he should feel something for a woman who is falling in love with him.
“Usui-san, you always say the sweetest things.” She leaned next to him, brushing their shoulders together.
“Call me Shusei.”
She is perfect and she bends to his words, falls to the grace of his movements-and though he whispers secret promises into her ears-talks of dates and outings that will never happen-he feels nothing when she graces him with a smile that’s meant for someone loved. She stirs nothing in him, propels him to do nothing except count the number of drinks she’s taken and how many more before her wallet runs dry. When she’s done and had her fill, he will walk her to the door and kiss her cheek-she’ll smile again, maybe a little more bravely from all the liquor that reddens her cheeks-and sometimes there will be a brief press of lips in a kiss to seal the night-but that will be it. She’ll leave, and Shusei will return inside without this night or this girl changing a single thing in his life. He will just sit down at another table next to a different perfect girl who won’t stir anything in him.
He does this every night when the sunsets on Kabuchiko and all the pretty things come out to play. The women fill the bar, they take up all the seats and throw themselves into the compliments that he and the other men give. It isn’t hard once they’re in the door because it means their searching-wanting the companionship that they offer for the cost of a drink.
It’s a low price to pay for compliments and companionship-to feel loved and needed in a city that can sometimes be so cruel and lonely.
“Shusei.” He looked up at the call of his name and the fingers beckoning him with a curled wrist. He murmurs a quick apology to the girl at his side and stands. He walks by the man that called him without a word-because they both know the dance they are playing, when a call of his name is just a reminder that it’s time to move onto the next person-and steps to another table, sliding down onto the plush leather seat to the next girl that turns her focus to him.
He does this every night, balancing his time between the highest bidders. The more drinks they buy, the more attention they get-but there will always be another girl-that’s one thing that their credit cards and cash cannot replace.
“Sorry to keep you waiting.” He takes her hand and kisses the knuckles. Her hand finds his knee and she smiles, and all the while Shusei just looks pass her as he compliments her choice of drink for the night. He doesn’t smile-not really-just moves his mouth so that there’s a slight upward curl to the corner of his lips to tell her he’s content enough sitting next to her for the time being. He doesn’t have to try hard, they like a man that’s hard to get-one that won’t bend over backwards with obvious flirtations, but gives her just enough to lead her on and keep the fantasy going. A small kiss on the hand, maybe the cheek, a compliment here and there-simple observations and a slightly more meaningful greeting-and that’s really all it takes. He doesn’t whisper promises of love and family, just a simple you look nice is enough to please her.
Then she’ll buy herself a drink, one for him too, and a long night begins.
+ + + +
Hotsuma felt it swelling in his chest.
It was a tightness, a clenching and sinking feeling deep within the pit of his stomach. Every step he took seemed to make the knot grow tighter, more firm, and tangible from it’s place lodged deep in his stomach. Each clomping step of his boots felt heavier, slower while his heartbeat only increased in pace.
Hotsuma's seen the picture a million times-it shouldn’t keep having this affect on him.
He walked by that place on so many occasions he could hardly count the number of times he’s encountered the building’s walls that are plastered in spreadsheets of advertisements. It’s a thing he’s noticed but never really thought about until the exact day that he saw it. The it that he saw happened to be a brand-new full spread advertisement, at least 14 x 48 ft in size, that filled up nearly the entire side of one building. It was a hard thing to miss by shear size alone but it wasn’t the size that caught his notice-it was the person in the advertisement that spurred his undivided attention. After that moment, after he had taken that one glance upon seeing something catch his glimmer of interest in the corner of his eye, after that single second it was impossible not to notice that sign.
That was when the knot had begun to develop-when the feeling of unease swept through him. It was on that night that the dreams started; when the fantasy of flesh had begun to plague the furthest corners of his mind in his most vulnerable of moments. It was all because of that damn ad and the person in it. It was the wispy bangs resting against smooth and clear ivory skin, narrowed brown eyes with long and thick dark lashes, lips slightly parted, glossed and moist like they’ve just been licked. Broad shoulders, slender hips, impeccably dressed.
Hotsuma had never seen anyone more beautiful in his life-had never seen a man more beautiful in his life.
It wasn’t the same as the multitude of other advertisements on the streets of Tokyo-it was never strange to see women’s smiling faces lining the sides of buses and buildings, flyers being handed out on the streets with alluring poses and pouty lips-but this was different.
Those advertisements didn’t rob him of sleep, destroying his dreams with thoughts of moistened lips kissing his skin. Whenever he closed his eyes he could see those shimmering brown orbs looking up at him through a veil of brown hair, almost feel the weight of that slender body pressed against his own…
Damnit, this had to stop. Fantasizing over some photoshopped prince on a billboard poster was bad enough, but to make matters worse it wasn’t just any celebrity or equally unattainable person-it was someone perfectly within reach.
After all, Kabuchiko, the red light district of Tokyo, was known for housing beautiful men and gorgeous women.
He passed by the red light district almost everyday without notice until he had seen the advertisement for the host bar, newly printed and posted just outside the infamous district, and he couldn’t help but notice it. He’d always been the type to prefer arcades or sports when it came to entertainment, so even though he was always near that constant reminder that sex could be for sale at the price of a cold drink, it never actually entered his mind to do it. He was a man, he had needs like everyone else, but those needs had never been enough to actually go inside one of those clubs or bars regardless of how many times he passed by the area on his way home from work. They never really interested him for the simple reason that it seemed like hosts or hostesses just wanted to prey on the insecurities and desires of others for their own benefit. They made money for telling people what they wanted to hear and-in some places-probably for doing much more than that. It may have been arrogant but Hotsuma always thought he was better than that.
But then came that damn sign. It was making him choke on his own words.
A billboard advertising the sale, though indirectly, maybe just the company, of a man that had caught Hotsuma's attention. At first it had been easy to ignore after that initial awed reaction of seeing those eyes staring at him from the pinned up sheet-but then it became harder. Every day he passed by that sign he found himself anticipating when he'd round the corner near Shinjuku Station, right before the overpass, and right near the entranceway of Kabuchiko and it's neon flashing lights that signaled the entrance to the red light district. He'd anticipate it, swear he wouldn't look, but then he always did. He was drawn toward it like a moth toward a flame and he couldn't count the number of curses he'd mumbled underneath his breath every time he disappointed himself and his own vow not to look again.
It made him feel like he was going insane.
"Probably doesn't even look like that anyway." Just some fancy photography work and photoshop turning an average person into something far more spectacular than what he really was.
But even though he said those words to himself over and over again he couldn’t help himself from stopping and staring up at the advertisement on this night just like all the others. He had his hands jammed into the pockets of his pants, fingers fumbling uselessly with nothing as he gritted his teeth in annoyance. Those eyes were staring down at him, teasing him, making him feel like they were looking only at him even if they were gazing out into all the crowds of people that flooded the streets of Tokyo.
This insanely possessive feeling that rushed over him, that crashed through his emotions in a tangled mixture of lust and want, was distributing. He had to do something-anything-to get this person out of his system.
Then it hit him like a ton of bricks, the exact way that he could break this habit, this almost addiction, once and for all.
He knew it was completely impulsive, maybe even just an excuse, but if he saw that person and realized the false fantasy behind the advertisement then maybe this would all end. He could meet someone else in a normal way, in a not selling yourself and time for drinks sorta way if he just got this damned person out of his head. Reality was never as good as the fantasy-certainly that would do the trick. It had to do the trick.
Hotsuma knew he couldn’t continue like this. He couldn’t continue to toss and turn in his sheets at night, trying to ignore the burning hot flush he felt coursing through his body-the dirtiness that consumed his imagination.
He checked his watch and it was nearly eleven o'clock at night when he stopped in front of that damn sign again-just the right hour for those that made a living with nighttime activities. The streets were thick, but less dense than rush hour by this time and as he stood in front of the ad and watched the neon lights that flashed around it-far too bright and illuminating-he read the name of the bar that was sprawled across the billboard in fancy cursive writing. New World. Pfft.
Digging the heels of his boot into the sidewalk, Hotsuma thought about it for another second, gritted his teeth, and then walked right toward the heart of Kabuchiko.
Stepping into Kabuchiko wasn’t like stepping into a new world. It was…remarkably similar to the rest of the busy streets in Tokyo. There were bright neon lights everywhere; some flashing with large lettering garnered to catch one’s attention, others more subtle in their advertisement to basement joints with more illicit offerings. At the corners of the sidewalks men stood with packets of small cards in their hands, holding them out to the men and women that walked by in droves-offering discounts and sales on drinks or the occasional love hotel suite. From the corner of his eyes Hotsuma could see men and women stumbling from one club or bar to another, sometimes men dressed in well-tailored suits sneaking into underground clubs with their suitcases tucked against their side and their face hidden underneath a hat.
Hotsuma’s eyes darted across the buildings in search of the specific bar he had seen in the advertisement. Occasionally his eyes would settle on one of the plaques outside a club or bar-usually of a group of scantly dressed women huddled together with smiles plastered on thickly painted lips. Their smiles seemed fake to him and he was sure they were-how could anyone be happy or okay with selling themselves? He snorted and walked on, avoiding the contact with blank faces who tried to meet his along the sidewalks.
Despite everything that it was known for, Kabuchiko was just as tame as any area of Tokyo. The police still prowled the streets and while the neon lights and signs were more tacky than other places-it wasn’t that much different from the other entertainment districts.
But that didn’t take away from the fact that this place was different.
Eventually Hotsuma found the place he was looking for. New World was on the first floor of a tall building, sequestered between another host and hostess bar. Despite the flashing lights that adorned the buildings surrounding it, there was only a simple and small sign acknowledging the existence of the club. The entrance way to the bar was so faintly lit that Hotsuma would have passed by it if he hadn’t noticed the group of men standing outside.
There were about three of them standing in front of the entrance to the bar. They were all well-dressed and in manicured perfection-hair just perfectly in place, rings and watches shined clean, designer label belts in view. Hotsuma knew these were the hosts that were supposed to round up the girls to bring into the club and that’s why they had grabbed his attention. That was just the way these sorts of places functioned-preying on those that walked by, luring them inside where they would talk them out of their money with sweet words and gentle caresses.
Hotsuma felt sick to his stomach. He wanted to turn back, to leave this district and this ridiculous place because certainly he was better than this. He could live with-
His golden eyes narrowed when a familiar visage came into focus. It was him. Well, not really him-just a picture-but there was no mistake it was the person he had seen on the advertisement. Near the sign leading to the entranceway was plaque with a picture of all the hosts that worked in the bar and he was there-he was right there. He was probably right inside the damn building at this moment.
This picture was different from the one that Hotsuma had seen before-the host was standing with his back toward the photographer, a long coat jacket slung over one shoulder as he tilted sideways, eyes just glancing back. He looked no less beautiful, no less captivating, no less tantalizing to Hotsuma’s eyes. Hotsuma took a tentative step closer and read the name on the plaque. Usui Shusei. So now he had a name to go with the face.
"Tch."
It annoyed him, how he was so easily swept away.
“Hey you-you can’t come in here.”
Hotsuma blinked knowing he wasn’t standing in the entranceway even if he had come closer to get a better look at the picture. He turned toward the sound of the voice and found himself standing in front of a man with long raven hair that just barely covered a pair of golden eyes-one of the men he had seen rounding up the girls that walked by. His lips were firmly pressed into a straight lip, eyes narrowed in a formidable glare.
"You can't come in here." The shorter man repeated, arms folding across his chest as he stood in Hotsuma’s way.
"Why not?"
"This is a host bar. The hostess bar is on the right." The black-hair guy sure had an attitude for someone that was supposed to seduce women out of their money. No wonder he was kept outside.
"I'm not interested in that place." The thought of pushing his way pass the shorter guy flickered across Hotsuma’s mind-after all he didn’t have all night to stand here and argue-but then another man came out from inside the bar. This person was dressed like someone he would expect to see in a district adorned in flashing neon lights and outrageous tackiness. He was dressed in a long full length coat, reddish in color with golden embellishments on the lining and buttons, and a matching oversized hat that covered strawberry blonde hair. He was smiling and there was a playfulness in his eyes as he put two hands on the young host's shoulders and noticeably tried to subdue what was quickly seemed to become a flaring bad temper from the black-haired man.
"Now, now Kuroto-kun. We don't turn away customers." The man said in a sing-song voice, giving the other man a pat on the shoulder. He was still smiling, glancing at Hotsuma out of the corner of his eye as he put water on the fire that was boiling behind Kuroto’s eyes.
"But Tachibana he just-" Kuroto was silenced when Tachibana pressed a finger against his lips. Beneath that golden glare Hotsuma saw a swirling tempest appear-one that Tachibana must have seen as well because he quickly moved his finger away. Kuroto seemed to calm-though he looked no less irritated-even when Tachibana turned his focus on Hotsuma.
"Are you looking for a job?" He was eyeing Hotsuma up and down, making Hotsuma shift uncomfortably from foot to foot at the sudden attention. This idea was quickly become a disaster but he was already here and there was no way in hell he was turning around now. He'd just look like a fool after making such a big fuss. "We aren't necessarily hiring but I may be able to make a special request to the boss."
"I'm not interested in a job." Hotsuma huffed, arms crossing over his chest. "I just want to see one of your hosts."
"As in…request the service of…?"
"Well what in the hell else do you do in these sort of places?" Hotsuma stomped his foot on the ground and squared his shoulders. "I've got money, isn't that all it takes? Just a drink and I'm out of here."
"I assume you have someone in mind then…?"
Hotsuma jerked a thumb over his shoulder, pointing in the direction of the sign and the host that had been his entire reason for coming here-Shusei just smiled at them over his shoulder in the picture.
Tachibana’s eyes lit up in understanding. "Ah, Shu-kun is our most sought after host. But I'm afraid he doesn't take new clients at random." Tachibana rubbed his chin in thought. “But maybe I could…”
Hotsuma was just getting annoyed. "If my money isn't good here-"
"Now, now, no need to get hasty." Tachibana slung an arm around his shoulder and began to lead him into the bar. "I'll have to talk to Shu-kun, of course, but I'm sure he can be persuaded with the purchase of our most sought after champagne. He’s a rather big fan of it and I’m sure he wouldn’t turn away anyone that wanted to share a drink of it with him." Hotsuma knew everything came with a price. "I can even get you a private room in the back so that you can have time alone without the fuss or interruption of others."
Almost effortlessly, Hotsuma let Tachibana steer him into the bar.
He couldn’t see much inside-the place was so dimly lit that he had to blink his eyes just to adjust from the illumination of neon lights to the faint flicking candles that shone inside. The walls were dark, maybe covered in some type of mahogany wood, with tables and couches pushed up against the walls in small corners divided by large bamboo trunks or the occasional curtain. In these small sequestered spots sat the women. The small tables were laden with drinks and the clink-clink-clink of their glasses and ice sloshing inside them was almost as loud as the murmur of sound that filled the place when voices mingled together. At most of the tables, some occupied by just one woman or several, was a host. They were easy to pick out, even for Hotsuma, simply for the fact that all attention seemed to focus on them. The women would watch him as he poured them a drink, follow his movements when he reached out to brush hair off her shoulder, blush when he leaned closer to whisper in her ear…
Hotsuma looked away.
The place where Tachibana eventually stopped was toward the back of the bar-where the tables were spaced out more and curtains could be drawn for more intimate privacy. Hotsuma gulped when Tachibana motioned for Hotsuma to have a seat in one of these areas, just a small loveseat and a table surrounded by a curtain, and then left.
Once Hotsuma was seated, the curtain was drawn closed-maybe by Tachibana or maybe by someone else-Hotsuma couldn’t tell through the pounding anxiety that blared through his head as he sat down. When the curtain closed the noise from the other half of the bar ebbed down to a demure rumble in the background, leaving Hotsuma in relative silence that only twisted the knot of unease even tighter. He nearly jumped out of his seat a few minutes later when a waiter brought in a bottle of champagne, two glass flutes, and then left.
Hotsuma’s palms felt sweaty. He looked down at his clothes-the faded t-shirt, the old jacket, and boots. He’s probably not dressed right for a place like this but it wasn’t as if he had expected to be here in the first place. In fact, right now he had planned on sitting in front of the television and playing video games until the early morning hours instead of paying a ridiculously large amount of money to have a drink with a man he didn’t even know.
Just how did he let himself get into this mess?
Behind the thick curtain he could hear the clinking of glasses and muttered conversation just barely permeating through his isolated surroundings. It’s dark inside the building and only a faint incandescent shine ushered in any light into his small space. He leaned back against the cushions of the loveseat, feeling the plush leather give into the weight of his body. Somewhere in the background he could’ve sworn he heard the slight sound of a stream babbling or some sort of fountain, but he didn’t remember seeing one when he came in. There’s only that faint noise, the soft sounds of low-playing music, and mumbled conversation surrounding him.
He felt that knot in his stomach again, squirming it’s way upward and tossing his stomach from side to side.
He must be an idiot for coming here. This had to be the worse idea he’s ever had, for thinking that following a billboard sign into a bar in search of a man meant for women was somehow going to rid him of these impulses and fantasies that had been plaguing his thoughts. But somehow, just somehow, this had to get that picture and that person out of his system. He couldn’t let this continue any longer-letting some person he had never met preoccupy his thoughts, his dreams, his every waking moment.
Maybe if he was being honest with himself he’d realize that there was something wrong about this entire situation. People don’t just turn into obsessive maniacs over advertisements when there are plenty of normal people around them everyday-but Hotsuma didn’t know how to explain it. There was some underline attraction, whether it was an animalistic emotion invoked by some hella persuasive photography work or something completely different was beyond Hotsuma’s train of thoughts-he just knew he needed to do something to fix this.
“As soon as I see this bastard I’m out of here.” He said it to himself, his own private declaration to be rid of this fascination once and for all tonight. This was a host bar, a place for women to gather and spend money on men who wooed and cooed them throughout the night. This wasn’t a place he belonged.
“Guy’s probably some conceited jerk anyway.” It wasn’t as if any regular person would be okay with selling their time and company.
Hotsuma glanced over at the bottle of champagne and watched the sweat trickling down the clean curves of the dark bottle. He probably didn’t even have enough money in his bank account to afford however much that bottle of champagne was going to cost him. He swore he was about to have a panic attack about the stupid bottle of champagne and this ridiculous idea when a soft voice permeated through the dim lights and muffled conversation beyond the curtains.
“Sorry to keep you waiting.”
Hotsuma looked up and the world suddenly stopped spinning.
Shusei Usui stood at the entrance of the small room, curtain brushed aside with one hand as he slipped into the room and let the curtain fall behind him. He was more masculine than Hotsuma had imagined-tall, lean, but beneath the well-cut suit Hotsuma could just make out the slight muscles in his shoulders and thighs as he moved. He wore a dark suit with a vest, a silver belt buckle catching flickers of light as he moved across the room to stand beside the place where Hotsuma sat.
Hotsuma forgot how to breath.
His hair was darker than the ad portrayed, a tad longer with fringed edges of his bangs hugging the sides of his face and drifting in front of a set of intense golden eyes. His lips weren’t as full as the billboard had shown-more firm and slender-just a little pink in them that framed the straight-lipped expression that he wore. He wasn’t smiling but there was a slight warmth in his eyes, not exactly welcoming but at the same time not harsh. He was the picture of placidity.
The little noises that had drifted in earlier were gone and now there was just this man and Hotsuma in this tiny space. Slowly, Hotsuma remembered to take a breath.
“It’s unusual for men to come to this place.” Shusei looked relaxed and at ease as he sat down next to him on the loveseat. Hotsuma could feel the warm brush of their thighs caressing each other. “Not that it’s unheard of.”
Hotsuma wasn’t sure if he could speak yet-if his voice could form actual sounds that resembled words. He didn’t trust his voice right now.
Shusei seemed unbothered by his lack of words. Instead he used Hotsuma’s silence as an opportunity to reach out and pour two glasses of champagne. The suds bubbled inside the flutes until they almost overfilled, stopping just at the right moment when Shusei drew back.
Finally, Hotsuma felt his voice returning to him. “I-it’s Usui-san, right?”
"Call me Shusei." A slender wrist peeked through the cuffed sleeve of his jacket as Shusei held out one of the flutes of champagne for him. When he did so he leaned closer and Hotsuma could do nothing but take the glass into his hand when Shusei brushed their hands against each other. His skin was soft but cool-not the warmth he had expected but still something that seemed to suit the distance he kept between them and their words despite the proximity of their bodies. He took the glass, wrapping his fingers around it’s round base and when Shusei pulled his fingers away-he could have sworn they lingered over the tips of his fingers-he immediately wanted to feel the sensation of that cool skin again. "Have some."
Hotsuma had to look away, flushed embarrassment reddening his cheeks. He dug the heels of his boot into the carpeted ground and just held the glass in his hand. “I’m not really thirsty.”
At this Shusei frowned. His lips, so straight and unreadable in those first few moments, curved ever so slightly downward. It was such a slight movement that at first Hotsuma almost thought he had imagined it. But there was a curiosity in his eyes, a telling question lurking within their depths, that gave away the slip of emotion. "You bought it...wouldn't it be a shame not to drink it?"
"I only bought it so I could meet you…" He murmured under his breath.
"Ah, I see." Shusei still hadn’t touched the other glass of champagne, instead choosing to cross his legs at the knee and rest his elbow forward on his thigh as he scrutinized Hotsuma with slightly narrowed eyes. Those same eyes had stared down at him from the billboard, tempting and alluring, and so much more vivid in person. But there was something different about the gaze that he saw locked within the depths of Shusei’s eyes, something harkening more to earnest curiosity rather than seductive prowess. "I've been wondering about that…you know there are places that carter to those interested in other men…that isn’t exactly our specialty here…"
A hot searing warmth crept up through Hotsuma's cheeks until his temples nearly felt on flames. "T-that's not why I came here! Who ever said I was interested in men?" He crossed his arms over his chest, nearly knocking over the champagne in the process. He realized the utter stupidity of his words and his contradictory actions at the same moment he noticed the smirk that had settled on the corners of Shusei’s lips. There was a playfulness to his expression-the way his eyes lit up a little, swirling with a playful mirth.
It…was an expression that looked so much more beautiful on him than all the seductive glances he had seen.
But that didn’t stop the flush of embarrassment that swept through him, reddening his entire face until he could feel the warmth traveling down his neck. "What's so funny bastard? You made me feel like an idiot."
The mirth that had been in Shusei’s eyes moments ago dissipated as quickly as it came. The other man leaned back against the plush cushions, resting an arm along the back of the couch’s spine, close enough that Hotsuma could feel the brush of his forearm against his neck.
"Nothing at all."
"You're lying."
"It's just not everyday that someone comes here under these circumstances and says the things you have to say." A small chuckle. "I'm intrigued."
Intrigued…Hotsuma liked that word.
"What's your name?"
"Renjou….but call me Hotsuma."
"Hn." Shusei leaned forward again, this time reaching out a hand to clasp his own. He took his fingers, bringing them to his lips and delicately placing a kiss on each knuckle. His kisses left burn marks on Hotsuma's hand, so aware was he of the touch of soft porcelain skin against his own rough and callused exterior. Shusei’s lips seemed deceptively soft. "Allow me to serve you a drink then, Hotsuma."
Hotsuma wasn't sure whether or not he nodded but before he knew it Shusei picked up the other flute of champagne and clanked their glasses together in a toast. "To being intrigued." Shusei sipped from the still bubbling drink, brown eyes watching him over the brim. "Drink up, Hotsuma."
And now he did drink.
The champagne was good. It was very good. It was cool as it slid down the back of his throat, slightly bitter with an almost wheat-like after taste, but pleasing all the same. When the glass was emptied he looked at Shusei and saw the other man was leaning back against the cushioned seat and watching him. He still had his legs crossed so that his foot bobbed with his movements-sometimes brushing against Hotsuma's leg.
"Is something wrong?" Shusei asked, a slight tilt coming to his head. His hair brushed against the side of his face with the action, wisps of brown hair brushing in front of his eyes until he reached up a hand and neatly tucked a few stray pieces behind his ear.
"You're just…you're different than I imagined."
"Is that so?" A sigh fell between those parted lips and Hotsuma watched them, fixated by this man's every movement. Shusei didn’t say anything else, just straightened his lips into a firm line and waited.
Hotsuma just watched him. He watched the way his hair fell around his face, perfectly framing the intensity of his golden eyes-the way his clothing shifted when he moved, when his chest rose and fell in the steady rhythm of breathing. He was different than Hotsuma had expected. Even the glorified service of a billboard did not justify the beauty he saw before his eyes-the way every move he made-from brushing hair away from his face to reaching for another glass of champagne-was done with such delicate precision.
But there was a distance about him as well. Hotsuma wondered if it was intentional or not-but the way Shusei spoke betrayed the way that his body moved. Though they sat so close together, so intimately within each other’s space despite having just met, there was a barrier around Shusei that he could clearly see. There was a distance, a cloudiness in the depths of his eyes that Hotsuma could not quite place with words but felt in the soft sighs and curled lips of Shusei’s gentle smile.
Thoughts drifting away, Hotsuma glanced toward Shusei and realized the other man was leaning toward him. He could smell a hint of lavender on freshly cleaned skin, feel the warmth of his breath against his neck. “W-what are you doing?”
“Nothing.” Shusei’s eyelashes looked thicker this close, so thick in fact that Hotsuma almost couldn’t see the hint of golden brown when Shusei’s eyes began to flutter close. “You shouldn’t think so hard about me, you might burst a vessel in that pretty head of yours.”
Hotsuma felt like Shusei was seeing right through him, wanted to feel angry even about his comment, but couldn’t-not when he could feel the weight of Shusei’s body leaning over him, the way his body had shifted so that they were almost in front of one another instead of side by side. One of Shusei’s legs was practically laying across his thigh, right next to Hotsuma’s hand, and Hotsuma’s fingertips twitched with the need to rest on that thigh and that hip-just grab something, anything, to steady his equilibrium.
But he didn’t move because he couldn’t. He gulped, feeling a knot in the back of his throat as his mind raced over the possibilities of what could possibly happen and whether or not that was something he wanted in the first place. Here was this gorgeous man before him, someone that within only a few moments had completely enthralled him with his presence-and he felt foolish for being here in the first place but there’s also this other part of him-a part that watches as Shusei slides up beside him and places a hand on his shoulder-beckons him to hold still. Shusei’s hand feels soft as it glides up along the side of his face, a slight chill that warms under the flush of Hotsuma’s cheeks. Those long and soft fingers nudge Hotsuma’s head toward him, just under the chin, making Hotsuma’s lips part as moistened hot air catches in his chest and Shusei’s lips touch his own.
Shusei’s lips are soft but firm as they press against his lips. He’s delicate as his fingers slide through Hotsuma’s hair and guide his head into their deepening kiss-not just a soft push of lip against lip that lasts but a second-but something deeper, more pressing and tangible, more blood-boiling. Hotsuma felt it all the way in his toes, this need for Shusei’s soft and moist lips, for the way Shusei’s tongue glistened across the entrance of his mouth and teeth nip at his lower lip. The swelling need is only amplified when Shusei opens his mouth in invitation, a warmth cavern made for Hotsuma’s tongue to explore.
Hotsuma can remember the nights he’s laid in bed-wanting to feel this warmth, this skin upon his body. There is a tingling sensation shuddering slowly-excruciatingly slow down his spine and making him so aware of everything. He’s aware of the slight hitch in Shusei’s breath, in the clink of his cuffs rubbing against Hotsuma’s watch, in the rustle of clothing that’s being moved from their rapid motions.
It blurs together so quickly, so swiftly that Hotsuma feels lost in his lust.
Hotsuma’s fingers are now the ones tangling through Shusei’s hair. He pushes Shusei’s head closer to him, mashing their lips together, ruining the delicateness that Shusei has created and replacing it with something more about need and want and desire. Hotsuma has to wonder if Shusei has kissed other men before. He seems a little startled by Hotsuma's forcefulness and he could of sworn Shusei's eyes had snapped open for the briefest moment before he settled into the rhythm of Hotsuma's kiss.
But he couldn’t stop-how could he possibly ever stop? Not when the coolness of Shusei’s skin seems to warm under his touch, when the taste of Shusei’s mouth is sweet on his lips, when the panting breath that mingles with his own lets him know he’s not the only one feeling the burning flush of desire. His hand finds Shusei’s back and pushes him against his chest-nearly knocking their lips apart when Shusei’s forced to straddle his lap for support.
And then Hotsuma heard Shusei moan into his mouth.
He felt a shiver racing along his spine, sparks coursing through the synapses of his brain’s impulses with each shuddering breath. Like a sudden silence that fills the room, Hotsuma wanted more noise. He wanted to hear the moans, see the fluttering of eyelashes, the forceful movements of desire and lust. He wanted all over this man, to claim him, to devour him whole.
Shusei gave into him, opened his mouth in invitation and pressed his hands on Hotsuma’s shoulders. But he only allowed it for a moment-this single second of reckless abandonment before he used those same hands on his shoulders to push away.
When their kiss finally broke Hotsuma could feel the cold rush of the outside air between them on his moistened lips. He looked at Shusei, at his bruised lips, ruby red from their kiss and the slight pant in the other man’s breath.
Hotsuma couldn’t believe he had just done that. He had never reacted like that to someone before.
“Shusei.”
The brown-haired man looked up at him, a bit dazed-maybe a bit disoriented-but meeting his gaze. “Hm?”
“I like the sound of your name on my lips.” He liked the taste of him in his mouth, the sound of his panting breaths in his ears, the heat of his body pressed against his own. “Can I see you again?” Hotsuma asked suddenly. He couldn’t stop now, not after he had gotten a taste of perfection sitting just next to him.
Shusei expression gave away nothing, but Hotsuma could of sworn he saw the slightest hint of a smile on his lips. "Of course, you've chosen me. From now on I will always be your one and only host. No matter what-I'll always be yours."
Those words made Hotsuma's heart pound against his chest.
It made his heart beat so hard that he was sure the ache he felt from the pit of his soul was from it.
----
A little background information for those not familiar with host bars/clubs. Some relevance to upcoming situations in the plot.
- Generally located in red light districts, in this case, Kabuchiko, which is the largest red light district in Tokyo.
- Host bars carter to women and hostess bars carter to men
- When you first enter a host bar you're given a book with pictures of the various hosts, from the book you select "your" host who will always be "your" host for as long as you come to the host bar. Other hosts are allowed to come talk to you and hang out with you, but only one host gets commissions from your purchases and is your main host, etc.
- For the most part, host and hostess bars are about company and drinking/talking, not really about sex (unlike some places in red light districts), though they often get mingled together and it's not uncommon for dating to sometimes occur.
- Hosts often hang out in front of bars to "catch" girls and get them to come into the club
- Hosts/hostess will sometimes go on dates outside of the bar, usually this is just to keep their clients "on the line" so to speak
- Host/hostesses are usually advertised with big posters and banners outside their clubs/bars
Author: masanami
Character(s): Hotsuma/Shusei, mentions of Senshirou/Kuroto, Takashiro, Tachibana, and others
Word Count: 6,920
Rating: R
Warnings: Host AU. Suggestive material. Possibly NC-17.
Summary: Shusei's the perfect host and Hotsuma's the perfect person to ruin everything for him.
Author's Note: This is going to be roughly 3-4 chapters, maybe a few more depending on where I take the plot. Kinda interesting writing this, especially since I've never written an AU before, but I literally had to get this idea out after starting it^^ First chapter mostly from Hotsuma's POV, but the majority will be from Shusei's POV :) Title taken from the song Bruises & Bitemarks by Good with Grenades.
The room is stuffy and crowded.
There’s a certain charge in the air from all the whispered conversation, a din that echoes through the walls and sits just above the music murmuring in the background. In this small building there are people huddled together around tables, and there are drinks being passed around. Mirth mingles in with whispers when the shrill surprised scream of a woman soon gives away to laughter. The lights are dim, small candles casting a faint glow that warms the walls and gives little light to the surroundings.
But no one seems to notice because these sorts of places are meant for darkness.
The clink of glasses bashing against each other drifts across the room as a man and woman toast to themselves and down the fluid filled glasses. There is the underline stench of liquor that runs over the light flowery scents that waver from the budding flowers that decorate the spaces between tables, chairs, and crowding bodies.
In one of the dark corners of the bar, Shusei can just make out the features of the woman sitting beside him. Her face is buried in the darkness of the room but she’s sitting close enough for him to feel the warmth of her body and hear the way her bracelets rattle together whenever she moves. Adjusting the collar of his pin-stripe dress shirt, he leaned forward to whisper in her ear.
“You’re beautiful.”
He can see her better now, when he’s leaning close enough to smell the light scent of cigarettes on her clothes. Her hair is long and straight, her legs lean and toned, skin clear, eyes full of life. She’s rubbing his arm, curling her fingers through his knuckles, smiling with white teeth shining. She would make anyone happy. She smiles so easily, with just a few careful words-a simple compliment that she looks nice in that color or that she looks beautiful tonight-or even just a smile can make her heart flutter.
Sometimes Shusei wonders if it’s wrong that she does nothing for him, as if he should feel something for a woman who is falling in love with him.
“Usui-san, you always say the sweetest things.” She leaned next to him, brushing their shoulders together.
“Call me Shusei.”
She is perfect and she bends to his words, falls to the grace of his movements-and though he whispers secret promises into her ears-talks of dates and outings that will never happen-he feels nothing when she graces him with a smile that’s meant for someone loved. She stirs nothing in him, propels him to do nothing except count the number of drinks she’s taken and how many more before her wallet runs dry. When she’s done and had her fill, he will walk her to the door and kiss her cheek-she’ll smile again, maybe a little more bravely from all the liquor that reddens her cheeks-and sometimes there will be a brief press of lips in a kiss to seal the night-but that will be it. She’ll leave, and Shusei will return inside without this night or this girl changing a single thing in his life. He will just sit down at another table next to a different perfect girl who won’t stir anything in him.
He does this every night when the sunsets on Kabuchiko and all the pretty things come out to play. The women fill the bar, they take up all the seats and throw themselves into the compliments that he and the other men give. It isn’t hard once they’re in the door because it means their searching-wanting the companionship that they offer for the cost of a drink.
It’s a low price to pay for compliments and companionship-to feel loved and needed in a city that can sometimes be so cruel and lonely.
“Shusei.” He looked up at the call of his name and the fingers beckoning him with a curled wrist. He murmurs a quick apology to the girl at his side and stands. He walks by the man that called him without a word-because they both know the dance they are playing, when a call of his name is just a reminder that it’s time to move onto the next person-and steps to another table, sliding down onto the plush leather seat to the next girl that turns her focus to him.
He does this every night, balancing his time between the highest bidders. The more drinks they buy, the more attention they get-but there will always be another girl-that’s one thing that their credit cards and cash cannot replace.
“Sorry to keep you waiting.” He takes her hand and kisses the knuckles. Her hand finds his knee and she smiles, and all the while Shusei just looks pass her as he compliments her choice of drink for the night. He doesn’t smile-not really-just moves his mouth so that there’s a slight upward curl to the corner of his lips to tell her he’s content enough sitting next to her for the time being. He doesn’t have to try hard, they like a man that’s hard to get-one that won’t bend over backwards with obvious flirtations, but gives her just enough to lead her on and keep the fantasy going. A small kiss on the hand, maybe the cheek, a compliment here and there-simple observations and a slightly more meaningful greeting-and that’s really all it takes. He doesn’t whisper promises of love and family, just a simple you look nice is enough to please her.
Then she’ll buy herself a drink, one for him too, and a long night begins.
+ + + +
Hotsuma felt it swelling in his chest.
It was a tightness, a clenching and sinking feeling deep within the pit of his stomach. Every step he took seemed to make the knot grow tighter, more firm, and tangible from it’s place lodged deep in his stomach. Each clomping step of his boots felt heavier, slower while his heartbeat only increased in pace.
Hotsuma's seen the picture a million times-it shouldn’t keep having this affect on him.
He walked by that place on so many occasions he could hardly count the number of times he’s encountered the building’s walls that are plastered in spreadsheets of advertisements. It’s a thing he’s noticed but never really thought about until the exact day that he saw it. The it that he saw happened to be a brand-new full spread advertisement, at least 14 x 48 ft in size, that filled up nearly the entire side of one building. It was a hard thing to miss by shear size alone but it wasn’t the size that caught his notice-it was the person in the advertisement that spurred his undivided attention. After that moment, after he had taken that one glance upon seeing something catch his glimmer of interest in the corner of his eye, after that single second it was impossible not to notice that sign.
That was when the knot had begun to develop-when the feeling of unease swept through him. It was on that night that the dreams started; when the fantasy of flesh had begun to plague the furthest corners of his mind in his most vulnerable of moments. It was all because of that damn ad and the person in it. It was the wispy bangs resting against smooth and clear ivory skin, narrowed brown eyes with long and thick dark lashes, lips slightly parted, glossed and moist like they’ve just been licked. Broad shoulders, slender hips, impeccably dressed.
Hotsuma had never seen anyone more beautiful in his life-had never seen a man more beautiful in his life.
It wasn’t the same as the multitude of other advertisements on the streets of Tokyo-it was never strange to see women’s smiling faces lining the sides of buses and buildings, flyers being handed out on the streets with alluring poses and pouty lips-but this was different.
Those advertisements didn’t rob him of sleep, destroying his dreams with thoughts of moistened lips kissing his skin. Whenever he closed his eyes he could see those shimmering brown orbs looking up at him through a veil of brown hair, almost feel the weight of that slender body pressed against his own…
Damnit, this had to stop. Fantasizing over some photoshopped prince on a billboard poster was bad enough, but to make matters worse it wasn’t just any celebrity or equally unattainable person-it was someone perfectly within reach.
After all, Kabuchiko, the red light district of Tokyo, was known for housing beautiful men and gorgeous women.
He passed by the red light district almost everyday without notice until he had seen the advertisement for the host bar, newly printed and posted just outside the infamous district, and he couldn’t help but notice it. He’d always been the type to prefer arcades or sports when it came to entertainment, so even though he was always near that constant reminder that sex could be for sale at the price of a cold drink, it never actually entered his mind to do it. He was a man, he had needs like everyone else, but those needs had never been enough to actually go inside one of those clubs or bars regardless of how many times he passed by the area on his way home from work. They never really interested him for the simple reason that it seemed like hosts or hostesses just wanted to prey on the insecurities and desires of others for their own benefit. They made money for telling people what they wanted to hear and-in some places-probably for doing much more than that. It may have been arrogant but Hotsuma always thought he was better than that.
But then came that damn sign. It was making him choke on his own words.
A billboard advertising the sale, though indirectly, maybe just the company, of a man that had caught Hotsuma's attention. At first it had been easy to ignore after that initial awed reaction of seeing those eyes staring at him from the pinned up sheet-but then it became harder. Every day he passed by that sign he found himself anticipating when he'd round the corner near Shinjuku Station, right before the overpass, and right near the entranceway of Kabuchiko and it's neon flashing lights that signaled the entrance to the red light district. He'd anticipate it, swear he wouldn't look, but then he always did. He was drawn toward it like a moth toward a flame and he couldn't count the number of curses he'd mumbled underneath his breath every time he disappointed himself and his own vow not to look again.
It made him feel like he was going insane.
"Probably doesn't even look like that anyway." Just some fancy photography work and photoshop turning an average person into something far more spectacular than what he really was.
But even though he said those words to himself over and over again he couldn’t help himself from stopping and staring up at the advertisement on this night just like all the others. He had his hands jammed into the pockets of his pants, fingers fumbling uselessly with nothing as he gritted his teeth in annoyance. Those eyes were staring down at him, teasing him, making him feel like they were looking only at him even if they were gazing out into all the crowds of people that flooded the streets of Tokyo.
This insanely possessive feeling that rushed over him, that crashed through his emotions in a tangled mixture of lust and want, was distributing. He had to do something-anything-to get this person out of his system.
Then it hit him like a ton of bricks, the exact way that he could break this habit, this almost addiction, once and for all.
He knew it was completely impulsive, maybe even just an excuse, but if he saw that person and realized the false fantasy behind the advertisement then maybe this would all end. He could meet someone else in a normal way, in a not selling yourself and time for drinks sorta way if he just got this damned person out of his head. Reality was never as good as the fantasy-certainly that would do the trick. It had to do the trick.
Hotsuma knew he couldn’t continue like this. He couldn’t continue to toss and turn in his sheets at night, trying to ignore the burning hot flush he felt coursing through his body-the dirtiness that consumed his imagination.
He checked his watch and it was nearly eleven o'clock at night when he stopped in front of that damn sign again-just the right hour for those that made a living with nighttime activities. The streets were thick, but less dense than rush hour by this time and as he stood in front of the ad and watched the neon lights that flashed around it-far too bright and illuminating-he read the name of the bar that was sprawled across the billboard in fancy cursive writing. New World. Pfft.
Digging the heels of his boot into the sidewalk, Hotsuma thought about it for another second, gritted his teeth, and then walked right toward the heart of Kabuchiko.
Stepping into Kabuchiko wasn’t like stepping into a new world. It was…remarkably similar to the rest of the busy streets in Tokyo. There were bright neon lights everywhere; some flashing with large lettering garnered to catch one’s attention, others more subtle in their advertisement to basement joints with more illicit offerings. At the corners of the sidewalks men stood with packets of small cards in their hands, holding them out to the men and women that walked by in droves-offering discounts and sales on drinks or the occasional love hotel suite. From the corner of his eyes Hotsuma could see men and women stumbling from one club or bar to another, sometimes men dressed in well-tailored suits sneaking into underground clubs with their suitcases tucked against their side and their face hidden underneath a hat.
Hotsuma’s eyes darted across the buildings in search of the specific bar he had seen in the advertisement. Occasionally his eyes would settle on one of the plaques outside a club or bar-usually of a group of scantly dressed women huddled together with smiles plastered on thickly painted lips. Their smiles seemed fake to him and he was sure they were-how could anyone be happy or okay with selling themselves? He snorted and walked on, avoiding the contact with blank faces who tried to meet his along the sidewalks.
Despite everything that it was known for, Kabuchiko was just as tame as any area of Tokyo. The police still prowled the streets and while the neon lights and signs were more tacky than other places-it wasn’t that much different from the other entertainment districts.
But that didn’t take away from the fact that this place was different.
Eventually Hotsuma found the place he was looking for. New World was on the first floor of a tall building, sequestered between another host and hostess bar. Despite the flashing lights that adorned the buildings surrounding it, there was only a simple and small sign acknowledging the existence of the club. The entrance way to the bar was so faintly lit that Hotsuma would have passed by it if he hadn’t noticed the group of men standing outside.
There were about three of them standing in front of the entrance to the bar. They were all well-dressed and in manicured perfection-hair just perfectly in place, rings and watches shined clean, designer label belts in view. Hotsuma knew these were the hosts that were supposed to round up the girls to bring into the club and that’s why they had grabbed his attention. That was just the way these sorts of places functioned-preying on those that walked by, luring them inside where they would talk them out of their money with sweet words and gentle caresses.
Hotsuma felt sick to his stomach. He wanted to turn back, to leave this district and this ridiculous place because certainly he was better than this. He could live with-
His golden eyes narrowed when a familiar visage came into focus. It was him. Well, not really him-just a picture-but there was no mistake it was the person he had seen on the advertisement. Near the sign leading to the entranceway was plaque with a picture of all the hosts that worked in the bar and he was there-he was right there. He was probably right inside the damn building at this moment.
This picture was different from the one that Hotsuma had seen before-the host was standing with his back toward the photographer, a long coat jacket slung over one shoulder as he tilted sideways, eyes just glancing back. He looked no less beautiful, no less captivating, no less tantalizing to Hotsuma’s eyes. Hotsuma took a tentative step closer and read the name on the plaque. Usui Shusei. So now he had a name to go with the face.
"Tch."
It annoyed him, how he was so easily swept away.
“Hey you-you can’t come in here.”
Hotsuma blinked knowing he wasn’t standing in the entranceway even if he had come closer to get a better look at the picture. He turned toward the sound of the voice and found himself standing in front of a man with long raven hair that just barely covered a pair of golden eyes-one of the men he had seen rounding up the girls that walked by. His lips were firmly pressed into a straight lip, eyes narrowed in a formidable glare.
"You can't come in here." The shorter man repeated, arms folding across his chest as he stood in Hotsuma’s way.
"Why not?"
"This is a host bar. The hostess bar is on the right." The black-hair guy sure had an attitude for someone that was supposed to seduce women out of their money. No wonder he was kept outside.
"I'm not interested in that place." The thought of pushing his way pass the shorter guy flickered across Hotsuma’s mind-after all he didn’t have all night to stand here and argue-but then another man came out from inside the bar. This person was dressed like someone he would expect to see in a district adorned in flashing neon lights and outrageous tackiness. He was dressed in a long full length coat, reddish in color with golden embellishments on the lining and buttons, and a matching oversized hat that covered strawberry blonde hair. He was smiling and there was a playfulness in his eyes as he put two hands on the young host's shoulders and noticeably tried to subdue what was quickly seemed to become a flaring bad temper from the black-haired man.
"Now, now Kuroto-kun. We don't turn away customers." The man said in a sing-song voice, giving the other man a pat on the shoulder. He was still smiling, glancing at Hotsuma out of the corner of his eye as he put water on the fire that was boiling behind Kuroto’s eyes.
"But Tachibana he just-" Kuroto was silenced when Tachibana pressed a finger against his lips. Beneath that golden glare Hotsuma saw a swirling tempest appear-one that Tachibana must have seen as well because he quickly moved his finger away. Kuroto seemed to calm-though he looked no less irritated-even when Tachibana turned his focus on Hotsuma.
"Are you looking for a job?" He was eyeing Hotsuma up and down, making Hotsuma shift uncomfortably from foot to foot at the sudden attention. This idea was quickly become a disaster but he was already here and there was no way in hell he was turning around now. He'd just look like a fool after making such a big fuss. "We aren't necessarily hiring but I may be able to make a special request to the boss."
"I'm not interested in a job." Hotsuma huffed, arms crossing over his chest. "I just want to see one of your hosts."
"As in…request the service of…?"
"Well what in the hell else do you do in these sort of places?" Hotsuma stomped his foot on the ground and squared his shoulders. "I've got money, isn't that all it takes? Just a drink and I'm out of here."
"I assume you have someone in mind then…?"
Hotsuma jerked a thumb over his shoulder, pointing in the direction of the sign and the host that had been his entire reason for coming here-Shusei just smiled at them over his shoulder in the picture.
Tachibana’s eyes lit up in understanding. "Ah, Shu-kun is our most sought after host. But I'm afraid he doesn't take new clients at random." Tachibana rubbed his chin in thought. “But maybe I could…”
Hotsuma was just getting annoyed. "If my money isn't good here-"
"Now, now, no need to get hasty." Tachibana slung an arm around his shoulder and began to lead him into the bar. "I'll have to talk to Shu-kun, of course, but I'm sure he can be persuaded with the purchase of our most sought after champagne. He’s a rather big fan of it and I’m sure he wouldn’t turn away anyone that wanted to share a drink of it with him." Hotsuma knew everything came with a price. "I can even get you a private room in the back so that you can have time alone without the fuss or interruption of others."
Almost effortlessly, Hotsuma let Tachibana steer him into the bar.
He couldn’t see much inside-the place was so dimly lit that he had to blink his eyes just to adjust from the illumination of neon lights to the faint flicking candles that shone inside. The walls were dark, maybe covered in some type of mahogany wood, with tables and couches pushed up against the walls in small corners divided by large bamboo trunks or the occasional curtain. In these small sequestered spots sat the women. The small tables were laden with drinks and the clink-clink-clink of their glasses and ice sloshing inside them was almost as loud as the murmur of sound that filled the place when voices mingled together. At most of the tables, some occupied by just one woman or several, was a host. They were easy to pick out, even for Hotsuma, simply for the fact that all attention seemed to focus on them. The women would watch him as he poured them a drink, follow his movements when he reached out to brush hair off her shoulder, blush when he leaned closer to whisper in her ear…
Hotsuma looked away.
The place where Tachibana eventually stopped was toward the back of the bar-where the tables were spaced out more and curtains could be drawn for more intimate privacy. Hotsuma gulped when Tachibana motioned for Hotsuma to have a seat in one of these areas, just a small loveseat and a table surrounded by a curtain, and then left.
Once Hotsuma was seated, the curtain was drawn closed-maybe by Tachibana or maybe by someone else-Hotsuma couldn’t tell through the pounding anxiety that blared through his head as he sat down. When the curtain closed the noise from the other half of the bar ebbed down to a demure rumble in the background, leaving Hotsuma in relative silence that only twisted the knot of unease even tighter. He nearly jumped out of his seat a few minutes later when a waiter brought in a bottle of champagne, two glass flutes, and then left.
Hotsuma’s palms felt sweaty. He looked down at his clothes-the faded t-shirt, the old jacket, and boots. He’s probably not dressed right for a place like this but it wasn’t as if he had expected to be here in the first place. In fact, right now he had planned on sitting in front of the television and playing video games until the early morning hours instead of paying a ridiculously large amount of money to have a drink with a man he didn’t even know.
Just how did he let himself get into this mess?
Behind the thick curtain he could hear the clinking of glasses and muttered conversation just barely permeating through his isolated surroundings. It’s dark inside the building and only a faint incandescent shine ushered in any light into his small space. He leaned back against the cushions of the loveseat, feeling the plush leather give into the weight of his body. Somewhere in the background he could’ve sworn he heard the slight sound of a stream babbling or some sort of fountain, but he didn’t remember seeing one when he came in. There’s only that faint noise, the soft sounds of low-playing music, and mumbled conversation surrounding him.
He felt that knot in his stomach again, squirming it’s way upward and tossing his stomach from side to side.
He must be an idiot for coming here. This had to be the worse idea he’s ever had, for thinking that following a billboard sign into a bar in search of a man meant for women was somehow going to rid him of these impulses and fantasies that had been plaguing his thoughts. But somehow, just somehow, this had to get that picture and that person out of his system. He couldn’t let this continue any longer-letting some person he had never met preoccupy his thoughts, his dreams, his every waking moment.
Maybe if he was being honest with himself he’d realize that there was something wrong about this entire situation. People don’t just turn into obsessive maniacs over advertisements when there are plenty of normal people around them everyday-but Hotsuma didn’t know how to explain it. There was some underline attraction, whether it was an animalistic emotion invoked by some hella persuasive photography work or something completely different was beyond Hotsuma’s train of thoughts-he just knew he needed to do something to fix this.
“As soon as I see this bastard I’m out of here.” He said it to himself, his own private declaration to be rid of this fascination once and for all tonight. This was a host bar, a place for women to gather and spend money on men who wooed and cooed them throughout the night. This wasn’t a place he belonged.
“Guy’s probably some conceited jerk anyway.” It wasn’t as if any regular person would be okay with selling their time and company.
Hotsuma glanced over at the bottle of champagne and watched the sweat trickling down the clean curves of the dark bottle. He probably didn’t even have enough money in his bank account to afford however much that bottle of champagne was going to cost him. He swore he was about to have a panic attack about the stupid bottle of champagne and this ridiculous idea when a soft voice permeated through the dim lights and muffled conversation beyond the curtains.
“Sorry to keep you waiting.”
Hotsuma looked up and the world suddenly stopped spinning.
Shusei Usui stood at the entrance of the small room, curtain brushed aside with one hand as he slipped into the room and let the curtain fall behind him. He was more masculine than Hotsuma had imagined-tall, lean, but beneath the well-cut suit Hotsuma could just make out the slight muscles in his shoulders and thighs as he moved. He wore a dark suit with a vest, a silver belt buckle catching flickers of light as he moved across the room to stand beside the place where Hotsuma sat.
Hotsuma forgot how to breath.
His hair was darker than the ad portrayed, a tad longer with fringed edges of his bangs hugging the sides of his face and drifting in front of a set of intense golden eyes. His lips weren’t as full as the billboard had shown-more firm and slender-just a little pink in them that framed the straight-lipped expression that he wore. He wasn’t smiling but there was a slight warmth in his eyes, not exactly welcoming but at the same time not harsh. He was the picture of placidity.
The little noises that had drifted in earlier were gone and now there was just this man and Hotsuma in this tiny space. Slowly, Hotsuma remembered to take a breath.
“It’s unusual for men to come to this place.” Shusei looked relaxed and at ease as he sat down next to him on the loveseat. Hotsuma could feel the warm brush of their thighs caressing each other. “Not that it’s unheard of.”
Hotsuma wasn’t sure if he could speak yet-if his voice could form actual sounds that resembled words. He didn’t trust his voice right now.
Shusei seemed unbothered by his lack of words. Instead he used Hotsuma’s silence as an opportunity to reach out and pour two glasses of champagne. The suds bubbled inside the flutes until they almost overfilled, stopping just at the right moment when Shusei drew back.
Finally, Hotsuma felt his voice returning to him. “I-it’s Usui-san, right?”
"Call me Shusei." A slender wrist peeked through the cuffed sleeve of his jacket as Shusei held out one of the flutes of champagne for him. When he did so he leaned closer and Hotsuma could do nothing but take the glass into his hand when Shusei brushed their hands against each other. His skin was soft but cool-not the warmth he had expected but still something that seemed to suit the distance he kept between them and their words despite the proximity of their bodies. He took the glass, wrapping his fingers around it’s round base and when Shusei pulled his fingers away-he could have sworn they lingered over the tips of his fingers-he immediately wanted to feel the sensation of that cool skin again. "Have some."
Hotsuma had to look away, flushed embarrassment reddening his cheeks. He dug the heels of his boot into the carpeted ground and just held the glass in his hand. “I’m not really thirsty.”
At this Shusei frowned. His lips, so straight and unreadable in those first few moments, curved ever so slightly downward. It was such a slight movement that at first Hotsuma almost thought he had imagined it. But there was a curiosity in his eyes, a telling question lurking within their depths, that gave away the slip of emotion. "You bought it...wouldn't it be a shame not to drink it?"
"I only bought it so I could meet you…" He murmured under his breath.
"Ah, I see." Shusei still hadn’t touched the other glass of champagne, instead choosing to cross his legs at the knee and rest his elbow forward on his thigh as he scrutinized Hotsuma with slightly narrowed eyes. Those same eyes had stared down at him from the billboard, tempting and alluring, and so much more vivid in person. But there was something different about the gaze that he saw locked within the depths of Shusei’s eyes, something harkening more to earnest curiosity rather than seductive prowess. "I've been wondering about that…you know there are places that carter to those interested in other men…that isn’t exactly our specialty here…"
A hot searing warmth crept up through Hotsuma's cheeks until his temples nearly felt on flames. "T-that's not why I came here! Who ever said I was interested in men?" He crossed his arms over his chest, nearly knocking over the champagne in the process. He realized the utter stupidity of his words and his contradictory actions at the same moment he noticed the smirk that had settled on the corners of Shusei’s lips. There was a playfulness to his expression-the way his eyes lit up a little, swirling with a playful mirth.
It…was an expression that looked so much more beautiful on him than all the seductive glances he had seen.
But that didn’t stop the flush of embarrassment that swept through him, reddening his entire face until he could feel the warmth traveling down his neck. "What's so funny bastard? You made me feel like an idiot."
The mirth that had been in Shusei’s eyes moments ago dissipated as quickly as it came. The other man leaned back against the plush cushions, resting an arm along the back of the couch’s spine, close enough that Hotsuma could feel the brush of his forearm against his neck.
"Nothing at all."
"You're lying."
"It's just not everyday that someone comes here under these circumstances and says the things you have to say." A small chuckle. "I'm intrigued."
Intrigued…Hotsuma liked that word.
"What's your name?"
"Renjou….but call me Hotsuma."
"Hn." Shusei leaned forward again, this time reaching out a hand to clasp his own. He took his fingers, bringing them to his lips and delicately placing a kiss on each knuckle. His kisses left burn marks on Hotsuma's hand, so aware was he of the touch of soft porcelain skin against his own rough and callused exterior. Shusei’s lips seemed deceptively soft. "Allow me to serve you a drink then, Hotsuma."
Hotsuma wasn't sure whether or not he nodded but before he knew it Shusei picked up the other flute of champagne and clanked their glasses together in a toast. "To being intrigued." Shusei sipped from the still bubbling drink, brown eyes watching him over the brim. "Drink up, Hotsuma."
And now he did drink.
The champagne was good. It was very good. It was cool as it slid down the back of his throat, slightly bitter with an almost wheat-like after taste, but pleasing all the same. When the glass was emptied he looked at Shusei and saw the other man was leaning back against the cushioned seat and watching him. He still had his legs crossed so that his foot bobbed with his movements-sometimes brushing against Hotsuma's leg.
"Is something wrong?" Shusei asked, a slight tilt coming to his head. His hair brushed against the side of his face with the action, wisps of brown hair brushing in front of his eyes until he reached up a hand and neatly tucked a few stray pieces behind his ear.
"You're just…you're different than I imagined."
"Is that so?" A sigh fell between those parted lips and Hotsuma watched them, fixated by this man's every movement. Shusei didn’t say anything else, just straightened his lips into a firm line and waited.
Hotsuma just watched him. He watched the way his hair fell around his face, perfectly framing the intensity of his golden eyes-the way his clothing shifted when he moved, when his chest rose and fell in the steady rhythm of breathing. He was different than Hotsuma had expected. Even the glorified service of a billboard did not justify the beauty he saw before his eyes-the way every move he made-from brushing hair away from his face to reaching for another glass of champagne-was done with such delicate precision.
But there was a distance about him as well. Hotsuma wondered if it was intentional or not-but the way Shusei spoke betrayed the way that his body moved. Though they sat so close together, so intimately within each other’s space despite having just met, there was a barrier around Shusei that he could clearly see. There was a distance, a cloudiness in the depths of his eyes that Hotsuma could not quite place with words but felt in the soft sighs and curled lips of Shusei’s gentle smile.
Thoughts drifting away, Hotsuma glanced toward Shusei and realized the other man was leaning toward him. He could smell a hint of lavender on freshly cleaned skin, feel the warmth of his breath against his neck. “W-what are you doing?”
“Nothing.” Shusei’s eyelashes looked thicker this close, so thick in fact that Hotsuma almost couldn’t see the hint of golden brown when Shusei’s eyes began to flutter close. “You shouldn’t think so hard about me, you might burst a vessel in that pretty head of yours.”
Hotsuma felt like Shusei was seeing right through him, wanted to feel angry even about his comment, but couldn’t-not when he could feel the weight of Shusei’s body leaning over him, the way his body had shifted so that they were almost in front of one another instead of side by side. One of Shusei’s legs was practically laying across his thigh, right next to Hotsuma’s hand, and Hotsuma’s fingertips twitched with the need to rest on that thigh and that hip-just grab something, anything, to steady his equilibrium.
But he didn’t move because he couldn’t. He gulped, feeling a knot in the back of his throat as his mind raced over the possibilities of what could possibly happen and whether or not that was something he wanted in the first place. Here was this gorgeous man before him, someone that within only a few moments had completely enthralled him with his presence-and he felt foolish for being here in the first place but there’s also this other part of him-a part that watches as Shusei slides up beside him and places a hand on his shoulder-beckons him to hold still. Shusei’s hand feels soft as it glides up along the side of his face, a slight chill that warms under the flush of Hotsuma’s cheeks. Those long and soft fingers nudge Hotsuma’s head toward him, just under the chin, making Hotsuma’s lips part as moistened hot air catches in his chest and Shusei’s lips touch his own.
Shusei’s lips are soft but firm as they press against his lips. He’s delicate as his fingers slide through Hotsuma’s hair and guide his head into their deepening kiss-not just a soft push of lip against lip that lasts but a second-but something deeper, more pressing and tangible, more blood-boiling. Hotsuma felt it all the way in his toes, this need for Shusei’s soft and moist lips, for the way Shusei’s tongue glistened across the entrance of his mouth and teeth nip at his lower lip. The swelling need is only amplified when Shusei opens his mouth in invitation, a warmth cavern made for Hotsuma’s tongue to explore.
Hotsuma can remember the nights he’s laid in bed-wanting to feel this warmth, this skin upon his body. There is a tingling sensation shuddering slowly-excruciatingly slow down his spine and making him so aware of everything. He’s aware of the slight hitch in Shusei’s breath, in the clink of his cuffs rubbing against Hotsuma’s watch, in the rustle of clothing that’s being moved from their rapid motions.
It blurs together so quickly, so swiftly that Hotsuma feels lost in his lust.
Hotsuma’s fingers are now the ones tangling through Shusei’s hair. He pushes Shusei’s head closer to him, mashing their lips together, ruining the delicateness that Shusei has created and replacing it with something more about need and want and desire. Hotsuma has to wonder if Shusei has kissed other men before. He seems a little startled by Hotsuma's forcefulness and he could of sworn Shusei's eyes had snapped open for the briefest moment before he settled into the rhythm of Hotsuma's kiss.
But he couldn’t stop-how could he possibly ever stop? Not when the coolness of Shusei’s skin seems to warm under his touch, when the taste of Shusei’s mouth is sweet on his lips, when the panting breath that mingles with his own lets him know he’s not the only one feeling the burning flush of desire. His hand finds Shusei’s back and pushes him against his chest-nearly knocking their lips apart when Shusei’s forced to straddle his lap for support.
And then Hotsuma heard Shusei moan into his mouth.
He felt a shiver racing along his spine, sparks coursing through the synapses of his brain’s impulses with each shuddering breath. Like a sudden silence that fills the room, Hotsuma wanted more noise. He wanted to hear the moans, see the fluttering of eyelashes, the forceful movements of desire and lust. He wanted all over this man, to claim him, to devour him whole.
Shusei gave into him, opened his mouth in invitation and pressed his hands on Hotsuma’s shoulders. But he only allowed it for a moment-this single second of reckless abandonment before he used those same hands on his shoulders to push away.
When their kiss finally broke Hotsuma could feel the cold rush of the outside air between them on his moistened lips. He looked at Shusei, at his bruised lips, ruby red from their kiss and the slight pant in the other man’s breath.
Hotsuma couldn’t believe he had just done that. He had never reacted like that to someone before.
“Shusei.”
The brown-haired man looked up at him, a bit dazed-maybe a bit disoriented-but meeting his gaze. “Hm?”
“I like the sound of your name on my lips.” He liked the taste of him in his mouth, the sound of his panting breaths in his ears, the heat of his body pressed against his own. “Can I see you again?” Hotsuma asked suddenly. He couldn’t stop now, not after he had gotten a taste of perfection sitting just next to him.
Shusei expression gave away nothing, but Hotsuma could of sworn he saw the slightest hint of a smile on his lips. "Of course, you've chosen me. From now on I will always be your one and only host. No matter what-I'll always be yours."
Those words made Hotsuma's heart pound against his chest.
It made his heart beat so hard that he was sure the ache he felt from the pit of his soul was from it.
----
A little background information for those not familiar with host bars/clubs. Some relevance to upcoming situations in the plot.
- Generally located in red light districts, in this case, Kabuchiko, which is the largest red light district in Tokyo.
- Host bars carter to women and hostess bars carter to men
- When you first enter a host bar you're given a book with pictures of the various hosts, from the book you select "your" host who will always be "your" host for as long as you come to the host bar. Other hosts are allowed to come talk to you and hang out with you, but only one host gets commissions from your purchases and is your main host, etc.
- For the most part, host and hostess bars are about company and drinking/talking, not really about sex (unlike some places in red light districts), though they often get mingled together and it's not uncommon for dating to sometimes occur.
- Hosts often hang out in front of bars to "catch" girls and get them to come into the club
- Hosts/hostess will sometimes go on dates outside of the bar, usually this is just to keep their clients "on the line" so to speak
- Host/hostesses are usually advertised with big posters and banners outside their clubs/bars