Fic: Set Piece (1/2) NC-17
JE Fic
Title: Set Piece (1/2)
Pairings: Jin & Kame; Jin & Yamapi; Kame & Koizumi; Yamapi & Abiru
Warnings: mature themes, not work-safe
Genre: RPF, slash, het, canon, post-debut
Wordcount: 13, 208
Navigate: Part 1 | Part 2
Note: Begun 2008.01.29, and finished 2008.09.14; with profound thanks to acchikocchi, ina, riccichan, C & K.
From far away, Kame hears the light click of the gate, a brief murmur of voices, and then there's his light, shuffling step on the walk just before he emerges from darkness into the splash of lamp light. The January night is cold and damp and it's been raining sporadically all day. Kame is stiff, cramped now from a long wait on the freezing terrace of his fashionable apartment building. When he climbed out of the chauffeured car two hours ago, he was still trembling, and he couldn't bear to go inside alone. Outside he can breathe, and the dark blue city keeps him company.
Jin flops down beside him on the wide step. Kame takes a drag on his cigarette and exhales before he speaks.
"Took you long enough."
Jin leans into him a little. He radiates energy and warmth. "Got one for me?"
Kame reaches into his jacket pocket and hands over a crumpled packet and lighter. "I thought you quit."
"I did." Jin plucks out the last cigarette. Soon he breathes out with a shallow cough. "Sorry. I was, you know, having dinner with Yamapi. I came as soon as I could."
Kame turns away and looks down the path to the front gate, which gleams bluish from rain and dim light. The brim of a steeply slanted hat conceals most of his face so Jin can only see Kame's mouth, which twitches. "And how is Yamashita?"
"He sends his regards." Jin's voice is carefully neutral.
"No doubt," Kame replies. "He fucked you, right? That's why you're late?" His tone is dry, without recrimination.
"No!"
"Of course he did," comes Kame's patient response, as he shifts on the cement step. "I can smell him on you, idiot."
"Oh." And then: "that doesn't mean anything. We were together all evening, of course I'm going to smell like him."
"Jin," Kame retorts witheringly, "you don't smell like Yamashita's cologne." He pauses a beat as Jin flushes. "I don't know why you bother lying about it every time, either."
Jin's quiet for a few moments. A whitish tendril drifts upward from the end of his cigarette.
"I don't want to hurt your feelings," Jin answers at last.
Kame snorts. "Suddenly I have feelings?"
He stands abruptly, shouldering his bag, and he lifts a large box by the loops of string that criss-cross it. He studies the cigarette he's smoked down to the filter before he pushes it into his engraved silver-shiny pocket ashtray. His shoulders sink, just a little, but enough that Jin notices it.
Kame clucks his tongue and sighs. "I will never understand this."
He sounds faint and weary, but his voice contains a razor-wire of tension that startles Jin. He still can't see much of Kame's sharp-featured face, hidden as it is under the hat, but he thinks he doesn't need to. Jin pushes himself to his feet, and he leans into Kame purposefully, reaching over to tug the ashtray from Kame's fingers. Kame doesn't flinch, which Jin takes as a good sign.
They stand in silence, listening to the dark, wet city exhale around them. A few moments pass before Jin finally responds, first taking one last drag on his half-smoked cigarette before he stuffs it into Kame's ashtray.
"Neither does he."
"What about you?" Kame asks tightly. He hears the instant intake of breath and feels Jin turning, but he's suddenly terrified of the answer. This isn't the time for serious conversations. That's not why he called Jin. He tries to remember why he called Jin. His head swims, and his fingers itch to rub his throat-
-like that, he's trembling again.
"Never mind," he mutters, cutting Jin off, and he turns on his heel, "forget I asked."
September, 2007. Roppongi.
Come over, Yamapi's text read, I'm heading home. I'll meet you there.
It was late: his watch reported eleven p.m., so it was stupid, but between Yamapi's jammed schedule and his own, Jin hadn't seen him in almost a month. Times like these, Jin felt more than a little overwhelmed - stylists constantly hovering, endless photoshoots to promote the drama, and now there was director-san making him redo the same scene too many times. He barely had enough time to eat. Two years between dramas and six months away meant an adjustment to this particular grind - he'd had to be woken up twice during the afternoon for falling asleep in between takes. Now he just wanted to lie down on Yamapi's couch and stay still for a very long time.
When he arrived, Yamapi buzzed him in and then opened the apartment door just as he was about to knock. Yamapi's eyes had that look which meant nothing good, and he didn't even try to smile.
Are you okay? Jin asked as he removed his shoes. Yamapi was filming practically every day lately; no doubt that was taking a toll.
Yamapi slid his hands into his pockets and slumped against the wall: I could ask you the same question. He blinked at half-speed.
Jin ducked his head for just a second, not meeting Pi's eyes, and then he shrugged. You know, long day, he answered. He shouldered past Yamapi to head straight for the kitchen where he pulled Bombay Sapphire from the freezer and tonic from the refrigerator. Yamapi followed him and stood nearby, shifting his weight as he watched Jin mix a drink.
You want one? Jin asked, as he poured tonic over the substantial layer of liquor in his tall glass. Not that he needed any help sleeping.
Yamapi shook his head slowly, as though he was set on some kind of delay. Jin met his eyes and saw that Yamapi was staring at him with peculiar heat. He sagged a little, understanding.
Should I stay over? Jin asked then in a low voice, compassion flaring as he watched Yamapi's mouth work. Like this, he knew Yamapi would never ask if he didn't offer. On good days he could be lighthearted and laughing, casually proprietary, but when he was down, Yamapi became careful.
Yeah, Yamapi rasped, the single syllable containing an entire explanation. He reached out to wind a heavy hand around the back of Jin's neck. His thumb glided along the sensitive skin just behind Jin's right ear, and even tired as he was, it was impossible not to respond. Yamapi was too familiar. He drank the whole glass down, breathing through his nose, feeling the weight of Yamapi's gaze on him, until it was empty.
Okay, Jin said as he placed the glass carefully on the counter. His head spun. He stepped nearer, and with only Yamapi's touch on his neck to guide him, he gave in to a kiss.
*
Sex with Yamapi was comfortable, like pulling an old silk kimono over bare skin. It was an extension of their friendship that hadn't been disrupted by Abiru. She's fun, he would say with a shrug, and Jin knew he shouldn't ask more questions. There were expectations and there were expectations. They were comrades, brothers in arms, with survival skills. With Yamapi, Jin didn't know how to say no.
They kissed their way through the corridor, stumbling in the dark and pulling at their clothes. In the lightless bedroom, Jin let Yamapi push him down on his back. Yamapi was clearly too tired to finesse it, and Jin was too tired to ask for more.
Wait, Jin said after a minute of heat and friction. He automatically reached for the bedside table. In the dark, he felt rather than saw Yamapi shake his head, his lips brushing his cheek.
No, Yamapi replied breathlessly, never mind. Can't wait. His hair tickled Jin's face.
Jin hesitated. Okay. He rolled his hips, pressing up against Yamapi, desire spiking. Let me, he said, and Yamapi rolled off him. Jin let his fingers guide him in the dark, finding Yamapi's hips, his belt, and he loosened the fastenings until he was able to reach in and get a hand on Yamapi's cock.
It jumped in his palm, and Yamapi moaned quietly.
Move up, Jin said, soft. Yamapi obliged, dragging himself further up the mattress until Jin could comfortably stretch out and lower his mouth down. It didn't take long; Yamapi was too needy, too close, and a few minutes later, he shook in release. Jin swallowed diligently, and as the blood pounded in his head, he thought, god, I need another drink.
All right? he asked, lifting his head. Yamapi stirred a little, laughed weakly.
Yeah. Awesome.
Jin lay his cheek against Yamapi's bare hip, blinking into the darkness and listening to Yamapi come down. After a while the blood receded. He said, you should get some sleep.
C'm'ere, Yamapi said. The words slurred out on a breath. Jin sighed and forced himself to his hands and knees so he could crawl up to collapse next to Yamapi. He rolled onto his side and tucked a hand under his head.
Thanks, Yamapi breathed, relaxed now, with sleep dragging on his voice. Let's-
Yamapi's voice faded as the rest of his thought disappeared. Jin pulled the blankets up over them and settled onto his back, staring up at the ceiling. Yamapi slid an arm over his chest and curled into his side.
Morning, Yamapi whispered, your turn. From the dramatic drop-off in his breathing, Jin thought he must have fallen asleep immediately.
Jin didn't sleep, though, as he lay beside Yamapi in the dark. His eyes burned as he stared at the dark ceiling and listened to the small random sounds of Yamapi's apartment building. His head was too full of noise, of echoes and whispers, of compromise and reconciliation. He listened to Yamapi breathe, and his heart raced. Only days ago he'd been listening to Kame breathe beside him, in Kame's bed, wondering what the fuck was going on.
September, 2007. Daikanyama.
What happened in New York had confused him. For weeks and months he'd turned those too-brief moments over and over in his head, trying to understand. It made no sense when all he heard was how serious Kame was about his unlikely girlfriend, but then, as time passed, he wondered if he'd imagined it. It was such a small thing, after all, and it probably meant nothing. Things had been good between them all summer, and at work, and with the guys. Jin was finally beginning to feel like he could relax a little, like he'd caught up enough, that he wasn't looking over his shoulder constantly.
That evening, after the play let out, he gave Kame a ride in exchange for a late dinner in Daikanyama. Kame was in a surprisingly fine mood and was accordingly expansive; he ordered ridiculously expensive wine and insisted on continually refilling Jin's glass throughout their meal. He asked thoughtful questions, laughed at Jin's jokes, and he encouraged Jin to order whatever he wanted, to eat more, as if he could nourish Jin with his attention and generosity.
I should give you a ride home every night if it means dinner like that, Jin said lightly as they neared Kame's gleaming high-rise apartment building.
Why don't you come up? Kame asked - if you're not too tired.
Jin gave Kame a sidelong glance before impulsively agreeing; he turned into the underground garage entrance where he punched in Kame's code to open the gates. After parking the car, he released his seatbelt, but suddenly unsure, he remained still.
Kame, with his hand on the door, turned and said: coming?
How's your-? Jin asked instead of answering. He gestured vaguely with his hand.
It still hurts, yeah, Kame told him. A frustrated expression crossed his face. Stupid ropes.
Be careful, Jin said suddenly, harshly, surprising himself. He twisted to face Kame who was watching him.
I hate that- Jin began, meeting Kame's curious gaze. Jin had no idea where it came from, but suddenly it was there between them, the old suffocating thing that sucked up all the air in the car, and he was frozen by the look in Kame's eyes.
Jin. Kame paused. His eyes were soft, and his voice had changed. Are you worried about me?
Of course I'm worried about you, Jin burst out, that show is dangerous.
He tried to look away, afraid, but he couldn't. He thought he didn't want to.
Jin, Kame was saying. Jin. Kame's hand reached out and stroked hair back from his face. His fingers were gentle, lingering. Jin's breath stuttered in his chest. It happened, just like that, between one blink and the next. The thing he'd been crushing down shivered to life.
He couldn't remember what happened next - who moved first? Or did they both? He couldn't remember how - or even when - they made it up to Kame's apartment. He remembered Kame's face half in shadows from the dim parking garage light, and he remembered a sense of astonishment. Trying to breathe, his skin on fire.
Later, they'd stared at each other with all the lights on, nowhere to hide.
Come back, Kame whispered inexplicably. He tipped the last word up, like a question, his voice tinged with uncertainty and surprise. Jin wasn't sure he understood the question. He wasn't sure he needed to. Something was turning over and over behind Kame's eyes. Jin felt very warm, wrapped in the soft glow of genuine affection beaming out of Kame's eyes. He'd seen that look before. He missed it, and he wondered if Kame had any idea what he looked like just then - Jin drank in the sin of Kame's round flushed cheeks, the damp hair curling against his skin and his dark-chocolate eyes. Jin swallowed. For that expression, Jin thought he could easily sell his soul. Hadn't he done it once? He could forget about everything - about work, and Yamapi, about Kame's girlfriend, about the last few years - it would be worth it to forget. It was probably stupid. Jin didn't care.
--
Kame keeps the neglected Daikanyama flat for his own reasons, and when he keys the door open, it looks just as un-lived-in as ever. He doesn't spend much time here. When he's not with her, he misses Ran too much, so Kame often ends up going back to his parents' who keep her for him.
Jin wrinkles his nose. "It smells."
"So open some windows," Kame suggests with a twinge of annoyance, tugging at his boots. He breathes in the musty stench of abandonment and exhaustion.
Jin yanks off his own boots, leaving them in a careless pile, before he shrugs out of his coat. In the living room, he cracks opens the sliding glass door to a small balcony. Dead leaves and other debris litter its concrete floor.
"What do you have to drink?"
"There's beer in the refrigerator." Kame is perched on the edge of the wide, white L-shaped couch. He hasn't taken off his voluminous overcoat, although his feet are bare where they emerge from tailored black trousers. His toes bleed gold where they curl into the rug.
Jin glances over his shoulder and reflects on Kame's ability to fold his body into neat, tidy packages. Kame leans forward at a precise angle, elbows on his knees with his mobile's tiny screen propped in front of his face.
"Are you hungry?" Kame asks absently. Jin considers that Yamapi finished half his plate at dinner while he wasn't paying attention.
"Yeah, but I don't think you have anything," Jin answers from the kitchen as he pops the tab on a can of beer. The refrigerator is empty save a few beer cans, a lone bottle of vitamin water, and a head of garlic that is growing bright yellowish-green sprouts.
"Sorry," Kame mumbles. He doesn't look up when Jin sprawls onto the couch beside him.
"So what - is she checking up on you?" Jin leans over to see the glowing screen.
"Shut up." Kame bats him away. "No." He lowers the mobile and thrusts it into his coat pocket.
"So what then?"
Kame hesitates. "Nothing! She-she just wanted to make sure I got here," he says quickly.
Jin notices Kame shiver and begins to wonder why when Kame still hasn't taken his coat off.
"Are you cold?"
"A little," Kame admits.
Jin throws his arm over Kame's shoulders and squeezes him in a brief hug. "So what's in the box?"
"She gave it to me," Kame says irrelevantly. His voice is coiled tight. Jin notices, but pretends he doesn't, playing it cool.
"Can I see it?" he asks. Kame hesitates again before answering with a jerky nod.
"Really?" Jin's eyes light up, and he pulls the box toward him, his fingers clumsy as he works at the knots. Kame watches in silence, gold-dusted hands tightening on his knees. Jin feels Kame's intent gaze from under the slanted brim of his hat.
The white box is square and rather large. When he pulls the top off, Jin understands why. Inside, nestled in swaths of tissue paper, is a shiny white plastic mannequin head, and the head is wearing a mask. Jin very carefully lifts it out of the tissue paper and places it on the glass-topped coffee table.
"Whoa." It's all Jin can think to say. Kame sits beside him in perfect bird-like stillness.
The mask is magnificent, surely a work of art. Only intended to cover the upper half of a face, it arches from the brow, sweeping upwards and to either side in flexible panels that wrap around the head until it fastens in the back. It has been elaborately and painstakingly decorated in darkly glittering, shining patterns that both catch the light and absorb it.
"It-it's amazing," Jin says, eyes widening in genuine wonderment. He brushes his fingertips over the gleaming green-black feathers. With an airbrush, he guesses, they've been delicately dappled with fading dark spots that are nearly invisible. Smoky faceted paste-jewels outline the eye holes, and gunmetal-grey sequins are sewn like fish scales just visible beneath the feathers. It could have been ugly and ostentatious, but instead, it's elegant, somehow refined.
"Why-" Jin begins. Of course he knows she gives him gifts sometimes. But this-
Kame stares at the mask almost fearfully. "She commissioned it when we went to Paris last summer - the artist is an old friend of hers. I...I don't know why, not exactly."
While he listens, Jin restlessly toys with the tissue paper in the box until his fingers brush something hard. He leans in for a closer look, fishing out a DVD in a clear plastic case. Jin's stomach tenses as he stares at it for a few startled seconds.
"Wait-" Kame chokes, his eyes widening when he sees the disc. He dives for it.
"It's mine," Jin protests without thinking. He springs up and holds the disc out of reach. "Look, it has my name on it." Jin is already at the player, plucking the disc from its case and sliding it in before Kame can stop him.
When Jin hears the tinny burst of women's laughter from the stereo speakers, he turns on the television.
An image springs to life: a large room, decorated Western-style, with a wide staircase in the background. Jin looks over his shoulder briefly when he hears Kame's horrified voice: "Jin, no!" but another outburst of laughter pulls his eyes back to the video image. A group of chattering women mill about, some in kimonos and some in gowns. They cluster in small groups around an oddly-shaped dark object in the center of the room.
"Jin, turn it off." There is a terrible panicky sound in Kame's voice, but Jin is frozen. "Please, I'm begging you."
She appears on the steps, serene and poised, and Jin only barely registers the beginning of a speech - something about her dear friend, a very special artist who's come all the way from Paris to join them in Tokyo, and then the women are applauding as a trim black-clad woman climbs the steps to stand nearby and bows deeply to the assembly. There's more to the speech which Jin disregards because a moment later she waves a ringed hand, and the dark thing in the center of the room is unveiled.
Kame makes a sharp, choking sound behind him. On the screen, the room erupts into gasps.
June, 2007. Paris.
Kame, she said, pulling on a pair of gloves and adjusting her hat - are you ready?
*
When the Paris-bound flight rose into the sky, leaving Narita behind, Kame tried to play it cool. She sat beside him, unconcerned and unimpressed as the airplane climbed up and up through the clouds, with a book in her hands and reading glasses perched over her nose. But he wasn't too jaded. He leaned into the scuffed plastic, peering at the thick, heavy drifts that rushed by. He smiled at his reflection in the small oval window as the clouds fell away, and he felt jittery excitement flood his chest.
After that first day/night, he couldn't sleep. In the daylight she showed him some of her favorite places: the patisserie that made the beignets she craved three hundred fifty days of the year and the quiet postage-stamp of a cobbled-over square with its sweet little fountain. They perched side by side on its stone lip and ate dripping ice cream cones. She stole sticky-sweet strawberry kisses from his lips. When he stepped up onto the fountain's rim and posed for her, leaning forward to kiss the stone girl's stone mouth, she laughed when he lost his balance and almost fell in.
In the cafe she liked, they lounged outside in plastic chairs under an awning and drank small cups of strong coffee while Kame tapped ash into a black plastic ashtray and brushed crumbs off his designer t-shirt with tiny Lavazza-branded paper napkins. She told him old stories that made him wish he'd known her then; he refused to remember that he would have been five.
The evenings were taken with her friends and late dinners and even later French-Japanese-English conversations that he couldn't always follow but somehow they always came back to the love of the food, politics, and the weather. While he listened, he swam in a sea of wine: Bordeaux served alongside succulent slices of duck with earthy mushrooms and pleasantly-chilled Alsatian Rieslings with raw oysters and bowls of steamed mussels in garlicky-wine-parsley broth. They stayed in the house of one of her friends who had a private walled garden that he looked down on from the bedroom terrace in the mornings. When he wandered the city on his own, armed only with a map, he clutched his wallet nervously and drank in the unfamiliar landscape with hungry eyes.
He found himself thinking of Jin as he drifted through narrow boutique-lined streets. He wondered if this was what Jin was reaching for, this feeling of enchantment, or rapture, and he swelled with understanding and forgiveness.
*
I love you, he told her in December after Jin left, kissing her neck and then her lips. She tasted like red wine and smelled faintly floral, and he was savvy-smooth now, no longer a callow boy. His patience and generosity were rewarded when at last she gasped his name again and again. He thrilled at the keen edge of tension, the whispery tumble. Her brilliant smile arced through the darkness. Only then did Kame allow himself to finish and collapse bonelessly beside her.
I know you do, she told him, later. But-
He was tired of that word. Kame stopped listening.
*
He wasn't sure when he began to consider marriage. He knew it was after that terrible October. He knew it was before New York in February. The idea grew in a space of time defined by despair and exhaustion and a loneliness that had nothing to do with anything he cared to discuss. The reasons were simple, really, nothing unusual.
Why do you like me? he asked her on Christmas Eve, their first, when he was drunk.
What's not to like? she answered with an appraising smile as she appropriated his wine glass and tipped it to her own lips. They were curled up on the leather couch in her spacious Western-style living room where something latin and jazzy played quietly in the background. She slipped the glass bowl back into his palm, the stem dangling between his fingers. Why do you like me?
Kame balanced the base of the wine glass on the peak of a single knee drawn into his chest. He thought carefully. I like you...
He turned to study her face. Experience and endless curiosity were etched into her features, and her eyes felt lived-in, in the best way: playful, wise, compassionate. She knew who she was. If she was dissatisfied, she never said. They never spoke of her divorce.
You make me happy, he told her. Why else?
Astonishingly, she flushed a perfect rosy-pink, and her eyes sparkled. He caressed her delicate laugh lines with his honest gaze.
Oh, Kame, she said, and she wiped her eyes before she kissed him.
*
Yes, he said, looking over his shoulder at her. He stood at the terrace railing outside their suite looking down on their host's walled garden. Unruly wildflower blooms competed with manicured lawn and tiny flagstone paths. A small fountain bubbled in one corner, and somehow all the stone walls of the surrounding buildings filtered the city until only the most charming echoes bounced in to mingle with running water and the apple tree's resident robins.
Squaring his shoulders, he automatically straightened his cuffs, and he banished all nagging thoughts as she drifted nearer, elegant in a sleeveless pale green silk sheath with pearls shimmering at her ears and throat. Her gloved hand reached out to touch the lapel of his tailored grey pin-striped suit before she stroked the back of her hand over his cheek fondly.
You look so handsome, she said as she stepped back to study him, and he glowed with pleasure. It still surprised him that he could impress her. He thanked her with genuine warmth as he held out his arm. She was smiling when she tucked her hand into his elbow.
Later, he berated himself for being weak and sentimental as he teared up twice during the ceremony. At the end, he watched the bride and groom walk up the aisle of a beautiful church, and he started when she, standing beside him, took his hand and squeezed it. He looked down at their joined hands and then gave her a sidelong glance. Of course she wouldn't want to do it all over again, and with someone half her age. Of course. Why did he always want the ones he couldn't have?
--
At first Jin doesn't understand what he's seeing: a slender statue posed beside a plaster Greek column on a low pedestal.
The camera zooms in past the women oohing and ahhing over the room's centerpiece.
The shimmering gold statue wears the green-black feathered mask, which Jin can now see quite clearly, with a champagne silk sarong knotted low around its narrow hips. A golden velvet rope trails from the collar around its throat to connect with the column.
Jin's stomach twists in shock and heat floods his cheeks. Even with the face obscured, it's unmistakable. He knows that body - the rigid set of those shoulders, the shallow groove in the torso that extends from breastbone to navel, the long line of the convulsing throat, that mouth - far too well.
Jin jerks around and closes the space between them with a few wide strides. When he's close enough, he roughly knocks the fedora off Kame's head.
Kame's face has become an elaborately air-brushed canvas, eyes all done up in smoke and outlined in liquid black. His skin sparkles with fine gold powder. The mask has left clear traces behind, indentations in his skin, a tattoo of artificial identity.
*
"Why," Jin hears himself ask after awhile. He has no idea how he's supposed to feel about this. He has no idea what he should be doing in this moment when all he can see are those somehow obscene images of Kame. It's not just the way Kame was leashed like an animal and displayed like a piece of meat, but - Jin swallows unsteadily - but the way the women look at him, like a thing, not a man. Jin's stomach elongates, curls in on itself, twisting queasily.
Kame shivers, and he wilts.
"I don't know," he says, tired. "She asked me to model the mask for her friends tonight. It-it was for fun. I thought it would be fun. I didn't know it would be like that."
"You could have said no!"
Kame meets Jin's gaze again with a snap. "No," he says in a wooden tone. "I couldn't."
October, 2006. Daikanyama.
Kame turned his head when he heard the click of the apartment door opening. Looking over his shoulder, he waited for her with one hand in his pocket.
When she appeared, he chewed his lip. Even now, late at night, at the end of a long day, she wore her bone-deep beauty effortlessly. She never used too much makeup; her long hair brushed her shoulders, and the skirt of a red silk dress swirled around her knees. She stopped when she saw him in the shadows, waiting.
Tadaima, she said, soft, almost cute. Her mouth nudged upward in a gentle curve.
Okaeri, he replied steadily, waiting for her to come nearer.
You've been waiting for me?
Yes. He swallowed over the tightness in his throat.
I'm sorry I've come so late then, she said as she put her handbag down on a small table against the far wall and padded toward him over the polished wood floor. She wrapped her arms around his chest and leaned her head against his. Kame relaxed a little.
Long day? Her voice was a soothing purr in his ear.
He nodded. He can't remember how he got through it. He did his lines, he hit his marks, and he ignored the hushed whispers of speculation. He fell asleep in the car they'd sent to bring him home from Yokohama, and when he woke up, he'd grabbed his chest in terror to feel around the edges of a gaping black hole.
It's over now. She paused. How do you feel?
Exhausted, he admitted with a grimace. He watched their reflections in the glass. Tokyo glittered and twinkled beyond the window of her apartment, all that life endlessly vibrating.
Will you miss him?
Kame thought about this, trying to push down the swift stab of resentment. It was done now, and there was no point dwelling on timing. He still hoped that the drama's debut wouldn't be entirely overshadowed by the Jin-soaked media circus.
No, he said decisively. His eyes burned as he stared ahead without blinking.
Sure about that? she asked, her breath tickling his ear as she shifted. He didn't answer.
She held him a little closer. He resisted the urge to turn and bury his face in her shoulder.
It's okay, she said at last, kissing his cheek. I think you will.
--
Jin pushes Kame down onto the couch, and Kame goes down easily, knees buckling under the gentle pressure. Jin paces off, mumbling something about needing a stronger drink. The video still plays on the television, and Kame finds himself staring at it in horrified fascination. He sucks in giant lungfuls of air as he tries to imagine it's someone else on the screen, as he tries to distance himself from the creature on the pedestal who wears his skin and his mouth beneath the feathered mask.
He looks down at his hands where they lay palm-up in his lap, and when he realizes they're trembling again, he clasps them tight between his knees so Jin won't notice as he comes back with a bottle of cognac and two glasses.
"Why the fuck are you watching this?" Jin growls, lurching toward the TV. Kame's voice pulls him up short.
"Leave it."
Jin turns to stare incredulously. "You're sick."
Kame twists his hands together. "Probably."
Jin reaches for the remote.
"No!" Kame's voice rings out, surprising himself and shocking Jin into stillness. "Just," he begins again, quieter, "come here, okay?"
Jin looks at him for a moment, listening to the twittering chorus of voices behind him.
"Fine," he mutters and comes nearer to sit down on the coffee table. He faces Kame, neatly blocking his view of the television.
"Stop it," Kame says.
"No, you stop it," Jin retorts. Jin reaches for the remote, and this time, Kame doesn't try to block him. When the voices disappear, and they are left with silence, Kame thinks he hears a distant rumble of thunder from the open balcony. It's raining again. The city breathes around them in an unsteady rise and fall, the hiss of tires on wet pavement, a tired sigh of leaking gas, of pressurized steam. In Kame's ears, the hiss grows louder and louder until it crescendos to a piercing shriek.
Jin is speaking, and Kame blinks, staring at an old coffee stain Jin left on the glass top - when? A month ago, maybe. Has it been that long? Jin's been busy, though, and then just as he begins to slow down, Kame is training and filming, and when he looks at the schedule, his eyes glaze over, and he thinks: it's always the same.
"What?"
"I said, what are you doing tomorrow?" Jin's voice is fake-casual. He hands Kame a short glass filled with amber liquid. Kame holds it loosely, studying his fingers through the heavy oily liquid.
"I don't know. Nothing?"
"Are you sure?"
"No." Kame frowns, lowering the glass to rest on his thigh. "It's Sunday."
"No," Jin disagrees, picking up Kame's drink-hand and pushing it toward his mouth. It sloshes a little, wetting his hand, but Jin doesn't care. "It's Saturday. Tomorrow is Saturday. Drink that, don't look at it. It's not for decoration."
"Are you sure?"
"Of course I'm sure. Tomorrow is Saturday."
The corner of Kame's mouth quirks up. He tips his head back and drains the entire glass in several throat-undulating gulps, ignoring Jin's slightly alarmed protest, and the cognac burns all the way down, until it coils in his belly, a restless pool of fire. He coughs, hard. He doesn't give a shit what day tomorrow is.
"Whatever." Kame leans forward, thrusting his empty glass into Jin's hand. He reaches past Jin, shifts on the couch until he reaches the mannequin head. When he pushes his thumb over the hook at the back, the mask comes away in his hands. Without looking at Jin, Kame lifts it with two hands and presses it to his face, feeling the stiffened leather settle against his skin. One that last day in Paris, the artist took casts of his face, an unpleasant process that left him with burning, over-sensitive skin. The mask now molds exactly to the contours of his cheekbones, nose, and forehead. With his right hand he holds the mask in place while he fastens the hook in the back with his left. His arms drop heavily into his lap. Kame blinks once, twice, suddenly feeling safe behind armour. He licks his lips. They're slightly sticky and taste sweet.
"What do you think?" Kame asks. His voice sounds funny in his ears, almost foggy.
Jin freezes when Kame puts on the mask. His breath goes out and disappears. He stares for long heartbeats. The mask transforms Kame into something alien and hyper-seductive. Jin struggles to resist a sudden rush of blood and Kame's moist lips.
What are you doing? he wants to ask, but he doesn't dare speak.
Still waiting for an answer, Kame grows uncertain around the mouth. He bites his lip. Jin winces. Somehow that inadvertent vulnerability is more enticing to Jin than anything more overt could have been.
He curses, a soft explosion. Self control was never his strong point. Anchoring his large hands on Kame's knees, he swiftly presses forward with a muffled sound. Kame's mouth is waiting for him, desirous and fierce. A moment later, they both taste bright copper. Jin jerks away, fingertips brushing at his lower lip in astonishment.
"What-"
Kame's hand shoots out and grabs a fistful of Jin's t-shirt, dragging Jin forward with surprising strength. There's a loud crack and a wet sound which Jin guesses is the cognac bottle on its side, amber fluid spreading in a flood over glass to drip down onto the floor.
"Don't you," Kame asks, "want me," and it's a sad little question breathed against Jin's lips. Before Jin can stop him, Kame dips his head and licks Jin's suddenly-exposed collarbone. Jin hears himself yelp, and he erupts away from Kame, hands flailing to cover the wet spot. He frowns against the swift beating of his heart, certain that Kame's mouth is suctioned against him, only Kame is sprawled back against the white cushions, rubbing his mouth with the back of his hand.
Kame's eyes flicker behind the mask, clickclickclick, and a cough turns into a wheezing laugh. Kame's left hand drifts down to the buttons of his silky black shirt, and Jin watches as Kame begins to undo them with awkward fingers, one at a time. Kame's knuckles are constantly bruised and swollen now; when Jin sees Kame's small hands during meetings, he has to swallow the desire to soothe the knuckles with his mouth, to suck on each finger, rolling them against his tongue. He blushes in those meetings, wondering if it shows on his face. He buries his nose in an extra-large cup of coffee until he chokes and sputters, and Koki, with a sympathetic, knowing expression, hits him on the back hard enough to knock the cup out of his hand.
Jin looks away from Kame's hand when it reaches his belt, and he takes a breath. He rubs at the phantom sensation of Kame's tongue laving his collarbone. When he looks back, he feels the unnerving weight of Kame's gaze from behind the mask.
"Kame?" he asks, whisper-soft, struggling to stand back, to keep away. Kame is a dark, exotic creature reclined on white. He hardly seems real. Above the mask, his now-shorter black hair stands out in gel-stiffened spiky clumps, but Jin's eyes are glued to Kame's mouth below. The mask has immobilized Kame's expressive face, but his parted lips betray him.
"Why are you doing this?" Jin tries again, helpless. He takes another breath. Closer now. His fingers twitch.
Kame's eyes glitter through the eye-holes, and he shakes his head. He doesn't want to talk, he doesn't want to try to explain. He can do that later, when he figures it out. If he figures it out. Jin watches Kame bite his lip again.
"What do you want from me, Jin?" Kame asks at last, throat tight.
Jin frowns in confusion.
"You," he says finally. "Just you."
"I'm right here," Kame says. His voice catches. They both hear it, and it's somehow shocking.
"Take off the mask, then."
Kame begins to shiver then in a very real way, not just a small tremor, but all over, a deep terrifying vibration that starts slow and builds before Jin's eyes. Jin rushes at him, then, pushes Kame down onto his back, and covers him with his long frame.
"Shhh," Jin says, brushing his thumb over Kame's mouth. He kisses Kame hard, silently willing the body beneath him to stop shaking. Jin reaches under to unhook the mask, and he hurls it away carelessly, anxious to be rid of the vile thing. Kame shudders.
When he kisses Kame again, they both taste the salty tang of blood. This time, Jin thinks he understands, somewhere in that small part of his brain where rational thought has fled.
Kame lifts his head, neck muscles stretched tight, and he breathes hard through his nose as he tries to catch Jin's bloodied lip again with his teeth. Jin pulls back in time, and he manages to stay just out of reach, hands tight on Kame's wrists where he presses them into the soft white cushion above Kame's head, and their legs tangle and shift. Time was, Jin could rely on his height and heavier bones to overpower Kame once he was down, but Kame's body feels different now, less like flexible steel and more like unbending iron rod covered over in layers of surprisingly solid muscle. For a moment, Jin fights to stay on top before he changes his mind and collapses to his knees on the floor beside the couch.
Kame turns his head sideways to follow Jin. Kame's eyes are black, lightless voids, and it hurts too much to look at him. Instead, Jin swallows hard and slides his hands from Kame's knees all the way up his thighs, stopping when he reaches Kame's belt.
"Do you," Jin swallows again, his heart ricocheting madly, "want-"
Kame bends forward and cups Jin's face before kissing him, hungry and sweet.
February, 2007. New York City.
The city glittered beyond the thick glass of the forty-fifth floor window as Kame hefted a heavy tumbler of orange juice and vodka and gazed across a shaft of air at the nearby office building. Jetlag was a crushing weight behind his eyes, yet he was too wired to sleep. Junno had unhelpfully offered him a palmful of sleeping pills, but Kame declined. Considering the following day's jammed schedule, he wasn't about to risk not waking up for instant medicated oblivion. Unready to face his bed, he'd decided on the hotel bar. Just a couple drinks to help him relax.
When he looked away from the window, he moved to wipe his mouth with the back of his hand, and he noticed Jin.
Of course, Jin hadn't seen him yet, secluded as Kame was behind a pillar, but it seemed clear from the way he was standing at the corner of the large central bar that Jin was definitely looking for someone. It was inevitable that Jin's gaze should fall on him in that moment. Kame stomach lurched as he met Jin's eyes. He lowered his hand to the table.
Jin glanced away as the bartender pushed a drink toward him. Kame watched as he paid the man, picked up his glass, and made a beeline for Kame's table. He was dressed in olive green cargo pants and a warm-looking cream turtleneck sweater. He looked tired, and his dark hair seemed incredibly long to Kame's eyes, but Kame wasn't sure how much he was exaggerating Jin's appearance through his own lens of exhaustion.
Nakamaru said you would be here, Jin said as he sat down across from Kame.
I'm here, Kame blurted stupidly, feeling completely tongue-tied. He hadn't expected to see him until the next day. He wasn't ready for this.
I just got in, Jin said as he lifted the glass to his mouth. Kame was silent, just staring and staring. Jin put his glass down.
Kame, he tried again. He shifted in his seat, and then rubbed his nose.
Yes, Kame responded at last, and his voice sounded far away. How are you?
Jin made an attempt at a smile that fizzled out halfway through. He shifted again. I'm- he began, and he looked down, fingers tightening to white-knuckle around his glass.
I'm not sure, he said at last, and gave an odd laugh. Kame blinked rapidly, finally rousing. He picked up his glass and drained it in a few burning gulps.
Finish that, he said when he was done, gesturing to Jin's glass, and he stood up. Let's get out of here.
*
Jin followed him out of the bar and they walked for what seemed like a long time, taking an elevator occasionally, and they continued through more labyrinthine hotel passages, until finally Kame's footsteps slowed and then halted. Jin looked around, taking notice of where they were and realized that they'd ended up near the hotel's ballrooms. Kame stood close to a window and pushed back the long drapes.
Just tell me, he began and his voice contained a trace of fear.
Yes, Jin answered immediately. Yes. You knew that already.
I didn't know, Kame said without looking at him.
Jin sighed. Kame, he began and then kept going so he wouldn't be tempted to stop and walk away. He fought the powerful urge to hug Kame because that's what he knew how to do, but somehow he knew that he couldn't, not yet, so he stood there and explained what Kame already knew - or should have known without ever having to be told - until finally Kame turned to him and said: okay.
Okay, what? Jin asked. Instantly the resentful thought flashed through him: I just spilled my guts and all you have to say is okay?
Okay, Kame continued steadily, meeting his eyes. You're serious. This is going to happen.
Yes.
You're not worried about the others?
Of course I am, Jin snapped. He clamped his mouth shut, seething at the doubt he heard. What, you think they don't want me back?
Maybe, Kame allowed, not backing down. Have you talked to Koki lately?
Jin felt a flush shoot up to his hairline as adrenaline surged. I don't have to, he answered. He hasn't exactly kept it a secret.
Kame was quiet for a long moment while Jin tried very hard to calm down.
I'm glad, Kame said at last, that you're coming back - and then he was fumbling in his pocket for his cellphone. Sorry, he apologized, raising his hand in vertical profile as he turned away. Kame's voice grew light, softened, as he spoke quietly into the mobile. Jin realized with an uncomfortable prickle that Kame was talking to her.
Yes, Kame said. No, I'm fine. Really! No, no, I think everything is on track. Yes, tomorrow.
Then Kame raised his head and glanced at Jin. Jin noticed just as Kame was looking away.
Yes, he's here, Kame said into his phone, and then: I'm not sure. We'll have a lot to talk about tomorrow.
Kame paused, listening.
I don't know. I really don't know. His voice sounded tense now. He paused again.
Jin impotently clenched his fists as he listened to the silence stretch out. She always made him feel vaguely itchy, the idea of her, and partly it was residual resentment and jealousy - for some reason, Kame'd never had to give her up, which was irritating as hell when Jin let himself dwell on it - and, well, the rest of it was a sort of jealousy, too, but he refused to think about that right now.
Yes, Kame said at last. I will. I'll talk to you soon. Me, too. He was smiling when he finished, and he was still smiling when he looked up into Jin's eyes.
Jin watched with a chill as the smile slipped a bit. Kame's eyes suddenly looked very sad.
We're not kids anymore, are we? he ventured softly.
No, Jin replied. But, and he reached out to touch Kame's shoulder: we have choices now.
Do we really?
Jin was silent for a long moment, thinking. Yes, he answered. Yes, we do, and this is my choice. It's the right thing for all of us.
Are you sure about that?
Jin hesitated. No. I'm not sure. I don't think it's possible to be one hundred percent sure. But I still think it's the right thing to do right now.
Kame was smiling again. Wow, he said in an admiring tone that held no trace of sarcasm. You have changed.
Jin flushed, embarrassed. What did she say? he asked, trying to change the subject.
Kame's face altered slightly. Good luck, he said. She wished us luck. And- he broke off.
And what? Jin prompted.
Kame tried to laugh, and he began to walk down the corridor away from the deserted ballrooms. Jin trailed behind. When Kame abruptly stopped, Jin, not paying attention, walked right into him. Kame turned around.
Imissedyousomuch, he said breathlessly. He seized a handful of Jin's sweater and pulled him down a little. After that first enervating brush, Jin opened his mouth against Kame's and closed his eyes. It was a slow kiss, warm and familiar and tender and longing. Jin leaned into it while nerves thrummed throughout his entire body. It seemed endless: a swooping, dizzying sensation enveloped him in which he was anchored by the softness of Kame's lips, the slickness of Kame's tongue sliding against his. Kame's hand was steady against the curve of Jin's face. His heart pounded in his chest. When Kame pulled back, Jin followed him, swaying forward. Their foreheads met and they rested there for long seconds. Jin didn't open his eyes. Kame sighed and he felt Kame's whole body move with it, a grief so palpable it shifted his shoulders and pushed down into the floor beneath them, down through miles of concrete and steel and glass.
When at last Jin opened his eyes, he tasted vodka and regret, and Kame was already walking away.
--
Sometimes Kame wears unhappiness like a starched uniform. Jin thinks this as he awkwardly manhandles Kame to his feet and half-pushes and half-pulls him down the corridor. Kame stumbles along stiff-limbed, a frown creased between his eyes.
Jin gently shoves Kame into the shower and turns on the water, heedless of their clothes. "Stay," he says, propping Kame against the wall. Kame blinks at him, licking the water on his lips. His teased hair begins to fall, to cling to his skull.
"I'm sorry," Kame says suddenly, "I'm sorry."
Nothing makes sense. "Stop it," Jin snaps, and yet not unkindly, "you're always sorry." He rummages on the rack for a washcloth. "We're always sorry, aren't we?" He stares down at the wash cloth for a long blurry moment before he turns back to Kame.
"Here," he says, lifting Kame's chin and tilting his face upward under the warm spray. The makeup and paint begin to swirl off his face in messy black and gold streaks. Jin wets the wash cloth under the showerhead. He gently strokes his thumbs over Kame's eyelids, smudging the black, before he traces over them with the wet wash cloth, over the planes of his cheeks, down to his jaw line. In his head, Jin is washing her off Kame - watching her claim on him slide off Kame's skin to swirl down into the darkness of the drain. He'll never ask, but as the gold and black forms a smoky river at their bare feet, he selfishly wishes.
Kame's hand comes up and covers Jin's when it pauses near his mouth.
"Jin," he says. "Jin."
Jin's eyes study him. After a moment, he presses the wash cloth into Kame's hand and without looking away, begins to work at Kame's belt, roughly pulling it loose.
Kame bites his lip and takes a hitching breath when Jin's hand slips inside. He reaches up, rests his hand on Jin's shoulder. Jin's warm hand strokes him very slowly, lightly, almost a teasing touch, but Kame knows that Jin is just being careful.
"Sometimes I wish that everyone would walk away from me," Kame says in a dead voice, the words spilling out, disintegrating into the sound of rushing water.
"Even me?" Jin asks soberly.
"Yes," Kame replies at once, a breath. And then: "no."
Jin strokes him a little harder, his touch growing insistent. He nudges Kame into the corner of the shower, stepping inside. Warm water rains down on them both. Jin feels Kame's knees give just a little when he lowers his head to press his lips to Kame's open mouth. He tastes salt. He tastes Kame. Kame's chest pants against him as Jin's hand moves faster.
'Which is it," Jin asks, his lips soft on Kame's cheek. Kame hooks his elbow around his neck and shifts to brace himself. His feet slide a bit in the water pooling in the corner of the shower stall where it dips slightly.
Kame doesn't answer. His eyes are closed tight, and his face flashes with an expression of pain, of uncertainty, of fear. His breath quickens.
Jin kisses him hard then, feeling a sudden frustration lance through him. Choices and decisions loom threateningly, threaten to choke him. Decide, he thinks, choose. Stay or go. He's not sure who he means.
"No," Kame moans at last, drawing short sobbing breaths, "no."
Part 2 (the end)
Fanfiction Index
contact: shontosgarden at gmail dot com
Title: Set Piece (1/2)
Pairings: Jin & Kame; Jin & Yamapi; Kame & Koizumi; Yamapi & Abiru
Warnings: mature themes, not work-safe
Genre: RPF, slash, het, canon, post-debut
Wordcount: 13, 208
Navigate: Part 1 | Part 2
Note: Begun 2008.01.29, and finished 2008.09.14; with profound thanks to acchikocchi, ina, riccichan, C & K.
From far away, Kame hears the light click of the gate, a brief murmur of voices, and then there's his light, shuffling step on the walk just before he emerges from darkness into the splash of lamp light. The January night is cold and damp and it's been raining sporadically all day. Kame is stiff, cramped now from a long wait on the freezing terrace of his fashionable apartment building. When he climbed out of the chauffeured car two hours ago, he was still trembling, and he couldn't bear to go inside alone. Outside he can breathe, and the dark blue city keeps him company.
Jin flops down beside him on the wide step. Kame takes a drag on his cigarette and exhales before he speaks.
"Took you long enough."
Jin leans into him a little. He radiates energy and warmth. "Got one for me?"
Kame reaches into his jacket pocket and hands over a crumpled packet and lighter. "I thought you quit."
"I did." Jin plucks out the last cigarette. Soon he breathes out with a shallow cough. "Sorry. I was, you know, having dinner with Yamapi. I came as soon as I could."
Kame turns away and looks down the path to the front gate, which gleams bluish from rain and dim light. The brim of a steeply slanted hat conceals most of his face so Jin can only see Kame's mouth, which twitches. "And how is Yamashita?"
"He sends his regards." Jin's voice is carefully neutral.
"No doubt," Kame replies. "He fucked you, right? That's why you're late?" His tone is dry, without recrimination.
"No!"
"Of course he did," comes Kame's patient response, as he shifts on the cement step. "I can smell him on you, idiot."
"Oh." And then: "that doesn't mean anything. We were together all evening, of course I'm going to smell like him."
"Jin," Kame retorts witheringly, "you don't smell like Yamashita's cologne." He pauses a beat as Jin flushes. "I don't know why you bother lying about it every time, either."
Jin's quiet for a few moments. A whitish tendril drifts upward from the end of his cigarette.
"I don't want to hurt your feelings," Jin answers at last.
Kame snorts. "Suddenly I have feelings?"
He stands abruptly, shouldering his bag, and he lifts a large box by the loops of string that criss-cross it. He studies the cigarette he's smoked down to the filter before he pushes it into his engraved silver-shiny pocket ashtray. His shoulders sink, just a little, but enough that Jin notices it.
Kame clucks his tongue and sighs. "I will never understand this."
He sounds faint and weary, but his voice contains a razor-wire of tension that startles Jin. He still can't see much of Kame's sharp-featured face, hidden as it is under the hat, but he thinks he doesn't need to. Jin pushes himself to his feet, and he leans into Kame purposefully, reaching over to tug the ashtray from Kame's fingers. Kame doesn't flinch, which Jin takes as a good sign.
They stand in silence, listening to the dark, wet city exhale around them. A few moments pass before Jin finally responds, first taking one last drag on his half-smoked cigarette before he stuffs it into Kame's ashtray.
"Neither does he."
"What about you?" Kame asks tightly. He hears the instant intake of breath and feels Jin turning, but he's suddenly terrified of the answer. This isn't the time for serious conversations. That's not why he called Jin. He tries to remember why he called Jin. His head swims, and his fingers itch to rub his throat-
-like that, he's trembling again.
"Never mind," he mutters, cutting Jin off, and he turns on his heel, "forget I asked."
September, 2007. Roppongi.
Come over, Yamapi's text read, I'm heading home. I'll meet you there.
It was late: his watch reported eleven p.m., so it was stupid, but between Yamapi's jammed schedule and his own, Jin hadn't seen him in almost a month. Times like these, Jin felt more than a little overwhelmed - stylists constantly hovering, endless photoshoots to promote the drama, and now there was director-san making him redo the same scene too many times. He barely had enough time to eat. Two years between dramas and six months away meant an adjustment to this particular grind - he'd had to be woken up twice during the afternoon for falling asleep in between takes. Now he just wanted to lie down on Yamapi's couch and stay still for a very long time.
When he arrived, Yamapi buzzed him in and then opened the apartment door just as he was about to knock. Yamapi's eyes had that look which meant nothing good, and he didn't even try to smile.
Are you okay? Jin asked as he removed his shoes. Yamapi was filming practically every day lately; no doubt that was taking a toll.
Yamapi slid his hands into his pockets and slumped against the wall: I could ask you the same question. He blinked at half-speed.
Jin ducked his head for just a second, not meeting Pi's eyes, and then he shrugged. You know, long day, he answered. He shouldered past Yamapi to head straight for the kitchen where he pulled Bombay Sapphire from the freezer and tonic from the refrigerator. Yamapi followed him and stood nearby, shifting his weight as he watched Jin mix a drink.
You want one? Jin asked, as he poured tonic over the substantial layer of liquor in his tall glass. Not that he needed any help sleeping.
Yamapi shook his head slowly, as though he was set on some kind of delay. Jin met his eyes and saw that Yamapi was staring at him with peculiar heat. He sagged a little, understanding.
Should I stay over? Jin asked then in a low voice, compassion flaring as he watched Yamapi's mouth work. Like this, he knew Yamapi would never ask if he didn't offer. On good days he could be lighthearted and laughing, casually proprietary, but when he was down, Yamapi became careful.
Yeah, Yamapi rasped, the single syllable containing an entire explanation. He reached out to wind a heavy hand around the back of Jin's neck. His thumb glided along the sensitive skin just behind Jin's right ear, and even tired as he was, it was impossible not to respond. Yamapi was too familiar. He drank the whole glass down, breathing through his nose, feeling the weight of Yamapi's gaze on him, until it was empty.
Okay, Jin said as he placed the glass carefully on the counter. His head spun. He stepped nearer, and with only Yamapi's touch on his neck to guide him, he gave in to a kiss.
*
Sex with Yamapi was comfortable, like pulling an old silk kimono over bare skin. It was an extension of their friendship that hadn't been disrupted by Abiru. She's fun, he would say with a shrug, and Jin knew he shouldn't ask more questions. There were expectations and there were expectations. They were comrades, brothers in arms, with survival skills. With Yamapi, Jin didn't know how to say no.
They kissed their way through the corridor, stumbling in the dark and pulling at their clothes. In the lightless bedroom, Jin let Yamapi push him down on his back. Yamapi was clearly too tired to finesse it, and Jin was too tired to ask for more.
Wait, Jin said after a minute of heat and friction. He automatically reached for the bedside table. In the dark, he felt rather than saw Yamapi shake his head, his lips brushing his cheek.
No, Yamapi replied breathlessly, never mind. Can't wait. His hair tickled Jin's face.
Jin hesitated. Okay. He rolled his hips, pressing up against Yamapi, desire spiking. Let me, he said, and Yamapi rolled off him. Jin let his fingers guide him in the dark, finding Yamapi's hips, his belt, and he loosened the fastenings until he was able to reach in and get a hand on Yamapi's cock.
It jumped in his palm, and Yamapi moaned quietly.
Move up, Jin said, soft. Yamapi obliged, dragging himself further up the mattress until Jin could comfortably stretch out and lower his mouth down. It didn't take long; Yamapi was too needy, too close, and a few minutes later, he shook in release. Jin swallowed diligently, and as the blood pounded in his head, he thought, god, I need another drink.
All right? he asked, lifting his head. Yamapi stirred a little, laughed weakly.
Yeah. Awesome.
Jin lay his cheek against Yamapi's bare hip, blinking into the darkness and listening to Yamapi come down. After a while the blood receded. He said, you should get some sleep.
C'm'ere, Yamapi said. The words slurred out on a breath. Jin sighed and forced himself to his hands and knees so he could crawl up to collapse next to Yamapi. He rolled onto his side and tucked a hand under his head.
Thanks, Yamapi breathed, relaxed now, with sleep dragging on his voice. Let's-
Yamapi's voice faded as the rest of his thought disappeared. Jin pulled the blankets up over them and settled onto his back, staring up at the ceiling. Yamapi slid an arm over his chest and curled into his side.
Morning, Yamapi whispered, your turn. From the dramatic drop-off in his breathing, Jin thought he must have fallen asleep immediately.
Jin didn't sleep, though, as he lay beside Yamapi in the dark. His eyes burned as he stared at the dark ceiling and listened to the small random sounds of Yamapi's apartment building. His head was too full of noise, of echoes and whispers, of compromise and reconciliation. He listened to Yamapi breathe, and his heart raced. Only days ago he'd been listening to Kame breathe beside him, in Kame's bed, wondering what the fuck was going on.
September, 2007. Daikanyama.
What happened in New York had confused him. For weeks and months he'd turned those too-brief moments over and over in his head, trying to understand. It made no sense when all he heard was how serious Kame was about his unlikely girlfriend, but then, as time passed, he wondered if he'd imagined it. It was such a small thing, after all, and it probably meant nothing. Things had been good between them all summer, and at work, and with the guys. Jin was finally beginning to feel like he could relax a little, like he'd caught up enough, that he wasn't looking over his shoulder constantly.
That evening, after the play let out, he gave Kame a ride in exchange for a late dinner in Daikanyama. Kame was in a surprisingly fine mood and was accordingly expansive; he ordered ridiculously expensive wine and insisted on continually refilling Jin's glass throughout their meal. He asked thoughtful questions, laughed at Jin's jokes, and he encouraged Jin to order whatever he wanted, to eat more, as if he could nourish Jin with his attention and generosity.
I should give you a ride home every night if it means dinner like that, Jin said lightly as they neared Kame's gleaming high-rise apartment building.
Why don't you come up? Kame asked - if you're not too tired.
Jin gave Kame a sidelong glance before impulsively agreeing; he turned into the underground garage entrance where he punched in Kame's code to open the gates. After parking the car, he released his seatbelt, but suddenly unsure, he remained still.
Kame, with his hand on the door, turned and said: coming?
How's your-? Jin asked instead of answering. He gestured vaguely with his hand.
It still hurts, yeah, Kame told him. A frustrated expression crossed his face. Stupid ropes.
Be careful, Jin said suddenly, harshly, surprising himself. He twisted to face Kame who was watching him.
I hate that- Jin began, meeting Kame's curious gaze. Jin had no idea where it came from, but suddenly it was there between them, the old suffocating thing that sucked up all the air in the car, and he was frozen by the look in Kame's eyes.
Jin. Kame paused. His eyes were soft, and his voice had changed. Are you worried about me?
Of course I'm worried about you, Jin burst out, that show is dangerous.
He tried to look away, afraid, but he couldn't. He thought he didn't want to.
Jin, Kame was saying. Jin. Kame's hand reached out and stroked hair back from his face. His fingers were gentle, lingering. Jin's breath stuttered in his chest. It happened, just like that, between one blink and the next. The thing he'd been crushing down shivered to life.
He couldn't remember what happened next - who moved first? Or did they both? He couldn't remember how - or even when - they made it up to Kame's apartment. He remembered Kame's face half in shadows from the dim parking garage light, and he remembered a sense of astonishment. Trying to breathe, his skin on fire.
Later, they'd stared at each other with all the lights on, nowhere to hide.
Come back, Kame whispered inexplicably. He tipped the last word up, like a question, his voice tinged with uncertainty and surprise. Jin wasn't sure he understood the question. He wasn't sure he needed to. Something was turning over and over behind Kame's eyes. Jin felt very warm, wrapped in the soft glow of genuine affection beaming out of Kame's eyes. He'd seen that look before. He missed it, and he wondered if Kame had any idea what he looked like just then - Jin drank in the sin of Kame's round flushed cheeks, the damp hair curling against his skin and his dark-chocolate eyes. Jin swallowed. For that expression, Jin thought he could easily sell his soul. Hadn't he done it once? He could forget about everything - about work, and Yamapi, about Kame's girlfriend, about the last few years - it would be worth it to forget. It was probably stupid. Jin didn't care.
--
Kame keeps the neglected Daikanyama flat for his own reasons, and when he keys the door open, it looks just as un-lived-in as ever. He doesn't spend much time here. When he's not with her, he misses Ran too much, so Kame often ends up going back to his parents' who keep her for him.
Jin wrinkles his nose. "It smells."
"So open some windows," Kame suggests with a twinge of annoyance, tugging at his boots. He breathes in the musty stench of abandonment and exhaustion.
Jin yanks off his own boots, leaving them in a careless pile, before he shrugs out of his coat. In the living room, he cracks opens the sliding glass door to a small balcony. Dead leaves and other debris litter its concrete floor.
"What do you have to drink?"
"There's beer in the refrigerator." Kame is perched on the edge of the wide, white L-shaped couch. He hasn't taken off his voluminous overcoat, although his feet are bare where they emerge from tailored black trousers. His toes bleed gold where they curl into the rug.
Jin glances over his shoulder and reflects on Kame's ability to fold his body into neat, tidy packages. Kame leans forward at a precise angle, elbows on his knees with his mobile's tiny screen propped in front of his face.
"Are you hungry?" Kame asks absently. Jin considers that Yamapi finished half his plate at dinner while he wasn't paying attention.
"Yeah, but I don't think you have anything," Jin answers from the kitchen as he pops the tab on a can of beer. The refrigerator is empty save a few beer cans, a lone bottle of vitamin water, and a head of garlic that is growing bright yellowish-green sprouts.
"Sorry," Kame mumbles. He doesn't look up when Jin sprawls onto the couch beside him.
"So what - is she checking up on you?" Jin leans over to see the glowing screen.
"Shut up." Kame bats him away. "No." He lowers the mobile and thrusts it into his coat pocket.
"So what then?"
Kame hesitates. "Nothing! She-she just wanted to make sure I got here," he says quickly.
Jin notices Kame shiver and begins to wonder why when Kame still hasn't taken his coat off.
"Are you cold?"
"A little," Kame admits.
Jin throws his arm over Kame's shoulders and squeezes him in a brief hug. "So what's in the box?"
"She gave it to me," Kame says irrelevantly. His voice is coiled tight. Jin notices, but pretends he doesn't, playing it cool.
"Can I see it?" he asks. Kame hesitates again before answering with a jerky nod.
"Really?" Jin's eyes light up, and he pulls the box toward him, his fingers clumsy as he works at the knots. Kame watches in silence, gold-dusted hands tightening on his knees. Jin feels Kame's intent gaze from under the slanted brim of his hat.
The white box is square and rather large. When he pulls the top off, Jin understands why. Inside, nestled in swaths of tissue paper, is a shiny white plastic mannequin head, and the head is wearing a mask. Jin very carefully lifts it out of the tissue paper and places it on the glass-topped coffee table.
"Whoa." It's all Jin can think to say. Kame sits beside him in perfect bird-like stillness.
The mask is magnificent, surely a work of art. Only intended to cover the upper half of a face, it arches from the brow, sweeping upwards and to either side in flexible panels that wrap around the head until it fastens in the back. It has been elaborately and painstakingly decorated in darkly glittering, shining patterns that both catch the light and absorb it.
"It-it's amazing," Jin says, eyes widening in genuine wonderment. He brushes his fingertips over the gleaming green-black feathers. With an airbrush, he guesses, they've been delicately dappled with fading dark spots that are nearly invisible. Smoky faceted paste-jewels outline the eye holes, and gunmetal-grey sequins are sewn like fish scales just visible beneath the feathers. It could have been ugly and ostentatious, but instead, it's elegant, somehow refined.
"Why-" Jin begins. Of course he knows she gives him gifts sometimes. But this-
Kame stares at the mask almost fearfully. "She commissioned it when we went to Paris last summer - the artist is an old friend of hers. I...I don't know why, not exactly."
While he listens, Jin restlessly toys with the tissue paper in the box until his fingers brush something hard. He leans in for a closer look, fishing out a DVD in a clear plastic case. Jin's stomach tenses as he stares at it for a few startled seconds.
"Wait-" Kame chokes, his eyes widening when he sees the disc. He dives for it.
"It's mine," Jin protests without thinking. He springs up and holds the disc out of reach. "Look, it has my name on it." Jin is already at the player, plucking the disc from its case and sliding it in before Kame can stop him.
When Jin hears the tinny burst of women's laughter from the stereo speakers, he turns on the television.
An image springs to life: a large room, decorated Western-style, with a wide staircase in the background. Jin looks over his shoulder briefly when he hears Kame's horrified voice: "Jin, no!" but another outburst of laughter pulls his eyes back to the video image. A group of chattering women mill about, some in kimonos and some in gowns. They cluster in small groups around an oddly-shaped dark object in the center of the room.
"Jin, turn it off." There is a terrible panicky sound in Kame's voice, but Jin is frozen. "Please, I'm begging you."
She appears on the steps, serene and poised, and Jin only barely registers the beginning of a speech - something about her dear friend, a very special artist who's come all the way from Paris to join them in Tokyo, and then the women are applauding as a trim black-clad woman climbs the steps to stand nearby and bows deeply to the assembly. There's more to the speech which Jin disregards because a moment later she waves a ringed hand, and the dark thing in the center of the room is unveiled.
Kame makes a sharp, choking sound behind him. On the screen, the room erupts into gasps.
June, 2007. Paris.
Kame, she said, pulling on a pair of gloves and adjusting her hat - are you ready?
*
When the Paris-bound flight rose into the sky, leaving Narita behind, Kame tried to play it cool. She sat beside him, unconcerned and unimpressed as the airplane climbed up and up through the clouds, with a book in her hands and reading glasses perched over her nose. But he wasn't too jaded. He leaned into the scuffed plastic, peering at the thick, heavy drifts that rushed by. He smiled at his reflection in the small oval window as the clouds fell away, and he felt jittery excitement flood his chest.
After that first day/night, he couldn't sleep. In the daylight she showed him some of her favorite places: the patisserie that made the beignets she craved three hundred fifty days of the year and the quiet postage-stamp of a cobbled-over square with its sweet little fountain. They perched side by side on its stone lip and ate dripping ice cream cones. She stole sticky-sweet strawberry kisses from his lips. When he stepped up onto the fountain's rim and posed for her, leaning forward to kiss the stone girl's stone mouth, she laughed when he lost his balance and almost fell in.
In the cafe she liked, they lounged outside in plastic chairs under an awning and drank small cups of strong coffee while Kame tapped ash into a black plastic ashtray and brushed crumbs off his designer t-shirt with tiny Lavazza-branded paper napkins. She told him old stories that made him wish he'd known her then; he refused to remember that he would have been five.
The evenings were taken with her friends and late dinners and even later French-Japanese-English conversations that he couldn't always follow but somehow they always came back to the love of the food, politics, and the weather. While he listened, he swam in a sea of wine: Bordeaux served alongside succulent slices of duck with earthy mushrooms and pleasantly-chilled Alsatian Rieslings with raw oysters and bowls of steamed mussels in garlicky-wine-parsley broth. They stayed in the house of one of her friends who had a private walled garden that he looked down on from the bedroom terrace in the mornings. When he wandered the city on his own, armed only with a map, he clutched his wallet nervously and drank in the unfamiliar landscape with hungry eyes.
He found himself thinking of Jin as he drifted through narrow boutique-lined streets. He wondered if this was what Jin was reaching for, this feeling of enchantment, or rapture, and he swelled with understanding and forgiveness.
*
I love you, he told her in December after Jin left, kissing her neck and then her lips. She tasted like red wine and smelled faintly floral, and he was savvy-smooth now, no longer a callow boy. His patience and generosity were rewarded when at last she gasped his name again and again. He thrilled at the keen edge of tension, the whispery tumble. Her brilliant smile arced through the darkness. Only then did Kame allow himself to finish and collapse bonelessly beside her.
I know you do, she told him, later. But-
He was tired of that word. Kame stopped listening.
*
He wasn't sure when he began to consider marriage. He knew it was after that terrible October. He knew it was before New York in February. The idea grew in a space of time defined by despair and exhaustion and a loneliness that had nothing to do with anything he cared to discuss. The reasons were simple, really, nothing unusual.
Why do you like me? he asked her on Christmas Eve, their first, when he was drunk.
What's not to like? she answered with an appraising smile as she appropriated his wine glass and tipped it to her own lips. They were curled up on the leather couch in her spacious Western-style living room where something latin and jazzy played quietly in the background. She slipped the glass bowl back into his palm, the stem dangling between his fingers. Why do you like me?
Kame balanced the base of the wine glass on the peak of a single knee drawn into his chest. He thought carefully. I like you...
He turned to study her face. Experience and endless curiosity were etched into her features, and her eyes felt lived-in, in the best way: playful, wise, compassionate. She knew who she was. If she was dissatisfied, she never said. They never spoke of her divorce.
You make me happy, he told her. Why else?
Astonishingly, she flushed a perfect rosy-pink, and her eyes sparkled. He caressed her delicate laugh lines with his honest gaze.
Oh, Kame, she said, and she wiped her eyes before she kissed him.
*
Yes, he said, looking over his shoulder at her. He stood at the terrace railing outside their suite looking down on their host's walled garden. Unruly wildflower blooms competed with manicured lawn and tiny flagstone paths. A small fountain bubbled in one corner, and somehow all the stone walls of the surrounding buildings filtered the city until only the most charming echoes bounced in to mingle with running water and the apple tree's resident robins.
Squaring his shoulders, he automatically straightened his cuffs, and he banished all nagging thoughts as she drifted nearer, elegant in a sleeveless pale green silk sheath with pearls shimmering at her ears and throat. Her gloved hand reached out to touch the lapel of his tailored grey pin-striped suit before she stroked the back of her hand over his cheek fondly.
You look so handsome, she said as she stepped back to study him, and he glowed with pleasure. It still surprised him that he could impress her. He thanked her with genuine warmth as he held out his arm. She was smiling when she tucked her hand into his elbow.
Later, he berated himself for being weak and sentimental as he teared up twice during the ceremony. At the end, he watched the bride and groom walk up the aisle of a beautiful church, and he started when she, standing beside him, took his hand and squeezed it. He looked down at their joined hands and then gave her a sidelong glance. Of course she wouldn't want to do it all over again, and with someone half her age. Of course. Why did he always want the ones he couldn't have?
--
At first Jin doesn't understand what he's seeing: a slender statue posed beside a plaster Greek column on a low pedestal.
The camera zooms in past the women oohing and ahhing over the room's centerpiece.
The shimmering gold statue wears the green-black feathered mask, which Jin can now see quite clearly, with a champagne silk sarong knotted low around its narrow hips. A golden velvet rope trails from the collar around its throat to connect with the column.
Jin's stomach twists in shock and heat floods his cheeks. Even with the face obscured, it's unmistakable. He knows that body - the rigid set of those shoulders, the shallow groove in the torso that extends from breastbone to navel, the long line of the convulsing throat, that mouth - far too well.
Jin jerks around and closes the space between them with a few wide strides. When he's close enough, he roughly knocks the fedora off Kame's head.
Kame's face has become an elaborately air-brushed canvas, eyes all done up in smoke and outlined in liquid black. His skin sparkles with fine gold powder. The mask has left clear traces behind, indentations in his skin, a tattoo of artificial identity.
*
"Why," Jin hears himself ask after awhile. He has no idea how he's supposed to feel about this. He has no idea what he should be doing in this moment when all he can see are those somehow obscene images of Kame. It's not just the way Kame was leashed like an animal and displayed like a piece of meat, but - Jin swallows unsteadily - but the way the women look at him, like a thing, not a man. Jin's stomach elongates, curls in on itself, twisting queasily.
Kame shivers, and he wilts.
"I don't know," he says, tired. "She asked me to model the mask for her friends tonight. It-it was for fun. I thought it would be fun. I didn't know it would be like that."
"You could have said no!"
Kame meets Jin's gaze again with a snap. "No," he says in a wooden tone. "I couldn't."
October, 2006. Daikanyama.
Kame turned his head when he heard the click of the apartment door opening. Looking over his shoulder, he waited for her with one hand in his pocket.
When she appeared, he chewed his lip. Even now, late at night, at the end of a long day, she wore her bone-deep beauty effortlessly. She never used too much makeup; her long hair brushed her shoulders, and the skirt of a red silk dress swirled around her knees. She stopped when she saw him in the shadows, waiting.
Tadaima, she said, soft, almost cute. Her mouth nudged upward in a gentle curve.
Okaeri, he replied steadily, waiting for her to come nearer.
You've been waiting for me?
Yes. He swallowed over the tightness in his throat.
I'm sorry I've come so late then, she said as she put her handbag down on a small table against the far wall and padded toward him over the polished wood floor. She wrapped her arms around his chest and leaned her head against his. Kame relaxed a little.
Long day? Her voice was a soothing purr in his ear.
He nodded. He can't remember how he got through it. He did his lines, he hit his marks, and he ignored the hushed whispers of speculation. He fell asleep in the car they'd sent to bring him home from Yokohama, and when he woke up, he'd grabbed his chest in terror to feel around the edges of a gaping black hole.
It's over now. She paused. How do you feel?
Exhausted, he admitted with a grimace. He watched their reflections in the glass. Tokyo glittered and twinkled beyond the window of her apartment, all that life endlessly vibrating.
Will you miss him?
Kame thought about this, trying to push down the swift stab of resentment. It was done now, and there was no point dwelling on timing. He still hoped that the drama's debut wouldn't be entirely overshadowed by the Jin-soaked media circus.
No, he said decisively. His eyes burned as he stared ahead without blinking.
Sure about that? she asked, her breath tickling his ear as she shifted. He didn't answer.
She held him a little closer. He resisted the urge to turn and bury his face in her shoulder.
It's okay, she said at last, kissing his cheek. I think you will.
--
Jin pushes Kame down onto the couch, and Kame goes down easily, knees buckling under the gentle pressure. Jin paces off, mumbling something about needing a stronger drink. The video still plays on the television, and Kame finds himself staring at it in horrified fascination. He sucks in giant lungfuls of air as he tries to imagine it's someone else on the screen, as he tries to distance himself from the creature on the pedestal who wears his skin and his mouth beneath the feathered mask.
He looks down at his hands where they lay palm-up in his lap, and when he realizes they're trembling again, he clasps them tight between his knees so Jin won't notice as he comes back with a bottle of cognac and two glasses.
"Why the fuck are you watching this?" Jin growls, lurching toward the TV. Kame's voice pulls him up short.
"Leave it."
Jin turns to stare incredulously. "You're sick."
Kame twists his hands together. "Probably."
Jin reaches for the remote.
"No!" Kame's voice rings out, surprising himself and shocking Jin into stillness. "Just," he begins again, quieter, "come here, okay?"
Jin looks at him for a moment, listening to the twittering chorus of voices behind him.
"Fine," he mutters and comes nearer to sit down on the coffee table. He faces Kame, neatly blocking his view of the television.
"Stop it," Kame says.
"No, you stop it," Jin retorts. Jin reaches for the remote, and this time, Kame doesn't try to block him. When the voices disappear, and they are left with silence, Kame thinks he hears a distant rumble of thunder from the open balcony. It's raining again. The city breathes around them in an unsteady rise and fall, the hiss of tires on wet pavement, a tired sigh of leaking gas, of pressurized steam. In Kame's ears, the hiss grows louder and louder until it crescendos to a piercing shriek.
Jin is speaking, and Kame blinks, staring at an old coffee stain Jin left on the glass top - when? A month ago, maybe. Has it been that long? Jin's been busy, though, and then just as he begins to slow down, Kame is training and filming, and when he looks at the schedule, his eyes glaze over, and he thinks: it's always the same.
"What?"
"I said, what are you doing tomorrow?" Jin's voice is fake-casual. He hands Kame a short glass filled with amber liquid. Kame holds it loosely, studying his fingers through the heavy oily liquid.
"I don't know. Nothing?"
"Are you sure?"
"No." Kame frowns, lowering the glass to rest on his thigh. "It's Sunday."
"No," Jin disagrees, picking up Kame's drink-hand and pushing it toward his mouth. It sloshes a little, wetting his hand, but Jin doesn't care. "It's Saturday. Tomorrow is Saturday. Drink that, don't look at it. It's not for decoration."
"Are you sure?"
"Of course I'm sure. Tomorrow is Saturday."
The corner of Kame's mouth quirks up. He tips his head back and drains the entire glass in several throat-undulating gulps, ignoring Jin's slightly alarmed protest, and the cognac burns all the way down, until it coils in his belly, a restless pool of fire. He coughs, hard. He doesn't give a shit what day tomorrow is.
"Whatever." Kame leans forward, thrusting his empty glass into Jin's hand. He reaches past Jin, shifts on the couch until he reaches the mannequin head. When he pushes his thumb over the hook at the back, the mask comes away in his hands. Without looking at Jin, Kame lifts it with two hands and presses it to his face, feeling the stiffened leather settle against his skin. One that last day in Paris, the artist took casts of his face, an unpleasant process that left him with burning, over-sensitive skin. The mask now molds exactly to the contours of his cheekbones, nose, and forehead. With his right hand he holds the mask in place while he fastens the hook in the back with his left. His arms drop heavily into his lap. Kame blinks once, twice, suddenly feeling safe behind armour. He licks his lips. They're slightly sticky and taste sweet.
"What do you think?" Kame asks. His voice sounds funny in his ears, almost foggy.
Jin freezes when Kame puts on the mask. His breath goes out and disappears. He stares for long heartbeats. The mask transforms Kame into something alien and hyper-seductive. Jin struggles to resist a sudden rush of blood and Kame's moist lips.
What are you doing? he wants to ask, but he doesn't dare speak.
Still waiting for an answer, Kame grows uncertain around the mouth. He bites his lip. Jin winces. Somehow that inadvertent vulnerability is more enticing to Jin than anything more overt could have been.
He curses, a soft explosion. Self control was never his strong point. Anchoring his large hands on Kame's knees, he swiftly presses forward with a muffled sound. Kame's mouth is waiting for him, desirous and fierce. A moment later, they both taste bright copper. Jin jerks away, fingertips brushing at his lower lip in astonishment.
"What-"
Kame's hand shoots out and grabs a fistful of Jin's t-shirt, dragging Jin forward with surprising strength. There's a loud crack and a wet sound which Jin guesses is the cognac bottle on its side, amber fluid spreading in a flood over glass to drip down onto the floor.
"Don't you," Kame asks, "want me," and it's a sad little question breathed against Jin's lips. Before Jin can stop him, Kame dips his head and licks Jin's suddenly-exposed collarbone. Jin hears himself yelp, and he erupts away from Kame, hands flailing to cover the wet spot. He frowns against the swift beating of his heart, certain that Kame's mouth is suctioned against him, only Kame is sprawled back against the white cushions, rubbing his mouth with the back of his hand.
Kame's eyes flicker behind the mask, clickclickclick, and a cough turns into a wheezing laugh. Kame's left hand drifts down to the buttons of his silky black shirt, and Jin watches as Kame begins to undo them with awkward fingers, one at a time. Kame's knuckles are constantly bruised and swollen now; when Jin sees Kame's small hands during meetings, he has to swallow the desire to soothe the knuckles with his mouth, to suck on each finger, rolling them against his tongue. He blushes in those meetings, wondering if it shows on his face. He buries his nose in an extra-large cup of coffee until he chokes and sputters, and Koki, with a sympathetic, knowing expression, hits him on the back hard enough to knock the cup out of his hand.
Jin looks away from Kame's hand when it reaches his belt, and he takes a breath. He rubs at the phantom sensation of Kame's tongue laving his collarbone. When he looks back, he feels the unnerving weight of Kame's gaze from behind the mask.
"Kame?" he asks, whisper-soft, struggling to stand back, to keep away. Kame is a dark, exotic creature reclined on white. He hardly seems real. Above the mask, his now-shorter black hair stands out in gel-stiffened spiky clumps, but Jin's eyes are glued to Kame's mouth below. The mask has immobilized Kame's expressive face, but his parted lips betray him.
"Why are you doing this?" Jin tries again, helpless. He takes another breath. Closer now. His fingers twitch.
Kame's eyes glitter through the eye-holes, and he shakes his head. He doesn't want to talk, he doesn't want to try to explain. He can do that later, when he figures it out. If he figures it out. Jin watches Kame bite his lip again.
"What do you want from me, Jin?" Kame asks at last, throat tight.
Jin frowns in confusion.
"You," he says finally. "Just you."
"I'm right here," Kame says. His voice catches. They both hear it, and it's somehow shocking.
"Take off the mask, then."
Kame begins to shiver then in a very real way, not just a small tremor, but all over, a deep terrifying vibration that starts slow and builds before Jin's eyes. Jin rushes at him, then, pushes Kame down onto his back, and covers him with his long frame.
"Shhh," Jin says, brushing his thumb over Kame's mouth. He kisses Kame hard, silently willing the body beneath him to stop shaking. Jin reaches under to unhook the mask, and he hurls it away carelessly, anxious to be rid of the vile thing. Kame shudders.
When he kisses Kame again, they both taste the salty tang of blood. This time, Jin thinks he understands, somewhere in that small part of his brain where rational thought has fled.
Kame lifts his head, neck muscles stretched tight, and he breathes hard through his nose as he tries to catch Jin's bloodied lip again with his teeth. Jin pulls back in time, and he manages to stay just out of reach, hands tight on Kame's wrists where he presses them into the soft white cushion above Kame's head, and their legs tangle and shift. Time was, Jin could rely on his height and heavier bones to overpower Kame once he was down, but Kame's body feels different now, less like flexible steel and more like unbending iron rod covered over in layers of surprisingly solid muscle. For a moment, Jin fights to stay on top before he changes his mind and collapses to his knees on the floor beside the couch.
Kame turns his head sideways to follow Jin. Kame's eyes are black, lightless voids, and it hurts too much to look at him. Instead, Jin swallows hard and slides his hands from Kame's knees all the way up his thighs, stopping when he reaches Kame's belt.
"Do you," Jin swallows again, his heart ricocheting madly, "want-"
Kame bends forward and cups Jin's face before kissing him, hungry and sweet.
February, 2007. New York City.
The city glittered beyond the thick glass of the forty-fifth floor window as Kame hefted a heavy tumbler of orange juice and vodka and gazed across a shaft of air at the nearby office building. Jetlag was a crushing weight behind his eyes, yet he was too wired to sleep. Junno had unhelpfully offered him a palmful of sleeping pills, but Kame declined. Considering the following day's jammed schedule, he wasn't about to risk not waking up for instant medicated oblivion. Unready to face his bed, he'd decided on the hotel bar. Just a couple drinks to help him relax.
When he looked away from the window, he moved to wipe his mouth with the back of his hand, and he noticed Jin.
Of course, Jin hadn't seen him yet, secluded as Kame was behind a pillar, but it seemed clear from the way he was standing at the corner of the large central bar that Jin was definitely looking for someone. It was inevitable that Jin's gaze should fall on him in that moment. Kame stomach lurched as he met Jin's eyes. He lowered his hand to the table.
Jin glanced away as the bartender pushed a drink toward him. Kame watched as he paid the man, picked up his glass, and made a beeline for Kame's table. He was dressed in olive green cargo pants and a warm-looking cream turtleneck sweater. He looked tired, and his dark hair seemed incredibly long to Kame's eyes, but Kame wasn't sure how much he was exaggerating Jin's appearance through his own lens of exhaustion.
Nakamaru said you would be here, Jin said as he sat down across from Kame.
I'm here, Kame blurted stupidly, feeling completely tongue-tied. He hadn't expected to see him until the next day. He wasn't ready for this.
I just got in, Jin said as he lifted the glass to his mouth. Kame was silent, just staring and staring. Jin put his glass down.
Kame, he tried again. He shifted in his seat, and then rubbed his nose.
Yes, Kame responded at last, and his voice sounded far away. How are you?
Jin made an attempt at a smile that fizzled out halfway through. He shifted again. I'm- he began, and he looked down, fingers tightening to white-knuckle around his glass.
I'm not sure, he said at last, and gave an odd laugh. Kame blinked rapidly, finally rousing. He picked up his glass and drained it in a few burning gulps.
Finish that, he said when he was done, gesturing to Jin's glass, and he stood up. Let's get out of here.
*
Jin followed him out of the bar and they walked for what seemed like a long time, taking an elevator occasionally, and they continued through more labyrinthine hotel passages, until finally Kame's footsteps slowed and then halted. Jin looked around, taking notice of where they were and realized that they'd ended up near the hotel's ballrooms. Kame stood close to a window and pushed back the long drapes.
Just tell me, he began and his voice contained a trace of fear.
Yes, Jin answered immediately. Yes. You knew that already.
I didn't know, Kame said without looking at him.
Jin sighed. Kame, he began and then kept going so he wouldn't be tempted to stop and walk away. He fought the powerful urge to hug Kame because that's what he knew how to do, but somehow he knew that he couldn't, not yet, so he stood there and explained what Kame already knew - or should have known without ever having to be told - until finally Kame turned to him and said: okay.
Okay, what? Jin asked. Instantly the resentful thought flashed through him: I just spilled my guts and all you have to say is okay?
Okay, Kame continued steadily, meeting his eyes. You're serious. This is going to happen.
Yes.
You're not worried about the others?
Of course I am, Jin snapped. He clamped his mouth shut, seething at the doubt he heard. What, you think they don't want me back?
Maybe, Kame allowed, not backing down. Have you talked to Koki lately?
Jin felt a flush shoot up to his hairline as adrenaline surged. I don't have to, he answered. He hasn't exactly kept it a secret.
Kame was quiet for a long moment while Jin tried very hard to calm down.
I'm glad, Kame said at last, that you're coming back - and then he was fumbling in his pocket for his cellphone. Sorry, he apologized, raising his hand in vertical profile as he turned away. Kame's voice grew light, softened, as he spoke quietly into the mobile. Jin realized with an uncomfortable prickle that Kame was talking to her.
Yes, Kame said. No, I'm fine. Really! No, no, I think everything is on track. Yes, tomorrow.
Then Kame raised his head and glanced at Jin. Jin noticed just as Kame was looking away.
Yes, he's here, Kame said into his phone, and then: I'm not sure. We'll have a lot to talk about tomorrow.
Kame paused, listening.
I don't know. I really don't know. His voice sounded tense now. He paused again.
Jin impotently clenched his fists as he listened to the silence stretch out. She always made him feel vaguely itchy, the idea of her, and partly it was residual resentment and jealousy - for some reason, Kame'd never had to give her up, which was irritating as hell when Jin let himself dwell on it - and, well, the rest of it was a sort of jealousy, too, but he refused to think about that right now.
Yes, Kame said at last. I will. I'll talk to you soon. Me, too. He was smiling when he finished, and he was still smiling when he looked up into Jin's eyes.
Jin watched with a chill as the smile slipped a bit. Kame's eyes suddenly looked very sad.
We're not kids anymore, are we? he ventured softly.
No, Jin replied. But, and he reached out to touch Kame's shoulder: we have choices now.
Do we really?
Jin was silent for a long moment, thinking. Yes, he answered. Yes, we do, and this is my choice. It's the right thing for all of us.
Are you sure about that?
Jin hesitated. No. I'm not sure. I don't think it's possible to be one hundred percent sure. But I still think it's the right thing to do right now.
Kame was smiling again. Wow, he said in an admiring tone that held no trace of sarcasm. You have changed.
Jin flushed, embarrassed. What did she say? he asked, trying to change the subject.
Kame's face altered slightly. Good luck, he said. She wished us luck. And- he broke off.
And what? Jin prompted.
Kame tried to laugh, and he began to walk down the corridor away from the deserted ballrooms. Jin trailed behind. When Kame abruptly stopped, Jin, not paying attention, walked right into him. Kame turned around.
Imissedyousomuch, he said breathlessly. He seized a handful of Jin's sweater and pulled him down a little. After that first enervating brush, Jin opened his mouth against Kame's and closed his eyes. It was a slow kiss, warm and familiar and tender and longing. Jin leaned into it while nerves thrummed throughout his entire body. It seemed endless: a swooping, dizzying sensation enveloped him in which he was anchored by the softness of Kame's lips, the slickness of Kame's tongue sliding against his. Kame's hand was steady against the curve of Jin's face. His heart pounded in his chest. When Kame pulled back, Jin followed him, swaying forward. Their foreheads met and they rested there for long seconds. Jin didn't open his eyes. Kame sighed and he felt Kame's whole body move with it, a grief so palpable it shifted his shoulders and pushed down into the floor beneath them, down through miles of concrete and steel and glass.
When at last Jin opened his eyes, he tasted vodka and regret, and Kame was already walking away.
--
Sometimes Kame wears unhappiness like a starched uniform. Jin thinks this as he awkwardly manhandles Kame to his feet and half-pushes and half-pulls him down the corridor. Kame stumbles along stiff-limbed, a frown creased between his eyes.
Jin gently shoves Kame into the shower and turns on the water, heedless of their clothes. "Stay," he says, propping Kame against the wall. Kame blinks at him, licking the water on his lips. His teased hair begins to fall, to cling to his skull.
"I'm sorry," Kame says suddenly, "I'm sorry."
Nothing makes sense. "Stop it," Jin snaps, and yet not unkindly, "you're always sorry." He rummages on the rack for a washcloth. "We're always sorry, aren't we?" He stares down at the wash cloth for a long blurry moment before he turns back to Kame.
"Here," he says, lifting Kame's chin and tilting his face upward under the warm spray. The makeup and paint begin to swirl off his face in messy black and gold streaks. Jin wets the wash cloth under the showerhead. He gently strokes his thumbs over Kame's eyelids, smudging the black, before he traces over them with the wet wash cloth, over the planes of his cheeks, down to his jaw line. In his head, Jin is washing her off Kame - watching her claim on him slide off Kame's skin to swirl down into the darkness of the drain. He'll never ask, but as the gold and black forms a smoky river at their bare feet, he selfishly wishes.
Kame's hand comes up and covers Jin's when it pauses near his mouth.
"Jin," he says. "Jin."
Jin's eyes study him. After a moment, he presses the wash cloth into Kame's hand and without looking away, begins to work at Kame's belt, roughly pulling it loose.
Kame bites his lip and takes a hitching breath when Jin's hand slips inside. He reaches up, rests his hand on Jin's shoulder. Jin's warm hand strokes him very slowly, lightly, almost a teasing touch, but Kame knows that Jin is just being careful.
"Sometimes I wish that everyone would walk away from me," Kame says in a dead voice, the words spilling out, disintegrating into the sound of rushing water.
"Even me?" Jin asks soberly.
"Yes," Kame replies at once, a breath. And then: "no."
Jin strokes him a little harder, his touch growing insistent. He nudges Kame into the corner of the shower, stepping inside. Warm water rains down on them both. Jin feels Kame's knees give just a little when he lowers his head to press his lips to Kame's open mouth. He tastes salt. He tastes Kame. Kame's chest pants against him as Jin's hand moves faster.
'Which is it," Jin asks, his lips soft on Kame's cheek. Kame hooks his elbow around his neck and shifts to brace himself. His feet slide a bit in the water pooling in the corner of the shower stall where it dips slightly.
Kame doesn't answer. His eyes are closed tight, and his face flashes with an expression of pain, of uncertainty, of fear. His breath quickens.
Jin kisses him hard then, feeling a sudden frustration lance through him. Choices and decisions loom threateningly, threaten to choke him. Decide, he thinks, choose. Stay or go. He's not sure who he means.
"No," Kame moans at last, drawing short sobbing breaths, "no."
Part 2 (the end)
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