[01/06] Yakuza AU: Bullet
title. Bullet
pairing. akame (je)
rating. r
summary. akanishi and kamenashi are yakuza who work together, who live together, who trust each other. they have rows of dark suits in their respective closets (and skeletons behind those). kame is kind of fucked up and more than a little self-centered.
author’s note. i wrote this in july for a certain ohfetus and then sent it to her and refound it last week and sent it to her again thinking i could get away with not actually writing sth new.
word count. 01030
Kamenashi shares an apartment with Akanishi. The apartment is decently-sized and they live like university students with beer cans strewn over flat surfaces and empty pizza boxes piled beside the trashcan. But they are yakuza and bodyguards and occasional hitmen with dark rows of suits in their respective closets (pressed and dry-cleaned).
"Tadaima," Kamenashi calls, slips trainers off his feet. He's unassuming. Skinny and lithe with a long face and high-arching eyebrows.
"Okaeri," Akanishi replies from somewhere. Maybe the kitchen where he eats Chinese leftovers or the living room where he plays video games. He's probably just woken up. "Where did you go?"
"Shooting range. Ready for tonight?"
"You know," Akanishi calls, "I had a date." He pads out to meet Kamenashi in the front hallway. Akanishi is dark, and he's broad for a Japanese man, but his face is pretty and soft. He probably looks like his mom. "Had to cancel. Think she hates me?"
"There are others." Kamenashi shrugs. "Did you make lunch?"
"I just woke up."
---
Kamenashi freaks out when he hears guns at the shooting range, but it's a little bit different on the field. It is do-or-die, no time for silly breathing exercises or-"Motherfuck, Akanishi," he spits, glares venom at the driver as he swerves. "You nearly took that eighteen-wheeler up the fucking ass. We're not in a tank." He grits his teeth and his heart pounds when he shoves his gun out the window, points it back and shoots at the car giving chase.
"If you would just kill the motherfucker then I wouldn't have to try so hard to get away," Akanishi hisses back. And there's collective wincing as the back window shatters when it's sprayed with bullets.
Kamenashi's fingers tremble as he shoves bullets into the gun's chamber. He nearly flies into Akanishi's lap when a bullet comes closer than too-close-for-comfort, hits the rear view mirror and Akanishi almost smacks into the median during his swerve.
Kamenashi turns in his seat, hears the blood pumping through his heart and maybe feels blood oozing down his forehead. He's afraid and shaking and adrenaline isn't helping. "Steady!" He calls, looks over at Akanishi before looking at the car trailing them. "Don't jerk," he says and the cold air bites his skin and whips his hair.
He lines up the target, feels the trigger and pulls.
---
They dump everything, drive the vehicle to a chopshop at the docks and burn their suits at the pier. Kamenashi throws the gun into a dumpster. It's clean and unmarked.
"That went well," Akanishi lies, looks at Kamenashi. They wear street clothes, jeans and t-shirts and jackets and hats. Late night karaoke, they told a cop who stopped them. He had apologized, told them he had to be suspicious of anyone walking around at 2am down a Tokyo backstreet.
"The client is safe." Kamenashi flips his phone shut. "Got a text. It was only those two men and they came after us."
"Brilliant idea," Jin says, "Getting in the car alone and disguising that guy as a sous chef in the kitchens."
"Mm," Kamenashi doesn't really reply. He hasn't been able to shake that feeling of near-death.
They hail a cab.
---
Kamenashi, according to others, takes everything too seriously and only cares about work. He's uptight-has a stick up his ass.
Kamenashi thinks that's stupid. He doesn't want to die. He'd do anything to stay alive except give up his loyalties, and even then-
"Kamenashi," Akanishi says, "We're home."
---
Kamenashi showers first. He likes it hot and scalding to remind him that he's alive, that his skin is red and raw because his blood is still flowing. His mind is fuzzy when he leaves the shower, and he's pulling a towel from the rack when the door opens and the steam floods out and Akanishi stands in the mist.
"Are you okay?" Akanishi asks, begins to strip. "You were in here a while." Akanishi waits for an answer with his shirt off and his jeans half-unbuttoned. He also blocks the doorway.
Kamenashi blinks slowly, holds the towel in his hand and drips on the tile floor. "Yes," he says looks straight into Akanishi's eyes.
Akanishi steps forward, reaches out his hand and lets his fingers run down the line of Kamenashi's arm. "Yes?" He asks.
Kamenashi admits to himself that he's not okay, that he doesn't do particularly well in near-death experiences though a stoic face may say otherwise. He's very much an immature child, very much incapable of comprehending death or embracing it. He also admits that Akanishi is the only one who knows he's like that. "Please."
---
He likes the feeling of Akanishi pressed between him and the wet tile of the shower, solid and alive and real. Breathing and gasping and naked-exposed. Kamenashi likes the noises that Akanishi makes, the strangled shriek when his fingers run along Akanishi's collarbone, the satisfied sigh when his hands run through Akanishi's hair.
They migrate to one of their rooms eventually-whomever's is closest. Kamenashi fucks Akanishi into the mattress and he hopes it hurts. He hopes it burns, because he wants Akanishi to feel like he's alive too.
Akanishi always pulls Kamenashi toward him when it’s over and they are hot and spent and still breathing heavy. His limbs might ache, and the red marks on his body might sting, but he never complains and always seems content.
Kamenashi allows himself to be babied, lets Akanishi rub those large hands over his muscles, lets Akanishi press his chin into his hair.
This makes Kamenashi feel alive, too. In a different, unassuming way.
"I'm afraid of dying," he confides in a rush, feels Akanishi shift beside him until they are at eye level.
"It's like sleeping. You won't even know it's hit you."
"Have you died?" Kamenashi asks, voice curling with sarcasm.
"Close enough," Akanishi says, and Kamenashi isn't a poet, but he finds himself suddenly wondering if it's possible to get shot in the chest and not have a scar, because one of Akanishi's hands drifts down toward his heart.
START // PART 02
2007.08.07