Archive of Our Own ^beta

“Are you gunna talk to him?” Himeno said. They were at the tail end of afterwork drinks – Himeno was drunk enough to stir the pot, not drunk enough to hit on Aki herself. She pointed with her beer bottle to Kishibe, sitting  at the other end of the table, chatting politely to the waitress.

“Who? Kishibe?” Aki asked. “Why?”

“You know, after what you said the other night,” Himeno said. Aki blinked. He had no idea what she was talking about. “After karaoke?” She prompted.

They’d gone out together the week before, Aki had gotten blackout drunk. He didn’t really remember doing karaoke. He knew Himeno took him home and slept on his couch. He knew they sat up talking for a while but…

“I can’t remember anything past midnight, honestly,” Aki said, sheepishly.

“We were talking about sex and dating and stuff, and I mentioned that, you know,” Himeno looked around the table and lowered her voice. “That I like women too. And you told me you wanted to try having sex with a guy, and when I told you that’d take you like five seconds to achieve at the right night club — you were all like,” Himeno dramatically lowered her head into her hands, deepening and flattening her voice, impersonating him. “It has to be someone I trust, anonymous sex freaks me out, I’m not like you — rude, by the way.” She sat up.

Aki had also gone on to say that he wanted to sleep with a man who was bigger than he was, because he wanted to get “tossed around”. That the only man he could think of who was bigger than him was Kishibe. A fuzzy memory came back to him. Lying on the living room floor and slurring to Himeno:

“Is Kishibe gross or hot… Would it be gross or hot to fuck Kishibe, what do you think?”

“Hot! Hot!” Himeno replied, clapping. “He’s hot! You’re totally his type he,” she paused and hiccuped, “He said once he was into anything with a pretty face when I asked him. Because I was trying to hit on him.”

“Did it work?”

“No, I either passed out or got distracted, I can’t remember.”

“Still doesn’t mean he likes men,” Aki had said.

But Himeno had insisted she’d totally heard a rumour that he did, and she bet it was probably definitely kind of true, maybe. And they’d agreed that Aki would talk to Kishibe, at least a little, the next time they went for drinks after work.

“I could say something to him for you,” Himeno said.

“Don’t you fucking dare,” Aki hissed. “I’m not… I was just drunk, I wouldn’t… With him.” Then Aki swore Himeno to secrecy. Never repeat what he said to any one ever even under torture.

“I won’t, I won’t. Not like you don’t have plenty of blackmail material on me. Secret’s safe, mum’s the word, I’ll take it to my grave.” She sucked on her beer bottle, then scowled at him suddenly. “Wait — what’s wrong with Kishibe? You seemed into it the other night.”

Aki looked at him again. He was handsome, objectively, but grizzled, either in his late forties or prematurely aged into his late forties by cigarettes and alcohol.

He was polite but cold — with a flatness of affect which did not betray one sliver of his brutality in the field. Aki had seen him do things which were as terrifying as they were insane — profoundly violent killings of Devils and Fiends which sent a cold chill down Aki’s spine.

When you first met him he was scary — when you got to know him a little better he was just depressing. Too many drinks in Kishibe and you’d hear all about his barren social life and his bad habits. Kishibe said he’d had a lot of women, but no one had ever put up with him for longer than a few months. He found it hard to make friends outside of public safety because civilians didn’t understand the job — and he’d outlived every other Devil Hunter he’d known.

“What’s right with him? He’s like a walking argument for retiring in your thirties,” Aki said.

“So? I kind of like that — his sad old man thing.”

Himeno had awful taste in men.

The waitress prevented Kishibe from lighting up his cigarette in their non-smoking room, sending him outside. Aki decided to follow — he’d been itching to smoke for a while.

Aki watched Kishibe walk out the door and go to the left — Aki went to the right. He lit his cigarette and took a single drag, when Kishibe appeared, suddently, next to him, an unlitcigarette dangling from his dry, cracked lips. It had been raining on and off all day — it began to drizzle again.

“Got a light?” he asked. Aki handed over his lighter. Kishibe was looming over him — he was only really an inch or two taller than Aki, but the breadth of his shoulders and the intensity of his presence made him feel much larger. Aki’s lighter looked like a kid’s toy in his long, bony fingers. His face illuminated in the flame was sharp and handsome, then gone, in shadow again as he handed the lighter back. “How’s things with you?”

“Good,” Aki replied. Kishibe was always polite. He wasn’t unpleasant to be around once you were used to him.

“You still…” Kishibe pointed to his skull and made a face. “Y’know. Normal.” Aki shrugged. He didn’t know how sane or insane he was by any one’s standards — but he was clearly falling short for Kishibe. “I always thought you had good potential — but your head’s screwed on way too tight.” Kishibe sighed.

“Can’t do much about that.”

“No, you can’t,” he agreed. “Don’t slack on your sword training, you’ll be…” he trailed off. “You’ll be fine for a while, I’m sure.”

Aki rolled his eyes. He dropped his cigarette on the ground and crushed it under his shoe.

“Thanks,” Aki said.

“Don’t pout,” Kishibe replied. “Prove me wrong. Or quit.”

*

Disaster struck at the end of the evening.

Aki had taken his keys out of his pocket when he’d pulled out his wallet. Aki paid his share of the bill, and left his keys on the table. He went to the bathroom. Himeno grabbed him just before he went in and kissed him wetly on the cheek.

“I’m going home,” she said. “You should talk to him.” She winked conspiratorially.  He shushed her – she stuck her tongue out and walked away.

Aki returned from the bathroom to find his colleagues gone and his keys missing.

He asked the staff first — had anyone picked up his keys while clearing the table. The manager checked in with the waiter and the busboy — nobody had seen his keys.

He ran out and found a few devil hunters hanging around in the street — waiting for taxis or beginning their walk home. Aki waved at Kato and Tanabe, crowding together under an umbrella. The drizzle was picking up a little. They waved back. He asked about his keys and they both shrugged, taking the time to politely check their own pockets, just in case.

“You were sat next to Himeno — maybe she picked them up by mistake,” said Kato.

“Yeah — she seemed pretty drunk,” agreed Tanabe. “I think maybe I saw her pick them up. I saw her pick something up.”

“Is she still here?” Aki asked. They pointed to a cab, now in the distance, turning onto the next street.

“Shit,” said Aki. He tried in vain to chase the cab, wondering why he’d bothered as soon as he’d started. The cab was out of sight by the time he’d reached the end of the street.

There was a pay phone in front of the restaurant he could use — Aki hoped he could remember the number for Himeno’s pager.

Aki assured Kato and Tanabe that he was okay and told them to head home. It was kind of them to wait for him.

“I have my building pass — worst comes to worse I can sleep in the office,” said Aki. The office had beds for on-call shifts and showers. They left, Aki went into the phonebooth.

He weakly attempted to recall Himeno’s pager number, dialling a few buttons then giving up. Frustrated, he banged the phone repeatedly against the receiver — like the phonebooth had eaten his keys and might spit them out if Aki hit it hard enough.

There was a knock at the door — Kishibe.

“You okay?” he asked.

“I think Himeno picked up my keys. I was trying to call her pager but,” Aki tapped his pockets, “Fuck, I think I’m out of change – I can’t remember the number, anyway.”

There was a sudden downpour of rain. Kishibe pulled his coat over his head and opened the phone booth door.

“My place is nearby — wanna use my phone? You can call her or maybe get a cab to the office or something. Get out of the rain, at least.”

Aki nodded. He began to wonder if Himeno had taken his keys on purpose. You should talk to him, she’d said – and now Aki was headed back to Kishibe’s apartment.

Trying to banish conspiracy theories from his mind, he walked just behind Kishibe with his jacket over his head — following him up the street and around the corner to an apartment building about five minutes from the restaurant.

“I always suggest that place,” said Kishibe. “It’s not that good, but…” He opened the front door and shook himself off in the lobby like a wet dog. Aki did the same. “It’s really convenient for me.”

“I like it fine,” Aki said. “But I did wonder why you’re so pushy about going there.”

The lobby was small, half the room taken up with mailboxes, the other half occupied by locked up bikes and damp umbrellas.

As they stepped into the elevator, sailing up to the top floor, Aki realised this was the most time he’d spent alone with Kishibe since his training. About eight weeks of it when he was fifteen — he’d been hired alongside ten other teenagers and had been the only one to make it all the way through. Kishibe was tough and unfair. He put them through hard, physical drills and psychological tests. One day he’d lock them in a dark room for hours without telling them why or when he’d be back, the next he’d launch surprise attacks on them while they ate, or just before they clocked off for the day.

Aki benefited from his natural advantages — he was tall and athletic; he was co-ordinated with good balance. He was a team-player and good at following orders. But he liked to think what really set him apart from the others was his drive and the intensity of his hatred for devils.

Kishibe hadn’t paid him any special attention till he was the last trainee standing. He sighed and said: Well, Hayakawa, you were by far the best of the bunch. You obviously wanted it the most. Congrats. And I get it. You wanna get the Gun Devil. You and everyone else. My advice — channel that hatred into a fucking hobby or something. Hatred is predictable. Hatred is fear’s little sister. Fear will get you killed.

Maybe he was being arrogant, or naive — but Aki didn’t think Kishibe’s advice really applied to him. Three years on and Aki was yet to see something that truly terrified him. He was sure that his determination would carry him through to the end.

The elevator pinged. Kishibe’s apartment was at the end of the hall — one of four on this floor. Aki wondered if it might be fancy — it was on the top level of the building and there were only a few apartments here.

But no, that wasn’t the case. It was smaller than the apartment Public Safety were renting out to Aki — but a letter about his mortgage interest rates lying opened and abandoned on little table by the door meant Kishibe probably owned the place. It was a decent size for Tokyo — a particularly good size for someone living alone. Public Safety gave Devil Hunters a pay rise for every year they stayed alive — Kishibe probably made more money than half of upper management.

The apartment was neither neat nor dirty. It wasn’t as fastidiously tidy as Aki’s place, but you wouldn’t recoil on entering. Kishibe had a decently sized television, a big VHS library and as many books as he had video tapes. His couch was ratty, but it was big and looked comfortable; a mismatched armchair beside it looked newer and just as cosy. Aki wandered absently to the VHS tapes, noting a framed photograph of a much younger Kishibe and his old buddy.

He couldn’t remember her name — people mostly referred to her as “the Chinese woman” or “the Lesbian”. Sometimes she received her full title: “The Chinese Lesbian”, and people immediately went on to tell you how she’d ditched Public Safety to fuck a bunch of devil girls or fiends or something. It always sounded like bullshit to Aki — something to add to Kishibe’s mythology.

Depending on who told you the story: Kishibe had either been in unrequited and unconsummated love with her — or had dated her for a while and put her off men for life.

Beside her, the young Kishibe was still recognisable as Kishibe. His hair was black and shiny, his skin was smooth and unmarked — his facial features symmetrical, perfectly placed and shaped. Very handsome and very big. The kind of man you’d do a double-take for if you saw in the street.

“Phone’s here,” Kishibe said, scratching at his scraggly beard. Then he coughed a gross, hacking cough, an old smoker’s cough. With his wet clothes and hair, he looked like a soggy junkyard dog. Aki looked back at the picture, and thought about how people were always telling him he was handsome — then wondered if he might end up like this one day. “Not much for you over there, unless you’re into exploitation movies.”

“I like romcoms,” Aki replied.

The phone was on a small table next to the couch — Kishibe offered Aki his address book, but Aki knew Himeno’s home phone number by heart. He sat on the arm of the sofa, then dialled and waited — the call rang out. He dialled and waited again — nothing. Kishibe left the room and came back in sweats — setting a pair of pyjama pants and a t-shirt on the couch for Aki.

“If you want something dry to wear,” Kishibe said. His hair was damp and messy, like he’d towel dried it.

“She’s not answering,” Aki said. Kishibe sighed.

“She’s probably not home yet. Let’s just hope she’s not asleep.” Kishibe said. “Come on, get changed. I don’t want your wet ass on my couch.”

Aki nodded, guessing that was fair. His jacket had taken the worst of it, but his shirt and pants were still unpleasantly damp. He didn’t think much of getting changed there in the living room, stripping down to his boxers while Kishibe pointedly turned his back to Aki, busying himself in the kitchen.

“Can I get you some water? A nightcap?” he asked.

“Maybe, I don’t really drink spirits.”

“Check the liquor cabinet, see if there’s something you like.”

Aki pulled on the t-shirt and pants (both too big) then peered through the window of the liquor cabinet. It was all whisky — mostly Japanese with some English language labels mixed in that Aki couldn’t read. Most of the bottles were half empty.

“Just the water,” Aki said. He picked his clothes up from the floor and looked for a place to hang them. Kishibe offered to run them through the washer, then the drier. Aki sighed and nodded. It seemed like he’d be here for a while.

Kishibe took Aki’s wet clothes and gave him a glass to fill at the sink. Aki thought about his crisp white shirt going through a tumble drier and winced. Kishibe’s shirts were always so grey.

Kishibe re-emerged  from his laundry room and poured himself a whisky. Something from one of the foreign bottles — he went to the freezer and dropped two ice cubes in the glass. Aki leant against the sink, conscious of how low the loose pyjama bottoms were dipping on his hips.

If he was feeling vain, he might think Kishibe was sneaking glances at him, at the pyjamas hanging loosely on his hips.

“Not a whisky drinker?” Kishibe asked. Leaning on the wall opposite Aki, Kishibe’s bare forearms were hairy; crisscrossed and spattered with scars. Stab-wounds, slices, punctures, nicks — each one telling its own nasty little story.

“No. I’ve never really tried it,” Aki admitted.

“Do you want to?” He offered Aki the glass, a finger of amber liquid going gold as the ice diluted it. Aki sipped. Though it made his upper lip burn, the sensation was not unpleasant. The whisky was sort of wooden tasting, earthy, a little sweet. Aki didn’t hate it. Handing the glass back with a shrug, he licked his upper lip. It was still tingling.

“It was okay. I think if I drink any more I’d just get sick.”

“Smart move,” Kishibe said. He sipped from the glass too — an indirect kiss, during which Kishibe made eye contact. “This stuff isn’t great, either.”

Aki doubted he’d be able to tell the difference between good whisky and bad whisky. He tried calling Himeno a couple more times, then gave up. Kishibe offered him the couch and Aki accepted, grateful that he wouldn’t have to pay for a cab and schlep over to the office.

“Kind of surprised you didn’t leave with her,” he said. Kishibe sat in an armchair to drink his whisky — Aki drank his water. He felt his face flush.

“Oh. No, it’s not like that, we’re just friends,” Aki said. Then he wondered if that was even what Kishibe had meant. He felt stupid. Kishibe had a tiny, tiny smile tugging up one side of his mouth — the side without the scar.

“Sure,” he said. “Just friends with the girl who’ll fuck anything that moves once she’s four beers deep.”

Aki didn’t know what to say. His thing with Himeno was weird and on and off and Aki was never sure if she liked him romantically, or just as a warm body. He didn’t want to get into it with Kishibe — and he was sure as shit that Kishibe didn’t want Aki to get into it either.

“Including you?” Aki fired back.

“Nah. She’s tried — but I don’t shit where I eat.” Kishibe sighed, and tossed back the rest of his drink. That was a lie, if the rumours about Kishibe and his old buddy were to be believed— but it wasn’t worth calling out. Aki didn’t want to poke a wound that might still be festering. “No offence.”

“Why do you care?” Aki asked. “Why would I be offended?”

“I don’t. I’m just teasing, Hayakawa. Making conversation,” he said. “I’m gunna go to bed. That wash cycle will be done in twenty minutes. There’s a futon rolled up in the couch and a blanket — if you’d prefer the floor.”

And with that, he was off. The couch had a big drawer built into the frame — when Aki pulled it out he found a blanket, a pillow and a big, dusty smelling futon. There was space behind the couch to roll it out.

He got on the futon with the blanket, testing it out. It was comfortable — if dusty. Aki laid down and stared at the ceiling, trying to relax, to get used to the unfamiliar environment. He rolled onto his side and faced the back of the sofa — curling his lip at the dust bunnies gathering beneath it. He saw a shock of red. Curious, he stuck his hand under the couch and tugged, pulling out a pair of skimpy panties and the ball of dust attached to them. Aki shoved then back under the couch.

Kishibe talked about women often — but never men. Sometimes, after a few drinks, he’d get a little more ambiguous — dodge a pronoun here and there, talk about fucking “a person” but not a woman. Sometimes he’d hold your gaze for a little too long, squeeze your shoulder too hard when he said good night.

Aki got up and drank more water. He went to the bathroom, where he washed his face and used some mouthwash after failing to find a spare toothbrush. Then, Aki took down his hair and spent a moment or two examining himself in the mirror above the sink. He looked like he needed a haircut — but he was at the mercy of the Fox Devil for that. She loved his hair — loved it so much she occasionally wanted to eat it.  

He left the bathroom and paced the living room, browsing Kishibe’s movie collection for a while. He had a whole shelf dedicated to one guy — an actor Aki mostly knew of as a comedian, who’d made a turn into directing and starring in serious, violent thriller movies. He had a shelf of Pink Films too — classier titles like Tokyo Decadence and Daydream sitting alongside nasty sexploitation movies like Entrails of a Virgin and All Night Long.

Aki thought about Kishibe collecting these tapes — these pseudo-art movies and softcore pornos to watch by himself, palette cleansers to follow films about cops and Yakuzas beating the shit out of each other. Maybe he’d watch one and go out and get drunk and find someone to bring back to his drab apartment. Maybe they’d watch one of these movies to get in the mood.

Aki bet Kishibe would play something a little too violent or gross and scare off his date.

Or maybe they’d screw on the armchair with the movie playing in the background. Aki pictured Kishibe pulling a tiny red pair of panties off this nameless girl, tossing them across the room and fucking her so well she forgot to grab them when she left.

Aki briefly pictured himself in the anonymous woman’s place. Big hands on his hips, guiding him up and down, his head tipped back, Kishibe leaning up to bite his chest, suck his neck… Aki smacked himself on the forehead, willing the thought away.

Aki heard the washing machine stop, then click noisily.

He decided to hang his stuff up on the rack to air dry rather than run it through the drier. As he retrieved his wet clothes from the machine, he heard a jangle, a soft metallic sound as something hit the floor.

His fucking keys.

He hung up his clothes, then picked the keys up, furious.

Because there was absolutely no way Aki was this stupid, his mind went immediately went to Himeno — a vision of her slurring, arm around Kishibe, handing him Aki’s keys and telling him about Aki’s stupid little confession.

He marched down the hall, keys in the pocket of his borrowed pyjama pants, and banged on Kishibe’s bedroom door.

There was no answer, so he opened the door, and found Kishibe reaching for a large knife left precariously on his nightstand.

“What, is everything okay?” he asked, when he opened his eyes and saw Aki standing in the hall — angry but not panicking. “Is it the drier?” he asked, still bleary with sleep.

“Did Himeno say anything to you?” Aki asked. He was trying not to sound mad but failing. Kishibe relaxed, and rubbed his eyes, clicking on his lamp and sitting up. He wasn’t wearing a shirt — he was in good shape, even if his skin had started to droop and wrinkle. His torso, like his arms, was marked with a busy map of scars.

“About what?”

“Something about how… She might have repeated something to you she shouldn’t have.”

“What the fuck are you talking about, Hayakawa?” Kishibe asked. He looked Aki up and down, in a way that made Aki feel, well, looked at.

“I… I was really, really, really drunk the other night, and…”

“Spit it out.”

“I told her I was interested in you. And I’m not. And I was just drunk. But-”

“Sure.”

“But Himeno offered to say something to you for me. And I told her not to. But you know what she’s like. And… I found my keys in the washing machine.” He took his keys from his pocket — his smoking gun. Kishibe actually laughed at him then. “I want an explanation.”

“Explanation? What, you think me and your girlfriend conspired to get you back here so I could suck your dick?” Kishibe said. He didn’t sound angry or indignant — he genuinely found this funny. “Fuck off, go back to bed Hayakawa. Dumb ass.”

“But-”

“I think they were just in your fucking pocket? Himeno didn’t say anything to me, and if I’d wanted to hide your keys, I’d have really hidden them,” Kishibe said, evenly. Then he started laughing again.

“Stop it,” Aki said. The embarrassment of this hit him like a truck — his toes curled with the force of it. Kishibe’s laughter trailed off. “She said I was your type.”

“Maybe you’re crazier than I gave you credit,” he said. “Or your ego’s just huge. To be fair, I would actually fuck you. You’re too young for me, but, sure, why not,” he said. He stretched and yawned. Aki watched his tight, thick muscles shift beneath his skin. Aki swallowed. “But if I was trying to, you’d know about it.”

“What would you do?” he asked. Kishibe laughed again. Aki’s cheeks were hot with embarrassment, and the warmth spread – from his neck to his chest, down to his stomach.

“I thought you weren’t interested in me.” Kishibe turned off his light. End of conversation.

“I guess you piqued my curiosity,” Aki replied; he heard laughter in the darkness.

“Good night.” Aki heard Kishibe’s quilt shift as he got back into bed. Aki lingered in the doorway, his mouth dry. “Good night,” Kishibe said again. But Aki didn’t move.

“If you were trying to sleep with me, what would you do?” he tried again. He tried to think of something else to say but felt badly out of his depth.

“I’d just ask. You get to my age, you stop making a big song and dance over this shit.”

“Well… Ask me, then,” said Aki.

Kishibe didn’t answer, he just sighed. Then he got up. Aki licked his lips by instinct.

But Kishibe was just going to the bathroom, slipping by Aki without touching him.

Putting a tentative foot forward, Aki stepped into Kishibe’s dark bedroom, leaning against the wall by the door frame.

Kishibe came back a few moments later, smelling of soap and mouthwash. When he re-entered the bedroom, he closed the door behind him, and clicked the lamp back on. He seemed neither particularly surprised nor especially amused that Aki had come into his bedroom.

“Come on, Aki,” he said. But Aki didn’t know what that was supposed to mean – an annoyed dismissal, or a begrudging invitation.

“Come on, what? Just ask me,” Aki said.

A contemplative look came over Kishibe, he took a deep breath and clicked his tongue, muttered under his breath.

“Fine, fuck it, go to the bed,” Kishibe said, as flat and even as ever. Aki did as he was told – inelegantly rolling into the middle of the bed and stretching out his legs. “You’ve done this before, right?” Kishibe asked. He stretched, his shoulders popping, and approached the bed – standing over Aki — stone-faced again, speaking to Aki like this was a job interview and Aki was a mid-tier candidate. Aki nodded. “With a man?” Aki paused, then shook his head – deciding it was best not to lie.

“It’s just something I’ve been thinking about lately,” he said.

Kishibe exhaled noisily and sat on the end of the bed – he rubbed his eyes, like he was still in the process of waking up.

“Sometimes it’s good to start off with someone who knows what they’re doing. Someone who’ll treat you right,” he said.  “Or maybe I’m just talking myself into this.”

“I know what I want,” Aki replied, firmly. “It’s not like you’re doing anything bad.” Kishibe made a gesture, tilting his hand loosely from side to side, indicating he thought this was kind of bad. “It’s not like you’re doing anything illegal.”

Kishibe’s eyebrows quirked – his expressions were all so small, so hard to read. But Aki figured he was sold on it; he moved on to the bed properly, kneeling beside Aki. He stared down at Aki, Aki stared up at him. Aki got the impression Kishibe was being careful with him – he was trying not to scare Aki off.

“So, when you’ve been thinking about being with a man — what’ve you been daydreaming about?” he asked. Laughing out of shyness (still feeling embarrassed about barging in, upset about his keys) he shook his head. He insisted he’d just been thinking about normal stuff, but Kishibe wanted specifics.

“Um… Being overpowered, I think. I’m kind of a control freak-”

“No way,” Kishibe said, dryly. Aki frowned at him and carried on speaking.

“And… Girls like it when I’m rough, and when I pin them down and stuff and… I think I want that for myself — the feeling of like…”

Kishibe moved quickly. He’d grabbed Aki’s wrists in the blink of an eye, and was now straddling his thighs, holding his arms in place, pinning them against the wall. Aki found himself crushed against the headboard, the mattress, Kishibe’s mouth on his, a beard scratching his lips and his cheeks, a big, hard body pressed up against his own. No one had ever made Aki feel small like this. Logically, he knew he was too big and too heavy for someone (even someone as big as Kishibe) to toss him around like a rag doll – but it would be fun to pretend. Kishibe’s tongue slid into Aki’s mouth, and Aki was hard already. Kishibe felt it digging into his stomach, pulled back and wistfully said:

“I wish I was that young.” Kishibe gathered Aki’s wrists into one of his hands, wrapping his newly free hand into Aki’s hair. He tugged it gently, pulling Aki’s head back. Hips jerking involuntarily, Aki’s mouth twisted up in an effort to stifle a pathetic, needy whine from leaving his mouth. “You like this?” Kishibe asked. Aki nodded. “Good taste. But you don’t need some big guy to do that. Let a girl tie you up, sometime — see if you like it.”

“Do you like that?” Aki asked.

“Nothing I like more than a beautiful woman beating the shit out of me,” he answered, bluntly. “How do you think I got this?” He tilted the scar on his cheek toward Aki — Aki assumed he was joking. He let go of Aki’s wrists but made him keep his arms in the air. He tugged Aki’s t-shirt over his head, then pushed his arms down again. “With men I’m a little more flexible… Sometimes I like to take control. Wouldn’t want you to go easy on me, though. I like brats,” he said. He was looking at Aki’s torso – cold, blank, maybe appreciative, maybe bored – he could just be hungry for all Aki knew. “A little name calling, a little playful resistance.” This was a suggestion, a request. “You must think I’m a dirty old man.”

Aki gathered that he was supposed to agree.

“You are a dirty old man,” he said. “I saw all your perverted movies.”

A little smile tugged at the unscarred side of Kishibe’s face. It occurred to Aki that he might not be able to move the other side — the scar was so deep and dramatic.

“Wanna watch some?” asked Kishibe.

“Not really.” Usually Aki would say something self-effacing and polite — blame his own tastes. It felt weird, being rude on purpose — even if Kishibe did, apparently, get off on it. Kishibe ran his hands up Aki’s waist, rough, dry hands feeling out his ribs, his abs, then his chest. He rubbed small circles around his nipples, teasing them till they were hard, and Aki’s hips rocked with every little tweak.

“Sensitive?” he asked. Aki shook his head. He didn’t know if he was especially sensitive. “You sure?” Kishibe pinched one of his nipples and twisted it, and Aki gasped. He was uncomfortably hard now — he went to adjust himself, maybe pull down the pyjama pants he was wearing, but Kishibe caught his wrist hard, then pinned both his hands to the wall. “I’ll tie these up if you can’t be trusted with them.”

“Okay,” Aki replied, eagerly. Then he remembered he was supposed to be acting like a brat. “I mean… You’re the one who can’t be trusted with…” He trailed off and blinked up at Kishibe, who seemed somewhat amused by Aki’s slip, and had leant down to the bottom drawer of his nightstand to grab a tie. Glancing down at the drawer, it appeared to contain twenty-or-so identical black ties, rolled up neatly next to identical black socks. “This act is really hard to keep up with,” Aki admitted. Kishibe nodded and began to gently bind Aki’s wrists together with one of his ties.

“Drop it if you like, I appreciate that you tried,” Kishibe said. Aki’s wrists secured, Kishibe brushed Aki’s cheek with his knuckles. The intimacy and gentleness of it made Aki drop eye-contact and look over into the corner of the room. “Too nice a boy for the brat thing, I guess,” he sighed, then clicked his tongue. “Always were well behaved — eager to please. You just want to be good for me, don’t you?”

Kishibe’s voice was practically a purr; the late hour (and maybe arousal) had him sounding like he’d been gargling with glass. Somewhat to his own surprise, Aki felt a fresh flood of heat rushing through his thighs and the pit of his stomach at the question. He nodded dumbly. He did want to be good — he was good. His hips rolled, pushing up toward Kishibe.

“So that does it for you, huh? If I’d known you were gunna be this cute, maybe I would’ve stolen your fucking keys,” he said. “Let me take care of you. Just tell me if you’re uncomfortable or wanna stop or whatever.”

Aki nodded again. He was starting to ache. Kishibe told him to flip over, to get on his elbows and knees, and Aki felt nervous and excited. Kishibe pulled down Aki’s pyjamas and his briefs in one movement, till they were around his thighs. Rough hands ran up the soft, smooth inside of Aki’s thighs, then to the backs of his legs, then his ass.

“I was gunna spank you for being a brat but we’re not doing that anymore. I guess you were being a weird conspiratorial little asshole about your keys,” Kishibe said. The sound hit Aki before the pain did — the crack of Kishibe’s palm against his bare ass, followed by the sharp sting of a slap and a pleasant burn. “Should’ve just said something if you wanted me to fuck you. Real immature.” Kishibe’s palm came down again. “I probably would’ve said no, at first. Would’ve cracked pretty quickly though.” Again, another slap. “I don’t have a lot of self-control when it comes to this sort of thing. Never have.”

Aki wondered if this is what Kishibe’s pillow-talk would consist of; him thinking aloud, sounding like he was debating what to buy at the market. He continued murmuring to himself while he spanked Aki: I’m a man with a lot of vices, I’ll try anything once, I can’t say no to anything, I’m lucky drugs are so hard to get in Japan, blah blah blah. Aki could only really focus on the pain/pleasure bursting through his body with every new slap — an electric shock jolting through his quivering thigh muscles and straight to his dick. His hips were steadily rocking into nothing, searching for some kind of friction. If he dropped too low, too close to the mattress, Kishibe would press a palm into his stomach and lift him back up.

Kishibe stopped and blew gently on Aki’s ass cheeks. They stung like he had a bad sunburn; the puff of cold air was surprisingly pleasant.

“Any way, I think you learned your lesson,” he said. “And you took that so well. You always were good at taking a little abuse. Essential in our line of work.” Another light little tap on the ass and Aki heard Kishibe going into a drawer again — then felt lube dribbling into the crack of his ass. “You ever play with yourself here?” Kishibe asked, spreading the lube over Aki’s hole with his thumb, for emphasis.

He had a little. Himeno had slipped a finger inside him while giving him a blowjob, once — and he’d liked it enough that he ended up with two in there. And he’d ended up trying it a couple more times while jerking off — it hadn’t felt as good as when she did it.

“Ah… Maybe,” Aki said, feeling shy all of a sudden. He had no idea why he felt the need to be coy at this point.

“Do you like it?”

“Maybe,” Aki said again. He wiggled his toes in anticipation, shivering at the feeling of Kishibe’s thumb circling his hole. Kishibe pushed it in, then replaced it with two fingers. Aki liked the feeling of being stretched out and filled, the way Kishibe’s wet fingers felt pushing in and out of the sensitive muscle.

Aki almost yelped at the feeling of Kishibe’s free hand dragging up his waist, feeling blindly for a nipple to pinch. He found it, and Aki pushed back onto Kishibe’s fingers, biting his lip to stifle the ungodly sound threatening to slip out of him.

“That’s a good boy,” Kishibe said. “Hold on a second.”

Fingers gone, fabric rustling, Aki’s wrists and ass cheeks aching — he let out this guttural animal groan, which only got louder when Kishibe’s fingers came back, a third digit joining the first two. Kishibe’s fingers were long but not especially thick, the third brought back that pleasant burn he’d missed as he’d grown used to two.

He didn’t bother with three fingers for long. Kishibe had stopped chattering, had taken his fingers away, then started rubbing the lubed tip of his hard cock up and down Aki’s crack. He’d put on a condom.

“Put it in?” Aki said. Kishibe grunted, then leaned down pressing his torso flush to Aki’s back.

“You sure?” he asked. “Could keep fingering you, fuck your thighs.”

“Whatever, just do something,” Aki said. He was sort of past making decisions. But Kishibe didn’t move. “Fine, yes, I’m sure. I’m very sure. Put it in. Please.”

“Since you asked nicely,” Kishibe mumbled. He dragged his cock over Aki’s hole again, went to push inside, then paused, humming thoughtfully. Aki could’ve screamed. “I think I want to see your face. Seems like a waste not to. You wanna get on top?” he asked. And Aki did. He moaned yeah into the pillow, and he barely recognised his own voice — thick and wobbly, almost like he was exaggerating for effect. “Let’s give you your hands back. Get these pants all the way off.”

Aki rolled onto his back, heavy cock hitting his stomach with a slap. Kishibe pulled Aki’s pyjamas off the rest of the way and tossed them across the room. Aki got himself out of the tie around his wrists.

“Look at Houdini over here,” Kishibe said. Aki didn’t know what a who-deeny was; focussing not on the weird old man reference — but on getting into position. Kishibe sat up, back against the headboard, and Aki straddled his thighs. Kishibe looked… flushed but indifferent, the colour on his cheeks the only thing indicating he was in the middle of having sex. Aki felt shivery. He could feel drool on his chin and he knew his face was so pink it was glowing. His hair was probably all over the place too — he didn’t want to think about the stupid look he had on his face. If Kishibe touched him now, he’d lose it; he was extremely close.

Kishibe grabbed his waist and pulled him forward, till he was positioned over Kishibe’s cock. He took one hand off of Aki’s waist to grip himself — they mutually shuffled until Kishibe’s cock was pressed into Aki’s hole again.

“Lower yourself down whenever you’re ready,” Kishibe said. Aki nodded. He steadied himself on Kishibe’s shoulders and sank down onto his cock, slowly, painfully slowly.

This was probably the most Aki had ever seen Kishibe’s face move. His eyebrows rose high, crinkling his forehead; his eyes grew wide and his jaw a little slack.

It hurt. The lube was doing a lot of work to help, but it was more painful than three fingers — enough that he went a little soft, despite how close he’d been. It didn’t feel bad — it was just a lot and it felt different to how he’d imagined it would. More intense.

“Go slow. You don’t have to take it all the way — just get used to the girth before you try to take the length,” Kishibe said, evenly. Aki didn’t need a pep talk. He was slow, and careful, and stopped moving when he felt uncomfortable, tensing his thighs. “Good job, great job,” he said, his tone encouraging, like he might be about to follow that up with a buddy or a kiddo.

Kishibe finally, finally took hold of Aki’s dick, stroking it gently. Aki groaned, tentatively moving his hips in response, feeling stretched and full and a little overwhelmed. Kishibe coaxed him back to full hardness; his palm was rough, even while it was slick with lube. His other palm went to Aki’s waist, then his hip, gently gripping and encouraging him to move up and down, back and forth, in time with the hand on his cock.

He built up an unsteady rhythm — every time he nudged his prostate with the tip of Kishibe’s dick he cried out, flicked his hips wildly and lost it. Kishibe sat still, resisting thrusting his own hips upwards, letting Aki set the pace (or maybe just letting him do most of the work). Aki told Kishibe he was about to come — pleasure coiled tightly in the pit of his stomach like a spring and threatening to pop at any moment. Kishibe grunted — finally beyond words; he worked Aki’s cock gently but firmly, and grabbed Aki’s ass with his free hand, dragging his nails across the sore, hot flesh.

That did it for Aki. He went limp, throwing his arms around Kishibe’s neck, warm cum spattering Kishibe’s fist and both their stomachs. Kishibe didn’t last long after that, thrusting up a few times into Aki and coming with a strangled grunt into Aki’s shoulder.

They stayed like that for a minute, catching their breaths, Kishibe kissing Aki’s neck sloppily, in a way that still made him shudder. Kishibe grabbed a nearby pack of cigarettes from his nightstand, lighting two while Aki climbed off — his thighs threatening to cramp up and his whole ass sore. Kishibe handed Aki a cigarette, which he smoked as he got off the bed, and grabbed a towel folded up on top of a chest of drawers. It smelled clean, so Aki slung it over his shoulder.

“Can I use your shower?” He asked.

“Knock yourself out,” Kishibe said. “Leave the water running, I’ll be in after you.” Puffing away at the cigarette, Kishibe’s eyes had begun to slide shut before Aki was even out of the room.

“You know, it’s really dangerous to smoke in bed,” he said — and his concern was met with Kishibe waving his hand, noncommittally.

“I promise I won’t burn the building down while you’re showering.”

Aki showered and dried himself off. Kishibe came in while he was inspecting the damage the spanking had done to his ass — finding marks which were red and vaguely palm shaped on both cheeks. Kishibe apologised and got in the shower.

“I don’t think you’re actually sorry,” Aki said.

“Not really,” he replied. The he said: “Borrow whatever you like to sleep in.”

Aki went back to Kishibe’s room – he grabbed a clean pair of boxers and a fresh t-shirt from Kishibe’s drawers, fishing his own underwear out from the pyjama pants balled up in the corner of the room and tossing them in a laundry basket. The clothes were loose on him, but they’d be comfortable to sleep in. Returning to the room as Aki went to make a retreat to the spare futon, Kishibe had a towel wrapped around his waist. He dropped it on the floor and got into bed, looking expectantly at Aki.

“I’m gunna go to bed. G’night,” Aki said, gesturing at the door. “Thanks for the clothes.”

“You’re going to sleep in the living room?” he asked. “You can if you want, but you don’t have to.”

“Okay,” Aki said. He stood on the spot. He wasn’t sure if he should leave or not. Kishibe pulled back the quilt and told him to get in the bed, so he did. Kishibe threw an arm around his waist and Aki was glad for it — he imagined curling up on the futon, sore and cold, feeling used and embarrassed and lonely. In the bed he felt warm, and the pain felt good — muscles aching the way they did after a good run.

*

Kishibe’s alarm went off at 7:30. Aki was usually up by 7 — but Kishibe was closer to the office. They both rolled out of bed — Kishibe dug Aki out a spare toothbrush and made them both coffee. Kishibe didn’t eat in the morning, and that suited Aki fine. He didn’t feel hungover at all but his ass and thighs still felt pretty sore. His wrists didn’t feel great either. They weren’t bruised, but they ached if Aki bent his hands in a particular way.

“So don’t bend them like that,” Kishibe said, when Aki complained. The phone rang, then Kishibe picked it up — Aki didn’t think anything of it till he remembered he’d called Himeno like ten times last night. He watched Kishibe carefully, clutching his coffee mug as he listened in.

“Hey… Yeah, no it was Aki, I let him use my phone… He thought you’d picked up his house keys… Nah, he found them in his back pocket,” Kishibe said. Aki heard Himeno laugh down the phone. “I know, I know,” Kishibe started chuckling as well. “No, he went home when he found them. I think he was pretty embarrassed.” Kishibe looked up and winked, conspiratorially. Aki appreciated Kishibe covering for him — but he knew he’d end up blurting all of this out to Himeno eventually.

They left for work together, agreeing to catch separate trains and make sure they arrived at least ten minutes apart. On the subway platform, Kishibe elbowed Aki affectionately. He lit two cigarettes and handed one to Aki. Aki hadn’t seen him drink at all this morning.

“Did you have a good time last night?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Aki replied. “I did. Thanks for uh…” Aki cleared his throat, not wanting to massage Kishibe’s ego too much. “Thanks for making sure I had a good time.”

“No problem. Happy to indulge,” he said. “You know where I am if you ever want to grab a drink and watch a perverted movie.”

“Sure,” said Aki. The train pulled up, Kishibe crushed himself into the carriage, standing head and shoulders above most of the other passengers. He waved; Aki waved back. The train pulled away.

Aki figured he might walk to the office, make himself a little late. He had enough cash to buy coffee and grab himself breakfast and lunch from a convenience store. He double checked he had his wallet (he did) then, even though he definitely, definitely had them, decided to check for his keys.

They weren’t in his jacket. That was fine. They were probably in his pants. Not the back-pocket — but surely in the front.

His keys were, in fact, in the pocket of the borrowed pyjama pants — balled up and tossed aside on Kishibe’s bedroom floor.