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sitting on the front stoop, crying out the crazy

Summary:

Springsteen filters from the tape. Smoke lingers in the car. They're only two exits until Oden's. If Kin can just shut up about last night, Kanjuro will be long gone in the morning.

Notes:

Disclaimers: I have never been to New Jersey in a meaningful way, I was born in '99 so if any of the vague 90s nostalgia is wrong forgive me, and I'm sorry Mr. Antonoff for making your song about gay anime characters. Not sorry enough not to do it, though.

(See the end of the work for more notes.)

Work Text:

“I broke up with her,” Kin’emon says, a while after Kanjuro drives him out of the city.

Kanjuro keeps his eyes on the road. He’d heard Kin crying, on the curb, when he got in the car. He’d stopped, and then some song came on, and he started up again. Kanjuro didn’t look, lit up without looking, offered the pack but Kin had waved him off.

“Why?” Kanjuro asks, sounding as tired as he is.

“I just didn't want to cheat on her.”

“Were you going to cheat on her?”

“Well, yeah.”

Kin says it like, duh , like Kanjuro is acting dumb, like it's obvious, like he's in on it. 

He is, sure. But still. He doesn't want to talk about it. He won't. He turns the wheel. His palms are dry as a bone. He doesn't give a shit.

“Why?”

Kin's angry, immediately.

“Don't ask me that, man. Don't fucking ask me that.”

“Okay, Kin, jeez.”

Springsteen echoes around the car, along with the smoke and the thick awkwardness at Kanjuro pretending and Kin’s anger bleeding away moment by moment into fear.

“Don't you remember?” Kin asks after a bit, in a small voice.

“I thought you forgot,” Kanjuro says easily, “Or wanted to forget. It doesn't matter.”

“It doesn't?”

“Okay, you tell me, does it?”

“Give me that.”

“Okay.”

He smokes it like someone's gonna take it away. Not Kan. Despite the evidence to the contrary—getting called near midnight, driving into the city as he’s bid, picking up Kin and taking him home to Jersey—he isn’t Kin’s fucking keeper. He can’t even lay claim to manager. He plays the keyboard at a low volume, badly, near the back of the stage, and he tries to stay the hell out of everyone’s way. He doesn’t always manage it. He rarely does so when Kin’emon is involved.

“Okay, okay. I was gonna...I don't know. It felt...right, right?”

“Right…” Kanjuro says, in a voice like he's not convinced, or is humouring Kin.

“Don't lie and say you didn't feel it.”

“Feel what? You dry humping my thigh?”

Kin's mood sours audibly, smoke and awkwardness and Springsteen all drying up as the tape runs out. The anger’s back, and it smells like Kin bumming Kanjuro’s whole fucking cigarette.

“Pull over,” Kin’emon tells him.

“Nah man, we're almost back to Oden's,” Kanjuro says, going for calming, “You can sleep it off, take the train in tomorrow, make up with her, whatever.”

“Don't fucking tell me what to do,” Kin snaps.

“Okay.”

“Stop the car.”

“Kin, just wait.”

“I'll fucking—”

He opens the door and Kanjuro slams on the brakes. The tires squeal, and they both start yelling over the awful noise, adding to it.

“Fuck you!” Kanjuro screams, thinking of his tires.

“Fuck you! Fuck you for saying it was nothing! Fuck!”

Kin doesn't wait for the car to stop to unbuckle his seatbelt.

“Just wait, wait!”

Kin hops out of the car just before it comes to a complete stop.

“Where the fuck do you think you're going?”

Kin doesn't answer, just starts walking away from the car. He throws up a middle finger over his shoulder.

Kanjuro thinks he could get away with it, then. He puts the car in park, instead, and undoes his seatbelt.

 

He follows from a distance, along the highway divider.

"Stop following me!"

Kanjuro doesn't answer, just keeps walking at the same pace, following. Kin crosses, towards a random patch of nothing, a couple trees, yellow-green grass looking yellower in the highway lights. They aren't close enough for him to walk to Oden’s, and Kanjuro knows Kin certainly can’t find his way.

"Hey," Kanjuro calls.

"Just leave me alone!"

"That's a crock of shit, Kin. You called me! Now get the fuck back here!"

He doesn't listen, not really. But he does stop. Kanjuro makes it to him, haloed in the awful artificial light.

"You done yet?” Kanjuro asks roughly, “You ready to go home?"

"You really thought it didn't mean a thing? We danced...for like, hours."

Kanjuro wishes he’d just drop it. He shrugs.

"You were on something."

"Tell me it was nothing,” Kin says, stubborn. It pisses Kanjuro off. 

"What's gonna get you back in the car, huh?” he snaps in response, “If I tell you I would have fucked you, if you’d asked? Tell you I like you like that , like we're, what, twelve?"

Kin can't take the heat, never could. Can barely dish it out. His pretty mouth works, and he looks away. Kanjuro sees what he’d hoped he wouldn’t when they were in the car, forcing himself to watch the road. 

Kin’emon wears eyeliner, but like a punk does, not like a fag. He’s cried it into these sad, pathetic raccoon eyes. Arousal hits, and Kanjuro isn’t sure why. Is it the memory? Yelling Kin into submission? That he looks like he’s got not one black eye, but two? Or just the tears…

"Let's just go to Oden's," Kanjuro says, suddenly tired. He shouldn't make Kin cry again.

"Take me to your place,” Kin says.

"No."

"Then I'm not going anywhere."

Kanjuro rolls his eyes. He bends down.

"Whoa, what are you--"

He picks Kin up with a grunt, and throws him over his shoulder, fireman carry style.

"Fuck you! Put me down!"

Kanjuro ignores him, even as Kinstarts kicking him, gets a fistful of his hair and yanks. It doesn't hurt. Not as much as any of this other shit.

He ignores him and keeps walking. At some point Kin goes limp and starts to cry again, little sobs Kan can feel against his shoulders.

He just ignores him. He drags him back to the car.

 

They’re two exits away when Kanjuro’s luck runs out, between songs on the tape. Kin’emon presses stop, and Kanjuro’s knows he’s fucked. 

“I just...I thought it meant something. Fuck it, it did mean something to me, okay?” Kin blurts out, “Don't tell me to shut up. Just let me talk, I want to get it off my chest.”

Kin breathes deep. Kanjuro should cut him off, but fuck, he's curious. Like unscarred skin gets curious about a knife's edge. Stupid.

“Looking up at you, it was like, I had this realization, that you were always there, right? But I was seeing you for the first time, like, you're always there, but you're always there for me . And we never say it, but we, like, we love each other, right? And I looked up at you, and the way you were looking at me, I felt like...safe. safe and scared. At the same time. Because I knew you wanted me, and I didn't know, like how could I know, until that moment, that I wanted you right back?

I kept expecting you to pull away, to go to the bar, to find another guy in the bathroom. But you just stayed with me. You stayed with me.”

Kanjuro tried to forget it.

Tried to forget the way the lights flickered over Kin's face, turning his hair blue and green and red and gold. The music was so loud it was rattling his teeth, and Kin just kept looking up at him, and getting closer and closer, until they were grinding on each other, Kin's hand on Kanjuro's arm, and Kanjuro having at some point settled a hand possessively on Kin's hip.

They didn't kiss. Didn't need to. Drenched in sweat, Kanjuro could just drag his nose off the line of Kin's shoulder, better than coke, to be wet with him, get his hands on him. Finally.

All he'd need was a second, if Kin crossed that line, Kanjuro would already be there, right with him. Wouldn't even need to take him home, just find a stall and take him apart there. Show him what he was missing, all those times he'd watched Kanjuro walk away with some hookup. Sometimes Kan gave him a nod, like, later, man . Sometimes (most times) he stared right through him.

And Kanjuro knew, knew he shouldn't think that he wanted him on the dancefloor, knew it was showing on his face. And Kin was scared, never made the move

But he never moved away, either. Never broke out of the orbit, stayed within arm's reach, so of course Kanjuro didn't let him go.

It's not news, what Kin is saying, now. But it is, if only because he remembers this time. And now he's saying the fucking unspoken part out loud.

Kanjuro scrubs a hand over his face.

“I'm selling you for parts, darling. You don't know what you're talking about.”

Kin gives him a look. “Yeah, okay, whatever.”

“I'm serious. I sold everything. Kurozi records. It's gone.”

“What, are you serious?”

“Dead,” Kanjuro says with a grin he should feel, but doesn't, “Deal's done. Signed it away.”

“You couldn't've.”

“I did.”

“No, you couldn't've, I'm telling you. Kan, there's no tapes. Oden burned them for fun.”

“He what?”

“We got high, he decided he didn't like the sound. I said fuck it, burn em then. We’ll record when we're damn ready and not a second sooner.”

Kanjuro pulls over. He pulls over and puts his face in his hands.

“Shit. Shit, that's not good.”

“I wouldn't have let him, if I knew you needed money.”

“You wouldn't sell him for me. That's ridiculous.”

“I would. I think I'm in love with you, man.”

Rage spikes in Kanjuro

“I'm going to fucking kill you.”

“I've never seen you this worked up. It's so hot.”

“Did you hear me? I said, I'm going to fucking kill you.”

“Yeah. Yeah…”

Kinemon leans over the console. His mouth is so warm. He's gonna burn him, brand him, sign him like a fucking autograph across some girl’s chest. Let everyone with eyes or a brain know that Kin's had Kanjuro twisted around his little finger, his stupid straight guy dick, since day one.

His hands actually shook when he signed it away. Not for Oden. For Kin, because he was never gonna forgive him, but who cared, Kanjuro thought, who gives a fuck, it's not like he's ever gonna want me anyway.

"You," Kin says, "You, you, you."

Me , Kanjuro thinks

And Kin's grown a pair since grinding on him all fucking night, tease. They'd danced until the bar put on the LEDs at 7 in the morning. Kin'emon had jumped back like he'd been burned. Kanjuro had wanted to roll his eyes, only just managed not to.

“Fuck,” Kanjuro had said, “It's late”

“Early,” Kin corrected him.

“Shut up, man.”

"Don't worry, I've got a place to crash."

Kin had called someone. Kanjuro had begged off, saying he could get home, a lie. But Kin then had told him there was room, and Kanjuro didn't want the hassle of trying to get back and find his car later.

There'd been one bed. There's room, my ass

"Where's the shower?" Kanjuro had asked, "If I lie down right now, they'll have to burn the sheets."

He'd left the bathroom door unlocked, left it open, a bit, and hadn't hesitated past turning the water on, got under the spray cold, and taken his dick in his hand.

He'd crawled into bed next to Kin after. He'd wondered, but no touch ever came. There was no sleeping, waiting for it. Took that as the rejection it felt like, called it a morning, got coffee that tasted like gasoline, called Koruzi, drove over, signed, and waited for the bomb to drop.

Instead, twenty hours later, Kin called him about this, of all things. 

Now, in his car, pulled over by the side of the highway, Kin’emon reaches over and palms Kanjuro over his pants. It's too early for Kanjuro to get excited, but it's like Kin wants to prove he can do it, drive stick, whatever. The idiot.

“Get off me,” Kanjuro growls.

“You want to—”

“Not in my car, you dumbass.”

Kin giggles and doesn't stop kissing him. It's annoying, he's annoying. Kanjuro grabs him by his offensively brassy hair and drags him back, kissing a messy line down his neck. Sucking a mark, or trying to. The noises Kin is making are distracting.

He's always loud, so loud they have to turn his mic down or he’ll drown out Oden, but this is something else. He moans like a twink who thinks he's gonna have an acting career beyond porn, but Kanjuro is ninety nine percent sure that Kin hasn't watched any porn without women in it. He's just built like this. Fuck .

“Are you gonna wimp out if I drive you to my place?” Kanjuro growls against his neck, “If you pretend to fall asleep in my bed, I'm going to make sure you never wake up.”

Kin whimpers.

“How did you know I was pretending?”

“Lucky guess. Come on, you sure? I can drop you at Oden's, or at yours.”

“I want to–”

“It's a bad idea,” Kanjuro says, what the fuck is he doing, trying to talk him out of it, “It's gonna hurt”

“It--hurts?”

“You want me to fuck you like one of the guys in the bathroom?” Kanjuro asks.

Kin nods. He's blushing.

“Takes practice, baby,” Kanjuro drawls, “First time? It's gonna be tough. I could just suck you off–”

“No,” Kin says, so stubborn, “No, I want to fuck you.”

“Good,” Kanjuro says, and he's grinning in the bad way, scary, but he couldn't care less, “Good, because I've wanted you crying in my bed since I saw that stupid eyeliner.”

Kanjuro leans back, leaves him. He starts the car.

 

Kin won't keep his hands to himself. Kanjuro is about to lock him out, leave him out on this shit Jersey street to get murdered by somebody else, if he can just get his fucking door open.

Kin's grabbing his chest, and moaning, muffled into the back of his neck where he's trying and failing to leave a hickey. The guy is a nightmare, wet dream, whatever.

The door–

“Get off me, Kin.”

He does. Kind of. Steps back, and then puts a hand on his ass. Kanjuro misses the lock entirely, just mashes the key against the wood.

“Babe,” Kanjuro snaps, “Hands off, for five fucking seconds.”

Kin'emon laughs, and leans against the doorframe. Hands up. Kanjuro would shoot, given the opportunity. Motives aplenty.

“Having trouble?” Kin mocks him.

Kanjuro gets it open, kicks it so it slams wide. Kin'emon's face of surprise is priceless, especially when Kanjuro grabs him and chucks him, tripping, over the threshold. Kin probably hasn’t done that before, hasn’t fucked any girls who can pick him up and manhandle him like that. Kin’s not nearly as heavy as their gear, though. Easy.

It is, way easier to get the door closed and locked and chained and--

Kin's latched to Kanjuro's neck again, hands palming at his waist, seeking to get under his shirt, he's so, so annoying.

So Kanjuro grabs him again, slams him against the wall next to the door and holds him there to do what he wants with him. Kissing Kin'emon should be illegal, like most of the drugs that make you feel so good you don't want to work anymore. His mouth is wet and open and he takes every biting licking sucking motion as a fucking opportunity to open wider, let himself get devoured, cause he wants it.

When Kanjuro drives his thigh between Kin's legs, he's already grinding to meet it, literally humping his leg. It's not so different than in the club, except for the fact that they’re in an empty apartment now, and they're kissing, and this is definitely probably on purpose this time. And it's not going to end when Kin decides.

Kanjuro leans down to his neck again, smelling his ratty fucking hair and biting down on the muscle. Kin makes a high noise and scratches at Kanjuro's back, and Kanjuro wants those nails half an inch deep in his fucking skin.

Kin's shirt is already mostly tatters anyways, it takes nothing to tear it down the middle, push his shitty jacket and the remains off his shoulders. Kanjuro slams him back against the wall again, his forearm across Kin’s neck, so he can lean down unobstructed and lick Kin’s nipple ring, get it between his teeth and tug it before sucking around it–

Kin moans, then whines, "Fuck, I liked that shirt"

"Barely a shirt."

"Can you keep–mmhgggh."

"Don't tell me what to do," Kanjuro says, reaching down and squeezing Kin’s dick through his offensively tight pants

“Fuck!! Tease, much.”

“Shut up.”

“Make me.”

It's easy, to shove his tongue down Kin’s throat again. God, if he loves getting shut up so much, Kanjuro could show him a much more effective gag, maybe more than one…But no, Kin was very clear in the car, he wanted the men's room special.

Kanjuro picks Kin up by the thighs, and he just makes an excited sound and keeps kissing Kanjuro so stupid he's gonna lose his way to the bed. Lucky it's a bachelor's.

Kanjuro throws him down on the mattress and leans over him, tells himself if he's kissing Kin'emon, there's no way Kin'emon can say anything dumb that ruins the mood.

“Wait,” Kin'emon says, “Kanjuro, wait.”

Kanjuro stops, barely space for breath between them.

“I meant it, you know. You get cold feet, I'm gonna kill you.”

“What, like you've got a gun.”

“Like I’d use a gun for what I can do myself.”

Kanjuro puts his hand on Kin's chest, pushing him down on the bed. Kin struggles a bit, testing it. Kanjuro doesn’t budge.

“Haha, that shouldn't be so sexy to me,” Kin says, and Kanjuro is already leaning down again, before Kin rushes out, “No, but wait I–”

What?

“What's that for.”

Kin points at the spreader bar Kan has propped in the corner. There's no closet so he's not really sure where else it should go.

“Don't worry about that,” Kanjuro says.

“Is it for tying me up?”

“I wasn't gonna tie you up.”

“Why not?”

“No point using that when I can hold you open for me just as well.”

Kin'emon laughs nervously. “I just though, I just, I want it like–”

“I don't use the spreader bar on every guy I bring home.”

“Spreader bar?”

“Kin’emon, please,” Kanjuro drawls with a condescending smile, “You're killing the mood.”

“Not really, though,” Kin says, and he reaches up and strokes his hand, delicately, but not fearfully, over the bulge in Kanjuro's jeans.

“Fuck, baby.”

“Yeah?”

“You don't wanna do that.”

“Don't tell me what to–mmph.”

Kanjuro kisses him, traps Kin’s hand between them and grinds into it. Kanjuro is worried he's so obsessed with Kin that this is enough (it obviously isn't, obviously) that Kin drives him so nuts, it could be enough, from just humping half clothed.

“Come on,” Kin says, “Let me see you, wanna…”

Kanjuro leans back, peels off his sweater. Kin'emon is looking up at him in awe and he must have been shirtless in front of him before, right? Green room, crazy nights....no, Kanjuro never gets that crazy, comes to the gig dressed in the same clothes he leaves in.

He gets his dick out, and is going to take his pants off when he sees Kin lick his lips.

“Can I–?”

“No”

“Why not?”

“You've never.”

“No-oo, but I can reverse engineer it. It can't be that hard, can–mmgh.”

Kanjuro shoves three fingers into Kin's mouth, and raises an eyebrow at him. Kin, after spluttering through his confusion, sucks, hard. Kanjuro withdraws.

“Good?” Kin asks smugly.

Kanjuro slaps him. Lightly! But still, it makes Kin blink.

“Shit, why don't I show you?”

Kin nods, grinning. Just for that, Kanjuro flips him ass up, tugs his pants down. He can't see what the waistband is doing on the other side, but he can imagine.

“Ow, ow!”

Kin's dick well trapped in his pants, his ass truly out, Kanjuro leans down with a laugh.

“What are you—oh my god, NO .”

Kanjuro ignores him, keeps licking him, kissing him. He gives it fifteen seconds before Kin changes his tune. He's sort of struggling, but Kanjuro can hold him down easily, spread him out with his hands, just like he promised.

“Fuck, this cannot be sanitary…”

Ten

“Shit, what are you doing to me…”

Five

“I-I didn't even fucking shower today, man.”

Kanjuro leans back and spits.

“I can tell,” he says, and returns to his work.

“Ah!” Kin moans, and bingo, we have a rimmer, “Kanjuro it's– fuck –its good, it's actually–”

“You like it baby?”

“Mm-hm. I thought you said it was gonna hurt?”

“That's later baby, I'm opening you up nice and slow.”

It must be the mocking tone, but Kin squirms.

“You don't need to–shit–you don't need to take it easy on me…”

“I won't, later. But we should start like this.”

Kanjuro can hear the pouting.

“I want it the way you do it–”

“Those are plugs and poppers guys, Kin. If you're cruising for a guy my size, you're not coming to the club with your ass dry. Usually they have their boyfriends fuck them full of cum before, so I don't even need lube.”

“Jesus,” Kin says.

“Shut up,” Kanjuro says, “You want pain? Fucking sure.”

Kanjuro pushes his shoulder, shoving him facedown down on the bed, and tries to work a finger in. It doesn't work, of course. Little spit and no time relaxing his stupid asshole, and Kin’s whole body goes tight with pain, swallowing whatever noise he was going to make.

“Okay! Okay, I get it.”

“We'll get there,” Kanjuro says, “Just enjoy the ride.”

Kanjuro sure does. Eating Kin out doesn't shut him up per se, but it's less words, more moaning and swearing. Kanjuro will take the win. Eventually he's loose enough for Kanjuro to suck on his rim, lick inside his pussy. Kin'emon sounds like he's crying with the way he's moaning, which means it's probably past time to change gears if they want this to happen sometime before dawn.

Kanjuro ascends from Kin's ass and reaches for the lube in the bedside table, before squirting it unceremoniously on Kin's hole. Kin whimpers, and Kanjuro turns him over.

Huge mistake.

Kin looks fucked up, and they're not even halfway there. He's red and his lips are wet like he's been drooling, pupils wide like he's sky high. Jesus Christ . Kanjuro would call him a wet dream if his subconscious ever came up with anything half this hot.

"Shit baby," Kanjuro drawls, "You still with me?"

"Yeah," Kin says, "No, I'm good, I'm just....I didn't know it would be..."

Kanjuro waits for him to finish his sentence but Kin just swallows, and laughs quietly. Something in Kanjuro twists, for a second, a soft insistent whisper of, get the hell away from him.

"Please fuck me," Kin says, softly, "Please. You're making it so good for me it's crazy, Kanjuro."

They're kissing again before Kanjuro has thought about it, hands in each other's hair, ignoring their dicks and Kin's spit-wet ass and the fact that their pants are both still half on, so so so stupid. 

But Kanjuro's getting the feeling Kin is just as stupid for him as it is the other way around.

"If I'd known,” Kin gasps against Kanjuro’s mouth, "I would have followed you into that bathroom stall a lot sooner.”

“We're in my apartment, you moron,” Kanjuro corrects him between kisses, “Not a bathroom.”

“Same diff. This place blows, Kan, you gotta move.”

This at least makes Kanjuro a little mad. Lucky he's got a good outlet. He tugs off Kin’s pants, ignoring the whimper when Kanjuro stops kissing Kin, and wets his fingers between his legs, seeking out his hole.

“Damn it,” Kin says, “Are you punishing me for making fun of your shithole apartment?”

“No,” Kanjuro lies.

Kin makes an accidental noise of pain, or discomfort.

“Do you want to–”

“Keep going, I just have to–ah–get used to it.”

“This is one finger, Kin.”

Kin’s eyes widen, before stubbornness takes over again. 

“It’s not bad its just–”

“Not good?”

“Different. Maybe I can–”

Kin reaches for his dick, but Kanjuro slaps his hands away, takes Kin’s pretty cock in hand himself before sinking to his elbows and swallowing the head of it.

“Uh.” Kin says, looking down on him.

Kanjuro flicks his tongue, and moves his other hand. Conflicted panting comes from Kin, and Kanjuro ignores it in favour of working him open and sucking him off in tandem. Kin moans in earnest after some more attention, Kanjuro sucking and moving up and down on it. He can feel him loosen up on his finger, so he adds another one. Kin hisses his breath in sharply. If Kanjuro didn’t have his mouth full, he’d grin. 

Kin’s a newb to this, so Kanjuro has to baby him before the grand finale. But, a part of him is mocking him, telling himself how whipped he is and he’s barely even gotten some from Kin, yet he won’t just turn him over and jackhammer fuck him like he wants to.

The worst part is that it’s kind of true. He wants Kin’emon to cry because it feels good , not the other way around. He wants to hurt him in exactly the way Kin wants to be hurt. Because Kin wouldn’t have fallen in love with Kanjuro if he didn’t want it to hurt, at least a little bit. 

A third finger, and Kanjuro opens his throat, gets Kin in so deep tears are forming in his eyes, and he swallows around him. There is a sound like a scream, and he pulls away.

“Please,” Kin says, “Please, please, please, Kanjuro. I’m going to—I won’t make it, you’re going to—I’m going to—”

“Are you sure you’re ready?” Kanjuro asks him, kissing along his length and looking up at him, “I could stay here all night.”

He demonstrates his willingness to, and Kin moans.

“Oh,” Kin blathers, “Fuck. Fuck, how are you doing that? I’ve had—I’ve gotten head before, but you’re, ngh, you’re going to fucking kill me, here, Kan.”

Kanjuro ignores him.

“I’m going to cum, if you don’t. I feel—so full, but I need, I want you to fuck me.”

Kanjuro keeps ignoring him.

“Please, Kanjuro? Please, I think i need it, I don’t think it’s enough. I need you inside me. Fuck…”

Kanjuro comes off KIn’s dick with a pop, and slides his fingers out of him. Kin squirms with the emptiness of it, and Kanjuro realizes he’s still got his fucking pants on, but he’s already lubing up his dick so he’s passed go. 

He lines up and presses in, just the head, to watch Kin take it, slowly, bit by bit. He’s beautiful, chest heaving, his pussy squeezing him so tight.

“Kanjuro,” Kin whines.

“Yeah, baby?” Kanjuro asks, “You like it?”

Kin’s eyes lid, betraying him even before he nods and says, softly, “Yeah.”

Kanjuro slides home, balls against Kin’s ass, and in an odd moment of sentiment, Kanjuro thinks if he could stay here forever, he would. Like a home. He wouldn’t know. 

But Kin, brash, beautiful, guitarist. Kin who’s mic they have to turn down or he’ll drown them all out. If he could keep him, right under his hands, his mouth. That might be a place worth living. 

Too bad this’ll be one of those first-time, last-time kind of gigs. But that just means Kanjuro will really have to make it memorable. 

“Yeah,” Kin says again.

Kanjuro rocks out and in again, and Kin nods, even if he’s tight as anything. Kanjuro reorganizes them a bit, shifting so the angle is better, tries that. 

“You’re so gentle,” Kin complains.

“Be patient,” Kanjuro says, “Can you do what I tell you, just once?”

Kin’s face screws up, annoyed, maybe a bit pleased.

Kanjuro lifts Kin’s hips easily and rocks there, hearing Kin hiss, goes for broke. He pulls half out and fucks in.

Kin makes a choking sound. It's so good, Kanjuro doesn’t care if it's bad. He fucks out and in again, and Kin’emon moans, high pitched and needy. It’s the hottest thing Kanjuro has ever heard. He needs to hear it again. 

In no time at all, Kin’emon is a wreck, sweat and spit, but still no tears, as Kanjuro rides him raw and hard and fast. Pistoning his hips, because every time he fucks into Kin’emo, he moans, or gasps, or swears, Fuck, Kanjuro, or says, Please , and fuck it all, Kanjuro is Kin’s keeper, Kin’s favourite, Kin’s whipped little thing, because all Kin has to do is look at him and he’s desperate to fuck him harder, deeper, better, just because he’s asking for it.

And Kanjuro’s ego means as eager as he is to please, he’s twice as desperate to be the best lay Kin has ever had, and will ever have.

“Kanjuro,” Kin whines, “Please, I–I need–”

“Yes?”

More, ” Kin says, and it's almost a sob. 

Kanjuro pulls out completely, then, if only to watch Kin react. He sees him clench on nothing, on where Kanjuro should be inside him, and he whines for it back. Happy to oblige. Kanjuro reaches down, spreads his asscheeks before fucking down into him, one wet, tight stroke all the way to the hilt. 

Kin screams, his voice breaks on a sob, and Kanjuro leans over him to lick it out of his mouth before doing it again, and once again. 

Kin tries to return the favour with little finesse, his mouth almost slack with the onslaught, his kisses back like he’s far drunker than he is. Drunk on Kanjuro’s dick. 

And there, a glint in his brown eyes. A wateryness, then a blink. Tears streak down his face, making even more of a mess of him, and Kanjuro doesn’t stop thrusting into him, doesn’t slow at all, as he licks the taste of eyeliner and salt off of Kin’s cheek.

“You’re–hic–disgusting.”

He tries to turn away, but Kin lets go of his thigh to grab his jaw and turn his face back.

“Yes,” Kanjuro says, to him, “Tell me you like it.”

“I love it,” Kin says, without prompting, his lip wobbling, “Kanjuro, Kanjuro–”

Kanjuro kisses him and slams into him, and feels Kin clawing at his back. Kanjuro’s grip on his hip is just as desperate. He’s holding onto his orgasm by the damn throat, he won’t be the one to finish first, he has to please Kin’emon, or hurt him irreparably, or both, probably both.

He whips hair and sweat out of his face and feel’s Kin’s hand come up to stroke it back, and Kin kisses him, pulls him down onto him, into him.

“Can I…?” Kin asks, perfect little thing.

“Of course,” Kanjuro says, kissing him and thrusting into him at once. 

Kin’emon cums between them, and his ass tightens so gorgeously that it’d be a sin not to fuck into him one more time.

Kanjuro follows him down with a quiet, but not silent, intake of breath.

There’s a stillness, when the haze has passed, and Kanjuro pulls out and collapses next to Kin. The terribleness of this decision has never been lost on him, exactly, but it's thrown into stark relief by the quiet after the storm. 

“Let me get you a cloth,” Kanjuro says, and does it, returning with a damp cloth that’s cold because the water here takes about a million years to heat up. 

“Sorry,” he says, but Kin doesn’t seem to mind the temperature too much, because he’s being pampered. So Kanjuro wipes him down.

It feels gentlemanly, which is maybe insane, but Kanjuro is no paragon of virtue in the bedroom or beyond. Plus half the guys he brings over would rather he threw them out after instantly, and they’d probably get off on the locked door. Kin’s fragile, new to this. Plus, Kanjuro probably loves him now and always will.

“I asked why,” Kin says.

“Why, what?”

“I asked Oden one time why those guys kept coming back to our shows, the guys you hung out with.”

“Did they come back? I didn’t notice.”

“You didn’t–? Cold, man. I get it now. If you did that shit to me in a bathroom stall I’d follow you anywhere.” 

Kanjuro sort of smiles, and Kin reaches out and touches his cheek.

“Hey,” he says.

“Yeah?”

“Just, hey.”

“You’re so faded.”

“It's been a long night. Well, two nights,” he admits, “I couldn’t sleep, after the club. Wanted you. Was too scared.”

Kin’s hands keep wandering, like Kanjuro’s just another a guitar he can make sing and then shatter. Too close to the truth. He strokes Kanjuro’s chest, his shoulders, his neck. His hands get lost in Kanjuro’s hair, the product in which has given up the ghost completely a few hours back. 

Kanjuro wipes himself down, tosses his pants in the corner, and then, awfully, lays next to Kin. The lazy groping turns into a rather serious headlock-type embrace, with Kin plastered against his side.

“You’re choking me,” Kanjuro says.

“Sorry,” Kin says, and adjusts the barest amount, wrapping around his chest instead and drumming a beat with his calloused fingertips over Kanjuro’s heart.

“Don’t go,” Kin mutters, almost asleep.

“This is my place,” Kanjuro reminds him.

Kin throws a leg over his hip, and tightens his embrace around his shoulders.

“It’d be like you, though,” Kin says, almost snores, “To disappear.”

Kanjuro stares up at the ceiling while Kin’s breaths lengthen, and the light changes on the wall as early dawn starts to accompany the streetlights peeking through the bars on the window. 

He thinks about it for a long, long time. 

But the weight of Kin’emon is as novel to his body as a guy staying fifteen minutes past one orgasm without another in sight. Eventually Kin acts like a blanket, and despite all his arguments to the contrary, Kanjuro closes his eyes and slips away.

 

“Hey,” asks a dream, “Hey, do you want to get food?”

Kanjuro sits up so fast he narrowly misses cracking his head against Kin’s. He’d been asleep, rarity enough, but he’d also been having a nightmare–or a dream–all legs red with blood and kisses that branded him and–

Being balls deep in his straight bandmate Kin’emon. 

Kanjuro stares at him. What is he doing here?

“Earth to Kanjuro?” Kin asks, “I know you’re hungry, because I’m starving, and you did all the fucking work last night.”

It takes just a few more seconds for Kanjuro to separate the mind blowing sex (real) from the fire and brimstone stuff (funhouse mirror dreamscape). He rubs his eyes.

“You wake up like a vampire,” Kin comments, still lounged in bed. 

“No, I don't,” Kanjuro growls, this morning not having been in the cards, everything wearing off, and Kin, persistent and loud and dumb as ever, “I usually don't let people stay, but I thought someone else would kill you if I kicked you out.”

“It is a bad neighborhood.”

“Ugh,” Kanjuro says, rubbing his eyes again. Coffee, or something stronger. And then a tank of gas, and a map of upstate. Kanjuro hears Canada is nice.

“I don't remember this place being so terrible,” Kin says.

“That's cause you've never been here before.”

Kin screws up his face in a cute little ‘thinking’ expression. Instead of looking away like he usually would, Kin stares at it. Commits it to memory, hopefully.

“I thought I helped you move?”

“That was Raizo. And help is a strong word for getting too wasted to lift anything before I even picked you up and christening the bathroom puke yellow.”

“Ugh, okay yeah it's coming back. When did you move in here, then?”

“Before I met you.”

“And I've never–”

“No.”

“That's weird.”

“Not really. I drive, I drop everyone off and then come home. And I crash at Oden's plenty.”

“No wonder, your place sucks.”

“Yeah,” Kanjuro says, holding back laughter he's worried is gonna come out hysterical, “I'm not gonna argue it's pretty pathetic.”

“Kanjuro.”

“What.”

“Why'd you try to sell us out?”

“Ugh.”

Kanjuro rolls over, and Kin grabs his hip like he can keep him there by force

“I'm just getting a smoke,” Kanjuro snaps, “I'm not running out on you, but I'm not having this conversation without it.”

“But you will? You won't lie?”

“Nah, what's the point, now.”

He tells him, like it's confessional, oh Father, forgive me type shit. Debt on debt, no parents, Orochi offering shit but never for free. If you're dumb, you can owe a lot of people a lot of money in this world. If your heart's broken, you can owe in more ways than one. He didn't lie per se, but he never tells the truth. 

Money, that’s the talker. And when it seemed like Oden had something good, Kanjuro stole it and sold it to the highest bidder.

It's awkward and weird and Kanjuro hopes Kin is too exhausted to remember any of this later when he's gone

Kin actually shuts up. If Kanjuro knew this is all he had to do, he'd have spilled his guts a while ago. Well, not really.

“Kanjuro...that sucks.”

“Yeah.”

“But like...Okay don't get mad.”

“No fucking promises.”

“It's not like any of us had it good? Like, what did you think you were gonna get? All that money? You'd still be alone.”

“Of course, that's a given. I'm always alone.”

“Okay, demonstrably not true,” Kin says, putting a hand on Kanjuro’s pale, bare thigh. 

It's new enough that it stops Kanjuro in his tracks. 

“It's…not the same,” Kanjuro says.

“Yeah, it's not,” Kin agrees, “It's literally better. It's not a mistake or an accident, like having a kid when you didn’t mean to, or dying and leaving someone alone. It's on purpose.” 

Kanjuro frowns, and tries to inhale his filter, like he’s stupid. Kin’emon makes a noise of frustration.

“I'm not saying any of this right…” he says, and he ruffles his hair as if he’ll find the words in there, “I don't know, man, I'm here on purpose. I think the band, we all are. And I don't want you to be alone. I wanna be around you.”

“But I have to go,” Kanjuro says.

“What do I have to do to convince you not to?”

“I–I don’t think you can. I’m meant to be alone.”

“And who the fuck decided that?”

“I don’t know, the guy that killed my parents.”

“You’re gonna let him decide what you do with your life? Instead of making another family?”

“You can’t make a family,” Kanjuro says, thinking about the faces in his childhood.

“People do it all the time. You didn’t even notice, but we’re a family. If you moved out of this shithole today, you’d have a place to go. That’s the point! The music didn’t matter! That’s why I don’t care you threw it away, or Oden burned it, or if it's good! It’s about us, Kanjuro!”

“I don’t care,” Kanjuro says. Fuck, fuck. There’s blood all over his face. No, coffee. No, something else. 

Kin takes his jaw in hand and guides him over, pressing his mouth to the soft, permanent lines under his eyes.

“You’re lying,” Kin’emon says, fond, “I think I’m getting to tell the difference.”

“Don’t,” Kanjuro says.

“Don’t what?” 

“Just, don’t.”

“It’s okay, it’s okay. Let it out.”

Kanjuro comforts himself by believing it's goodbye. That he’s only told Kin this because he’ll be nothing more than a memory, soon. That he’s crying his eyes out and letting Kin hold him like a child because it's the last time Kin’emon will ever get to touch him. 

He ignores the fact that he’s the one holding onto Kin, in the end.

Kin’emon tells him after a while, “Let’s get some food.”

Kin holds his hand in the diner, on the table. Because Kin’emon is straight and a little bit stupid. Luckily there’s too much going on for anyone to notice or care. With his free hand, he takes half of Kanjuro’s fries. When he’s done them, he throws money on the counter. 

“You’ll have to let me go, sometime,” Kanjuro says, when they get into the parking lot and Kin stands on the driver’s side.

“Nah,” Kin says, and climbs over him to get to the passenger’s seat. They yell at each other a bit, and it feels like it could be yesterday, or the day before.

Kin insists on going to talk to Oden, which means announcing that they have a record deal and that he’s sleeping with Kanjuro now. Oden yells at Kin, asking why he let him burn their demos if he was going to go and sign them, and how the hell did he get them to sign on without hearing the sound, anyway.

It’s Kanjuro who says, “I signed us a predatory deal for the bonus.”

Oden rolls his eyes and says, “Then you’re the one paying for dinner.”

“Yes!” Kin cheers, “Let’s go get Chinese.”

“From a good place!” Oden hollers.

“We just ate.”

“Well, I’m hungry again.”

They end up in the driveway, Kin’emon still stubbornly holding onto him. And then Toki runs out after him with someone else’s order from the phone. Kin’emon lets his hand go, and Kanjuro gets in the car. In the rearview mirror, Kin is turning around, nodding, assuring Toki he’ll remember it all as he walks around to the passenger side.

Kanjuro thinks, Now, I could do it. He thinks about putting the key into the ignition, speeding away before Kin could do a damn thing about it. Maybe he’d put a dent in the back with a rock, or his fist. Something to remember him by. 

Kanjuro lets the seconds tick down. He leans over, and grabs the door handle, and pops it open for Kin to hop in. 

Notes:

This fic is based on the song Chinatown by the Bleachers & Bruce Springsteen. Happy birthday Kanjuro (30 minutes late)! I could have worked on one of my more hilarious WIPs instead of this sort of morose reflection on car culture for kanjuro birthday, but hey, there's always next year