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“What a stylish watch, Okapi!” Mana chirps. “Where’d you get it?”
“Ah.. um…”
Satomi subconsciously jerks his wrist away from Mana’s prying fingers. She doesn’t mind, though; she’s used to his standoffishness. She grins at him, her hands steepled beneath her chin. Maruyama leans over to take a look while in the middle of slurping his noodles.
“She’s right. Looks really cool,” Maruyama mumbles through a mouth full of food. He swallows. “It’s like the watches those popular guys wear.”
Satomi brushes the watch face tenderly. This was another gift from Kyouji, albeit much less expensive and much less flashy than the last one–Satomi checked. Kyouji knew that Satomi wouldn’t have worn it otherwise. But he needed a watch. He’s not allowed to check his phone during exams, and wearing a watch forced him away from obsessively checking his notifications. It was convenient, and now it’s so habitual that he forgets he even has it on.
“It was a gift…” Satomi mumbles. “For my birthday.”
Lies. Kyouji handed it to him without rhyme or reason, the way he does most things.
“Ohhh. Was it from your Osaka friend?” Mana’s ability to see through him is scary.
Well, he couldn’t lie and say it was from his family. His parents gave him a new pair of sneakers. His brother gave him some concert tickets that he’d shared with his friends. The idea of telling them that it came from his “uncle” makes his gut squirm guiltily. It used to be the easiest explanation, but now he hates that excuse.
“Yeah,” Satomi says while shoving a whole gyoza into his mouth. Maybe if he keeps eating, Mana will move on from the conversation.
“He’s so nice,” she says. “And he’s got good taste. I’m sooo curious about what he looks like.”
“I can’t imagine Oka with some old geezer,” Maruyama jokes. “I bet he’s, like, a really handsome thirty-year-old lawyer or something.”
Satomi’s ears are burning. He thinks he’s going to faint.
Mana laughs. “Hmm, I bet. I told my boyfriend, ‘hey, Satomi’s friend always brings him to nice restaurants and pays for the food. Why don’t you do that for me more often?’ And he said, ‘Sorry, I’m just a twenty-year-old college student, not a sugar daddy.’ Ugh, the nerve! You’re so lucky, Okapi!”
Satomi is too busy choking on his gyoza to correct Mana’s statement.
Narita: I can drop by this Saturday. That OK?
Narita: Got some milk manju for you.
Satomi: Saturday is fine with me. Thank you for the milk manju. See you.
Narita: By the way, the news said there’s a cold spell coming to Tokyo soon. Make sure to bundle up. Have you tried the new space heater?
Satomi: Yes, I’m fine. How’s Osaka?
Narita: Not bad. Same as usual.
Narita: Really, though. Let me know if the space heater works. If it doesn’t, there’s another brand we could try…
Satomi: Really, it works fine. Osaka’s winters are worse…
Narita: Just because you’re used to the cold doesn’t mean you have to deal with it. It makes your bones ache the older you get, Satomi-kun!
[NARITA KYOUJI DEPOSITED JPY 15,000 INTO YOUR BANK ACCOUNT]
Narita: Don’t worry about your electric bills. You’re too young for that.
Satomi: What is this??? This is way too much. I’m giving it back.
Narita: Keep it! Go shopping with your friends or something. What do kids like to do nowadays…
[Satomi is typing…]
Narita: Oops, boss is calling me. Got to go. See ya Saturday 🙂
NARITA: INACTIVE
“That idiot,” Satomi mutters.
“Huh, what was that?” Morita asks.
Satomi glances up. Morita brushes his hair carefully in the staff room mirror.
“Nothing,” Satomi replies. “Just talking to myself.”
“Hey, have you finished the manga I lent you?”
“Not yet. I’m still in the part where they’re hunting down the demons in the forest…” Basically, the second volume. Morita doesn’t care though. He just nods and keeps going.
“Ah, that’s a great arc! It really sets the tone for the rest of the story. There’s a lot of subtle foreshadowing too. But ah, I shouldn’t spoil you… Anyway, you should read carefully. The mangaka draws these really detailed…”
Satomi zones him out. He glances at his phone again.
Satomi: Kyouji, I don’t need this.
Kyouji doesn’t reply. He’s radio silent for at least two days.
Satomi tugs his jacket closer around his body. Kyouji was right, not that Satomi pays attention to the weather forecast, anyway. A cold spell hit Tokyo the day before. He trudges to the grocery store with his hands shoved into his pockets and the lower half of his face buried in a scarf that Kyouji had gifted him. Actually, the jacket was a gift from Kyouji too. Mana complimented it again, said that Satomi was finally looking more stylish. Not that Satomi would ever pass that information onto Kyouji. He could already imagine his smug expression.
It’s a relief to enter the grocery store and be hit by a burst of warmth. Satomi sighs and loosens his scarf. He grabs a basket and mechanically hunts for ingredients. Potatoes, mushrooms, onions, leeks. Soy sauce. Vinegar. Pork loin… or maybe pork belly. Or maybe both? His hand hovers over the cooler.
He’s supposed to give the money back to Kyouji. He could pay this month’s electrical bill and still have some leftover. But Kyouji told him to keep it and go shopping, right? He’s always been generous–too generous. He never said anything even when Satomi confessed to losing his old watch.
Satomi braces himself and grabs three different cuts of meat for good measure.
“Woah, this is delicious!” Maruyama exclaims. “You should add more chili.”
“Don’t mind if I do,” Mana says, taking the chili oil from him.
“It’s already spicy,” Satomi says. “I can’t believe you’re adding more chilli.”
Mana just grins.
The hotpot is balanced on Satomi’s low dining table. They crowd over it with mismatched bowls and chopsticks. Scattered around them are unopened bottles of convenience store drinks, courtesy of Maruyama. Still, Satomi had to buy extra bowls, cups, and utensils from the 100 yen store before they came over. Him and Kyouji have been getting along just fine with two cups, but the longer this goes on, the more Satomi realizes that he’s getting too old for his dad’s hand-me-downs.
He’s never invited any friends over before. The only people who have seen his apartment are his brother… and Kyouji.
But it’s not so bad, he realizes. It’s fun to have friends over. They make the space more lively. He doesn’t feel claustrophobic, or embarrassed. When Maruyama saw his bookshelf, he marveled over Satomi’s tiny manga collection and said he was reading the same series. Mana happily shrugged off her jacket after he turned on the space heater. She then launched into a story about yesterday’s class, and weren’t they so glad that sensei extended the deadline because she hadn’t even started on her paper–
Satomi’s face and stomach bloom with warmth. He knows it isn’t just the hotpot.
“Wait!” Maruyama says. He fumbles through his pockets. “We have to take a photo before we finish everything. I wanna post it on Twitter. The first time I’ve had home-cooked hotpot at a friend’s house since starting college…”
Mana perks up. “You’re right! Me too.” She picks up her phone. “One, two, three…”
Satomi watches them take photos from different angles. Mana even stands up to take a bird’s eye view.
“You’re such a food photo expert, Mana-chan!” Maruyama says. “I never thought of trying that angle before. Okay, my turn.”
Satomi doesn’t see the point in bending over backwards just to take a photo, but he snaps one from his seat anyway. The hotpot is already half-empty from this perspective. Water droplets are scattered across the table’s surface. Maruyama’s knees are visible in the background. But the food looks good. The kimchi has dyed the hotpot a satisfying orange color, and bits of white tofu and enoki mushrooms bob across the surface.
He stares at the photo dimly. And then, as if on autopilot, his fingers move by themselves.
[Satomi sent a photo]
Satomi: I made kimchi nabe with my friends.
Mana is still directing Maruyama on how to take better photos. She chastises him for using an outdated filter.
Surprisingly, Satomi’s phone dings with a notification.
Narita: Looks yummy!
[Narita sent a sticker]
Satomi hesitates.
Satomi: What are you having for dinner tonight?
Narita: I’m at a dinner meeting right now, actually. The boss brought us to his favorite sashimi place. I wish I could send you a photo but the other guys are all animals. All the plates are empty.
Satomi: Shouldn’t you be listening to your meeting?
Narita: Nah. Business is over. Everyone’s busy getting drunk ;)
Satomi: You’re not drinking much, are you?
Satomi: Are you driving home?
Narita: Awwwww. Is Satomi-kun worried about me?
Satomi’s eye twitches.
Narita: I’m taking a cab home. I rode with some other guys on the way here.
Satomi: Okay.
Narita: I wish I could eat your cooking.
Satomi: I didn’t do everything. Mana-chan and Maruyama helped. Besides, it’s just hotpot.
Narita: It’s still your cooking.
Satomi: Maybe we can eat at a hotpot restaurant sometime.
Narita: Sounds good.
When Satomi glances up, he tunes back into Maruyama’s long-winded story about his classmate that he has a crush on.
“She’s so kind. Ahh, I wonder if she could tell I was shaking when I returned her notebook…”
Mana catches Satomi’s eye as if to say he’s hopeless, isn’t he? Satomi smiles back.
“I can handle that, Okapi.” Mana gestures to the bowl in his hands. “Washing the dishes is the least we can do. Thanks for inviting us over for dinner!”
“It’s fine.”
“Come on!” She grabs it from him while he’s rinsing it beneath the faucet. “I’ll wash, and you dry. How about that?”
“...Sure.”
They wash the dishes together in silence. Maruyama putters around behind them, wiping the table and floors, taking out the trash. Suddenly, Satomi’s phone rings. He wipes his hand on his pants and checks the screen. It’s Kyouji.
“I have to take this,” he mumbles.
“Sure,” Mana says, waving him off.
Satomi walks to the balcony, shuts it firmly behind him, and then answers the phone.
“Satomi-kuuuun!” Kyouji greets.
He sighs and leans over the railing. There isn’t much of a view from here. He can see the neighbor’s messy backyard, a clothesline full of laundry, and a bike toppled over. A single point of light glimmers in the pitch black sky. It flies at a resolute pace. Must be an airplane.
“Good evening,” Satomi says. “Are you drunk?”
“Of course not! Just a little tipsy.” Kyouji laughs. He can hear other voices and the din of a restaurant in the background: plates clanging together, footsteps, faint rushing water.
In the background, someone slurs, “is that Satomi? Say hi to him for me!” Kyouji seems to wave them off.
“The guys say hi,” Kyouji mumbles, amused. Satomi frowns, unamused.
“They really liked the custard cookies I got from Tokyo last time. I told them that you brought me there. So they’re grateful,” Kyouji explains.
“You tell your… colleagues everything we do?!”
Kyouji sighs, audibly deflating. “‘Course not. But they really liked the cookies, and I wanted to show off your knowledge of chic bakeries. None of those guys know how to get proper souvenirs, you know? It’s always the same thing. At least Honda’s woman is a foodie, so she always gives him recommendations. Anyway, let’s stop talking about the other guys. How was your hotpot?”
Satomi huffs. “It was good.” He pauses. “We used the space heater. It worked pretty well for three people.”
He can practically hear Kyouji beaming through the phone. “That’s good. I’m glad.”
“I used your money to buy hotpot ingredients, dishes, and lots of meat, so you’re not getting anything back.”
“Mm. I told you to keep it.”
“I had fun. I’ve… never had friends come over for hotpot before.”
“You know what? Neither have I. I mean, I’ve been to a hotpot restaurant, obviously. But the only homemade hotpot I’ve had is my mom’s.” Kyouji hums. “It’s good that you’re experiencing that.” His voice lowers. “It’s really good.”
“Well, it’s just one of those normal student things…”
“You should do more of those. You won’t be a student for very long. Before you know it, you’re a working adult, slaving away at your job. You’ll miss school!”
“Ugh, you sound like my mom.”
Kyouji’s laugh sounds strained.
“How was your dinner?” Satomi asks, switching the subject.
“Ah, the food was good, as always. The boss loves unagi. When he got drunk enough, he insisted that everyone should try it. I’ve never had that much unagi in one sitting in my life.”
Satomi winces, already calculating the cost of that dinner. “Wow.”
“I know. I’m so full I could burst.”
They’re both quiet for a while. Satomi doesn’t know why it feels so comforting to hear Kyouji breathing on the other end of the line. He glances up at the sky, trying to track the airplane, but it’s long gone.
“Kyouji,” he says.
“Hm?”
He doesn’t say anything else. He doesn’t know why he did that, why he called Kyouji’s name. Satomi doesn’t know why he does what he does whenever Kyouji is involved. He’s always gone against his better judgment. He’s been lucky so far, he knows, but maybe one day he’ll push his luck too far in the wrong direction. From the moment he was fourteen and getting into a car with a yakuza, to when he was eighteen and embracing said yakuza out on the street, to now, when he’s leaving his friends to clean the kitchen alone just so that he can hear Kyouji’s breathing on the other end of a phone call–
Today, he wore a jacket and a scarf that Kyouji bought him. He ate hotpot with the money that Kyouji gave him. He kept his room warm with the space heater that Kyouji got him. And he checks the time with the watch that Kyouji gifted him. It’s almost ten in the evening. He really should be getting back. But the voices in Kyouji’s vicinity grow louder. Satomi thinks hard about what he said. About the fact that these yakuza guys know that Kyouji visits Satomi in Tokyo real often. That these yakuza guys know they go to restaurants and bakeries together. That they’ve been aware that Kyouji has been doting on him for years. That they’re aware that he is Kyouji’s, that’s why they’re nice to him, that’s why they leave him alone, that’s why he could wander around their territory in Osaka unscathed.
“Sorry, Satomi,” Kyouji says. “The boss is calling me. I gotta go. Have a good night.”
“O-oh. Goodnight.”
“Send me a message if you need anything. I’ll see you on Saturday.”
“See you on Saturday.”
Kyouji hangs up. Satomi stares at his phone. He wonders if he will ever have the courage to end their phone conversations with the truth– I missed you. I love you.
Kyouji’s never said it either, you know.
He wonders what the other yakuza guys think. He wonders if they think that Kyouji will eventually get tired of his cute little sidepiece once he gets older. He wonders if they think that Kyouji gets off on it, taking care of him, and being a dirty old man. Yes, it has nothing to do with love. It’s a bit like fussing over a pet.
Satomi shuts his eyes tight. He counts to ten, opens the balcony door, and then apologizes to Mana for taking so long.
Satomi takes the night shift on Friday. He exhausts himself on purpose so that he has a nice, deep sleep. So that he won’t spend Friday night tossing and turning in bed like an excited child.
He’s seeing Kyouji today. Or more accurately, Kyouji is seeing him today.
Satomi leans against a pillar near the exit of the station. He only has about thirty seconds before Kyouji sees him and catches his eye. But he relishes those brief seconds where Kyouji is still looking for him. He’s dressed in his usual button-up and necktie, but he’s got a long coat on. His hair is slicked back save for a single strand that dangles over his forehead. Ah, that forehead. There are more wrinkles now. And there are those constant dark circles beneath his eyes. His face is blank, almost scarily so. His aura just bleeds danger. Some passengers subconsciously avoid him.
Nevermind that he’s got a briefcase in one hand and a giant bag of milk manju in the other.
The moment Kyouji sees Satomi, his expression brightens. His shoulders roll back subtly. He waves with the hand carrying the milk manju. Satomi approaches and can’t help but smile.
“Hey,” he says. “How was your trip?”
“Not bad. I took a nap on the shinkansen.” Kyouji bends his neck, as if to get a crick out of it. They shouldn’t be standing here in the middle of the pavement during rush hour. They’re blocking the way. But Satomi doesn’t care. Nobody bumps into Kyouji. It’s like he’s in a tiny bubble, being physically protected by him. The sun has long set, so the city lights and traffic illuminate their surroundings. Car lights reflect off of Kyouji’s face.
“Hey, you’re wearing the jacket I got you.” Kyouji looks pleased. “You like it?”
Satomi glances away. “It’s warm. Thanks.”
“Don’t mention it.” Kyouji’s fingers brush the collar of his jacket. Satomi still can’t look at him, but he’s hyperaware of the way those long fingers dance across his collarbone. Kyouji smoothens the fabric. There is barely any pressure, yet there is so much warmth. “It suits you.”
“Thanks.”
Kyouji’s hand drops. He steps away. When Satomi glances at him again, he’s back to his usual, casual self.
“Hey, are you hungry?” Kyouji asks. “‘Cuz I could eat.”
Satomi raises a brow. “Oh, sure. I guess we could have an early dinner. You must be tired.”
“Nah, just need some grub.” Kyouji has to tuck his chin to look down at him. It used to be much more noticeable, but these days Satomi’s finally catching up to him in height. He wonders if he’ll ever match Kyouji, or if the man will be forever taller than him. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you but I made some reservations at this new place near Ginza. I heard it’s really popular among young people, so I wanted to take you along so you can let me know if it’s worth all the hype.”
They begin walking away from the station. Satomi freezes when he feels Kyouji’s hand lingering on his lower back, but it vanishes after a few seconds.
“Let me guess,” Satomi says. “You really wanted to try it, but you’re worried about sticking out, and I’m the only young person who you can take with you.”
“Ouch, Satomi-kun. Maybe I wanted to experience it with you.”
“Have you used that line on women before? Because it’s giving me the creeps.”
Kyouji throws his head back and laughs.
“Fine. I have, but that doesn’t mean that it’s not true. I pulled some strings to get us that reservation, you know.”
“Please follow me, Narita-san. Right this way.”
As the waitress leads them to their designated table, Satomi realizes with a shudder that it’s that type of restaurant. There are groups of businessmen having dinner, sure, but there are also a significant number of couples around them. One young couple in their twenties seems to be celebrating their anniversary with a bottle of wine. Another pair seems to be on a first date. The man is dressed really flashy, with thick cologne and a gold watch. The woman listens to him talk with a polite smile. She lifts her glass to her lips with long, manicured fingernails.
Even worse–there, in a secluded corner is a middle-aged man with a much younger woman hanging off of him. She laughs exaggeratedly at his jokes. He keeps one hand on her knee beneath the table, and she doesn’t brush him off at all.
Satomi does not want to consider what the staff think of him and Kyouji. The awful truth is–whatever they’re thinking, it’s probably near the truth.
“I wish you told me we were going here,” Satomi says, dazed, as they take their seats. “I would have dressed nicer.”
“You look fine,” Kyouji reassures him. Luckily, Satomi is wearing a polo shirt and his new jacket, but he’s wearing sneakers , for god’s sake. “This place doesn’t have a dress code.”
Predictably, the food is mostly Western fare. Satomi orders a Hamburg steak with red wine sauce. Kyouji orders a beef steak. Satomi has never let the cost of their meals bother him before–Kyouji always pays–but this is significantly harder when he realizes that their dinner is about to cost half his monthly wages.
But still, it’s delicious. The ambience is pretentious, but Satomi agrees that it’s worth the hype.
Maybe it’s the violin music playing in the background, or maybe it’s the hushed voices all around them, so well-behaved, but their conversation tonight feels particularly inane. Kyouji asks Satomi how work and school are going. Satomi does not want to talk about work or school, but he can’t think of anything else to say, so he discusses it anyway. Kyouji just watches him patiently the entire time, those dark eyes trained on Satomi. Maybe it’s the red wine sauce, he’s not sure, but he feels his blood rushing to his head beneath the heat of Kyouji’s gaze. Kyouji’s lips close around his fork, but he isn’t looking at his meal. He’s looking at Satomi. He’s looking at Satomi like he wants to eat him, not the steak.
He remembers something Kyouji said to him once. You’ve grown into such a handsome young man, Satomi-kun. Girls must be going crazy over you.
“How’s the food?” Kyouji asks.
“It’s really good,” Satomi admits, his voice weak. He doesn’t want to speak too loudly. It might be impolite. Unfortunately, that just means that Kyouji has to focus extra hard on him. He even leans forward. The rest of the world might as well not exist.
It is difficult to sit up straight with the force of all of Narita Kyouji’s attention on him.
“I’m glad you like it,” Kyouji says. “The beef steak is really good too. Looks like this place is worth the hype!”
Later, when the waitress approaches their table for the bill, she doesn’t even pay Satomi any attention. Rather, she doesn’t even pretend to ask who’s going to pay for it. Of course it’s Kyouji. The reservation is under his name and, and, and obviously, look at them–
Satomi pointedly looks away from the receipt. He does not want to know how much everything cost tonight. Instead, his gaze wanders across the restaurant. The couple on a first date are gone. They’ve been replaced by a middle-aged couple. But when he squints, he sees that the old man and the young lady are still there. They’re a few wine glasses deep, he realizes. Now the young lady is stroking the older man’s wrist.
“Satomi-kun.” A foot gently brushes against his.
Satomi almost jumps out of his skin. He glances at Kyouji. Kyouji raises his brows.
“Are you okay? We can leave now, if you want.” He tucks the receipt into his pocket. Satomi follows the movement of his fingers with his gaze.
Leave now and then… do what?
The last time they did this, they went to a hotel after. The last time they did this, Kyouji fucked Satomi into the mattress so hard that he almost passed out. And then the next morning, Kyouji fucked him in the bathtub. They made a huge mess, spilled water everywhere. Satomi couldn’t look the concierge in the eye as they checked out. He was too busy hoping that his collar hid the giant mark on his neck.
Going to a hotel after this would just be… cliche. It doesn’t matter that they’re going to fuck anyway. Everyone here knows they’re going to fuck. Everyone already knows they’re fucking. That’s all that matters to them. They see Kyouji and Satomi together and they think they know everything, they think it’s all so simple. They think Satomi is doing it for the money, the meals, the gifts. They think Kyouji is doing it because Satomi is young and cute and malleable.
“Hey,” Satomi says. “Let’s go back to my place.”
If Kyouji is surprised, he doesn’t say anything. “Sure.”
They take a cab back, instead of the train. Maybe Kyouji is just as impatient as him. But it drives Satomi mad, the way Kyouji refuses to outright touch him. He brushed Satomi’s collar at the train station. He nudged Satomi’s foot at the restaurant. But they haven’t hugged. They haven’t kissed. They haven’t held hands. Even though Kyouji has been looking at him like that the entire night. Even though everyone who sees them knows something is there.
Maybe that’s why Satomi freezes on his doorstep. His neighbor’s lights are off. She must be out. They’re the only two people on the street. And Kyouji is following him silently, humoring him, following his every whim the way he always does.
When Satomi freezes, Kyouji does too.
“Satomi-kun?” he asks. “Did you forget your keys?”
He’s such a fucking idiot.
Satomi can’t take it anymore. He spins around, grabs Kyouji by the front of his shirt, and drags him down for a kiss. Kyouji freezes for a moment. They shouldn’t be doing this on his front doorstep. They shouldn’t be doing this in public. But for once, Satomi doesn’t care.
Kyouji drops the bags to the ground. His hands flex, and then he grabs Satomi’s waist and the nape of his neck. He kisses back. Deeper, deeper. Satomi whimpers. Kyouji is so warm where they touch. Kyouji’s hands, his chest, his mouth, his tongue dragging across Satomi’s lip. Satomi clutches him tighter. A hand wanders down from Satomi’s back to his hip, to his ass. He grinds against it.
Satomi gasps. He pulls an inch apart. Kyouji’s mouth chases his, then stops.
“We have to go inside,” Satomi rasps. He forces a trembling hand inside his pocket, searching for his keys. He turns around and unlocks the door. As he pushes it open, Kyouji leans in to leave a light kiss on his nape. Satomi shudders.
Finally, finally they are touching. Finally, Kyouji will deem him worthy of a touch, if only for sex.
“Kyouji,” he says, breathless. He needs to go through the door. He’s holding it wide open. But that would mean leaving the aura of Kyouji’s warmth.
“Sorry,” Kyouji says, not sounding apologetic at all. He picks up the bags and then gently nudges Satomi inside. When Satomi glances at him, red-cheeked and pouty, Kyouji smiles. And when Kyouji’s gaze settles on Satomi’s visible erection, Satomi’s blush only deepens.
“Are you sure you don’t want to go to a hotel?” Kyouji asks. His voice rasps just a bit, and it’s the only sign that he’s just as affected as Satomi is.
Satomi shakes his head. “No. Here is fine.”
Kyouji raises a brow, but he doesn’t counter it.
Yes, here is fine. Kyouji has come over before, but they’ve never had sex in his apartment. The walls are too thin, the neighbors too nosy. That’s what Satomi has told him over and over again.
Maybe Satomi wants the neighbors to know that Kyouji… means something to him.
No, he won’t think about that.
He doesn’t want to worry anymore, so he kisses Kyouji again. Guides him to the bedroom, to the futon beside the lone space heater. Kyouji pauses to switch it on–the smug bastard. After that, it is easy. The room grows warmer, glows with light. They shed their clothes. First, Kyouji’s long coat. His necktie. He undoes the buttons of his shirt with strong fingers. Satomi watches as his bare chest comes into view, watches as his tattoos are revealed to thin air.
Kyouji undresses Satomi like he’s unwrapping a delicate package. Satomi hates it sometimes, but tonight he’s just glad that he’s finally being touched. First, the jacket–folded and tossed aside gingerly. Then his polo shirt, his trousers, both socks. Satomi’s nipples are pink and stiff in the cold air. Kyouji blows on them and then sucks on them with his thick, rolling tongue. When Kyouji pulls away, a line of saliva drips between his mouth and Satomi’s nipples. He’s so hard he can barely breathe.
“Lube in the… drawer…” Satomi gasps.
Kyouji doesn’t say anything when he encounters the bottle, just freshly-opened. Satomi would die of mortification if he did. He’s been using it on himself while Kyouji is away. He dimly thanks his previous self for hiding his dildo in another drawer. If Kyouji saw that , he’d make a smug expression and Satomi would actually die.
“Satomi-kun is so sweet,” Kyouji says, distracting Satomi from his own thoughts. And then he licks a stripe up Satomi’s dick.
Satomi jerks violently. Kyouji just laughs, and then sucks harder. It’s not fair, Satomi thinks. Kyouji looks so handsome between his legs, with his mouth on Satomi’s dick. He presses Satomi down with one hand on his stomach—hot, hot, hot—and then goes to town on him like he’s licking a lollipop. Satomi doesn’t even realize he’s been whimpering. He doesn’t even realize that Kyouji has coated his fingers in lube until he feels one finger pressing against his hole.
Satomi inhales deeply and then lets him in. Kyouji doesn’t have to say anything; he’s used to this, to opening up Satomi slowly, slowly. The cock sucking is a nice distraction from the sensation of fingers in his ass. It’s always awkward at the start. He’s always too tight, and so Kyouji has to stretch him with one finger, then two, then three. He fingerfucks Satomi to the knuckle until Satomi is wailing, begging for Kyouji to put it inside him, please, please, please.
“Patience, Satomi-kun,” Kyouji chides, and twists his fingers so hard that Satomi sees stars.
“Does it turn you on,” Satomi pants, “to have everyone knowing that you’re fucking me?”
Kyouji freezes for a second. Satomi briefly wonders if he’s made a mistake, but then Kyouji resumes fingerfucking him again, and the sensation is so good that he’s shuddering on the futon.
“What do you mean?” Kyouji asks, his voice careful.
“Everyone knows that you buy me clothes,” Satomi whimpers. He grinds against Kyouji’s hand. “And that you give me gifts. And that you buy me food. You always pay for our… meals. You pay for our hotels. You pay for my cab. D-do the yakuza know that you come here twice a month just to fuck me?”
“I don’t come here just to fuck you.” Kyouji twists his fingers again. “But yes, they know I come here to see you.”
“Exactly.” Satomi laughs weakly. He covers his face with a hand. “Everyone knows that I’m y-yours. Or they should.” His moan comes out sounding more like a sob.
Kyouji looms over him. He bats Satomi’s hand away, forces the younger man to look at him.
“Satomi?” Kyouji’s brows are furrowed. “What’s wrong?”
Satomi’s hand covers his face again. “What’s wrong is that you still haven’t put your cock inside of me.”
Kyouji tsks. “Where are your condoms?”
“Don’t wanna use any. Want to feel you come inside of me.”
From above, Satomi hears Kyouji’s long-suffering sigh. A hand gently caresses his hair.
“You’re going to be the death of me,” Kyouji mutters.
But still, he relents. Kyouji grips Satomi’s hips and keeps him steady as he enters him slowly, slowly. Satomi shudders as the older man’s cock slips inside of him. Yes, he’ll never tire of this no matter how many times they do it. His dildo will never compare to the real thing. Kyouji’s hands always grip his hips tighter as he enters, like he’s bracing himself. He can’t help but grunt. A bead of sweat drips down his brow. Satomi knows he’s doing everything he can to not thrust forward immediately. Kyouji shudders above him, his arms shaking.
Satomi wraps his legs around Kyouji’s hips, holding him in place.
“Everyone in that restaurant knew Kyouji-san was going to fuck me afterwards,” Satomi says. “So go ahead and fuck me as hard as you can.”
Something dark passes across Kyouji’s face. “Oh?” he croons. “Oh, I see what this is about.”
He leans down, thrusting once. Satomi whimpers. Kyouji’s voice is hot in his ear.
“This is why you brought me home tonight, isn’t it?” Kyouji whispers. “You want the neighbors to hear. You want everyone to know that I’m fucking you. If you had the chance, you’d let me take you in public. Were you hoping that I’d take you into the bathroom stall earlier tonight and bend you over? Or maybe you were hoping that I’d force you to suck my dick at the back of the cab? Oh, Satomi-kun, you’re so naughty. ”
Each sentence is punctuated with a harsh thrust. Satomi sobs. Kyouji’s hands are pinning his wrists in place, but he can’t help but be thrashed around like a ragdoll as Kyouji pounds into him relentlessly.
“I thought you hated it when I fussed over you.” Kyouji laughs. “But you’re just embarrassed by how much you love it, don’t you?”
“Kyouji-san,” Satomi whines. “Faster, please.”
Kyouji picks up the pace. Satomi is practically bent into two now, twisted up like a pretzel, his legs thrown over Kyouji’s shoulders. Satomi feels so good he hardly knows what he’s saying, what he’s hearing. Vaguely, he feels drool dripping from the side of his open mouth. He doesn’t have it in him to feel embarrassed—and a few seconds later, he feels Kyouji’s wet tongue lapping across the side of his lips.
“Your neighbors are going to know that you begged me to fuck you,” Kyouji continues. “But do your friends know that you’re such a slut? I bet you showed off your pretty watch, your new jacket, your new scarf. Oh, Satomi-kun, do they know that you earned it by using your pretty little hole? Your hole, it’s so tight—ah!”
Satomi sobs. He should be embarrassed, he thinks, but it feels so good, and Kyouji is shuddering above him. Kyouji is…
“Kyouji-san,” Satomi gasps. “Come inside me, please, I want… I want to feel you… You feel so… good… I—”
“Satomi.”
Kyouji comes inside of him first. He shudders, fucking Satomi through his orgasm. Satomi cries as the warmth floods his insides. It reaches in so deep he can feel it in his stomach. It’s hot and sticky and Kyouji still hasn’t pulled out of him, his dick is still twitching inside of Satomi, trying to fill him up as much as he can. Satomi is so, so full. He’s so full that he comes too, his semen splurting everywhere, spreading across their stomachs and chests and the futon.
Satomi’s dick twitches pathetically between them. He’s so sensitive that it hurts.
After a few seconds, Kyouji groans and slowly pulls out. Satomi whimpers. He doesn’t want Kyouji to leave, doesn’t want this feeling to go away. He clenches his asshole but it’s not enough; he feels the cum drip onto the mattress anyway. The mad part of his brain wonders if he can ask Kyouji to plug him up with his dildo… let him keep it there for the rest of tonight…
Kyouji collapses beside him. They breathe together for a few moments, and then Kyouji is wiping his face with a towel.
“You’re crying,” Kyouji says.
Satomi blinks. Kyouji’s face is so close, and the towel is warm against his cheeks. He hadn’t realized he had actually started crying. His face heats up.
“I…” Satomi trails off. He stares at Kyouji’s face, at his furrowed brows, at the dark bags beneath his eyes, at his soft lips.
Normally, they would say something practical. Do you want to bathe first? Or, I’ll get some towels. Or, I’m sleepy. Or, hey, I’m hungry again.
But instead, Satomi says, “don’t leave me tomorrow.”
Kyouji’s eyes widen. Satomi braces himself and then says, “stay for another day. Please.”
“Satomi-kun,” Kyouji says. “You know I’ll be there when you need me, but…” He trails off, and then reconsiders it. “I have… Well…” He sighs and sinks into the futon again. “All right. Fine. I’ll have to call the office.”
Satomi sniffs. “We could go to the park.”
Kyouji smiles at him. “You want to go to the park? It’s going to be freezing.”
“We could eat hot taiyaki.”
“Yeah, I guess that sounds good.”
“We could feed the ducks.”
He chuckles. “You’re adorable.”
“Or we could visit the art museum.”
“Mm, not really my thing, but I’ll go if you want to.”
“Okay, it’s not really my thing either. But I still want to go to the park.”
“Okay. We’ll go to the park tomorrow.”
Satomi’s face grows serious. “I was thinking… Can we do this more often? Do other things aside from… eating. And spending… more than just one day together.”
Kyouji looks at him carefully.
“I don’t like telling people that we’re related,” Satomi continues. “And I don’t mind if people look at us and think we’re… together. Do you mind?”
Kyouji reaches for him and brushes a strand of hair away from his eyes. Satomi wonders if he’s just stalling for time, or if he really wanted to touch him in that moment.
“People will wonder what you’re doing with an old man like me,” Kyouji says.
“That’s none of their business.”
“I don’t like it when people talk about you.”
“I don’t care about that sort of thing.”
“Really?” Kyouji smiles sadly. “I thought you hated that I was part of the yakuza.”
Satomi flinches. “That’s different. That’s—”
“Is it? These are the things that other people will notice, Satomi. Our age difference. Our relationship. My occupation. If you air out one thing, then you’ll have to air out the rest.”
Satomi grabs his wrist. “Then let’s air it out!”
Kyouji flinches.
Satomi stares at him, his eyes determined. “As long as we’re together then we can handle it, right? Your yakuza buddies know that we’re seeing each other. My friends know that I’m with an older man. It doesn’t bother them, so why should it bother us? I’m…” His breath hitches. “I’m tired of hiding it. I’m tired of lying to people about you.”
Kyouji’s eyes are wide, twinkling. His mouth falls open in silence.
“You can buy me all these things,” Satomi says, “but nothing is better than being by your side. Openly. Kyouji, I’m an adult now. I want to face this with you. So please stop treating me like a fragile child.”
Kyouji shuts his eyes tight. For a minute, Satomi is worried that he’s going to pull away, that he’ll leave tonight. But instead, Kyouji pulls him into a sudden embrace. Satomi’s face is buried into his chest. He can’t see Kyouji’s expression from here, but he can hear the way his voice trembles.
“Satomi, you…” Kyouji trails off. “You’ve grown up, haven’t you?”
“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you.”
“I just want to keep you safe. I want you to have a normal life. I want you to enjoy your college years. I don’t want to ruin your reputation. I don’t want your family to look at us in disgust. Satomi-kun, you’re so young. You have so many years ahead of you. You don’t know if you’ll feel the same way about me in five years, in ten years. As you get older, you’ll want different things. You’ll want someone your age, or at least someone you can introduce to your parents…”
“Or maybe I’ll still feel the same no matter how old I get. You can’t decide that for me.”
Kyouji sighs. “No, I can’t.”
Satomi nuzzles his face into Kyouji’s neck. “You don’t have to meet my parents. We just have to try and be a little more open. Is that okay?”
“I don’t know what’s more open than what we already did tonight.”
Satomi punches him in the arm. “Not like that, you pervert. I meant… well, how about you meet my friends?”
Kyouji stiffens. Satomi glances up, only to find Kyouji gaping at him like a fish out of water.
“A-are you sure? They’ll think I’m an old geezer…”
“They can thank you for the hotpot.”
“That was your hotpot.”
“They’re my friends.” Satomi sniffs. “They’re important to me. You’re important to me. What about that is so difficult to understand?”
Kyouji sighs. Satomi knows the moment he gives up. It’s in the way his shoulders fall back. It’s in the way he curls around Satomi even more.
It doesn’t matter if they’re both naked. It’s so warm.
“We’ll take it one step at a time,” Satomi murmurs. “First you meet my friends. And then we can figure out the rest. But for tomorrow, can you rebook your train ticket so we can visit the park?”
Kyouji’s mouth twitches in a smile, like he can’t help it at all.
“You just want to go on a park date.”
“Maybe.” Satomi feels himself blushing. “Don’t you?”
“Of course I do.” Kyouji kisses him gently on the forehead. “All right, I’ll rebook my train ticket. You win, Satomi-sensei.”
Satomi punches him in the arm again. Privately, he considers introducing Kyouji to his next door neighbor tomorrow. Might as well. If she’s home by now… she’s probably already heard his name.
That’s a problem for another time.
“Satomi-kun,” Kyouji says.
“Yes?”
“I’m glad that I could see you today. I was looking forward to it all week. The guys were making fun of me, you know.”
Satomi smiles. “I was looking forward to today too.”
It’s no I missed you or I love you, but that’s all right. They’ll work up to it.