Chapter Text
Be it money, power, or women, Kisaki has them all at his fingertips.
But no matter how often he’s asked Hanma what he wants in return for the many years they’ve spent together, Hanma would always return a cheeky smile and insist that he wanted for nothing, that Kisaki had already given him everything a long time ago.
Kisaki cannot fathom what he means by this.
They’ve known each other for ages and logically, he knows that he has no reason to be this nervous. That on some fucked up level they understand each other better than anyone else. But Kisaki’s heart is still beating too fast as he knocks back a glass of red wine in an attempt to steady his nerves.
He’s on his third glass when he hears the beep of the electronic lock. The door clicks open, and he turns around to find Hanma’s head bobbing in the entryway.
“Darling, I’m home!”
The giggle that follows this corny line fills Kisaki with more serotonin than he cares to admit. When they first started living together, Hanma acting like they were newlyweds used to annoy the hell out of him. But now he’s come to expect it—look forward to it, even. He’ll never be able to fully shake the memory of coming home to a too-quiet, too-empty house, but Hanma’s voice fills him with something he tentatively calls comfort.
Kisaki hums in acknowledgement as he leans his head back against the leather couch. Closing his eyes, he listens to the rustling of Hanma shrugging off his suit jacket, the sound of water running as he freshens up, and the familiar plink as he lights a cigarette.
When Kisaki opens his eyes, Hanma’s face hovers above his own, wearing an indulgent smile as always. Kisaki’s gaze traces the contours of his face, the wavy locks that fall over his eyes and accentuate his high nose bridge, upon which sits a pair of round-frame glasses. In his tipsy state, Kisaki silently commends himself for styling his right-hand man so handsomely.
“Didn’t we promise to take our nightcap together?” Hanma reaches over Kisaki’s shoulder and gently takes the half-empty glass from his hand. He watches, heat rising to his cheeks, as Hanma purposely turns the glass to drink from the part that Kisaki’s lips touched. Hanma watches him back the entire time.
Cute, he thinks. Despite everything we’ve done together, he still gets flustered over something as small as an indirect kiss.
Without breaking eye contact, he makes his way around the couch and settles himself beside Kisaki, who indicates the half-empty bottle on the coffee table with a tilt of his head. “Pour your own drink. There’s an empty glass right there.”
Hanma makes no move to do so. Instead, he languidly swirls the wine glass in his hand as he observes its contents. “Did you add something to this?”
Kisaki frowns. “No, why?”
“Hmm, nothing. I just thought it tasted sweeter than usual.” Hanma takes another sip, his lips lingering on the rim longer than necessary. “What’s the occasion, bringing out such a fine wine? Did you get rejected by a woman or something?” A teasing smile plays about his lips.
Kisaki stiffens. Unwittingly, Tachibana comes to mind.
He hasn’t thought about her much, really, not since the day he had her killed—though he couldn’t bear to perform the act himself.
Back in cram school, when Kisaki was equally revered and scorned for being a child prodigy, Tachibana had been the only person who remembered that he was still a human being, and treated him like a normal kid. It didn’t come as a surprise that he ended up falling for the first girl who’d shown him any kindness. And it was only natural that he wants—no, wanted—to make her his and his alone.
When Hinata had rejected him, that hadn’t come as a complete surprise either. Part of him had felt… relieved, almost. Though his pride had certainly been hurt, at some point he’d started to realize that he saw her more as a prize to be won. He’d forgotten that she was an actual person too—ironic, since that was exactly what his loathsome classmates had done to him.
Hanma’s slim fingers brush against his cheek, coaxing Kisaki out of his thoughts.
“In my own way, I’m actually pretty grateful to… what’s her face, Tachibana?”
Kisaki keeps his expression neutral. Hanma can be unnervingly perceptive at times, and he’s only gotten better at it over the years.
“After all,” Hanma continues, “she’s the whole reason the two of us ended up meeting.”
Despite Hanma’s flippant tone, Kisaki can sense the weight behind his words. He accepts the truth in them as well. Without his ambition to attain Tachibana at any cost, Kisaki never would’ve set foot in the world of delinquents that he’d never held any interest in.
“I would’ve left her alone if you hadn’t said otherwise. Your devotion to her was pretty charming actually, as long as nothing ever came out of it.” Hanma’s voice dips lower, and his eyes resemble molten gold in the evening light. “But lately I’ve been hearing rumors that you’re seeing another woman outside of work.”
Kisaki makes a mental note to eviscerate the culprit before smashing his lips into Hanma’s.
Hmm. The wine does taste sweeter than usual tonight.
It’s rare for Kisaki to initiate, but if Hanma is surprised by the sudden urgency, he doesn’t show it. He responds eagerly as Kisaki’s lips envelope his own.
“More,” Kisaki breathes, and Hanma obeys, parting his lips to allow for better entry. As Kisaki runs his tongue along the other man’s teeth, Hanma grins—I taught you that one—before play-biting Kisaki’s bottom lip.
Entangled in each other’s arms, Kisaki reaches up to remove the round frames from Hanma’s face and smoothly slips them into his own pocket. Hanma moves to do the same for Kisaki, who stops him by pinning his arm to his side.
Hanma pouts against the younger man's mouth. “Why am I the only one who has to take them off?”
“Because I wore them first.”
“It was your idea in the first place.”
“Is that a complaint?”
“Let’s call it even.” Hanma breaks the kiss only to nip at the younger man’s earlobe, his teeth clicking against his gift to Kisaki for his sixteenth birthday—the purple earring decorating his left ear.
The tips of his ears turn red immediately—he’s always been sensitive there—much to Hanma’s delight.
“I love you, Kisaki,” Hanma says as they pull apart, “but even I can’t play second choice forever.”
Kisaki glowers at him. “Is that what you really think?”
“I’ve told you I love you two hundred and sixty-three times, and you’ve never said it back even once.” Hanma’s gaze is fond, and there isn’t a trace of resentment or accusation in his tone.
As for Kisaki, he can’t tell if Hanma just pulled some arbitrary number out of his ass, or if he’s really been keeping count for the past twelve years. Despite his uncanny ability to manipulate others’ emotions, he has yet to make sense of his own, let alone Hanma’s. Even after all this time, his closest confidant’s true motives remain a mystery to him.
“Your love must be pretty cheap then." Fists close around the lapel of Hanma’s shirt, pulling him back down to eye level.
“Is that really what you think?” Hanma throws Kisaki’s words right back in his face and god, the audacity. Kisaki vows to teach him a lesson, right here and now.
He stands abruptly, turning his back on Hanma and making a show of gathering up the empty glasses on the coffee table. As he makes his way to the cabinet to store the bottle back in its place, Hanma wraps his arms around Kisaki's torso from behind, resting his chin comfortably on top of Kisaki's head.
“You’re the only one I’ve ever said that to. You know that, right?”
The man he loves is facing away, so Hanma can’t see his expression.
“Prove it, then.”
Without another word, Kisaki extricates himself and heads straight for the hallway, not bothering to check if Hanma is following. The sound of buttons coming undone and a shirt being thrown haphazardly on the couch is answer enough.
“Semantic satiation,” Kisaki breathes as he collapses back onto the covers. His body is coated in a thin sheen of sweat.
Hanma is lying on his side, chin propped up on one hand as he gazes down at Kisaki with a wicked grin. “I love it when you talk dirty.”
Kisaki rolls his eyes. “It’s when a phrase loses all meaning when you repeat it too many times.”
An abundance of “I love you”s, sprinkled alongside “You’re the best” and “Life’s no fun without you.” Kisaki has heard these variations so many times that he’s grown numb at this point. Besides, he’s not one to waste time considering the possibility of sincerity.
“What about the opposite?” Hanma murmurs. He wraps his free arm around Kisaki’s waist, pulling him closer. “What’s it called when you mean something more and more every time you say it?”
A lie.
Kisaki sighs irritably, and the bitterness in his tone is a stark contrast to the sweetness of their kisses from earlier. “How can you say those things so easily?” He’s always secretly envied that part of Hanma, the part that could voice all his thoughts without a care in the world.
Hanma shrugs. “Probably ’cause I might die at any time.”
“What?” Kisaki sits up suddenly, and Hanma looks up at him in surprise. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Hanma blinks innocently, his head cocked to the side. The image reminds him of a puppy, and Kisaki's breath hitches at the thought.
“Are you… are you sick or something?” he demands as his grip unconsciously tightens on the sheets.
“Um, no?” Hanma’s expression transforms into a playful smirk. “Unless being lovesick counts. ♡”
Kisaki groans as he slides back down to a lying position on the bed and buries his face in the pillowcase. He’s still trying to decide whether to sigh in relief or smack the other man in the chest.
Cute. A bright laugh emerges from Hanma. He’s known all these years that his feelings aren’t one-sided, but it’s nice to reaffirm that Kisaki’s rather fond of him too—fond enough to keep him alive, at least.
“I just mean in this line of work, with all the enemies we’ve made, death could come at any time.” The maniacal grin on his face makes it clear that this is something to be thrilled about, rather than feared. “So, figured I might as well say it while I can.”
A simple, straightforward way of thinking—as expected of Hanma. Although Kisaki enjoys the sight of his subordinates bowing their heads and groveling at his feet, it’s more refreshing to have at least one person by his side who would always speak plainly with him.
Hanma studies Kisaki’s contemplative expression. “Penny for your thoughts?”
Kisaki gives him a wry smile. “Oh, is that all I’m worth?”
The sight of Kisaki's canines flashing sharply in the dim light sends a shiver of pleasure through Hanma. It always does, no matter how many times he’s seen it.
Then, all of a sudden, Kisaki's expression turns serious.
“Hanma, listen closely, because I’ll only say this once.”
As their fingers intertwine, Kisaki closes the remaining distance between them. Hanma is filled with a heady feeling as Kisaki’s warm breath ghosts across his lips, and his long lashes flutter shut.
Kisaki’s next words are soft, so unbelievably soft that Hanma can’t help but lean closer to absorb them, before the evening breeze from the open window carries them away.