Work Text:
Someone was flirting with Yamada Ichiro.
"If you keep grinding your teeth like that," Jyuto stated matter-of-factly, "we're going to have to have you fitted for dentures sooner rather than later."
Samatoki shot the bespectacled asshole a scathing glare. Then he stole Jyuto's drink and downed the rest of it in one go. "I ain't grinding shit."
Jyuto hummed, unconvinced. "My mistake. I suppose that means you take no issue with the young woman who's shoved her tongue down Ichiro's throat like she wants him to ingest it."
"She fucking what." Samatoki whipped his head around, only to find that Ichiro and the girl chatting him up were still standing a respectable distance apart on the other side of the club. He turned back to Jyuto with a sour look on his face. "You think you're funny, huh?"
"I'm a riot," Jyuto deadpanned.
For that, Samatoki also stole Rio's drink. He regretted it as soon as he threw it back, though. Partly because he felt bad for filching Rio's drink while the guy was in the bathroom, and partly because Rio had ordered some sort of bizarre concoction that burned in the worst way on the way down.
Once Samatoki finished hacking up a lung, he stole another glance at Ichiro. Truth be told, he couldn't be completely sure that there was any flirting going on. Ichiro was smiling at the girl who was talking to him, but Ichiro smiled at basically everyone. The girl was touching Ichiro's arm way too much for Samatoki's liking, but it wasn't out of the realm of possibility that she was just a very tactile person.
And even if they were flirting with each other, so what? It wasn't Samatoki's place to cockblock his friend-turned-enemy-turned-friend-again just because that friend-turned-et-cetera happened to be a sexy motherfucker.
But then Samatoki saw that girl trail an elaborately manicured hand down Ichiro's chest. Her fingers lingered on Ichiro's exposed clavicle for so long that Ichiro gave a distinctly awkward laugh and took a subtle step back, but the girl seemed to willfully misinterpret that as an invitation to take two steps forward.
Fuck it, Samatoki decided.
He slapped down a few extra bills on the table between him and Jyuto, so that Jyuto could order himself and Rio another round. Then he was off, storming across the club without a single rational thought in his mind.
If he'd stopped to think, he might have tried to hold back. Ramuda had rented out the club for his and Jakurai's joint bachelor party that night, so everyone there was friends with either one or both of them. Judging by the… extraordinary way she was dressed, this girl was almost definitely one of Ramuda's friends or colleagues. Which meant Samatoki probably shouldn't charge up to her with fire in his eyes and steam coming out of his ears.
He probably shouldn't have caused a scene at all, but he was pretty sure neither Ramuda nor Jakurai would care. In fact, he was pretty sure neither of them were even at the party anymore. He hadn't seen them in at least half an hour, so he really wouldn't be surprised if they'd snuck out of their own shindig to screw in the back of the Alphard or something.
Of course, he was too worked up to actually consider any of that before stomping up to Ichiro and wrapping both arms around his waist from behind.
The girl with the admittedly understandable fascination with Ichiro's chest looked up in surprise when Samatoki yanked Ichiro away from her. She blinked a few times as Samatoki hooked his chin over Ichiro's shoulder, radiating possessiveness without saying a word.
"Oh," the girl said, grinning like she'd suddenly seen something even better than Ichiro's pecs. "Baby, you could've just told me if it was like that."
Samatoki tightened his arms around Ichiro, until he could practically count Ichiro's abs against his forearms. The girl, clearly capable of taking a hint, lifted her margarita in a toast and swanned off to find her next mark.
Ichiro, however, remained frozen in place. "Samatoki…"
"You having a good night, Ichi?" Samatoki growled in Ichiro's ear. With the way his chest was pressed flush to Ichiro's back, he felt it when Ichiro shivered all over. "Sure looked like it."
"What are you talking about?" Ichiro mumbled. If they hadn't been so close, his voice would have been drowned out by the music thrumming through the club. "I wasn't… what did you do, anyway? That was one of Ramuda's apprentices. Did you do something to scare her?"
"Did she look scared to you?" Samatoki retorted.
"No, but…"
"But what? You wanted her to keep feeling you up?"
"No," Ichiro repeated. He finally turned to meet Samatoki's gaze with a mixture of irritation and bewilderment in his own eyes. "Obviously not. But I was trying to be polite."
Samatoki scoffed. "Polite, huh? Are you that nice to everyone who tries to cop a feel?"
As though to prove a point, Samatoki shoved one hand under Ichiro's hoodie and gave his chest a squeeze. He'd meant to leave it at a playful honk that they could both laugh off after a bit more banter, but in his jealous fit, he'd completely failed to notice that Ichiro wasn't wearing a shirt under his hoodie that day.
Samatoki wound up squeezing one of Ichiro's very bare, very firm pecs.
"Damn," Samatoki whispered. "You have seriously got to stop working out."
Ichiro stared at him for a second before averting his gaze and turning an alarming shade of red. "Can you not…"
"Yeah, sorry."
"…lead me on?"
Samatoki, who really had been about to remove his hand from Ichiro's fantastic chest, abruptly tensed. Which only made his grip tighten. Which, in turn, drew a feathery little moan from Ichiro's lips.
"What was that?" Samatoki asked.
"Nothing," Ichiro answered hastily. He grabbed Samatoki's wrist through his own hoodie, though he didn't actually make a move to pull Samatoki's hand away. "Forget it. You didn't hear anything."
Except Samatoki totally did. Not just the moan, but what Ichiro had said before as well.
"You think I'm leading you on?" Samatoki asked, incredulous. "You… Ichiro, are you under the impression that I don't find you eminently fuckable?"
Ichiro groaned, but not in a sexy way this time. "Samatoki, can we not have this conversation while your hand is on my tit?"
Samatoki finally slid his hand out from under Ichiro's hoodie, but he didn't completely let Ichiro go. He only grabbed a fistful of the front of his jacket and spun Ichiro around to properly meet his eyes.
Ichiro allowed it for a second before looking away again, with a rosy flush still staining his cheeks. "I know you think I'm…"
"Sex on legs," Samatoki said.
Ichiro coughed. "Yeah, uh. That. I see the way you look at me, and honestly it's flattering as hell. Because you're…"
"Hot as fuck," Samatoki suggested.
"Right," Ichiro agreed. "But I'm kind of… I'm not…"
Samatoki furrowed his brow. It was rare for Ichiro to be at a loss for words like this, especially with Samatoki. They'd gotten their friendship back to a place where Ichiro seemed like he could tell Samatoki anything.
After dithering for a moment longer, Ichiro sighed and said, "But I'm kind of in love with you, Samatoki. I want to be more than just 'fuckable' to you."
Samatoki felt his jaw go slack. Ichiro was one of the smartest kids he knew. He'd never expected him to say something so stupid.
"Let me get this straight," Samatoki began slowly. "You think I want your body. Carnally. And you think that's all I want."
Ichiro finally dared to peek at Samatoki out of the corner of his eye. "Isn't it?"
Samatoki rolled his eyes so hard he could swear he discovered a new dimension behind his eyelids. "I'm kind of in love with you too, dumbass," he snapped. "I'll show you."
Ichiro stared at him, awed. He lifted a hand to his own arm, like he wanted to pinch himself, before changing course all of a sudden and grabbing the front of Samatoki's shirt instead.
"Can you say that again?" he whispered. "A bit nicer? A bit less like a threat?"
Samatoki was tempted to say hell no, because he was still a bit miffed about being painted as some sort of lecher with only one thing on his mind. But he did actually love the sexy fucker who'd painted him that way, so he begrudgingly cupped Ichiro's face and pressed his forehead to Ichiro's.
"I have feelings for you," he murmured. "Ones that run way deeper than lust. And I'll prove it to you. I'll date the hell out of you without laying a single hand on you until you know damn well how I feel. How's that sound?"
A huge smile broke out across Ichiro's face, and Samatoki knew he was grinning just as wide.
"Yes. Please. I'd love that. For years, I've wanted you to—" Ichiro broke off there, abruptly pulling back with a look of abject alarm on his face. "Wait, what was that second part? What do you mean you won't lay a hand on me?"
Samatoki could have laughed at the hint of genuine panic in Ichiro's voice, but he put on an inscrutable expression and nodded. "I mean no funny business until we're serious. Clearly, I need to do something drastic to change my image in your eyes if you thought I only wanted you for sex."
"It's changed!" Ichiro exclaimed. "It's already changed! I've seen the error of my ways, please have sex with me."
Samatoki hummed like he really had to think about it, but he couldn't keep a straight face for long. He laughed as he wrapped his arms around Ichiro again, this time pulling him in for a kiss.
Neither of them were going to be able to keep their hands off each other now.