Work Text:
Storms (2013.02.26)
Akashi took particular care in tiptoeing around the basics. Where are yours?, he wanted to ask. The urge was always followed by No matter, it wouldn't change anything and in the end, his mouth would stay shut. After all, Kagami had only inquired after his parents in a kind of roundabout, consequential kind of way, after all of the mess with the omiai and the summer festival had been blown over. Blown, Kagami might have echoed, eyes far away before they snapped back to him. Literally.
He was well aware that smacking someone on the arm wasn't really prim and proper material (and thinking that at all meant he was spending too much time with Kagami), but sometimes when he thought of his mother - well. She had died before she had ever told him what she thought about gay marriage, if she had even gotten that far with her kaleidoscope thoughts that swirled and popped. But he could imagine, sometimes, in that old sitting room, Kagami where his father used to sit and his mother, eternally young, smoothing her long red hair back and pointing to the pictures in the album one by one. Maybe they would laugh and when they saw him standing there in the doorway, he would raise an eyebrow and ask, Spilling all of my embarrassing secrets, are you? and she would reply, Why of course not love, nothing that family shouldn't be prewarned of. He imagined the incredulous blush that might overtake Kagami then, steaming all the way up to his nose at the one word that reminded Akashi of nothing more than a land mine, hastily buried: family.
There was no time for that now, not when they were dripping from the downpour and Kagami was staring at him from over the handlebars of the bike. Akashi tugged the black jacket around his shoulders a little more - the scent of clean soap and the spearmint gum that sometimes Kagami chewed rose from the collar - and tried the house again. No answer.
He felt the white hot coal of anger and fear sizzle on its way down his stomach as he said, "No one's picking up."
Kagami, animal senses always alert, caught on fast. "The servants always pick up." Akashi nodded. "And they're not now.
"They don't want us home, do they?" Akashi dipped his head again. His mind ran through their belongings: half-finished picnic in the saddlebags, swimsuits and extra clothes for if they took a dip in the river, a tube of lotion for the sun that had never appeared. The motorbike itself, bought secondhand with the money Kagami had saved working part-time at the dango place. Kagami's leather coat, draped around Akashi's shoulders.
"Anybody else around here you wanna see?" The question, so casually put. It was damning how eloquently avoidant Kagami could be when the chips were down.
"No." There was no one. "Nobody trustworthy."
Kagami rubbed his chin, lost in thought. Akashi couldn't resist, because this was consequential and unavoidable. "You?" The word wobbled from his throat.
"Me?" Kagami echoed. "Hmm. Me. Nobody. Except...maybe. He and Alex were always the only ones that mattered." He fingered the chain around his neck with the ring and Akashi steeled himself too slow, the jolt of emotion stabbed through him like an ice pick. He hadn't asked the question, but he had gotten an answer after all.
What do we do? hung between them. He thought of Kagami, scars on his skin, the ropes in the drawer, the ties that Akashi had affixed on his psyche one by one because Kagami was so responsive, so giving of everything he had. He thought them similar - having nothing. But in the end Kagami had just a little more, even if it was only ashes.
"Where is he now?" Let me go with you.
Kagami flicked through his phone contacts. "Somewhere in Yokohama. With that old teammate of yours, Murasakibara. Went there once when the bar opened." Akashi had gone too, years ago.
"Maybe I still remember the way." There. It was like the seconds between stepping out into the rain and waiting for the umbrella to shield him.
Kagami scooted forward unhesitantly and patted the seat behind him. "Well, get on then." Night was falling with the rain but instead of drooping everything in the landscape instead Akashi was reminded of the morning after, when everything was crystalline and glittering.
They outran the storm, shrugging off the rainwater as they rode, wind whipping loose ties and threads as the tires ate up the asphalt. The helmet - Akashi's contribution, because if he was going to ride on a bike he sure as hell wasn't about to yell into Kagami's ear every time he wanted something - had a built in Bluetooth, which Kagami used to play pop music all the way up. It took something like five hours; Akashi wasn't counting. After settling into his seat he was vaguely aware of the ache in his legs and the dull warmth of Kagami's back. Now and then he drowsed, arms clasped tight around Kagami's waist, and sometimes he heard Kagami hum along. He had a nice voice.
In the dark the sky was murky and the stars peeked out from a curtain of clouds. He wondered if Kagami might like one, if Akashi could catch it. Kagami, who never asked for anything, might not like a star, just like he might like a ring someday. For all Akashi knew maybe he wanted kids too, and lots of other things that Akashi could never give him even if he came into his inheritance (unlikely now, if this was what his father thought of him upon coming home).
Then they were pulling up in front of the bar, dimly lit on the second floor. The bartender greeted them and then froze, dark hair fluttering where it hung down one side of his face.
"Taiga," he breathed, then launched himself over the counter. "Taiga!" In seconds, much to the amusement of everyone else present save Akashi, the brothers were squeezing the life out of each other, Kagami chuckling low like thunder, Himuro muttering something into his coat and wiping his eyes once they extricated themselves.
"Got room for strays?" Kagami asked. Akashi froze instead of shrank under Himuro's critical gaze that roved over him for a second before settling back on his brother.
"We'll have to squeeze, but yes. Atsushi and I never go to sleep at the same time, after all." They gravitated to the bar where Himuro made a call upstairs and a minute later, Murasakibara clomped down. He too, gave Akashi a look-over before telling him he had been baking upstairs and they had to try his new masterpiece, and taking one of the saddlebags from Kagami. The chatter turned to food as they went up the stairs.
Akashi didn't follow. There were things that had to be done alone, not even if somewhere the seeds he sowed in Kagami's heart had started to bud. They were different people, and this, he reminded himself, was all that Kagami's family was made of.
He sat down at the bar and Himuro's smile was impassive with just a hint of respect. "What'll it be?"
Something alcoholic enough to knock me unconscious long enough for my father to forgive me when I wake up from the hospital. "Whatever you have that isn't pricey and tastes alright."
Himuro almost laughed, he could see it. "That's half the bar, Akashi-kun."
"What about the other half," Akashi deadpanned, and this time Himuro did laugh.
What he ended up having was tea, brewed in an old earthenware pot and served with an ancient cup-and-plate set. It was mildly earthy until he tried one of the lemon wedges that Himuro served with it, and it tasted better. Another dish was set in front of him with some sort of chocolate snack which immediately Akashi tore open and finished in two seconds.
"He didn't feed you on the way up?" Himuro asked, frowning. "We have a panini maker, if you'd like."
"I like his food," Akashi said, sipping. It was good tea, unlike the cheap WcDonalds stuff. He didn't meet Himuro's eyes when he said it; it seemed too much like the vulnerable, grasping thing to do.
"He used to make hamburgers, you know. Not the fast food kind that's 100% beef or whatever. The Japanese kind with okara and minced vegetables. He put cheese in it and I remember Alex saying it was wonderful. Not even my mother knows what he put in his demiglace sauce to make it taste so good - and he was only eight at the time. I always said he should be a chef - his temperament's right, and he'd make a killing off of it."
"But he liked basketball."
"He did." He was uncannily aware of when Akashi's pot was empty. When he refilled it, he set sandwiches next to it, which were good and cheesy in a kind of homely kind of way that Akashi was acutely unfamiliar with. Akashi wondered if they were really going to stay upstairs, did that mean Kagami's cooking time was also cut in half?
"He said you're the last family he has left," Akashi said finally.
Himuro's hands didn't stop drying, cleaning, refilling, mixing things. Akashi could see the appeal of the job - such a small space, a few tables and a counter, yet this whole world was under Himuro's thumb. The dim lamps of foreign make hanging from the ceiling; the beams, painted dark and the walls beige and cluttered with paintings like jigsaw puzzles, the trinkets set on the windowsill - yes, Akashi could see the appeal of controlling everything in a set environment.
"That's quite something to say. And I'm honored he remembers."
"Not honored," Akashi corrected him. "You're family - honor is for strangers. You love him."
"Do you?" Himuro shot back, just as fast. Snake, he thought, with one eye hidden. But what did that make Akashi? He had always thought of himself as a snake too, sinuous and quiet as it wove through the reeds.
"I'm fond of him. As fond as I could be of anyone."
"Fonder than your dear Atsushi?"
So he knew. "Infinitely."
The set in his shoulders relaxed, and Akashi thought, Oh, so that's what's this about. "And is there room upstairs?"
"For Taiga? Of course. You...well. Atsushi's told me about you." He let the last sentence dangle as he impeccably cleaned glasses and stacked them mouth down on a tray that slid into the refrigerator. He had long fingers, Akashi thought. Artistic ones. His own were round and girlish at the tips, not like Kagami's squarer, blunter digits. He could imagine Himuro with a guitar, Kagami folded against his leg listening. Black and red always did mesh and hold.
"He said your breakup amounted to you not buying him potato chips anymore."
"Wouldn't that be a clue as to what kind of mentality he had back then?"
"Not really, no, if that was all you were keeping him around with. Fooling him into believing you got a kick out of giving people things that they wanted."
"I was in junior high school."
Himuro hmm'd. "When I was in junior high school, there was a bully who used to pick on me. See, I sometimes got Taiga's hand-me-downs, him growing faster than me and all. He's got an aunt in Los Angeles who went back to Japan for her kids' clothes so they were quite out of style with misspelled English all over the place. There was once he teased Taiga so badly he cried.
"It's one of the only times I saw red," Himuro chuckled. "I took the bastard by the ear and I pulled him towards the school dumpster. He asked me 'What're you doing?' as I tried to shove him inside. The teachers and the students were all trying to pull us apart but they were so puzzled when I told him he was a bad child, so he deserved to be taken away by the garbage truck. It's not something American parents tell their children, of course - but well, my own mother was quite strict. No punching, no kicking - but apparently to me, when I was nine, throwing other children away was acceptable.
"So, that's my love. What's yours?" It was probably the most he had ever heard Himuro say.
He thought about spilling everything he felt about the first time on the court, when Kagami had thwarted him again and again, when he hadn't been able to move past the bulk of Kagami's body, and when he tried to force it he was like a living steel block in his way. His arms would be like cord and his legs like springs. He remembered, years after, invited to Kagami's housewarming party, that he had successfully pushed everyone away in terms of intimacy except for Kagami, who locked himself in his room and whose tears were hot on Akashi's cheek as as he pounded inside of him. Sometimes he imagined he was lost then in the tide of lust. Like floodgates, reopening, sweeping everything off in its path indiscriminately. Kagami, who gave all, who made Akashi want to give in return.
I'm here, Kagami liked to say. In the bath, in the kitchen, in the middle of sex, or not. Every touch, every look. Akashi had been fueled by the need to possess and Kagami had bent backwards for him. Allowed him to slake his thirst and lust. In offering, he made it so, so easy for Akashi to free himself.
He said nothing, because words weren't enough, and if he was going to get kicked out anyway he was sure Himuro would have already said so. He was aware, however, that he had been thinking for a very long time, long enough for Himuro to go serve everyone else and come back. His face, when Akashi looked up, had stopped waiting for an answer.
"I am as fond as I could be of anyone in this world," he repeated. It was the first and only love song he would ever sing.
Himuro's chin jerked to the stairs. "Perhaps you could pop in and see if they hadn't melted the kitchen between the two of them?" Akashi went without protest.
The cake was done, and delicious, buttery and rich and just what the wilted side of him wanted for self-commiseration. He ate a whole piece of cheesecake in his and Kagami's new room, tiny and cluttered with all of Himuro's knickknacks from his travels around the world. Kagami picked up each one with interest, turning them around and around in his hands. Now the image of him and Akashi's mother was superimposed with him and Himuro on the bed, a box of such gimcracks between them, the faint melody of Himuro's voice rising and falling. A scene Akashi could pass by, but not enter.
"Wow, it was that good, huh. Though I guess you'd know."
"The bakery was always too far. I've only tried Atsushi's cakes a handful of times."
"Huh. Would've thought...hmm." What, that Akashi was insensitive enough to barge in on an ex-boyfriend on his own territory?
"What is it?"
"Did you ever fuck?"
Akashi blinked at the change of subject. "I hope you're talking about Atsushi, because then the answer would be yes."
"In junior high school?"
"Early bloomers, both." He blinked innocently when Kagami grumbled something uncharitable. From Himuro's own closet he pulled two sets of sleepwear and towels. The shower was small but the two of them barely fit. If Akashi sat on the side of the bathtub, he could even imagine he was back at home and Kagami was scrubbing his back just like he wanted.
The numbness of having all of his questions answers peeled off with the water and when he leaned back against the body behind him, Kagami was willing. With Akashi's legs spread and lube produced from the cabinet behind the mirror, Akashi breathed deep with the rhythm of Kagami's cock. The slap of skin, Kagami's mouth nibbling a mess of his ear and neck, one set of their hands clasped together - same person, different place. Kagami squeezed his lopsided X-mark on Akashi's hip and it was never necessary to wait when it came to Kagami, because Kagami had attuned himself to Akashi's wavelength and the two of them had nonverbal agreement that pleasure now was the modus operandi of every day.
Afterwards he saw the mess that smeared Kagami's hand and licked just to see the sharp intensity fuzz into desire. They fucked again and then lust was pushed aside, for now. They stepped into the bath together and Akashi leaned against the opposite end, finally feeling true exhaustion. Their knees touched, nudged each other. He remembered the variant colors of Kagami's eyes before he was bundled up and toddled, still naked, towards their room.
He fell asleep to the first rumbles of thunder and the quick, steady patter of rain, Kagami's arms around him and the dubious shelter of extended relatives-by-mouth, curling its coils warmly before dragging him down into the black. His dreams that night were disjointed, but in the morning watching the drops sparkle off one of Himuro's balcony plants, he remembered his house but this time there was only the laughter of a red fox, running through the halls, Kagami next to her. She proudly called both of them son.