Disclaimer: I don't own Monochrome Factor or any of its characters. But I do want a Hiryu of my own. And possibly a scar like Nanaya's to impress girls.
Summary: Arguments happen because people are tired, or drunk, or a little bit of the two, but of course that's just an excuse. Akira knew it was only waiting to happen. He was tired of Shirogane keeping secrets, and probably Shirogane, too, was getting tired of having to persuade him against finding out about them.
Author's Note: Based more on the anime than the manga, but Shirogane is a bit more serious than he is there. To be honest, I watched the anime and thought, 'Dude, they turned everyone gay.' Shirogane most of all, but I suppose he was just asking for it. The anime was pretty funny anyway, and the ending song's cool if you discount the words they're saying. You start blushing if you listen and think you can't sing it out in the street after all, even if the tune's catching. And it figures that they gave Homurabi, the one I thought of as 'the gay,' with the manliest voice they could find that side of the planet. Yeah, it really figures.
Warning: Homoero friendship between two men, one of who, by losing his shadow, is possibly going to appear underage forever. I don't know. If it's going to offend your aesthetics, please don't read.
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Something Stronger Than Amazake
The light slanted in for a moment, sullenly white and chill, as Kengo and Aya said their cheerful goodbyes at the door to the other occupants of the bar. Aya carried her shinai slung over her shoulder in its cloth wrapping, but touched the handle briefly to show Akira she was serious when she said he should also head home soon. Kengo closed the door behind them carefully, cautious and a bit guilty since earlier he had let the door slam and the wood had cracked. Master had smiled out a wince, and Shirogane, too, had smiled at Kengo with his brows slightly furrowed in an expression Akira read as exasperated amusement, the kind of expression the owner of a pet might wear after seeing his pet pee on the carpet.
The expression, somehow, struck Akira as something gentle and fragile but also amazingly cutting. It was the sort of expression Akira sometimes caught Shirogane wearing as Shirogane stood politely to one side while he, Kengo and Aya knelt on the floor or leaned on the wall and wheezed after a particularly draining fight with kokuchi. The sort of expression which acknowledged how weak Shirogane thought they were with a certain tender, amused fondness. As if it didn't matter to him if they grew stronger or not, or as if nothing was on the line and this was all just a game to him. Which might be the case, talk of darkness invading their world aside.
As far as Akira was concerned, Shirogane had too many secrets. At times he even wondered sullenly if Shirogane was not just using them for fun. The thought, of course, was unfair to the man, since Shirogane had fought beside them a lot of other times before, had gotten hurt and gotten sick and perhaps almost died. The fact about Shirogane though was that he never said anything important unless he had to, and Akira was tired of secrets and of Shirogane keeping them all to himself.
He sighed, starting to feel mildly annoyed. He was thinking too much about Shirogane.
Akira rested his chin on the arms he'd crossed loosely above the counter and watched Master slide a glass of amber liquid across the bar to Shirogane at Shirogane's request. Shirogane was quiet when he drank, and it was rare enough that it surprised Akira every time he did. There was a time Master, who was a good judge of mood despite or because he was blind, had kept the glasses coming, and Shirogane had drunk them all down. Akira had been asking him questions at the time, and Shirogane had evaded them by explaining, civilly and with a hint of apology, that he couldn't think clearly. What kind of drunk apologized? It would have been amusing at least if he had looked like a singed lobster, but Shirogane's pallor had not changed beyond the faintest color that stained his cheeks.
Shirogane drank now in slow gulps, his throat working, neck almost as pale as the collar of his shirt. His eyes were half-closed. Akira still found it strange that his lashes were dark when his hair was white. The quality of the silence around them was somehow right and comforting, which Akira found annoyed him too. Things were never meant to feel right or comforting when they involved Shirogane in any way.
He didn't know how long Shirogane had been looking back at him before his mind finally registered the blue of Shirogane's eyes and he turned his own face away, trying to look angry and not embarrassed at having been caught looking. He knew Shirogane would think the moment deserved a perverted comment and would make one if he didn't say anything. And he'd been distracted. This sort of thing could only happen from not having slept right.
"Shirogane," Akira said. "I want to hear the rest of it."
"The rest of what, Akira-kun?" The light-hearted obliviousness was so evidently an act that Akira ground his teeth together and raised his head from his arms to glare at Shirogane.
"You haven't explained everything yet. You said I'm the king of the Rei, right?" Akira made an impatient wave with his hand, the gesture done to brush his irritation aside at the sight of Shirogane blinking at him slowly over his glass. "But I needed you to tell me that much. If I'm supposed to be someone that important, how come you know all this stuff and I don't?"
Shirogane looked down at his glass. The ice was melting to trickles of moisture which probably got into his glove, because Shirogane closed his eyes, put the glass down with a barely audible sigh and ran his gloved hand over the fabric of his coat. He canted his head to one side and offered Akira a tight-lipped smile. "Can't you just trust me, Akira-kun?"
"Hell no."
"That's regrettable," Shirogane said. He put his hands down on top of the counter, palms flat as if he were about to push himself up and stand, but checked after seeing the murderous stare Akira leveled at him. His voice when he spoke was gently chiding. "Haven't you heard the saying about sticking your neck out?"
"Just answer me, Shirogane."
Shirogane hesitated for only a brief moment, and then, after all, he stood up.
"Thank you for the drink, Master."
"It's nothing."
Akira narrowed his eyes and took up Shirogane's glass. The ice clinked together sharply, the drink sloshing a bit because the glass was only half-empty. He brought it to his lips and drank. He drank it down although it tasted bitter and even the smell was bitter and he hadn't really drunk anything stronger than amazake. He heard Shirogane say his name in surprised query, but Akira only set the glass down when it was drained almost to the ice, only a few drops of alcohol lingering at the bottom. The thump of glass on wood was almost like a fist, an appropriate end to their conversation.
His face burned, his throat felt warm and the spit inside his mouth felt cool and slippery. He turned away so he didn't have to see Shirogane's face, startled into looking blank. Akira rubbed at his slightly teary eyes. Bastard, he thought. This is your fault.
"Akira-kun," Shirogane said slowly. He did not try to touch him, had guessed perhaps that at that moment, Akira would have slapped his hand away, and probably also shouted or snarled. "Let's go home."
"No," Akira said, walking towards the door. "I'll go home, and you can just stay here and chat with Master or something. Until you decide I'm worth talking to."
"Akira-kun," Shirogane said more slowly. "I don't want to suggest you're drunk—"
"Then don't," Akira snapped, and muttered: "Idiot." He'd seen the Shadow drink more than that and nothing was ever said about it. And it had been half a glass and he could walk perfectly fine, which meant he wasn't drunk. Shirogane was being a condescending jerk and treating him like a kid again.
He reached the door. He had his hand on the handle and was saying a sullen formula for leave-taking when Shirogane's hand closed firmly on his shoulder. Akira allowed it for a moment, and then jerked his shoulder away and yanked the door open. Shirogane merely pulled him back by the shoulder again.
"There are things I can explain to you but you won't understand. But if you need to know it, then I will tell you." His voice was stiff and formal, and Akira wondered hazily if the man was getting angry as well. "Please try to understand."
"And for now," Akira said harshly, "nothing?"
"You're very important, Akira-kun," Shirogane said. "Please be careful."
Shirogane's concern was genuine but more than a little calculating. If what he had said was true, his interest in Akira's safety came from Akira being Shirogane's counterpart, and not because they had been working together for a while now. He would never admit it out loud, but the thought hurt. Akira shook his head, his eyes hidden by the fall of bangs.
"Fine. I don't care." The argument was as usual getting nowhere anyway, so he was willing to forget it. "Sometimes I think it's better to die than have you around all the time."
Shirogane's hand was still on his shoulder. Now the fingers twitched, bit. Akira's eyes fluttered completely open at the pain and he looked back at Shirogane. Shirogane looked like he sometimes did when he lapsed from his polite salesman act: lips pursed, eyes like cat's eyes, the pupils mere slits, the paleness of the irises contrasting sharply with the dark magpie ring around them, and even the lashes looking ready to cut. There was no mistaking it this time; he was angry.
Akira suppressed a shiver. "I'm going home," he said. He slipped out the door and started to walk quickly away. Shirogane did not follow after, and Akira breathed out a sigh in what was partly relief and partly a confused sort of sadness. The streetlights were on but it wasn't dark yet, and the air was cool on his skin. The bitter taste that had stayed in his mouth had receded to a dull burning like licked silver.
While he walked, his mind kept going back to the look he'd seen on Shirogane's face. He wasn't even sure what had set him off. It had to be something he said, but Shirogane had previously ignored all the blunt and deliberately harsh things Akira had thrown at him. Maybe he was just stressed out, but like hell Akira was going to watch his mood for Shirogane. He never did that for anyone no matter who they were.
In any case, he thought, why should he be worrying about whether or not he had upset Shirogane? Shirogane made him angry, so that only made it fair. This all began because of Shirogane anyway, Akira thought. He looked down at his hands and saw that they were shaking. He shoved them in his pockets and allowed himself another sigh. His vindictiveness was crumbling away to nothing in his mind, leaving only the question of what the hell had gone wrong.
He looked up at his bedroom window when he reached his house, but couldn't see the Shadow moving around. He couldn't decide if he should be happy or troubled if Shirogane wasn't there, and Akira quickly went up to his room so he didn't have to take long and decide. Even then he was starting to feel strangely hollow at the thought that maybe Shirogane hadn't gone back to his room, but when he pushed the door open Shirogane was there, and what Akira felt instead was ashamed relief. But he paused in the doorway and tried his level best to scowl.
Shirogane glanced up from where he sat on the floor. He looked…normal. Not as if he had been angry at all. Akira silently cursed himself for worrying.
"Welcome back, Akira-kun."
"Yeah," Akira said. He stepped in his room, rubbing the back of his head to ease the tired muscles in his neck, and plopped himself down on the bed. Just to be sure, he glanced over at Shirogane again. But Shirogane had his head tilted up and he was looking at the ceiling, his eyes not as hard as they were, though they did look a bit strained. Akira looked up at the ceiling himself.
"Are you…mad?"
He could hear girls giggling from the street below, and the squeal of bike wheels. Much closer, there was the soft rustle of fabric: Shirogane standing up. Akira turned his head in time to see Shirogane stride over. Shirogane leaned over him and rested both hands on his shoulders. He tilted his head to one side, his hair trailing heavily down to tickle Akira's collarbone.
"You can take responsibility for it."
Akira's eyes widened only for a moment, and then he drew his brows together and laughed in a short puff of breath. It was a joke, of course. It hadn't sounded much like a joke to be perfectly comfortable, but maybe it was safer to act like he was sure it was.
"You're really a pervert, aren't you?" Akira said. He brought his hands up to push Shirogane's hands away from him, but never completed the movement, because Shirogane brought his own head down and rested their foreheads together, closing his eyes as if the contact soothed him. Akira drew in a sharp breath and tried to squirm away, feeling the blood start to warm his cheeks. He wished the room was dark enough to hide his blush in case the other looked.
And then Shirogane was leaning his full weight on him. He was heavier than Akira expected, and Akira let out his breath in a surprised gasp and fisted his hands on the front of Shirogane's coat, trying to shift Shirogane's weight off of him. Shirogane only moved a bit to nip affectionately at his ear. A shiver traveled down his spine, and Akira shut his eyes. Opening them again a little later on, he saw Shirogane looking at him, as if he waited.
When Akira didn't say anything, Shirogane trailed his tongue down Akira's neck, quickly passing over his choker to the hollow of his throat, where he pressed his lips. His lips were cold.
Akira felt Shirogane smile against his skin.
"Take the Doppler off."
"What?"
"So you can be as noisy as you want."
"Like hell," Akira said, recovering from his daze. He pushed against Shirogane and succeeded in putting some distance between them before Shirogane gripped his wrists and pulled his hands above his head. "Shirogane," Akira said, the name a panicked warning.
Shirogane dipped his head down to kiss Akira, nudging his lips open with his tongue. Akira froze at first, and then parted his lips so he could bite the other's tongue. Shirogane's blood tasted as bitter as the wine. Some of it found its way down Akira's throat, but Shirogane pulled away in surprise and the blood flecked them both. Akira saw drops of red caught in white hair. But it couldn't have hurt much, because Shirogane only rested his head on the pillow so that they faced each other, one hand easing Akira's shirt up to expose the shallow, hairless chest underneath, stopping to play with one nipple.
Akira bit back another shiver. Shirogane's grip on his wrists relaxed, and Akira pulled himself free with some idea of hitting Shirogane over the head. Seeing the look on Shirogane's face though, a mixture of sadness and hurt and something he couldn't quite read, he relented. He hooked his arms around the other in awkward comfort, and didn't say anything even when Shirogane's hand traveled down to undo Akira's belt and zip his pants open. When Shirogane snaked his hand in his pants, Akira turned his head to sink his face in the other's hair. Shirogane lifted himself a bit away to kiss the side of Akira's mouth and watch him squirm.
"Tomorrow, Shirogane," Akira murmured between gasps that warmed the air between their faces, "I'll kill you."
"Just don't die, Akira-kun."
"Who almost died?" Akira said. His back arced off the bed. "Bastard," he gasped. He tightened his hold on Shirogane's back.
"Akira-kun?"
"I'm drunk, aren't I?"
Shirogane withdrew his hand. He pushed himself up to look at Akira's face. "Yes," he said, brushing some of Akira's hair away from his eyes and cheek. And then: "You're dreaming, Akira-kun."
Akira snorted. "Yeah, right." Whatever else, he knew his dreams never involved this much. He pulled his pants up, ignoring the warm wetness on his stomach and the uncomfortable little knot somewhere inside him. He closed his eyes, opened them again. "Shirogane?" He pulled Shirogane down beside him gently. "Don't move."
Shirogane obediently didn't move. Akira pulled his face closer with both hands, hesitated, and then with the tip of his tongue licked a fleck of blood from Shirogane's cheek. Then he turned away.
"Cleaning up," he explained, feeling his cheeks start to burn again.
"Thank you."
The light was starting to drain from the window. Akira looked up at the white ceiling of his room, changed to the color of smudgy red sunset. He looked again at Shirogane, touched Shirogane with the back of his hand, the contact brief and stiff with embarrassment. "You haven't even answered yet," Akira said, trying now to sound more sullen than he felt. He scratched his cheek with one finger; he never considered, of course, to apologize, but he somehow just didn't feel fine to let things end where it had. "So…you can't expect me to die, you know," Akira muttered. "Not even if you tell me to."
Shirogane, not looking at him, still found his hand and held it in one of his own, and smiled.
Akira sighed, his own mouth working into the shadow of a grin. "You really are an idiot."
End.