A/N: This was actual one of two Halloween fics I wrote.
Kise was no angel, but he played one on TV.
Well, he wasn't actually acting as an angel on a television show, but was instead starring in a commercial for a men's cologne called Paradise. The commercial was just one arm of their marketing campaign, but to Kise it had been the most embarrassing. It was one thing to pose mostly nude for a magazine, a poster, or even a billboard. It was quite another to flash his bare ass across millions of TV screens, with only wings, a halo and a smile for cover.
To complete his humiliation, his manager had forced him to wear the costume (at least he got to wear a toga-like tunic, though the skimpy garment barely covered his butt ) and come to this stupid Halloween party full of politicians, prominent public figures, and dozens of the industry's top movers and shakers. It was dull dull dull! Dull and disgusting. If one more heavily made-up, heavily perfumed woman batted her fake eyelashes at him, if one more drunken, red-faced old geezer grabbed his ass, Kise was going to scream.
He'd been hiding out on the balcony for the last fifteen minutes, trying to avoid the crush of the crowd and his sadistic manager. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he closed his golden eyes and tried to stave off the headache threatening to detonate behind his eyeballs. Just ten more minutes, he promised himself. Ten more minutes and he would sneak out, go home, and get out of this ridiculous ensemble.
He sensed the other presence before he heard the steady, purposeful clack of shoes across the marble floor. Kise stiffened and his eyes flew open. He had recognized that presence, even without seeing the other person. How could he not, when he intimately knew the man striding with elegant confidence toward him? He met heterochromatic eyes, the amber one just a shade darker than his own topaz orbs, the scarlet one as rich and vibrant as its owner's hair, and he was suddenly thrust back to the past. Images streaked through his mind. Images of him staring into those mismatched eyes as he came, of him bent over one of the benches in the Teikō locker room crying and begging, then writhing in pleasure, of him watching a strong, small back turn around, walk away from him without a second glance.
Emotions—happy, sad, joyous, painful, and so very bitter—seized his stomach, tying it in knots.
"Aka-Akashicchi," Kise stammered through dry, frozen lips, his honeyed voice reduced to a harsh croak. He flicked his tongue out to wet his lips, and Akashi's eyes tracked the movement, a dark light gleaming in his dual-colored gaze.
"Hello, Ryouta," Akashi murmured in return, his voice just as smooth and sweet and intoxicating as Kise remembered. "Our respective choice of costumes is rather ironic, isn't it?"
Kise dragged his eyes from Akashi's face, taking in the other's costume, and his eyes widened in shock. Whereas Kise was dressed like an angel, from his shimmering halo, to his snowy white wings, to his gauzy tunic and flimsy, gold sandals, Akashi was decked out like a devil. Black, curved horns adorned either side of his head. A red smoking jacket, made of crushed velvet and lined with black satin, covered his torso. Charcoal gray slacks, creased perfectly and no doubt costing more than Kise got paid in a week, encased his slender, muscled legs. Shiny, wing-tipped shoes and a pointed, black tail curling from the back of his pants completed the outfit. Akashi was pale and refined and as sinfully beautiful as the fallen angel he was pretending to be. Or maybe he wasn't pretending, because only the real devil could have ensnared Kise so completely.
Dammit! He thought he had gotten past this, thought he would be ready when they faced each other again, but he had expected it to be later, much later, and on the basketball court, not at some lame, suffocating, masquerade party. Akashi had helped him get over Aomine, but no one had been there to help him get over Akashi. He still wasn't apparently, because as much as he wanted to punch that gorgeous, arrogant face, he wanted to kiss it, too.
"What are you doing here?" his voice was stronger this time, didn't waver, and Kise breathed a silent sigh of relief.
Akashi glanced over his shoulder, looking back at the throng of glittering, costumed people, and shrugged.
"There is someone here my father wanted to meet, and that man has a daughter he felt would be advantageous for me to escort."
Against his will, Kise's heart sank at Akashi's words. So, his former captain, his former lover, was here with a woman. Hearing something like that shouldn't move him, shouldn't hurt him, but it did.
"Ah, where is she?" he asked, looking around for Akashi's date, wanting and yet not wanting to see the female who got to cling to his side this night.
"She was boring and crass and useless, so I left her at the punchbowl," Akashi answered matter-of-factly. He could have been reciting multiplication tables (something Kise actually did when he was nervous at a shoot) for all the emotion he displayed. Akashi didn't show revulsion or loathing or even boredom. There was just … nothing, as though this unknown girl wasn't even worth an iota of his time or feelings.
Anger, hot and desperate, slammed into Kise. It was too painful, hearing Akashi's dismissive comments, brought back more unwelcome memories.
"You left her?" he hissed loudly, stepping into Akashi's space, staring down the sixteen centimeters into Akashi's mysterious eyes. "Just like you left me?
He hadn't wanted to say those words, hadn't wanted to rip the scab off the wound still tender and fresh in his heart. Akashi's callousness got to him, though, laid bare the hurt and anguish still weighing down his soul.
An emotion that looked almost like pain flashed across Akashi's face before his expression fell back into its cool, poised lines. Kise had invaded his personal bubble, but it was Akashi who closed the distance, lining his body against the taller man's. Akashi who lifted his hands and cupped them around Kise's face. Akashi who pulled that blond head down, brushing his lips once, twice, three times over Kise's.
"I didn't leave you, Ryouta," he whispered against Kise's mouth, "I let you go. You just never came back."
Akashi stepped away, giving Kise his back, just like he had almost a year ago. Kise reached out, intending to grab his shoulder, but abruptly stopped, a distant memory surfacing. The two of them had been at Akashi's house, Kise bored and antsy as Akashi mapped out drills and strategies in his captain's notebook. He had pulled a random book off the shelf of Akashi's massive library, casually flipping through pages until a passage circled in red jumped out at him.
If you love something, set it free.
If it comes back to you, it is yours.
If it doesn't, it was never meant to be.
He had started to ask Akashi what it meant and why it was circled, but his captain had finished his prep work for the next day's practice and went into lover mode, hauling Kise out the chair and down the hall to his bedroom, driving all other thoughts out of the blond's mind. Kise had never thought of it again, not until now.
"Akashicchi, does that mean…," he couldn't finish the sentence, his voice shaking too badly to continue.
There was no need. Akashi answered him anyway, still facing forward so Kise couldn't see his face, couldn't see what kind of expression the proud, kingly man was wearing. "I'm waiting, Ryouta. I'm always waiting."
Spine straight, shoulders squared, Akashi walked away, once again not looking back. Maybe not because he didn't want to, but because he couldn't. The thought dashed through Kise's mind, that maybe now, as then, Akashi couldn't look back because his resolve would crumble. It dawned on Kise that, when their relationship had started, Akashi had been the one to chase him, tempt him. He might be deluding himself, but maybe, just maybe, Akashi was waiting for Kise to come after him this time.
Touching his mouth, a mouth that still tingled and burned from Akashi's kiss, the model gathered his courage and took a step forward, and then another, and then another, finally breaking into a jog. This angel had a devil to catch, and he wasn't going to let the dazzling, seductive, tempting fiend get away. Not again
Fin.