vii.
If Shinobu had known that all it took to loosen Miyagi up was a few drinks, he would have gotten him drunk sooner. For once, the older man isn't prattling on about society and status, even though this entire night has been about exactly that. Japan's most noted literary scholars are downstairs, no doubt wondering where Miyagi has disappeared to; after all, his latest research on Bashou just won him an award. He should be out celebrating with his colleagues, letting Shinobu's father congratulate him more, but instead he'd all but dragged Shinobu up to his hotel room, locked the door and pushed Shinobu onto the bed without a second thought.
"I thought you liked your job, your reputation," Shinobu points out between kisses, letting his hands slide down Miyagi's shoulders. "You didn't even want me to come."
"I decided I like you more," Miyagi whispers, fierce and intent, working at the buttons of Shinobu's shirt. Shinobu has half a mind to tell Miyagi how clichéd that response is, but the words slip away when he's kissed again. He's certainly not going to protest this sudden turn of events. The morning is the time for excuses – to explain to his father why he didn't return to their room, how he accidentally fell asleep in Miyagi's spare bed after having too many drinks himself. Nobody has to know and nobody will care. Miyagi wants him, and for Shinobu that's all that matters.
