b00ty call
—b00ty call
—stfu kijima
—wut. u kno ur stressed
—you know no such thing
—ahole, ur always stressed. it's wut u get for repressing urself
…
…
...
—b00ty call 2.0
—damnit
…
—where
—lmao knew you wanted me
Koga rubbed his hands on his pants nervously; his palms weren't sweaty, he never showed nerves that way, but if he was going to tonight might be the night and that bothered him.
They'd been friends with benefits for how many years now? It was a casualty of the industry; too much exposure plus ill-defined cultural mores meant open relationships for him fell by the wayside. The media loved ambiguous friendships for feeding the fujioshi masses. Hints were food; a brush of his hand, a too-long stare, slightly flushed cheeks when he changed next to you in the locker room. Anything they could keep in the realm of fiction. Turn it into a clear statement of atypical sexual preference though and the righteous indignation burned because you made their deviance towards taboo luridly clear.
He had goals.
Koga fiddled with the coaster in front of him, pushing it over each water ring in turn. He couldn't let a fling derail his career. These meetings with Kijima were as good as it got. One ring was still wet, leaving streaks on the countertop. Hoping for more— with a straight man, God! Koga shook his head at himself— was asking for it.
It wasn't like he'd stood a chance with either of them. Both obsessed with her. What was so magical about her? Like moths to a flame. She was a damn good actress, but he just couldn't see the sex appeal. And yet that look. Koga scrubbed his hands over his eyes, pressing his palms into the sockets, trying to rub out the image burned into his mind. He hadn't meant to watch Chocolate so many times. He was just… bored. Lately.
"I wish someone would look at me like that," he mumbled.
"What? Like a drunk-ass cow?" Kijima's voice boomed excessively cheerful in Koga's ear, like a librarian trying to entice kids into storytime when they all just wanted to play video games.
Koga squeezed his eyes shut. This was not the answer. "What am I doing?" He didn't mean to say it aloud, but there it was, falling off his tongue like overripe apples plop into Kijima's lap. Embarrassed, Koga shoved back off the bar, turning to leave.
Kijima's hand caught his wrist, tugging him gently.
"A drink with a friend," he said, his voice stripped of all its humor sounding alien in Koga's ear. "Just… a drink."
Koga jerked his cuff out of Kijima's hand, the other man spinning on his stool in wild overreaction to the simple tug. Koga grimaced and sat.
"Hah," Kijima breathed, tapping his fingers on the bar like a pianist. "And now we begin." His fingers ran wild over the ledge, his hair falling over his eyes as he thrashed the imaginary ivories. He finished with a flourish and snuck a glance at Koga, his smile wide but somehow insecure at the edges.
"Let's go," Koga said gruffly. This whole meet-in-public had been Kijima's idea. He shoved his hand in his pocket, his fingers closing around his phone, already regretting his decision.
—lmao knew you wanted me
…
—it's been awhile. meet at Omoide?
—no. yours or mine
—don't be shy. why hide that sexy ass
…
—there's a motel next door. one drink and we can leave
…
—time?
"You said a drink," Kijima taunted, waving down the bartender.
Koga wanted to leave. Last time that one drink had landed him in the middle of a pack of teen girls with phones, asking for a photo of him and his boyfriend. It was fine— he'd been fine— Sho was straight, and it would all blow over because Sho was straight— but that next week had seen him flying out of control at The Annex and he couldn't be seen again, not now, not yet.
"Two beers, please." Kijima almost sang the order. Koga stood again, but Kijima's arm reached up to encircle his shoulder, pressing him back down into his seat and against the other man's side. "One for me, one for him." Koga glared at him but Kijima just winked. He leaned a little too close, his breath warm on Koga's cheek. "My friend."
"Damnit, Kijima, we are in public—"
"More fun," the actor said gayly. He twined his fingers into the fringe of Koga's hair.
"That's not what the papers will say when they plaster our photograph on the front page," he muttered angrily, swatting at the fingers.
"Oooh, should I take my shirt off if we're going to be the cover story?"
"Don't you take anything seriously?"
Kijima's hand paused, his eyes searching Koga's face.
"This." He said. One word.
"What?"
"This. I take this seriously." The bartender sat the beers down with a clunk, pulling Koga's attention away. He did need to wipe his palms now.
"Go out with me."
Quietly said, four words sneaking through the noise of the bar, daring other people to listen to their conversation. Four words Koga had never said and here they were, tossed at him like playthings.
"No."
"What? Why?"
"You're ridiculous."
"Ridiculously hot."
"You mess around with women."
"A man is allowed to be bi. I don't like them, I like you."
"A man is not allowed to be bi, not here, not yet. And if you like me so much, then stop seeing them."
"Okay."
"Okay? That's it. Hah, okay," Koga ran his hands through his hair, his eyes darting around the room, trying to catch anyone listening.
"Seriously?"
"What?"
"Okay! Doing it—" Kijima whipped out his cell phone and started rifling through his contacts, deleting or blocking one number after another.
"You're doing it," Koga breathed, flustered. "Why?"
"You asked me to," Kijima said.
"I wasn't—"
"I don't want to be your f* buddy anymore, Kogs," Kijima said, setting his phone down on the counter. Koga couldn't stop looking around. Someone had to be eavesdropping. This wasn't happening. "I want more. I like you. Not just for sex."
"Oh, God, Kijima, please shut up—"
"No, I'm not afraid. I am who I am."
Koga wracked his brain. He had to get them out of there. Kijima had lost his mind. If he kept going this way he was going to try and kiss him in the middle of the bar.
"My place, now."
"Not just f* buddies, Kogs."
"Yeah, yeah, damnit Kiki, stop talking."
—-
He'd lost his mind.
A month ago. One month— that harebrained scheme to get Tsuruga's attention was where it had all started. He should've just left it alone. He was doing so well. Now here he was, in the back of a taxi, another man's hand clenched around his where the right angle in the rear view mirror would so easily show and then it's all over but the cabbie never looked and they were at his place.
"Koga-san, good evening. And your… friend, good evening, sir." He hated the way the doorman said friend. It always sounded like an innuendo. He should move. He'd made a fool of himself one too many times in that lobby.
No— he should stop drinking.
"Hey-o," Kijima waved, oblivious. Koga scowled and pulled him into the elevator. Scratch that. Whisky was waiting in the apartment. Whisky would help.
The doors shut and Kijima spun, wrapping his arms around Koga's waist and pulling him tight, shifting his hands downwards to slide into Koga's pockets.
"Back off Kiki," Koga whispered, looking up at the camera in the corner.
"Just getting the key," Kijima sang, holding it up with a flourish. He half-strode, half-skipped down the hallway, more confident in his skin than Koga had ever been. Jealousy prickled at him. Maybe being with Kijima wouldn't be so bad. Maybe he could learn something from this ridiculous brash man.
Kijima threw open his door and strode inside, tossing the key on the counter like he'd already been asked to move in.
Manners was not something he would be learning, Koga mused.
Throwing his jacket on the back of the couch, Kijima turned and flung his arms open.
"Come to daddy," he sang.
Koga choked on his own tongue. "What the—"
Kijima grinned fiendishly before lunging, snagging Koga's hand and ripping him forward to stumble into his chest.
"Don't—"
"What, manhandle you? You like it rough." Kijima's voice rolled over his senses, suddenly harsh and needy. His lips pressed gently on the spot where Koga's pulse throbbed, kisses falling on the slippery beats.
"At least ask first," Koga said softly, letting himself go. One night. Just once. Then he'd figure his shit out.
Kijima hummed under his breath, his face lifting to snare Koga's mouth in a joyful kiss. God, it felt good to be wanted. He could pretend for a little while he wanted this man back. Kijima's lips pressed hungrily over his, seeking entrance. His hands were warm, and soft, without any calluses on his fingertips from too much guitar practice. They slid easily under Koga's shirt, reaching up, gliding over his skin.
Koga was all too aware of every movement. He couldn't stop analyzing it, shifting his weight, trying to find the right pose to be comfortable and make it work— Kijima's thumb pressed lightly on his nipple, drawing a gasp from him but something was off and he just didn't want this. His arms fell from where they'd been trying to find the right spot to lay on Kijima's shoulders, dropping the other man's arms out with their descent. Kijima grunted, angling his chin as he tried to reconnect.
Koga pulled back far enough to speak, their lips still close enough the words were felt as much as heard. "Time to leave."
Kijima studied him without shifting back. He shook his head, dipping to chase Koga's lips as he stepped away.
"Please, Kijima, not tonight."
The effervescent smile faded. Lips reddened from kissing pursed in frustration.
"Listen, I know you had the thing for Ren, we all did, but I thought you knew about Kyoko."
Koga felt the whiplash rock through his mind. "What?"
"They're dating. It's love. Your thing for him," Kijima gestured at the ceiling. "It's done."
"Of course I f'n knew about Kyoko. She's my costar; I'm not brain dead! And my thing—" Words flew out of him, hurtling more at himself than at Kijima, "has nothing to do with this."
"Then what. Why do I have to leave?" He stepped towards Koga trying to close the distance, his eyes growing molten with desire. "Why can't we enjoy this thing between us?"
Koga held his hand up, waving Kijima away, his eyes averted.
"Oh shit." Kijima exhaled, his eyes wide as he watched Koga. "Who. Not what." He grabbed Koga's hand. "Who's the new straight man?"
Koga's mouth twisted, his head turning away involuntarily.
"Kogs," Kijima moaned. "Why do you have to do this to yourself? You know it's never gonna work out. Listen, please. Give me a chance."
"Not tonight."
Kijima stepped back, the distance between them suddenly cold. "Ok, fine. I pushed too hard. I'm sorry." Pause. "Call me…?"
"Yeah. Yeah, I will."
"Ok." Sigh. "Ok."
And just like that, alone again. Koga slumped on the couch, throwing his phone onto the table. He sat back, then threw himself forward again, snatching his phone off the table and tapping a few swift clicks before tossing it back to slide over the smooth glass.
His chords started. Koga could see the fingers strumming, pressing, shifting, curled into a tight D minor, their arches high and delicate. He closed his eyes as the singing began.
"What the hell am I doing…" he sighed.
~*~
A/N: To Cat (thanks for the review!!)— it's not ending yet! Our two presh otps must find their Cinderella ending. Annnnd that's probably at least 25 chapters away if I'm giving a rough estimate. BUT WHO KNOWS I thought this story would be about 10 chs when I started it, and here we are at 101 and almost 200k words. We are out of control!!
Also, those nicknames are so gay and I love it. Koga likes nicknaming people. Everyone has a nickname in his mind, he just doesn't share them all.
