Anchor
Written by: RinoaDestiny
#44 – Golden Week (Day 3)
Hit. Parry. Block. Counterstrike. Circle.
Compared to their previous sparring sessions, Iori was more aggressive this time around; Kyo wasn't sure if it was related to yesterday's change in mood. Sidestepping a swipe from Iori's nails, Kyo repositioned himself, kicking away a discarded beer bottle. It rolled down the alleyway, sound vanishing after a few seconds. His arms and face stung from Iori's landed blows. Iori, too, had his fair share of cuts and bruises.
Iori's low growl his only warning, Kyo met his incoming rush with a throw. Risky, considering how Iori typically followed up, but sparring called for variety. His lover tried to slip by, yet Kyo grabbed him, bringing him down. Muscle memory included the elbow to the ribs – Kyo lessened the impact, not wanting broken bones. Beneath him, Iori grunted; Kyo scrambled off, giving him time to recover.
Not that it ever took long for Iori to do so.
Experience and endurance having tempered them both, Iori stood without physically acknowledging the hit and fell back into stance. Taking only a second to admire his form, Kyo launched into his famous kick, aiming straight at Iori's head. He expected Iori to repel him, if the other man correctly read him. A split second later, he felt Iori's crossed arms absorb the blow and push upward – his signal to return to ground. Using the platform given, Kyo spring-boarded off Iori's arms and landed where he previously stood.
A satisfied sound escaped from Iori.
Good to know he enjoyed this. Despite it being practice after Kagura-san's chiding – being a fighting prodigy, Kyo didn't worry too much about losing his edge – if Iori found it fun as usual, then it was worth it. They'd thrown their entire arsenal of techniques at each other and having done that, were trying to find new ways to implement them. It was difficult, since they knew each other so well, but that was how they improved.
It was how he came back to return the favor to Goenitz.
It was how Iori fought on without flames, resorting to his clan's martial arts in its original purity.
The trick was mixing up all those years of differing techniques to catch the other off guard and train the senses. Here, Iori had the advantage over him, ironically gained because of a disadvantage. Kyo didn't have that – never had to hone technique without flames (not even during his NESTS ordeal, which he didn't like to dwell upon) – so his natural capabilities covered the deficiency.
It made sparring interesting, at least.
Across from him, Iori shifted again into stance, which prompted Kyo to do the same. Was Iori going to utilize flames or resort to his pure Yasakani style? The former was familiar; the latter, not so much. He was too busy chasing after Ash during that time to pay attention to Iori – a mistake, with many finer nuances of the style missed. It was why he had shallow cuts on both forearms.
Iori hung back, waiting on his move.
Kyo opened the next round with two kicks, knowing Iori would block. He wasn't disappointed when it happened and read Iori's left-handed swing. Dropping low, he swept Iori's feet out from under him. His lover's recovery took them away from the decrepit alley and towards an equally decrepit house. Good thing they were fighting in an abandoned squalid part of Osaka – could destroy stuff without too much consequence.
Or none at all, considering who they were.
If criminals lurked here, they stayed away now. Who didn't know the Kusanagi and Yagami clans?
Iori widened the distance between them and watched him. Feet, not fists. Kyo did the same. Direction of attack, possible reading of technique and also increased chances of evasion. Iori's leg reach was also deceptively longer than his, making it more important. As always, it depended on who moved first.
Last time, it was him.
Which meant it was now…
A purple fireball streaked towards him, melting asphalt into tar. Jumping over it – landing on solid ground – Kyo simultaneously blocked and also directed his other arm forward for a gut punch. However, the momentum of Iori's downward swing carried him past his fist, his knuckles grazing Iori's side. A slight shift in Iori's wrist avoided slicing his arm open, but still added slivers of pain.
Iori had shifted to the Yasakani style without a break in stride.
He was also within his inner range, leaving him wide open. A rapid shoulder check sent Iori backward; however, he'd miscalculated their distance to the house, particularly the door. Wood cracked – brittle hinges snapped – with Iori tumbling inside. Kyo entered, eyes adjusting to the dimness within. Dust everywhere, gray everywhere – the exception being the clear light from outside – and Iori had picked himself up, dust smeared on his pants.
He also stood out here: red hair, red pants, and white shirt.
Since the sparring started, they hadn't exchanged a single word. Unnecessary, since their exchanged blows said it all.
Across from him, Iori straightened to full height, throwing him an arrogant glance. Kyo grinned, eliciting a similar reaction from Iori and then moved. No flames here – too much dust, too much risk – but punches and kicks would do. His punches were anticipated and blocked. Iori would counterattack and did; Kyo dodged around him, mindful of the walls. Their footprints visible, dust streaked wherever they stepped. Stale air, dull light, empty silence. Around each other, they threw safe and calculated blows and techniques that wouldn't destroy the house. Several small dents in the walls (only that) where he or Iori sidestepped an attack. Exhilarated, Kyo pressed an advantage left open to him (lure by Iori or not).
It brought him right into Iori's inner range, which had to have been…
A fist in his shirt, bringing him closer. Bait. Of course. He knew it and took it and yet, had no regrets. In this light, Iori's visible eye was dark, offset by bright hair. Purpling bruises on cheekbone and brow. Minor abrasions and a smear of blood on the edge of his mouth. Iori's fingers wound tight, yet there was no incoming punch. Just stillness, the other man also observing him in this gray quiet.
Kyo leaned forward, but it was Iori who lowered his head and kissed him.
A thrill rushing through him, Kyo hungrily reciprocated, devouring Iori's mouth. The other man gasped, as if surprised by his ferocity and clawed at his shirt. Thoughts fled out of his mind; he gripped Iori as he was borne to the floor, surrendering to what was to come.
"On second thought, maybe this wasn't the best place."
"Wasn't thinking," Iori said, lying comfortably beside him, hair strewn across his face. "Think we'll need tetanus shots?"
"It's dusty, not rusty." They were also protected by a sturdy floor, no dirt in sight. Just…a lot of thick dust, which was all over them now. "I'm tired. And hungry."
His lover reached out, carefully touching his forehead with two clean fingers. "Are you in pain? I…I didn't expect –"
"A bit sore, yeah."
Iori made a face that Kyo found endearing. "I'll be prepared next time. Just in case."
Kyo smiled lazily, watching as Iori's breathing quickened. "Last time you kissed me, I took you to the ground." Nothing happened that time, of course, but in a way, it all led to this. "Don't mind the change – you have quite the takedown."
A faint coloring across Iori's pale cheeks. "I'll have the…preparations next time," he muttered, looking abashed.
Sweeping some of Iori's hair away from his forehead, Kyo kissed him there. "Not quite what Kagura-san meant by training, but guess we got both." His arms, covered in cuts and his body bruised by their vigorous sparring, ceased to hurt during sex. Adrenaline and the pleasurable afterglow would only go so far, though. He'd feel it all later, as would Iori.
His lover loudly snorted.
"I am hungry, though."
"Let's get cleaned up first. Can't go out like this." Having said that, Iori sat up, reached for his clothes and began dressing. "Get outta here and find a public bath."
All the better places were in the nicer areas, not in this squalor. Amazed that Iori hadn't shredded his shirt, Kyo followed suit, covering signs of their fight and later entanglement. Putting on his pants did hurt a bit, yet it wasn't anything he couldn't handle. It amused him to see Iori hovering close by, concerned. After all, the fighting had been planned. What happened afterwards hadn't been.
"Sounds good. You know, it felt great fighting here."
"Like old times, eh?"
"Yeah." Back when they were rivals, scrapping in the back alleys of the city was commonplace. This took Kyo back to those days, although he preferred how they were now. "We were relentless, weren't we?"
"Loved fighting me despite disliking me." Iori's tone was soft, no condemnation or blame attached. "Though you had a tendency to drive me against walls."
"So did you."
Fond memories exchanged here, their presence marked by the gray streaks on the floor. Kyo's stomach rumbled; he grimaced. If they were going to the public bath first, they needed to go now. Delaying that meant delaying food, which felt more critical at this moment. Iori didn't appear to be hungry, having one appetite thoroughly satisfied already. Lucky bastard.
As though reading his thoughts, his lover chuckled. "You first. Door's open."
It was one thing they'd forgotten; fortunately, they were left undisturbed. Kyo stuck his tongue out – immature, yes – and headed for the entrance, Iori laughing behind him. He wanted something savory and comforting without too much wait time. Street food? If they went to Dotonbori, there was takoyaki and…
"I want okonomiyaki," Kyo said, throwing a glance over his shoulder at Iori.
"Dotonbori?" Iori asked, as if seeking confirmation. "Can you sit? Should we get painkillers on the way?"
"It's not that bad."
"If you say so." They left the house, Iori wearing a frown. "Maybe the bath will help."
"I'll be fine," Kyo said, turning to lightly swat Iori's shoulder. "It's not like we haven't done this before."
"We were prepared before. In cleaner rooms. Not," Iori gestured to their surroundings, to the squalid neighborhood they were in. "Not like this."
There was a slight twinge along his spine and in his hips – nothing he couldn't shrug off for a few hours. Iori hadn't been rough, just…surprisingly eager, blood hot after sparring. Or the sparring led to that, he supposed. It shouldn't be surprising at all, and yet…it appeared that one particular adage applied to them. They'd look out of place in the bath, bruised and bloody. At least the shower beforehand would cleanse them of another kind of messiness.
"Hope we don't scare off the bath attendants."
"Everyone knows who we are. It's not like we have tattoos."
They took a train back into the better part of Osaka, still looking worse for the wear (glances in their direction, silent judgments made) and decided on the nearest public bathhouse. Not a fancy one with additional amenities or building attachments, just the simple offering of a hot soaking. Fortunately, they'd taken their wallets and having paid the fee, hurried towards the showers.
The hot water eased the soreness of his bruises – some turning blue and purple – and thin pink rivulets disappeared down the drain. Wincing, Kyo massaged his forearms. Next to him a few steps away, Iori methodically rinsed his body clean, water swirling around his feet, dust and fluids carried away. Turning the shower off, Iori squeezed water out of his hair and picked up his towel. No matter how many times Kyo had seen Iori naked, it never failed to astonish him at how enticing his boyfriend was.
Across from him, Iori quirked a brow. "Don't get excited here, Kyo."
Easy for him to say, although Kyo noticed Iori spoke normally without any inflections. Not wishing to be left behind, he finished his shower, wrapped his towel around his head, and joined Iori in one of the baths. Two older men about his father's age glanced at them as they entered and then resumed their quiet conversation. Claiming their corner, Kyo gingerly lowered himself into the soothing hot water and sighed.
Beside him, arms already perched on the bath's ceramic rim, Iori made a sound of assent. "You sure you're okay?"
"Yeah."
As though reassured, Iori tipped his head back to stare at the ceiling. Steam rose around them, thin and hazy while not obscuring their view of the bathhouse's interior. The next bath over was cold, perfect for blood circulation, but wasn't in Kyo's plans for today. If Iori decided to jaunt over later, he was staying right here. There were three men in the cold bath – middle-aged, he guessed – with two talking, leaving the other one out. Or they were unrelated, the one guy minding his business.
The place was quite empty for Golden Week. Was it busier over in the women's side?
His stomach rumbled loudly; Iori snorted next to him and then shook his head. "We'll get food after this. You're probably gonna eat all their stock, though."
"You're not hungry?" he asked, incredulous. "After all that?"
His boyfriend simply arched an eyebrow.
"Maybe you'll get hungry once we get there and then you'll empty out their stock," Kyo said, parroting Iori's words. His boyfriend was slimmer than him, yet had a ferocious appetite. After the sparring and unexpected (but welcome) sex, he was surprised to find Iori seemingly immune to its aftereffects. Their breakfast this morning hadn't been large – it explained why his stomach craved food now – so either Iori was bluffing (which happened) or he really wasn't feeling anything right now.
Bathhouse etiquette forbid splashing water on each other, so Kyo settled with giving Iori a slight shove. Iori didn't budge, of course, and only slipped his arms into the water, submerging himself up to the neck. He looked sleek and content and handsome, even with his folded towel atop his head. It was a side of Iori Kyo had never seen before – would've seemed ludicrous in the past – and dipping himself deeper into the water, stifled his libido.
One of the older men opposite them departed, heading for the cold bath. He was soon followed by the second man, whose body was flabby and pale. As they entered the cold bath, the two were greeted in hushed tones by the loner. Friends or co-workers? Kyo wished to dip his nose into the steamy water and make bubbles, but that'd cause trouble. He could do that back home or with Iori once they returned to his place.
Another tight sensation in his stomach. He groaned, wanting his savory okonomiyaki with its toppings and sauce.
"Should we go now?" Iori turned to him, ready to rise out of the water.
He felt bad, since they'd only gotten here and were enjoying their soak. His stomach, however, protested loudly. With a sheepish smile, Kyo admitted defeat to his body's urgent need. "Burnt off more than I thought sparring with you and…" He didn't finish the sentence, since the public bathhouse's other patrons didn't need to know. As it was, he sported several new bites and marks on his neck and chest. He'd left Iori with scratches on his back, too.
If Iori begrudged him for the sudden change in plans, he didn't show it. His boyfriend stood, hard body a wet sheen, and stepped out of the bath. Gratefully, Kyo exited, using the towel to cover his privates. After another quick hot shower, they dressed and left, making for the next train to Dotonbori. Kyo enjoyed watching the scenery change, especially with someone experiencing it with him. Once, Yuki had been with him; now, Iori was beside him, face sunlit.
Dotonbori, Osaka's entertainment district along with Shinsaibashi, was a perfect place to relax and blend in. Although some people steered clear of them, bruised faces and all, they made it to one of their favorite okonomiyaki stops without incident. The restaurant, unsurprisingly, was busy; the aroma of cooking food intoxicating, for he was famished.
"I believe I can eat," Iori said quietly next to him, nostrils flared, as if attuning to the sumptuous smells. "They mightn't have anything left afterwards."
As long as he could eat his fill, nothing else mattered. This place was already a hot stop for Osakans – having the two King of Fighters top-billed fighters here would help business, right? His stomach grumbled again and Kyo massaged it, while Iori chuckled softly.
"Glad you find my misery funny."
"We don't have long now. Tell it to wait."
"Easy for you to say." Watching everyone else sitting at their tables, iron hot plates cooking up batches of delectable okonomiyaki was killing Kyo. "I'm ordering everything."
"Leave some for me, glutton," Iori said, tone teasing.
Kyo stuck out his tongue for the second time today, having no energy for a proper retort. All he wanted was food. Hot, tasty, savory comfort food…
Soon, they were next in line and before long were seated at a table closer to the back. The hot plate gave off considerable warmth, which Kyo relished. He ordered two okonomiyaki – one with pork and one with seafood – and grinned when Iori ordered two, both with pork filling. On some things, his boyfriend was predictable and this was consistently one of them.
"It tastes better," Iori said, responding to his grin. "Not too fond of seafood."
"What about sushi? Sashimi?"
"Expensive and not meat. Prefer a good skewer of chicken instead."
"But you like salmon. You even got some for breakfast this week," he pointed out, remembering their grocery shopping. "Don't you?"
"That's the one exception."
Around them, other customers ate and chattered, chopsticks moving quickly over full plates. Thirsty, Kyo drank some tea and waited. Iori's bruises were prominent now, but the other man shrugged it off due to years of receiving them. They probably both looked scary – the thought was hilarious – and only them being Osakan celebrities staved off fear. That, and they weren't tearing the place apart in another stupid rivalry-driven fight.
Everyone probably breathed a sigh of relief when that stopped.
Across from him, Iori's stomach began making sounds. Kyo felt the stupid grin on his face widen. Iori threw a napkin at him, a flimsy threat. Good thing it didn't land on the hot plate and burn.
When the fillings and toppings and batter were brought to their table, Kyo watched eagerly as their okonomiyaki were prepared in front of them. His order went first, the pork and seafood mixed batter ladled out separately, sizzling as they cooked. While he had the same dish elsewhere, nothing beat a genuine Osaka okonomiyaki. There was more substance and heft and everything tasted better mixed together. Already, his mouth watered, thinking about the sauces and the final touch of dried bonito flakes.
He liked it when the flakes curled at the end, affected by the heat.
"Try not to drown yourself," Iori quipped, giving him a grin to answer his own.
"I won't," Kyo said, distracted by the almost finished food. It smelled wonderful and this time, when his stomach rumbled, it was welcome. Good thing his order was first; he was starving.
He bolted half of the first okonomiyaki only minutes after it was served, bits of meat and green onion poking out of the cooked batter. While the seafood one was set aside on another plate, the servers began on Iori's order. His boyfriend, gaze intense, focused on the sizzling hot plate. Even scarfing his portion down, Kyo thought he heard Iori's stomach rumbling up a storm.
Savory and rich – sauces, bonito flakes, and filling merging in his mouth, delicious flavors – Kyo enjoyed his early dinner. He was halfway through his second one and noticed Iori's first okonomiyaki was gone. The plate was clean, only the remaining grease stains showing something was once there.
"And you said I'd empty their stock." He took another bite and chewed. Swallowed. "You devoured that thing. Didn't even see you doing it."
"Your eyes were too focused on your plate." Iori's tone was matter-of-fact, stating the truth. "Thought you'd never look up."
"Well, I did." He pointed his chopsticks at Iori's plate, ignoring the social rudeness, since Iori didn't care about it. "Think you broke some record."
Iori shrugged, starting in on his second serving. "You can check if any exist."
Kyo decided to finish his meal before he did so, not wanting to leave it uneaten. He contemplated ordering a third, but decided against it. If he couldn't finish it, it'd be an additional and wasted charge on their bill. He hadn't even asked who was paying it this time, he'd been so hungry. Afterwards, sipping tea, he checked on his phone about food contest records. There was nothing about okonomiyaki – only curry, ramen, gyoza, and steak. Good, and yet…
What if he suggested an eating contest with okonomiyaki?
"Hey, Yagami – maybe we can trail blaze with this." He gestured to the food on Iori's plate, which was nearing completion. "Might be fun."
"You'll get a turnout," Iori said, picking up a large portion with his chopsticks. "They're usually sponsored, though. Or done by the restaurants or vendors themselves."
"Wonder why no one's done it, yet."
"Needs time to prepare. You want to eat it hot, right? Not much point if you have to wait and it'll throw off the timing." Down went another third of the remaining half of Iori's okonomiyaki. "Would you wait around while your competitors are downing theirs?"
"I wouldn't mind."
"They would, if they're serious." Iori took another bite. "Especially if it comes with cash prizes."
True. If that was the case, he'd bolt down his servings, burnt tongue or throat be damned. Winning was always sweeter than temporary pain. Draining his tea cup to empty, Kyo settled back in his chair and waited. Iori's appetite had fully awakened, as he'd expected and it was amusing watching the food disappear. "Getting dessert?"
"Maybe. Depends what fruit they have now."
Kyo chuckled. "Take your time."
They couldn't stay here long – it wasn't like in Western restaurants or cafés where lingering was encouraged – yet, they likely still had some time left. He wiggled in his seat, trying to ease soreness and caught Iori's eyes on him.
"Take a painkiller once we get back. We're staying inside tomorrow."
"It's not that –"
"Still have a few days. No need to rush." Iori's plates were empty, as was the iron hot plate and all of the accompanying bowls. "You do need to recuperate."
"Worth it."
"Glad you think so," Iori said, smirking at him. "Don't want you dissatisfied, right?"
"You gonna get dessert or not?"
"Yeah. Then we head back, okay?"
Kyo smiled. "Sounds good to me."
