A/N: Hi, hi! How have you been? New AU for today, aaaaaaye! Me and my beta were talking, we got to the part about new stories and such and joked on Saitou as a gigolo. Do you have any idea how hilarious that'd have been? Oh well, no matter, I don't have the heart to write that, so I came up with this instead. I hope you like it. It's going to be short and to the point, two chapters. I hope you like it, lovely people of the internet.
Beta'd by: Error205
Title: The right accidents.
Genre: Romance, Angst(kind of)
Alternative Universe: Modernday, One Night Stand
Today was grueling and that itself was an understatement, but when it came from the most disciplined detective of the precinct, it must have been a really shitty day. Nothing about it was a good thing, not one. Not even that after all was said and done the – now – five of them went out for a coffee; and then lunch; then an afternoon coffee..and now, home. Home, to find that nice bottle of scotch he loved so much and have a drink or two...or five. As much as were needed to take the bitterness away—the whole lot of his feelings in fact, yes, it would have been preferable. He wanted to do nothing else, but drown in his sorrow.
Nothing.
"Officer, officer! Please help! We have a serious problem over here."
His ears perked up, eyes snapping up to the source of the request: a short, too well-dressed woman to simply be visiting a friend, make-up and jewelry discreet but there, standing right out the door; she had all the clear signals of a distressed person and he knew, he had to help. For a moment, a blissful, brief moment, he'd forgotten he was wearing his ceremonial uniform and was almost confused she addressed him as such but then he recalled. So he had no other choice but to rush to meet her; something terrible could have happened to her friend; boyfriend; fiance, family member, whoever.
Yet, he couldn't help but think there went his plans, once again, down the drain.
Anyhow, in split seconds, he made this assessment and increased his speed to climb the last of the steps on the staircase and reach the far-most apartment on his floor. The moment the woman noticed, a wide smile replaced the previous expression and disappeared inside with a sigh of relief.
It took him four big strides to get inside. But when he did, he found things not to add up: a dimly lit living room greeted him, with pink and blue balloons scattered everywhere, banners and other ornaments, indicative of a party; the biggest red flag though was that as soon as he stepped inside, the music changed and from conventional poppy songs, a very suggestive type blasted...and women came out of nowhere, whistling, cheering and touching him
What. The hell?
There was six of them but only four began fondling him; the one who lured him there as well as another with a cellphone in her hands had stayed out of it, dancing to the music instead. And one of the attacking ones wore a white ribbon that spelled "The lucky bride" in beautiful cursive letters, in English.
So that's what it was.
He didn't care; in fact, so upset that he was before he ever set foot in this place, and so much these women kept putting their hands on him, despite him doing his best to deter them – he kept snatching his hat back from one very intoxicated woman who insisted on grabbing it – by slapping limbs away, he was astounded he hadn't become violent in these ten seconds it took him to register everything. He attributed it all to his excellent training.
"Ladies," he started as calm as he could "keep your hands off me; I am not a stripper."
"Of course you aren't," the bride quipped "you haven't taken anything off yet. Come on, get to it."
"Yeah, get to it, officer."
They all laughed, causing a commotion; the One Responsible as he'd refer to her from now on raised her glass in salute, laughing with her friend.
He tried taking a step back out, but that little posse of bridesmaids had already shut the door behind him. "Stop," he firmly demanded "I am not a stripper—do I look like one?"
"You feel like one," the intoxicated one noted, hands running under his jacket and he could have slapped her in that moment; he contained himself to very absolutely grabbing her hands and turning her around, using that as a way to distance himself from the rest. "Open this door right now and let me go."
"Oooh, he's role-playing, how sexy~!"
The One Responsible seemed to understand something was wrong and came closer, then, squeezing through her friends, who began whistling at her. "Um, what is going—?"
Just then, the bell rang; everyone went still. Then, they heard loud knocking on the door, and a very clear, male voice shouted "open this door immediately; this is the police."
Eyes wider than saucers, the short woman opened the door wide, effectively making room for him to escape to the kitchen, just as the real stripper was revealed: a shorter but visibly more muscular man stood at the threshold, looking all kinds of hot and bothered.
"And you are all under arrest for being too sexy!"
Queue the excited squeals and cheers from the women, they forgot about the real officer completely; then, the man started dancing wildly to the beat already playing and that was it. As far as they were concerned, he could have never even existed. But he had to leave; and currently the road to freedom was blocked by a very enthusiastic stripper and four ecstatic women.
"I am so, so sorry," he heard the One Responsible lament next to him, looking guiltier than anyone he had ever arrested in his entire career, "they only told me they'd be sending someone over in police attire, never specified what type of uniform. I'm really sorry."
She stole glances to the man dancing and, yes, his uniform was believable from far away, but his—his was the real thing. He glared but upon seeing her absolute guilt, he tried not to glare too much; he looked away, shaking his head. "It seems like it was an honest mistake."
"It was, I swear! I am not in the habit of creating situations to sexually assault police officers."
"Detective," he sighed "I'm a detective. It feels weird to hear people keep calling me that."
"Oh; well, um, detective-san, would you like a drink until, err," she looked at the front door where the stripper was dancing with her friends way too intensely, "that goes to a better location?"
"I'm not staying."
"Naturally, plastic cup for you; but you do look haggard..."
Didn't he know it? Alright fine, he wasn't made of stone. "What type of alcohol?"
"I was thinking something in the lines of whiskey."
Something inside him grew warm at the mention of the certain type of alcohol. "That I will drink."
Beaming, she forced-sat him into a chair, fixing his hat in passing. He remained watching as the stripper kept dancing...and the women were being a little forward with him. "They do know that touching him in places such as the ass or worse is illegal, right?"
She sighed. "They do; I gave them the full course. And I made sure the person they sent knew if he at any point felt uncomfortable, to come talk to me and I'll remove the nuisance." She presented him the drink and he greedily took first sip.
"You organised this?" She nodded. "Why aren't you participating?"
She shrugged. "The bride wanted it and, well, we'll only get her married once—I hope. Can't say no to her."
"So why didn't she throw it together?"
"The bride? No, ridiculous. The head bridesmaid does, usually, but in this case, it's her sister...the drunk one. The drunk, older sister who has to watch her baby sister get married before her."
"Ah."
"She's quite jealous, but very guilty about it, so she simply told me, I ain't taking care of anything, just make sure my blood turns into alcohol by the time we leave." She shook her head amused while he almost smiled. "while the rest work too much or can't be bothered and it all fell on the shoulders of bridesmaid number five—moi," she gestured with flourish"dependable Tokio to arrange everything."
"Hmm," he noncommittally agreed, but he felt something like pain; it was...a headache? He noticed she must have seen him grimace but played it cool. "When I got married, my bachelor party consisted of too many beers and bad karaoke."
"What!?" When he turned to look at her, the woman had lost nearly all colour of her face. "Oh my god, you're married? I am so, so sorry; I—"
Finally, a genuine, actual smile escaped him, as he waved her away. "Ah, no, not anymore; been divorced for a couple of years now..."
She released a huge sigh. "Thank God..." Ugh, what was she saying? "Sorry about that, you know what I meant; but I almost had a heart attack just now." There was a moment of silence where she watched him take yet another sip; she looked to the door and the stripper was still there. She almost cried. "So, what's with the uniform?"
Ah, she picked up on it, did she? He really hoped she wouldn't—or at least wouldn't mention it.
"Said detective, right? You guys only where uniforms for special occasions."
"This is the ceremonial uniform," he informed, as casual as he could.
"So you had to attend a ceremony; kind of late though. Then again, you could have simply gone out after..."
He nodded. "It was in the morning."
"What was it about?"
Oh no; she said something she shouldn't. She guessed as much when the man drew breath to answer, but never went anywhere with it. He simply did that and then proceeded to stare at his drink for a long time. Ugh, she could do nothing right by him tonight! "You really don't have to tell me," she rushed to assure him, guilt mounting by the second.
"...we buried a good man today." He had no idea why he shared, but he had a feeling she wouldn't judge. "He was a good friend of mine, other than a colleague, too."
She could have slapped herself; why did she always have to know? Thank god he didn't choke on his words, or she would have died. "I am so, so sorry for your loss; and for putting you through all of this after that. Oh god, I'm so sorry, and I hope it never happens again."
"...thank you," he replied, after some deliberation.
He almost told her how this was the third this year, but in the end, his ego refused. Even as a stranger, especially since she was shown to be so understanding so far, she'd feel too bad for him and he couldn't handle that. Besides, hearing it out loud, from his own mouth no doubt, was too much.
"Ah, that's why the whiskey got to you; no one should drink with such a heavy heart. You get too drunk." He only shook his head, a little amused by her effort to make him feel better. "What you need is rest—a good meal, too, but definitely rest."
She looked at the door where they were still dancing; she considered. "Give me a second." In the next second, she was already heading up to the bride. "Why don't we get the person of interest somewhere more comfortable?" She grabbed her friend by the shoulders, while the girls kept cheering and guided her to the couch. Naturally, the stripper followed and so did the rest; bridesmaid number four sniggered, watching it all happen through her camera.
Next minute she was back.
"You're leaving in a second," she promised and went to the cupboards. Pulling out a huge ceramic platter, she started selecting an array of goodies; pizza slices, pigs-in-a-blanket, some fried noodles with a wide arrange of toppings, mini hamburgers with some fries, pasta salad; everything went on there. She grabbed a pink-coloured umbrella then and just as she reached him, threw it in his drink.
"There; now it looks fun, instead of depressing."
He chuckled. "Thanks."
A beaming smile greeted him and then she tapped his shoulder twice to signal they were leaving. He actually relieved her from her load once she stood and she used the opportunity to grab her cellphone and stick it in her cleavage, as well as relieve him of the drink.
Alright, who puts their cellphone in their cleavage, no matter how big it was? That's just ridiculous.
He still did as she asked and once they were outside – none noticed their absence or at least indicated so – he showed her to his door. He took his keys out of his pocket, unlocked and not only did she follow him inside, but took off her shoes and then headed straight for the kitchen, once she oriented herself. Kitchen on the left, living room sprawling right in front of her as soon as she entered. Easy.
When he watched her pry the platter out of his hands and head for his own cupboards, he had to finally ask her "what are you doing?"
"I'm putting these in different plates; Momo-chan will want her platter back. And you," she put the dishes down and actually pushed him down into a chair "need to sit back and relax. I'll be bringing you the food in three seconds...name?"
"Saitou Hajime."
He was in no mood to argue with Tokio, whoever she was; all he knew or cared about was how the One Responsible needed to make it up to him about the previous fiasco and if that was the way she chose, so be it. She was being tolerable and accommodating after all, despite her authoritative stance, why should he argue? Let this young, attractive woman coddle him.
"Here it is! Bon appetit. And go easy on the whiskey, alright? You've nearly finished it."
"Wait," he called out to her just as he saw she was heading for the exit; it wasn't like him, but he really didn't want to be alone "there's a cabinet next to the armchair, see it?" She nodded, heading there. "Bring me a bottle of something that's below half full."
She gave him a reprimanding look, feet halting. "What did you not get from the words that left my mouth literally seconds ago?"
"I'll go easy on this drink," he raised the pink-umbrella plastic cup "but not all of them."
"You've had one drink and it's still one too many! Don't have more..."
"Look, I'll have it anyway; they question is will you be bringing it to me, or not?"
"No!"
She said it with such drive and ferocity, he leaned back a little; then she stalked to her peep-toe pumps with a vengeance and slammed the door—...no she didn't. Only air was blown back, that characteristic bang! never came. He tried to focus through his headache and see what had happened, only to see the woman stand there, door in hand, facing the outside, obviously undecided. She kept tapping her foot furiously for the next ten seconds, until she finally turned back to face him, anger gone, defeat replacing it.
"Yes; but I can't let you drink alone, it'd be irresponsible. I'm staying for a while."
That, he did not expect to hear. Nor did he actually believe she'd do it, although he did watch her carefully remove her shoes again and then go for that cabinet. Before he fully realised, headache already raging, she was dragging a chair next to him, his favourite half-finished bottle of scotch on the table with two glassed accompanying it.
"...did they give you any leave?"
"I'm going back on Monday."
Five days, that was impressive. Shit, he must have been a very good friend; she now felt a little guilty again. "Then you can afford to get shit-faced. How come you didn't go drinking with the rest of your friends?"
"We decided to split so the married ones can go back to their wives in a sightly manner."
"Laudable decision." She poured for the both of them, a very small amount. "What was his name?"
"Toudou Heisuke."
"To Toudou Heisuke; may his sacrifice be for a good cause and the ones left behind strong."
His wife; his daughter; his father, still in shock; his brother, crying louder than anyone. The guys. Although she never said bottoms up, once they clang their glasses, they both finished the entire drink.
"He too was incredibly strong. But no one can survive that."
Except you, tough guy, he heard in his mind's ear Toudou's voice joke, and then his signature boastful laugh; for a moment he almost believed the apparition his brain cooked up and he actually looked at her right, expecting to see him there. But he wasn't. Of course he wasn't. Nothing but blank space.
"I won't ask you anything about him, if you don't want me to – "Please don't," he interjected almost desperate – "but we gotta pass the time somehow. You ask me things instead."
"Why are you being nice to me?"
"Hell if I know." They both laughed self-deprecatingly. "Maybe I wish when I was in your position, someone would do the same for me." She shrugged, taking a sip from the new batch she poured for both, and he mimicked her. "Besides, I'm the mom friend. You tugged on my heartstrings. Anyway, how's the food?"
He studied her face for a long time; then, he unceremoniously grabbed a slice of pizza and ate it in two huge bites. "Delicious," he deliberated and she had to laugh. At least she got him eating.
After that, it was all a matter of how well they got along. She naturally shouldered the burden of making small-talk or any sort of conversation and, turns out, they had many things in common.
"I'm not like that," he admitted after a particularly uncouth reminder of his marital status "she said she wanted out; I asked her what's the problem and she said everything. So, I showed her the door."
"No regrets?"
"I'm happier now than when I was with her."
"Oof, harsh."
"Some people you click with, some you don't. I'd rather I have five failed marriages to get to the right one, rather than stay miserable with the first."
"Amen to that." she clang her glass to his "everyone's calling me crazy when I broke things off with my fiance because aw, he's so successful and rich and good looking but what am I supposed to do with that if he doesn't love me? Bastard cheated on me twice so I ended it! And no, I didn't forgive him; I found out about both at the same time."
He clicked his tongue. "I don't get that."
"What? Cheating?" He nodded. "What's there not to get? He's a scumbag—"
"No, not him; anyone cheating..."
"It usually happens when you're a greedy, deceitful bastard. If you're in a monogamous relationship and still choose to step out then you either aren't in love or you are a horrible, terrible human being. At least, as far as normal relationships are concerned coz if you add abuse to the mix..."
"No, I referred to regular relationships." A pause. "Why d'he do it?"
She snorted. "Apparently, he couldn't go for long periods of time without sex, for whatever reason. I used to make long business trips," she hastily explained "so I kindly told him to fuck off and never speak to me again."
"Well said."
Drink and food; sip and bite. It'd been a very long time they'd been talking about pretty much everything other than what happened, but he finally cracked under the pressure. He started by mentioning how whiskey was the drink they preferred when altogether, off duty, and ended up mumbling about how unfair it was that a child would grow up without her father; why was it that the good ones died first? Why did it have to be him?
She could only pat his back or shoulder and listen to his still not too emotional complains – while distantly wondering just how proud and restrained this man was – even after all that drink and grief. No shouting or crying...just pain. Pain, anger and resignation.
At some point, she had had too much to drink herself; just as he was saying something about how unfair life was for no real reason and all the scars in the world would've been preferable to that, she stood from her chair and crushed into him. She attempted a hug, to squeeze the sorrow away, but she was fairly certain, all she did was hang off of him. Her sentiments must've reached him regardless though, because he steadied her properly but did not remove her from his lap. So, she rubbed his back or caressed his hair, as he buried his face at the crook of her neck.
She could not remember how long she'd been there, only that her phone had rang a couple of times—maybe ten. She really could not recall; she only knew she had to remove herself from his lap and general closeness when another kind of sensation ran up and down her spine, just by his breath on her exposed skin.
Then, the phone rang for the umpteenth time and its timing couldn't be more perfect. "I should be going," she almost whispered and tried to untangle herself "the girls are looking for me...don't wanna worry them."
"Yeah, you should." His mouth said one thing, his hands another. "Left them alone for a long time."
"Well, they can handle my absence...I think. I don't know, can they? Can you?"
He shrugged. "I don't know." He hadn't realised he said that out loud until he felt her go completely still, gaze down on him, astounded. Shut up, Hajime, he mentally ordered, but it didn't seem to work. "I mean, it's just one of me...and five of them."
What was it with his mouth today? Stop moving. He was already spilling his guts, no need for this, too. His hands needed to stop moving, too. Ugh, he started to believe it was her perfume's fault; it was all he could smell, it drove him crazy. "And I really don't want to be alone. I can't." stop. Talking. "I don't want you to go."
Stay, his eyes pleaded, but his words were spent on the subject; all he could do was hold on to her desperately, longingly. Her presence soothed him; her skin was soft, it made him want to touch her. And her scent was so intoxicating...! It'd been such a long time he felt so close to another person, it was cruel.
She bit her lip. Good god, she was very drunk...but that feeling of lightheadedness did not stem from the alcohol, no; it was unmistakably a direct result from his ministrations and...it'd been such a long time...
"I can't stay...but I don't want to leave either."
"Then stay a little longer." He dared move his hands from her middle, to her sides. "Just a little longer." She was so supple, he couldn't help but want to touch more of her; like her thighs; her shoulders; her naked thighs. He felt her shiver then and despite everything, or maybe because of it, something stirred within him after a very, very long time. "A minute or two..."
Desire. That's what it was.
"Well, I can spare a minute or two...or more."
"Perfect."
He had had to be doing it on purpose, but he never spoke without his lips grazing the tender part of her neck, tortuously, relentlessly teasing: her senses, as well as her good sense that right about now was ready to burn, with the last of her inhibitions. Coupled with his deliberate movements and how everywhere he touched, another type of fire blazed across her skin, she couldn't help herself, really. The thinking part of her brain shut down and before she knew it, her lips met his. It was short and intense, the reconnaissance kiss, testing out waters and limits. She dared open her eyes a crack and noticed an involuntarily smirk on his lips.
"Maybe longer than two minutes," he muttered in the end and he felt her smile in their kiss.
"It'd better," she demanded before completely giving in, as she allowed this, practically, stranger to touch, fondle and kiss all sorts of places.
.
He couldn't remember when was the last time he had such a good night's sleep; when he opened his eyes, slowly peeking at the sun, he did so effortlessly, no gravity pulling down on his eyelids. His back hurt, per usual and his knee gave him a sudden squeeze – that's what he got for not going to all of the sessions – but he felt so well-rested, he was refreshed! His bedding was too soft though, his pillow even softer, he didn't want to move...that is, until he realised his pillow was underneath his head and for some reason his hand had started going numb.
That compelled him to open his eyes properly. What he saw, he least expected: a naked woman lying on her side his one hand underneath her head, the other grabbing her waist. It was summer, yes, but she must have gotten cold at some point because she had used his shirt as a cover for the small of her back and some of her thighs. Still, he could see the most of her, soundly sleeping next to him, breathing steady. He stared for a long moment. This was Tokio; bridesmaid number four, Momo-chan as she had called her was his neighbour and her friend who hosted the bachelor party. Right.
Slowly, last night's events came back and an involuntary smirk came to his lips. And then, shame; so much shame. He really wanted his hand back that moment, to hide his face in it, but he feared he'd wake her if he did. And now he needed to take a leak. Perfect. Begrudgingly, and a little disappointed, he removed himself from the bed as carefully as possible. Although, he admitted, he did not regret his actions, he did feel like an asshole. As if he took advantage of her good will. Oh well; it would all come down to how she reacted once she woke, there was nothing else he could do about it, which, judging by her stirring when he moved, was going to be soon enough.
She heard footsteps; slowly, her eyes opened...to a bedroom that was decidedly not hers, or Momo-chan's. She became confused. So, she looked around and that's when she noticed the clearly man's shirt draped around her middle and thighs—where it always hurt if she remained exposed. Huh. So that happened. It wasn't a fever dream.
Shit.
She had never, ever, ever done this before; ever. It wasn't like her. What was she supposed to do now? Had she overstayed her welcome? Was she in the way? Damn, as it all came back to her, she felt like she took advantage of the guy—he shared his problems with her and she jumped into bed with him like that, as if she was only looking for an excuse to have sex. She wanted to kill herself out of sheer shame...!
Then she heard a toilet flush and water running; she eavesdropped. A door opened and more footsteps were heard, coming her way by the second; any moment now...and there he was, standing under the threshold.
"Hey," he saluted and much like hers was going to be, his voice was hoarse.
"Good morning." She had no idea why, but she was compelled to smile to him; then her middle ached and she had to stretch to take the pain away. "This is what I get for sleeping with the window open."
Chuckling, he finally walked in. he purposefully hadn't, allowing her to set the tone of their interaction. "Sorry, that's my fault. I only close them during the winter."
"Ridiculous; you and my brother both belong in the madhouse." She tried to stare, but as sleepy as she was, it came off as cute rather than lofty. "Or migrate to colder climates." She snorted then. "Or not; you'll ruin the equilibrium. Japan has gotten used to you. Or at least, Honsu."
"Idiot." He smacked her with his trousers, as he retrieved them. "When's the wedding? I'm not making you late, am I?"
She shook with silent laughter. "Not at all; wedding's tomorrow. What bride would get married after a night of abuses? No, no, this is spa day; I arranged for all of us to get a spa treatment...separately."
"Smart."
"Naturally; I thought of it."
She was surprisingly confident and, should he say, a little boastful; he liked that. Just as he was about to ask her how she drinks her coffee, the bell rang. Looking at his wristwatch, he was shocked to find it read 10:46. he over-overslept—he hadn't woken up after nine for at least ten years. What was her skin made of, xanax?
"That's probably Momo-chan," Tokio realised "I never told them where I was going. Can you get the door until I...?"
Nodding, he did as he was told; he noticed how her clothes were all in a neat pile on the floor, but he could clearly remember that's not how they were removed. She must have gotten up sometime during the night and done it; how curious. How the shirt ended up on her waist, too. So, he grabbed the shirt from under her – he did enjoy her little yelp, as well as the pillow she threw him in return – pulled it over his shoulders and buttoned only half of it as he went to the door. But when he opened it, he saw quite the different sight: instead of a hangover Momo-chan, four very familiar men stood at the door, concern written all over their faces.
God fucking damn it; he forgot they were supposed to meet this morning.
"Where the hell have you been!?" the tallest of the group, still not as tall as him, demanded.
"Why aren't you answering your phone?" the shortest one continued, flabbergasted.
"We called your landline and cell a thousand times," the only one with glasses informed, slightly calmer than the rest.
"When? And good morning, I guess."
"Two hours ago," the youngest, barely twenty seven, answered.
"Oh man, I slept through it all...sorry. I'll go get ready and be right back." Just then, he grabbed the first person to talk by the collar of his shirt and stopped him from going deeper into the house. "Harada, you all wait here. Close the door, but don't come in any further."
And he turned his back. Miffed, Harada was about to protest or follow him, but the shortest one, with the sharpest eyes and more devious expression, elbowed him and once he had his attention, he nodded to something on the floor. Everyone's eyes followed.
"Oh," the bespectacled man smirked and his eyebrows rose high above his almond eyes "he has company."
The pair of white peep-toe pumps stood neatly next to Saitou's Oxfords, betraying the presence of another; a woman. Everyone looked between themselves, half-smirks and half-amazement at the turn of events...the whispering began in an instant.
"I see you're already dressed," he remarked when he came back, after he closed the door behind him. He started undressing. "But it wasn't Momo, it was my colleagues." Then he opened his closet to find a new set of clothes.
"So I heard," she informed cheerfully and walked next to him. Wordlessly, she picked out a shirt. "That would go nicely with blue trousers. And I didn't hear any phones ringing either; must have slept too well. But what nice friends; they worried and came to check on you."
"Yeah," he admitted while he dressed himself as she suggested. "But to think we slept through so many calls..."
"Well, we did go to bed pretty late—I mean, to sleep, not..."
"I got it," he murmured, a modest grin on his face. "You ready?"
"Point me to the direction of your bathroom and I'll be good to go."
"The door on your immediate left. And, Tokio," he stopped her from walking out "I'm sorry you have to leave like this."
"That's alright," she said in a cute way "so long as you buy me something to drink."
A wink and she was out the room. He, too finished getting dressed as fast as he could and went to his hall. He did not wait for her to emerge though, no; he knew his friends. They had to be scared into submission. So, he headed straight to them, glaring, trying very, very hard to make those shit-eating grins disappear from their faces.
"Not a single inappropriate comment out of you," he made clear, voice as low and threatening as possible, but they all pretended they had no idea what he was talking about.
Two minutes later, there Tokio was, face washed clean of all make-up; in the morning light, she looked different: her natural appearance made her look younger, as well as kind of cute, even if her clothes were very form fitting, curves pronounced in all the "right" ways. But, this kind of form fitting skirt, from her waist to her knees in black leather, as well as a very feeble white crop-top that showcased most of her cleavage in fine silk screamed "walk of shame".
"Good morning gentlemen," she greeted everyone with a wide smile, as she grabbed her cellphone and parted them, completely unbothered, to wear her shoes.
"Guys, this is Tokio," he dutifully introduced them, feeling their eagerness to know "Tokio, this is—"
"Okita Souji; good morning. I'm Saitou's partner, as well as, quite obviously, the charismatic of the group. So very pleased to meet you, Tokio-chan."
She laughed at his quip, but when he actually kissed her hand instead of shaking it, she looked disbelieving as well as amused.
"I'm Harada Sanosuke," the second tallest man of the room introduced himself, natural red-hair stealing her gaze "I'm half-Irish."
"Nagakura Shinpachi, hello," the bespectacled man shook her hand, curls dancing with him "a friend and a colleague."
"As we all are, in fact," the last one remarked. "I'm Shigure Tomoda."
"Pleased to meet all of you." She bowed her head in recognition, never failing to notice the smiles and the inevitable teasing that was going to follow, hopefully once she left. "But this is also the time to say goodbye—"
"No!" and other variations of the word or meaning escaped the four of them and she had to stare at the refusal.
"Where are you going?" Hajime asked her wearily.
"Home," she replied.
"We'll take you," two people said at the same time: Hajime, in his usual monotone and Okita, almost desperate not to see her go.
"Oh, I'll just take a cub, no need to inconvenience you."
"No, no, we insist," Harada interjected "we drove here with Tomoda and Hajime has a car, too so we're all good."
"No, it's fine; I don't want to take you out of your way. I live on the other side of town."
"We are going for a coffee, not a case," Nagakura countered "we'll just choose a place closer there."
"And I do owe you a coffee," Hajime gave the final blow, so she could only smile, defeated to the lot of them.
"As you wish; but no coffee," she shivered. "I hate coffee."
"Tea?" Okita offered; she nodded excited.
"A beverage, whatever," Hajime dismissed them "let's just go."
By the time they were exiting the building, Tokio had a fair understanding of the dynamics of their friendship, as well as their character, either but what they said, they did, or they didn't; she found them enjoyable. Texting Momo-chan about her whereabouts and a promise to explain everything in an hour, they reached the cars.
"I'm going with Saitou," Harada claimed his spot and all but Tomoda groaned or made a similar declaration.
"Okita's the only one riding with me, as always; the rest of you go the same way you came."
"Not fair," they complained, but Okita simply gloated.
"All of you, such children," Tokio had to comment, but despite the drawn breaths of faux-offense, there was no one who took her seriously, simply because they could tell she did not mean it as an insult. Mighty pleased with himself, Saitou pressed the button to unlock his car and Tokio was the first one to the black Honda. "There's a great shop two blocks from here," she informed "but until then, I'll be taking a nap."
She opened the left door and proceeded to kick of her shoes, lying on both backseats of the car. Just as the door shut behind her, Okita went really close and jabbed him at the gut! "Who the hell is Tokio and when d'you meet her?" he hissed, voice as low as possible. "How long have you been together and how the hell did I miss it?"
"Relax guys," he tried to calm down the crowd, because they actually circled him, equally perplexed as his partner who was about to attack him "I'll explain everything once we are alone."
They allowed him this grace period; all knew it'd be unsightly to make a scene in front of the woman, so they split in two groups, got in their cars and drove away, with Hajime in the lead. Who, true to his word, bought her her tea from the shop she had suggested. Okita, and secretly Hajime, too, watched her reaction to the offering: the moment they presented the tea to her – hot, even if it was summer – she sat up and thanked him. Once it was in her possession, both hands wrapped around it, while her toes curled with happiness. And once the first sip was taken, her eyes closed, savouring the bittersweet taste. A small sigh of satisfaction followed.
Okita looked at Saitou, for a long time, until he had his attention at a red light. Making sure Tokio was distracted with her liquid, he mouthed "she's adorable," to his serious friend. He had to agree, but not out loud; he simply shook his head at the man's assessment but yes, she was really adorable.
.
"This is where you live?" Okita asked, mouth slightly agape as they pulled up in front of the apartment complex Tokio guided them to. The only reason Hajime didn't say something smart about him being so ungracious was because he too was kind of shocked.
She non-verbally agreed, slightly annoyed; this was one of the reasons she didn't want to bring them here. "Top floor, all to myself; great spaces. Even better view."
They were in one of the finest neighbourhoods in the entire city of Kyoto, where the floors reached to ten floors high; so, she lived on the tenth floor. Okita's eyes darted to her. "Can I make a personal question?"
"Sure."
"Are you rich?"
"Yes; eh, I'm well off. Dad's rich."
"Oh," the two men exchanged looks "that's nice."
"Thanks!" She beamed at them and then put on her shoes; after retrieving the empty cup as well, she opened the door wide. So tight this skirt was, she could only come out two legs at a time, but before either man had the chance to go and help her, she had managed to exit all on her own. Once she did, she stood next to the driver's window, open as it was, and looked inside. It hurt her back to bend like that, but she wanted to say goodbye.
"It was very nice meeting you Okita-san; you guys have fun on your day out." She waved at him.
"Right back at you! I hope I see you again!"
She smiled in a knowing way and she did not miss how Saitou's eyes darted to him. "Thank you for the tea, Hajime."
"Don't mention it."
"And the ride home, saved me a lot of time." After looking at him for some seconds, she decided he was not going to resist, so she unabashedly reached into the car, grabbed his face by the left cheek and planted a swift kiss on the right. "Take better care of yourself," she whispered, but how could she know Okita had the ears of a bat. She straightened then, and took a step back. "Have a nice day!" She waved to the car next to them, too and they honked in reply, but Okita was too distracted to notice; he could only look at Hajime in utter shock and accusation at her forward gesture and bold statement. After all, if she knew him well enough to say that...
"You sneaky bastard," he began "how long have you been dating her behind my back?"
"Like I said," Saitou repeated, tired "I'll explain later."
"You owe too many explanations. Don't!" Okita cut him off as he rolled his eyes "you know I'm right. So drive; the sooner we get to whatever place we find here, the better."
.
.
"You mean to tell me she's naturally that comfortable with you?" Okita asked, incredulous.
He shrugged; he had told them everything that had happened that day—not said. That, he had abridged for the sake of his ego. Still, he was deemed honest by his partner, who just snorted with laughter. "Alright, go you! When are you seeing her again?"
"I don't know; I don't think I'll be seeing her again."
"What?" Nagakura exclaimed scandalised.
"Why is what I want to know," Okita cried and almost shook him. "We finally found someone to put up with you and you'll just brush her aside?"
"Do you not like her, Saitou-san?" Tomoda sincerely wondered.
"That's not it."
"You're damn right it isn't; d'you see that ass? Damn work of art."
"Harada, what the hell?" Nagakura tried to stop him.
"Married men should stay quiet," Harada snapped back.
"She's a person, Sano," Tomoda protested "and I think we all noticed how pleasing her figure was, posterior included, but certainly not exclusively eye-catching."
"See? That's how you say nice rack without using the words nice rack."
They couldn't help themselves; both Nagakura and Saitou's hand flew and collided with the back of Okita's head. "Ouch; sorry for being honest, jeez...anyway, why don't you want to go out with her?"
He rolled his eyes; he was being very insistent today. Truth be told, he had no preference, one way or another. Alright, that was a lie; maybe he did want to see her again. But he was pretty certain she didn't. He saw where he lived; he'd noticed her friends' clothes, as well as hers. He was a fling; a story to tell at parties. Not because she was a snob, but why would a person like her date someone like him? It made no sense. But how could he voice that without everyone giving him the same old drab speech of how he was just fine for anyone and blah blah blah; some people go well together, some don't. He really thought the two of them didn't...despite evidence to the contrary. It was best to ignore it.
"Saitou, I beg you to reconsider," Harada made a pitch "you found a woman to sleep with you; why throw that away?"
Okita scoffed. "Harada, are you stupid? Look at him. He's tall, dark and built; sleeping with him is never the issue...staying after he opens his mouth is."
"Are you secretly a ladies man, Saitou?" Harada elbowed him.
"Pfff, as if; he may be the most traditional man of our generation in the entirety of our good nation. No, he isn't." As his partner, Okita was the expert, no exaggeration. He knew everything about him and vice versa. "Go for it, man."
"I don't even have her number, Okita."
"So what? You know where she lives!"
"Um, that would be a little creepy, Okita-san," Tomoda reminded. "Do you have her email?"
"Why would he have her email," Nagakura said as if speaking to a slow person.
"Her full name?"
"Yes, but so what?"
"Don't sidetrack this conversation Tomoda," Okita put an end to this "are you seeing her again or not an why. That's the point."
"There's no reason; I'm not looking for someone. This just happened."
"You're never looking," Okita barked "ever since Yaso left you, you've been on your own and it ain't healthy."
Oooh, mentioning the ex, a dirty move. His ire became obvious and decided to grace him with an equally dirty tactic. "Solve your own problems first, and then come preach to me about women."
"Saitou," Okita demanded attention "life's short; we established that this year all too well. Don't be afraid to take a chance."
Although everyone left the subject alone, that little sentence rang a little too true in Saitou's ears. Life was indeed too short. You never knew what could happen—or what could be taken away, in a blink of an eye. And yet, he could not shake it off even after he went home, took off his clothes and hang them up. Not when he reviewed some of his finished cases and then sat in the silence of his living room, to relax. Maybe the shortie was on to something. Who knew.
"Good morning, Hajime-san."
"Hey."
When he made all those grand declarations yesterday, he hadn't accounted for one thing: she knew where he lived, too and first. And currently, she was standing in front of his door, dressed in a very elegant, very expensive gown that, truth be told, complimented her figure a little too well. The colour, a bold indigo, went well with her skin tone; make-up and hair were definitely done by a professional. Earrings hanged low, a matching colour with the dress and the necklace.
"Is it time for the wedding?"
"Almost, yes; I came here to pick up Momo-chan! I drive, you see; I just didn't take a car the day before yesterday because I knew I was going to drink."
"As you should."
"Right, you must be wondering why I'm here," she said after a small silence that wasn't awkward but not comfortable either. "Momo-chan sent me to take her platter back!"
"Ah, right." He said nothing else, fearing his disappointment would show through, and just fetched it for her. "Why didn't she come yesterday?"
"She's still too ashamed for not recognising you, as well as the whole incident; but, since apparently she thinks I have no shame, she sent me to get it." They both smiled at that; it was comments like that that he didn't know what to make of her, or if he wanted to see her again or not. "Well, I'll be going now; oh, you washed it, amazing. Thank you, Hajime-san."
"You look very beautiful; have fun."
"Thank you, Hajime." She could tell he paid her a real compliment by the pitch of his voice, as well as how he stared at her appreciatively for a long time. The feeling of something left unsaid washed over both of them then but none would say anything. And yet, Tokio wasn't the type to be at a loss for words, so she asked "did you have fun with your friends?"
"It was okay."
"They didn't grill you too much, did they?"
"Of course they did," he replied honestly, amused "but I don't take easily."
She laughed at that and, seeing the end of the conversation approaching, she decided to quit while she was still ahead. "Have a nice day; and...if you ever feel like talking, or just feel like getting out of your head, give me a call, okay? If you google my name and put photo-studio next to it, my contact info will pop up."
"Are you a photographer?"
"A famous one, too—how d'you think I can afford my apartment?"
"So be it," he kindly accepted, or pretended to "I'll keep it in mind."
"Great; so, um, bye bye; and stay happy."
He nodded back instead of speaking but he really hated himself that moment. To think she was so openly telling him she's available and he simply threw it back on her face. And yet, the moment he opened the door, nothing but the most intimate thoughts and memories came back. Damn it all, he wasn't going to go through this! What's the point of pursuing a relationship simply because the other person took pity on you? Shaking his head, cursing his stubbornness, he went back to his training regime.
Push ups it was.
.
Tokio sighed. It'd been a week. Still, no call or text from him, nothing. To be brutally honest, she hadn't expected him to call; she had hoped but she knew it wasn't the same. Looking at her cell, on the kitchen table, she pouted. One more wipe and her counter would be spotless. She liked doing the dishes—one of the reasons she never bought a dishwasher. After all, it was just her in this big house, and the occasional guest, for instance, today was her brother who had relentlessly teased her about the detective. Ugh, how frustrating; maybe she'd later call Momo-chan and arrange a lunch with her, they hadn't seen each other since the wedding. Drying her hands on her shorts, even if the towel was within her reach, she decided to move to the living room and maybe watch...
The thought died as the bell rang. She clicked her tongue; this would mark the third time her brother came to retrieve something he had forgotten—keys, wallet and now what? Lighter? He didn't even smoke! Did that man ever remember anything? A little annoyed, it was twelve thirty after all, she pulled the door open, ready for a fight.
Her eyes widened a fraction as her brows shot high up in her fringe; instead of her brother's familiar figure, a taller, lankier one stood, a little hunched. She swallowed the sudden lump and managed a breathless "hello."
"Hey."
She watched his expression; it looked relaxed, but the rest of his body was stiff. He stood a little better once she'd spoken, but his posture betrayed anxiety. There was a small buzzing in her ears but she still stepped to the side, allowing him entrance. "Please, come inside," she verified her actions "but, um, it's just that I wasn't expecting you, sorry for the mess."
She went into overdrive. Good lord, she was wearing house shorts and a thousand-year-old tank top! Why couldn't this be the day she decided to wear a sexy see-through nightdress? Because her brother was there not twenty minutes ago, right. Damn it! And all of these clothes on the couches, and the chips her brother spilled on the floor, all were there.
"Am I bothering? Do you have company?"
"I did; brother stopped by to say hello, hadn't seen me for a while, but he's such an animal, always making a mess."
Only then did he take off his shoes and ventured deeper. There was a small hall, where the guests left their shoes, that separated the entire house from the entrance with thin bamboo beams; then, it was a huge living room in front of him, while a rice paper wall on the left, too thin to serve as an actual wall, but good enough to create the illusion of a room, marked the kitchen. On his right, a bigger hall extended, that led to bedrooms and such, he guessed. He kept her in his peripheral as she kept complaining to herself for the perceived mess—he personally didn't care. As far as he was concerned, his house looked worse on its clean days. Without making himself heard, he found and went to the bathroom, threw some water on his face and cleaned his hands. Then rubbed some water on his neck, too because a) it was hot and b) he was nervous
"So, I can't just, ugh...give me a second; I'll go change."
"That's okay." He appeared right in front of her, just as she turned around from surveying her apartment's general state, after her efforts. "It's my fault for not calling. But you see, I'm not really big on calling."
His proximity alarmed her for a second, but she got used to it fast.
"I can tell you are a man of—"
His lips crushed on hers, rendering her speechless; he didn't deepen the kiss, but put both his hands around her waist and only then did he pull back. "Action?" he finished for her, arrogant.
"Yeah," she lamely responded, lips tingling, screaming for more contact. Her body betrayed her intentions when she involuntarily brought her face closer to his, her own hands coming around his neck.
"Yeah."
Those were the last words spoken between them. It only took a second to lift her up—or her to wrap her legs around his waist firmly. He led her through the house to where he'd guessed the general direction of the bedroom was, knocking furniture on the way, littering the floor with inconsequential items, and her neck with kisses and nibbles; moans and sighs accompanied them there and stayed until the very end.
It was wild, in her mind. She had never had such a relationship with anyone before, but this was so instinctive, so natural, she didn't care decent or not. Her body told her yes; screamed out in pleasure, curled around him; it was thrilling. And, from the looks of it, he needed this more than her. What was there to regret?
The only problem was the heat. Despite now being around two, sweat ran down both people's faces, backs and limbs in rivers; her sheets needed changing but, ugh, it was late. Exactly because it was hot, too, the moment they separated, panting, she stayed as far away from him as possible, without exceeding the confines of the bed. Once their breathing settled and the idle wind cooled them down enough, she turned to look at him. He was almost asleep, but his face still reflected something painful.
"How have you been, Hajime?"
"I manage."
"Mmmm."
She hummed instead of contradicting him outright and crawled closer. She begged to differ for plenty of reasons, the most obvious one being, well, the sex. It was different from last time. Though under no circumstances, could she have called him submissive, last time he was...more accommodating. Tonight, he'd been way too domineering. "How's your back?" She'd noticed he had a fresh scar there—not new, but as far as scars went, it was still trying to settle.
"Hurts less actually."
"And your knee?" He gestured so-so with his hand and then let it fall, exhausted. She chuckled. "How about this?" She jabbed another developing scar, maybe a healing wound, she wasn't sure, on his shoulder; only after she had seen him naked had she realised what he'd meant about the scars. He was riddled with them. But when an ouch left his lips before he could swallow it, she shook her head. "My mum used to say physical pain has a way of intensifying, especially in proud people, when they're going through tough times."
"You mum talks too much," he teased.
"Ah...that sounds like something dad used to say." His chuckle came naturally and she felt accomplished. "Do you have to leave soon?"
"Not before sunrise."
"Perfect." She crawled on top of his chest and hugged him; she did that for a long time. "Is it any better?"
"What, the knee and the...?" She nodded; he almost laughed at how ridiculous her question sounded, but he realised with a start that "yes," they did.
"See? Mum knows best." She kissed whatever was closest to her and flung herself on the other side of the bed. Damn heat, it was making her drenched. "It's too hot," she complained ten seconds later.
"It'll cool down in a while," he murmured, drifting off "try to sleep."
Next morning, she woke up to the sound of an alarm clock that wasn't hers; just as she pawed around, trying to turn it off, she noticed she couldn't move easily: both his hands had come around her waist, hugging her close, while his breathed warmed her neck. Huh; so that's why she was covered in sweat. Still, she had to turn off that blasted thing before she threw it against a wall; with some struggle, she was free of his hands; whence she found the demonic device, she turned it off with relish and almost threw it on the pillow, just for vengeance.
But she was an responsible, adult person and she didn't.
Instead, she focused on trying to waking up Hajime. Which wasn't so difficult because once she turned back to face him, he was already moving. When she made that observation, he mumbled something in the lines "it's your fault" and she had to suppress a laugh.
"It's time for you to go; your alarm clock says six thirty."
That did the trick; his eyes opened wide and he rolled on his back. "Right, work." He sat up, cracking his neck. "Got any coffee?"
"Yes, actually; both brother and sister are big fans. What blend do you want?"
He shrugged. "Whatever you have that's the strongest; I take it black."
"As you wish." She watched him rise, and considered. "If you have some time, I can make a proper breakfast."
Oh God; a proper breakfast. He had forgotten what that was like. "...that'd be great, actually; thanks."
The way she beamed up at him, instead of speaking, was starting to become his favourite thing about her. Shaking his head amused, he went through his usual morning routine – minus the shower he'd take at work, where he kept the spare change of clothes, as well as the toothbrush he had to substitute for his pointer – while he heard her pull out plates and pots. Huh.
This was...bad. There this woman was, not only going along with his fancies, she also treated him genuinely kindly, when she certainly didn't have to. Oh man, what sort of an idea could she have about him though? The asshole who was only looking for a hookup probably and he really hated himself to even give the right to anyone, how much more himself, to think that. But it wasn't like that, not in his head. Just go eat your breakfast; one step at a time, he tried to encourage himself, threw some more water on his face, and joined her in the kitchen.
Twenty minutes later, Hajime was out the door. Almost an hour later, he was at work; he hurried to have that shower and change so eight o clock sharp he could report—he hated being late. And yet, despite Okita seeing him change there, he asked nothing. As a result, he couldn't bring himself to mention it to him on his own; something about the casual way he treated her, didn't feel right. He just...he needed to put this behind him. For good.
For good didn't last too long. It'd been almost two weeks since then. He hadn't dared called her once, but at the same time, she was all his thoughts went back to, when he had the time to think anything else other than work. After a particularly difficult day at work, the idea of drinking himself to sleep starting looking all too good. Maybe he'd forget the gruesome details, the haunting images; maybe he'd get to sleep without nightmares, just this once. And besides, since that night, he hadn't really had a sip, the one where they both got drunk together. Together huh? She did advise him not to drink alone...he considered. Maybe he'd go over there to drink with her.
Yeah, maybe; just a drink.
An hour later, a brand new bottle of whiskey in a tall, pretty paper bag lay on the seat next to him, as he pulled up out of her apartment complex. He sighed. Should or shouldn't he, after all? Would she take it the wrong way? He really didn't think of her as a booty call, or whatever kids called it these days; he wasn't dating anyone to begin with. He was just...alone. And lonely. And somehow, she took that feeling away for however long she was with him. He put his forehead in his hand; she had no reason not to think of him as an asshole who only remembered her when he was in the mood, but he wasn't like that at all, that was the thing. She just...made him feel that way.
While he was in the process of mentally berating himself, manifesting by banging his head lightly against the steering wheel, he heard a knock on his window. Jolting, her looked up to see her, waving at him, big smile on her lips, while speaking on the phone. Ah shit; he could not avoid this now.
He took the keys out of the ignition, brake pulled, and grabbed the bag before he exited.
"No sweetie," he heard her say absolute "none of it is your fault. You know I take care of my own. She'll be a meme before you know it. You don't say anything. Talk to close friends and family and tell them the truth, as less upset as you can; it'll have blown over by tomorrow. For you anyhow; she'll take the most of it. Yes, I started and the girls are following, coming through on their end admirably. Just get some rest; I'll go online again in a couple of hours and text you, alright? Bye dear."
While talking, she had nodded for him to follow her; by the time she hanged up they were already inside the building, in front of the elevator.
"Good evening Hajime, sorry about that. But there was some drama at work today." He never realised how selfish he was until he, just now, had to really think to remember what she did for a living. "Some rich socialite wanted me to shoot her wedding photos but I had a prior engagement, so I declined, but referred a colleague, just as good. He, much like most, wants to do things his way in the creative process, but this bride and her husband went against him every step of the way. Not only did they ruin his concepts, but tried to make their own...and still wouldn't pose as he wanted them."
"So now all of the photos are ruined."
"Effectively...there's a reason the photographer will tell you to stand a certain way; you could be the prettiest, leanest most amazing human being in the world, and the camera will still find a bad angle. She didn't realise."
"I get it; she's taking it out on him."
She nodded, weary. The elevator dinged right that moment and they stepped off. "So, I'm doing damage control; stunt like that could cost you a big part of your clientele."
"Prickly bride..."
"You've no idea." She opened the door and let him in first, as she struggled to take the key out the door. "They always get stuck," she complained but eventually was free. "Oh, is that for me?" she addressed the paper-bag.
He handed it over a little stiffly and she had to fight not to laugh. "I didn't know what you liked other than whiskey, so that's what I got."
"Thank you; I'm more of a vodka kind of person, but this will do just fine—both my siblings indulge in a bit of scotch, it's how I built my tolerance for it. You?"
"I prefer sake." Of course he did. "And whiskey."
"Oooh, sake; I recently got my hands on a very fine bottle. Would you like some?"
How did she do that? She read him so easily. "I'll never say no to good sake."
"Warm?"
"Always," he was quick to assure "I don't care how hot it is outside."
Her smile was crooked, eyebrows wiggling. "Now why did I know that?"
"I'm assuming because you're a good judge of character?" he replied, just as meaningfully.
"Go wash your hands, detective, I'll prepare the snacks."
She boiled water and put the sake inside the large pitcher, to let it reach the right temperature, while she cut some vegetables; it was moments like these she was thankful her dad gave her the habit of always having something extra in her fridge, even if she didn't need it. Ten minutes later, they were sitting on he big sofa, sharing drink.
"So, Okita's your partner; Nagakura-san?"
"Harada's; Tomoda was Toudou's." She found it interesting he talked about them on his own, so she started asking questions; what two cups of sake do to a person, huh. "The six of us, as well as Yamanami and Yuzan where always paired up whenever we needed to form teams of more than two."
"That was on purpose?"
He nodded. "Except Tomoda and Yuzan, we were all in the same class back at the academy; Okita and I studied law together before we went to the academy as well."
"Wow, you go way back..." She sniggered. "No wonder you talk to each other like that."
"He's a pestilence."
Her laughter was boisterous; he had to smile, too. "He does seem the type one would say is infectious."
"Toudou always put him in line, when I didn't want to deal with him; Yamanami just encouraged him."
"Ooooh, who stops him now, if it's just you and the instigator?"
She joked, but there was something melancholic in his expression; she thought it was because he talked of Toudou-san so much, but no; it was something else. Her head tilted in silent question, but didn't press too much. Still, he looked at her on his own, sadness in his eyes.
"Nah," he drunk his third cup in one go "Yamanami is...he and his partner passed away not half a year ago."
Her breath caught. Holy. Fucking. Shit. How many friends did this man bury in one year? "I...am so incredibly sorry." Her hands fell in her lap. "I don't know what to say."
"Then don't. It never helps."
She relocated her hand from her lap to his, taking hold of his hand and squeezing it tight, but he didn't even react. Her heart went out to him. He still didn't make it any easier. But she wanted to convey how much she understood, without making him sadder or push his boundaries...what should she do?
"This helps," he said in the end, after she let go and he realised he must have been a dick. This was the bottle of sake he unceremoniously picked up, but just as he was about to pour a new cup for himself, she stopped him. That look she gave him, hurt, sympathetic, yet scolding actually made him put it back down in its bucket of warm water. A second later, she stood and fell on him in a huge, stifling hug. "I'm sorry," she repeated, and this once he felt her good intention all the way to his back, from the pain of her squeeze. "I really am."
"I know." He managed to untangle her, push her back to take a good look at her; how could she be so open all the time? He only talked about these things with her, and only glimpses, and yet, it was exhausting. His hand found her cheek, that fine line of her chin. "I do, I just..."
"It's okay; I get it. Loss does that to you." She put her hand over his. "I don't judge."
She never did, actually. And she never stopped looking at him with those bright, black eyes of hers. His hand was still firmly in her grip and it made him feel vulnerable. And because he had her sit back she was practically straddling him; why was she so soft all the time? It was very sexy. Usually, he had no sex drive, and then she happened. He had no willpower left to stop himself; a pathetic slave to his whims as he was and not caring how or why, he was kissing her again.
She was nearly as surprised this once, so she kissed back, just as fiercely. He didn't remember, if one asked, how he went from kissing her luscious lips to whispering her name as she rocked her thighs against him, but somehow, at the same time, there was nothing else he thought about every time he closed his eyes. Her lips on her neck, his hands on her breasts; her jeans on the floor, next to his shirt; her sweat...
it wasn't an hour ago, when he arrived, that he'd promised himself he'd be a gentleman tonight but there he was, a breathless mess, Tokio resting her forehead on his shoulder.
"I should...start doing...cardio. Damn. It's no...fair," she managed to string together after some moments "you train...all the damn time."
"You're fine."
This was unreal; it'd barely been five minutes! What was wrong with him?
"You'll get used to it."
Leave the poor woman alone, his sense hissed at him, but he disregarded it. He adhered to that sweet promise of oblivion for these twenty, fifty, whatever minutes they spent together because all he could see was her. He didn't know if it was him or her, but all he could focus when having sex with her was having sex with her. He wasn't like that, usually, his brain ran wild; even before he got married, while or even after his divorce, he thought of more things, that was his character. Tokio made him doubt that and he was thirty two years old. He was never all that physical, too but she seemed to bring plenty of changes with her, as he could not, successfully, keep his hands off of her.
Pushing her on her back, he claimed her lips again, as he secured her feet around his waist; with one strong push, he lifted both of them up. She kept kissing him until he hit a wall and, as punishment, she bit him right on the ear. "Offended" he jostled her; in retaliation, she scratched him a little more than appropriate and he literally threw her on her bed. She let out a small yelp but he was next to her in a second. "Turn around," he demanded in that low, raw tone and she did as she was told. He lifted her on her shins and hugged her close from behind, caressing, teasing as he went from top to bottom and all over again. He was astounded at how well attuned she was to his thoughts. It was all so consuming, so freeing, so intense. It was just sex, but then it wasn't. And there they were, screaming, moaning on all fours until she collapsed and her face hit the pillow. She let him ride it out until he too collapsed next to her on his back.
Chest heaving, limbs intertwining, they stayed like that for a long time. It felt like an eon later she finally sat up, sweat glistening. "Need water; you?" He nodded, almost asleep. "I'll bring some paper-towels, too."
He gave her a thumbs up.
He didn't sleep easily that night, thoughts kept him up. He didn't know what to feel or do. Was he using her? He was pretty sure the answer to that was yes. But she didn't seem to mind. Alright, he was a smart man; this could be her own way of defending herself and emotions. And this definitely boarded on immoral, seeing they had no other relations, but then again, they were both two consenting adults with no attachments, why shouldn't they?
For whatever reason, whatever this thing between them was, it honestly helped him, far more than any of the shit the shrink had suggested. So, he decided, he'd keep doing this until she finally had enough of him and asked him to stop. Then, he'd kindly take his leave, thank her for everything and never bother her again, hoping she hadn't become too essential to him coping. But until then, he'd stay here, breath sweat and limbs mixing together.
He managed to drift off around three in the morning; as always, he overslept and it was the alarm clock that forced him to open his eyes and begrudgingly leave the bed. He honestly had started to believe her perfume had some sort of sedative in it. Looking at her sleeping without a care in the world, he smiled. She deserved better than him, he thought with a small smirk, but too bad she was now stuck with his ass. Feeling better than ten days ago, he kissed her forehead and left.
A/N: Bet you didn't see that coming, especially from me, eh? Hehehehe, it felt like a nice change of pace. Hope you enjoyed the first part loves, look out for the next one, it's coming soon. Please leave a review on your way out. Love you
Kisses,
FAI.