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He touched Hitoya’s arm, caressing the smooth leather of his jacket. The smell of Hitoya’s cologne, amber spice, sweet vanilla, beckoned him closer, and as he leaned in to whisper in Hitoya’s ear, he saw the strong line of his shoulders spike like an electrocardiogram.
“Too much,” Hitoya said under his breath.
It was not lost on Jyushi that he, lead vocalist of a visual-kei group, had more experience flirting in front of an audience than most people. The music scene in his corner of the world was fuelled by fan service as much as it was by aesthetics. And Jyushi’s fans, bless every one of them, were there to see beautiful men twining together on stage, arms slung around each other’s waists, moaning into the same microphone, their lips mere inches apart.
Hitoya, meanwhile, did not get handsy with the opposing counsel at trial, and it showed.
So between the two of them, it was a game of tug-of-war. Jyushi seeing what Hitoya would tolerate in public; Hitoya telling him to cut it out when he’d had enough. Jyushi finding ways to brush up against Hitoya with enough plausible deniability; Hitoya calling him on it. And, well, Jyushi would stop if Hitoya asked him to, but he never did in so many words, and Jyushi knew Hitoya well enough to know Hitoya didn’t want him to stop, not really, because Hitoya made it abundantly clear when he hated absolutely anything. At most, he would issue a warning. Something about public decency, or basic social etiquette, or the ever-watchful eye of D-list celebrity gossip informants.
As they waited at a crosswalk together, Hitoya turned to Jyushi with a familiar scowl.
“What are you smilin’ at?”
“Seeing you be shy for once. It's cute. I didn’t know you could be shy.”
“Why’s it just me?” Hitoya muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. “You’re usually a nervous wreck around crowds. Don’t you feel self-conscious when we’re out together?”
“Not really,” Jyushi said; if anything, he fantasized about it. “I’m not uncomfortable, or embarrassed, or anything. I mean, I still get like that in public, but it’s different when we’re together. It’s easy, all because I’m with you.”
To his left, Hitoya slouched like a sullen teenager, both hands now buried in his pockets. Jyushi curled his fingers around Hitoya’s wrist, stroking the soft skin there until Hitoya finally met his eyes.
“It doesn’t matter what they think about us. You’re the only one I care about, and I adore you with all my heart,” said Jyushi, smiling. “So why shouldn’t I show it?”
The tips of Hitoya’s ears turned red, his brow furrowed as he internally grappled with himself. “If you wanna be all over me, it’ll have to be later tonight, downtown,” he said, then paused. “At the bars.”
Bars Jyushi couldn’t get into yet.
“I know a place we can try,” he added.
“Tonight?” Jyushi asked, and Hitoya nodded.
Jyushi could wait that long. Satisfied, he let go of Hitoya’s arm just as the pedestrian light turned green, though he only made it half-way across the street before he wormed his way back into Hitoya’s personal space.
“Besides, maybe I want everyone to know about us,” said Jyushi as he bumped Hitoya’s shoulder. “Don’t you? Don’t you wanna show me off?”
He’d only meant to tease. Hitoya scoffed, but he threw a sidelong glance at Jyushi, eyes sweeping over every inch of his body with such intensity it made Jyushi’s heart flutter.
They ate dinner while they waited for the bar to open. Hitoya paid for the meal and Jyushi insisted on paying for dessert at a patisserie around the corner: a Mont Blanc for Hitoya and a slice of shortcake for himself. And so too did Jyushi insist on feeding Hitoya the plump red strawberry on top, bumping it against the seam of his lips until Hitoya finally took a bite, white teeth sinking into the sweet flesh.
That night, Jyushi learned the secret to getting into bars when you’d only just turned nineteen. First, you needed to be tall for your age. Second, you needed an older boyfriend with deep pockets and balls of steel.
Hitoya was a familiar face at this bar, a loyal patron of this establishment for years. Judging by his double take after giving Jyushi the once-over, the bartender recognized him from the DRB, but he said nothing when Hitoya ordered two very different drinks. Maybe audacity was the key here, the way Hitoya flashed his cockiest grin as if to say, go ahead, I dare you.
For himself, a single malt Scotch. For Jyushi, a sunset-colored cocktail with a spritz of seltzer. Just one, because even a drink as watered down as this made Jyushi involuntarily purse his lips with every sip. He didn’t drink often—little more than half a can of beer at his band’s humble afterparties, or a few cheeky laps of Hitoya’s Lagavulin—but a Cassis Orange had hardly any alcohol in it. Certainly nowhere near enough to knock him off his feet. Instead he felt pleasantly unwound, like all the knots in his muscles had come loose, and he was now allowed to take up space instead of making himself small.
His drink tasted like adulthood, all its sweetness and sourness, highs and lows. Jyushi had never done anything so thrilling in his life! Another first with Hitoya, his beloved Hitoya, and there was no one else in this world to whom Jyushi would entrust himself so wholly.
The bar was dim, hazy with smoke and a candlelight-like glow. Sitting at their high top table, Hitoya put his arm around the back of Jyushi’s barstool and came closer.
“How are you likin’ it?” he asked, speaking right into Jyushi’s ear over the constant chatter of the crowd.
A fevered rush of blood colored Jyushi’s cheeks. “I love it. I can’t wait until I turn twenty. I’m gonna come here every weekend and have a drink with you, a proper drink.”
“Every weekend?” Hitoya chuckled. “You’re gonna be too busy touring the country by then. You’ll have outgrown this place.”
“No way! I’ll never forget Nagoya. This is our city. Nothing will keep me away, not for very long. I’ll buy a place here, just for the two of us, with a recording studio in one room and a big parking spot for your bike, and I’ll come home to you, promise.”
Hitoya rested his cheek against Jyushi’s shoulder. “I like the man you’ve grown into,” he said after a moment. “Have I ever told you that?”
“Really?” Jyushi’s eyes widened. “You mean it?”
“Yeah. You used to be so unsure of yourself, but you’ve changed a lot over the past year. You’re someone who knows what he wants and won’t give up on it ‘til you get it.”
“Like I got you.”
“Like you got me,” Hitoya agreed. He smiled to himself. “You always manage to surprise me, Jyushi.”
Touched beyond words, Jyushi pressed a chaste kiss on Hitoya’s cheek. He caught a whiff of the warm scent of his skin—the scent of love itself, thought Jyushi—and he angled his face to take more of it in, close enough to taste the whiskey on Hitoya’s breath. That was Hitoya’s cue to put some space between them again and hide behind his drink, and still Jyushi followed, his hand on Hitoya’s knee.
“Gimme a sip.”
Hitoya gave him a funny look. “It’s the usual. Nothing you haven’t tried before.”
“It's the closest I’ll get to kissing you tonight,” Jyushi said, all soft with wistfulness. “Since you’re still too shy to do it properly.”
With a click of his tongue, Hitoya slid over his glass. “You are so spoiled. I spoil you too much. I hope you realize that.”
Jyushi made a show of fluttering his lashes, catching his bottom lip against the rim and pretending it was Hitoya’s mouth instead. Unfortunately, the effect was ruined as soon as the whiskey hit his throat, and he shuddered at the burn. Hitoya laughed aloud at the face he pulled.
“It’s not funny!” Jyushi whined. “I still don’t understand how you drink this like it’s nothing.”
“I’m used to it by now. ‘sides, I’ve always liked a challenge.”
Hitoya held out his hand, but Jyushi forced himself to gulp down another mouthful, setting the glass on the table with a satisfying clink. A challenge, he repeated to himself, and promptly gagged.
(Mortifying, but worth it for those few blessed seconds Hitoya rubbed his back.)
Sheepishly, Jyushi cast a curious glance around the room. It had filled up since they’d sat down. More crowded than he’d prefer, but here he only felt a dull sense of unease rather than the all-consuming flight-or-flight response he’d come to expect. Kuko was always telling him to learn to sit with his discomfort; maybe it wasn’t so impossible after all.
A bar was unlike any of his live house haunts, people gathering for an entirely different purpose. They hadn’t come to see Jyushi. Here he wasn’t the center of attention. Not an object of veneration, nor an idol awash in limelight, just another face in the crowd. The one by Hitoya’s side, a role he was born to play, and right now that was all he needed to be.
But the more he scanned the room, the more he became aware of the other men watching them, their heavy gazes lingering as they tried to catch Hitoya’s eye. Men of every age—fine specimens in their twenties and thirties, to be sure, but many older than Hitoya too, with handsome chiseled faces and streaks of silver in their hair and a lifetime’s worth of experience to offer.
A wave of panic churned Jyushi’s stomach. If anyone understood the allure of an older man, it was him. How was he supposed to compete with that?
Well. The only way he knew how. He draped himself over Hitoya’s shoulder and nuzzled the hair swept back from his temple, one finger tracing the line of his chest that disappeared beneath his v-neck, all the way down to his core.
Hitoya’s whole body went rigid. “What d’you think you’re doing?”
“Touching my boyfriend. The one who promised I could when we got to the bar.” He hovered at Hitoya’s ear, speaking in a low voice. “Look at me, my love, only me.”
“I’m gonna need another one of these first.”
Whiskey glass in hand, Hitoya slid off his stool and beat a quick retreat toward the bar. But it seemed everyone else had the same idea, and he didn’t get very far before Jyushi caught up, a shadow stretching over him. Jyushi maneuvered him through the flow of bodies, toward the wall, where he boxed him in with his elbows. Tucked away from view, Hitoya looked up at Jyushi through his softly curling lashes, shy again.
“Gimme a kiss.”
“Everyone can see.”
“Nobody's looking at us.”
“They’ve been looking at you the entire time, Jyushi.” Hitoya’s tone was sharp, barbed with jealousy. “Eyeing up the pretty boy across the bar.”
Jyushi frowned. That didn’t make any sense; they were all looking at Hitoya, the prize.
“Don't tell me you haven’t noticed,” Hitoya said, now exasperated.
“Well, maybe—maybe I don’t care anymore. It’s been hours since I kissed you. I want to kiss you.”
Hitoya dropped his head onto Jyushi’s shoulder and sighed deeply, deflating. “I’m not used to it. Not like this.”
“I know it’s scary,” Jyushi said into his hair, “but won’t you try it with me? Forget about everyone else. Just kiss me.”
For a moment, Hitoya only clung to him, fists gripping the front of Jyushi’s shirt, like he was someone to be protected instead of the other way around. Then he raised his chin, closing his eyes and surrendering to Jyushi.
His lips were parted when Jyushi finally captured them for their first kiss of the night. Jyushi could taste the whiskey on his tongue, every drop of it, smoke without the burn, and he drank in Hitoya, ignoring the eyes he felt on the back of his neck. Let them see. Now they would know to whom Hitoya belonged. His Hitoya, who still hadn’t let go of Jyushi’s shirt, begging for more, more of the wet slide of their tongues, more of Jyushi’s caresses, fingers splayed against his face.
It all made Jyushi’s head spin. He was electric, a live wire spitting out white-hot sparks.
“You’re gonna kill me,” Hitoya muttered, his throat bared. Jyushi cradled the back of his head and clamped his lips around Hitoya’s pulse, sucking hard enough to leave a burst of red-purple beneath the skin. The droning of the crowd drowned out Hitoya’s deep groan. His fingers twisted in Jyushi’s collar, torn between pulling him off or keeping him in place, tugging him closer. “Fuck, you don't know what you do to me.”
Hitoya’s eyes squeezed shut. He was so cute like this, when he was at war with himself and it was Jyushi’s turn to rescue him. And Jyushi would weather the stares and whatever else came their way; he could do that for Hitoya. Love made him brave.
He trailed up to kiss Hitoya’s lips again, rewarded by the soft, contented sounds Hitoya made into his mouth when Jyushi sucked on his tongue. Underneath it all, he was as needy as Jyushi, the veneer peeling away to reveal his desperation.
Utterly intoxicated, Jyushi grabbed Hitoya’s denim-clad ass and pulled him flush against his body. Their hips slammed together, sending Hitoya scrabbling at his shoulders like the world was collapsing at his feet.
“Jyushi,” he hissed, eyes darting wildly from side to side. His face burned as red as the love bite blooming on his neck.
Jyushi pressed against him, showing him how much he needed him, already hard and aching to rut against the hollow of Hitoya’s hip, to make a sticky mess of himself. He knocked their foreheads together, pleading.
“I want…”
He stopped himself. Suddenly it was too much to ever admit.
And yet Hitoya knew, the way he always knew. As they stared at each other, he could recognize it in Jyushi’s face, two roses on his cheeks, two black holes swallowing his pupils. Some loose glitter had fallen from Jyushi’s eyes onto Hitoya’s face, flecks shining in the orange-filtered light. After another breath, Hitoya encircled Jyushi’s wrists with ease, gently disentangled them, and tugged him away from the wall.
“C’mon,” he said, “let’s go somewhere quiet.”
“Huh?” It felt like all the blood in Jyushi’s head had pooled between his legs. “Where?”
“Just come with me,” Hitoya snapped.
In a dark spot around a corner, between the stairwell and the emergency exit, Hitoya pinned Jyushi against the wall. There was hardly any room, chests bumping, barely an arm’s length between them. Jyushi’s heart hammered wildly. His moan was swallowed between their lips when Hitoya licked him open, hungry, like he’d been denying himself. But Hitoya held fast at his shoulders, stopping their bodies from snapping together like magnet and steel even as Jyushi raked his nails down Hitoya’s back.
“What am I gonna do with you, Jyushi?” His lip curled into a crooked grin, teeth flashing when he ground out his name. “You’re really pushin’ it tonight.”
“I want you,” Jyushi declared. “I—I wanna fuck you right here, in front of everyone.”
It spilled out before his brain had time to catch up with his mouth. His hips rolled forward; his hands roamed blindly over Hitoya’s chest, teasing him where he was most sensitive. Hitoya heaved a strange humorless laugh, a lungful of air so winded it sounded like he had just climbed ten storeys worth of stairs, and Jyushi could feel his heart racing beneath his palms.
“Please, I want it so bad.”
“Lower your voice,” said Hitoya, his expression dark. “You want us to get caught?”
Before Jyushi could answer, Hitoya spun him around so they were now back to chest, and from behind he gripped Jyushi’s hands, palms flat against the wall and fingers interwoven, holding them in place the same way he would pin them to the mattress. Lightning ripped through Jyushi’s body. Every crackle fried his brain a little more, and he was babbling now.
“Touch me, Hitoya. Hurry, please hurry—”
“Always so impatient,” he rumbled, his breath like steam against the shell of Jyushi’s ear.
Jyushi’s shoulders tensed with pleasure. “Can’t… help it.”
“You can’t help it?”
“Do you remember,” he gasped, “how it felt when you were my age?”
Sometimes it was all he thought about. All he ever wanted to think about. With Hitoya, always Hitoya; it had only ever been Hitoya.
Mindful of his piercings, Hitoya gently caught Jyushi’s earlobe between his teeth and tugged. Jyushi sucked on his lower lip, not quite smothering his whimper in time.
“Yeah, and I didn’t have anyone spoiling me back then, either,” said Hitoya. “Not like you, kid.”
“So spoil me,” Jyushi said breathlessly. “Touch me.”
Instead Hitoya’s hand skimmed up his side, calloused fingertips just barely grazing his nipple.
“You’re gonna have to wait until we get home.” Hitoya’s voice was like velvet against bare skin. “Or is this what you’ve been after all along? An audience? Should’ve known such a pretty boy couldn’t resist showing himself off.”
Another zap straight to Jyushi’s brain, already on overload, and it was all too much and yet not nearly enough. He groaned.
“Don’t—god, don’t tease me if you’re not gonna do something about it.”
Hitoya’s low laugh tickled the side of his neck. “When did you become such a brat?”
“Your fault,” Jyushi huffed. “All your fault.”
Braced against the wall, he thrust himself backward so their hips collided and he was finally, finally grinding on Hitoya. He was elated, heart thumping like a subwoofer, to feel the shape of him, gorgeous and full mast, flush against his ass. Hitoya wanted it too. Hitoya wanted him.
It ignited something in Jyushi’s veins. Blood pumping, he slotted their bodies together. He heard Hitoya’s breath hitch, speechless for once, and oh, that felt as good as the hands gripping his waist, leaving white-knuckled crescents under his thin shirt.
“I’ll be quiet this time,” Jyushi said, head fuzzy, mouth loose, “promise.”
And Hitoya’s hand finally dipped lower, low enough to palm Jyushi through his pants, heavy just the way he needed, granting him that sweet friction, and Hitoya began slowly rutting against him. Jyushi moaned, his head dropping between his shoulder blades, forehead resting against the wall.
Hitoya nuzzled the crook of Jyushi’s neck before Jyushi felt his mouth there, eager to leave his own mark.
“You used to be so shy, Jyushi. Now look at you.” He squeezed Jyushi. “My sweet boy, all grown up.”
“Please,” he begged.
The patter of footsteps hit like cannon fire, shoes clacking, booming voices bouncing off of every wall. Hitoya wrenched himself away from Jyushi faster than Jyushi had ever seen him move before. Off to the side, he hid his face behind Jyushi’s back, taking advantage of his height to cower out of sight. All that bravado, gone.
“Fuck,” spat Jyushi. He glared at the intruders, but the group of men, tipsy and laughing loudly amongst themselves, stumbled by without a glance. Behind him, he heard Hitoya take a deep breath.
“I need some air.”
Staggering after him, Jyushi grabbed his hand, both of their palms clammy, and Hitoya allowed him to interlace their fingers.
Hitoya led them out the door, along the street, and before they turned the corner, Jyushi looked over his shoulder at the bar disappearing from view, the bright lights and sound of voices fading away.
And more walking, and then they were alone, stopping in a quiet side street next to a closed coffee shop. Hitoya snapped open his silver lighter, letting go of Jyushi’s hand to light the cigarette already perched between his lips. While he smoked, he kept stealing glimpses down the deserted street. Jyushi, meanwhile, couldn’t tear his eyes away from the smoke pouring from his mouth after every drag. A part of him wished Hitoya would blow it in his face. At this point, he’d take anything.
But the silence stretched on, and Jyushi was growing impatient again, stuck fidgeting with the crotch of his uncomfortably tight pants. At his feet, Hitoya kneeled to stub out his half-smoked cigarette, the top of his head close enough for Jyushi to muss up his hair if he pleased. And in his frustration, he was sorely tempted to do just that, at least until Hitoya’s hands found his hips and angled them toward him. He wordlessly worked Jyushi’s belt free of its buckle, the metal jangling, popped open the button of his pants, undid the zipper, splayed the fly wide. He stopped to look up at Jyushi, pretty pale eyes and curled lashes.
“Yes,” gasped Jyushi, and Hitoya hooked his thumbs in the waistband of his boxer briefs, pulling them just far enough past his hips. Another breathless moan escaped him, strangled and yet so sweet, to feel the heat of Hitoya’s mouth, taking him slowly at first, deeper and deeper until his lips met the dip of Jyushi’s stomach, his nose buried in wisps of dark hair.
Jyushi’s head hit the wall behind him. His fingers curled in the hair at the nape of Hitoya’s neck, thighs trembling as he fought to stay still. Then he felt Hitoya grip his hips hard, encouraging him, and he began to move, tight thrusts in and out Hitoya’s warm, waiting mouth, fucking deep into Hitoya’s silken throat. Together at last, with nothing left to stop him, not even his own shame. He lost himself in it, letting every bit of him surrender to what Hitoya was offering, until he could think of nothing but Hitoya. Hitoya, who took such good care of him. Hitoya, who took all of him. Hitoya, who always knew what Jyushi needed, even when Jyushi didn’t know how to ask himself.
“Hitoya,” he whined, “‘s good, so good.”
He didn’t bother keeping his voice down, and he probably couldn’t even if he tried. But the danger made it that much better, a heady thrill sinking its fangs into his bloodstream.
And in the recesses of his sex-soaked mind, a revelation took shape like the Milky Way spilling across the night sky. Anyone would be so lucky to hear his cries of pleasure, these high, blissful sounds he made only for Hitoya. To behold the young lover in the throes of ecstasy, to watch his pretty face contort rapturously, head thrown back and eyes rolling to the heavens like Saint Sebastian. To see Hitoya on his knees, receiving him gladly.
—see how much he wants me.
The thought of a stranger stumbling down the street and catching them, lost in each other, so desperate they didn’t care who saw, spurred him over the edge as much as the tightness of Hitoya’s throat.
“Fuck,” he sobbed, fingers digging into Hitoya’s gorgeous head of hair as he came undone. Legs shaking, he slumped against the wall, his breath ragged as a wind-torn flag. A few errant locks of hair clung to his lips.
Hitoya looked up at him again, eyes smoldering, pink tongue darting to the corner of his mouth, and Jyushi’s knees buckled. Only Hitoya’s hands, curving around the back of his thighs, kept him upright.
Basking in the shadows, he closed his eyes and savored every sweet aftershock. He lazily petted Hitoya’s tousled hair as he let Hitoya redress him, a comfortable silence blanketing them. In one fluid motion, Hitoya rose to his feet and pressed Jyushi up against the wall in a deep kiss, angling his hips forward to let him know something, and Jyushi moaned softly into his mouth when he felt it, hard enough to leave him wanting again.
“You—do you,” Jyushi said shakily, “want me to, uh—?”
Mercifully, Hitoya silenced him with another kiss, softer this time, lingering against his lips. His face was flushed, looking as exhilarated as Jyushi felt at what they had just gotten away with. No longer shy, eyes shining with all the love he harbored toward Jyushi. He took the time to tuck some of Jyushi’s hair behind his ear, and it was true: Jyushi really was so spoiled, so lucky.
“I’m taking you home, and then I’m all yours.”