Work Text:
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YOU: You’re both extremely drunk the first time it happens.
RHETORIC: You’re at an RCM holiday party - Coalition Day, which is, in your opinion, not much of a holiday at all, given that it celebrates the oppressors - but it’s still a holiday. The senior officers hand off the reins to the junior officers after a twelve-hour day of patrolling the streets for drunk and disorderlies, motor carriage accidents, and firework mishaps. At 21:00 or so McCoy breezes through, says you’re all going to le Chien around the corner to get wasted, coming Du Bois? Or are you too sober for that now?
AUTHORITY: You’d looked at Kim and he’d sighed - barely perceptible - and the two of you had followed.
YOU: You’d each ordered one drink and then responsibly drank some of the punch in the corner, provided by Ma Torson. Except, as it turns out, Ma Torson spikes the punch with her own home brew, which is something you’d forgotten, and no one’d told Kim, so the two of you get hammered.
VISUAL CALCULUS: You start figuring this out when things start moving around you more slowly than your eyes, and when you start listing to the side.
JEAN VICQUEMARE: Also, when Jean says, “Shitkid, did you drink the punch?”
KIM KITSURAGI: Also also, when Jean tells a story about THE CASE OF THE EMPTY BOX that makes Kim laugh - actually laugh! - so hard that he has to lean on your shoulder for balance.
JEAN VICQUEMARE: Jean brightens a little, like he can’t believe someone’s laughing at his joke. He tells another, and another, and it’s late by the time you get out of there, after midnight. A new day, and you’re drunk again.
LOGIC: It’s not technically your fault, though. You didn’t do it on purpose.
VOLITION: Oh, here we go again. Are you sure somewhere in your diseased little mind you didn’t remember about the spiked punch?
INLAND EMPIRE: Nope.
ENCYCLOPEDIA: Nuh uh. Even the brown-noser didn’t catch it.
ESPRIT DE CORPS: It looked so innocent and pink!
RHETORIC: Ah, the feminine fallacy. Part of the greater plot by woman to undermine you…
ELECTROCHEMISTRY: Will somebody shut that guy up? I want to enjoy this - walking home - balmy and warm, the sodium lights bright above us - Kim’s hand brushing ours as we weave down the sidewalk together -
KIM KITSURAGI: Kim insists on seeing you home. You live only a fifteen-minute walk away, and really, he’s too drunk to drive, so he walks with you. “I’ll take the bus,” he says when you get to your doorstep, but you badger him to come in and smoke a cigarette with you.
YOU: You both slump down on the couch. Kim Kitsuragi as close to boneless as you’ve ever seen him.
ELECTROCHEMISTRY: I’ve got a bone he can have. Heh.
KIM KITSURAGI: And you lean forward to light his cigarette for him, concentrating very hard, because you’re still very drunk.
HAND EYE COORDINATION: It takes some work, because the lighter and the cigarette and the flame are all existing on separate planes, but by marrying your superior intellect with your impressive hand-eye coordination -
KIM KITSURAGI: It doesn’t help that Kim keeps making little snorting sounds like he’s laughing around the cigarette - his eyes crinkling behind his glasses -
YOU: You reach out with the hand not holding the lighter and grip his chin, gently. “Hold still,” you grumble. He does. His skin is rough, your thumb catching on something that will be stubble in the morning.
CONCEPTUALIZATION: This is not a woman you’re holding.
YOU: I know that. It’s Kim. Because I’m trying to get him to hold still.
KIM KITSURAGI: He stills. You can feel his breath puffing over your hand. You let him go to steady your other hand - closer - closer -
INTERFACING: Success! The flame clicks, Kim breathes in, and the delicious smell of Astras fills the room.
YOU: You sit back, beaming.
KIM KITSURAGI: Kim is staring very intently at you.
YOU: You get a funny swooping feeling inside you.
LOGIC: Must be food poisoning.
PHYSICAL INSTRUMENT: You haven’t eaten all night.
LOGIC: From the *fish bowls* you drank, genius.
HAND-EYE COORDINATION: You fumble to light your own cigarette, staring down past your bloated nose. Kim reaches over and plucks the lighter out of your hand. “Allow me, detective,” he says, his fingers brushing yours, slowly. It’s almost -
INTERFACING: - a caress.
INLAND EMPIRE: We think. We don’t remember ever being caressed.
CONCEPTUALIZATION: You see the way the lieutenant is looking at your mouth as he lines up the lighter? Brow furrowed, eyes wide, tracing your lips so slowly you can almost feel the weight of his eyes? That’s a caress. But he did it with his hands.
YOU: Oh. Wow. Can he do that all over?
ELECTROCHEMISTRY: Can and will, Harry-boy.
KIM KITSURAGI: He lights your cigarette slowly. You breathe in, then out. Kim reaches over without looking to lay the lighter on your coffee table, still staring at your mouth. He glances up at your eyes - back down -
LOGIC: Kim Kitsuragi wants you.
YOU: Wants me to do what?
PHYSICAL INSTRUMENT: Carnally. You idiot.
ELECTROCHEMISTRY: Wants you on your knees, sucking his cock. Wants you underneath him, sweating and gasping, while he opens you up. Wants you shoving him down into the backseat of the Kineema and fisting his cock with your big meaty hand. He thinks about you when he touches himself, you know. You should ask him about it.
COMPOSURE: You should absolutely not ask him about it. It took you nearly two weeks of incessant badgering for the man to admit he used to smoke hash in his twenties. It’s taken you three months to learn his middle name. What, exactly, do you think is going to happen when you try to force the man to open up about his deepest sexual fantasies?
LOGIC: Uh….sex? We’ve been wanting to try sex, you know.
YOU: Yes, I know.
SUGGESTION: Yeah, but…he’s drunk. Look at him. His eyes glittering, ears flushing. The way he keeps openly staring at your mouth. I bet he’d tell you right now.
YOU: Isn’t that…taking advantage of him?
SUGGESTION: Nah.
1) “Kim, do you think about me when…you know.” [Gesture]
2) “Kim, what do you think about when you jerk off?”
3) [No words. Just lean over and kiss him.]
YOU: Do I have to do one of these? This seems like a bad idea.
VOLITION: Go on. Ask him.
1) “Kim, do you think about me when…you know.” [Gesture]
2) “Kim, what do you think about when you jerk off?”
3) [No words. Just lean over and kiss him.]
YOU: “Kim, do you think about me when…you know.” You make a loose fist at your crotch and mime jerking off. Your fist bumps into your cock and you spread your legs.
KIM KITSURAGI: His eyes widen, staring at your hand, then your crotch, where your cock is definitely beginning to plump out in your disco pants. He licks his lower lip, shakes his head, then nods. It’s like he doesn’t know what he’s saying.
INLAND EMPIRE: He doesn’t. He feels like he’s in a dream right now. The alcohol is helping with this. He’s not so drunk as to be incapacitated, but drunk enough that all barriers are lifting. When Kim Kitsuragi gets this perfect amount of drunk, he begins to believe that maybe, he might be allowed to have what he wants after all.
VISUAL CALCULUS: He is still staring at your hand. His ears are very red.
KIM KITSURAGI: Then he looks at you and you freeze, mid simulated-pump.
SAVOIR FAIRE: You’ve been doing that for awhile. Maybe too long? You’re making it weird.
KIM KITSURAGI: “Yes,” he says simply.
PERCEPTION: You can actually hear the sound of your brain breaking in real time. Your mouth opens in a gape.
KIM KITSURAGI: He raises an eyebrow at you.
SUGGESTION: Tit for tat, Harry-boy.
YOU: “Me too,” you confess. “There’s this one where…”
ESPRIT DE CORPS: What are you *doing*? This is your partner.
ENCYCLOPEDIA: “Partner” can also be used to refer to sexual partners, aka, Kim Kitsuragi having fuck with you.
KIM KITSURAGI: “Khm,” he says, but he’s not really listening to you. He’s just getting closer to you, slowly, inching his way along like a predator.
CONCEPTUALIZATION: You’re so fucked, Harry-boy.
RHETORIC: HEY. I’m pouring my heart out over here!
SUGGESTION: No. You’re just about to confess to the fantasy where Kim pushes your head down into his lap in the Kineema, aren’t you? That’s filth. That’s not your heart.
YOU: They can be the same thing.
ENCYCLOPEDIA: There’s actually an excellent Mazovian treaty on the intersection of class norms, sexual fantasy, and submissiveness, where -
HALF LIGHT: HEY. What’s happening, here.
INTERFACING: Kim Kitsuragi is scooting closer to you. He is still looking at your mouth. He is leaning over -
KIM KITSURAGI: And he kisses you. His glasses bump into your flushed and overheated face, but his mouth is cool and wet on yours.
ELECTROCHEMISTRY: It feels amazing. His lips parting, the lick of his tongue -
YOU: You turn to him immediately, wrapping your arm around his neck, holding your cigarette far away from him. And you kiss him. There’s a fumbling for ashtrays, a sliding of his hands up your shirt - when did he take his gloves off?
SAVOIR FAIRE: When he’d walked in the door.
YOU: Shit. Wait. How do I kiss?? Am I doing it right??
INTERFACING: Just lay back and think of Revachol. I’ve got this.
PHYSICAL INSTRUMENT: You move to your back, still kissing him, and Kim climbs on top of you -
YOU: You’d worried about what sex might be like, if you ever had it again. If you’d ever had it at all. You thought you had, but you didn’t have any memories, just a vaguely bad and unsettling feeling. You’d thought you’d be awful, if it ever happened. Terrified. And yet -
ELECTROCHEMISTRY: The booze helps. Makes everything soft and hazy, makes Kim’s hands on your skin - squeezing your biceps, running up your thighs, cupping your jaw - feel *good* instead of awful.
YOU: Can it feel awful? This doesn’t feel awful at all.
HALF LIGHT: Yes. It can.
ESPRIT DE CORPS: It helps that it’s *Kim.* Sex gets worse when you’re fighting. Especially when you’re fighting about sex. Trust us on this.
YOU: Your hands are running up Kim’s sides, pushing his shirt off, licking at his collarbone - he’s panting, his hair disarrayed, staring down at you with dark and glittering eyes - “Harry,” he’s muttered, “Harry, you drive me to distraction-”
INLAND EMPIRE: It’s true. The number of times this man has watched you - crouching, jogging, running a hand back through your hair - when he should have been doing something else - once, he almost ran over a small child because you had stretched in the Kineema, your shirt riding up and exposing half your belly.
ESPRIT DE CORPS: Kim is the man you trust most in the world. He is the one who was there when you stumbled down the steps of the Whirling-in-Rags into life. He is the man who saved your life, who transferred to your precinct, who answers the phone when you call him.
HALF LIGHT: For now. He won’t always. They always start that way -
KIM KITSURAGI: He pants. “Harry, what is it, what’s wrong?” His hand on your face, pulling you to look at him. The other stilled on your chest.
YOU: “Nothing. Kim, do I call you too much?”
KIM KITSURAGI: “Do you - no. Why are you thinking about that right now?”
YOU: You shrug.
KIM KITSURAGI: He pulls you down into another kiss, which is desperate, more desperate than you’d have expected from the staid and composed lieutenant.
HALF LIGHT: It’s like something’s been unleashed.
CONCEPTUALIZATION: A bird exploding out of a cage, all feathers and noise and flutter.
INTERFACING: His hands all over you - buried in your hair, nails digging into your back, biting at your neck, which is, it turns out, a direct line to your groin. You whimper and writhe under him. “Yes,” he pants into your ear, “I thought you would like that.”
INLAND EMPIRE: See? He’s been thinking about this, Harry-boy. Thinking about it a lot.
YOU: Suddenly you are both pantless, shirtless, and you’re laying between Kim’s legs, pressing him into the couch. “Kim,” you’re saying, “God, can I?” You run a hand up the back of his thigh, fingers skirting under the edge of his briefs, where he’s hottest.
KIM KITSURAGI: “Yes,” he says, “yes,” a strange desperate light in his eyes. They’re so dark they’re all pupil, glittering with drink and desire in the lamplight.
COMPOSURE: He would never ask for this sober.
SUGGESTION: It’s a good thing he’s not sober.
YOU: This is…okay, right? Kim wants this? This isn’t just because of the booze.
VOLITION: Oh, Kim wants this. Badly. He’s only letting himself have it now because he’s drunk. Go on. Do what the man asks.
YOU: Which is how you end up fingering Kim Kitsuragi with the aid of a bottle of lube you unearth from somewhere. He’s so hot and tight and you tell him this, and he just gasps, his arm thrown over his eyes.
KIM KITSURAGI: He muffles himself as you finger him open - one finger, two, three - writhing on your fingers, on your fucking couch, how did you get so lucky - kneeling between Kim Kitsuragi’s open legs, making him feel good. You could do this forever. You could do this until he comes. He might. He’s hard, and leaking, every twist of your fingers making his cock bob.
ELECTROCHEMISTRY: Your mouth waters and suddenly on a whim you dive forward, taking him into your mouth -
KIM KITSURAGI: He groans, bucking up into your mouth. He pushes on your shoulder, pulls your hair to get you off his cock. “Okay, Harry, okay,” he gasps. “Please, for the love of god.”
YOU: You line your cock up, glancing up at him in disbelief. He watches up, eyes still dark with desire - he nods - and you push in. Kim throws his arm up over his eyes again and bites his lip.
ELECTROCHEMISTRY: This - when you wonder whether it was worth coming back or not, what you are coming back for - it is this.
KIM KITSURAGI: When you’re finally all the way in, pressed against his unyielding body, he pulls his arm away from over his eyes and looks at you. Really looks.
VISUAL CALCULUS: Whatever he’s seeing - you leaning over him, arms trembling, panting with the effort of all of it, - he likes it.
KIM KITSURAGI: “Here,” he says, “come here,” and there is something incredibly soft on his face. Exposed and open. You don’t think he knows it’s there.
COMPOSURE: It wouldn’t be exposed if he were sober. This is the kind of thing Kim Kitsuragi keeps tightly locked away, so it cannot be used to hurt him. Underneath, he is just as sensitive as you are.
KIM KITSURAGI: He pulls you close to him, one hand on the back of your head. Holding him to you.
PHYSICAL INSTRUMENT: Holy FUCK. Endurance, help a fella out here. Please.
ENDURANCE: On it. It’s been awhile, though…might be out of practice.
ENCYCLOPEDIA: Try thinking of trivia. For instance, in Graad, in ’32, the Graadian Cello Factory….
ENDURANCE: Good, good. It’s working.
YOU: “Kim, oh, my god.”
KIM KITSURAGI: “Yes. It feels even better if you move,” he adds helpfully.
AUTHORITY: You heard the man. Fuck your partner.
YOU: You fuck your partner, slowly, finding a good angle. It feels incredible. Kim is so hot around you, and he’s making all these little noises, sweat beading on his chest, his forehead. Heat pools at the base of your spine, molten liquid. You’re not going to last long. How does anyone ever do anything else?
PAIN THRESHOLD: Chafing, mostly.
ENDURANCE: Also, hunger, thirst, fatigue…
VISUAL CALCULUS: You’re seeing fucking stars, Harry-boy.
ELECTROCHEMISTRY: Kim’s close. You’re making him feel so good. Make him feel better. Like a good boy.
INTERFACING: You fumble for a hand around Kim’s cock, smearing the slick down his shaft, and he cries out, surprised, a noise you want to hear again and again and again.
YOU: “That’s it,” you say, leaning over him hard, pushing his leg up. He whines at the change in angle. “Please, Kim, please. I want to hear you, baby.”
COMPOSURE: His eyes wide, he stares at you. He can’t quite believe you, but he does. “Please,” you say again, and so he lets it out. Little whimpers and moans. By the end, he’s crying out sharply. “God, Harry, yes!”
PHYSICAL INSTRUMENT: When he comes, he clenches around you so tightly that you thrust forward, burying yourself as deep as you can, holding yourself there through your own orgasm. He gasps - clutches you tightly - you can feel his come between the two of you, hot and slippery -
YOU: When you ease back and out, Kim is sweating, glasses disarrayed, staring at you.
AUTHORITY: Holy fuck. You’ve just fucked Kim Kitsuragi.
PHYSICAL INSTRUMENT: How do you feel, champ?
SUGGESTION: Like a new man.
ELECTROCHEMISTRY: Oh Harry baby, you’ve really done it now. We’re never going to want anything else ever again.
KIM KITSURAGI: He shuffles underneath you. You’re still on your couch, still in your living room, the lamp on, throwing a strong soft light over his body. You run your hand down his chest, his stomach. He shivers. A few things pass over his face.
RHETORIC: “Detective,” he’s going to say - or even worse - “officer - I should get going….”
HALF LIGHT: No. You shut this shit down right now, detective.
YOU: You wedge yourself between him and the back of the couch, throwing an arm over him. You pull him close, nuzzling into his shoulder. “You can’t go,” you mumble. “You’re drunk. You can’t drive home. Besides, you left the Kineema at the precinct, remember?”
KIM KITSURAGI: You think he says, shit. But you don’t know. It’s muffled into your chest. “Alright,” he says. You lean over Kim to snap your alarm radio on and lay back on the couch, pulling him onto your chest, and then -
DRAMA: The rest is silence.
≠≠
YOU: The second time it happens, you’re drunk. Again. It’s a month after the first time, a time that you think, when you wake up in the morning, you’ve imagined. Kim’s gone, and it’s early and gray in your apartment, the haze of 5 AM. Except when you go to the shower, groaning, you find yourself unspeakably sticky.
INLAND EMPIRE: A dream, maybe.
PERCEPTION: Except there’s a bite on your neck, purple and raw, and you run your fingers over it to prove it’s there.
VISUAL CALCULUS: The perfect imprint of Kim Kitsuragi’s jagged overbite, there on your neck.
ESPRIT DE CORPS: Lieutenant Kitsuragi showers in the dark and damp precinct locker room quickly, not allowing his hand to linger on his cock - not here, not after that unforgivable lapse of last night, which he hopes, very much, you will never mention again - and dresses in a change of clothes stashed in his locker.
YOU: You go into the precinct early to find Kim at his desk, extremely busy filling out paperwork as you climb the steps.
VISUAL CALCULUS: Although he watches you over his glasses - a pink and green haze wafting through the precinct with your cup of coffee -
KIM KITSURAGI: He looks at you, more directly, as you sit down across from him - “Morning, Kim” - and stretch - and scratch at your neck to reveal the bite -
KIM KITSURAGI: He flushes, meets your eyes, then flourishes his file folder more aggressively than usual, blocking himself from your view.
YOU: You don’t talk about it. Neither of you. It’s like it’s never happened. You find yourself prodding the bruise on your neck throughout the days as it fades, trying to call it back to yourself. You don’t even realize you’re doing it until Kim snaps at you one day, “stop it, officer,” and you drop your hand, guiltily. And then it fades, and all that is left to prove it happened is Kim’s cigarette, half-smoked and carefully preserved in your ashtray as a monument, and a crusty stain on your couch that you refuse to clean.
KIM KITSURAGI: Kim’s attitude is the other thing that proves it really happened. Kim gets stiff and tense around you, even more professional than usual. Back to that first day in Martinaise. Even worse, actually, because you hadn’t fucked him yet. You had barely even known what sex was. He is very barely more reserved around you - you know no one else can tell the difference.
PAIN THRESHOLD: But you can.
VOLITION: He stops touching you for a week and a half. You miss it terribly. Had you known you were going to lose the little touches - his hand on your shoulder, knees bumping yours under a small lunch table, fingers brushing as you pass a lighter back and forth - you wouldn’t have done it. Would have locked yourself in your bathroom and beaten off, or something, and come out, red-faced and miserable.
COMPOSURE: But - miracle of miracles - Kim thaws by the third week, and by the fourth is nearly back to normal.
VOLITION: Even Kim Kitsuragi is not a rock, no matter how he pretends to be.
KIM KITSURAGI: As if to make up for lost time, he touches you more often then usual - a hand curled around the back of your neck, shoulders pressed into yours as you crouch over a dead body, a whisper in your ear that is far, far too close, his lips brushing your ear. You have to turn away in shame to hide your hard-on.
SAVOIR FAIRE: Once, you have breakfast crumbs on your shirt that he brushes off for you. He meets your eyes as he does it, palm flat to your chest, fingers brushing your nipple - again - you bite your lip - and then he drops his hand as if burned, and turns away.
YOU: That night, you go to The Deacon and get drunk. You’re allowed, as a little treat, to get extremely drunk once a month. It helps the reward center of your brain, you think. It’s working pretty well - you’re nowhere near as bad as what everyone says you used to be, at least.
PERCEPTION: You watch yourself in the bar mirror, slouched over your drink, like some great shaggy animal with burning eyes.
INLAND EMPIRE: You can’t help but think of the way Kim had felt inside. The desperation you’d seemed to unlock in him as you’d kissed.
YOU: So you borrow the bar phone, and you call him.
KIM KITSURAGI: He shows up thirty minutes later. He looks you over, sighs, and leans on the bar beside you. He flags down the bartender and orders two drinks - finishes one quickly, then another, slowly. He puts his arm around your chair, leans in to talk to you. About things that don’t fucking matter. The case. His plans that weekend.
ESPRIT DE CORPS: Of course the case matters. The case is the most important thing of all.
EMPATHY: And you really, really care what Kim’s doing this weekend.
ELECTROCHEMISTRY: But do you care about it right now, when he’s standing so close, talking practically in your ear? When you can feel his chest and stomach pressed against your side? When he keeps *looking* at you like that?
YOU: When Kim finishes his second drink - putting him on a more even footing with you, you understand, as his eyes glitter - you try to flag the bartender down.
KIM KITSURAGI: He shakes his head. “We’re done here,” he says, and steps away from you.
YOU: You stumble getting up from the bar, tripping on your treacherous bar stool, and Kim catches you, for a brief moment pressed into his body, his arms around you.
AUTHORITY: “Outside,” Kim says in a voice of steel, and you go.
KIM KITSURAGI: He leads you to a small and damp alleyway behind the bar. It is awfully dark this time of night. “I need a cigarette,” he says. “You caught me before my nightly one.”
HALF LIGHT: You hear that? You’re selfish scum.
YOU: “I’m sorry, Kim.”
KIM KITSURAGI: He shakes his head instead of answering you, his lips curled around the cigarette. He lights it, and offers you one. You shake your head. “It’s alright,” he says, and looks over you. He’s -
ELECTROCHEMISTRY: He’s a little drunk. Things are starting to soften around the edges. The glow of light in the street, your hand planted on the wall beside his head to keep yourself steady.
PHYSICAL INSTRUMENT: You’re looming over him, between him and the light.
AUTHORITY: He likes it. Likes the way you look like this, a little mussed and flushed, your glittering eyes fixed on his mouth. He likes the way it makes him feel.
COMPOSURE: Normally, he would ignore this. He does it every day.
YOU: He does?
VOLITION: Yes.
KIM KITSURAGI: But right now - like this - a little fuzzy… “Harry,” he says, “Harry, how drunk are you right now?”
VOLITION: Be honest. This is important.
YOU: “Some.”
KIM KITSURAGI: “Some?” he says, and reaches out slowly - you watch him - and slaps at your cheeks, very lightly, more a pat than anything, first one, and then the other. He watches your eyes.
YOU: You can’t help it. Your hips buck forward, or your knees collapse.
PHYSICAL INSTRUMENT: Could be both.
KIM KITSURAGI: And then he is flinging his cigarette aside and pulling you close, hands in your shirt lapels, leading you to his mouth.
ELECTROCHEMISTRY: Fuck. Yes.
KIM KITSURAGI: Still kissing you, he spreads his legs and you step between them - grinding your cock against his, crowding him back against the wall and kissing him.
YOU: You finish each other off in the alleyway, hands down each others’ pants, Kim muttering your name in your ear. His other hand clutching at your shoulders, your bicep, your back. When he comes, he throws his head back against the brick wall, squeezes his eyes shut tightly. You can feel him flood your hand and whimper at it. You take a chance, leaning in, and kiss where his jaw meets his neck. Then again. He says your name, and that’s it. It’s over.
KIM KITSURAGI: He walks you home, but does not come in. You don’t ask more than twice. There’s a tone of warning in his voice, his eyes. The walk back to the Kineema will sober him up, he knows, and he leaves you there on your doorstep, key in the lock. You, on the other hand, go in and drop down on your crusty couch and stare at the ceiling.
YOU: Why does this keep happening?
HALF LIGHT: Because it’s scary to do it sober.
YOU: For Kim, too?
COMPOSURE: Sure. But for different reasons. The lieutenant is tightly repressed. Imagine all that longing crammed into his 167 cm - 10 stone frame. It is unspeakable.
CONCEPTUALIZATION: It’s tangled in there so tight he can’t even pull it out and go through it. It’s all just…there.
YOU: Doesn’t that hurt?
PAIN THRESHOLD: Immensely.
YOU: And so when he’s drunk…?
VOLITION: He can excuse himself. For how badly he wants you. Can push you up against the wall and shove his hand down your pants and purr filthy things into your ear.
RHETORIC: You know….twice is coincidence, but three times is a pattern.
YOU: And? It’s only happened twice, so far.
ELECTROCHEMISTRY: So far. Kim Kitsuragi likes his indulgences, doesn’t he? The one cigarette a day, when he really should stop. The Speedfreaks at top volume. Did you know the Kineema can go up to three hundred thirty-five kilometers per hour?
YOU: I did not.
ELECTROCHEMISTRY: Well, it can. And it does, sometimes, when he’s got that deep-seated itch inside of him, and he can’t get it out. Well, good news. Now he’s got another thing like that. That’s the thing, Harry. He’s as far-gone as you.
INLAND EMPIRE: You just have to let it happen.
≠≠
YOU: The third, fourth, fifth, sixth, seventh, and eighth times, you are also drunk.
AUTHORITY: The third time, Kim shows up at your apartment late one Thursday evening. You're already drunk on Commodore Red, so he pours himself a glass, eyeing you. He grimaces when he tastes it. “Really?” he says, “you drink this? Willingly, you drink this? Not because you won a lifetime supply of this in a horrible raffle?”
SAVOIR FAIRE: It takes a lot of nerve to come into another man’s house and disrespect his Commodore. Which Kim has. In spades. Except, apparently, when it comes to kissing you. Which is why he is drinking your horrid wine.
AUTHORITY: Call him on it. It’s the least you can do for his disrespect.
YOU: “So are you going to catch up, or what?”
KIM KITSURAGI: He stares at you over the glass, ears flushing, and then he tosses it back. Holds his glass out to you. You refill it with less-than-steady hands.
YOU: You sit on your couch together - Kim close enough that your shoulders are touching - and listen to the radio.
RHETORIC: You’re talking, only half-listening to what you’re saying - some long theory you’re making up on the spot about the effect of disco radio-waves on the Pale, how maybe, if enough people in the city play it, you could bring disco back. You’re not really listening to yourself. You’re watching for Kim to get drunk. When it happens - when he blinks slowly, and runs his eyes over you, reaching over carefully to put his glass on the coffee table - you lean over slowly, plant a hand on the back of the couch, and kiss him. You end up on your knees in front of him, sucking him off, touching yourself through your pants.
DRAMA: The fourth time, Kim shows up at your door already drunk. “I was in the area,” he says flatly. “Are you going to invite me in?” He's technically not lying, but only because he had driven to the precinct, left the Kineema, and gone to a bar around the corner before coming here.
KIM KITSURAGI: He kisses you before you even have the door closed. You barely make it to the bedroom.
ELECTROCHEMISTRY: This time, Kim fucks you, and it’s amazing. It’s incredible. It’s the best thing you’ve ever felt.
PHYSICAL INSTRUMENT: On your hands and knees, head dropped between your shoulders, wailing the word please like a Volta. Kim’s hands tight on your hip and shoulder, pulling you back into him, hard. The grunts he’s making, the wet and slapping sound of your flesh, the way he feels, deep inside you.
ELECTROCHEMISTRY: It’s so good you ask for it the fifth time and the sixth time, and Kim obliges. You’d ask for it the seventh time, but Kim’s cock is so far down your throat you can’t say much of anything.
KIM KITSURAGI: When Kim’s drunk, he laughs a little more, touches you more frequently, gets into arguments with you on the merits of Speedfreaks FM.
CONCEPTUALIZATION: The eighth time, you are high on pyrholidon, although not drunk. You are at Kim’s apartment for one of your usual Suzerainty nights. You are having a good time - Kim is winning, as always. It seems you do not have the cut-throat nature necessary to be successful in this game.
SAVOIR FAIRE: Explains a lot about your life, really.
KIM’S APARTMENT: And you do like to see Kim fail to contain his smirk when he wins. Everything is soft and colorful, and you are having fun playing Suzerainty - you can see the colors emanating from Kim’s choices, can practically build the city in the air, and Kim is laughing at your jokes, openly, smiling at you with something soft and fond in his eyes. It makes your breath catch.
ELECTROCHEMISTRY: Kim excuses himself halfway through the game and goes into the kitchen. You hear the pop of a cork, the sound of liquid pouring into a glass. Then another. When he comes back out and offers you a glass of wine, you take it, staring at him. He doesn’t meet your eyes.
KIM KITSURAGI: “How about a wager,” he says. “To the victor-”
YOU: “Kim, you’re just going to win anyway. Why don’t we just save ourselves the time and say you can do whatever you want to me.”
KIM KITSURAGI: His breath catches. His dark eyes look at you. “So trusting, detective,” he says. “That’s dangerous.”
HALF LIGHT: He’s right. What are you doing? You better drink that wine quickly.
YOU: Shut up. I trust him.
YOU: “I trust you,” you say, and he stares at you for a long time before turning back to the game.
PAIN THRESHOLD: This time, he slaps you around a little - your tits, your ass, light taps to your balls - while you touch yourself, then shoves you facedown into his mattress and fucks you hard.
YOU: From this angle you can’t see the city, but you can feel the cool air coming in from the balcony off his bedroom, can smell it. You come, untouched, so hard that you come to, some unspecified amount of time later, with Kim kneeling over you. He is wiping your face down with a cool wet cloth.
ENDURANCE: You feel…calm. Empty.
KIM KITSURAGI: Kim is very close, his hair in disarray, sweating and naked. There are smudges on his glasses as he frowns at you, cleaning you off.
YOU: When you gain the ability to speak again, you say, “Kim, you can do that to me any time you want.”
KIM KITSURAGI: He stops what he’s doing to study you, then continues. The slow movement of damp cold washcloth on your skin, bringing skua-flesh in its wake. “You don’t mean that,” he says firmly.
HALF LIGHT: Maybe he’s right. What if you’re sober?
VOLITION: No. We think, maybe, we can do this not drunk. You should talk about this, now. It’s important.
RHETORIC: Maybe we should sober up before we talk about it?
VOLITION: By then it will be too late. He’ll be gone in the morning, like always, back to the precinct where he watches you walk in over his glasses, not raising his head from his paperwork.
YOU: From his own apartment?
VOLITION: Yes. You’ll have to take the bus.
1) “Kim….I think we should try this sober.”
2) “No, maybe you’re right. Not anytime.”
3) “No, maybe you’re right. Not…at work?”
4) ”No, maybe you’re right. Not…in the Kineema?”
5) “Kim, why do you need to be drunk for this?”
YOU: ”No, maybe you’re right. Not…in the Kineema?”
KIM KITSURAGI: Something passes behind his eyes, dark and hungry.
INLAND EMPIRE: It’s something he’s thought about before.
YOU: Wow, really?
INLAND EMPIRE: Yes. Really.
YOU: Can we…maybe examine this, some more?
INLAND EMPIRE: No. He’s talking. Shut up.
KIM KITSURAGI: “No. Perhaps not in the Kineema.” He sighs, and sits down on the bed, his hip against your leg. “Detective…” he says.
RHETORIC: Woof. That’s not good.
PAIN THRESHOLD: Abort! Abort!!
YOU: What’s he going to say?
INLAND EMPIRE: We don’t know. Whatever it is, it’s probably not good. He’s not that drunk. He’s only had two glasses of wine. He’s probably about to tell you this is a terrible idea, and you disgust him, and he’s transferring precincts.
VOLITION: This seems like a bit of an overreaction -
REACTION SPEED: Quick, shut this down!
DRAMA: Fake being asleep. He used you pretty good. He’ll probably believe you. He feels a little guilty about it, anyway.
YOU: Letting your eyes fall shut, you let out a loud snore. Then another.
PERCEPTION: A sigh. Kim leans forward, puts a hand on your shoulder. “Harry, I know you can’t fall asleep that quickly.”
YOU: You make sure to pause your breathing, then snore again.
VOLITION: You could just…talk to him. Maybe it’s not what you think.
SAVOIR FAIRE: What, you think he’s going to ask us out on a date? In the daytime? Like normal people? No. He’s going to tell us we’re disgusting, that we were way too into that, and that we ruin everything. As per usual.
KIM KITSURAGI: A sigh. His hand on your back rises and falls with your breaths. Then he leans forward and brushes your hair back off your forehead, scratching across your scalp. It feels good. It feels great. He does it again and again. You actually fall asleep to it…
KIM’S APARTMENT: The next morning, you wake up alone. You Jamrock shuffle your way through Kim’s apartment, finding a locked drawer full of personal notebooks - you run your fingers over them thoughtfully, but don’t go through them - a stack of case files from the 57th precinct - and an oversized sweater, shoved in the back of Kim’s closet, that one of your voices tells you he breaks out in cold weather. The sleeves come down to cover his knuckles. It’s probably adorable. The voices also tell you that if you ever call Kim Kitsuragi adorable, he will punish you for the rest of your life. And not like he did last night.
YOU: It’s damp outside, chilly, and you grab Kim an extra handkerchief - you know his nose runs more when it’s cold - and head out to catch the bus. When you get into the precinct, Kim is watching you from his desk. You lean over him while no one’s watching, handing him the handkerchief. “Here,” you say. “It’s going to be cold today.”
KIM KITSURAGI: “Thank you,” he says, and takes it.
INTERFACING: Your fingers brush, and his ears turn red. He watches you the rest of the day.
≠≠
YOU: The ninth time is when you fuck it all up.
ESPRIT DE CORPS: You and Kim are on a case investigating a string of burglaries on Boogie Street. On Captain’s orders, you’re posted up in a small shithole hotel downtown, a pay-by-the-hour type place, waiting for midnight to come. Each business has been hit systemically up and down the street, and you’ve narrowed tonight’s victim down to one of three around the hotel.
BOOGIE STREET: There’s a bar around the corner, a little dive bar with sticky floors and boarded-over windows. You can taste the air in there just thinking about it - cigarette smoke and piss and cheap cologne. You’ve probably been there before. You’re probably a regular.
KIM KITSURAGI: He paces your narrow room, with its one bed - there are no other kinds, here - and peers out the broken blinds. You can see the sodium lights and neons, the flash of people and motor carriage headlights.
SAVOIR FAIRE: It looks like a party out there, and you’re stuck in here.
ELECTROCHEMSITRY: Boring.
KIM KITSURAGI: For once, the detective seems to agree. He says, “Perhaps-” and turns to look at you, where you’re sitting on the bed behind him, legs sprawled out. His gaze travels up you very slowly in a way that makes your mouth dry. “I think I will have a drink. At that bar around the corner.”
ESPRIT DE CORPS: Drinking…on duty? That’s not like Lieutenant Kitsuragi at all.
ELECTROCHEMISTRY: He needs it. Badly.
AUTHORITY: Needs you, Harry.
VOLITION: He’s starting to make mistakes. You’re compromising him.
YOU: That’s bad. That sounds bad.
HALF LIGHT: What are you talking about? That’s great. He needs you, Harry.
YOU: But…I don’t want him to hate me.
EMPATHY: I don’t think that’s very likely, detective.
SAVOIR FAIRE: Hurry up and answer the lieutenant. He’s waiting, and starting to regret saying something.
YOU: “Uh. Yeah. Yeah! I, uhm. I could use a drink.” Your mouth is pretty dry, after all. You hit him with your finger guns.
KIM KITSURAGI: He nods, approvingly.
VOLITION: I feel like we’re in Paleland right now. What is happening?
SAVOIR FAIRE: Your cock is just that good, funky-baby.
LOGIC: No - I don’t think that’s it.
ENCYCLOPEDIA: Paleland is a popular children’s book in Elysium. It features the main character - a little blonde girl - falling into the Pale, where she finds that the world is an exact mirror of Elysium, everything opposite and upside down…
ELECTROCHEMISTRY: Will you shut the fuck up about kid’s books right now?
RHETORIC: It’s not even factually accurate anyway. Dangerous, sensationalist literature, polluting our children’s minds.
ENCYCLOPEDIA: Fine. Remain uninformed and a poor conversationalist for the lieutenant. See if I help you out later while you’re flailing around for something to talk about.
PHYSICAL INSTRUMENT: I don’t think the lieutenant exactly wants to talk to us. If you get our drift.
ELECTROCHEMISTRY: Oh, yeah. He wants to have fuck with us. We get your drift. And pretty soon we’re going to get -
VOLITION: Will you lot get it the fuck together.
YOU: You and Kim go to the bar. You drink. Kim orders neat whisky, two fingers, and you follow suit when he knocks it back. You each order another and drink them more slowly.
ESPRIT DE CORPS: Kim leans against the bar and starts talking about the case in a low voice, keeping an eye on the patrons around you. Theories, points of entry, possible sources of information. You’re barely listening. You are the worst detective ever right now. Seriously, you’re horribly compromised, and you’re going to blow this case if you don’t get it together.
YOU: It’ll be fine. It’s two drinks. I had way more than that in Martinaise and did great. I am. The Detective. God.
ESPRIT DE CORPS: Okay. Whatever.
PERCEPTION: The bar lights are dazzling in your eyes, throwing shadows on Kim’s face, his glossy hair. He’s close, his hips angled towards you, watching your arm as you raise it to your mouth, your mouth as you lick your lips, wipe your mustache.
KIM KITSURAGI: You go to order a third drink and he frowns, grabbing your arm. “I think that’s enough while we are on duty, yes?”
AUTHORITY: As much as we hate to say this, the bino’s right.
1) Who is he to tell you what to do? You’re the detective god. Order another. For both of you. And make it a double.
2) “You’re right. We should start our patrol.”
-1 can’t think straight
-1 already half-hard
3) “You’re right. We should go back to the room to regroup.”
+1 already half-hard
+4 he’s been looking at you this whole time
+3 plenty of time
YOU: “Yes. Maybe we should, uh. We could go back to the room to regroup?”
KIM KITSURAGI: He swallows. “A very good idea, detective.”
NITE-LITE HOTEL, ROOM #313: You pull Kim into your shitty and smelly room where the lights are still out and onto the bed. You start kissing him, big wet things to his neck that make him shiver and grind down against you.
PERCEPTION: The neons and streetlights pour in through the blinds, striping Kim’s body with light. He’s beautiful. Of course he is, he always is.
PERCEPTION: But - the bed is squeaking. And loudly, too.
HALF LIGHT: And you are clearly two RCM officers in a notoriously dangerous neighborhood.
KIM KITSURAGI “Harry-” he says.
REACTION SPEED: “On it,” you say. You roll the two of you off the bed onto the filthy carpet below, landing on your back, Kim on top of you. “See?” you grin up at him, and, bracing your feet on the floor, hump up into him to prove your point.
KIM KITSURAGI: He pushes back down into you. He’s as desperate for it as you are - maybe more. He’d been the one to suggest the bar after all, hadn’t he? And he lets you pull his clothes off rapidly.
YOU: “Fuck, I, ah, I don’t have any lube-”
KIM KITSURAGI: “It’s fine,” he says, breathless, “I don’t need it,” and grinds down into you again.
PAIN THRESHOLD: That’s not exactly true.
SAVOIR FAIRE: Might we suggest something? *You* could be the lube.
YOU: But how can I be the lube?
CONCEPTUALIZATION: A lurid photograph from a dirty magazine you’d perused recently pops into your head.
YOU: “Kim, get up here,” you say, pulling at him with your superior masculine strength.
KIM KITSURAGI: “What-”
YOU: “Sit on my face.”
KIM KITSURAGI: “Harry.”
SAVOIR FAIRE: Prim and proper Kitsuragi is a little shocked.
ELECTROCHEMISTRY: Remember - you’re not all that drunk, are you? Neither of you are. And the way you just casually suggested eating his ass out -
YOU: “Please?”
KIM KITSURAGI: A shuddering noise. And then movement, divesting of clothing -
YOU: You pull him to you. As he kneels overtop you, you give his cock a hearty lick. It’s hard from this angle - he’s facing away from you, hands and knees on the dirty carpet - but he’s leaking already. You mouth at his balls, and then, spreading him wide - he suppresses a shiver - you nose at him, and then lick a long stripe from his balls over his asshole, flicking your tongue over it.
KIM KITSURAGI: He yelps a little, then stifles it. “Harry,” he says reproachfully.
YOU: You mumble something to the effect of, just trust me, Kim, but it’s muffled. And then you get to work. It’s not graceful, and it’s messy as fuck. Kim’s down on his forearms, whimpering and panting. You can feel his breath on your stomach as you slurp and lick, adding a finger -
INTERFACING: Sabotage! A mouth on your cock, sire!
YOU: You jump, groaning, the noise muffled. You feel Kim smile around your cock. He squeezes your shin, and then swallows you.
KIM KITSURAGI: You go on long enough that he pulls off you, gasping. His thighs are shaking above you, tiny little mewling noises that are cut off -
COMPOSURE: He has a hand over his mouth, hard. He can’t believe the noises he’s making, can’t believe you’re doing this to him. Can’t believe he’s getting eaten out while on duty on a ratty hotel floor -
INLAND EMPIRE: Nothing like this has ever happened to Kim Kitsuragi before.
VOLITION: Because he’s never let it. Kim’s desires are expressed appropriately and quietly, tasteful assignations in his younger days, tapering off in what he calls his mature age. He tells himself he no longer needs it. There’s a certain pleasure he takes in mastering his desires. His one cigarette a day.
ELECTROCHEMISTRY: But when he looks at you, your hands, your broad shoulders, your long and skinny legs - when he hears your rasp on the telephone - when you’re like this, so desperate to please, so eager - he can’t stop himself.
YOU: Panting, you push on Kim’s thigh, and he rises immediately, allowing you to shuffle -
ENDURANCE: And gasp for air -
YOU: And push two fingers inside him, fucking him slowly.
KIM KITSURAGI: He is extremely hard, leaking, and you catch some of it on your tongue as you finger him. He whines a little, stilling his hips in a movement, caught jerking between your mouth and your hand. KIM KITSURAGI: “We don’t have all night,” he pants.
YOU: “We don’t?”
KIM KITSURAGI: “We are working a case, detective.”
YOU: You groan and finger-fuck him once more, then pull your fingers out and wipe them on the carpet.
NITE-LITE CARPET: Oh, gee, thanks, pal. Thanks a fucking lot.
KIM KITSURAGI: He kneels above you - you hold your cock in your fist as he sinks down -
PAIN THRESHOLD: A widening of his nostrils, an intake of air, is the only sign.
ENDURANCE: You didn’t do a good enough job, Harry.
YOU: You pet his side with your free hand. “Fine,” he gasps, “it’s fine, Harry-”
KIM KITSURAGI: He meets your fist, which you pull away, and he sinks down on you slow, so slowly. You let out a little sob when you bottom out and he puts a hand on your chest, head bowed. “Please,” he says, “one moment.”
PHYSICAL INSTRUMENT: We will literally die if we cannot fuck the lieutenant this second.
ENCYCLOPEDIA: I don’t think you know what the word literally means.
RHETORIC: Actually, pretty sure Coach does.
PAIN THRESHOLD: Wait, you fucking animal.
YOU: You wait. Kim is extremely hot and tight around you and you run your hands up his body. He’s flagging, but as you touch him - his chest, his arms, his thighs, rubbing at the base of his cock - he lets out a half-grunt and begins to fill back out again. And then he moves his hips -
KIM KITSURAGI: He lands hard on his hands, leaning over you, puts a hand on your mouth. “Quiet,” he hisses in your ear and you just nod and make small noises against his hand. And he starts to move.
YOU: You brace your feet against the floor and fuck up into him, but let him set the pace. He rides you slowly, finding the right angle. When he get it, he lets out a half-noise, throws his head back, and moves.
PERCEPTION: The streetlights coming in, all broken up by the blinds - falling through the window directly on Kim like a piece of stained glass - if you look hard enough, you can see his lungs.
VISUAL CALCULUS: Fuck, he’s so beautiful coming apart like this. Disheveled and desperate, the flash of his glasses in the dark -
YOU: Why doesn’t he take them off?
VISUAL CALCULUS: He wants to see you.
YOU: Why?
PERCEPTION: [KIM KITSURAGI]: You spread out beneath him, massive and hairy, gasping and pleading. That look in your eyes, like - like -
YOU: “God, Kim, I love you.”
KIM KITSURAGI: He gasps, eyes widening, and comes all over you.
NITE-LITE CARPET: And all over meeeeeeee………
YOU: You grab Kim’s hips and pull him down, hard onto you. He gasps, and you come deep inside him, groaning. He slaps a hand over your mouth - a little gritty from the carpet - but only half-heartedly.
NITE-LITE HOTEL, ROOM #313: You lay there, feeling the dirty hotel carpet on your back, Kim still kneeling over you, panting. The world comes back in, slowly. Your breaths sync up - your lungs moving together. Kim reaches forward, slowly, reaching out - he brushes your hair off your forehead - trails his fingers down into your chops -
PERCEPTION: Noise from outside. Breaking glass, a gunshot, screams.
KIM KITSURAGI: “Fuck!” he says, and pushes himself off you - you both whimper - and to his feet. He starts scrambling for his clothes. So do you. “Shit, shit, shit,” he’s saying, as he flings the door open, gun in hand, and you on his tail. “I knew it was a mistake, I knew it-”
YOU: Heart sinking into the pit of your stomach -
SAVOIR FAIRE: And extremely sticky everywhere -
YOU: You follow him.
≠≠
YOU: You get a royal dressing down from Captain Pryce after you leave the lazareth and troop up to his office like a pair of beaten dogs.
ESPRIT DE CORPS: Captain Pryce doesn’t know about the sex, of course. All he knows is that his two finest officers -
RHETORIC: Or so he says, but you don’t quite believe him, not when he says it in that tone of voice -
ESPRIT DE CORPS: Were drinking on the job, and let yet another robbery happen right under your noses. While they were drunk.
PAIN THRESHOLD: *And* one of you had gotten hurt.
PHYSICAL INSTRUMENT: You broke your elbow when you tripped chasing a suspect. Who you lost when Kim skidded to a stop, crouching beside you as you moaned like a stuck pig, holding your arm. Toughen up, soldier.
CAPTAIN PRYCE: “Du Bois, I thought we had agreed that the 41st has had enough of cleaning up your messes.”
ELECTROCHEMISTRY: You might have agreed. We didn’t.
AUTHORITY: Hey, asshole, maybe shut the fuck up on this one? You got us into this.
VOLITION: No. All of us did.
YOU: Can you all just shut up? Please?
KIM KITSURAGI: Kim steps forward. His face is as neutral as you have ever seen it. “Captain, it was my suggestion in the first place. I apologize. I never should have let it go so far. That is entirely my responsibility. The blame should fall on me, and not on Lieutenant Double Yefreitor Du Bois.”
RHETORIC: Why do we get the feeling he’s not just talking about losing the suspect?
PAIN THRESHOLD: Psst. Hey. He’s got rug burn on his palms and knees. Under the gloves and pants. Just so you know.
YOU: Thanks. Not really sure what I can do with that.
EMPATHY: Maybe you can kiss it and make it better?
CAPTAIN PRYCE: “Thank you, Lieutenant Kitsuragi, I believe I am more than capable of making my own judgement calls on who to blame. Both of you are pulling overtime duty until we catch these thieves. And another month after that.” He studies you - Kim ramrod-straight, hands behind his back, and you slouching beside him. Every time you edge closer to Kim, Kim takes a half-step away. “Go home,” he says. “Come back on Monday, okay? Sober. I never thought I would have to tell you that, Kitsuragi,” he says, as he ushers you out of the room.
YOU: You follow Kim down to the locker rooms for a change of clothes, babbling at his back. “Wow, uhm. We got off lucky there. So do you want to, um, maybe get something to eat, or….”
YOU: You trail off. You’re not really hungry, not with the painkillers, but you figure you should probably eat something. And eating something, together, is a step towards getting Kim to come back to your place, and maybe, then, if you’re injured, he won’t leave in the morning? Maybe he could stay? You do have off until Monday.
PAIN THRESHOLD: You are injured. And so is he! You could kiss his rug burn better!
KIM KITSURAGI: He shuts his locker firmly and turns to look at you.
PERCEPTION: Wow. Uhm. Kim’s eyes are pretty red. Why is that?
COMPOSURE: He feels like crying, and he fucking hates himself for it.
YOU: “Hey, Kim - hey, hey-” you reach out for his shoulder with your good hand.
KIM KITSURAGI: He knocks your hand off, roughly. “No,” he says, “No, this is what got us into this - deplorable lack of professionalism in the first place.”
RHETORIC: Deplorable?
ESRRIT DE CORPS: I mean, you’re not suggesting you fuck in the locker room.
ELECTROCHEMISTRY: Although….something about this place seems…familiar….
VOLITION: Honestly, if the two of you didn’t have to keep inventing excuses to get drunk and fuck, this probably wouldn’t have happened. You could try having sex like normal people?
HALF LIGHT: What’s that?
KIM KITSURAGI: He looks at you. “No. No, detective, I do not want to get something to eat. I want to go home, and come back on Monday, and do my job. And no more of - this-” he says, gesturing between you. “It was a terrible idea. I knew better.”
YOU: “I, uhm. I didn’t,” you add, helpfully.
KIM KITSURAGI: Something passes over his face like sadness. “Yes,” he says. “I know.”
YOU: “Wait! You didn’t take advantage of me or anything.”
KIM KITSURAGI: He almost smiles. You can see it. You take a half-step forward - and he twists out of your reach. “Goodnight, detective,” he says. “I will see you on Monday. Sober, like the Captain said.” His voice is firm.
YOU: You watch him go, then slump down on the worn wooden bench.
HALF LIGHT: You know - this is because you told him you loved him.
YOU: Is it?
LOGIC: Yes.
ELECTROCHEMISTRY: You know what you should do?
VOLITION: Go home, take a shower, go to sleep, and call Kim in the morning?
ELECTROCHEMISTRY: BZZZZT. WRONG ANSWER. You should go out and drink! The sling might get you a free drink at le Chien. The bartender there likes you. And, hey, you can still show up sober on Monday!
YOU: You push yourself to your feet, and make your way upstairs and towards the street.
≠≠
YOU: You call Kim in the morning, and in the afternoon, and twice in the evening. He doesn’t pick up, any of the times. Or the following morning.
HALF LIGHT: It’s happening again…
ESPRIT DE CORPS: Kim Kitsuragi tries to keep himself busy. He washes the Kineema twice and waxes it once. He goes to the grocery store. He even goes for a run. He hates going for runs. He tries a complicated recipe that he fucks up and forces himself to eat. He avoids looking at the phone carefully, especially when it rings.
VOLITION: No, you know what? Fuck this. Go see him. He can ignore your phone calls, but he can’t ignore you on his doorstep, can he?
LOGIC: I feel that thinking like this is going to drive him to Mirova…
HALF LIGHT: Great. He can’t take the Kineema with him. Then, you can drive yourself in the sea - sober, this time, so you don’t fuck it up - and all your problems are solved.
VOLITION: I feel like maybe this is not the best train of thought, here.
HALF LIGHT: I feel like if you had done your fucking job in the first place, none of this would be happening. I warned you. I told you something bad would happen. See? This shit is scary.
YOU: You stop by the Frittte on your way to Kim’s, and take the three bus transfers, and show up sometime in the early evening with a bottle of wine under each arm. Or, well, one under your good arm, and one tucked into the sling.
PERCEPTION: You can hear the sound of Kim’s radio inside, turned low.
EMPATHY: SAD FM. You need to knock and put this man out of his misery.
YOU: You knock.
PERCEPTION: A pause. The radio turning down even further. Then, footsteps. A sigh, just on the other side of the door. Then Kim swings the door open.
KIM KITSURAGI: “Detective,” he sighs, and then he sees the bottles. His ears color. “What is this?”
YOU: “I, uh. Can I come in?”
KIM KITSURAGI: He moves aside and lets you in, shutting the door behind you.
KIM KITSURAGI: “Harry, I told you-” His arms are crossed over his chest.
CONCEPTUALIZATION: He is a brick wall.
VOLITION: Just do it. Cut him off, start talking. If you don’t start now, you never well.
YOU: “The thing is, Kim, I don’t really want to drink these.” You gesture awkwardly. “I mean, well, I do - I always want to drink, that never goes away - but I don’t want to have to drink them, to, you know. Sleep with you.”
DRAMA: Give him the eyes.
YOU: You give him the eyes.
KIM KITSURAGI: Is he having a stroke, or something…? he thinks.
YOU: “I think what happened, the other night, when we messed up. It’s because we keep making these excuses. But we don’t have to make excuses, Kim. Unless - you want to.” You huff.
HALF LGIHT: Run. Now. Don’t show him your soft underbelly. What are you thinking?
KIM KITSURAGI: He looks at you, his eyes very dark, mouth half-open. Out of his plainclothes, he is wearing sweatpants and a loose t-shirt. His hair is loose. He looks - he looks -
CONCEPTUALIZATION: He looks like you want to hold him close in your arms and tell him you love him.
EMPATHY: He looks like he wants that to happen too.
YOU: “Kim, I meant what I said. That I love you.”
KIM KITSURAGI: A half-intake of breath. “Harry,” he says.
YOU: “No, it’s okay, I - I do. I didn’t just say that because I was drunk or whatever. I wasn’t even that drunk. I haven’t been, really, aside from the first two times. Those were. Whew.” You make a face.
KIM KITSURAGI: “No. Me neither.” He swallows.
COMPOSURE: This has cost him something to admit. Tit for tat, Harry.
YOU: “It’s scary for me. Being drunk made it easier, at first.”
KIM KITSURAGI: Something very soft and open on his face. He takes a step closer, uncrosses his arms from his chest. “Yes. It is scary, isn’t it?”
HALF LIGHT: It’s terrifying.
YOU: “But I’ve been thinking…I want to try it…not drunk. If - that is - if you want to.”
KIM KITSURAGI: His eyes flick over you once, twice.
ELECTROCHEMISTRY: Hunger.
KIM KITSURAGI: He licks his lips, steps even closer. “Yes. Me too.”
YOU: “Great.” You let out a watery little disbelieving laugh. “Only, uh, can you take these bottles from me? I can’t really-” you gesture, awkwardly, with your sling.
KIM KITSURAGI: “Of course.” He pulls the bottle out from your sling, from under your arm, sets them down. Then he steps close and kisses you. One hand on either side of your face, up on his toes a little, his mouth warm and soft on yours.
YOU: You groan into his mouth and pull him close with your good arm. You give him all you’ve got - all the disco charm, all your fear, everything you feel when you look at him.
KIM KITSURAGI: He tugs you by the good hand into his bedroom. The balcony door is open, and the city pours in - the blinking lights of the Coalition airships, the ships far out to sea, the breeze, fishy and salty, from the water. He kisses you for a long time like that, in the twilight. He undresses you slowly, unbuttoning your shirt and pushing it off.
SAVOIR FAIRE: It bunches up, awkwardly, around your sling. You start messing with it. “Leave, it,” he says against your mouth. “Lay down on your back.” He pushes you down gently, climbing on top of you.
PERCEPTION: Kim’s a little more reserved, like this. A little stiffer. He’s silent, no gasps or moans, just the sound of shuffling fabric, of your breaths, your wet mouths.
COMPOSURE: He’s self-conscious. He’s not as cool as you think he is, Harry.
SAVOIR FAIRE: False. Kim Kitsuragi is the coolest motherfucker around.
YOU: You kiss him all over until he’s trembling, rising up on your knees to do so, and then you do it all again with tongue, until he softens in your hands, sprawled on top of the quilt, naked and looking at you with dark eyes.
PHYSICAL INSTRUMENT: It’s hard, like this. Terrifying. He’s looking right into you.
VOLITION: Yes. But it’s nice, too, isn’t it?
YOU: You take a deep breath, then another. You feel shaky. Nervous.
KIM KITSURAGI: “Alright?” he says, and pushes your hair behind your ear.
YOU: “Yeah, uh. Disco.” You leer at him. He shakes his head and pulls you down against him.
HALF LIGHT: Kim hates this. He hates you. He will leave you.
ESPRIT DE CORPS: No. Trust your partner. You’ve done this before. He’s not angry, he doesn’t hate you. There’s no reason this can’t be as good as before. Even better.
YOU: What if I’m no good at it?
ELECTROCHEMISTRY: Look at him. At how hard he is, how he keep reaching for you. Even if you’re no good, he still likes it.
YOU: You kiss and touch each other for a long time, long enough that the streetlights come on outside, the dusk fading to full dark. When it gets dark, you start talking to Kim, telling him things. Everything you like about him. You run your hands on his body to prove it. He gasps once, softly, against your ear. “That’s it,” you say, “please, Kim, let me hear you.”
KIM KITSURAGI: And he does. A little. Finally, at long last, he pushes inside you, careful to keep his weight off your bad arm. When he’s all the way in, you pet his back with your good hand, and look up at him. The look in his eyes -
INLAND EMPIRE: It’s like he can’t believe it. His eyes are darting all over your face.
KIM KITSURAGI: His hips move slowly. He fills you up.
HALF LIGHT: There’s no room to be terrified, or at least, not much - not with Kim’s weight grounding you, and Kim inside you, and his arms around you.
KIM KITSURAGI: “Harry,” he says into your ear, gasping as his hips move quicker, stuttering, “Harry.”
YOU: “Kim, I love you,” you say.
KIM KITSURAGI: He closes his eyes.”None of that, now.” His voice is quiet, just a breath across your open mouth.
KIM KITSURAGI: He doesn’t mean it, but it’s hard for him to hear sober.
PAIN THRESHOLD: A feeling wells up inside him suddenly, so fast and hard he thinks it’ll crack his ribs.
CONCEPTUALIZATION: His lungs swelling. About to burst.
YOU: And even when you close your eyes, you can see the glow coming from his chest - and yours -
HALF LIGHT: - and you let him take you over the edge. It’s not scary at all.
CONCEPTUALIZATION: Or if it is, it’s scary like - like going too fast in the Kineema, or getting up to sing karaoke and seeing Kim in the audience, or waking up in the Whirling-in-Rags and seeing Kim’s halo above you. Sunrise, parabellum.
YOU: It’s not so bad, when Kim’s with you. And he is, here, falling apart in your arms.