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Jin had brought roses, because he always brings roses. He thinks Kame likes fucking with the expectations of the holiday, the way he's sure that there's a cake thick with cream and strawberries in the fridge waiting for dessert. Jin's just glad tradition means he knows what to bring.

Kame's always insisted on having a date night as close to Christmas Eve as possible. It's almost a tradition itself that they can't meet up on the twenty-fourth, and this year they were both working (at least Jin managed to swing being in Japan, even if it means that Jin has a single out in less than a week, and a radio show tomorrow and a Johnny's photoshoot, and an interview the day after with a magazine he can't remember the title of, and how dumb is that--)

"They smell great."

"Uh--?"

Jin looks over to Kame, catches the end of what was probably a flirty smile over the blossoms. The roses are the exact shade of Kame's lipstick, but that's not why Jin's not sure what Kame said at all.

His distraction gets him raised eyebrows, but all Kame says is: "Thank you. For the flowers."

"Uh, yeah. No problem."

Kame walks out of the kitchen area; Jin follows him. The low dining table is already set for two with Kame's best silver and table ware, long stemmed glasses for wine and shorter, thicker glasses for water. Table dressed to the nines, to match the suits they're wearing.

Kame puts the roses in the centre, moving aside a small black box bound up with a red ribbon. Red, like the roses, and the sharp arc of Kame's mouth. It's easier keeping his hands to himself if Jin doesn't look.

It's hard not to look.

This is the first time Jin's been home since August and before then it was February. Yeah, they've talked in between and, this is Kame, they've talked about sex. They've talked about sex a lot. They've talked about what they were wearing, and not wearing, and Kame's told Jin in fantastic detail everything he wants to do with Jin when Jin's finally home again. More than they have time for, but hey, it's nice to have options, right? But tonight Kame doesn't seem to be having any trouble keeping his hands to himself.

Kame was cooking, so Jin didn't get a kiss in the genkan, or stray touches to his abs or the small of his back as Kame helped him out of his coat. Kame's expression, Kame's smile (red, red lips--): there's nothing there that says he's upset with Jin, but, well, Kame's the handsy one. Kame's the flirty one. If they had had to wait for Jin to make a move, this wouldn't be four years and change, even if it's nearly two long distance. Four years is a lot--

"Jin?"

"Um-- uh, it smells good," he says. He puts his hand down; stops touching his tie, the collar of his shirt. Fuck, this is Kame, and how long has he been watching Jin, waiting for a response. "The, uh, I mean, you know, the, uh-- food."

Flirty's long gone off Kame's face, and he's just Kame, someone Jin recognises even in the tailored lines of his suit and artfully tousled hair, the hairspray that'll wash out in the shower before they, you know-- Kame bends, reaching across the table in one fluid movement, to pick up the little black box. He holds it out to Jin.

Back by the stove, back by the curry, Kame tells Jin to open the box before apologising and turning back to stirring the pot.

Inside, it's black leather on scrunched up red paper, leather maybe the width of Jin's thumb, with silver skulls and crossbones every inch around. The skulls have little sparkly red hearts on them. He must have got the collar from a pet shop. A really boutique petshop. The kind that doesn't ask for specifics when you tell them how big your dog is.

Kame's been teasing Jin about looking like his dog, this haircut, that's only been in newspapers so far. He even got Jin to bark at him the last time they, well-- Jin's glad they both use headsets when they call each other. The dog stuff had seemed sort of cute, then, one of those weird things Kame talks Jin into that would be too embarrassing to ever tell someone but had actually felt pretty good. At the time, and until right now. Jin should have seen this coming.

He left his sunglasses in his coat. Because it was Kame, just Kame. Who is pushing hair back over his ears, sweat shine on his face from cooking.

"So," Kame starts, drawing out the syllable, smiling with the corners of his lips, like the fucking dog collar in Jin's hand is the best joke ever. "Do you... like--" No wonder Kame isn't touching him; he must think Jin's haircut is ridiculous.

Kame's little box clatters on the floor.

"Look, I don't know what's in right now, not here, I got in, like last week, and I just said, you know, shorter. But I didn't want it too short, cut too much off. Supposed to be pretty, but not too pretty, and fuck, I just-- it's not like I took a old picture of Pin and said, hey, that's what I want-- I've got CDTV's Countdown, did I tell you; and so does Pi, but it's not like we're allowed to even stand next to each other-- I can't get my hair cut before then, and what can they do? Maybe cut off more, and--"

"Jin, breathe."

Kame's hand on Jin's arm is burning, tight around Jin's bicep. He steps forward into Jin's space, and Jin's body locks, doesn't know to go forward or back, because it's Kame, but Kame doesn't freeze like this, doesn't chase thoughts around his head until he doesn't have words, not Japanese, not English--

"Kame--"

"Just breathe."

Eyes shut, it's just two guys breathing, the simmering of the curry and then the thick vanilla scent of Kame's cologne. Kame smells like a girl-- if he kissed Jin with those rouged lips, he'd taste like a girl-- but the hand on the back of Jin's neck has blisters from baseball bats, and guitars, and fucking ridiculous wire stunts.

It's only Kame's hands: on his arm, and threading through the hair at the back of Jin's neck. They're not touching anywhere else. Not until Jin tips forward, sort of stumbling, and then Kame's a nice warm wall in front of him and there's heat steadying him from behind, too, soaking through the thin fabric of Jin's dress shirt. If it wasn't tucked in, they'd be touching skin to skin.

"I like your hair like this," Kame says. His voice is a whisper in the shell of Jin's ear. "I like the colour against your skin, and over your eyes. I like the length, how it falls over your cheekbones."

His thumb brushes down from behind Jin's ear, the very back of his jaw.

"I like that it looks soft. Like I could bury my face in it."

Jin turns his face into Kame's neck, winding his arm around Kame's back. Kame's hand tangles tighter in Jin's hair. Jin bites down on a noise in his throat.

"I like the way the perm's falling out, that looks like you just woke up, next to me-- or that we'd just finished having sex."

Kame sounds like they'd just finished having sex, his whisper dropping into a register that seem to vibrate loose something in Jin's chest. And his shoulders. With more of Jin's weight falling forward, Kame swings them round, carrying them both with all those muscles hidden under the crisp magazine spread fabric of his shirt. Jin wraps his other arm around Kame's neck as Kame pushes him against the cupboards.

The collar's still tight in Jin's fist. It feels supple, flexible. Like Kame's Louis Vuitton jacket that Jin still hasn't given back yet. The jacket smells like leather, but sometimes Jin pretends it still smells of Kame.

"Ok, so--" Jin's mumbling, but if he lifted his head, he'd be licking one of Kame's ears. Kame smells like Kame, like sweat and vanilla and hairspray. "My haircut's a turn on, so you bought a dog collar?"

"I thought you liked Thursday night," Kame says, and maybe he doesn't mean it like an accusation, doesn't mean to make Jin wonder about the expression on Kame's face while his electronic voice had told Jin just how to touch himself, what Kame had really thought when Jin's half of the conversation was down to pants and barks down the phone line; Kame had just told him he was doing everything so well-- that he was a good dog.

Jin tries twice, because there's nothing in Kame's voice, or the slow pass of his hand over the small of Jin's back, that says this is a trap. He tries twice, and swallows, and thinks, fuck it, and goes with the words that don't burn in his throat.

"But, just-- you tell me what to do all the time, I mean-- I just-- It's a dog collar, Kame. Can you just tell me what you were thinking?"

Looking up means meeting Kame's eyes, the colour blooming on his cheekbones and the careless press of Kame's teeth into his bottom lip.

"Dogs don't talk. You didn't have to-- you wouldn't have to talk. I thought-- I thought you'd like that."

"All we need is body language...?"

"Yes." Kame nods. "But we don't--"

"Yeah, ok."

"Ok? What--?"

Jin lets go, just meaning to get his arms free, but he bends back over the counter, bending in a way he really shouldn't, and Kame can see Jin wincing, because he scoots back so fast that his back knocks into the counter on the other side. Not that you can see it in Kame's face. He's still got his hands out for Jin.

"Are you ok?"

"Yeah, fine." Jin's hip hurts, but it always hurts and that's so not what Jin wants to talk about right now. He holds out the collar for Kame to take. "So, what are you waiting for?"

Kame's fingers ghost over the line of Jin's jaw, down to the tiny buttons of Jin's dress shirt, slipping them out, one by one. Holding still like this with nothing to do, nothing to say, makes Jin's skin shiver. It makes him want to shut his eyes because Kame's so close, the tip of his tongue sliding over red, red lips, but his intense focus is on Jin's neck, below where Jin can see.

Jin whines, because he can; no one expects a dog to be quiet. It gets him a quirked eyebrow, a scratch behind one of his ears, and then Kame's fingers are back to his throat, back to the buttons. He slides away the knot of Jin's tie so easy he doesn't feel it, just Kame's fingers touching Jin's skin inside his shirt-collar, peeling the fabric away. Jin's throat is bare, and Kame's too close for Jin to see his expression, just feel his breath as Kame leans down even closer to slide the leather strip behind Jin's neck.

Jin gasps and then whimpers, Kame's lips on his pulse-point. Pain is a Kame thing, but Jin can match him for stubborn. He knows how to breathe through it, hands clenched into fists.

Kame pulls back, and Jin doesn't know how Kame's fingers can be co-ordinated enough to fasten the buckle around Jin's neck. His lipstick's smudged, and his eyes are looking bright against liner. He looks like Jin's going back to Narita tomorrow, not in three weeks.

"Kame--?"

Kame dips down, but Jin goes down, too. He only hits the corner of Kame's mouth, but then Kame's got his hands in Jin's hair and his tongue in Jin's mouth. Fuck, why have they been dancing around each other since Jin walked in? Kame presses his knee between Jin's legs. Jin grabs Kame's broad shoulders for balance. Kame's cologne is making Jin dizzy in the best way, vanilla, sweat, leather-- and smoke.

They look back at the curry at the same time.

Kame swears, grabs the pot, drops it in the sink. Smoke fizzles to steam under the spray of the tap. Kame flicks a switch to turn the fan on the stove all the way up.

Jin rubs his hands up and down his arms. "We've still got the cake you made."

"I had the cake delivered," Kame says, head tipped back and eyes deliberately wide and blinking in a way Jin recognises. "And the curry was a packet mix. I didn't have time-- This is our night. This was supposed to be-- Ngh!"

Kame kicks the cupboard door, once. It rattles on the door hinges as Kame turns off the tap over the sink, water already spilling out of the pot. The smell of burnt is going to linger, but they didn't set off the smoke alarm.

"Ok." Kame exhales, and that's that.

"I haven't been home to eat all week. I got coffee for the morning, but--" Kame opens a cupboard, drops to a crouch on his feet, bent knees, and the fabric of his pants pulls tight over his ass. Which is bouncing, as Kame goes through the shelves. There's no reason not to look.

"I don't know what I've even still got here. Nothing fresh, obviously, but maybe I can come up with-- how hungry are you right now?"

Kame looks up, and Jin can feel the weight of Kame's eyes moving up Jin's body, his legs, his chest and lingering just below before finding Jin's face. Jin can feel the collar every time he swallows.

"I like the way it looks on you," Kame says. "Trust me, Jin. I do. So much more than I can say."

"Wan-wan," Jin barks, holding his hands up-- and shaking his ass, like if he had a tail. The flush on his face is worth it for Kame's expression.

Kame's eyes don't make it all the way back down to Jin's feet. Dress trousers over boxers, and Kame was just kissing him. Jin shuffles his feet to stand wider, to let Kame look. Embarrassed isn't the same as ashamed.

"We can eat the cake after," Kame says, hand gripping the counter-top, pulling himself to standing. Jin loves how much baseball Kame is playing. He holds a hand out for Jin to take. "It'll keep."

Kame's fingers are warm laced through Jin's, and his tongue is hot, tracing the leather around Jin's throat. Jin's pulled the tails of Kame's shirt out of his pants before they make it across the room. He's trusting Kame to navigate; it's Kame's apartment.

"You seriously come up with the best plans."

Kame's mouth is occupied, so he just snorts, and kicks the door to his bedroom open behind Jin.