Kame's across the room, the alcove with the St. Andrew's cross bolted to the wall. Every thud of the flogger makes Jin's stomach turn over. He can't hear what Kame whispers when he leans close to Tegoshi's ear, but Tegoshi's loud. The whole room can hear his throaty groans, that he keeps asking if that's all Kame's got.
Maybe that's all Kame wants to give you, Jin thinks, smoothing down his skirts and wiping the sweat from his palms. Jin doesn't have to watch. Kame didn't say he had to. Kame's just a friend, and Jin's just keeping his seat warm as a favour. Friends do things like that, right?
Kame turns half-way, glancing along the line of his shoulder, dark-rimmed eyes straight at Jin. The grin on Kame's face makes Jin's stomach turn over, too. He holds up three fingers, three strokes left plus whatever time it takes to get Tegoshi down and back over with his friends.
Tegoshi's a brat and loud, but he gets points in Jin's mental ranking of Kame's regular play partners because at least he doesn't like aftercare. That's why Jin's already out of Kame's chair and sashaying over to the bar.
Jin tells Pi he wants a glass of wine. "Red? Something that tastes kind strong. Um, French, maybe?"
Pi looks like he's trying not to laugh, but he pours Jin an inch of something the colour of Jin's favourite crushed velvet skirt. Jin likes the first two glasses, but rejects them both as too sweet. They're not what he remembers.
"Trying out your dominant side?" Pi teases, and Jin just rolls his eyes. He'd flinch to hear that from one of the club doms, but Pi's like Jin; he just wants a Princess rather than a Prince Charming.
The next glass is perfect. Jin can't describe the flavour the way Kame can, but his eyes closed with that sip in his mouth takes him back a week, Kame's hand on his shoulder to steady him, Kame's wineglass held against his lips. Jin swallows, and blinks his eyes open.
"Mm. Ok, this one."
Across the room, Kame unties Tegoshi's wrists and ankles. Tegoshi just hops himself down off the frame and shimmies his gold hot pants back on, as if his skin hasn't got red stripes between his neck and his knees.
"You know, I get paid to let people order me around and bring them drinks, right?"
"He's not making me do anything." Jin wishes, for not the first time, that skirts had pockets or that pirate wenches wore sunglasses. Only half his wardrobe is this pretty. "Look, if we hit Roppongi, I buy a round, you buy a round. Friends do that."
"If you're friends, that's great. Kamenashi seems like a good guy." Pi's expression is gentle. "But he's playing with the switches, Jin, you know that, right?"
"I'm not confused about what he likes, ok?"
Jin's only known Kame for four months. He'd come in with Ueda, but where Ueda topped in cardigans and capri pants, Kamenashi had come in with a black tricorn with red plume dropping from the band, buttoned and braided captain's coat over a gold brocade vest, over a white linen shirt, a lurid red sash belting his narrow waist. It was outrageous, and wonderful.
Jin was in magenta velvet and white ruffles, gold hoops dropping from his ears, what Pi called Jin's (Pillow) Queen of Pirates cosplay. It wasn't a theme night. It seemed like fate. Kame had held his hand out for Jin's, easy with demand that Jin stand and take it, and he'd caressed the delicate vulnerable bend of Jin's wrist with slow, sure sweeps of his thumb.
And then Ueda had interrupted to introduce them.
Kame flops into the armchair, loose-limbed and grinning, sweat shining on his forehead. He rolls his shoulders, forward and back, but Jin knows there's no point offering a shoulder rub. Kame's scene will have gotten the tension out of him. Tegoshi can take a lot. Kame's probably not going to go looking for anyone else tonight.
Jin watches Kame reach over for the wine glass Jin set on the coffee table. "Mmmm. Jin, this is delicious." Jin looks at his feet, loose hair falling to cover the heat spreading around his smile.
Kame sits up, leaning forward, still sipping slowly from the glass. He slides his knees smoothly together and to the side, patting the edge of seat-cushion with his free hand. Jin drops to the floor.
Jin's never elegant to start with like this, too quick to land with anything but a mess of skirts. He fixes that while he fixes his pose. And then Kame's fingers are creeping into Jin's hair, cupping the back of Jin's head and drawing him against strong solid line of Kame's legs. Jin's glad that his skin's good, that he doesn't need foundation, so he can smush his cheek into the body warmth of Kame's trousers.
"My round next time," Kame says, and then he says nothing at all, neatly manicured fingernails scratching Jin's scalp, fingertips kneading the tense column of Jin's neck. Jin's always had trouble with fidgeting, but he could sit like this for hours. He has.
All Jin can see of Kame like this is his boots. Kame wouldn't have to hit him, Jin thinks, or tie him up. If Kame just looked him right in the eyes and told Jin to lick Kame's boots, Jin would. Even right here, in front of everyone in the club. Just thinking about it makes Jin hard. And miserable, because Jin can't even fantasise without hearing Ueda's words echoing in his mind.
"This is Jin, he doesn't do pain, doesn't do ropes. This is Kame, he doesn't fuck."
Pi's right. Jin is so screwed.