Work Text:
Kakucho frowns out the tinted car window. He recognizes the neighborhood. Not well, but enough to know the store as soon as they pass it. He throws his arm out as he realizes, smacking Ran in the chest.
“Stop here.”
“The fuck-?” Ran grunts at the impact, slamming on the breaks. Chifuyu yelps from the back seat. His phone goes flying, it thunks heavily against the dashboard.
“What the hell!” Chifuyu is leaning between the front seats in an instant, glare on Kakucho. He snatches his phone back up.
“I’m going to take a really quick detour, wait here.” Kakucho ignores the immediate protests in favor of unbuckling and throwing the door open.
“We’re already late!” Chifuyu calls out. Kakucho is already half the block down. He can hear Chifuyu storming out of the car, following after him.
Kakucho only slows his near-jog as he gets to the door of the crummy little DVD store. He doesn’t actually know if it will be worth the effort—there’s no way for him to know who’s on shift—but he wrenches the door open anyways.
The bell above the door jingles merrily. The cashier looks up with a bored expression. She attempts to lift it into a friendly smile but gives up when Kakucho turns sharply to look down the aisles.
He’s on the fourth aisle when he finds what he’s looking for.
Takemichi is squatting on the floor, a glazed look in his eyes as he shelves DVDs. His apron, as always, looks terrible. His hair is still unkempt despite promising he’d get it cut last month—before Kakucho went overseas on business.
“Hanagaki,” Kakucho greets. The bell of the door chimes again, Chifuyu’s angry footsteps right on his tail.
Takemichi looks up blankly. He blinks once. Twice. On the third the fog lifts just enough for him to recognize Kakucho. His blue eyes go wide, a happy glitter in them that had been faded and gone when Kakucho had first found him again. Takemichi had dropped off the face of the earth after middle school—impossible to find even when Kakucho had enlisted both Inui and Koko’s help.
“Kaku-Chan!” Takemichi bounces up to stand, taking a moment to brush off his apron. He glances warily over Kakucho’s shoulder—where Chifuyu is no doubt glaring down the interaction. “What brings you here–“ he cuts himself off with a gasp. “Keys!”
Takemichi spins on his heel and takes off towards a door on the back wall.
“What the fuck is all this?” Chifuyu asks the moment Takemichi turns out of sight.
“He has something of mine.” Kakucho shrugs.
“Usually retrieval of goods is Keisuke’s job.”
“It’s not work related.”
He can feel Chifuyu seething behind him. Chifuyu is a perfectly nice man, Kakucho has found—until you cut into his date nights. Kakucho is currently 30 minutes into Chifuyu’s date night.
They stand in silence for another moment before Takemichi returns, a ring of keys with a hanafuda charm sitting beside a black cat one. Takemichi had called it cute, unknowing of its true function—stabbing.
“Luckily I had these in my backpack!” Takemichi laughs awkwardly. “I was praying I didn’t get mugged when I remembered they were in there.” He hands the keys off.
“And you have Kakucho’s keys, because…?” Chifuyu asks. His voice is more curious than angry now.
“Oh, I house sit for Kaku-Chan when he travels.” Takemichi’s answer is cheery, if not a little dimmed. Kakucho has slowly come to realize that true happiness seems to be a rare emotion for the other—so he fakes it.
“The dog likes him,” Kakucho offers up the answer as he pockets the keys. He can see the unspoken question in Chifuyu’s eyes.
And you trust this guy to do that?
Yes.
Chifuyu looks Takemichi up and down before holding out a polite hand.
“Matsuno Chifuyu, I’m Kakucho’s coworker.” There’s a pleasant smile on his face, not entirely real but not concerningly false.
Takemichi returns the smile with the same energy, and reaches out to take Chifuyu’s hand. As he does, his sleeve slips, revealing the curve of his wrist.
Takemichi’s soulmark is nothing new to Kakucho, he’s seen it every time he’s seen Takemichi. The man never bothers to cover it up. Not like most of Toman do.
Kakucho watches as Chifuyu’s eyes dart down to his wrist. It’s as if the world stops for Chifuyu, eyes widening and mouth dropping open.
Before Kakucho can ask—Chifuyu is shouting wordlessly and jumping away.
<><><>
Takemichi is used to a few reactions to his soulmark. The first is indifference. It’s not a particularly outstanding soulmark. It’s beautiful, of course—yarrow flowers haloing small half-sun and half-moon graphics that frame the word “unconditional” —and it means the world to Takemichi himself. But that doesn’t mean it means anything to strangers or even friends who don’t share that mark. And none of them have.
The second reaction is polite interest, people turning his arm over to look at it. To compliment it and move on.
The third reaction is nosy interest. It doesn’t happen often and was most frequent in his youth.
He has never, however, had someone scream and drop his hand as though they’d been burned.
He blinks in shock at the man—Chifuyu, he said his name was. Even Kakucho seems startled and disturbed.
“I’m going to have to ask you to be quiet or leave,” Takemichi’s manager calls from the front. None of them mention that she’s louder than Chifuyu.
Chifuyu goes silent, but no less unnerving as he points a finger at Takemichi, giving frantic glances to Kakucho.
“Boss!” He spits out, finally. “You have to come meet our boss.”
Kakucho’s arm shoots out between them before Takemichi can even begin to process the demand.
“Chifuyu,” his tone is low—a warning. Takemichi has never heard him sound like that. “He’s not the kind of person our boss runs with.”
The conversation makes absolutely no goddamn sense to Takemichi. It’s like watching a ping-pong game but the ball just isn’t there.
“You don’t understand, this man—I’m sorry I didn’t catch your name–“
“Takemichi.”
“–Takemichi, has to come meet our boss.”
Takemichi watches the exchange, baffled. He doesn’t even really know what Kakucho does for a living. He had asked once and had gotten a really vague answer about property and shipment management advisory. Takemichi had been lost on the topic entirely.
Chifuyu stares up at Kakucho, a very pointed look in his eyes. There’s a beat of silence before hesitant understanding dawns on Kakucho’s face. Takemichi is still out of the loop. It would be frustrating, but he’s used to it.
“You cannot be serious.” Kakucho looks over to Takemichi. There’s something bordering on fearful in his eyes. It’s beyond unsettling and makes Takemichi want to crawl out of his own skin.
“Uh–“ Takemichi lifts a finger, eyes darting between them. “I’m still in the middle of my shift.” He gestures down at the unshelved DVDs.
Chifuyu and Kakucho look down at them in sync before looking back up at Takemichi.
“I’m really sorry, Take-chan—quit if you have to but you need to come with us. Right now.” Kakucho has done a complete 180 in attitude. Takemichi doesn’t know what that means but he doesn’t like it.
Someone clears their throat from the head of the aisle. The three of them turn to find Takemichi’s manager glaring them down.
“Hanagaki, you haven’t finished any of the tasks I asked of you and now you’re ditching?”
“No!” Takemichi throws his hands up to deny it. He needs this job. He cannot lose this fucking job. He will beg for it if he has to.
“Yes. Apologies, but it is unlikely he will be returning to work.”
“What!” Takemichi swivels, staring at Chifuyu in horror. Where the hell are they planning to take him? “No! No, I’m not leaving early or quitting,” he turns back to his manager. His stomach drops as he sees she’s already got her arms crossed and an eyebrow raised. Her lip is already curling up in irritation. Oh god.
“Take-chan,” Kakucho’s hand lands heavy on his shoulder. It almost knocks Takemichi off his weakening knees. Kakucho—the traitor. He knows how hard Takemichi struggles with keeping jobs. He knows how hard Takemichi struggles to make rent. “You won’t need a job if Chifuyu is right.”
“It’s not an if,” Chifuyu goes ignored.
It’s not helping. Quite frankly, it’s unbelievably ominous.
Takemichi is starting to see his life flash before his eyes. It’s pathetic and lonely. If nothing else, he’ll die how he lived.
“Right,” his manager drawls. “Hanagaki, go hang your apron up.”
“No-“
She lifts a hand to stop him.
“You’re fired.”
Takemichi falls to his knees. He’s in a haze as Kakucho helps him up and to the back room to change out of his uniform and grab his bag. His manager glares at him the entire way out of the store.
“Again, I’m really sorry about this. But you’ll see what we mean.”
Takemichi doesn’t know what the hell that means but he’s starting to think he’s in trouble. The last time he was taken somewhere with this much insistence it was a fight ring, and he’d ended up in the hospital with a broken arm and a sprained neck. He doesn’t think his twenty-six-year-old self can bounce back quite the same as his fourteen-year-old self did.
“We’ll explain in the car.” Chifuyu pulls out his phone, unbothered by Takemichi’s life falling apart around him. He hisses out a curse when he looks at the time. “Good thing I have the ultimate excuse for being late.”
“And to think you didn’t want to stop the car.”
They reach a car down the block. There’s a man in the driver’s seat frowning at them when the doors open. His hair is purple, streaked with black, and styled back over his head. It kind of matches his striped suit, Takemichi thinks.
Takemichi looks the car over, steps hesitating as new fear begins to dawn on him. That’s a nice car. Kakucho stops just ahead of him, arching an expectant brow. Chifuyu is already settling himself into the front passenger seat, leaving the back to them.
“Your boss wouldn’t happen to have gotten his car keyed in the past—say—week to month, maybe year?” he asks, words coming out in a panicked rush. Kakucho just stares at him blankly.
“No.” He says the word carefully, eyes considering Takemichi. He frowns before his lip twitches. “Hanagaki, have you been keying cars?” he asks. The humor is thick in his voice.
Takemichi hears a snort from inside the car.
“No…” he lies.
Kakucho let’s out a full laugh, clapping his hand against Takemichi’s back.
“You’re not in trouble, I promise.”
“But we will be if you keep stalling,” the driver says. He looks Takemichi up and down, like he can’t understand why Takemichi is with them. Takemichi can’t really blame him—he’s also still at a complete and total loss.
“He’s wearing cargo shorts.” The driver turns to Chifuyu with a scowl. Takemichi looks down at his own pants. They’re comfortable…
“Takashi’s problem.” Chifuyu waves a dismissive hand before resuming typing on his phone.
Kakucho gives him one final gentle push into the car as Takemichi slides into the back seat. Kakucho sits beside him, offering a small—what’s probably supposed to be reassuring—smile.
“Can…someone tell me what’s going on?” Takemichi asks as the last car door clicks shut and the driver pulls back out onto the street.
“I would also like to know,” the driver says.
“Shut up, Ran.” Chifuyu reaches over to smack the driver’s shoulder. He turns in his seat, phone placed in his lap. It’s an awkward angle, craning his neck.
“You’re sure? Like sure sure?” Kakucho asks.
“Of course I’m fucking sure. It’s kind of hard to forget the boss’s soulmark.”
Something clicks for Takemichi.
“Wait-“
“I’ve never seen it—so I just need to make sure you’re one hundred percent confident,” Kakucho says. He spells out the words slowly, like he needs Chifuyu to truly grasp them. “Because if you’re wrong…that’s on everyone in this car.”
Takemichi’s teeth click as he shuts his mouth.
“He only started covering his mark midway through highschool. It’s the same one,” Chifuyu says. His voice is hard, like his word is law.
Kakucho leans back in his seat with a long, tired sigh. Then he slowly turns his head to Takemichi.
“You have the same soulmark as our boss.”
That’s what Takemichi has been dreading since he sat down.
“You’re telling me my soulmate is some rich CEO?” Takemichi asks. It feels like a terribly executed joke. Takemichi—the man who can barely pay rent, who can barely keep his head above water. And a man who is apparently rich enough to have men driving around in fancy cars and going to Singapore for almost an entire month.
Ran whistles lowly from the front. Chifuyu turns back to face the front of the car. There’s a short beat of awkward silence.
“Kind of,” Kakucho, to his credit, is doing a valiant job of hiding his grimace.
Takemichi takes a moment as it all begins to sink in. When he’d woken up that day he'd spilled half of his flavor packet trying to open it, resulting in cheap and bland instant ramen—and now he’s sitting in a nice ass car he doesn’t even know the model of, being taken to his soulmate?
“What…what’s your boss like?” He asks, tentative.
“Scary,” Ran says from the front. Takemichi meets his eyes in the rear view mirror and finds them full of amusement, eyebrows wiggling.
Chifuyu smacks him again.
“He’s very kind and loving to the people close to him. He’ll go to vast lengths to protect his loved ones.” Chifuyu offers—a better answer. “Don’t listen to Ran or his hooligans.”
“My brother is not a hooligan!”
“He and Sanzu are absolutely hooligans.”
“Okay, you’re right on Sanzu but Rindou-“
Kakucho leans over, blocking out Chifuyu and Ran’s back-and-forth.
“He’s really stubborn and can be kind of difficult to work with but he’s a great man. He gave us all a home and a place to belong,” he says. “He’s going to love you.”
Something untwists in Takemichi’s stomach. His soulmate…the reason his mark’s word is unconditional . There should be nothing to fear.
“Also, he’s an absolute child at times,” Chifuyu butts in.
Kakucho sighs, like he’d been avoiding that detail.
“He sounds…interesting.”
He sounds more than interesting. Takemichi had given up on finding his soulmate long ago. He and Hina hadn’t been soulmates, and the realization of what that meant to his young mind urged him not to try again. He had fully resigned himself to being one of the people who just never found their soulmate. It wasn’t uncommon—but it was still sad. He had no one but himself to blame when he rarely left his house and never spoke to anyone who wasn’t a customer, his boss, or Kakucho occasionally.
Once he shoves past the chasm of a wealth gap and the shock of how it all went down, he finds himself excited. There’s a warmth blooming in him that he’d believed to have died out when he had run from everything related to his time in middle school. Everything Mizo related—everything Toman related. He’s safe from all that now. And now he is finding his soulmate.
Maybe his luck really is turning around.
Apart from getting fired, that is.
<><><>
The building they pull up to is, in every sense of the word, a skyscraper. Takemichi has to crane his neck to see how far up it goes. It’s elegant—a white marble entryway with a literal red carpet leading in through the tall glass doors. The columns are carved with swirling patterns up to the top. Takemichi doesn’t get to read the text on the awning as Chifuyu all but pushes him through the door.
The actual inside is even more intimidating. It’s a place Takemichi would get thrown out of without another word if he weren’t accompanied by men who actually look like they belong.
There’s a man leaning against the front desk, arms crossed as he watches them walk in. His hair is also purple with black streaks but it’s distinctly different. The purple is more of a lavender and the black streaks look more like highlights than Ran’s. He peers at them from over his wire framed glasses.
“This him?” The man asks, nodding to Takemichi.
“In the flesh!” Chifuyu claps his hands down on Takemichi’s shoulders, like he’s being presented.
The other man has kind eyes but Takemichi still feels judged with the way his gaze travels down and then back up.
“He’s wearing cargo shorts.”
He really cannot understand what the hang-up on his shorts is.
“Yes, that’s your problem.”
The man sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose.
“Okay, fine.” He holds out a hand to Takemichi. Takemichi moves to shake it, yelping as the man grabs him by the wrist. He yanks up Takemichi’s sleeve, squinting down at the mark. “Well, holy shit, Chifuyu,” he says, looking up at the other man. “You fucking found him.” Only then does the other man actually shake his hand.
“Mitsuya Takashi.” The name sounds vaguely familiar.
“Hanagaki Takemichi.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Hanagaki.”
It seems, with Mitsuya’s confirmation of the mark, the air in the room has changed. Takemichi can’t tell if it’s for the better. He hopes it’s for the better.
“I am To-“ Mitsuya glances over Takemichi’s shoulder, right where Chifuyu is. He squints for a moment before he turns back to Takemichi, smile just a bit strained. “I’m our association’s personal stylist and event coordinator.”
“That’s really cool,” Takemichi says. It is the only time he’s actually gotten a straight answer on what these people do for a living.
“If you follow me we’ll find something that fits you,”
Takemichi feels a record scratch in his brain.
“Wait what?”
“Well, we can’t exactly tailor anything on such short notice so we’ll make do.” Mitsuya taps at his chin in thought. He circles Takemichi, like a predator circling food.
Is Takemichi being a little dramatic? Probably. But he feels like a mouse in a den of wolves. Not even Kakucho’s familiar presence helps.
“I think you should fit some of the tops, but the pants may prove a bit of an issue,” Mitsuya says from behind him.
“What?” Takemichi cranes his neck over his shoulder, sputtering when he finds Mitsuya gesturing to his ass and Chifuyu nodding thoughtfully.
“I can fit him with a larger size and hem the cuffs-“
“Do we have that time?” Chifuyu asks. They’re both ignoring Takemichi—who is flattening his hands over his ass in an attempt to save the last scraps of his dignity. The two of them share a look Takemichi can’t read.
“Upstairs. Now.” Mitsuya turns sharply, pushing Takemichi across the sprawling lobby of soft looking couches—he thinks he sees a bar in the far corner—to the elevator.
Kakucho and Ran hang back, letting Chifuyu and Mitsuya sweep Takemichi away. Kakucho with an apologetic smile and Ran with a, bordering on flirty, wave of his fingers.
“What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?” Takemichi asks as the elevator doors close. He stares down at himself. He realizes he isn’t the most attractive guy out there and he likes to be comfortable—but why does that matter?
Mitsuya taps a finger against the button for an intimidatingly high floor. It requires a card swipe.
Chifuyu looks up from his phone with a flat expression. He looks back down at his phone, ignoring Takemichi’s question.
“The boss is in a meeting right now.”
“The moment he finds out you’re in the building he’ll be a hurricane until he gets to you.” Mitsuya places a hand on Takemichi’s shoulder with a small smile. His sweet tone does not match his words.
“In…a good way?” Takemichi cocks his head, concern spiking. What the hell has he gotten himself into?
“In a way with its own pros and cons,” Chifuyu says. He sighs as he pockets his phone. “There’s nothing wrong with what you’re wearing. He won’t care in the least-“
“He tried to wear beach sandals to my fucking auction gala.”
“Yeah, that. But it never hurts to make a good impression.” Chifuyu shrugs.
Takemichi deflates a little. It makes sense. He’d just thrown on anything that passed the sniff-test that morning. Not exactly meet-your-soulmate attire.
“Okay, yeah. Nothing too fancy.”
The elevator chimes as they reach their floor.
The doors open into what looks like a design studio. There’s rows and rows of clothing as well as tables lined with patterns and designs.
“This is my domain,” Mitsuya steps out, holding his arms out in show.
Takemichi follows in awe, taking in everything from the mannequins to the wall covered in bolts of fabric.
“This is amazing, Mitsuya!” Takemichi rounds on him, a bright smile on his face. He knows nothing about fashion or design but he can already tell Mitsuya is an expert. Mitsuya freezes under his stare, cheeks dusting a light pink. He clears his throat.
“Thank you.” Mitsuya ducks his head as he turns to one of the racks of clothing. He begins carding through them. Takemichi takes that time to wander over to the tables, looking down at the patterns.
He stops at one, squinting a little. It’s a suit concept. There’s a big “M” in the corner of the paper. But the suit itself is what makes Takemichi stop. It’s quite unassuming in terms of color and pattern. But there’s a blocked out square in the design placed exactly right to be hidden by the suit jacket, right on the belt. It looks like a gun holster.
Takemichi hums. Odd. He moves on to the next design.
<><><>
Takemichi stands obediently still while Mitsuya adjusts his collar. The first thing he’d done had been unbuttoning the top two buttons and fixing the tuck of the pastel green button up. It’s less stuffy than he expected. Takemichi hands over his arms as Mitsuya rolls up his sleeves. He pulls at the belt loops of the dark jeans, adjusting the way they sit in Takemichi’s hips.
When he’s satisfied he steps back, looking over Takemichi again. He frowns for a moment before circling to the back. Takemichi yelps as hands land on his waist.
“I think I might have done too good of a job. Maybe hiding your waist was a better idea.”
Chifuyu snorts in laughter. “What? Not keen on seeing our fearless leader go bug eyed like a horny teenager?”
Takemichi blanches.
“Excuse me,” he shifts out of Mitsuya’s hold, patting the front of the shirt down. Indignant. He isn’t too excited about his body being put under a spotlight like this—even if he does suppose they’re all debatably positive remarks. It’s only a quick moment of peace before Mitsuya is after him again. Takemichi hasn’t styled his hair since middle school, but that was cheap hairspray that felt awful to the touch. This stuff feels completely different as Mitsuya runs his hands through Takemichi’s hair, he flips the bangs up just a bit before touseling the rest.
He steps back again.
“Perfect!”
Chifuyu’s phone beeps. He pulls it out and goes shock-still at whatever he sees on the screen.
“They’re in the car. They’re coming back-” He grabs Takemichi by the wrist and hauls him back towards the elevator, the latter stumbling and tripping as they go. Mitsuya follows quickly behind.
Takemichi glances between them in the elevator, stone faced and staring ahead. Chifuyu fidgets with the cuff of his sleeve while Mitsuya taps a foot. They’re only going up another few floors—requiring yet another card swipe. Nerves are kicking in. Takemichi has spent the past whirlwind of however-long-it’s-been being reassured that there was nothing to fear. That he’s not in trouble and he’s not going to be.
“You’re making me really nervous,” he says, quietly. Mitsuya turns immediately with a placating smile.
“ You have no reason to be scared.” He shares a look with Chifuyu. “Us, on the other hand—if he found out you were in the building but not in his apartment he’d tear the entire building apart looking for you.”
That is the opposite of calming to Takemichi. Just who the hell is this man? Takemichi has an abysmally short list of things he knows about his soulmate.
First, he’s rich as all hell and apparently owns the building—if his apartment being on the top floor says anything.
Second, he has incredibly mixed reviews. Takemichi keeps getting told he’s a lovely man—but he’s terrifying—but he’s sweet and loyal—but he won’t hesitate to go on a rampage just to find Takemichi. His employees love him—his employees are terrified of him.
Third, he apparently won’t mind cargo shorts.
The elevator door opens into a penthouse. Takemichi struggles to keep his jaw from hitting the floor as Chifuyu and Mitsuya lead him out into the entryway. There’s a sprawling living room with a comically large television looking over one very large wrap-around couch and a glass coffee table. The windows span the entire half of the walls, looking out far over the city for as far as Takemichi can see. There’s a staircase, winding up from the side of the living room. A multiple story penthouse. Takemichi can see a balcony that takes up half the entire span of the penthouse.
He turns to see the kitchen and is met with two entirely new sets of eyes staring at them. One set is gold and wide, the other black and in disbelief, like seeing a ghost. There’s a long pause before the woman squeals and jumps up from her seat at the island counter. She basically runs to Takemichi’s side, going straight for his wrist and holding it up to her face.
“Oh my god! It’s you! It’s you!” She gives Takemichi a slightly unhinged smile, hands squeezing at his arm. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to see this.”
“Okay, okay, babe—his circulation.” The very tall man stands from the seat beside hers and moves to join them. He puts a hand on the woman’s arm, not at all subtle in also staring down Takemichi’s mark. “I honestly never thought we’d see the day.”
“Please, sit.” The woman grabs Takemichi's arm again, this time to drag him over to the couch. He stumbles but goes along with her, speechless. Even if he did know what to say he’s not sure he’d be able to fit a word in anyway. “I’m Emma, I’m Mikey’s sister.”
Mikey. The name tickles at something in the back of Takemichi’s head. He doesn’t know what soulbonds are supposed to actually feel like but he’s pretty sure it’s not quite this. This feels like he’s forgetting something. Like something that will come around to bite him in the ass.
“I’m Takemichi. Hanagaki Takemichi.” He wants to match her energy but god, he’s already exhausted. It’s too much information, too many new faces, too much . Emma cocks her head with a considering furrow in her brows, blonde hair falling to the side. Then she’s smiling again, grabbing both of Takemichi’s hands between her own as she faces him on the couch. He honestly feels like melting into it and taking a nap.
“Tell me about yourself, I want to know everything about my future brother-in-law.”
It’s almost universally implied with the soulmarks and bonds—especially one like Takemichi’s. Yarrow flowers are used to bless marital beds, for god’s sake—but that doesn’t stop Takemichi from nearly choking on his own tongue.
“I— uh— there’s not really much to tell…” he trails off sheepishly. He’s rehit with how utterly pathetic his life is. Especially compared to this. His soulmate has a secure, well paying job. He has friends and family surrounding him. He has a life. Takemichi just has a failed attempt at a life that froze and withered at the age of fifteen.
“Hanagaki Takemichi. Only child. Twenty-six. Handful of disciplinary notices from middle school for delinquency,” Chifuyu pauses to look up from his phone at Takemichi, smile sharp and knowing. “No offense intended, but, cannot keep a job to save his life.”
Takemichi pouts.
“Hey! Today was your fault!”
Chifuyu relents with a small laugh. The tall man with the sides of his head shaved laughs with him. He turns his head in a polite attempt to hide it—and that’s when Takemichi sees his tattoo. He feels himself go rigid. He’s half aware of Emma turning to him in concern.
“Y-your tattoo,” he blurts out, voice wavering. The air in the room drops immediately.
“Yeah?” The man prompts, turning his head to give Takemichi a better view of the dragon tattoo spiraling up the side of his head.
“It’s cool.” Takemichi forces the words out. Ryuguji Ken stands before him. The vice commander of Toman. The gang he’s spent years running from. One of the two men Kiyomasa used as a threat. “What did you guys say your work was, again?” He asks, voice cracking towards the middle. He knows Emma can feel his hands begin to shake.
“We...have hands in various things,” Chifuyu answers, still as a statue. They’re all looking at Takemichi like a flight risk—the accuracy of that depends heavily on a variable Takemichi can’t place.
“Okay,” it’s all Takemichi has in him to reply with.
Mikey. Emma’s brother’s name is Mikey. His soulmate is Mikey. The invincible Mikey. Sano Manjirou. He’s wondered, through his entire youth, why that name always struck something so deep inside of him. Now he knows. It hasn’t ever been fear-borne. It’s the soulbond.
Takemichi is torn between crying and bursting into laughter.
“Takemichi,” Emma says, hesitant as she ducks her head into his line of vision. “Everything okay?” Her tone screams that she knows exactly what Takemichi just realized—that she’s asking him an impossible question.
“Yeah, fine,” he shakes his head, eyes squeezing shut. A fruitless attempt to shake off the buzzing of anxiety crawling across his skin. “Just ironic is all.”
Emma frowns in confusion, but the tension in the room has started to lift. It almost dissipates entirely when Takemichi musters up the will to pull a smile back to his face.
Mikey had been a god to small time delinquents of Japan. Half the reason he and Atsushi founded Mizo was in an attempt to follow Toman’s shadow. A boy as terrifying as he was awe-inspiring.
The elevator dings. Ryuguji and Chifuyu scramble back down the entryway to get to the door while Emma begins to all but vibrate from beside Takemichi.
Takemichi feels like he might throw up.
He can hear bickering voices growing in volume as the elevator doors open. The entryway goes completely silent after a short moment. Then low whispers carry into the apartment, too quiet for Takemichi to make out.
“What!” Someone shouts, voice edging on fury. The cry is followed by footsteps and a man rounding the corner, head whipping around to zero in on Takemichi with a glare. His expression sharply contrasts with the bubblegum mullet. He’s followed shortly by a man with long black hair and eyes shining almost red. The former looks seconds from shredding Takemichi with his bare hands, and the latter looks giddy.
“Keisuke!” Chifuyu’s voice comes from behind them, hand shooting out to grab the long haired man’s ear and yank him back into the entryway.
“Here?” The voice is just loud enough for Takemichi to hear. It sounds like liquid lightning to him.
The next man that turns the corner—Takemichi knows in an instant. The moment his eyes meet obsidian he knows. His soulmate. Mikey. He’s handsome in a dangerous sort of way. Short blonde hair is loosely styled back from his face, a few pieces falling back against his forehead.
Takemichi stands without having to tell his body what to do. It’s like a wire pulled taut between them, begging him—screaming at him—to close the distance.
Mikey meets Takemichi in the middle, the room around them silent. They both stop a foot or so away, speechless. It’s like the final pieces of a puzzle sliding together. Takemichi has always thought his life would be closer to a singular piece without a bigger picture it belongs to, but as he looks into Mikey’s eyes he realizes—there’s only two pieces to begin with. Takemichi takes in a shaky breath before he offers his arm into the space between them, wrist up. Mikey lifts a single hesitant hand, lips parting on an inhale. He pulls at the fabric cuff over his wrist.
The moment his hand meets the outside of Takemichi’s wrist, pulling their arms together, it’s like he’s been electrocuted. But it’s nothing compared to the feeling he gets seeing their soulmarks side by side. Identical. The yarrow seems to bloom brighter. The sun and moon motifs seem to glow. Takemichi gasps for air at the touch. The world around them falls away completely.
“It’s you,” Mikey breathes out. He looks up from their arms to Takemichi, a wide grin overtaking his face. It’s infectious. Takemichi finds himself giggling breathlessly. Mikey is quick to pull him in by the waist, arms locking around him. Takemichi leans into it immediately, arms around Mikey’s shoulders. Mikey is shorter than him, he notes. Something about someone on such a high pedestal being shorter than Takemichi feels real. It feels right.
“It’s you,” he parrots back.
“What’s your name?”
The question strikes Takemichi as funny enough to burst into laughter, tucking his head against Mikey’s shoulder. Soulmates were a funny thing, though, as he stands in the arms of a man whose sister has already basically proposed for him—and he doesn’t even know Takemichi’s name yet.
“Hanagaki Takemichi,” he says as his laughter peters out.
“Takemitchy,” Mikey’s voice curls around the sudden nickname. Takemichi loves it already. “I’m Mikey.”
“I know,” Takemichi nods, pulling his head back up to stare back into Mikey’s eyes. “I know who you are.” He leans the small distance down to rest his forehead against Mikey’s. He had been tired before, now he feels like he’s run a marathon—but he’s never felt more awake.
“I can’t watch this,” the pink haired one.
Despite the words being whispered, they dissolve the bubble Mikey and Takemichi had been caught in. They’re in a room with other people. Oh god. Takemichi realizes. He grimaces sheepishly as he begins to pull away—beyond ready to apologize for the display. Or, he tries to pull away. The moment his hands meet Mikey’s shoulders his arms are tightening around Takemichi’s waist. Takemichi finds himself relenting without any fight. He may already be growing dependent on the warmth of Mikey’s arms around him, of their chests pressed together, of Mikey’s dark eyes on him.
When Takemichi tears his eyes off Mikey he realizes there are...a lot more people in the penthouse than he thought. He clears his throat nervously, lightly tapping on Mikey’s shoulders with his hands.
“Mikey-” Takemichi starts, much more of a whine than he’d meant for it to come out.
“We do have to continue this half of business,” someone new says. A man who—again, it was definitely an interesting trend—has purple hair, the roots haloing black hair at the top. He looks almost exactly like Ran with longer hair. The brother. One of the hooligans , as Takemichi recalls.
“I think it’s a shit deal,” the pink haired one announces.
“Nobody has even sat down, Haru, shut up.” The two begin to bicker. Loudly.
Takemichi turns his attention back to Mikey. Mikey, as it turns out, never looked away from Takemichi in the first place. Takemichi feels his cheeks heat up.
“Sanzu is right—god, that hurts to say—we need to get on this answer tonight.” The man with long black hair grimaces as he speaks, revealing abnormally sharp canines.
“Tomorrow.” Mikey’s answer is immediate. His eyes are still on Takemichi.
Takemichi very quickly sees where this is going.
“You’re not going to want to leave your bed tomorrow,” the other man says with a pointed look at Takemichi.
Takemichi tries not to blush. He’s failing. He’s totally failing.
“Mikey,” he says, hands smoothing up the sides of his neck. “You should do your work.” Mikey’s arms answer in a clear no, squeezing almost uncomfortably tight.
“Work now, then no one will bother you for the entirety of tomorrow,” Chifuyu butts in, an eyebrow arched, unamused.
Mikey seems to consider it for a moment, fingers playing with the fabric of Takemichi’s shirt. It strikes Takemichi as jarringly adorable.
“You’ll stay?” He asks, voice barely a breath. Just for Takemichi’s ears. There’s a plea in his eyes.
“I will,” Takemichi says without hesitation.
Mikey’s face blooms into another wide grin, boyish and full of joy. Takemichi’s entire center of balance is pulled out from under him—both with the way Mikey’s smile makes his heart pound, and physically as Mikey scoops him up into a bridal carry. Takemichi shouts in surprise, scrambling to grab onto Mikey.
“Mikey!” He cries out. He sees Chifuyu stifle a laugh behind his hand.
“Make it quick,” Mikey says over his shoulder, voice opposite of the soft, breathless whispers Takemichi has heard so far. He hefts Takemichi up and carries him over to the couch. He sits at the end, placing Takemichi down in his lap. His arms are still a vice around Takemichi’s waist. Everyone else places themselves around Mikey, either with a spot on the couch—a sizable distance from Mikey and Takemichi’s seat—or standing around the back of the couch. All facing Mikey, like a council and their king.
<><><>
Mikey, as it turns out, is unbelievably tactile. He has no sense of personal space. His hands were everywhere throughout the entire meeting—innocently on the outside of Takemichi’s thigh, a little less innocently on his knee, all up his back, his hands. This discovery comes alongside the one that Takemichi is, in turn, unbelievably touch-starved.
The meeting had wound down hours ago. People would offer their congratulations with brief introductions in passing as they moved to the elevator door. Baji had been dragged off by Chifuyu in the middle of making him swear to ‘apologize to Tora for ruining date night’.
Now the penthouse is empty apart from Takemichi, Mikey, Draken and Emma. The city outside had grown progressively darker as the sun began to set. Emma insists they spend the evening all getting to know each other with an ominous joke about Mikey locking him away. The alcohol was Mikey and Draken’s idea. They sit around the dining table, a perfect excuse for Takemichi to sit in his own seat, but he’s still relieved to have Mikey’s arm around his shoulders. He’s not ready to even think about pulling away from Mikey’s warmth.
Mikey and Draken are going back and forth with embarrassing memories, occasionally breaking down into full bickering. Takemichi hasn’t ever known what it was like to be in a house full of life and laughter. His parents were never home as a child—and then he’d become a ghost, isolating himself. He realizes, as Draken snorts hard enough to send himself into a coughing fit, that he’d love to get used to this.
Takemichi is watching in quiet peace when Emma claps, startling the room. She points a finger at Takemichi with a wide smile on her face.
“Hina’s boyfriend! That’s where I know you from!” she declares. She laughs a little in relief like that was weighing on her.
There’s a long pause at the table before Takemichi bursts out in laughter. He doubles over, pressing his forehead against the table as he struggles to breathe around his own amusement. The other three wait patiently until Takemichi is sitting back up, wiping tears from his eyes.
“You know me from my middle school girlfriend?” he asks.
Emma shrugs. “Hina liked talking about you but—if I remember right, didn’t you go missing at some point?” She asks, genuine concern in her eyes. Takemichi feels a wave of guilt crashing over him.
“Uh-”
“Because Hina told me that a few weeks after you two broke up you just vanished.”
“Yeah.” He picks at the label on his beer can. “I ran away.” He can feel the curious eyes on him.
“From home?”
“From Toman…”
“What?”
“Huh?”
Emma and Draken speak at the same time. Mikey is silent, but Takemichi can feel dark eyes on him. He chuckles nervously, ducking his head.
“After middle school ended I just cut everyone off and made a run for it,” he hopes he can skip the embarrassing and potentially risky explanation of why Toman had warranted running away from. He finds no such luck.
“Were you in Toman?” Draken asks, eyes narrowed in thought, like he’s sifting through everyone he remembers.
“Oh no. No,” Takemichi waves off the idea. “I was much too lame.” He’s met with expectant silence. He sighs softly. “The gang I was in got beaten into being the fighting ring punching bags.” He picks at the rolled up cuff of his shirt sleeve, keeping his eyes from meeting any of theirs. “I just couldn’t take it anymore, so...” he leaves the rest unsaid.
He doesn’t know what he’s expecting. Maybe laughter, or agreement that he’s lame, or a coward. Maybe Mikey declaring he’s no longer interested in someone who was so low on the food chain of youth delinquency.
He isn’t expecting, however, a strikingly confused noise from Mikey.
“What fight rings?” he asks. When Takemichi looks up he finds genuinely baffled black eyes on him. Mikey’s head is cocked to the side but he’s still as close to Takemichi as he can get in separate chairs, arm around him.
“The…” Takemichi falters. “The ones Kiyomasa ran?”
There’s another silence as Mikey thinks it over. He looks to Draken for help, the two of them having a silent conversation before understanding dawns on Draken’s face.
“Motherfucker kept running them under our nose.” Draken slaps his hand down on the table as he leans back in his chair, head falling back with a noise of irritation. Mikey falls forward, elbow propped on the table and fingers rubbing at his closed eyes.
“Tell Sanzu to go fix that,” Mikey says.
“He hasn’t been in Toman for years.” Draken lifts his head.
“I don’t care, he hurt my soulmate, he’s dead.”
Takemichi decides not to mention the wooden bat.
“Ah, that might be a bit much—we were kids.” Takemichi waves a hand, hoping they can just drop the subject.
Mikey’s sharp eyes turn on him, quickly dropping his arm around Takemichi’s waist to yank him closer. He’s practically straddling Mikey in his new position. His hands land on Mikey’s shoulders to steady himself.
“I will kill anyone who hurts you.” Even without the dangerous tone Takemichi would know he’s serious just from his expression. He squeaks quietly, unable to hold it in. His cheeks burst with heat, a warmth curling through his stomach. His pants were decently tight before, but they’re getting tighter every second Mikey’s eyes are on him like that. He shouldn’t be into it, he thinks. But after years of loneliness—of no one giving a shit about him either way—he finds himself enraptured with Mikey’s declaration.
“That’s absolutely our cue,” Emma says, frantic. Takemichi can see her pushing at Draken’s arm from the corner of his vision. The two are swift in making it to the front door, calling out clipped goodbyes. All the while Mikey holds Takemichi’s gaze, as if daring him to look away. The elevator clicks shut. The entire penthouse is silent apart from their breaths. Takemichi already feels winded.
Takemichi runs his hands up from Mikey’s shoulders to cup his jaw. He begins to lean in, but Mikey beats him as he surges up. He pushes Takemichi up to sit on the edge of the table, standing between his legs as his chair clatters behind him. Takemichi’s lips are around the first syllable of Mikey’s name when their lips meet. Mikey gladly swallows the moan his name dissolves into.
Takemichi has only ever kissed one person in his life. It was a small peck from Hina and he had run away flustered.
Mikey’s is a world of difference. It’s all-consuming. He digs his fingers into Mikey’s hair as Mikey grabs at his hips, fingers hooking into his belt loops to pull him closer. It’s not enough. Even as Mikey starts to roll his hips against Takemichi’s. Not enough.
Mikey’s hand climbs up Takemichi’s back then his neck before curling into a fist in his hair. He yanks on short black curls. Takemichi cries out wordlessly, arching into it. Mikey presses a hot kiss to the curve of Takemichi’s jaw, trailing downwards. Takemichi sighs shakily, eyes fluttering open.
“Mikey-” he breathes out. It’s met with another tug of his hair.
“Call me Manjirou.” His voice is low, more pleading than demanding.
Takemichi blinks down at him, a slow smile curling up on his lips. It’s involuntary, a kind of smile he’s forgotten he could feel until today.
“Manjirou.” The name feels right on his tongue, like he’s always been meant to say it—meant to say it with a fondness so unfathomable he feels it spilling out of him in waves. Mikey hums contentedly, nuzzling along the side of Takemichi’s throat. It feels like a purr. He hooks his legs around Mikey’s waist. He doesn’t know if any closeness will actually be enough, it seems, since every piece of him screams closer.
He’s in the air in a matter of seconds, clutching Mikey for balance as the man lifts him from the table.
“You’re staying?” He asks quietly, breath fanning over Takemichi’s neck. The question is nebulous—Takemichi doesn’t know if he means for the night, in the penthouse, or them .
He nods.
He barely has time to marvel and fluster over Mikey’s strength, unbothered carrying Takemichi’s weight up a flight of stairs. The stairs open up directly into a loft bedroom, a king sized bed against one of the few walls that isn’t entirely glass. The only light is the one that spills in through the windows from the city, casting long shadows in the dim glow. There’s a door into the bathroom on the far side of the bed, open to hint at a large bathtub cornered against tall windows. Everything in the room looks like it costs more than Takemichi’s monthly rent—from the dresser, to everything visible in the walk-in closet. Even the lamp atop one of the bedside tables.
When Mikey puts him down it’s more of a toss. He lands on the center of the bed, splayed out against the gray sheets. Mikey stands over him, just staring for a moment. Takemichi is stunned into silence by the way the city lights cast over Mikey’s form with a halo of glow around him, dark eyes piercing.
“You sure?” He asks, quietly, as he reaches down to unbutton his shirt. Takemichi’s mouth goes dry. He nods. “You have to say it.” There’s a teasing edge to Mikey’s voice, but his eyes are hard.
“Please-”
The word seems to snap something in Mikey, like he hadn’t been expecting it. He freezes on the button just below his chest. Takemichi watches him inhale shakily before pouncing. He’s on top of Takemichi in an instant, knees hitting the mattress as he grabs at Takemichi’s waist.
“Again,” Mikey breathes against his cheek before pressing small kisses down his jaw. “Say it again.”
“Please,” Takemichi repeats without hesitation. “Manjirou, please.”
Mikey moves a hand up to grip at Takemichi’s jaw, thumb and middle finger digging in on each side just enough to pull a whimper from him. He lowers himself to kiss Takemichi. It’s all teeth pulling at his lips and tongue pushing into his mouth. Takemichi finds himself drowning in it, in the warmth of Mikey, feeling blanketed in raw affection.
“Please what? Mitchy?” He asks, lips moving against Takemichi’s own. Takemichi lets out a quiet gasp, fighting through the sound of his blood rushing in his ears. He feels dizzy, delirious on the high of Mikey.
Mikey’s eyebrows arch up at Takemichi’s lack of response.
“You, please.” Takemichi chokes the words out, canting his hips off the bet, into Mikey’s. “Want you.”
Mikey’s eyes darken before he falters for just a moment. A flash of something darts across his face. Something Takemichi knows all too well. Insecurity.
“Have you ever…?” He asks, trailing the question off as his cheeks darken.
Takemichi shakes his head.
“You’ll be the first.”
“Good.”
There’s something unspoken in Mikey’s gaze. His eyes dart down Takemichi’s form, like he’s unsure how to continue.
Must be his first too , Takemichi realizes. He reaches for Mikey’s wrists, gently coaxing his hands to the front of Takemichi’s shirt.
“Undress me?” It comes out as a plea.
Mikey hones in on the buttons of Takemichi’s shirt with an intense focus. He pulls the shirt down around Takemichi’s shoulders, exposing his shoulders and chest. Takemichi shivers, but the room isn’t cold.
“My Mitchy,” Mikey’s touch is revenant as ghosts his fingers down Takemichi’s ribs. “Beautiful.” He says it so confidently that Takemichi feels himself believing it.
His eyes burn, threatening to spill over with tears.
Mikey yanks impatiently at the shirt, pulling it off Takemichi’s arms and flinging it somewhere into the darkness of the room. Then he’s working at Takemichi’s belt, fingers almost frantic. Takemichi lifts his hips to help pull his pants down. Of course, Mikey shoves his underwear down with them. Once those are flung in the vague direction his shirt had been—Takemichi is bare. His cock is painfully hard, bouncing out of its confines.
Mikey sits up on his knees between Takemichi’s legs. He takes a moment to run his hands down Takemichi’s sides, leaving the other man shaking at the touch. Then he resumes unbuttoning his own shirt.
Mikey’s skin glows in the dim light, a blue haze cast over all the dips and curves of his muscles. Takemichi can’t help but stare in awe.
He jolts to sit up as Mikey reaches for his own belt.
“Wait.”
Mikey freezes, eyes unreadably intense on Takemichi. His throat bobs as he swallows heavily.
“Did you want to stop?” He asks. Takemichi can hear the strain of him trying to keep the disappointment from his question. It’s cute, he thinks, how while looming over Takemichi—in all his glory—he still pouts.
Takemichi shakes his head quietly, reaching for Mikey’s belt in answer. He bats Mikey’s hands away in favor of undoing it himself. One of Mikey’s hands finds a new home in Takemichi’s hair, carding through the dark curls. Takemichi feels like he’s being pet, he has to forcibly focus on his task at hand to keep from melting into it. He thinks maybe if Mikey wants to pet him like that forever he’ll be more than okay with it—he’ll gladly return the favor.
He could somewhat feel Mikey on the table and while being carried—just enough to know Mikey’s going to be bigger than him. Knowing and seeing are two different things. Mikey’s cock bounces up as Takemichi frees it. Takemichi blinks, barely keeping himself from reeling back. He’s unable to hold back from a noise of surprise. He wants to ask if it will fit, he really does, but he also refuses to sound like a porno.
Mikey steps off the bed to kick his pants the rest of the way off. He tilts his head down at Takemichi, taking his own cock in his hand.
“You look like you want something,” he says, teasingly. Takemichi wets his lips, Mikey’s gaze zeros in on his tongue like a hawk.
“Can I?” He asks. Mikey nods wordlessly.
There’s an electric current between them as Takemichi slides off the end of the bed and onto his knees, trapped between the low metal frame and mattress with Mikey before him.
He reaches forward, hesitant, to wrap a hand around Mikey while he braces the other on Mikey’s thigh. He can feel the muscles under his thumb shift at the touch. He supposes it only makes sense for the man with a legendary killer kick to have powerful thighs—but all he can focus on is what that means for their bedroom life.
Mikey sighs contentedly as Takemichi strokes a hand up his length, slow and careful. He stares up at Mikey, watching the other man—for reactions or guidance, he isn’t quite sure. Mikey only offers an amused look.
Takemichi leans in, shoving past an all-consuming embarrassment, to lick a long stripe up the underside. Mikey sighs again, more shaky. He figures he’s doing something right. He closes his lips around the head, opening his mouth as wide as he can as he begins to sink down.
He’s seen porn—he has a vague idea of what to do.
Mikey grabs at his hair again when his lips meet his own hand, still wrapped around the base, just short of gagging. Mikey holds him there in a firm grip. He blinks up at Mikey, eyes watering, through his eyelashes.
“Oh, god, Mitchy.” Mikey swallows, letting his head fall back. He seems to take a moment to compose himself before he looks back down. His dark eyes look half focused. He tugs Takemichi’s head down against his own hand, the implication clear. “Can I?” he asks.
Takemichi hesitates for a moment. Then, he slowly unwraps his hand from Mikey’s cock and places it down on his other thigh. He doesn’t know what compels him to want to give Mikey everything he asks for—but he finds he trusts him already.
Mikey starts out mercifully slow, easing Takemichi further down.
It’s a struggle, Takemichi realizes very quickly. He inhales shakily through his nose, focusing all of his energy on not gagging. His tears are threatening to spill over. Mikey seems fine with letting him adjust as he pushes further down. Until Takemichi swallows around him.
Mikey jerks forward with a quiet gasp, shoving Takemichi’s nose into his lower stomach. He lets go as Takemichi pulls off, coughing. He wipes at his mouth with the back of his hand, tears streaming down his face. He almost yelps as Mikey reaches for his chin, pulling his head up to look at him.
“You’re crying,” he says. His voice is blank and there’s a small crease in his brow, the shadow of a scowl. Takemichi can read the worry in it.
“Not in a bad way,” Takemichi replies. Another cough. “I cry easily.” He places a hand on Mikey’s wrist, giving him a reassuring smile through the tears. “Can I try again?” He asks. Mikey wipes at one of the tear tracks with his thumb, jaw tensing. He responds by coaxing Takemichi’s mouth back to his cock.
Takemichi takes it slow. He grabs Mikey’s hand to put it back on his hair with a pointed look through his eyelashes. Mikey relents, digging his fingers in, but he doesn’t push or pull. Takemichi makes a small noise as he reaches the base once again. It’s by no means a comfortable intrusion, but it doesn’t hurt like Takemichi thought it might. There’s fresh tears in his eyes, spilling freely. He thinks he must look a bit of a mess. Mikey doesn’t seem to mind at all..
He takes a moment to adjust, listening to Mikey’s heavy breathing, before he starts to pull back. Mikey’s fist in his hair tightens as he bobs his head. He can feel Mikey’s hand shaking. Takemichi runs his own hands higher up Mikey’s thighs, moaning quietly around him. Mikey hisses sharply from above him. Takemichi bobs his head once more before he’s being wrenched off by the hair. He cries out at the sharp pain.
“Stop, stop–” Mikey pants, head ducked and eyes screwed shut. He looks in pain.
“Did I hurt you?” Takemichi asks. Neither of them want to sit with the irony of Takemichi’s raw voice and sore throat as he asks.
Mikey shakes his head. He opens his eyes slowly, dark and intense as they focus on Takemichi. He can’t see Mikey’s pupils amidst the black irises but he can make a guess that they’re blown wide. It makes Takemichi feel even more light-headed.
“Get on the bed.” Mikey’s voice is low, a demanding tone that sends a shiver down Takemichi’s spine.
Takemichi pulls himself up onto the mattress. He crawls up to the head of the bed on his hands and knees. He’s about to turn around when he feels the bed dip behind him. Mikey’s chest presses against his back, hands on his hips in a bruising hold. Takemichi lets out an embarrassing squeak of surprise before he melts back into the touch. He can feel Mikey against his ass, hard and still intimidatingly large.
“First drawer, grab the lube.” Mikey speaks against the back of Takemichi’s neck. His voice seems to rattle through Takemichi’s bones.
He does as he’s told. He leans toward the bedside table, not letting himself linger on the embarrassment of how it pushes his ass up towards Mikey—hands still firm on his hips. He pulls open the first drawer.
He doesn’t know what he expects. Probably normal things like lotion and a box of tissues, maybe a porno mag like his own bedside table. He’s been re-realizing all day that his soulmate is anything but normal. He reaches over the handgun and hunting knife for the lube. It’s buried in the back of the drawer, unopened and full. He sits back up on his knees, pressing his back into the warmth of Mikey’s chest, and hands the bottle over.
“Have you never used it?” he asks. He doesn’t mean to sound as breathless as he does—but he’s finding it’s quite hard not to with Mikey so close.
“Never had a reason.” Mikey clicks the cap open. His other hand disappears from Takemichi’s hip as he leans back. Takemichi immediately feels cold. He hears Mikey squeezing lube out onto his fingers. Then, Mikey’s pressed against him again, warmth falling over Takemichi like a blanket. His hand snakes up around Takemichi’s side, hand splaying out on his collarbone. If he inched his fingers up any higher he’d have Takemichi’s neck in his grasp.
Takemichi does his best not to jump when he feels the first prodding finger, slick and nowhere near warm enough. He whines as it pushes in, silenced by kisses along the back of his shoulders. Just like earlier—it doesn’t hurt, but it’s by no means comfortable.
“Relax, Mitchy,” Mikey whispers into the skin where his shoulder meets his neck. Then, he bites down. Hard. Takemichi cries out, head falling back against Mikey’s shoulder. He can feel himself clench around Mikey’s finger.
“Making it…kind of hard…to.” He struggles with the words, brain going fuzzy. He feels Mikey chuckle into the bite mark before he soothes it over with his tongue. Takemichi has no idea if it broke skin or not—he won’t be surprised if it did.
Mikey’s hand moves from his chest to his back. Takemichi knows what’s coming before it happens. He’s prepared as Mikey shoves him down by the shoulders, face into the pillows and ass lifting into the air. He’s prepared for Mikey’s hand around the back of his neck, and for the finger pressing further into him.
“Relax,” Mikey says again. This time it isn’t a teasing suggestion. It’s a command. Takemichi pants against the pillows, letting his legs slip open wider. He focuses on the weight and warmth of Mikey’s hand holding him down, grabbing at the sheets below him. The world rapidly narrows to just them, just them and static taking over Takemichi’s brain. He whimpers quietly as he feels Mikey’s finger bottom out. He wonders, vaguely, how he’s supposed to take Mikey’s cock without losing his mind if a finger sets him ablaze. “Good boy,” Mikey leans over to whisper the praise in his ear.
Takemichi melts further, hands going lax and eyes losing focus. He whines again without realizing it, a pitiful and loud noise.
He doesn’t notice when Mikey gets the second finger in, but he does notice when Mikey thrusts them into him sharply. He makes a wordless cry. The pillow beneath his face is embarrassingly wet from tears and what he hopes isn’t drool but likely is. When Mikey curls his fingers Takemichi goes rigid with a loud moan that bounces off the windows and back at him.
“So fucking perfect,” he hears Mikey say, words warbled and muffled like they’re spoken through water. It still makes his legs shake. He sobs as he cums dry, dick twitching below him. Mikey fingers him through it, whispering praises to him.
“Please…” Takemichi hears himself speak. His voice slurs. “Please, Manjirou…”
“You’re barely stretched out.” Mikey sounds amused. He punctuates his point by scissoring his fingers, pulling a strangled moan from the man beneath him.
“Please,” he repeats.
He hears something akin to a growl from above him, a frustrated noise from Mikey’s chest.
“You’re killing me, Mitchy.” At least Mikey sounds as breathless as Takemichi feels. He all but shoves the third finger in, movements impatient. Takemichi can feel it between them like a wire about to snap. Mikey, so close to snapping. He kind of wants to make Mikey snap.
He pushes back against Mikey’s fingers—as much as he can with Mikey holding him down. He hears the other man curse under his breath.
“Manjirou…” He’s beyond caring about how pathetic he sounds. Mikey’s fingers are gone in an instant, leaving Takemichi feeling cold once more. He can’t find it in him to bother complaining when he knows what’s to come. He can hear Mikey clicking the cap of the lube off once again. It’s another moment before Mikey’s hand lands back on his waist, head of his cock pressing against Takemichi. Takemichi gasps, hands clenching and unclenching against the sheets in anticipation.
He had never actually considered—before meeting Mikey, that is—that he’d enjoy being on the receiving end. But he had also never found much draw towards the other side. It just felt too right to even ponder on with Mikey, like the space between Mikey and the mattress was carved just for him.
He hiccups as fresh tears spring forth while Mikey presses in. He’s less slow about it than with Takemichi’s mouth. Every nerve is on fire, eating away at him—it isn't at all unpleasant.
He cries out at the stretch, at the depth. Whether to say too much or more he isn’t sure. He can’t say he even cares.
He realizes belatedly how loud he’s been as Mikey’s hips meet his ass. It’s only once he bites down on his lip does he realize he can hear Mikey’s stuttering breath in time with his fingers digging into the skin of Takemichi’s waist. Mikey holds them deathly still. Takemichi would appreciate the chance to adjust if he didn’t feel his every sense rattling impatiently.
“Manjirou,” he starts again, his name drawn out in a long whine. Takemichi pushes his hips back, hoping Mikey gets the hint. Instead, he’s met with Mikey’s grip clamping down hard enough to make him yelp. He’s forcibly held still as Mikey catches his breath.
“Mitchy…” His voice is dark. A dangerous warning, one that Takemichi almost wants to ignore just to see what will happen. He realizes with this warning, though, that they’re paused for Mikey’s sake and not his. It gives him a dopey sense of satisfaction. He decides there will be time later to see how far he can push Mikey—and he doesn’t know if his legs will hold out much longer.
So he’s good, and he waits.
He knows Mikey’s ready when his grip adjusts, relenting for a moment before it’s renewed. He’s expecting something torturously slow that’s going to make him cry even more—what he gets is a rough snap of Mikey’s hips. He lets out a loud noise of surprise, pressing his face even further into the pillow. The next thrust is just as hard and quick, punching the breath from Takemichi’s lungs. He wraps his arms around the pillow beneath him, sobbing into it in time with Mikey’s movements. He’s pulled from the pillow harshly with a hand in his hair, yanking his head back.
“Let me hear you,” he all but growls the demand into Takemichi’s ear.
Takemichi finds he’s well beyond articulating responses. He wordlessly cries out, instead, clenching down around Mikey.
Mikey hisses into his ear, hips stuttering for a moment before he resumes his pace. It’s merciless and unyielding. Almost frantic.
Takemichi goes limp as he cums a second time, held up only by Mikey’s grip on his waist and hair. He can hear Mikey’s moans from behind him. He drops Takemichi’s hair in favor of a better grip on his hips, letting Takemichi collapse into the bed. It’s another few thrusts before Mikey’s hips halt, pressed as far into Takemichi as the angle allows, and cums. He bites down on Takemichi’s shoulder as he does, overlapping with the first bite. Takemichi shudders, mouth dropping in a silent shout as his vision blurs.
Takemichi comes back to himself as Mikey slumps on top of him. Hard muscle pressing Takemichi further into the mattress. His beyond-spent cock twitches in interest at the feeling.
Mikey slips out of him as he falls to the side, an arm slung around the small of Takemichi’s back. They both pant in silence for a long moment.
Takemichi feels…sticky. Especially between his legs. He grumbles as he shifts his hips—grimacing at the feeling. Mikey reaches for him, brushing hair from his face still half smashed into the pillow, before taking his wrist in hand and pulling it up to stare.
“You’re perfect, Takemitchy.” He places a kiss on the inside of Takemichi’s wrist. Their soulmark. Takemichi gives him a tired smile, shifting closer.
“ You’re perfect,” he counters. It feels like home as Mikey chuckles and scoops him up into his arms, burying his face in Takemichi’s neck. “But I need a bath–” Takemichi tacks on.
“Only if I can join.” Mikey pulls his head up to grin at Takemichi, a predatory type of grin that has Takemichi’s breath stuttering.
In hindsight, he should know after just a day that Mikey wouldn’t be able to keep his hands to himself.
<><><>
Takemichi wakes to way more light than his apartment bedroom should logically get. At first he thinks he’s outside, but no, there’s no breeze. Then he feels the arm around his waist, the lips pressed to the back of his neck, and the hard chest against his back—and it’s all back to him in a flash.
His soulmate.
He found his soulmate. And they’d fucked…a lot…enough that Takemichi could feel the ache in his back and hips before he can attempt to sit up. Mikey grumbles from behind him—something that sounds suspiciously like “Fuck off, Kenchin” — and the arm around his waist tightens. Mikey’s hips press against his ass, his morning wood beyond clear in their nude states.
Takemichi at least wants breakfast before Mikey even thinks about it.
He pries his eyes open and is met with a morning view over Tokyo, cars like ants below them, and light streaming in through the windows.
Mikey sighs from behind him, a much more awake sound than before. He presses lazy kisses against the back of Takemichi’s shoulders, over the bite marks.
“Good morning, soulmate ,” he says, voice slurred with sleep. It’s adorable, Takemichi thinks as he turns in Mikey’s hold. He leans forward to press a short kiss against the side of Mikey’s jaw.
“Good morning, soulmate ,” he parrots back. They lock eyes for a moment before bursting into childish giggles.
Mikey leans in for a kiss, making a clipped noise of confusion as Takemichi turns his head.
“We have morning breath,” he says. Mikey stares at him in silence before grabbing his wrist. He shows Takemichi their own mark.
“ Unconditional, ” he reads. There’s an amused twitch to his lips.
“That doesn’t count for morning breath.” Takemichi shoves Mikey’s face away as he tries again. He gets tackled for his efforts, wrists caught in Mikey’s hand and hauled up over his head. Mikey has no problem making a home for himself between Takemichi’s legs.
“It’s unconditional,” he says, leaning down to place a kiss against the tip of Takemichi’s nose. He glances up to Takemichi’s hands and back down with a growing smirk. “We have all day undisturbed.”
Takemichi feels his face go hot at the implication. He’s not opposed. He doesn’t think he could be opposed to such an opportunity, not when Mikey makes him see stars. But the fact that all of Mikey’s executives know exactly what today has in store for Takemichi makes him want to crawl under a rock.
“You’re terrible,” there’s no venom to it.
“I seem to remember my Mitchy telling me I’m perfect.” Mikey captures Takemichi’s lips in a kiss, winning that battle spectacularly. Takemichi lets Mikey’s tongue in without a thought, moaning into the kiss. He whines as Mikey’s teeth sink into his bottom lip, drawing pin pricks of blood.
It’s then that Takemichi’s stomach grumbles, loudly. Mikey freezes entirely, leaning back to quirk an eyebrow down at Takemichi.
“I’ll order up breakfast,” he says. With another kiss, he’s letting go of Takemichi and reaching for his phone. Takemichi almost finds himself disappointed. Almost . The food still wins out on priority.
When Mikey steps away from the bed, phone pressed to his ear, Takemichi actually gets a good look at himself. There’s perfect indents of fingers in a mottled and angry purple all across Takemichi’s hips and waist. Some are beginning to yellow at the edges, but they all look painful as hell. He can only imagine his neck and shoulders fared the same. He presses his thumb experimentally down on one, hissing at the pressure. The pain from the bruise brings more pleasure than he expected, his cock twitching weakly in exhausted interest. It’s not something he expected for his life, but he thinks that for once, the future seems exciting.
He doesn’t see Mikey watching him with a satisfied smile