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Laurent came to, slumped in the shower, soaked to the bone with blood on his shirt.
There had been a slight miscalculation. It was supposed to have been a simple diamond-stealing job, just a bit of light fun...but Laurent’s heart just hadn’t been in it.
They’d surrounded him in the parking lot, closing in as he tried one more time to talk his way down from a beating⏤the first fist had connected with his lip, which he had to thank for the blood on his nice floral polo. He’d curled quickly into a ball, just like Abby had taught him, but he wouldn’t have lasted much longer, if something hadn’t spooked them into running off. Their mistake had been assuming he’d already passed out.
Laurent blinked to try and re-focus, as hurricane-force winds shook the windows of the ensuite, rain streaking across the glass at a sharp angle.
They’d “occupied” this snowbird condo near the mark’s luxury Miami apartment. Whoever it belonged to would never know they’d come and gone⏤It had already been cleared out and returned to pristine condition as though no one had so much as breathed in it since March.
There would be blood on the white carpets, now, and scuff marks from his muddy shoes where he’d stumbled across the plush living room to the master bedroom, and the shower. Where he had, evidently, promptly passed out.
“Cynthia,” he croaked, tapping the earpiece still clamped to his ear. “Give me some good news, cherie .” There was no reply, just a crackling silence. It was a longshot; depending on how long he’d been unconscious, she and the diamonds could have already reached the private airport in Georgia, and they wouldn’t be able to use their frequency until she was safely out of the country. And even if they could, they’d been burned⏤the safest thing to do would be to go dark.
He could try Abigail, but she had left early to be at a dig site in Argentina, “unearthing” fake dinosaur bones they had fabricated in Paris earlier that year. The rest of his team for this job had already cleared out of the county because of the storm; they’d had to scrap the original plan and improvise. It hadn’t been Laurent’s finest work⏤but he had such a hard time focusing on work, lately.
Someone⏤someone had tipped off the mark. How he'd missed that, he didn't know.
His mind flashed briefly to Edamura...but, no, Laurent wasn’t going to try and call him, not now. Edamura hadn’t contacted him in a while, wrapped up in his “travels”, making it very clear in every way but telling him directly⏤he didn’t want anything more to do with Laurent Thierry.
So Laurent was on his own, in the middle of a hurricane in Miami. His head hurt like a bitch; he’d been drinking for a week, entertaining the mark, a rich kingpin with a corrupt jewelry business. And now his ribs and neck and arms and legs and toes all hurt from being thoroughly stomped on, and not in a fun way.
Maybe he’d just shut his eyes again...just for a moment...the sound of the rain and thunder washing over him…
Laurent heard the front door click.
His heart rate spiked, eyes snapping back open. If any of those men had followed him, he’d be easy to track. He’d left a trail of blood the entire way.
He strained to hear, but it took a few tense moments for him to pick up footsteps coming from the hallway, over the roar of the rain outside. The light on in the bathroom would be a dead giveaway; he couldn’t hope to hide even if he bolted now. He would have to rely on his wits alone to charm his way out of whatever was about to walk in.
Rubber soles squeaked on the tile floor as the intruder stepped through the door, and a clear, earnest voice called out, “Laurent?”
Laurent started. “Edamura?” he croaked, and looked up.
And there he was, wearing a raincoat that was dripping water everywhere. Edamura was carrying a duffel bag, which he promptly dropped when he met Laurent’s gaze. His face was flushed and shining, hair plastered down from the damp.
Laurent felt himself grinning, despite the ache in his jaw. “Couldn’t stay away, eh, Edamame?” His heart was thumping wildly⏤filling with warmth and threatening to leap out of his chest. It was just the dizzy relief that the intruder wasn’t one of the mark’s goons, was all. Not the way Edamura’s expression melted from shock to something like wearied annoyance as soon as he heard Laurent speak.
“You...” Edamura sighed heavily, clomping his way across the large ensuite. “You’re alive.”
He slumped to the floor, squaring Laurent with a look. “Abby is going to kill you, you know. Cynthia is chewing through her plane seat right now waiting to find out if you’re okay. She called me crying , Laurent. Your mark is a really dangerous guy. I thought I was going to walk in here and find your fucking dead body. ” Edamura scanned him, noting the blood, dirt, and damp clothes. “Looks like I was almost right.”
Laurent gazed back, half-dreaming, drinking in Edamura’s arched eyebrows, tousled hair, wiry frame. He wasn’t quite sure he wasn’t hallucinating⏤in fact, depending on how hard they’d hit his head, he very well could be. “Are you really here?” he asked.
Edamura looked back up at him, brow furrowed. “Should I not be?” he asked, tentative.
Laurent was starting to shiver all over, his adrenaline crashing now. His voice shook a bit as he replied, “I...I just thought you might be a dream.” He tried his best to affect his seductive charm. “Maybe I conjured you out of my fantasies.”
“Maybe,” Edamura smirked, briefly. He rolled his eyes, breaking the contact, and got up to grab his duffel. He also grabbed a few of the clean towels stacked in the linen closet.
“Edamame,” Laurent tried. “How…” But his head hurt so much.
Edamura unzipped his raincoat, tossing it carelessly on the floor, kicking his rainboots off. “Strip those wet clothes off. You’re going to get sick.”
Well, now he was definitely dreaming, Laurent thought numbly, watching Edamura pull some items out of his duffle.
However much pain Laurent was in when he’d been sitting still, it was nothing compared to the pain involved in lifting his arms, pulling at fabric that seawater had all but glued to his skin. He moved as slowly as he could, breathing through the movements. The pain ebbed and flowed like water sloshing back and forth in a giant fish tank, and Theirry was the glass.
He managed to pull his floral-pattern polo shirt over his head and drop it on the floor; His torso was mottled with fist and boot marks. Removing his pants would involve getting up, and he was calculating the best way to approach that when Edamura turned back around, holding a pen in his hand, and a small pill bottle. He stopped in his tracks and huffed. “You’re really taking your sweet time. This isn’t a strip tease.” He dropped the items on the closed toilet seat and grabbed at Laurent, hoisting him up.
The movement brought the pain in Laurent’s head into sharp relief, and a whimper escaped his lips. He thought he might collapse, but Edamura took his weight and held him steady, until he could grip the bar on the wall himself.
Edamura turned back to grab the pen, which turned out to be a tiny flashlight, and he shined it in Laurent’s eyes and flicked it away, checking each pupil. Once he was satisfied he cracked open the pill bottle, shaking two out onto his palm. He held them up to Laurent’s mouth, gentle. “Come on. Swallow these. They’ll help with the pain.”
Laurent did as he was told and swallowed the pills Edamura tipped down his throat. “Good,” Edamura said, quiet, and then more flippant, “Now let’s get the rest off, and we’ll rinse you down.” He went for Laurent’s jeans fly, clinically unbuttoning and unzipping him, and yanking at the wet jeans. Laurent was grateful for the help; he didn’t think he’d have had the strength on his own.
“Edamura,” He tried again. “...Why are you here?”
“I told you,” Edamura said, huffing as he nudged Laurent’s feet out of each pants leg. “Cynthia called me⏤”
“But how did Cynthia have your number? You never⏤”
“Kawin and I chat sometimes. Now, do you want to take your underwear off, or do you want my help?”
Laurent couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow. “Oh, how I’ve longed to hear those words from your lips again.”
Edamura smirked, and this one didn’t disappear. “Are you feeling shy, Laurent? It’s nothing I haven’t seen before.” The smirk was not flirtatious in the slightest⏤Edamura looked like he was bored, of all things.
Indeed, he had seen Laurent’s everything⏤they’d seen each other’s everything already.
But that was all in the past, and that’s where it would stay. Edamura had made that clear, after their last hook-up, when he’d left Laurent to wake up alone in a Paris hotel, disappearing without a trace. It had been almost a year.
At least, Laurent had thought he’d disappeared⏤apparently, Edamura and Cynthia’s ward Kawin were pen pals . Laurent knew Edamura had been working with his father, on and off, to shut down other human trafficking operations and help the kids they rescued, so it made sense Edamura was helping foster Kawin and other kids they’d re-homed.
Laurent felt a brief pang of exasperation, at never considering using one of those kids to track down Edamura and manipulate him right back to Laurent’s side. Where he belonged .
He managed to slink his underwear off, and stood dumbly in the open shower, unsure whether he should be feeling bashful or not.
Edamura came back over to the shower and reached in, turning both taps on. The warm water hit Laurent like a caress, he groaned, gripping the bar for balance and letting himself get drenched. The shower door shut behind him, and Edamura called out, “I’ll be in the kitchen! Yell if you need help, alright?” before Laurent heard his footsteps recede.
The shower, or whatever was in those pills he’d swallowed, seemed to pull Laurent back from the edge of oblivion, enough to pick up the soap and scrub himself down, and run some of it through his hair. He gulped some of the water down, rinsing his mouth out, and then drank some more, realizing suddenly he was parched.
He started shivering again as soon as he shut the water off and stepped out. He grabbed for the fresh clean towels and wrapped himself up, then noticed a set of clean, soft sweats folded on the counter, and pulled them on. The rain was still pounding the windows, causing the glass to groan and buckle. But Laurent’s skull was pounding much less, now.
He padded into the luxurious kitchen, which looked out into the living room and balcony overlooking Miami’s downtown. And currently, offering a wide-angle view of the storm that had turned all of the city’s high-rises into gauzy, dark silhouettes against a swirling grey-green sky.
Edamura was standing at the kitchen island stirring a small pot on the stove, from which emanated a spicy, savory aroma that made Laurent circle closer. It was some kind of soup, a bright red broth with chunks of dark meat and vegetables. Where Edamura had conjured the ingredients for meat stew, Laurent couldn’t imagine, but he didn’t question it further because his stomach began to ache, his mouth watering, all other discomfort forgotten.
Edamura looked up only when Laurent came to lean on the counter next to him. His exact expression was lost to Laurent, whose eyes were locked onto Edamura’s hand on the ladle as it slowly stirred the soup, the steam rising from the pot seductively.
“So,” Laurent started. His heart was beating wildly again, but this was just them, alone, no game to play. He could be direct. He could do this. “Where have you been, this past year? What have you been up to?”
The hand stirring the soup drifted to a stop. “I was...travelling.” Edamura let the ladle lean on the pot edge and placed the lid over top, cutting off that spicy aroma.
It was a deflection, and an obvious one. He was right here, within Laurent’s grasp again at last and he was still trying to hide.
But Laurent bit back the urge to reach out and grip him tightly, to force a reaction. “Still searching the globe for the perfect cup of coffee? Then…” he said, leaning in. “Have you tasted anything that could satisfy you?” He looked up to catch Edamura’s gaze.
He could have been imagining it, but he thought Edamura’s throat bobbed, his breath stuttering just slightly. It was almost perfect⏤Edamura caught off-guard, just like he used to. But then the calm veneer returned and the moment was over, Edamura swatting at him to step back. “Sit over there and wait. I’m going to check your injuries before we eat.”
He walked back into the bathroom as Laurent sat at the counter on one of the bar stools. Edamura had left him alone with the soup.
But Edamura had told him to wait.
Laurent wondered if there was any wine.
Edamura walked back carrying a pile of first aid supplies, dumping them on the counter and tapping at Laurent’s shoulder. Laurent flinched a bit; there was a bruise forming there. “Take this off for a sec.”
Laurent pouted. “But...I’m cold.”
Edamura looked nonplussed. “It’s this, or I airlift you to the emergency room.”
The emergency room wouldn’t have soup. Laurent yanked the sweatshirt over his shoulders, sulking. The bruises were starting to show; pink and red welts were getting darker, and there were a few places the skin had broken.
Edamura looked over each injury, dabbing the cuts with peroxide ( ouch ) before taping them up, and rubbing an icy salve on the bruises. Laurent flinched when he examined one of his wrists, Edamura carefully wrapped it in a compressive bandage. His expression remained flat, but his touches were achingly gentle...Laurent could feel his lower half responding, unable to fight how the physical relief made him ache.
“Okay,” Edamura said, satisfied. “You can put your shirt back on, and take your pants off.”
Laurent balked as he popped the sweatshirt back over his head and shoulders. “What, right now?”
“Yes, right now,” Edamura said, eyebrows raised.
If Edamura noticed the half-chub tenting his underwear as he pulled the sweatpants down and off, he didn’t show it. He merely checked over Laurent’s legs with just the same careful efficiency, which seemed to be designed to drive Laurent mad. He dabbed peroxide on Laurent’s scuffed knees, rubbed more salve into more bruises. He gingerly checked Laurent’s feet. Laurent almost choked as each of his toes were pinched, his ankles⏤a particular weak point⏤were gripped firmly, testing for sprains. Edamura had to know what he was doing, that bastard was cheating , he⏤
“Alright, you can put those back on,” Edamura said, standing back up. Laurent numbly pulled the sweatpants back on, barely feeling them. Before he could catch his breath Edamura was leaning back in, his hands reaching for Laurent’s face, and Laurent gasped⏤
But Edamura merely held it steady, poking along his scalp for sore spots and bumps. He didn’t look Laurent in the eye. He was scanning him like a worn, used object, something he wasn’t sure he believed in the quality of. Laurent let himself be handled, mind drifting as he stared at Edamura’s dark eyes, the faint blush on his cheeks, imagining they were doing something else, something with intention.
He grasped at the questions swirling in his head. “How did you get here? You weren’t in Miami, surely. All the planes in and out of MIA are grounded.”
Edamura reached for the salve. “I chartered a flight.”
Laurent blinked. “From where?”
“Jamaica,” Edamura said, dismissively. “The coffee beans from the mountains there are especially good.”
Laurent hummed. “Ah, of course. And you just happened to find a pilot willing to fly you directly into a hurricane’s path.”
Edamura applied the icey salve to a particularly large bump on his forehead, ignoring his yelp. “They owed me a favor,” he said. “If I want to get somewhere, I’ll find a way to do it.”
Laurent hissed as Edamura disinfected the cuts on his lip and chin and nose, then smoothed them over with band-aids. “Ow...yes, I know. You’re not a green little swindler anymore. You’re too good even for Team Confidence.”
His head was tipped back as Edamura applied the final bandaid to the crook of his neck, fingers dragging mercilessly over that sensitive spot. “I’m just not interested in being used like a tool for the whims of an egotistical madman anymore, Laurent .” he punctuated Laurent’s name with a final flick at his cut lip, ruthless.
With that, he finally released him, leaning back, not looking even remotely fussed. Even fully clothed, Laurent felt the chill shudder across his skin from the lack of touch.
Edamura turned back to the stove to fuss with the pot, grabbing bowls and spoons from the cabinet. He began to ladle the soup out. “Eat,” he commanded, shoving Laurent’s bowl a little roughly towards him, the red broth sloshing over the edge. It didn’t matter; Laurent felt like he hadn’t eaten in days, and swiftly dove in.
The soup was piping hot and delicious; the cubes of steak were butter-soft like they’d been slow-cooked for an entire day, the broth was thick with herbs and wine and spices, burning away the last of his aches. He didn’t know how, exactly, but Edamura must have brought him soup all the way from Jamaica, ready-made, exactly the kind Laurent liked.
Edamura was resting his chin in his hand, sitting across the bar on the other stool. He was just watching Laurent, which made him feel a bit like a naughty schoolboy under careful watch by one of the nuns.
“So,” he said again, taking a break between gulps. “What have you been up to, besides tourism? It’s been a while,” He grinned, catching Edamura’s eye, but Edamura just looked back down at his bowl.
He sighed, picking his spoon back up. “Nothing special,” he said, vaguely. “Just...trying to figure out my place in the world, I guess.”
Laurent kept eying him as he took another bite of steak. Your place is right here next to me , he didn’t say. “Putting your skills to good use, I hope?”
Edamura huffed. “My only skills were tricking and lying to people,” he said as he stirred his spoon in his soup. Laurent thought about taking his bowl from him, if he was just going to let it go to waste. “There aren’t a lot of jobs open for that particular skillset.”
Laurent hummed, chewing thoughtfully around his next bite. The wine in the broth really brought out the flavor of the steak, and the spices so perfectly complemented the vegetables, sweet and savory at once.
He swallowed. “Edamura,” he ventured. “You always cared about everyone, even the worst people. That’s what made you so good at the confidence game.” It was the thing Laurent loved to use against him, what made him so fun to prod and poke at⏤it was that compassion that Laurent himself lacked, that he’d let drown years ago. That he could never manage to burn out of Edamura.
Edamura met his eyes then, calm melting into bitterness. “That’s what made it so easy for you to manipulate me as you please, you mean,” he muttered.
Laurent huffed. “Now, really. Are we talking about the con, or about us? Because I never made you do anything you didn’t truly want to do.” He was teasing. It wasn’t going to help; he couldn’t stop himself.
Edamura stood up, making Laurent startle a bit, but all he did was carry his bowl over to the sink. He gestured for Laurent’s bowl, too, but Theirry snatched it out of reach. “What if I want seconds?” he asked, pitiful. Edamura beckoned for the bowl, and eventually Laurent handed it over, watching it like a hawk. But Edamura simply brought it back to the pot and refilled it, placing it back in front of Laurent. All without the same sour look.
A sour look was better than no expression at all, Laurent reasoned, as he slurped more soup down. Edamura was cross with him; that was fine. It was practically normal.
Edamura walked into the living room, pulling a cigarette pack from his pocket. Apparently he’d held onto that particular habit he’d picked up from the Yakuza. He patted his pockets, and then glanced around. On the coffee table sat a horribly kitsch table lighter, carved to look like a cat’s head. Edamura picked it up and lit the cigarette, the flame illuminating his face in the dim living room. He breathed in the smoke, placing the lighter back.
Laurent watched him idly as he ate his second bowl. Edamura stood by the sliding glass doors, seemingly unbothered by the hammering winds threatening to shatter the glass.
The storm was getting worse.
“Is it safe to stay here?” Laurent wondered aloud. “Won’t we be sitting ducks if the windows break?”
Edamura exhaled a steady stream of smoke. “No, we’re fine. These new coastal highrises are built with high-impact glass, it won’t break,” he said off-hand, and Laurent wondered briefly how Edamura knew.
Edamura’s back pocket buzzed twice and beeped aggressively; He pulled out his smartphone and checked something on the screen. “Damn,” he said, huffing out another cloud of smoke. “The evac order for the county is in effect until tomorrow night.” He scrubbed at his hair. “We’re probably stuck here until then.”
Laurent felt his stomach flip-flop. “Oh dear ,” he drawled, placing his empty bowl on the counter. “Whatever shall we do to pass the time?” He leaned his head on his hand, affecting nonchalance while inside his chest he could feel his heart doing loop-de-loops.
But Edamura was flat-out ignoring him, tapping something out on his phone. “I’m going to see if we can get someone to come pick us up when the eye passes over us,” he said, “We should get you to a doctor as soon as we can.”
“I feel perfectly fine,” Laurent protested. He was feeling so much better, warm down to his toes. He’d been pampered, fed, and now the one thing that would make it all better was a warm body, and Edamura had delivered himself like a wrapped gift. Surely they could put aside their differences for a night, and work through whatever this tension was. Laurent could make Edamura understand. “You’re welcome to do another inspection on me, if you’re so worried.”
That did make Edamura flick his eyes over, annoyed. Unfortunately Edamura’s annoyance had a pavlovian effect on Laurent. He felt a familiar thrill.
Laurent stood and walked over to Edamura, who was still typing something out on his phone, grinding his teeth as his cigarette burned out in his hand.
Laurent sidled over and stood just behind Edamura, peeking at the screen. A text message was being typed out to someone named Azalea .
“Your cavelier pilot?” He asked, making Edamura tense up and jerk the screen out of view. “None of your business.”
Laurent raised his hands in truce. “I’m just happy to see you building new relationships. You should have people in your life you can trust.”
Edamura snorted. “Right, sure. Unlike you.”
Laurent stepped back. “What’s that supposed to mean?” he said, raising an eyebrow. “We trusted each other where it counted. That’s all that was important. We were a good team.”
Edamura tucked his phone back in his pocket. “We were,” he said, sighing. “But only as long as I let you call the shots. I just…wanted more.”
“More?” Laurent huffed. “What else did you want?” They’d had everything, they could do whatever they pleased. Edamura had Laurent as a friend…why was it not enough?
Edamura took a long drag from his cigarette, pensive. “Would you ever have let me run a job?”
Laurent rolled his eyes. Edamura could be so petty. “I let you run plenty of things!”
“But it was never my job. Not really. You always thought you knew best! Even when you were making it all up! You were never going to change, were you? You were perfectly happy with how things worked.” Edamura was on a roll now, flicking the ashes into the carpet, careless.
“Edamura⏤” Laurent started, wheels spinning. He didn’t understand why Edamura was mad, when they had always been such a good team.
“I just⏤,” Edamura said, clenching the cigarette halfway to his lips. “I just figured if I wanted things to change, I had to be the one to change things. On my own.” He met Laurent’s eyes. He looked furious. He looked tired. Laurent wanted to soothe the hurt he saw⏤but Edamura had said it plainly. He didn’t want Laurent’s help.
“Well,” Laurent said, dumbly. He felt off-balance, boxed in. He wasn’t wanted. He didn’t need to be here. He stepped back, knee hitting the couch as he retreated. “That’s that, then,” he said, not knowing where to go.
“You should sleep,” Edamura said, dabbing the cigarette butt into an ashtray on the side table.
“Where will you⏤” Laurent started. There was only the king bed in the master bedroom, and it was only early evening now. Maybe they could use it in turns, unless Edamura wanted to⏤
“I’ll try to get in touch with Cynthia, figure out our exit. I’ll wake you up when it’s time to leave. It’s fine, Laurent, really,” he seemed ashamed, suddenly. Maybe he hadn’t wanted to talk about this, when they were stuck alone together. Laurent figured he’d give him some space.
“Alright,” he managed to say, around the buzzing in his own head. Exhaustion overcame him all of a sudden, the wine in the soup and those pain pills and rejection combining to suck the last of his energy. He rubbed his eyes, and turned away, leaving Edamura alone in the living room.
The king bed was plush and inviting, and Laurent yanked back the covers and sank in, depressed and grateful for the white noise of the storm outside. It drowned out the swirling thoughts in his head, as sleep pulled him unrelenting into the dark.
Laurent woke up sometime later, he didn’t know exactly when. Outside the windows it was pitch black, without a single light on the skyline and the sky dense with clouds. He tried the bedside lamp, but it didn’t turn on. So, the power was out, probably across the whole city. He didn’t have his phone on him; it was still sitting in the bathroom, and probably was dead by now. He felt panic rise up in his chest. It was unsettling. Was he all alone? Had Edamura left him there?
For a few moments he tried to breathe, letting his eyes adjust, until he could faintly make out the outlines of the room. The rain and wind had settled somewhat, and that was the only reason he heard it.
Faint breathing, from beside him. As he looked over, he could just make out the lump on the other side of the bed. He carefully slid his hand across the sheets under the covers, until it bumped against something warm and solid.
It was Edamura. He was asleep on the other side of the bed. Laurent exhaled the breath he’d been holding, his relief surprising him in its intensity.
“Hmm..?” Edamura’s voice whispered in the dark. The covers shifted, and Laurent heard a soft exhale. “Laurent. Are you feeling okay?”
Laurent couldn’t see Edamura’s face at all. He hesitated, then drew his hand back to his own side. “I’m alright. You…” he ventured, whispering. “You came to bed.”
Another sigh. Rustling, and then what sounded like Edamura rubbing his face with his hand. “That couch isn’t great to sleep on. Sorry, I can go if you⏤”
“No⏤” Laurent breathed. “No, it’s alright.” And then, because it was the kind of darkness secrets should be whispered into, “I’m glad you’re here, Edamame.”
Silence answered him. He panicked briefly, then wondered if Edamura had actually drifted off. Until finally he heard the soft reply, “Go to sleep, Laurent.”
Laurent let sleep claim him, holding those words in his mind, imagining he’d heard a bit of warmth in Edamura’s voice.
⏤
The first time they’d slept together was in Singapore.
After the air race was over, and everything was said and done, the whole team had gotten blind drunk on the yacht. It was the kind of wild, raucous soirée that Dorothy would have loved .
Laurent didn’t like the memories conjured from looking out across the water at night, so he’d gone back below deck, only to find Edamura sitting on the little couch, alone. He was mostly quiet, drinking calmly as everyone around him cavorted⏤Laurent couldn’t help but picture Oz sitting with the exact same posture, silently contemplating.
Edamura had jumped a bit when he’d sat down beside him. He was still a bit damp from floating in the shallows after landing the parachute, and his cheeks were a rosy pink from the champagne. “Well done, Edamame,” he’d said, tipping his glass up to clink against Edamura’s, and downing the rest of it in one gulp. “So,” he said, mock-casual, “Are you sure you don’t want to join the team after this? You’re a born con-man, you’d be wasted just heading back to Japan.”
Edamura hadn’t looked up; he kept staring at his glass. “You really think so?” He’d finally said. “I’m not as good at this as the rest of you. I’m just trying to live an honest life.” He spun the champagne glass stem in his fingers, letting the glistening bubbles swirl.
Laurent placed his glass down on the counter next to them, and in doing so wrapped his arm around Edamura’s shoulders, pressing close. Edamura didn’t seem to have his usual guard up, and Laurent itched to take advantage.
“You’re just as much of a pretender as the rest of us, Edamame,” Laurent whispered into his ear, as he carefully pulled his glass out of his hand, and placed it down behind him. “You could go live the most honest, boring life in the world, but you know this is where you truly belong. With the rest of us filthy crooks.”
Edamura looked up at Laurent, a crease in his brow, hurt, and Laurent leaned in and tipped his chin up, affecting his most winning smile, and kissed Edamura on the lips.
He could play it off as a French thing, as just another tease. He waited for Edamura to smack him, to yell and push him away. But Edamura only gasped, trembling. If Abby was to be believed, this man was a virgin, but surely he’d at least kissed someone before…
Laurent found he couldn’t stop wondering about it⏤he was all of a sudden focused entirely on the idea that perhaps Edamura had never experienced the feeling of being kissed, and that was why he seemed to not know where to put his hands, how to press back and match Laurent’s pressure, that his faint gasps were from the shock of sensation he’d possibly never known.
Laurent had gotten a hand shoved down Edamura’s pants by the time someone had whistled. Edamura flinched back, then, but his eyes were still locked on Laurent’s, and Laurent found himself unable to extricate his hand from Edamura’s hip, burning hot.
Edamura was frozen, seemingly unable to decide what to do.
And so Laurent made the snap decision to draw them both up and walk them to the master suite, as quickly and smoothly as he could⏤before Edamura snapped out of it, realized this was exactly the thing he had adamantly been avoiding, even when he’d always seemed to be unable to tear his gaze away from Laurent. Laurent had suspected⏤and he knew the truth, now, he knew he’d been right , that Edamura would cling to him and fall apart beautifully once Laurent finally got his hands on him.
They’d shut the little courtesy door, as little much as it’d do to actually give them privacy, but Edamura seemed to not even care. Laurent had pressed him to the bed with another lingering kiss and then yanked his pants down, and off. He mouthed at Edamura’s navel, his inner thigh, making Edamura yelp and buck, then gasp, as though he hadn’t known he’d react quite that much. “Relax,” Laurent said reassuringly, stroking at his hip bone.
“Are you⏤” Edamura gasped, tongue-tied. “Are⏤Are you sure we should⏤?” he tried again, and Laurent couldn’t help but chuckle into his skin.
“Perhaps we shouldn’t,” he teased, all the while continuing to stroke him. “Perhaps we should stop,” he said, leaning in to lick at Edamura’s dick, and then breathe on the wet, sensitive skin.
Unable to wait a moment longer, he licked his way up, lapping at the bead of precum, and delighting in how Edamura shook under him, his thighs clenching nervously. Laurent moaned just to show him he approved, knowing the vibration of his deep voice would travel straight up Edamura’s spine. He wanted Edamura to surrender completely, to be addicted to this feeling, to know he couldn’t escape his own desire no matter how much he protested.
“Do you want me to stop?” he finally asked, pausing again at the tip. Edamura shook his head, whimpering, clenching his eyes shut.
“Please,” he’d whispered, and then, “Oh⏤oh my god,” as Laurent finally swallowed him down.
The next morning, or rather next afternoon, when Laurent finally woke up, he’d woken up alone in the bed.
The rest of the team was in various states of hungover and unconscious, many having bunked down on-deck, wrapped in towels and blankets commandeered from the bedrooms and cuddling up with their stacks of money as though they were the world’s comfiest pillows⏤but Edamura was nowhere to be found. Later on, Laurent learned some of the team had already left, electing to head back to the hotel to crash, and apparently Edamura had left with them. But he wasn’t at the hotel, either, and all his belongings were gone, too.
Laurent pulled a few strings and found his passport had dinged in Paris, and then Nice, of all places. He’d sulked for a while after that, to the great amusement of Cynthia and Shi-won, who’d apparently had a running bet⏤but why hadn’t Edamura told anyone where he was going? It was like he was still afraid of Laurent, or else ashamed. It was so silly; it was just sex. It was as natural as breathing, and wine, and cheating at cards.
Laurent had had a whole scam lined up for Edamura to get tricked into helping them in New York next, but he had to take it all apart. He started obsessively watching the news in Europe, waiting for anything that would give him an excuse...And it wasn’t long before he found it, a small article about an art auction at Sotheby’s. Edamura’s peaceful life was about to come to an end, again.
Sleeping together after a job kind of became their thing. It happened again in London, and then again after Shanghai, and then a few other times. Edamura wouldn’t let himself give in to Laurent for a moment before, always keeping his distance, brushing Laurent’s eyes and words and hands off of him. And then as soon as the money was in their hands and they finished the blow-off, he seemed to disable his defenses.
It was always Laurent who made the first move, though. Edamura started out completely beguiled by the world of pleasure, surprised by every sensation. It was only after a few times he started to give as good as he got. Laurent, who had always preferred being bossed around a bit in bed, was helpless against Edamura’s earnest enthusiasm, his desire to prove himself. It was just as adorable when he was pinning Laurent to the headboard as it was when he was facing down murderous drug lords.
And every morning after, Edamura would be gone.
“How do you keep scaring him off?” Cynthia chided him, handing him another beer as he languished, heartsick, on the couch in her cabana. “Are you reading him your poetry?”
“I would never ,” Laurent recoiled, scandalized, clutching the bottle to his chest. He had, in fact, threatened Edamura with his poetry just the other night, but only as a means to get him to shut Laurent up.
“Then it must be that you’re a lousy fuck,” she said, taking a swig of her own beer, and making Laurent splutter. He pointedly looked over his shoulder at their audience.
Kawin was sitting at the dining table behind them, wearing headphones and doodling something in his sketchbook. He was seemingly unbothered by the pathetic French fool who was yet again crashing at his house. He was always checking his phone, though, and slinking off to another room to answer calls, which Laurent thought Cynthia should be more suspicious of.
Laurent didn’t know it yet, but Edamura had finally succeeded in giving him the slip, this time. He’d usually pop up on Laurent’s radar somewhere before long, or even, on rarer occasion, send a mysterious email with a photo of a coffee bar overlooking the ocean, as if to say, This is where I am so don’t bother coming anywhere near me, and before long they’d cross paths again (as a culmination of the forty-five-step plan that Laurent had engineered to seem like chance) and the game would begin again.
If Laurent had known, lying prostrate on that couch that afternoon, that it’d be twelve long months before he’d see Edamura again, he’d have gotten far, far drunker.
Their last night had left him feeling oddly empty⏤Edamura seemed more focused than usual, uninterested in Laurent’s deflections. He drew everything out to a languid, achingly slow pace, until Laurent, practically in tears, was begging him to get on with it.
“No, I don’t think I will,” Edamura had said, bottoming out again inside Laurent and then just sitting there, rolling his hips, like he couldn’t care less where he was. The casual disregard for Laurent’s tattering sanity was too much, it was perfect.
“If you don’t move,” Laurent had gasped, “I’ll start reciting again...”
Edamura did move, then, one swift thrust, making Laurent yelp. “If you say one more word, I’ll get off this bed and walk out that door, Laurent ,” he ground out, thrusting again, a little wild. He was on the edge himself, even if he had mastered the art of the tease. Laurent obliged him, snapping his mouth shut, grinning. He was so proud.
Edamura rewarded him and began moving in earnest, so forceful it made the poor old hotel bed creak. Laurent’s yells drowned it out, though, even as he pressed his hand to his mouth to try and keep them in, not daring to give Edamura an excuse to stop again. But then his hand was torn away; Edamura gripped it in his as he kept up a brutal pace. He leaned down, replacing Laurent’s hand with his mouth, and Laurent saw stars. His back arched, clenching at their clasped hands as he came.
Edamura followed close behind, gasping, and then collapsed half on top of Laurent, slipping out as he did. Laurent retrieved his hand from Edamura’s clenching fingers, feeling uneasy with the continued intimacy. Edamura just breathed for a while, staring at him with an unreadable expression.
“How...How was that?” he asked, nervous. Laurent’s heart ached .
“That was quite good, soybean,” he said, scratching his fingers into Edamura’s ribs where he knew he was ticklish. He grinned when Edamura twitched. “You’re becoming rather an aficionado .”
Edamura batted at his hand, and Laurent pulled it back. Any minute now, they’d go to sleep, and then Laurent would wake up alone, again. It would hurt. He despised how much it hurt, more each time. He would spend weeks feeling bitter, driving Cynthia and everyone else up the wall, and he didn’t know what to do about it.
And because he didn’t know, he was running on instinct⏤pretending. It didn’t matter. He rolled away and got out of the bed, heading for the shower.
When he walked back out, Edamura was perched on the other bed, smoking a cigarette. Laurent stopped toweling his hair.
“You’re leaving?” he managed. Edamura was dressed in the clothes he’d been wearing that day. He was already wearing his shoes.
“I think I’ll just sleep in my own room,” he said, exhaling a puff of smoke. “I have an early flight to catch...” he added, with a hint of guilt. “You guys can take care of the rest, right? I finished my part.” It was true; Edamura was just playing a small role in this job, and they were about to pull the final turnabout.
Laurent returned to toweling his hair with a great force of will. “I suppose,” he said, casual, sitting on the edge of the bed across from Edamura. “...Where are you headed this time?”
Edamura took a long drag, and then reached over to extinguish the cigarette in one of the two whiskey glasses sitting on the bedside table. “Somewhere quiet and peaceful, I think,” was all he said. “Somewhere I can think.”
He stood up, brushing down his pants, awkward. Laurent stared out the window behind him, weighing the option of dragging Edamura back to bed by force for just a moment, then shaking it off. He stood as well, and held out his hand.
“Well...you know where to find me when you’re tired of thinking,” he said, winking. Edamura glared at him, but smiled.
It was the last opening Laurent would get⏤for longer than he knew, then. He yanked Edamura by his hand and leaned in to catch his mouth for a kiss. But in the last second Edamura turned his head; Laurent’s lips pressed against his cheek. Edamura squeezed his hand, clearing his throat, and then pulled away. Laurent stood watching, frozen, as Edamura walked out of his hotel room.
It was the last Laurent heard or saw of Edamura...until Miami.
⏤
Laurent woke up to the sound of rain.
The morning light was hazy, as though blazing sunlight was trapped just beyond the prevailing clouds, threatening to break through. The winds had died down. The building was still standing and the windows had not broken; Edamura had been right.
Laurent felt his heart start thumping immediately at the thought; he looked over to see⏤that yes, Edamura was still in bed next to him. He’d stayed.
Laurent had been dreaming of their last night⏤his last memory was of the softness of Edamura’s cheek where he’d kissed him, the feeling of the hand clenching in his before he’d been abandoned.
Edamura was still asleep, only his head peeking out from the plush covers. His face seemed scrunched up, like he had taken all his worries and annoyances to bed with him; Laurent conceded that, in a way, he had.
As Laurent lay staring at Edamura’s face, he felt a surge of warmth, and a familiar thrill. This time, he was going to make Edamura stay. He wouldn’t give him the chance to escape. Laurent hadn’t even been planning it this time, but Edamura had walked right into the jaws of the lion just like he always did.
And Edamura had brought him soup . He’d carefully bandaged his wounds. He’d come to bed. Even if Edamura denied it, Laurent knew what he really felt--he missed him. It was obvious. He’d shown his hand.
Edamura woke in stages, each soft breath he took was a layer of sleep dropping away. By the time he was fully awake Laurent had already captured his mouth, carding both hands in his hair, intertwining his legs and pressed as close as he could. Edamura’s first response was the gasp; Laurent still remembered the most sensitive parts of his mouth and neck and scalp and he used them, merciless.
Then Laurent felt hands⏤tentative, fumbling⏤grasp at his sides, clinging to the fabric of his sweatshirt. Like a flipped switch, suddenly Edamura was returning the force of the kiss. He pressed back against Laurent urgently. This is right , Laurent thought, his hands drifting to caress down Edamura’s back. Edamura whimpered, right on cue, like no time at all had passed. This is what I was missing, he thought, as Edamura’s fingers spidered up underneath his shirt and brushed sensitive, blooming bruises, the spike of pain grounding Laurent heavily in the moment, and making everything else around them drop away. There was no storm outside, no silent year of longing, no distance at all between them.
“Edamura,” Laurent whispered against his lips, and was rewarded with Edamura shyly ducking away to kiss at his jaw. He turned his head towards Edamura’s ear, flushed and pink, and pressed further⏤”Makoto,” and Edamura surged against him, his arms wrapping Laurent in a vice-grip and his teeth finding Laurent’s jugular, right against the band-aid.
“You are cheating ,” Edamura growled, as their hips ground against each other and Laurent’s brain short-circuited breifly.
“That’s what I do,” Laurent gasped. He was a gambler. “You love it,” he added, because he wasn’t going to waste another moment letting Edamura deny it.
“I--” Edamura did pull back then, but left their hips locked together, thrusting rhythmically in a tease for them both. He looked ravished, staring hungrily at Laurent with a deep flush. Even if he tried to deny it now, Laurent could see it⏤he’d never have thought to look for it, before.
But Edamura wouldn’t cave. “No,” he said, breathing hard, scowling. “No, I can’t--I can’t do this again.”
“Darling--” Laurent pleaded, reaching for him, but he was sitting up, leaving Laurent to gasp at the cold air. “Don’t overthink it. We’re here, we’re both adults. Let’s do what feels good.” He reached out to rub a hand up Edamura’s arm, placating.
Edamura was obviously conflicted. His conflict was tenting his soft boxers, plain as day. He pretended to be stubborn, but Laurent knew him--he knew him better than anyone, and he would prove it.
Laurent saw his opening and pounced⏤flipping and straddling Edamura in one swift motion, pressing him back down into the mattress. Edamura did look at him, but with an imperious expression, not giving anything away. It made Laurent shiver, to be stared at so coldly, as he tried his best to seduce the man beneath him. He wanted Edamura to do terrible things to him, make him a mess⏤anything, to get him to stay.
He slid a leg between Edamura’s thighs, rolling his hips, running his hands up Edamura’s arms. Edamura shuddered, but his face remained coldly passive. He eyed Laurent with mild distaste, and continued to let him writhe against him, and Laurent’s frustration was matched only by the flare of heat in his gut, to feel like just a toy.
He had longed for that expression, that flare of heat, for so long he’d almost forgotten what it felt like to have it. They’d wasted so much time.
Finally, finally , Edamura raised a hand, to place it, searing-hot, against Laurent’s thigh. He trailed his fingers up Laurent’s spine, nails scratching just slightly, making Laurent shiver. His face remained blank, but the faintest blush was rising on his cheeks. Laurent’s body was singing with triumph, he could tell Edamura was about to snap⏤any moment now⏤
Laurent heard the front door click.
He froze, even as Edamura’s hand continued its caress. The sound of footsteps emanated from the front hall, the same sound Laurent had heard the night before. Someone was walking into the apartment⏤walking towards the bedroom.
“Hello?” a voice called out. “Anyone home?”
Edamura did freeze then, his hand falling away from Laurent’s back. He sighed, deeply, matching Laurent’s frustration, but not his alarm.
Gently, he pushed Laurent off of him, and stood, going to the bathroom and walking back out with the same bathrobe Laurent had seen on the sink the night before. He wrapped it around himself, effectively hiding his clear boner, Laurent noted in silent triumph. But Laurent was stuck; there wasn’t a second bathrobe he knew of and he would be very clearly hard as a rock in his sweatpants, if he left the bed now.
“Just stay there,” Edamura directed, and walking to the door and peeking out carefully. “Who is it?” he said, casually.
“Oh, Mr. Edamura, you’re home?” the voice outside asked.
“Yes,” Edamura responded, and Laurent felt his stomach drop. “We elected to wait out the storm here. Thank you for checking on us, Mr. Flores.”
“It’s no problem!” the person apparently named Mr Flores said jovially. “Building management got your message that you had arrived, we were quite worried! You were alright through the night?”
“Yes, we were quite comfortable,” Edamura said, stepping further into the hallway, and apparently leading the visitor into the living room and away from the bedroom door. “Thank you very much for letting me in last night and locking the building up after me.”
“I’m glad I did!” Mr. Flores responded, his voice carrying easily from the living room. “Some very shady men came knocking right after you arrived, but they left when they couldn’t get in. I made sure to save the security footage of them so you can have it,” he continued, speaking more quietly. “I’m sure you’ll have more use for it than the police.”
Laurent was getting out of bed now, his erection had flagged significantly at overhearing this conversation. A few things were clicking rapidly into place⏤
The henchmen...
The soup.
The cat-head lighter. It had been staring him in the face.
Laurent stepped tentatively out into the hall, and saw Edamura standing near the couch with a squat older man, who was wearing a black jacket with a logo printed on the back. It was the condominium’s name⏤ The Azalea. Edamura was fiddling with a wad of folded bills; he passed a clump of them to Mr. Flores, smiling winningly.
Then he noticed Laurent standing in the door, and Mr. Flores followed his gaze. “Ah,” he said, “I’m sorry to have disturbed you and your…”
Mr. Flores paused, recognition dawning. Laurent had spoken to this man before; when they’d been running the con he’d had to pose as a resident, but under an alias. “Jeanne Valois.” Laurent supplied, stepping forward and offering his hand.
Edamura, standing behind them, snorted. He recovered quickly, hopefully before Mr. Flores noticed, saying “Jeanne is a...close personal friend.”
“Oh, no problem, no problem at all!” Mr. Flores said, waving his hands, flustered. “You had informed us that your apartment would be lent to your friend while you were away. Allow me to say welcome home, Mr. Edamura and Mr. Valois, and we’re happy to have you both staying with us, even if it is during such inclement weather!” he laughed again. Edamura laughed along with him. Laurent donned a charming smile, willing himself to remain calm.
Edamura continued to discuss some building particulars with Mr. Flores, while Laurent’s head spun. Someone had tipped off the mark. They’d been set up, at just the right time to isolate Laurent, and if the henchmen hadn’t gotten spooked by⏤
Mr. Flores left them, after a lengthy farewell full of assurances that the building would continue to be safe and secure for any residents who had elected to stay through the storm, although Laurent was pretty sure they were the only ones still there.
Edamura walked into the kitchen, pulling out cups and the Chemex and coffee beans, without even the slightest hesitation, like he knew where everything was already. Because he did. Because this was his fucking apartment .
Laurent couldn’t take it anymore. He walked up behind him, slamming his hands on the counter and boxing Edamura in. The guilty party spun to face him, his face still blank. “You nearly had me beaten to death,” Laurent muttered, crowding him. “Was that cathartic?”
Edamura just stared back up at him, a grin beginning to tug at the corners of his mouth.
“I needed you to see that I was your equal. It took me a while to build up my resources...Cynthia was a big help. You should thank her.” He was grinning fully now, smug, fingers toying with the drawstrings of Laurent’s sweatshirt.
“You’ve gotten sloppy on the job, Laurent. You were going to get yourself killed one way or another if someone didn’t intervene.” He reached up to Laurent’s throat, caressing the bandage there, then slid his hand up and touched the tender part of his skull, a bit too rough, possessive. “You need someone to have your back. Someone who can handle you.” He looked into Laurent’s eyes, his grip on Laurent’s hair tightening more with each word. Laurent felt like he was tipping forward, falling.
“You’re right,” he breathed. He was being hypnotized, slipping into a trance. There was no other explanation for the way his body seemed to sing at being so thoroughly defeated. “You. I need you.” And Edamura’s grin widened into a mischievous smile, eyes flashing with danger.
Laurent wanted to kiss that smile away, to make Edamura shudder and fall apart again and again, to own him, and Edamura looked for all the world like he’d won a game of chess. He was Oz’s son, after all⏤the damned wizard of confidence games. Makoto Edamura had Oz’s diabolical brilliance, and more⏤because he had been conned by the very best: Laurent Thierry had played a years-long mindgame with him, and Edamura had come out the other side a little bit mad.
Laurent thought, resigned, that he would probably be paying Edamura back for that, for a long time yet.
He leaned in to capture that blazing smile in a kiss.