Chapter 1: Thursday Night - 1
Chapter Text
A light flick to his ear jolts Mikael back to consciousness.
“Stop,” he grumbles, swatting the hand away and burying his face further into the crook of his elbow. The hand returns, jostling his shoulder roughly.
“Can’t fuckin’ sleep here, Mik. You gotta go home.”
Mikael lifts his head and blinks against the glare of the overhead lights. Kuuno is standing beside his desk, arms crossed. He has his patrol cloak on and a cigarette tucked behind one ear.
“I’m fine,” Mikael argues as he shuffles through the paperwork he'd been using as a pillow. “I was just resting my eyes, but there are a few more reports to record, then I'll–”
“Cut the shit," Kuuno interjects. "You’re exhausted, and I’m exhausted just looking at you. Now close up. I’ll drive you home. You’ve got school tomorrow.”
Heat creeps into Mikael’s cheeks, and he hides it by bending to unzip his satchel. “You don’t have to… Plus, I'm literally about to graduate next month. I can skip a day. I'll just take the tram once I–”
Kuuno scoffs and shifts to lean against the desk. “Like hell I’m letting you take the tram at this hour.”
“What are you, my guard dog?”
“Hey!” Kuuno whirls to lean his palms against the desk, pointing his finger only inches away from Mikael's face. “You fuckin’ know it would be my head on the block if something happened to you while on my watch. Who knows what freaky Moralintern strings your dad can pull. He’d get me fuckin’... black bagged.”
Mikael snorts in amusement. “Uh, sure. You know he just works in finance, right?”
Kuuno scowls back at him. “You wanted to do a little fancy internship with the RCM, so you play by our rules, got it?”
Mikael smirks at him, raises a brow. “So, your rules involve driving the intern home?”
“You bet your fuckin’ ass they do. Now pack up.”
Kuuno was assigned one of the more beat-up patrol MCs. It used to smell like cigarettes, though he’d recently hung a little bird-shaped air freshener from the rear view mirror, so now it smells like cigarettes and flowery cologne. They zip down the 8-81 towards Couron. Mikael tries not to look over too much, but finds himself staring at Kuuno’s profile as he drives. His nose was broken at some point over the last year and the bridge healed with a jagged lump protruding from the center. Kuuno's eyes remain on the road, both hands on the steering levers. The radio plays softly in the background, filling the silence between them.
“The fuck you lookin’ at?” Kuuno asks after a minute.
“Nothing,” Mikael replies, jerking his gaze away.
“Something,” Kuuno says with a smirk. “How handsome Kuuno is, probably.”
“You broke your nose.”
Kuuno reaches a hand up to briefly touch the bridge of his nose before returning to the levers. “You can tell?”
“Looks like it broke right in the center.” Mikael leans across the front seat and draws a line down the bridge of Kuuno’s nose with the tip of his finger and taps. "Right there."
Kuuno’s ears go red and he knocks Mikael’s hand away. “Yeah, and it hurt like a bitch when it happened, too. Perp tried to run, so I ran after him. Tackled the guy and got an elbow to the nose. I could have killed the bastard…” Kuuno scowls at the road and chews at his lip.
“For giving you a broken nose? You would have killed him?”
“I said could have,” Kuuno corrects. “But he was a right piece of shit anyways. Domestic violence case. He fuckin’ hightailed it when we were called in to stop a dispute. His lady had a black eye.” Kuuno clucks his tongue in disapproval and shakes his head.
“Are you ever afraid?” Mikael asks after a moment.
Kuuno shakes his head with a smile. “Nah. Shit’s so much better for me now than when I was a kid. It’s dangerous, yeah, but I don’t feel afraid. Just excited and ready to kick teeth in.”
Mikael hums with a nod, unconvinced. “You should be more careful, though.”
Kuuno’s hands tighten on the steering levers as the smile falls from his face. “I’m careful.”
They merge onto the exchange loop, passing over the Eminent Domain and curving towards the towering, gilded apartments of Couron and the meticulous rows of houses just beyond them. Mikael’s eyes feel heavy, but his nerves are jittery. He hazards another glance at Kuuno, only to catch his eye. They both look away without saying anything. Kuuno turns up the radio. Mikael clears his throat.
"It's this next exit. Then you'll take the first right."
As they pull up to Mikael's house, the windows are dark and the driveway is empty. Kuuno puts the MC in park, then leans forward to peer out the front windshield and squint up at the house.
“Why’s it all dark and shit?”
“Dad’s on a trip,” Mikael explains as he gathers his satchel and slings the strap over his head. “He should be back by the end of the weekend.”
“So… you’re just here by yourself?” Kuuno’s brow furrows. “Isn’t that dangerous?”
Mikael laughs. “Uh, no? It’s fine. I’m not a kid.”
Kuuno rolls his eyes at that. “Yeah, sure, but you’re just… alone? In that giant house?”
“It’s not that big…”
“Mik, my apartment is like… I could fit five of my apartments in your house.”
“Whatever. You haven’t even seen the inside.”
“You offering to give me a tour?” Kuuno asks with a grin.
Mikael pauses, his stomach squirming with nervous excitement. “I mean, sure. If you want.”
Kuuno looks as though he wasn’t expecting that answer, his expression turning slack and mouth hanging open slightly.
“I can make some food if you're hungry,” Mikael adds, hoping he sounds casual. “And I have beer.”
“No fucking way you drink beer,” Kuuno says with a laugh.
“I do!” Mikael insists, even though it’s only a half truth. Since his eighteenth birthday, he’s tried exactly two types of alcohol: beer and vodka. He didn’t like either of them. But buying the six pack at the store made him feel like an adult, and with his dad out of town, he needed to feel like an adult.
“I don’t really drink,” Kuuno says, turning to squint back up at the house again. “But sure, show me your fancy house and I’ll have one of your rich person beers.”
“They’re normal beers,” Mikael insists, opening the door and hopping out of the MC.
Stepping into his own home with Kuuno right behind him, Mikael is suddenly self-conscious for reasons he can't fully identify. It's a jarring shift in context with no precedent. It's easy to talk to Kuuno at the Precinct, easy to joke and rib each other. Kuuno always seems at ease in a way that's fully out of Mikael's grasp––the sense of someone who has walked through the fire and come out the other side. It fills him with a longing that has no real name. It's part desire to be as cool as him, and part desire to protect him from all of the bad things that are out there in the world. To give him nice things.
But now, Kuuno is stepping into the place where Mikael lives. As irrational as it may be, the feeling is almost as if Kuuno will be able to see just how lame Mikael really is just by looking at all of his stuff.
Kuuno peers around curiously as he shrugs out of his patrol jacket and hangs it by the front door. Mikael steals fleeting glances as Kuuno unbuttons his shirt cuffs and pushes his sleeves up to his elbows, then unbuttons the top collar of his shirt and loosens his tie.
"You gotta take your shoes off," Mikael says as Kuuno begins to step up into the living room.
"Uh..." He looks down at his boots. "I've been wearing these all day, Mik. My feet probably fuckin' reek."
"Sorry, but it's house rules."
"Even while daddy is out of town?" Kuuno smirks, but bends to unlace his boots. "Well don't complain to me when you throw up because you catch a whiff."
Mikael laughs and walks ahead of him through the living room and into the kitchen.
"Oi!" Kuuno calls from the foyer. "Don't leave me here, I'll get lost!"
"It's a straight shot!" Mikael calls over his shoulder. "Can't miss it!" He grins, overwhelmed with sudden giddiness. It's nice. Whatever this is, it's nice. He pulls two beers from the fridge. When he turns the corner back into the living room, Kuuno is suddenly there, and they bump into each other.
"Sorry," Kuuno says with a laugh, steadying Mikael by his shoulders. "Got scared and shit. Place is huge. I nearly starved to death trying to find my way over here."
"Shut up," Mikael says, his ears going hot. He hands Kuuno the beer. "Here. I'm gonna put on some music."
"Really pulling out all the stops for me, yeah?" Kuuno cracks the beer can and takes a swing as he walks. He pauses in the center of the living room, inspects the label, makes a humming noise. "Y'know, it's pretty good, but I think I prefer the domestics."
Mikael laughs because he doesn't know what else to do. His chest is fluttery and his tongue feels thick and useless in his mouth.
It's just Kuuno , he reminds himself. You've known him for years. You see him every week.
But for whatever reason, over the past few months of his internship, as the two of them have grown closer and closer, Mikael finds it difficult to breathe whenever Kuuno stands too close to him. His face will go hot, his stomach squirmy. Mikael has known for several years that he likes boys, but it's been inexplicably difficult to come to terms with the fact that he likes Kuuno.
And now he's in my house, Mikael thinks as he shuffles through his dad's tape collection. Totally fine. Just two guys hanging out together on a Thursday night. It's fine. Besides, Kuuno is straight.
"What're the choices'?"
Mikael jumps and nearly drops the tape in his hands as Kuuno materializes at his back.
"Easy, Mik!" Kuuno drapes an arm around his shoulder with a grin, leaning in close as he looks down at the tape selection. He smells like motor oil and cigarettes and cologne, and something deep in Mikael's psyche jolts with arousal.
"Sorry, my dad's tapes are all, like... old people music. I have some of my own upstairs if you want me to–"
"I like this one." Kuuno taps the tape with his index finger, his others gripping the top of the beer can, and for some reason the little gesture just looks so effortlessly cool that Mikael feels like the world's biggest loser .
Kuuno's hands are long and defined, dappled with freckles and a smattering of scars.
"Oh. Okay, yeah. Sure."
It's an old jazz album and not something that Mikael would have ever assumed Kuuno would know about, much less listen to.
"Best trumpet player in Revachol," Kuuno adds. "I used to listen to him on the radio when I was a junior officer. They always put on the oldies stations." He smiles, removes his arm from Mikael's shoulder. "Put it on. It's good shit."
As Mikael puts the tape in the player, Kuuno wanders the perimeter of the room pensively. He stops in front of each of the large, abstract paintings Mikael's father has collected over the years, stares silently for a moment, then moves on to do the same to the next. Mikael wants to know what he's thinking, but is worried that either Kuuno will think the paintings are stupid or boring, or that he'll come off like a pretentious know-it-all if he tries to explain what each of them are.
Thankfully, Kuuno makes his way to the couch and sits down without saying a word, so Mikael follows and joins him, keeping a respectable space between them.
Kuuno takes a sip of beer then sets it on the end table before turning to look at Mikael. "So, I know you've got this fancy intern shit, but I never understood what it is you're actually doing for us. Like, you take the reports and...?"
"Oh, it's, like...statistics, mostly. Data collection."
Kuuno just stares at him, brow furrowed. "How's that?"
Mikael crosses his legs as he settles back against the couch. "So, your archives go way back, right? And the system is pretty outdated to begin with. So, like, the bulk of what I'm doing is basic data cleanup, but the interesting stuff is where the statistics come in. Because my whole hypothesis for the internship is about pattern recognition. Basically, predicting crime before it happens."
"Wait, so... What?" Kuuno blinks aggressively, shakes his head. "I thought this was just some like...volunteer shit your school made you do."
"Um, sort of." Mikael feels his face grow warm. "It's a senior year requirement. They have standard internship programs. Like...predetermined options that you can pick off a list. But I created and structured my own program, because working with the RCM has never been one of the options."
"So...why us?" Kuuno asks. He's become jittery, drumming his fingers against his knees while tapping his feet, as if playing an invisible drum kit along to the music. "I mean, I know your dad has been all up in our shit since... fuck... longer than I've been there, but," He gestures to Mikael with a fluttering hand before he returns to his knee-drumming. "You're high class shit. You're smart. I don't get why you'd want to–"
"Because it's fascinating," Mikael says before Kuuno can finish. "And, well, if I'm able to actually organize the data, my goal is to create a workable model around risk assessment that assigns probability scores to..." He trails off when Kuuno dips to pull a magazine from the magazine rack by the foot of the couch, thumbing through it distractedly. Mikael scrubs his hands over his face, suddenly self-conscious. "Sorry, you probably don't want to hear about this stuff."
"You're smart as shit," Kuuno says with a smirk, still looking through the magazine. "I think I'd die of boredom if I had to sit and look at papers all day. Numbers. Filling out reports is bad enough. Maddening shit. I go where the action is."
"Well, it takes all types."
"Huh?"
"It's what my dad always says," Mikael says with a laugh and a shrug. "I mean, you do the important stuff. I just organize it into numbers and charts. I couldn't do what you do. I'd just be scared all the time."
Kuuno puts the magazine back. "Yeah, well, that's because it's fuckin' scary shit." He turns to face Mikael, tucking a leg beneath him and sliding his arm over the back of the couch. "You really think you could predict crime before it happens?"
Mikael grimaces, wavers his hand. "That's the goal, but predictions are always going to be faulty. So, like, I'm compiling all the data on crime type, locations, date, time, suspect descriptions, case outcomes, yadda, yadda, yadda."
"Which part of my reports are fuckin' 'yadda yadda', huh?"
Mikael laughs and it comes out more like a giggle. He clears his throat. "But to answer your question... Yes? Maybe? It's like how people predict the movements of the stock market. It's all based on pattern recognition. It doesn't mean it's for sure going to happen, it's just an educated guess."
"But what if you're wrong?" Kuuno asks, cocking his head to the side in curiosity. "Say you get some bad information, shit says 'there's gonna be crime in this neighborhood', and then we dispatch a whole unit. Then there's no crime there and we just end up scaring a bunch of people for no reason. Meanwhile bitches are getting shot and stabbed on the other end of the city."
"Well, it's always a possibility..." Mikael's face get hot.
"What if you get a bunch of people committing crimes who all look the same? So, we discriminate against them now because the pattern says so? It's different when it's people. Not just numbers on a page."
"Yeah, I know that! I'm not saying... So, there's certainly an ethical component to these things. I know that there are people on the other end of these numbers. The goal isn't to, like, dehumanize or create–"
"You're cute when you get all passionate," Kuuno interrupts, causing Mikael's brain to short-circuit.
"Uh..." Mikael blinks. His eyes drop briefly to Kuuno's mouth before he jerks his gaze to look across the room. "Th-thanks? Most people think it's annoying."
Kuuno grins at him. "Most people think I'm annoying. People don't know shit."
"Did you want another beer?" Mikael asks, if only to change the subject. He gets to his feet and grabs his own can, tips it back and drains the last of the contents. It's bitter on his tongue and causes his mouth to pucker.
Kuuno just shakes his head. "Nah, I don't even think I'll finish this one." He picks his beer up from the end table and hands it to Mikael. "I just don't like the stuff. Not my drug of choice, y'know? You grow up around fuckin' drunk bums and it makes drinking seem like a shit thing to do."
Mikael takes the beer in his free hand and begins walking back into the kitchen. Kuuno follows him.
"Wh-what is your drug of choice?" Mikael asks.
"Speed," Kuuno answers immediately. "Been doin' it since I was ten."
"Ten!?" Mikael spins around to look at him, mouth falling open. "How would you even find speed at ten?"
Kuuno gives him a skeptical look, brow raised and a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "Easily, Mik." He takes the beer out of Mikael's hand and walks it over to the sink, pours the rest of it down the drain. "I grew up in Martinaise, remember? Drug city."
Mikael tries to remember what he was doing at ten years old. He was in his final years of elementary school, still obsessed with würms and Wirrâl, playing war in the cul-de-sac with his neighbors. At ten, he and his mother had moved to the easternmost part of Stella Maris, and he'd begun to see his dad less and less.
"What was it like? Growing up there?" Mikael asks.
Kuuno grimaces and looks away. "Uh, bad. It was bad. But Harry got me out of there, thank fuck."
"Wait, so, Captain DuBois isn't your real dad?"
Kuuno laughs loudly at this, tipping his head back and dislodging the cigarette still tucked behind his ear. "Fuck no he's not my real dad! We don't even look alike. He adopted my ass when I was twelve." He bends to retrieve the cigarette and tucks it back in place, leans against the counter, crossing his arms. "He brought me into the brotherhood. Got me trained up."
Mikael was fifteen when he first met Kuuno. He was visiting the Jamrock RCM headquarters with his dad. He'd been wide-eyed and enamored by the scale and bustle of the 41 Precinct. It felt alive in a way he'd never experienced. Kuuno had been nineteen at the time and freshly promoted to patrol officer after seven long years as a juvie. He was one of the youngest officers they had, and had practically grown up in the 41st, (or so his dad had explained to him after the fact). Kuuno had barely acknowledged Mikael at the time, but Mikael had found him immediately fascinating for reasons he couldn't quite put a name to. All he knew is that he wanted Kuuno to think he was cool.
"Was it hard?"
"What, the J.O. program? Fuck yeah it was hard. They kicked my fuckin' ass. It was like...military boot camp type shit. Wake up at 5 AM, run laps, do pushups. We had five minutes to eat every meal."
Mikael groans sympathetically. "Is that why you always eat so fast?"
Kuuno winks at him. "Old habits."
The wink makes Mikael's body flush hot.
"But it was worth it." He pushes off the counter and steps over to Mikael. "Gave me principles, y'know? And..." He looks suddenly self-conscious. “I...don’t do that much speed. Only when I’m on the job. It just helps me think better. I’m not some fuckin’ junkie.”
“I didn’t think you were.”
They stare at each other as a pregnant beat of silence passes. Mikael’s eyes roam over Kuuno’s face, landing on the scar that cuts through his eyebrow.
“How’d you get this one?” he asks, reaching up to touch it.
Kuuno grabs him by the wrist. “Don’t do that.”
“Sorry!" Mikael’s pulse spikes, his face flushing hot. He tries to pull his hand away, but Kuuno holds him fast. "I’m sorry, I–”
“It makes me want to kiss you when you look at me like that.”
Mikael’s eyes go wide; his mouth runs dry. “Wh-what?”
Kuuno steps closer, still holding Mikael by the wrist. “You’re pretty.”
“Are you on drugs right now?” Mikael asks, because this can’t be real. Kuuno didn’t even drink that much.
“You don’t want to kiss me?” Kuuno is looking at him with such intensity that Mikael feels like he’s going to explode. “You're always staring at me and shit. Like you want to.”
“Do you even like boys?” Mikael asks, desperate to make sense of this reality. He'd never once pinned Kuuno as even remotely gay, much less interested in him.
“Nah, not really.” Kuuno confirms with a grin. “S’why you’ve got me all messed up. Screwing with my head, Mik. You look at me with those big fuckin' eyes, all cute and shit. And it got me thinkin’, maybe.. Yeah, maybe I'm into this. Maybe I want to kiss him, too.” He cocks his head to the side, his eyes dropping to Mikael's mouth. “Couldn’t fuckin’ kiss you until you were eighteen, though. I’m not a fuckin’ slimy perv.”
Mikael feels a surge of desperate frustration. “So, what, a few months makes a difference?” Because he would have very much liked if Kuuno had kissed him sooner.
“I’m an officer of the law, Mikael.” Kuuno falsely deepens his voice, finally releasing Mikael’s wrist to place a hand over his heart. “I swore an oath.”
He can’t believe they’re having this conversation. All the nights that Mikael had jerked himself to sleep thinking about Kuuno, feeling guilty about it the next day, promising not to do it again, only to definitely do it again, and now... This. In his own house. In his own kitchen. Kuuno standing close enough that he can feel the heat of his body and smell his fading cologne. Forbidden fruit. Something that he had thought would forever be just out of his reach.
“So do it,” Mikael sputters.
Kuuno drops his hand, raises an eyebrow.
“K-kiss me, then.” Mikael swallows. “I want you to.”
Kuuno grins, all crooked teeth and dimples, and steps forward. He slides a hand around the back of Mikael's waist, tilts his head to the side, and presses their mouths together.
His lips are warm and dry. Mikael's chest feels like a collapsing star. He sucks in a breath through his nose as he shakily raises his hands to rest on either side of Kuuno's firm neck. It's a short kiss. Kuuno pulls away after only a moment, his eyes fluttering.
"Huh," he says as he slides his other hand around Mikael's waist as well. "Gay shit isn't too bad." Then he leans forward again and kisses Mikael harder.
Mikael gets hard so fast he's afraid he might pass out. He whimpers against Kuuno's mouth, slides one hand across the buzzed hair on the back of his head, the other down his back, holds on like he'd otherwise spin off into the sky. He hasn't kissed many people thus far in his life, and he especially hasn't kissed anyone he's ever had a crush on. It's an unparalleled feeling—like an explosion of fireworks inside his heart, dizzying and terrifying. Kuuno shifts a leg so that his thigh is between Mikael's and he laughs through their kiss.
"Not used to feeling that," he says against Mikael's lips as he presses his thigh harder against Mikael's groin. "I made you hard, huh?"
"Shut up," Mikael says, mortified. "It's a natural bodily response."
Kuuno smiles as he presses kiss after kiss along Mikael's neck, his rough stubble causing goosebumps to erupt across Mikael's entire body.
"You're so fuckin' pretty. Never seen a boy so pretty... I think I'd suck your cock if you asked me to."
Mikael's breath comes out in a ragged huff, nervous sweat trickling from beneath his arms. "I-I'd let you.. I'd...s-s..." He can't say it. He's never said it to anyone.
"You like it up the ass, Mik?" Kuuno asks, breath hot against his ear.
Mikael whines without meaning to. "Y-yeah."
He's only ever fingered himself curiously in the shower. He loves the feeling, though—the burning stretch of it, the watery pleasure he can elicit from getting just the right angle. He'd imagined it was Kuuno more than a few times—that they'd been in the Precinct locker room after hours and Kuuno had found him half-dressed, followed him into the shower, made Mikael get on his knees to suck his cock beneath the spray of water, fingered him open, fucked him against the cold tile.
Kuuno's hands cup the back of Mikael's ass, fingertips pressing along the cleft through his pants. "You wanna fuck?"
The question turns Mikael's brain to goo as all of the blood left in his body rushes to his dick. "Yes," he answers huskily before he has time to really think it over.
He feels Kuuno grin against his neck, then he feels the scrape of teeth, a light bite. "You got condoms?"
"Uhh...." Shitfuck. Mikael had bought a pack of condoms once but got so nervous about his dad finding them that he left them in a bush outside the Fritte immediately after making the purchase. "I might have to hunt for them."
"I bet your dad has some."
"Ew." Mikael scrunches up his nose. "Don't say that."
Kuuno pulls back with a grin. "I know your old man fucks. Sorry, Mik, I wish I didn't, but I do."
"Stop! You're gonna make my boner go away."
Kuuno laughs against Mikael's cheek, then kisses his jaw, then they're kissing again, condoms momentarily forgotten. Mikael melts against him, opens his mouth and tentatively slides his tongue across Kuuno's lips. Kuuno hums appreciatively and responds in kind. Mikael isn't sure if he necessarily likes the slick feeling of their tongues touching, or the sour aftertaste of beer in his own mouth, nor the lingering taste of cigarettes in Kuuno's. But the action itself is so erotic and new that it causes a zipper of arousal to jolt through Mikael's belly button, and he grinds his crotch against Kuuno's thigh, opens his mouth a little wider, lets Kuuno press his tongue in further. Kuuno bites down on his lower lip as he pulls away.
"God," he says against Mikael's neck. "You rubbin' up on me and shit? So fuckin' hot. Like you're starved for it."
"I've..." Mikael swallows around a moan as Kuuno sucks at the side of his neck. "I've kind of...wanted this for a while."
"I know. You're so obvious, Mik."
"Shut up," Mikael all but whines. "You're such an asshole."
Kuuno leans back grinning, kisses Mikael once sweetly. "So, less talkin', more fuckin'. I haven't done this fag style before, so you'll have to teach me what to do."
Mikael startles at that. "Oh, um... Well, it'll be a learning experience for both of us, then."
Kuuno's expression falters, smile sliding from his face. "What's that mean? Like, you haven't...?" He pulls away, putting space between them while still keeping his hands on Mikael's hips. "You haven't fucked anyone?"
"I mean, I haven't really been given the opportunity, so..."
"Like, ever? You've never fucked anyone at all?"
"Stop rubbing it in," Mikael growls irritably. "It's not weird."
"Mik, I fucked for the first time when I was like...fourteen."
"That's insane . But you also did speed at ten, so–" Mikael hates the trajectory of this conversation. "Can we get back to the part where we find some condoms?"
"Oh no. Absolutely fuckin' not. Kuuno is not poppin' your cherry–are you serious , Mik!?"
"Why not!?" Mikael fires back, face hot with anger. "Someone has to do it eventually!"
"Not me! Fuckin' hell..." Kuuno is stepping away, walking away, and Mikael feels like a fucking idiot for saying anything at all. He should have lied. Told him after the fact.
"So, what, you were all about it before you found out, but now that you know, you think I'm–I'm pathetic or something? You don't even wanna touch me?"
Kuuno whirls back around, his face flushed in anger. "The fuck you on about!? No! That's not–"
"Then what's–?"
"Mikael, look at me!" Kuuno gestures aggressively to himself, eyes wide. "Now, look at you! Look at this place!" He motions to the kitchen around them then lets his hands fall to clap loudly against his thighs. "I can't–you don't–you should have your first time be fuckin', I don't fuckin' know... nice. With someone...better."
Mikael deflates, his breath coming out in a rush. Oh. He chews on his bottom lip, crosses his arms over his chest.
"But... I want it to be with you."
"That's fuckin' sad," Kuuno says with a sigh, rubbing a hand over his eyes.
"Why?" Mikael stares intently at the floor. "I've had a crush on you for, like....a year at this point."
"You're mad for that, Mik. Shit taste in men. Absolute garbage."
"Stop." Mikael looks up with a scowl. "I'm serious."
"So am I," Kuuno replies with a hangdog expression, hands in his pockets.
They're both silent for a long moment, each staring at the floor. Mikael has gone half-soft and attempts to emotionally reconcile that the evening likely won't recover from this. He sighs, runs a hand across his face. More than anything, he just wants to kiss Kuuno again. Wants to feel him pressed close. Even if they don't have sex, he doesn't want this to end.
"Can we just, like...make-out some more?" Mikael pleads.
Kuuno lets out a huff of a laugh, scrubs a hand over his eyes again. He looks over at Mikael with an expression of fond amusement, then steps closer again. Mikael's heart leaps into his throat and he shifts against the center island. Kuuno keeps his hands in his pockets as his eyes trail over Mikael's face, sweeping downwards. His eyes are hazel and freckled like the rest of him. Unable to keep his hands to himself, Mikael reaches up and touches the side of Kuuno's face, sweeping his thumb across his cheekbone. Then he traces the scar that cuts through his eyebrow, delicately runs the tip of his finger down the bridge of Kuuno's nose. Kuuno closes his eyes and exhales, takes his hands out of his pockets, pulls Mikael closer by the waist.
"You really like my ugly ass?"
Mikael nods, tracing the pad of his thumb lightly across Kuuno's lips. "I don't think you're ugly."
"You're fuckin' blind, then. I look like someone stepped on my face as a baby. My head is shaped like someone's left foot."
Mikael laughs, brings his other hand up to cup Kuuno's cheek, studies the cluster of freckles spread across his nose. "Well, I think you're handsome."
Kuuno lets out a long sigh as he closes his eyes, leaning forward until their foreheads touch. "Your dad's gonna fuckin' kill me."
Mikael smiles as his heart beats a little faster. "So you still wanna–?"
"No ass stuff," Kuuno says, pulling back with a scowl. "I don't know what the fuck I'm doing, and the last thing I want is to fuckin' hurt you or some shit."
"Okay, yeah, that's fine. I'm... I was probably a little overzealous anyways."
"Rule number two," Kuuno says, holding up two fingers. "No big words allowed in the bedroom."
"What?" Mikael laughs. "Like overzealous? That's not a big word. It's...a compound adjective."
"I'll fuckin' flush your head down the toilet if you keep that shit up."
Mikael grins, bites at his lower lip. He leans forward and kisses Kuuno quickly, pleased and giddy with the fact that Kuuno lets him.
"Let's go to my room."
Chapter 2: Thursday Night - 2
Notes:
Big thanks to the multiple people who ended up unintentionally beta-reading this and catching a slew of typos y'all would have otherwise had to suffer through. Shoutout Houseofchaos, PrimordialPrimrose, and helio5igma!
Anyhoo, please enjoy some awkward young adult fumbling sex.
Chapter Text
Mikael's room isn't the messiest it's ever been, but it's not clean either. He clicks on his bedside lamp and hurriedly picks up a few scattered items of clothing from the floor and tosses them into the laundry basket in his closet.
"Uh, so, yeah. This is where I sleep," he says, pushing his hair out of his face and gesturing nervously to the room. "And keep my clothes and stuff."
"You're such a nerd," Kuuno says with nothing but fondness in his voice, looking around at each of the walls with a grin on his face.
Mikael hesitates, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. He's still hard and driven to near insanity with the idea that there might soon be a hand or mouth on his cock, or that he might have his hand or mouth on a cock in return.
"Can I s-suck your dick?" Mikael blurts.
Kuuno turns to him with a raised brow, takes the cigarette from behind his ear and sets it on Mikael's desk. "Uh... I'd fuckin' love that, but I've been on patrol all day."
"I don't care," Mikael insists, stepping forward and reaching for Kuuno's belt.
Kuuno bats his hands away. "Fuck off. You've never sucked cock before, so I'm not letting your first impression be my sweaty dick and balls. Where's the bathroom?"
"Are you gonna shower?"
"Nah, just a quick wash to the bits."
"Oh... Yeah, it's just down the hall." Mikael laughs a little breathlessly. "You're such a gentleman."
Kuuno winks as he undoes his tie and pulls it free from his shirt collar. Mikael watches helplessly, unable to look away, as Kuuno then unbuttons his shirt and slides it off his shoulders, leaving only his white sleeveless undershirt on. He's covered in so many freckles it seems impossible. They cap his shoulders and trail down the outsides of his well-toned arms. Kuuno is muscular, but wiry—a lanky teen who somehow grew into a proportioned adult. As he turns to walk out of the room, Mikael catches sight of something slightly darker on his opposite shoulder.
"Oh my god,what is that tattoo?" Mikael laughs, stepping over to get a better look.
Kuuno holds his arm up to look at his own shoulder. "Oh, yeah, uh. It's kind of shit. I want to get it covered. But not, like... I want the same thing. I just want someone to do it better."
Taking up a good chunk of his right upper arm is a crudely drawn image of a man hanging by his neck from a tree. The man's face is a mottle of blown-out ink, as if the tattoo itself is bloated with death. Mikael traces it lightly with his fingertips.
"It's kind of morbid."
"That's because Kuuno is into that hardcore shit," he says with a grin. "Morbid shit. Shit you wouldn't believe."
Mikael laughs again, rubs his thumb across the hanged man's face. "You're so weird when you talk about yourself in third person."
"Old habit," Kuuno says, his grin turning sheepish. "Sometimes I don't even realize I'm saying it."
"It's kind of cute."
"You're kind of cute." Kuuno leans in and gives him a quick peck. "And I want you to suck my dick, so let me go wash it."
Mikael laughs and grabs Kuuno's face, stealing another kiss before pushing him away. "Okay, go."
His stomach is full of butterflies and he doesn't know what to do with himself. He starts to take his own shirt off, second guesses himself, then takes it off anyways. Standing in front of his closet, he inspects his reflection in the full length mirror on the back of the door. Kuuno had called him 'pretty', which he supposes is true. Mikael has always felt slightly too soft—not lacking in muscles, necessarily, but almost as if his edges were sanded off at birth. He inherited his mother's large blue eyes and his dad's button nose and dimples. His cheeks still carry the roundness of childhood, though they're slimming with each passing year. He runs a hand over the center of his chest where a sparse patch of blonde hair had begun to grow two years prior.
Kuuno returns from the bathroom, his undershirt untucked and his pants unbuttoned. "Alright, let's–" He stops short, his eyes sweeping down Mikael's bare chest, then he hums appreciatively. "Look at you, getting ready."
Mikael's face heats up and he lets out a huff of laughter. "Uh, if you could count taking off my shirt as 'getting ready', sure."
Kuuno steps over to him and reaches out with both hands to run his thumbs across Mikael's nipples. Immediately, Mikael's knees threaten to buckle, his eyes flutter, and his mouth falls open as an involuntary moan pushes its way out of his lungs. He grabs Kuuno by his elbows, but Kuuno continues to rub his thumbs in maddening little circles.
"Somebody's sensitive, yeah?"
"Oh my god," Mikael groans, his breath coming out in labored puffs. "Please..."
Kuuno relents, settling his hands against Mikael's low back. "How did you wanna do this?"
"I wanna be on my knees," Mikael says, his entire body so overloaded with lust that all shame and trepidation has fled his system. "Want you to...take my mouth. With me on my knees."
Kuuno lets out a shuddering exhale, his pupils blown wide. "On your knees, then."
Mikael drops without a second thought and Kuuno pushes down the waist of his pants. His cock springs free at eye level, and Mikael gets the distinct sense that he's staring down the barrel of a loaded gun. It's absurd and makes him laugh a little.
"Are you laughing at my cock!?" Kuuno all but yells.
"No! Oh my god, no, I'm just stupid. I'm so stupid." He reaches up and wraps a hand around the base of Kuuno's shaft, gives it an experimental pump. "You have a really nice cock."
Kuuno smirks through his scowl. "Tell me how big it is."
Mikael looks up at Kuuno, bats his eyelashes sarcastically, bites at his lower lip. "It's really big, Kuuno."
Then he leans forward and sucks the tip into his mouth.
Kuuno lets out a ragged exhale, running a hand through Mikael's hair as the other pulls his shirt up and out of the way.
Kuuno's cock is warm against his tongue, a little salty with precum, but otherwise tastes like not much of anything. Just skin and heat. Mikael closes his eyes, breathes through his nose, opens his mouth a little wider, and tries to take Kuuno deeper.
"You gotta, like...use your lips more. Keep your teeth from scraping."
Mikael pulls off with a slurp, his ears going hot. "Sorry."
"No, no, don't stop I'm just–You don't know until you know, yeah? I'm just, like... your coach. Cock sucking coach."
"Coach Kuuno," Mikael says with a laugh. "Okay, like this?" He looks up at Kuuno as he takes his cock back into his mouth, opening his jaw wider and using his lips as more of a buffer.
"Oh god fuckin' damnit. I'm never gonna be able to look at your fuckin' mouth again without getting hard as shit." Kuuno sucks in a breath through his teeth, tipping his head back and closing his eyes. "Tongue. Use your tongue a little on the bottom. Like–" He groans when Mikael complies. "Just like that. Fuck –"
Mikael's jaw begins to ache from holding it open for so long, but he's determined to be a quick study.
"You can use your hand," Kuuno manages to rasp. "Like, pump a little."
It's enjoyable, actually, or so Mikael thinks. Maybe it's just the fact that it's Kuuno—the fact that he's making all of these low, guttural noises like his insides are being carved out—the fact that Mikael is turning him on enough to make those noises. His own cock is heavy and hot in his pants, pressed uncomfortably against the zipper. He reaches down with his free hand to palm himself. Anything to take the pressure off. It causes him to groan around Kuuno's cock.
"Fuck, Mika," Kuuno gasps. "You're so fuckin' hot." He pushes both his hands through Mikael's hair. "You're gonna make me cum. I don't wanna hold off."
Mikael just moans around Kuuno, closes his eyes. He tucks both his hands behind his back and slowly bobs, hoping Kuuno gets the idea. He feels fingers tighten in his hair as Kuuno begins to guide Mikael's head up and down his shaft. It's like his dreams made manifest. Mikael imagines he's handcuffed, and his cock gives a painful throb at the fantasy.
Kuuno holds Mikael's head in place and then begins to shallowly thrust into his mouth, creating obscene squelching noises. He's gaining speed and vigor until he thrusts too deep and Mikael gags loudly, devolving into a coughing fit.
"Shit! Oh shit, I'm sorry! Fuck, Mika–" Kuuno takes a knee in front of Mikael, rubbing his thumbs across his cheeks where tears had begun to leak from his eyes. "Are you alright?"
Mikael lets out a watery laugh and gives a thumbs up. "Too deep, I think," he croaks. "I need more practice."
Kuuno is still rubbing his thumbs across Mikael's cheeks, his expression concerned. "Do you wanna stop?"
"No." Mikael coughs a final time. "I want..." He swallows, second guesses himself, worried he'll sound stupid. "–want to make you cum."
Kuuno is looking at him with undisguised hunger. He leans in and kisses Mikael hard, swiping his tongue through his mouth and biting down on his lower lip. When he pulls back, he says, "I wanna cum on your face."
"Huh?" Mikael laughs, confused.
"Can I?"
"Why?"
"Because it's fuckin' hot, that's why! Get you all messy and shit with my cum."
Mikael licks his lips, thinks about it, then nods. "Okay, yeah."
Kuuno gives him one more firm kiss then pushes back to his feet, taking his own cock in hand, stroking himself. "Stay just like that."
"Do you want me to open my mouth?" Mikael asks, his heart beating faster.
"Only if you wanna taste my cum."
Mikael licks his lips. "I mean... Yeah, a little."
Kuuno lets out a ragged huff, pumping his cock. "Then stick out your fuckin' tongue."
Mikael opens his mouth wide, sticks out his tongue, leans forward.
"Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck–" Kuuno whispers, staring intently down at Mikael, his brows pinched and upturned. "Oh, fuck, I'm fuckin' ruined. This is–" He sucks in a breath, grips the back of Mikael's head by his hair, and then lets out a bellowing shout, shooting a warm rope of cum across Mikael's mouth and cheek.
Mikael flinches, but recovers, closes his eyes and listens to Kuuno breathing hard as two more dollops of cum land on his cheek and nose, a final spurt making its way to his forehead and into a bit of his fringe.
"Oh, fuck..." Kuuno is breathing as hard as if he just ran a marathon. "Holy shit."
Mikael closes his mouth and swallows. The taste is bleachy and salty, a little sour, but overall it isn't really that unpleasant. After it settles, he decides he kind of likes it—that he wants to swallow next time.
Next time, his brain repeats. More, more, more. You need this. You need more of this. Every day for the rest of your life.
"Here," Kuuno offers breathlessly, reaching a hand down and helping Mikael get to his feet. "Go wash up." He wheezes out a laugh. "Thanks."
"My pleasure," Mikael mumbles with a chuckle.
His whole body feels warm and tingly as he walks down the hall to the bathroom. His cock is still unbearably hard, but he's beginning to like the edge of pain to it. His reflection is thoroughly debauched—red cheeks and swollen lips, cum dripping down his nose. He smiles broadly at himself in the mirror as he grabs a tissue, wiping off the majority of it dry before splashing water onto his face. He towels off and studies his reflection one final time, licking his lips and having difficulty suppressing a smile. He brings the hand towel back to the room with him.
Kuuno has re-buttoned his pants and is lounging on the bed when Mikael walks back in. He smiles, eyes half-lidded, and gestures for Mikael to join him.
"Your turn. Take your pants off."
Mikael laughs nervously. "Uh, okay."
He unbuttons his fly and steps out of his jeans, then crawls onto the bed still wearing his (noticeably tented) boxers. Kuuno stares, his brows furrowing.
"I swear to God, Mik, if your cock is fuckin' bigger than mine, I'm killing you and then I'm killing myself."
Mikael laughs loudly, falling onto his side next to Kuuno. "Please let me cum before you kill me. Please."
"So it is bigger!?"
"I think we're the same size." Mikael lifts his hips and slides his boxers down, takes his own cock in hand.
Kuuno props himself up on an elbow and stares down at Mikael's dick with a look of intense concentration. "Okay, yeah, I think you're right..." He sits up onto his knees, grabs the hem of Mikael's boxers, and slides them the rest of the way off, tossing them over his shoulder before settling between Mikael's thighs. "You're gonna have to bear with me. I've only ever jerked myself off before."
"Uh, yeah, me too," Mikael reminds him with a laugh, his body thrumming with giddy excitement. He groans when Kuuno wraps a hand around his cock—sucks in a breath.
"That good?" Kuuno asks as he begins to pump with a rough hand. It's more aggressive than Mikael would ever do to himself, but it's so distinctly Kuuno that his cock throbs wantonly regardless.
"Yeah," he groans, arching his back and reaching his arms overhead to tuck them beneath the pillow. "That's nice."
"God, look how fuckin' long you are."
Kuuno pauses his ministrations and lifts Mikael up by the hips until his ass is set against Kuuno's groin. It brings into stark contrast how Kuuno is still fully clothed while Mikael is completely naked. Then Kuuno begins to stroke him again, the other hand trailing up Mikael's stomach, across his abs, over his pecs. He thumbs a nipple, making Mikael whimper involuntarily.
"You said you've wanted this for a while, yeah?" Kuuno says. He starts grinding his hips against Mikael's ass as he strokes him. "Did you imagine me doing this to you?"
Mikael groans, huffs out a breath. "I don't–I don't know how you expect me to talk through this..."
"Try," Kuuno demands. "Tell me what you were dreamin' about."
Mikael lets out a long, pained whine. "Damn it." He huffs. "I...thought about you...finding me in the precinct's locker room. After hours."
"Yeah?" Kuuno goads as he begins to hump against Mikael in time to his strokes. "What did I do to you?"
"Fucked my mouth," Mikael gasps out, eyes squeezed closed. His face is burning hot, his heart in his throat. "Fucked me in the shower." He thrusts minutely into the tight grip around his cock. "Kuuno, ah–!"
"Fucked you in the ass?" Kuuno presses. He braces his free hand against the mattress, leans over him. "Like this?" He humps more aggressively, and Mikael swears he feels Kuuno getting hard again through his pants.
"Yeah. God, yeah." Mikael moans loudly, biting down on his lip. "Don't stop, please, god, don't–I'm gonna–"
Mikael's thighs go stiff as his back arches, and he lets out an alarmed shout as an arc of cum shoots across his stomach and chest.
"Fuck yeah, Mika," Kuuno whispers. "Keep comin' for me. Come on..." He continues to stroke, though gentler, milking him. He strokes until Mikael whimpers and grabs onto his wrists, trying to stop him, and even still Kuuno pulls one final pearl of cum from the tip of Mikael's softening dick.
"Goddamn that was fuckin' hot," Kuuno breathes, leaning forward to kiss the side of Mikael's mouth, his jaw, his neck. He places an open mouth kiss just above Mikael's clavicle and sucks.
Mikael feels boneless, his consciousness wrapped in a warm, thick blanket, his head full of cotton. He breathes, laughs a little, runs his hand through Kuuno's hair before he feels him pull away. He's vaguely aware of the swipe of a towel across his chest and stomach—Kuuno cleaning him off—and it fills him with a pang of such aching joy that tears spring into the corners of his eyes. He throws an arm over his face to spare himself the embarrassment.
"Could you hand me my boxers?" he asks after a moment.
"You okay?"
"Yeah, my bones are just rubber."
Kuuno laughs and Mikael feels the soft weight of his boxer land across his thighs. He quickly rubs his face as he sits up and slides them back on before collapsing back against the bed. Kuuno lies down beside him, staring at Mikael for a long moment, eyes roving across his face—searching for what, Mikael doesn't know. Then, Kuuno leans in and kisses him so sweetly that it feels like there's a fist gripping his heart.
They kiss lazily for a long, silent moment, just the hot, wet press of tongues and lips. Mikael traces his thumbs across the stubble along Kuuno's jaw, sighs into his mouth. Kuuno shifts until he's half-lying on top of Mikael, pressing him down into the mattress with his firm weight, their legs twined. They kiss and kiss, and Mikael doesn't want it to stop. He wants Kuuno to spend the night—wants to wake up to more kissing and morning sex. Then he'd make them breakfast and then they'd have sex again before Mikael goes off to class and Kuuno goes to work. He wants it; he wants it. His soul cries out for it.
Without warning, the sound of the front door opening and closing resonates through the house. They each jolt upright, swiveling to look at the door.
"I thought you said your dad was out of town?" Kuuno whispers, panicked.
"He is!" Mikael breaks out into a cold sweat as he scrambles to his feet and searches for a t-shirt.
The sound of heavy footsteps charge up the stairs.
Kuuno puts himself between Mikael and the door, one arm reaching back to keep Mikael behind him. "Am I gonna have to fuckin' kill someone, Mik!?"
The door bursts open and a very out-of-breath Jean Vicquemare stands in the doorway, face red and expression furious.
"Jean!?" Mikael yells as his cheeks blanch cold. "What the hell are you doing here!?"
Jean is silent, breathing hard, looking back and forth between Mikael and Kuuno, one hand on the door jam, the other on the door handle. Then, he lets out a tremendous sigh and says, "God fucking damn it."
He points at Kuuno. " You." Then points to the stairs. "Downstairs. Now. And, you." He points to Mikael. "Put some pants on." Then Jean turns around and walks back down the stairs.
Kuuno is beet red as he grabs his shirt and tie from the end of Mikael's bed and begins to leave.
"Kuuno, wait! Wait-wait, please..."
Kuuno looks at him over his shoulder, his expression halfway between fearful and furious. "Party's over," he says, then disappears down the hallway.
Mikael stands paralyzed for a moment, his nervous system alight with terror. 'I fucked up, I fucked up, I'm so dead, I'm so dead.' The thoughts spiral louder and louder until he physically hits himself on the head with the palms of his hands to make them stop.
'No!' The fear erupts into anger. 'I'm NOT a fucking kid anymore! I bend over backwards to be perfect CONSTANTLY. I am ALLOWED to HAVE THIS.'
With a sudden burst of energy, he wrestles his t-shirt on then leaps across his bed and grabs his pants from the floor, stumbling into them as he attempts to chase Jean and Kuuno downstairs. He takes the steps two at a time, and when he reaches the bottom he hears Jean's low, growling voice in the foyer.
"–kind of drugs?"
"None!" Kuuno replies shrilly. "He gave me a beer! That I didn't even fucking finish!"
"So you're telling me–" Jean cuts himself short as Mikael sprints over. He looks him up and down, his eyes landing somewhere around Mikael's collarbone, then he turns away with a loud sigh, rubbing a hand over his eyes. "Fuck me. Kuuno, go home."
Kuuno wordlessly shrugs on his patrol cloak, throwing one final look at Mikael, before opening the front door and stepping out into the night with his boots still unlaced.
Mikael barrels past Jean and out the door barefoot.
"Mikael!" Jean's voice is cut off as the door slams behind him.
"Kuuno, wait!"
"Go back inside, Mik," Kuuno says without turning around as he strides swiftly to his MC. He trips over his laces, curses, and recovers. "This was a shit idea."
Mikael grabs him by the shoulders and Kuuno allows himself to be turned around, a look of exasperation on his face. Mikael forcefully kisses him, which knocks them off-balance. Kuuno stumbles back up against the MC with a surprised grunt, then pushes Mikael away.
"Are you insane!?" he barks, holding Mikael by the shoulders. "They're gonna fuckin' skin me alive!"
"I'm a goddamn adult!" Mikael argues. "This isn't fair!"
Kuuno softens, his hands relaxing against Mikael's shoulders, expression defeated. "Mika," he says so gently it hurts. "You really shouldn't... Not with me."
"Why?!" Mikael runs his hands up Kuuno's chest, laces his fingers behind Kuuno's neck. "Why? It makes no sense. I don't get why this–" He loses energy. It feels like his heart is cracking open as cold, liquid dread seeps down the center of his chest and hardens in his stomach. He feels ill.
Kuuno musters a smirk. "It was fun, but–"
Mikael kisses him again before he can finish. He traces his thumbs across Kuuno's cheeks, presses their bodies close. He shudders with relief when he feels Kuuno's arms slowly wrap around his low back, one hand trailing up to cup the back of Mikael's head.
"I wanna see you again," Mikael says a hair's width away from Kuuno's mouth.
"You'll see me at work."
"No, I want to see you again."
Kuuno lets out a huff, a chuckle. "You're fucking stubborn as shit."
"They can't stop us," Mikael insists.
Kuuno pauses, looks at him with a creased brow. He sighs loudly, then shifts to open the driver side door of his MC.
"Kuuno, please–!"
"Will you calm the fuck down and give me a second?" Kuuno snaps. He leans across the front seat and opens the center console, digging around for a moment. When he turns back, he's holding a ballpoint pen. "Give me your hand."
Mikael blinks, then holds out his hand. Kuuno presses the pen to his skin, writing out a series of numbers. Mikael's heart leaps when he realizes it's a phone number.
"That's my home number." Kuuno taps Mikael's palm. "Call me."
"Okay," Mikael says with a grin. "Alright."
"God, you're cute," Kuuno says with a laugh as he re-caps the pen. "You're gonna be the fuckin' death of me."
Mikael just leans in and kisses him one final time, and Kuuno lets him, cupping Mikael's face and running a thumb across his cheek.
"Get home safe," Mikael whispers.
Kuuno smiles, winks. "G'night, Mik."
Chapter Text
Jean is in the kitchen when Mikael finally goes back inside. He swallows and peers through the archway, his palms sweating and pulse racing. He gently presses the hand with Kuuno's number written across it against the side of his pants, dabbing the sweat away, careful not to smudge it.
Jean has opened one of the beers Mikael had bought and is staring at the label with a creased brow.
"You bought these?" he asks.
"...Yeah."
Jean lets out a tremendous sigh. "You were supposed to call me when you got home. To let me know you were safe."
"Sorry," Mikael says compulsively, his face growing hot. He fidgets "I, uh... Kuuno gave me a ride home because I stayed later than I meant to, and he didn't want me taking the tram, so, uh..."
"He didn't give you any drugs, did he?"
"What?! No!" The ill feeling in Mikael's stomach churns into something hot and angry. "Is that what you thought was happening!?"
"Oh, I know what was happening," Jean says, heated and accusatory.
Mikael flushes from head to toe and looks away. "I'm an adult," Mikael insists. "I can do what I want."
"Wrong," Jean says, getting to his feet. He's taller than Mikael by several inches. "You are eighteen and you are still living under your father's roof. And when he's out of town, he trusts me to make sure you aren't doing stupid shit."
"What about this was stupid?" Mikael pushes back. "Am I not allowed to be interested in people? Date people?"
"Was this a date, Mika?" Jean asks, his voice heavy with sarcasm. "Or did you feel pressured to–"
"He didn't pressure me into anything! I asked! I wanted–" He stops, draws a breath, corrects himself. "I've been wanting him to–"
Jean interrupts him with a groan and covers his face with his hands. "Mika, please, I don't want to hear this..."
"I don't get it," Mikael presses. "Kuuno acts like this too—like this is the worst possible thing I could be doing. I like him. A lot. Why is that–?"
"Firstly, I've never seen Kuuno interested in other guys, ever. So I don't... And secondly , you come from a completely different world, Mika. Kuuno doesn't– You have no idea the kind of– We just don't want to see you getting hurt, is all. It's...a challenge, being with someone who doesn't have the same background as you."
"Oh, so, you and dad were the exception, then?"
"Like we're a healthy, stable basis for comparison," Jean mutters miserably. Then he scrunches up his face, shakes his head. "This isn't about that."
"I kind of think it is," Mikael says with a scowl.
"Okay, smartass." Jean takes a swing of the beer, wrinkles his nose. He smacks his tongue against the roof of his mouth. "Y'know, I think I really believe Kuuno didn't buy these." He coughs dramatically. "What is this, a double quadruple pale ale? My god, that's bitter..."
"Shut up." Mikael deepens his scowl to prevent himself from smiling.
"Do you even drink beer, Mika?"
"I'm trying new things."
Jean lets out a dry, sarcastic laugh. "Yeah, you've made that really fucking clear." He shakes his head and mutters something under his breath, takes another sip of beer, winces.
Mikael hesitates, nervously stretching his fingers back, one by one. "Are you...gonna tell my dad about this?" He hates asking it. It makes him feel like a child all over again. He shouldn't have to ask. It shouldn't matter.
Jean sighs, sets the beer down. "Probably," he says. "But mostly because I'd rather him find out from me than from someone else." He levels Mikael with a severe glare. "You're right. No one can stop you. But...can you promise me something?"
"Depends on what it is," Mikael retorts.
Jean lets out an amused huff. "You are your father's fucking son, goddamn... Okay, alright. Just...promise me you won't go sneaking around with all this. I mean, be discreet, sure, but don't... hide shit from us, okay? If he gives you drugs, hell, if you want to try drugs. Just, tell me, alright? I won't tell your dad. I just want you to be safe."
"He didn't once offer me drugs," Mikael argues. "Not once. I mean, he talked about them, but not like...' oh Mik, you should do drugs with me'. " Mikael crosses his arms, scowling down at the floor. "He's...really sweet."
"I know he is," Jean says, sounding defeated. "But you can't go around telling people that. He'll get really pissed at you."
Mikael fights against the smile that threatens his face. The feeling of giddiness returns—a gentle hopefulness blossoming behind his rib cage, filling his lungs with light.
"Okay, good talk," Jean says abruptly. He tips the beer back and drinks the rest in a few swallows, making a gagging noise and crushing the can between his palms. "I'm going the fuck home."
"Jean, wait. When are you gonna tell my dad?"
Jean closes his eyes. Sighs. "Do you want to tell him?"
Mikael considers it, then shakes his head. "No. I just wanna know when to expect him to want to talk about it."
"I'll wait until he's back in town. Give him a day to settle, at least."
"Okay..." Mikael lets out a long, weary sigh.
"Also, Kuuno gave you one hell of a fucking hickey." Jean motions to his own neck. "Wear a high collar tomorrow."
Mikael's face flushes hot as his hand shoots to his neck. "Uh, alright. Thanks."
Mikael watches Jean's MC pull away from the second story window. He lets his forehead rest against the cool glass and sighs. He looks down at his hand and uncurls his fingers to reveal the number scrawled across his palm. A smile splits his face, and he presses the back of his hand to his lips. He turns away from the window and goes to his room.
The bed sheets are still rumpled, the hand towel used for cleanup on the floor by the nightstand. Mikael flops down onto the bed belly-first and brings the pillow Kuuno had been lying on to his nose, inhaling deeply. He wishes Kuuno had left a shirt, forgotten his tie. Something. Anything he could curl up with and press his face into—something that smelled like him. But for the moment, his pillow still smells faintly of cologne, and that's enough to make Mikael's stomach squirm. He lifts his head, looks at his palm again, then gets up and walks over to his desk. Pulling out a scrap sheet of paper, he re-writes Kuuno's number and labels it, then does the same thing again onto a second piece of paper that he tucks away in this drawer, (just in case). Finally, he grabs a clean towel and heads for the bathroom.
The shower is hot enough to make Mikael light-headed. He replays the night over and over in his head as he washes, half-hard but too tired to see it through. Once he's dried and dressed he stares at Kuuno's number on his desk, running his fingertips across the ink. After a moment of deliberation, he picks up the paper and heads downstairs.
After a long drink of water and a quick snack, Mikael curls up in the chair by the living room phone and stares at it, chewing at his bottom lip pensively. He probably didn't mean 'tonight', Mikael reasons, but in the end he picks up the receiver and dials the number, throat tight and pulse racing as the line rings. After the third ring, the call goes through.
"de Ruyter, here."
Mikael sucks in a breath, his stomach flipping. "...Hey."
Kuuno laughs, his tone softens. "Already, Mik?"
"You said 'call me'," Mikael argues, grinning ear to ear as he shifts to sit more comfortably in the chair. "You didn't specify when. "
"Yeah, that's my fault, I guess." A pause. "Did Vic tear you a new one?"
"No, he was just, like...making sure you didn't give me drugs." Mikael decides he doesn't need to mention the whole 'different backgrounds' thing.
"Like I'd fuckin' do that. And he's such a fuckin' hypocrite."
"It's fine," Mikael assures. "He didn't forbid me from ever seeing you again or anything."
"Yeah, but your dad might." He sounds amused when he says it, but Mikael's stomach sinks regardless.
"You wanna...go to dinner or something? This weekend?"
"Like a date?" Kuuno draws out the word 'date' in a long, teasing tone.
"We don't have to call it that," Mikael says nervously. Then, feeling bold, he adds, "But I do want to, like, make out with you some more, so..." He shrugs, even though Kuuno can't see him.
"Right, yeah." Kuuno laughs. "I wouldn't mind that. Calling it a date, I mean. Or the making out and shit." He sucks in a breath. "I really wouldn't mind doing that again."
Mikael's heart thumps a little harder against his sternum. "Yeah, that was pretty cool," he says with a grin.
"Pret-ty cool..." Kuuno agrees.
The line goes silent for a moment as Mikael smiles wider, closes his eyes, presses his forehead to the receiver, then straightens up. "So, Saturday?"
"Uh, I'll have to check my patrol schedule. But yeah, possibly. Can I call you tomorrow night? You're not doing internship shit tomorrow, right?"
"No, I have swimming lessons on Fridays."
Kuuno laughs and the line crackles with a bit of static. "Goddamn swimming lessons. That's why you're built like a fuckin' slinky little river otter."
"What in the hell is that supposed to mean!?" Mikael demands with a bark of laughter.
"What time you home tomorrow?"
Mikael bites his lip through a smile. "Probably around 7."
"I'll call you at 7:30."
"Okay," Mikael agrees, still smiling. "Yeah. Sounds good."
"G'night, Mika," Kuuno says for the second time that night. Softly. Fondly.
"Goodnight, Kuuno," Mikael all but whispers.
Jean slams the door closed. He loosens his tie as he stalks over the couch and sinks down into the worn cushions, wrapped in a thick aura of defeat. He leans his head back and lets out a low groan, rubbing his brow.
His annoying bastard of a roommate pops his head out of the kitchenette.
“Bad day at work, huh?”
“No actually, work was surprisingly–shut up, Harrier, we work together, you–" Jean sighs again, closes his eyes and furrows his brow. "I’m not in the mood.”
Harry grins and sits down across from Jean on the edge of their coffee table. “What’s wrong?” He gives Jean's knee a single pat. “Can I help?”
Jean opens his eyes, reaches silently for his cigarettes, and doesn’t speak until he’s let two drags sink low in his lungs. “Wish you could, but no. Do you know what your fucking rabid dog of a son did today?”
Harry stiffens at that.
“Kuuno? He was on patrol all day. Then he was catching up on some paperwork when I left. He said not to wait up, but that he’d be–“ Harry is starting to get up, clearly agitated.
“No, relax. Sit down. He’s fine, he’s just... He’s just a massive fucking pain in my ass.” Jean bites his tongue, not even wanting to verbalize what happened earlier. Maybe if they never speak it into existence, it won’t– “He’s hooking up with Mika.”
Harry rubs his mouth, brows pinched. “Mika…?” he says pensively. “Who's she?”
“She?!” Jean is apoplectic. “Fucking Mikael! Heidelstam! They were all up in each other’s pants when I got there! For fuck’s sake, in a city of a hundred thousand, they have to pick each other?!” He sinks back into the couch oozing rage but too spent to do anything about it. “Trant is gonna have my fucking ass, and not in a fun way.”
“HAH!” Harry claps his hands together. “The Heidelstams as in-laws! If they get married we’d–“ He stops and nibbles at his lip for a second, head tilted to the side, listening. “Wait, wait, you date Trant off and on, does– That makes it– Isn’t it illegal? Your two kids dating each other?”
“They’re not my fucking kids,” Jean hisses. “And they’re not related. And I’m not related to them! Biologically they’re fine. Plus it’s not like one can get pregnant.” He makes a sour face. “This is the last thing I want to fucking think about, Harry. But it’s not incest because I dated Trant. That’s not how it works.”
Harry exhales a long, relieved sigh, like an extreme weight has been lifted from his soul. “Thank goodness. Love always wins.”
“Shut the fuck up. Trant is gonna chew you out big time. He spent years keeping Kuuno away from Mikael and now, this… Under my watch.” He snubs out his cigarette and covers his face with his arm. “I’m so fucked. Maybe I should check the going prices of tickets to Mirova.”
Harry's expression turns severe. “Don’t joke about that. You have a family.”
"I know, right?" Jean peeks out from beneath his arm. "Who would cover the other half of the rent?"
Notes:
BIG big thanks to Houseofchaos for contributing the last scene between Harry and Jean! I love the way she writes their dynamic so much, I needed it to complete my hierarchy of needs.
Thus ends the first arc of this story! I've got about 2 more chapters written up after this with an untold amount more to go. As I said in my tags, this cute smutty one-off accidentally gained a plot somewhere along the line, and now I just can't stop. Thanks to everyone who has commented and shown support so far. I'm having a blast and it makes me so happy to hear that people are enjoying my brain worms.
Chapter 4: The First Date - 1
Summary:
Kuuno attempts to take Mikael on a proper date.
Notes:
Wow! Thanks so much for all the enthusiasm so far!! Seriously, everyone's comments and encouragements have been SUCH a treat. I'm absolutely drowning in love and affection, and I can't wait to keep sharing more of this story. It keeps tumbling out of my brain at rapid speed.
Special thanks, again, to Houseofchaos for giving this chapter a beta and being such a blessed cheerleader, as well as shoutout to @Vacholierette for giving this a more technical once-over as well!
Chapter Text
A muted honk from the driveway has Mikael zipping down the stairs and dashing towards the front door. He does a quick self-pat-down to make sure he has his wallet and keys, checks his reflection in the foyer’s mirror one final time, and immediately stalls out. He regrets the way he combed his hair. He leans towards the mirror, ruffles his fringe to make it fall across his eyes, combs his fingers through the waves, ruffles it again, takes a step back. He tries to see himself through Kuuno’s eyes, and that causes him to panic even more. He bends forward, shakes his hair out upside down, and then slings his head back. This only succeeds in making his hair even frizzier.
“Shit,” he curses under his breath, trying to smooth everything down as best he can.
Finally, he decides he’ll only make it worse if he keeps messing with it, slides on his shoes, and steps out the front door. Kuuno looks up from where he's leaning against the driver side door of his beat-up patrol MC.
There have only been a few instances in which Mikael has seen Kuuno out of his work uniform. Usually just in passing, when Kuuno stops by the precinct on his days off. Tonight he's wearing black jeans cuffed at the ankles around ratty boots, a black t-shirt with a faded print, and a red and black flannel button down tied around his waist. Mikael finds the entire look to be devastatingly attractive. He grins as Mikael walks over to him.
"You look spiffy for me," Kuuno says, looking him up and down.
Mikael immediately feels overdressed––business casual slacks and loafers, a light blue polo shirt, tucked in and freshly pressed, and a sports blazer to stave off the springtime chill that arrives after nightfall.
"Uh..." Mikael runs a hand over his sleeve. "Maybe I should ditch the blazer?"
"Is that what those are called?" Kuuno asks, grabbing him by the lapels and pulling him forward. "I don't know... Gives me a good grip for this." He brings their mouths together and Mikael stifles a whimper.
It'd only been two days, but every passing second had felt like an eternity. He'd barely been able to sit upright in his classes on Friday morning, woozy from a sleepless night of fantasizing and dreaming. Swim practice had taken his mind off things for a while. When he's in the water, there isn't much time to think about anything. He'd waited for Kuuno's phone call on Friday night, and they'd made plans to get dinner Saturday, (then stayed on the line for extracurricular activities after the fact). He'd woken up too early that morning, and the hours couldn't pass fast enough. Mikael's nails were chewed raw by the time six o'clock rolled around.
Mikael sighs into the kiss, reaching up to run his fingers over Kuuno's short hair.
"Where are we going for dinner?" he asks when they part.
"Well, first, I gotta drop the fuckin' patrol car back off." He places his hand on Mikael's lower back and guides him to the other side of the MC, opening the door for him to get in. "But we can walk to Boogie Street from the 41st pretty easy." He shuts the door with a firm slam.
The name Boogie Street sets off an alarm bell somewhere in Mikael's brain. He's heard stories about some of the happenings in that area of town after dark. Not to mention, the data he quite literally has at his fingertips tells him that, more often than not, Boogie Street is a bad place to be.
"Boogie Street?" he asks cautiously once Kuuno gets in on the other side, keeping his tone light.
"Yeah, there's a diner I like. It's kind of cheesy." He starts the engine, grinning. "It's all like...pulp fiction themed. Man from Hjelmdall type shit. Posters all over the walls, themed food..."
Mikael can't help but smile. "Sounds fun. Those Hjelmdall books are, like, super problematic."
Kuuno nods with a smile. "Yeah, I know."
They make their way out of Couron and merge onto the 8-81 over the Eminent Domain, heading west towards Jamrock. Mikael tries not to stare at Kuuno from the passenger seat, but ends up inching his way across the front seat until he's straining against his seat belt to sit as close as possible. Kuuno grins openly, but keeps his eyes on the road.
"You got somethin' to say?" he finally goads, eyes flickering to look at Mikael briefly.
"No." Mikael leans further and presses a slow kiss to Kuuno's neck.
"You're gonna make me wreck if you keep that up."
Mikael grins. "So, no road head?"
"The fuck you know about road head, virgin?"
"I read a lot of books!" Mikael argues, retreating back to his side of the front seat and crossing his arms. "Asshole." He smirks as he says it.
Kuuno just laughs as he checks his mirrors, merges into the exit lane. He clears his throat, glances at Mikael, his disposition turning uncertain.
"So, uh, don't take this the wrong way because I really fuckin' like when you're all over me and shit, but..." He shifts in his seat, clears his throat again. "I don't know if it's, uh...a good idea to, like, be all kissy and shit. In public. On Boogie Street."
Mikael feels his heart harden. "Yeah, I know what it's like to be gay in Revachol, Kuuno. I'm not stupid."
"Well, I don't," Kuuno fires back with a scowl. "Better to say this shit now than get dragged behind an MC later."
"Right." Mikael's face goes cold, his stomach souring. "Good reminder, I guess."
Kuuno runs his tongue over his teeth, drums his fingers against the steering levers. "I'm just trying to figure my shit out, Mik. I didn't think I was into...all this, until you came along." He shakes his head with a sigh. "I'm... It's a lot."
Mikael wants to feel flattered, but more so he just feels nervous and sick. The constant, low-level threat of violence for simply existing coupled with the fact that he's somehow Kuuno's Gay Awakening means it's only a matter of time before Kuuno gets bored or comes to his senses and finds a girl that suits him better. The ease and comfort and predictability of a heterosexual relationship. Something Mikael won't ever be afforded.
They glide to a stop at the end of the exit ramp, waiting for the light to turn green.
"I really fucked up the vibe here, yeah?" says Kuuno.
Mikael looks over with a sympathetic smile, throat tight. "It's fine."
"I'll make it up to you," Kuuno says, looking over with imploring eyes. "I'll let you give me road head."
Mikael laughs weakly, turning away. "Oh, for sure. Sounds good. Thank you."
-
They pull into the subterranean garage of the 41st Precinct and Kuuno parks the MC in a line of other identical looking patrol cars. Mikael's legs feel rubbery as he gets out and looks around. The world feels surreal, as though he's peering through the wrong side of a mirror. The other MCs look like props in a stage play.
Suddenly, Kuuno is at his side, sliding an arm around his waist and pressing him back against the passenger door with the warm mass of his body.
"Hey," he says softly. He presses a kiss to Mikael's cheek, rests his chin against his shoulder. "I'm really sorry."
Mikael musters a smile. "It's fine."
"S'not fine. I upset you and I'm a piece of shit for that."
Mikael laughs softly, but there's no real feeling behind it. "I'll be fine."
Kuuno kisses him, gentle and slow. Mikael hums against his lips, wraps his arms around Kuuno's shoulders. They kiss for a long moment, the wet sounds of their mouths echoing faintly off the garage ceiling. Mikael's body warms and his lungs expand, heat pooling into his groin. He runs his hand up Kuuno’s neck, over the velvety buzzed hair on the back of his head, and thinks to himself 'maybe I can keep him, if I want it badly enough'.
Kuuno pulls back, reaches up to cup Mikael's cheek. "I won't ever let anything bad happen to you, okay?"
Mikael blinks, licks his lips. "I...don't think you can promise something like that."
"Fuckin' watch me."
Mikael laughs more genuinely at that, running a thumb across Kuuno's lips. "Okay, well, for now just kiss me some more before we can't touch each other in public."
Kuuno smiles, leans in, and kisses Mikael like he wants to eat him.
-
The walk to Boogie Street isn't as frightening as Mikael thought it might be. This is likely due to the fact that it's still light out. The sun is just beginning to slink behind the building tops to the west, and the city thrums with anticipatory energy. Steam rises from sewer grates as tires slosh through leftover puddles from the day's rain. Shopfronts close as bar windows open, and the sodium street lamps flicker to life down the block. Mikael cranes his neck back to look up at the stretch of buildings that loom over top of them and glimpses the silhouette of a woman ashing her cigarette out one of the windows, her blonde hair turned luminescent in the fire of the setting sun.
Without warning, Kuuno slings his arm over Mikael's shoulder.
"I thought we shouldn't do this," Mikael mutters, even as his face heats and his pulse quickens.
"Eh, fuck it," says Kuuno with a shrug. "Besides, it's just a friendly gesture, yeah? It's not like I've got my fuckin' tongue down your throat." He leans closer to speak into Mikael’s ear. “Yet.”
Mikael smirks and tucks his chin to his chest.
Another block and they reach the diner Kuuno had picked out for them: Pulp. The name is vaguely unappetizing for a restaurant, but the inside is a feast for the eyes. Kuuno holds the door for him, and Mikael immediately looks from wall to wall. Large posters of blown up book covers plaster the entire restaurant, everything from the Man from Hjelmdall to Dick Mullen to a few of his favorite sci-fi books. They're sat in a booth beneath a poster for "Quantum Entanglements". The man on the cover is wearing a suit and helmet that's reminiscent of the early Pale travelers and holding a strangely globular gun, pointing it at the viewer.
"Have you read this one?" Mikael asks, gesturing to the poster.
Kuuno is already looking at the menu. He glances up, assesses the poster, then shakes his head. "Nah, I don't usually read the space stuff."
"It's actually more about alternate dimensions. Like...branching realities. How one decision can create what's known as a 'butterfly effect'. But the main plot of the story is about a man who figures out how to go back and re-do his decisions. As you can imagine, it gets him in a lot of trouble."
Kuuno looks up from the menu and grins. "Nerd shit, huh? Maybe you can read it to me sometime."
Mikael sticks out his tongue and picks up his own menu. The cheap laminate is stickier than he expects it to be and he grimaces. The food is classic diner fare: burgers and hot dogs with funny themed names. His decision waffles between the Mammoth-Rider Burger and Curse of the Nach-os. When the waitress comes around, he settles on the burger and orders the cheapest beer on the menu.
After she walks away, Kuuno looks back at Mikael with a grin, then kicks him under the table.
"What!?" Mikael laughs.
"You're cute."
"Why'd you kick me?"
"Because you're cute. It pisses me off." He nudges Mikael more gently with the toe of his boot. "Hey, did you wanna go back to my place later? I don't live too far. Like, five blocks east. Over on Lakeside."
Mikael's heart jumps into his throat. "Yeah, that sounds cool."
Kuuno's smile is unrestrained. He chews at his lip, his eyes dropping to Mikael's mouth, then back up. "I uh... I've been trying to do some research."
"Research? What kind?"
"Y'know... On, like..." He leans in, lowers his voice to a whisper. "Gay shit."
Mikael covers his face with his hands, laughs hard. "Oh my god."
"Hey," Kuuno snaps. "I'm used to being really fuckin' good in the sheets, okay? I don't like not knowing what the fuck I'm doing."
"Well, you'll have to show me what you've learned," Mikael says, hoping it sounds cooler than he feels.
The way Kuuno's cheeks flush tells him that it landed as intended.
Then, Kuuno's eyes dart over Mikael's shoulder towards the door and the smile falls from his face. "Oh, what the fuck. You gotta be fuckin' kidding me..."
Mikael's stomach drops and he jerks to look over his shoulder. A group of three people, two girls and a guy, have just walked into the diner. Mikael recognizes the guy as Kuuno's patrol partner, Ian Mills, and his face grows cold. He and Mills have never really gotten along. Any time they're forced to interact, Mills always feels mean-spirited and hostile for reasons that Mikael hasn't been able to figure out.
"Hey shithead!" Kuuno calls, getting to his feet as the three others approach.
"Oi, de Ruyter! The fuck you doin' here?" Mills grabs Kuuno and pulls him in for a rough hug with lots of back-thumping. When they pull apart, he catches sight of Mikael and his expression sours. "Heidelstam?"
"Hi," Mikael says weakly with a small wave.
"You two on a fuckin' date?" Mills asks, looking back and forth between him and Kuuno.
"Oh, yeah, for sure. But unlike you, I didn't have to pay him to be here," Kuuno brushes off, winking at the two girls.
"Yeah, his dad probably paid you to hang out with the fuckin' nerd."
Kuuno's nostrils flare and his jaw goes tight. He smiles, razor sharp, then turns to the girls, addressing the one with long black hair. "Hey Cassandra. Long time, no see. Who's your friend and why are you two hanging out with this piece of shit?" He gestures to Mills with his thumb.
"Lili," the girl who Mikael assumes isn't Cassandra replies. She holds out her hand, and Kuuno shakes it rougher than she's expecting by the look on her face. "And I'm just looking for a good time."
"Can we join you fellas?" Cassandra asks, her dark eyes boring into Kuuno in a way that's hard for Mikael to ignore.
"Oh, uh..." Kuuno looks back at Mikael with a terror-stricken expression.
"Sure!" Mikael says, with as genuine a smile as he can offer. "The more the merrier."
Mills rolls his eyes.
Kuuno quickly slides into the booth next to Mikael and throws an arm around his shoulder, ruffling his hair gruffly. "I was just showing Mik here Boogie Street on a Saturday. Gotta get him out of Couron now and then, y'know?"
"Oh, you live in Couron?" Lili asks as she slides into the booth across from Mikael. "What's that like?" She leans forward against the table, propping her chin in her hand and smiling sweetly. She's pretty—soft brown hair and soft brown eyes. Mikael thinks they might be the same age. Mills slides in next to her, while Cassandra squeezes to sit next to Kuuno on their side of the booth.
"Uh. It's...fine," Mikael says, unsure of how to answer the question. "There's not a lot to do because it's just...houses. Some restaurants, but nothing like this." He gestures around them.
"Yeah, this place is lame as fuck, but it has good food," says Mills as he looks at the menu. "Did you guys already–?"
The waitress returns and sets a glass of beer down in front of Mikael, then turns to the others. "Did you three want to place an order?"
Kuuno removes his arm from Mikael's shoulders and puts a hand on his knee beneath the table, squeezing tightly, then folds his hands on the table. Mikael reads the gestures loud and clear: I'm sorry.
Mikael drinks his beer in silence as the other four talk. He vaguely follows the conversation, chiming in whenever Lili or Kuuno try to draw him back in to give his input, but his answers turn monosyllabic after a while. He drinks the beer too fast and feels buzzed and dizzy, watching out of the corner of his eye as Cassandra trails a hand up the back of Kuuno's neck, running her long fingernails across his scalp. Kuuno shrugs her hand off and she laughs. Mikael's pulse is thudding in his ears and he feels like throwing up.
The food arrives and he only manages to eat half his burger, his stomach cramped tight. Kuuno's leg is bouncing wildly beneath the table as he eats his own food. He and Mills talk about their recent patrols, about different parts of town, people and places and names that Mikael doesn't recognize. Mills ignores Mikael, while Lili politely attempts to engage him in conversation several more times. While the two of them chat briefly about what Mikael does for the RCM, he sees Cassandra's hand slip beneath the table and run up the inseam of Kuuno's thigh. Kuuno grabs her by the wrist and forcefully sets her hand back on top of the table.
"Sorry, I need to uh..." Mikael trails off and points in the direction of the bathroom.
"Cass, scootch," Kuuno commands, bumping her with his hip until she slides out of the booth. He claps Mikael on the shoulder as he passes, giving a firm squeeze.
Mikael keeps his eyes down as he quickly strides to the bathroom, his breath quickening against his will. When he pushes into the men's room, someone is at the single open urinal pissing loudly, so he quickly bee lines for the stall and locks it. He presses his back against the closed door, putting a hand over his heart. It thumps wildly against his palm. He feels more like a petrified rabbit than a human in that moment, and tears spring into his eyes. He wipes them away irritably as he bites the insides of his cheeks, forces himself to take a piss, then washes his hands in a dissociative haze, refusing to look at his own reflection in the dirty mirror.
When he returns to the table, Kuuno has put Cassandra on the inside of the booth in Mikael's spot. They make eye contact, and Kuuno gets to his feet, reaching into his back pocket.
"Alright, I gotta head out," he says, procuring his wallet and throwing a few paper reál notes onto the table. "Gotta get Mik home."
"He can take the fuckin' tram," argues Mills. "What are you, his fuckin' babysitter?"
"No, I'm a good fuckin' bloke is what I am." Then he addresses Lili directly. "Don't let Milly fool you into thinking he wants anything other than to get in your knickers."
Lili gives him an amused look and laughs. "Yeah, I know. But thanks."
"Fuck you de Ruyter." Mills flips him off. "You two faggots enjoy suckin' each other off."
Kuuno's face nearly turns the color of his hair, and he gives Mikael a firm push in the direction of the door.
"Kuuno, hold on!" Cassandra climbs out of the booth and runs after them.
"Fuck off, Cass!" Kuuno snaps over his shoulder. "I'm not in the mood."
She stops in her tracks, looking lost, before her expression sours. "Okay, asshole."
"Hey, shithead!" Mills calls across the restaurant, holding up the paper notes. "This isn't enough to cover–!"
Mikael pushes out into the street first, still jittery with a pounding pulse. Kuuno immediately steps up to his side and wraps an arm around his waist to guide him in the right direction.
"Holy shit that fucking sucked," Kuuno says with an exhale. "Holy fucking shit. Fuck me. Worst date ever. I'm so sorry, Mik."
He keeps his arm looped possessively around Mikael's waist, which makes him feel marginally better about the entire thing.
"Yeah, that was awful," Mikael agrees with a watery laugh, letting his head loll to bump against Kuuno's neck.
Kuuno squeezes him tightly, then lets him go, hands returning to his jean pockets. "I'm gonna tear Mills a new one on Monday."
"Don't," Mikael cautions. "It'll just give him fuel. Just–"
"I know." Kuuno waves him off as he pulls out a cigarette. He stops to light it and Mikael waits patiently. Kuuno waits until he takes his first inhale of smoke to start walking again. "I just wish he wasn't such an asshole to you."
Mikael hesitates. "Why is he?"
"Because you're rich and he's not."
"I'm...not really 'rich'," Mikael says nervously.
Kuuno just shrugs, takes a long drag of his cigarette. Exhales a plume of smoke. "When you grow up dirt fuckin' poor, anyone who has more money than you seems rich."
There's nothing to say to that, so Mikael says nothing. They walk in silence for a long moment as Kuuno finishes his cigarette.
"Thank you for paying for dinner," Mikael finally says.
Kuuno smirks, glances over at him. "I made Mills foot the majority of the bill. Punishment."
Mikael laughs, lets his shoulder bump against Kuuno's. "Are we going back to your place?"
"Not yet," Kuuno says, eyes straight ahead. He doesn't offer clarification, so Mikael walks alongside him in silence.
Chapter 5: The First Date - 2
Summary:
Kuuno attempts to make up for the first half of the date going poorly.
Notes:
Big thanks to Houseofchaos and SeaBeast for giving this chapter a once-over!
Chapter Text
They walk another three and a half blocks before Kuuno stops them in front of a bar named ' Le Lion D’Or '. It looks like a complete hole-in-the-wall with blacked out windows reinforced with bars. Nervousness creeps back into Mikael's muscles, making him feel twitchy. A man at the door checks their ID cards and waves them inside with a curt nod.
The vibe inside is the exact opposite of the outside. Colorful string lights adorn the shelves behind the bar as paper mobiles hang from the ceiling, spinning in the stiff breeze of the forced air units. Beyond the aisle made by the bar and a row of red-backed booths, there appears to be a dance floor where a throng of bodies undulate to a pounding beat. The vibration of the music makes it all the way to the front of the bar, reverberating through Mikael’s chest.
"Holy crap!" Mikael exclaims with a laugh, grinning as he looks over at Kuuno. "Livelier than I expected!"
Kuuno looks pallid, but offers him a nervous smile regardless. "Let's find a spot at the bar," he says, raising his voice to speak over the music.
Mikael meekly slides up to the bar at Kuuno's side, leaning his elbows against the high top counter. Once more, it's sticky in a way he didn’t anticipate.
The bartender is preoccupied at the furthest end away from them, and so Mikael takes a moment to look around. Weirdly, the bar seems to only be occupied by men, some in business suits, some dressed more casually, colorfully…flamboyantly.
Then, it dawns on him.
He blinks hard, looks behind him, leans to look down the aisle, then leans back against the bar, eyes wide. A supreme giddiness bubbles up from within him and he lets out a laugh, covering his face in his hands.
It's a fucking gay bar.
Mikael gives Kuuno a playful shove. "Did you seriously bring me to a gay bar?!" he asks, laughing.
Kuuno bites his lip around a smile. "Maybe?" He steps closer, slides an arm around Mikael's waist. "Nobody I know is gonna fuckin' turn up here. Plus, I can do this." He leans in and kisses Mikael with a sinful slide of tongue between his lips.
Mikael immediately gets hard. In public. He can't tell if he's mortified or even more turned on by this fact. Kuuno's hands travel south to grip his ass, and Mikael bats him away, squirming out of his grip.
"Stop-stop–" He laughs, overwhelmed. He kisses Kuuno chastely then looks around, beaming. "Oh my god. I can't believe I'm at a gay bar."
"You've never been to one before?"
"I literally turned eighteen in January! When would I have gotten the chance before then? I was underage."
Kuuno laughs, leans in and kisses Mikael on the neck. "You are such a goody fuckin' two-shoes," he says into Mikael's ear. "You fuckin' sneak into them, Mik."
Mikael slides his hands under the hem of Kuuno's shirt at his back. His skin is cool beneath his fingers. He sighs against Kuuno's shoulder. "Well...thank you for bringing me here."
"What can I get you boys?" the bartender calls, and they pull apart.
Kuuno orders a soda while Mikael decides to get one of the specialty cocktails. He pays for both before Kuuno has a chance to reach for his wallet and receives a scowl for his efforts.
"Oi, I'm the one supposed to be payin' for shit on this date," he argues.
"You paid for dinner, I pay for drinks. I feel like that's a fair exchange," Mikael argues. He takes a sip of his drink and looks at it in disbelief. It's... good. Sweet and fruity. He can barely even taste the alcohol in it. "What the hell? This is delicious!"
Kuuno leans over and takes a quick sip through the straw, then scrunches up his nose. "Holy shit that's sweet."
Mikael laughs and takes a long drink, delighted. "I assume this is your first time in a gay bar. So, how'd you find this place?"
"Uh..." Kuuno scratches the back of his head. "I...asked around."
Mikael blinks. "Like...at the Precinct?"
"Fuck no, I wouldn't know a day's peace if I did that." He shifts, takes a sip of his soda. "Harry recommended it."
Mikael's eyes go wide. "Your dad recommended this place!?"
"He's half a fag! He knows about this shit."
"Wait... Huh? Half a..." Mikael can't bring himself to say the slur. "You mean like...bisexual?"
"Yeah, that."
"You should really just say 'bisexual'," Mikael says. He realizes he sounds like he's scolding after the fact and bites the inside of his cheek.
"Yeah, whatever, I asked and he said to come here. Said it's 'tame'."
"This is 'tame'?" Mikael looks around in disbelief, licking his lips with a smile. "I wonder what 'wild' is..."
Kuuno snorts into his soda. "I don't wanna fuckin' know."
Mikael laughs around his drink straw, presses closer against Kuuno’s side. He grins and looks down the bar, watching the other men talk to each other, the throng of dancing bodies just beyond them.
"We should dance," Mikael says with a grin.
"Dance?"
"Yeah!" he points to the dance floor. "It looks awesome!"
Kuuno glances in that direction, then looks down at his drink. "Uh, okay, sure. Just lemme... I gotta go take a piss real quick."
Mikael watches him go, grinning ear to ear. He takes another sip of his cocktail and settles in to people watch. It's thrilling just to see other men be so openly affectionate with each other. Loose and carefree. He'd still been so young when his dad was dating Jean, but he remembers watching them sometimes—those small, domestic moments—moving around each other in the kitchen, leaning close to speak, hands lingering on each other's backs, arms, thighs, sharing quick kisses that left them both smiling. It filled his chest with tenderness.
His own coming out has been a slow, if not entirely stagnant process. While he's not the only gay person at his high school, and he certainly isn't the loudest or most flamboyant among their small numbers, it still remains an incredibly lonely and isolating space to occupy in the social chain. Even while the school itself claims to be 'progressive', the attitudes among the other students, and even the staff, is typically dismissive if not politely hostile. He's mostly elected to keep his sexual preferences to himself, and has even gone out on a couple of dates with girls. 'Just to make sure' , he'd reasoned. 'Just to make extra sure.'
He was pretty sure.
After another few minutes of people watching, Kuuno returns wearing a deep scowl.
"Fuckin' hell! Two guys were porkin' each other in the stall next to me. How is this tame?"
Mikael’s eyes go wide, and he laughs in disbelief. "Wait, seriously?"
"Seriously!" Kuuno gestures wildly towards the direction of the bathroom. "Gruntin' and shit! Unhinged shit! Absolutely going at it."
Mikael's dick twitches with interest. "Is there, like... a line we should get in?"
Kuuno drums his hands against the bar in a quick, staccato beat, takes a drink of his soda, wipes his nose. "I need a fuckin' cigarette."
Mikael's lungs flutter with anxiety, his smile faltering. "Uh, want some company? They probably have a back patio."
"Yeah, I'm'a stand out front." Kuuno unwraps the red flannel shirt from his waist and shrugs it on.
"I can't bring my drink out front," Mikael tries to reason.
"Well, meet me out there once you finish it." He strides towards the front door without another word and pushes out into the night.
Mikael stares at the door as it swings closed, his stomach slowly hardening into a rock. He turns back to the bar, looks down into his drink, trying to figure out what made Kuuno so upset.
"He still in the closet?" asks the stranger next to him at the bar—an older man in a loose button down shirt. He wears a ring on every single finger.
"Uh..." Mikael blinks, unsure of what to say and put-off by the unapologetic nosiness. "I'm the, uh...first guy he's ever been with."
The man makes a sympathetic cooing sound and gives Mikael a look of pity that irritates him. "Yeah, he seems real butch. Careful with those, honey. They're in it for a good time, not a long time."
Mikael tongues the inside of his cheek and wills the tears that threaten his eyes to stay put. "Thanks."
He takes the straw out of his cocktail and downs the rest of it in three gulps, wipes his mouth on the sleeve of his blazer, and follows after Kuuno.
His ears ring in the sudden silence as the front door swings closed behind him. The sun has all but disappeared. The sky is a pale blue blanket behind the darkened silhouettes of the buildings. Distant stars twinkle amidst the flashing lights of the hovering aerostatics. Kuuno stands half a block away, leaning against the adjoining building and sucking on his cigarette, gaze landing somewhere in the middle distance.
Mikael approaches him cautiously, hands in his pockets. He stands several feet away, not quite looking at Kuuno.
"Did you wanna leave?" Mikael asks after another moment of silence.
Kuuno exhales a cloud of smoke, shakes his head. "No, I'm just...fuckin'." He takes another drag, crosses his other arm over his chest, tucking his hand beneath his armpit. "It's not like I fuckin' hate fa–" He cuts himself off with a frustrated growl. "I don't hate gay people, I'm just—that was... I'm not used to that kind of shit being right in my face, y'know?" He looks at Mikael with a pleading expression.
Mikael has no sympathy to offer. "So, you think it's...gross?"
"Yeah!" Kuuno exclaims. "Yeah I do! I can't fuckin' help it! But I'm all fucked up in the head because it's different when it's you. All night I've been thinkin' about gettin' back in your pants. So, what the fuck does that make me!?"
A hypocrite , Mikael thinks instantly, but bites his tongue. It’s a deeply useless thing to say, and despite the irritation he feels, he knows the feeling well—the deep denial, the tenuous confusion, the impulse to not want it to be true—so to redirect, he says, "Jean's gay."
"Yeah, and so is Kitsuragi. And Harry. Or he's fuckin' half a–he's bisexual. But they're–" Kuuno gestures with his cigarette. "They're fuckin' manly as shit, y'know? They're not..." He rubs at his temples. "I'm diggin' myself a fuckin' grave right now and I need to shut the fuck up."
"I'm not manly," Mikael counters.
Kuuno looks at him with a raised brow, the barest hint of a smirk tugging at his lips as he takes a thoughtful drag of his cigarette. "Yeah, but you're sexy. You're like this... I dunno. You look like a fuckin' Welkin or some shit."
Mikael's cheeks flush hot and he can't help but laugh. "I didn't know you knew what Welkins were."
"Kuuno knows some nerd shit," he says, then winces, looks away. "I know nerd shit," he corrects softly.
He takes a final drag of his cigarette and drops it on the pavement, crushes it beneath his boot, then falls back against the wall with a sigh of smoke. Tentatively Mikael steps over to lean against the wall beside him.
"I realized I liked boys when I was thirteen, but I didn't really allow it to be true until I was fifteen."
He doesn’t know why he says it, it just feels important to say. Kuuno looks over at him while Mikael avoids eye contact.
"How d'you mean?"
Mikael shrugs, crosses his arms. "I just kind of denied it. Ignored it for as long as I could. My, uh... My mom and stepdad weren't a big fan of my dad being in a relationship with Jean when I was little. I kind of think that's the reason they moved to Stella Maris and took me with them. Tried to keep me away from my dad and his bad homosexual influence."
“Like that fuckin’ worked…” Kuuno mumbles.
Mikael laughs because he doesn't know what else to do.
"I came out to Jean before I came out to my own dad. They weren't even dating anymore at that point, but he's just... I don't know. I felt like Jean would get it. Like, I knew I could trust my dad, but I think a part of me knew he didn't want this life for me. Because it's hard. It's hard to be gay, Kuuno."
He hazards a glance, but his eyes flicker away as soon as he glimpses the troubled expression Kuuno wears.
"And it's so stupid ...I don't understand why it has to be this way. It just feels... fucking normal to me."
Kuuno runs his tongue across his teeth, lets out a huff through his nose. "I mean. Yeah. Y'know, maybe I just don't like hearing strangers fuckin' each other."
"It's fine if you think it's gross." Mikael shrugs, keeps his face neutral. "I don't care."
Kuuno moves to stand in front of him, pressing a palm against the bricks by Mikael's head and bringing their faces close. "This is all brand fuckin' new to me, Mik. All I know is, I like you. A lot." His ears go red as he says it.
Mikael blinks rapidly, then looks up to meet Kuuno's eyes. "When will you stop liking me?"
Kuuno furrows his brow. "When you give me a reason to, I guess." He laughs—a self-deprecating huff. "Honestly, Mik, I'm expecting you to stop liking me first."
Mikael scrunches up his nose in confusion. "Why?"
Kuuno just stares at him, brows pinched. He shakes his head and looks away, his mouth working against a smile. Then he straightens up, shrugs off his plaid button-up and re-ties it around his waist.
"Let's go dance."
"We don't have to–"
"No, we're gonna fuckin' dance. I'm gonna tear that shit up. Come on."
He grabs Mikael by the hand and pulls him back inside. The bouncer from earlier nods them in with a tilt of his head.
Kuuno pulls Mikael straight to the dance floor, squeezing between the other bodies. He stops in the center of the throng and slides his hands around Mikael's waist to pull him closer. Mikael laughs helplessly and loops his arms over Kuuno's shoulders. They sway to the beat.
"Fuckin' tame my ass," Kuuno half-yells into Mikael's ear, the stubble on his jaw scraping against Mikael's face.
"We'll work up to the wild places," Mikael yells back, smiling when Kuuno cracks a grin.
The swaying transforms into gyrating, their thighs interlocked, and they both get hard. The music is so loud that there's no room to think—nothing left to even think about. Kuuno tilts his head to bite at Mikael's neck, and Mikael rakes his fingernails down Kuuno's back, gasping. He thinks he might be drunk, but he's unsure if it's from the cocktail or the company. The other patrons bump into them now and then, but it all fades into sensory white noise. Mikael's focus has narrowed to the heat of Kuuno's firm body pressed against his own, his roaming hands and hot mouth, the dampness of his sweat seeping through his t-shirt, the smell of cigarettes and cologne.
When they kiss, it's as if no one else in Elysium even exists.
-
Mikael's hair clings to his forehead as they leave Le Lion D’Or , his blazer slung over this shoulder by the crook of his fingers. Kuuno is flushed and smiling, his neck shiny with sweat. He throws an arm over Mikael's shoulder as they walk.
"Alright, now we head back to my place," Kuuno says, leaning in close.
Mikael grins and slides an arm around Kuuno's low back. They walk like that for about a block before Kuuno presses a quick kiss to Mikael's sweaty temple, then pulls away to put space between them.
"It's hard to keep my fuckin' hands off you, but we gotta watch it. Neighborhood gets a little sketchy over the next few blocks." He unties the shirt from his waist and hands it to Mikael. "Put this on."
"But I'm hot," Mikael whines.
"Yeah, and you look like you have money. Give me your jacket."
They exchange outer wear—Mikael shrugs into the plaid shirt as Kuuno wraps the blazer around his arm—then, they begin to walk again.
The night has truly come alive around them. Patrons linger outside of bars and restaurants, seated behind roped off patios, calling from balconies, laughing, drinking, shouting. Mikael smiles to himself as he takes it all in. Music filters in and out of the various bars they pass, everything from techno beats to hard rock. Women in tight dresses travel in packs as men lean out of windows to cat-call them. Everywhere he looks, something is happening. The city pulses with life.
The flow of people thins as they turn away from Boogie Street and make their way towards the Jamrock lake. It's then that Mikael notices the group of three people who turn after them. They keep pace for a block, and when they make another right, the group follows.
"Kuuno," Mikael whispers.
"I see 'em," Kuuno replies, staring straight ahead. "They've been tailing us for a few blocks. Just keep walking."
They pick up their pace, and the guys following them match their speed. They make it another block before one of them calls out 'Oi!' .
"Don't turn around," Kuuno says. "Eyes ahead. They might have someone in front of us."
Mikael's heart pounds in his throat, his lungs icy with fear. He’d let his guard down. He’d gotten too comfortable. He’d allowed himself to believe, even just for a moment, that they were immune to the statistics of what happens to two men who show affection in public. Dragged behind an MC repeats in his head over and over like a skipping reel, and he can’t help but start imagining what it feels like to have his skin ripped open across pavement.
"Oi!” The men call again. “Kuuno!"
Kuuno slows at that, glancing briefly over his shoulder, then he comes to a stop. "You gotta be fuckin' kidding me..." He steps in front of Mikael. "The fuck you want!?"
As they draw closer, the group appears to be no older than Kuuno or himself. Each of them sport worn, black leather jackets adorned with spikes and slashes of paint. The oldest one seems to be the leader. He has his hair shaved on both sides and slicked back into a mullet, sporting chunky jewelry on his ears and neck.
"You're a hard man to get a hold of," the man says. He has a lower Faubourg accent, dropping his h's.
"Yeah, that's by design, shithead."
"No need for name-callin’. You missed the rendezvous on Thursday, thass all."
"I got fuckin' busy. I’ve got shit to do. Important shit.” He takes a breath, gestures to the group. “Since when did you start huntin’ people down? Eh? Fuckin’ stalker shit.”
Mikael looks back and forth between the two of them, unable to figure out the relationship. It's not exactly friendly, but it isn't fully hostile either.
"Cindy wants to see you."
"And it can’t fuckin' wait?"
Then the man looks at Mikael, cocks his head to the side, looks back to Kuuno. "You on a date?"
"I'm fuckin' tryin' to be!" Kuuno throws his arms in the air, lets his hands clap against his thighs. "But everyone and their fuckin' sister seems like they're trying to interrupt my shit tonight."
The response surprises Mikael, and the fear in his chest eases marginally.
The man looks amused. "Didn't know you swung both ways, Kuuno."
"Yeah, ‘cause it’s none of your fuckin’ business, fucko." He fidgets irritably. "Tell Cindy she needs to fuckin' wait."
"Sorry, mate. You know how she gets. This one's got her in a right tizzy. It'll be my arse on the line." He looks at Mikael with a sympathetic shrug. "Shouldn't take long. Then you boys can get back to your date night."
Kuuno hesitates, his eyes darting to Mikael then away.
"Don't make us force you," the leader says with a smile that doesn't reach his eyes. "I'd hate to rough up your little boyfriend. He's cute."
Kuuno pushes Mikael further behind him, his voice dropping into a hoarse growl. "If you fuckin' touch him I'll rip off your cock and make Cindy eat it."
The two other men behind the speaker shift into more alert postures, as if preparing to fight.
"It won't take long," the man repeats, ignoring the threat. "C'mon, bruv. Step to."
"Kuuno," Mikael says softly. "Just...do it. It's fine."
Kuuno lets out a long hissing sigh, rubs aggressively at his face, then says. "Fine! Fuckin' fine. Let's get this shit over with."
The leader offers a close-lipped smile. "There’s a good lad."
Chapter 6: The First Date - 3
Summary:
A visit with the Skulls.
Notes:
HUGE thanks to Real-Life Finn Anusvatkain for providing me with some incredibly colorful Finnish for this chapter. Translation key will be in the end notes, but I recommend to first enjoy the mystery in the same way that Mikael does.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
They walk six blocks in a different direction. Kuuno slips his hand into Mikael's and holds tight, his posture rigid and alert. The three men lead the way in front of them; each of their leather jackets have stylized skulls emblazoned on the back. A nervous sweat drips down the center of Mikael's back, tickling along his spine. He squeezes Kuuno's hand, and Kuuno squeezes his back.
"It'll be fine," he mutters. "They just look tough."
"Do you, like, owe them money or something?" Mikael whispers.
Kuuno shakes his head. "It's complicated. Cindy's... She's from Martinaise. That place just fuckin' binds you." He lets out a shuddering breath. "For better or for fuckin' worse."
"But what does she want with you?"
Kuuno licks his lips nervously. "Information, probably."
"Like...what kind of information?"
"I don't know, Mik," Kuuno hisses, squeezing his hand tighter. "We're gonna find out, okay? Just...I promise I'm not gonna let anything bad happen to you, alright? The Skulls aren't bad guys, they just want you to think they are."
Mikael swallows around the lump in his throat and gives a curt nod, keeping his eyes on the back of the leader's jacket.
They turn down a nondescript alleyway and walk along the backside of the various buildings. The smell of garbage and stale water wafts past, and Mikael covers his nose with the sleeve of Kuuno's shirt. A group of rats skitter behind rubbish bins and disappear between cracks in the fences. Finally, the three figures lead them to a metal door in the side of a brick building. They wrench the door open and two of the men step inside, the third waiting to usher Kuuno and Mikael in after them.
The stairwell is concrete and smells like piss, illuminated by a series of flickering fluorescent panels along the walls. They climb four stories, passing identical-looking doors with white spray-painted numbers on the outside. Behind one, Mikael swears he hears a baby crying. His mind churns with nightmarish possibilities of what could be happening behind those doors.
Finally, they reach a door spray-painted with 4B. There's a small sticker beside the number—a smiley face with two x's for eyes.
"Welcome to HQ, Kuuno's boyfriend," says the leader as he pulls the door open, smiling at Mikael and gesturing them inside with a polite flourish.
Mikael wasn't sure what to expect, but beyond the door is a relatively normal looking, albeit cramped and dingy, apartment. The kitchen and living room exist as one space, separated by a countertop bar. A faint aroma of food and incense hangs in the air with an undercurrent of body odor and mildew. The coffee table is lined with stacks of paper and pamphlets, and against the far wall are various battered brief cases and shoe boxes stacked on top of each other. A boom box bleats out a droning beat from the far corner, while the walls themselves are covered in paintings of all shapes and sizes—violent slashes of color, figures and abstractions, drawing the eye from one painting to the next, to the next. Absurdly, Mikael’s first thought is 'my dad would love these'.
"Well, well, well, look what the little piggy dragged along with him.”
Two figures are sitting on the worn couch. One is leaning back, a picture of confidence, her arms outstretched over the back and one leg crossed over the other. She wears clothing similar to the ones who led them here—a black bomber jacket with a fur collar, ripped-up plaid pants, gaudy jewelry. Her boots are massive black monstrosities adorned with chains and a steel toe tip. Her eyes are pale, calculating, and looking directly at Mikael.
The other figure is hunched over at her side, forearms resting against their knees, half-hidden beneath the shadow of a hoodie pulled over a beanie. Their face is freckled like Kuuno's, ratty tufts of red hair peeking out from beneath the hat, and it’s unclear if they’re a boy or a girl. When they look up, Mikael is met with an expression of such open malice that he takes a physical step backwards.
"Hey Cindy," Kuuno says, sounding exhausted and annoyed. "Hey... C," he adds—hesitant, unsure.
"We interrupted his date night," says the leader.
Or maybe Cindy is their leader.
"Aww, isn't that cute." Cindy gets to her feet. "Our little piggy's branching out, is he?"
"Yeah, whatever. Can we just get this over with?"
Cindy picks up a large envelope that was sitting on the low coffee table and shoves it against Kuuno's chest. "Shouldn't take long, piglet. Just need an explanation as to why the fuck there are suits sniffin' around Martinaise; what kinda shit we need to be lookin’ out for."
Kuuno opens the envelope and pulls out a stack of pictures, thumbing through them quickly. Mikael tries to look over his shoulder, but only catches brief glimpses of the images—blurry and distant shots of figures in dark suits, a vaguely seaside looking landscape, a dark building against a bright overcast sky.
"When were these taken?" Kuuno asks, serious in a way Mikael has yet to hear.
"Last week," says Cindy, her tone also dropping as she crosses her arms. "Lucas snapped ‘em." She gestures with her chin to one of the men who had tailed Kuuno and Mikael. He's darker skinned with an ageless look to his face, his hair buzzed short and his nose and lips full of piercings.
"Suits arrived on the twelfth," Lucas says. "Stayed at the Whirling for a night, then started milling around the old church."
"Not sure what your people could be looking for in that old shack," says the other man, the one Mikael had assumed was the leader. "S'been empty for almost seven years now."
"These aren't my people," Kuuno says with a crease between his brows. "This is the ICP."
The energy in the room shifts as everyone seems to snap to attention. Even the figure on the couch manages to sit up a little straighter.
"The fuckin' C oalition? Are you sure?" Cindy asks. Then her disbelief turns to anger. "You better be fuckin' pullin my leg, Kuuno. Because there's some serious heat coming through Martinaise within the week, and the last thing we fuckin' need is the goddamn ICP–"
"That's them," Kuuno assures, then lets out a heavy sigh. "This...isn't good."
"No shit," says Cindy.
"No, Cindy, this..." He looks up at the rest of the room, then to Mikael, then back to Cindy. "I need to talk to you. Alone."
Cindy runs her tongue along the front of her teeth, looking at Kuuno as if she's trying to peer into his mind. Then she jerks her head in the direction of a door leading off from the living room.
"Wait here," Kuuno says to Mikael, then scowls at mullet guy. “Don’t try any funny shit.”
The man gives him a once-over with an amused look. “He’ll be fine.”
Mikael blinks hard as he watches Kuuno disappear into the adjoining room, his heart racing. Cindy closes the door behind them, and just like that, he’s left alone with the other Skulls.
Mullet turns to Mikael with a smile. "What's your name, mate?"
"...Mikael."
"Pleasure." The man extends his hand. "I'm Noid."
Mikael shakes his hand, repeating the name in his head. It doesn't sound like much of a name at all.
"Have a seat." Noid gestures to the couch. The person sitting on it immediately gets up and walks into the furthest corner of the kitchen, putting as much distance between themself and Mikael as possible, (which, given the size of the apartment, isn't much space).
Mikael sits hesitantly on the couch and Noid sits down beside him.
"You seem nervous, Mikael."
Mikael lets out a breathy laugh. "Yeah, sorry. Guess I've just...never been in a gang's headquarters before."
Noid clicks his tongue. "We consider ourselves to be more of an Anarcho-Communist Artists Collective with a focus on protest and mutual aid."
"And we sell drugs," says the figure from the kitchen, their sour expression curling into something amused. They sound like a girl, but Mikael still can't tell.
"That's C," Noid says, pointing to the figure in the kitchen. "She and Kuuno–"
"Shut the fuck up, Noid, you mäntti," C spits. Then she mutters, "Heti kertomassa kermaperseelle meidän vitun asioita."
Noid smirks and raises his hands in surrender. "Fine. Your business. Anyways, and the two strong and silent blokes over there are Lucas and Jean-Baptiste."
The two other men still stand by the door like bouncers. They each offer a single chin nod to Mikael.
"Uh, nice to meet all of you," Mikael offers, wringing his hands in his laps.
C scoffs and says something else in that language Mikael doesn't recognize.
"How'd you meet our dear friend Kuuno?" Noid asks.
"Um, through the RCM."
"You a cop, too?" asks Lucas, looking skeptical.
Mikael shakes his head 'no'. "I'm just a data analyst. An intern."
"It's nice to see Kuuno exploring queer relationships," says Noid thoughtfully. "He never seemed like the type, but there's still a streak of rebellion in him. Even though he works for the pigs." He stretches his arm out over the coffee table, dramatically wiggles his spread fingers. "Little puppets of the Moralintern. Long arm of the fashies."
Mikael blinks, confused. "What do you mean?"
"The RCM just enforces the status quo, Mikael. Keeps us stuck right where we are, under the thumb of the Coalition. Stagnant, y'know? You can’t work for the pigs without playing into their game.”
“...what’s their game?”
By the expression on Noid’s face, this was the correct question to ask. “The rich get richer and hoard our wealth, meanwhile the poor get poorer and sicker and the pigs make sure they stay that way. All the while, the middle class gets tricked into thinkin' that nothing's wrong. That everything is working out the way it should. Because they have just enough money to live comfortably while stepping on the backs of the working class to get where they are." He thumbs his nose and sniffs. "They don't understand how one bad day could land them in the gutter with the rest of us. Because once all the poor are dead, the system still needs someone to exploit."
Mikael chews on his bottom lip, avoiding eye contact. He pulls Kuuno's plaid shirt tighter around him. "So... you... make art about it?" he hazards.
Noid nods with a crooked smile. "And music. Revolution starts with an idea. We disperse the ideas. Dissemination." He reaches onto the coffee table and grabs a pamphlet, handing it to Mikael. "We expose the lies. See..." He shifts his body towards Mikael, slinging an arm over the back of the couch at his shoulders, leans in closer, his jewelry clinking. Mikael notices he’s wearing makeup, then—a dark purple and pink shadow around his eyes.
"The middle class thinks they're safe. They think that, because they've climbed the ladder just enough to get out of the mud and muck, that they're immune. But they're living in a delusion. In the eyes of the super rich—the people running this world—they're no better than the lushes and bums in the gutters. Just another means to an end." He rubs his thumb and first two fingers together: the sign for money. "They're just more labor to exploit."
The door to the adjoining room opens and Kuuno and Cindy return, both wearing grave expressions. Mikael folds the pamphlet into quarters and tucks it into his back pocket.
"Noid," Cindy says, motioning with her head for him to step into the adjoining room. Then she looks to the kitchen. "C, hook him up."
"You fucking hook him up. I'm not fucking dealing for the hintti and his little munaminiä."
"Just do it, C," says Noid without looking at her. He walks over and rubs the outsides of Cindy's arms. "You alright, my love?"
"Inside." Cindy says, motioning to the door. "Kuuno," she turns to look back at him, brows furrowed. "Next Thursday. Ten sharp. Be here. And you better have more shit to fuckin' say."
"There's nothing else to say," Kuuno replies with a scowl. "Shit's fuckin' classified as all fuck. I'm a fuckin’ patrol officer."
"Yeah, but your daddy is the Top Pig," Cindy counters, pointing a finger at Kuuno. "So get him to squeal." Then she turns and disappears into the room along with Noid. Lucas and Jean-Baptiste exchange glances, but say nothing.
Kuuno sighs and turns to Mikael as he gets to his feet. "You alright, Mik?"
"Yeah, fine. Are...you?"
"Yeah, we'll talk later," Kuuno says distractedly. He looks over at C. "Don't bother, C. We can do this another time."
"Nope, get your rotta ass over here, Kuuno ." She puts heavy emphasis on his name, drawing it out almost teasingly. "Let's get this over with. You're on my time."
Kuuno looks nervously between her and Mikael, and his scowl deepens. “Fuckin’...fine. Whatever. What’s new?”
“First things first,” C says as she pulls a shoe box from one of the stacks against the wall. She places it on the bartop counter, flips it open, and pulls out a small bag of white pills. “The usual.”
“Thanks,” Kuuno mumbles as he snatches the bag out of the air when C tosses it to him. He pockets it, his ears turning red.
Mikael realizes belatedly that he’s witnessing a drug deal and doesn’t quite know how to feel about it.
“Now, the fun shit.” C returns the shoe box and grabs one of the briefcases instead. She moves with focus and precision, a small, devious smile on her lips as she swivels through the numerical lock and releases the clips holding the case shut. “Managed to scrape this off a guy in Villalobos, but the word is that it’s coming through Martinaise. We’re trying to figure out who the main supplier is, but no luck.”
“Kinda weird,” says Kuuno. “When did it hit the streets?”
“Still don’t know, but shit’s taken off fast. It’s called Palefire,” C says with a grin, her teeth crooked and yellow. She holds up a baggie of blueish powder and shakes it. “Supposed to make you feel like you're walking right into the fuckin’ porch collapse.”
Kuuno takes the baggie and presses the powder between his fingers through the plastic. “You haven’t tried it?”
“Fuck no,” says C with a shrill laugh. She looks at Mikael. “But you two fägärit should definitely give it a try tonight.”
“Don’t fuckin’ call me that,” Kuuno snaps.
“I call it like I see it, fucko,” C fires back. She holds her hand out. “Ten reál, then get outta my fuckin’ house.”
Kuuno pockets the other baggie while staring daggers at C. He pulls out his wallet and throws a ten reál note on the ground before grabbing Mikael by the arm and heading for the door.
“Nice to meet you,” Mikael says, offering a small wave to Lucas and Jean-Baptiste as they pass. Lucas smiles and gives a salute while Jean-Baptiste gives another head nod.
"Suksikaa vittuun ja pysykää siellä!" C calls after them, flipping them off with both her hands.
The door slams behind them and Kuuno quickly descends the stairs with Mikael in tow. Once they push back out into the alleyway, he releases Mikael’s arm, walks over to the nearest rubbish bin, and gives it a violent kick, sending trash flying into the street.
“FUCK!”
Mikael stands an awkward distance away, fidgeting with the cuffs of Kuuno’s shirt as Kuuno drops into a squat, holding his head in his hands. His back rises and falls with heavy breath. He stays like that for a few moments, then swiftly stands back up, wiping his nose against the back of his hand and turning to look at Mikael with suspiciously wet eyes.
“You want me to fuckin’ take you home?” he asks, his eyes darting up to look at the sky.
“...I thought we were gonna go to your place.”
Kuuno’s expression shifts into something desperate and disbelieving. “After all that…you still wanna…?”
“Well, yeah,” Mikael says with a soft laugh.
“Mika…” Kuuno looks distraught. “This has been…the worst date I could have possibly taken you on.”
“It’s been…different than what I expected,” Mikael says, tucking his hands beneath his armpits. “But I still wanna go back to your places. Plus, now I have, like… a lot of questions.”
Kuuno’s eyes are glassy and he still looks like he doesn’t quite believe him, but he nods. “Yeah, alright. Sure.” He wipes his nose again. “Well. I’ll try to answer them.”
Mikael nods, forces a smile, then tilts his head towards the alleyway exit, keeping his arms crossed. “Lead the way.”
Notes:
mäntti = "idiot/incompetent"
Heti kertomassa kermaperseelle meidän vitun asioita. = "Immediately telling the cream ass about our stuff." ('Cream ass' being a term used to insult rich people).
hintti = slur for a gay person, akin to 'fag'
munaminiä = roughly translates to "dickwife"
rotta = "rat", implying traitorous
fägärit = "faggot", plural :)
Suksikaa vittuun ja pysykää siellä! = "Fuck off and stay there", but a literal translation is "Skii into a cunt and stay there."I love you Ikari. I love you Finnish language. Absolutely insane shit. Hardcore shit.
I promise the boys get a break in the next chapter!!
Chapter 7: The First Date - 4
Summary:
The two finally make it back to Kuuno's apartment after a less-than-successful night out.
Notes:
Explicit Content Ahead! Wahoo!
Thanks to PrimordialPrimrose for being a second pair of eyes for me!
Chapter Text
It’s a little past ten by the time they make it back to Kuuno’s apartment. Mikael’s feet are sore and his legs ache from all the walking. He feels equal parts thrill and dread as Kuuno closes the door behind them and latches the chain. He’d imagined being able to talk Kuuno into going all the way with him tonight, but the possibility has slipped further and further from his grasp the longer the night has worn on.
“One second,” says Kuuno as he hangs Mikael’s blazer by the front door then steps into the kitchenette at their left. A small red light blinks on the wall-mounted phone by the archway. He picks up the receiver, mashes a button, and listens. Mikael can vaguely hear the voice of a man playing back. Kuuno lets out a long groan.
“Fuckin’ mum’s at is again,” he says, depressing the switch hook and dialing.
“Mom?” Mikael asks.
“Vic,” Kuuno clarifies. He straightens as the line picks up. “Hey, it’s me.”
The voice on the other end of the line, apparently Jean, says something.
“Yeah, he’s here. He–... He’s fine. We just stayed out later than–”
Jean says something else.
“We fuckin’ literally just walked in the fuckin’ door. I don’t know what you–”
Jean interrupts him.
“Well, that’s up to him,” Kuuno retorts petulantly.
Mikael shuffles further into the room, looking around and trying to distract himself from the fact that Jean seems incapable of staying out of his business. Kuuno’s apartment is basically one room divided into two parts by a ratty paper folding screen. The ‘living room’ consists of a two-seater couch and a long, low table with a very small television on top, plus a few shelves packed full of books and random knick-knacks. Several large canvases are stacked facing the wall so that only their stretcher bars are visible. Behind the folding screen, Mikael spots the corner of a bed, its sheets made, but still rumpled. His stomach flutters at the sight of it.
Kuuno hangs up the phone with a loud sigh. “Fuckin’ hell…” He walks out of the kitchen looking dejected. “Uh, yeah, so, anyways…” He gestures limply to the room. “This is…it.”
“It’s nice,” Mikael offers with a smile.
Kuuno lets out a snort, runs a hand over his face. Then, he straightens up. “Oh, I, uh…bought you some beer. If you want. It’s not fancy, though.”
“Sure, yeah. Thank you.”
Mikael sits down on the couch as Kuuno retreats back into the kitchen, returning a moment later with a beer. He hands it to Mikael then sits down heavily on the couch with a sigh.
“Shit date,” he says miserably.
“It’s not over yet,” Mikael counters.
Kuuno laughs, staring at the far wall with unfocused eyes. “You’re sweet.”
Mikael sips his beer, then settles back into the couch, their shoulders touching. “Maybe I just really want to get laid.”
Kuuno laughs harder at that, slinging an arm over Mikael’s shoulder, pulling him close. “You’re fuckin’ funny. Anyone ever tell you that?”
“Once or twice.” Mikael smiles, his face growing hot. He reaches for Kuuno’s hand to lace their fingers together.
Kuuno presses his nose to Mikael’s hair and sighs. “Yeah, so, uh… I buy drugs from the Skulls, but it’s not what you think.”
“You don’t know what I think.”
“Okay, well, it’s not what it looks like, then.” Kuuno fidgets, rubbing his thumb along the back of Mikael’s hand. “They keep me in the know of what shit’s circulating on the streets, sell it to me at a discount. I take what I get from them into evidence so we know what to look out for.” He sucks in a breath through his teeth. “And, yeah, sometimes I try the shit. But it’s for…y’know… Research purposes. To know what it’s like. What I’m up against with the junkies who are on it.” He makes a frustrated noise. “I just… Fuck, I don’t wanna lie to you, Mik.”
Mikael swallows, letting his head roll to the side to lean against Kuuno’s. “Then don’t lie to me.”
Kuuno exhales in a rush. “Right, yeah. Alright. Um… I also buy my shit from them. For me, not for evidence. Speed, mostly. Sometimes other shit. And I give them, uh…tips. Heads up. Intel.” His knee starts to bounce. “Not, like, top secret shit. Just basic shit. But they give me intel back. Gang movements. Unrest. Shit that’s happening where the RCM doesn’t have eyes.”
“I assume this is…off the official record.”
“Yeah…”
Mikael tucks his lips around his teeth, unsure of what else to say.
“I swear I’m not, like…a fuckin’ crooked cop. I swear, Mik,” Kuuno says after a few beats of silence, squeezing Mikael’s hand tighter. “It’s complicated.”
“And what about the photos from Martinaise? With the ICP?”
Kuuno sucks in a breath then lets it out slowly. “That’s…different. That’s something I need to take to Harry.”
“Wouldn’t that blow your source’s cover?”
Kuuno leans away to look at Mikael with a cocked brow. “Whose side are you on?”
Mikael blinks. “Yours, obviously.”
“...Why?”
The answer to that question catches in Mikael’s chest. He isn’t entirely sure. It’s a strange pulling in his gut—his rigid upbringing and compulsive rule-following warring with a hunch that has no real logic or reason behind it. He isn’t entirely sure his ‘gut feeling’ isn’t just his very strong desire to get Kuuno into bed, thus avoiding any kind of potential conflict, but he wants to believe he’s less of an animal than that. Regardless, the strong, if not irrational thought of ‘it’s a good alliance to have’ goes beyond anything he can explain.
“Like I said…” Mikael catches Kuuno’s eye, then deliberately looks at his mouth. “I really want to get laid.”
Kuuno laughs, shakes his head. “You’re fuckin’ insane.”
Mikael smiles, pleased with himself. “Honestly, though? I just trust you.” His cheeks flush at the confession. “You haven't given me a reason not to.”
“Mik, I have given you so many reasons not to trust me.”
“Like what?” Mikael takes a pointed sip of his beer, then continues in Kuuno’s silence. “You said you'd keep me safe, and you did. You said you didn't want to lie to me, and, as far as I know, you haven't.”
“Yeah, but…” Kuuno trails off, blinks hard, looks away. “I'm a fuckin’ speedfreak, Mika. Once you see the bad side of that shit, you'll be singin’ a different tune.”
Mikael chews at his lower lip, then shrugs. “I mean… That isn't really affecting my opinion right now, though. Like…maybe once I see it, then I'll have different thoughts. But right now, all I know is what you've shown me. Empirical evidence. I've known you for a while at this point. And all evidence points to…” He taps the center of Kuuno’s chest with the index finger of his hand holding the beer. “I can trust you.”
Kuuno looks at him with an arched brow. “I guess…” He laughs. “You're smart as shit. Makes me feel dumb.”
“You know a lot of things I don't,” Mikael argues. “Practical skills; street smarts. I'm just book-smart.”
“Our heads combined, huh?” Kuuno grins. “Maybe you can be my civilian consultant one day. Once I'm a lieutenant.”
Mikael takes a sip of his beer, smiling, allowing himself a moment to dream about the future.
Kuuno clears his throat. “Anyways, I know it’s late as shit, so… If you want me to take you home, I’m fine to do that. Whenever you want.”
Mikael looks at him for a long moment, brows drawn, then laughs. He leans across Kuuno’s lap to set his beer down on the end table, then shifts to straddle him. Kuuno’s breath leaves him in a whoosh as he looks up at Mikael with wide eyes, his hands settling on his hips. He rests his head against the back of the couch as Mikael traces his thumbs across Kuuno’s face, over the scar that cuts through his eyebrow, across the high ridge of his freckled cheekbone, swiping gently over his lips, then trailing down the firm column of his neck.
“You’re gorgeous,” Kuuno says, eyes half-lidded.
Mikael smiles, looks him in the eye. “So are you.”
Kuuno surges up to kiss him so viciously that their teeth click. He grips Mikael by his hair with one hand, the other wrapped around his back, pulling their groins together. Mikael groans and digs his fingernails into Kuuno’s neck, clenches his shirt in his fist, whimpers as Kuuno fucks his tongue into Mikael’s mouth with feral desperation. Kuuno’s hands slide down to grip Mikael by the ass, one cheek per hand, squeezing. Then, he scoots forward on the couch and, in an impressive feat of strength, gets to his feet, hoisting Mikael with him.
“Holy shit!” Mikael laughs, breaking their kiss and clinging to Kuuno’s shoulders. He wraps his legs around Kuuno’s waist. He hasn't considered himself ‘small’ since he was fourteen. Slender, maybe, but certainly not small enough to envision being so thoroughly manhandled. He lets out another giddy laugh. “Holy shit, you’re strong.”
Kuuno carries him over to the bed and drops him on his back, immediately crawling over top of him to continue kissing. They paw at each other’s clothes, sliding hands beneath fabric, fumbling with belts, parting for just long enough to disrobe. When they’re both down to just their boxers, Kuuno surprises Mikael once again by lifting him by the hips and slinging him towards the center of the bed.
He laughs with a bounce. “You can just ask me to move.”
“Where’s the fun in that?” Kuuno sits between Mikael’s legs and hooks his fingers around the elastic of his boxers, yanking them all the way down and off.
Mikael’s dick stands at attention, ready and eager. Kuuno wraps a hand around its base, causing Mikael to groan. Then, he leans forward and licks the head.
Mikael gasps. “S-seriously?”
Kuuno grins up at him. “I’ve gotten my dick sucked enough, I think I know what feels good. I wanna give it a go.” He settles belly-down against the mattress between Mikael’s thighs, pumps his cock a few more times, then slides the length into his mouth.
“Ohhhhh… shit–shit–shit–” Mikael screws his eyes shut, lets out a ragged huff, curls the sheets in his fists.
Wet. Hot and wet. Hot, wet, and tight suction. His hips jerk forward on their own, thrusting upwards. Kuuno works him over with more enthusiasm than Mikael would have expected from him. A powerful suck to the head of Mikael’s cock pulls a long groan out of him, his eyes fluttering closed as his mouth falls open.
“That feels…s-so damn good.”
Kuuno pulls off with a wet pop. “I knew I’d be good at this shit.” He pumps Mikael’s cock a few times in his fist. “All the chicks who complained are fuckin’ pussies.”
Mikael laughs which devolves into a moan when Kuuno begins to suck again. It’s bliss . It’s better than he could have predicted—his own wet fist in a hot shower pales in comparison to the slick heat of an eager mouth. He reaches down to tentatively run his hand through Kuuno’s hair, resting his palm on the back of Kuuno’s head just to feel him bob up and down.
“Fuck,” Mikael groans.
Kuuno pulls off. Licks his lips. “I like when you cuss. It’s sexy.”
Mikael lets out a breathy laugh. “I gotta keep it novel, y’know?”
Kuuno grins and crawls up the bed to kiss Mikael on the mouth. He kisses his way down Mikael’s neck, pausing at his collar bone. “I, uh, I got condoms and shit. If you wanna–”
“Yes,” Mikael says, taking Kuuno’s face in his hands to bring him back up for another kiss. “Yes, I absolutely wanna.”
Kuuno smiles against his mouth. “Okay.”
“Okay,” Mikael repeats, unable to keep the grin off his own face.
Kuuno gets off the bed to flip off the overhead lights, leaving the kitchen light on. The soft glow is made diffuse by the paper folding screen. Golden street lights filter in through the window behind Kuuno’s bed. Mikael settles back against the pillows, his entire body thrumming with nervous anticipation. Kuuno returns to dig through his bedside table, pulling out a ribbon of condom packets and a bottle of lube.
“So, uh, we gotta, like…open you up, yeah?” he asks, uncertainty creeping into his tone. “Get you ready?”
“Yeah. I mean, I can do it. I’ve, um…done it to myself a lot at this point.” Mikael lets out a nervous laugh. “So, I know what I’m doing.”
“Okay, yeah, that’s…” Kuuno clears his throat, puts a knee on the bed. “You can show me what you like.”
“You should grab a towel. Just… Y’know. For cleanup and stuff.”
Mikael’s heartbeat is in his throat as he watches Kuuno cross the room to slide open an accordion door to a cramped shower room, grabbing a towel off the hook inside. He hands it to Mikael, who kneels to spread it out beneath him before lying back down.
“Okay. Lube?” He feels like a surgeon asking for tools from his assistant, but Kuuno hands it to him without comment, a look of studiousness on his shadowed features.
“Maybe I should have fuckin’...turned on some music or some shit,” Kuuno says as Mikael uncaps the lube and spreads some onto his fingers.
“I mean, you can if you want, but I’m fine like this.” Mikael reaches down and rubs at his hole, lets out a shaky breath. It’s strange to be watched like this—both erotic and nerve-wracking. He did as much as he could to prepare for the possibility of going all the way tonight, and now he prays his preparations were enough not to thoroughly embarrass himself with unwanted bodily fluids.
He slides a finger in and sighs.
“Oh…” says Kuuno rapturously, ripping a condom from the ribbon before moving to kneel between Mikael’s legs. “You just fuckin’ went for it, huh?”
“Yeah,” Mikael says with a laugh.
“Does it feel good?”
“Eh. This part is just… You just kind of have to do it to get to the part that feels good.”
“What’s the part that feels good?”
Mikael pumps his own finger in and out a few more times before pushing up to the knuckle and curling. He lets out a soft groan as watery pleasure builds in his groin, his dick twitching. “That.”
“Shit…” Kuuno whispers, tearing open the condom packet with his teeth. “What’s it feel like?”
Mikael hums, continues to move his finger in and out. “Um…it’s like a really full feeling? Like…pressure. Almost like you’re about to piss and cum at the same time.” He laughs at his own description. “I don’t know, it’s weird. It just feels really good. Especially–” He adds a second finger, letting out a huff of breath. “Especially once you add more…”
“My dick is way thicker than two of your fingers, Mik,” Kuuno points out as he rolls the condom onto his cock.
“Yeah, I know. Gimme a minute.” Mikael closes his eyes, takes a breath through his nose. “Can you, um…kiss me?”
He feels the heat of Kuuno’s body move over him, his hands depressing the mattress at his shoulders. “I’d fuckin’ love to,” Kuuno says against his cheek.
He starts by tilting his head to kiss the hollow dip behind Mikael’s ear, kissing along his jaw, the corner of his mouth. It raises goosebumps along Mikael’s arms and legs. Kuuno presses their mouths together and moans, kissing him so very slowly. Mikael exhales, runs his free hand through Kuuno’s hair, hooks a leg around his low back to get a better angle to finger himself open. After pumping in and out a few more times, he adds a third finger as he bites down on Kuuno’s lower lip.
“Almost ready,” he whispers, hoping it’s the truth.
He clenches around his own fingers a few times, relaxes, pumps. He’s beginning to feel impatient and wants to be ready now.
“Okay.”
“You sure?” Kuuno pulls away and reaches for the lube, smears a dollop onto his wrapped cock.
“Yeah. Let’s do this.” Mikael removes his fingers and wipes the excess lube off on the towel beneath him. “Just…take it slow.”
“Yeah, ‘course.”
Mikael pulls his thighs to his chest by the backs of his knees and stares at the shadows on the ceiling as Kuuno lines himself up, one hand resting on the back of Mikael’s thigh. He lets out a shaky exhale at the feeling of the warm, blunt head of a cock pressing against his opening. As Kuuno begins to sink forward, Mikael grimaces. It’s thick and he still feels too tight. He bites the inside of his cheeks and takes another breath, willing himself to relax. The pressure is growing, but no movement is happening.
“Uh, it’s not going in,” Kuuno says. “I don’t wanna like…force it.”
“Hold on.” Mikael reaches down, sliding his fingers around the head of Kuuno’s dick and into himself. “Okay, try–”
Kuuno sinks forward a bit and Mikael gasps.
“Alright?” Kuuno asks, sounding mildly panicked.
“Yeah, yeah, it’s fine, it’s…” Mikael laughs breathily. “It’s fine. Just…intense.”
“Sorry Kuuno’s cock is so fucking massive.”
Mikael laughs harder and it pushes Kuuno back out again.
“Oh goddamn it.” Kuuno clucks his tongue with a chuckle. “Alright, no laughing until I’m all the way in, got it?”
Mikael gives a thumbs up then grips the backs of his knees tighter, taking another deep breath through his nose.
Kuuno pushes forward again, still meeting resistance. Mikael inhales through his nose. The skin of his ass feels like a piece of hide stretched for tanning, and he furrows his brow, swallows, exhales through his mouth. Finally, something seems to give and the head of Kuuno’s cock manages to sink into him, causing Mikael to gasp, eyes snapping open as his brows draw upwards.
“Shit-fuck,” Kuuno huffs. “That’s tight as shit. You okay?”
Mikael nods, biting his lip. “Keep going.”
It’s slow—agonizingly slow—but they breathe each other’s air as Kuuno sinks forward bit by bit until their hips connect. Mikael feels full in a way he didn’t think was possible.
“Holy shit.” He grunts, hooking his ankles together around Kuuno’s low back. “Oh my god.”
“Good?” Kuuno asks into his ear.
“Yeah, just…don’t move for a second.”
Kuuno presses their foreheads together, breathes. Then he peppers small kisses across Mikael’s face, brushes some of his hair out of his eyes, cups his cheek and kisses his mouth like he’s something precious. Mikael runs his hands across Kuuno’s shoulders and sighs into the kiss.
“Alright…”
Kuuno starts to move and Mikael groans. It’s good. It’s really fucking good. The stretch is just the right amount of intense, the right amount of tender burn. His eyebrows draw together and up, his mouth falling open as small noises escape against his will. It’s so much. He feels everything so much, and he can’t stop the moans that seem to be wrung out of him each time Kuuno presses forward.
“You look like it hurts,” Kuuno says, staring intently at Mikael’s face.
Mikael shakes his head, tips his chin back, gasps. “It’s–” He grunts. “It doesn’t hurt. It’s just–” He catches his breath as Kuuno holds still. “It’s just really intense, but good.” He swallows, looks into Kuuno’s eyes. “You feel really fucking good.” His voice comes out reedy and coquettish. He runs his hands across Kuuno’s shoulders, up the back of his neck. “Go faster.”
Kuuno complies, and Mikael feels like the air is being punched from his lungs. He grits his teeth around the pleasure, groans until he feels them vibrate in his own head. Kuuno presses his forehead to Mikael’s neck, his hips finding a rhythmic beat that causes the bed to squeak beneath them. The world has gone silent, the empty space filled with the sound of Kuuno’s heavy breath, Mikael’s punctuated groans, the creak of the bedsprings.
Kuuno shifts forward as he loops his arms beneath Mikael’s back, kissing his neck, his ear, the side of his face. Mikael bites down on Kuuno’s shoulder, and Kuuno lets out a hoarse curse and picks up the pace. Then, he rears back to sit upright, bracing against the back of Mikael’s thighs and thrusting into him with less caution.
“Fuck!” Mikael yelps as his toes curl. Kuuno’s rhythm stutters, so Mikael begs, “Don’t stop! Oh fuck– please don’t stop.”
The muscles of Kuuno’s torso look particularly sharp in the light of the sodium street lamps spilling across the bed, deepening the shadows and accentuating just how fit he is. His abdominals flex, pecs straining as he presses Mikael’s thighs to his chest, fucking into him with more force. A light sheen of sweat glistens across his face and neck.
The pressure in Mikael’s lower gut builds into something sickly sweet—a wretched, ballooning thing that swells and swells, leaving no room for anything else. The pleasure pushes up into his lungs, and he feels like he’s suffocating.
“Oh–oh–” Mikael feels his own face contort in exquisite agony. He grips the sheets. “Oh my God, oh– I’m gonna–”
His thighs tense around Kuuno’s waist, his toes flexing until his calves burn. Kuuno drives into him, keeps driving into him—a steady pounding—the slick noise of his body being entered, skewered, impaled. It burns. He needs it to end. He never wants it to end. Nonsensical images flash behind his eyes, and the room goes sideways. He forgets where he is; he forgets who he is.
The tension snaps, and he spills with a sharp cry, his cock pulsing hot and spurting a thin liquid across his torso and chest.
“Holy fuck–” Kuuno exclaims hoarsely, still thrusting. “Holy fuckin’ shit. Holy–”
Mikael goes limp, his mouth falling open as he whimpers from the continued thrusting. Then, Kuuno abruptly pulls out, and Mikael gasps at the sudden gape. He watches with labored breath as Kuuno wrings the condom from his dick and aggressively jerks himself off until he’s spilling across Mikael’s stomach with a desperate groan and several sharp exhales.
“Hey…” Mikael whines breathlessly. “That was supposed to happen inside me.”
Kuuno is still breathing hard, jerking the last of the cum from his dick, but manages to laugh. “No–” He swallows, sucks in a breath. “No fuckin’ way I was gonna be able to cum anytime soon with the condom on.” Another breath. “And I wanted to blow my load right then and there. That was–” He lets out another breathy laugh, shaking his head as he smiles.
Mikael’s torso is completely slick with both of their spend, and he laughs up at the ceiling, light-headed and giddy. “Well, shit…”
“You seriously just came from only my cock in your ass?” Kuuno asks, his voice cracking with disbelief.
“Prostate orgasm,” Mikael says with another laugh. “They’re…different.”
“No shit.”
“I’ve given myself one before, but God… It was nothing like that.”
Kuuno smirks, reaches forward and smears two of his fingers through the mess on Mikael’s stomach. “I think I just ruined you for other guys.” He grins. “Set the bar real fuckin’ high.”
‘As if I ever want to be with anyone else’, Mikael thinks, too blissed out to overthink it.
–
Kuuno’s shower is quite possibly the smallest shower Mikael has ever been in. He keeps hitting his elbows on the walls as he attempts to wash, the thin shower curtain clinging to his calves. His asshole is tender and puffy, but he feels reborn. He can’t stop smiling as he rinses the night’s activities from his skin with the weak stream of water from the old shower head. Once he feels clean enough, he turns off the water and slides open the curtain, reaching for the fresh towel Kuuno had left for him. He has to stand half-in, half-out of the shower to have enough room to properly dry, squeezing the moisture from his hair before wrapping the towel around his waist and pulling open the accordion door.
Kuuno stands across the room on the opposite side of the bed, preoccupied with something on top of his dresser. He turns around and smiles, his eyes sweeping down Mikael’s body.
“Feel better?”
“Yeah.” Mikael steps forward and flops down against the bed. “I’m absolutely beat.”
“Here.” Kuuno pulls open a drawer and tosses a t-shirt onto the bed, followed by a pair of boxers. “You can borrow these.”
Kuuno turns back to the dresser while he puts them on.
“What’ve you got there?” Mikael asks.
Kuuno glances over his shoulder and winces. “Uh, I’m sorting the shit I got from C. Getting it ready for the week.”
“Are you going to try that, um…Palefire drug?”
“Fuck no.” Kuuno flicks the top of the little baggie that sits on the dresser to his left. “That shit is going right to the labs. If C doesn’t even want to try it, that means the shit is probably bad. Like, ‘fuck your shit up’ bad. ”
“Oh…” Mikael doesn’t quite know how to respond. He climbs onto the bed, waits a beat, then asks, “So, what is speed like?”
Kuuno lets out a huff of laughter. “Don’t ask me shit like that.”
“Why not?”
Kuuno turns around, looks at Mikael with exasperated fondness. “Because I fucking love speed. I’ll make it sound way better than it is.”
“I mean, I wasn’t planning on trying it. I was just curious.”
Kuuno looks at him a second longer, then turns back to the dresser. Mikael sees him scoop a pile of the little white pills into a small baggie. “You’ve never done any drugs, Mik? Like…at all?”
“Nope,” Mikael says, shifting to sit cross-legged in the middle of Kuuno’s bed. “I only just had my first drink back in January. Well, I mean… My mom let me try a sip of champagne when I was fourteen, but I thought it tasted nasty.”
Kuuno laughs loudly at that. He finishes up whatever task the pills required of him and turns away from the dresser to kneel on the bed in front of Mikael. “Champagne,” he repeats, pushing Mikael onto his back with a hand to the center of his chest. “You’re such a little prince.”
Mikael’s face heats up. “I–I mean, it’s…not my fault.”
“No.” Kuuno shakes his head, a hand pressed to either side of the mattress at Mikael’s shoulders. “It definitely isn’t.” He leans down and nibbles at Mikael’s earlobe, his voice turning husky. “And even though mummy and daddy tried to keep you locked up, look where you are now.” He lets his hips sink low to rub his groin against Mikael’s. “Lettin’ me put my hands all over you… Lettin’ me put my cock up in you.”
Mikael lets out a shuddering breath, gripping Kuuno’s shoulders. “Are we about to have sex again?”
Kuuno pulls back with a feral grin. “We could.”
They have sex again. Sans penetration—Mikael is too tender—but Kuuno grips their cocks together in his fist and jerks them off at the same time. Mikael comes first, thrusting into Kuuno’s tight fist with wild abandon. He uses his mouth to finish Kuuno. His cock tastes vaguely like latex, but Mikael pulls desperate little sounds from him, brings him to the edge, and then swallows his cum, feeling proud of himself for it.
Afterwards, Mikael forgoes the shirt and climbs beneath the covers wearing only the borrowed boxers while Kuuno takes his turn in the shower. The clock on the wall reads 1:07 AM. He’s half asleep by the time Kuuno crawls beneath the covers beside him. Long, warm arms encircle him and he lets Kuuno pull him against his chest.
“That’s fuckin’ nice,” Kuuno says with a sigh. “I could get used to this.”
“Me, too,” Mikael mumbles. He tilts his head back enough to kiss Kuuno languidly before he loses strength and his head falls back against the pillow. “I’m so tired.”
“Then sleep.”
Kuuno kisses Mikael’s temple and runs a hand through his hair over and over in the silence. It lulls Mikael into a trance.
“G’night, Mika,” Kuuno finally whispers as his hand stills.
Mikael lets out a heavy sigh. “Night…”
Chapter 8: The First Date - 5
Summary:
A slow morning in Kuuno's apartment, their date finally coming to an end.
Notes:
Another thanks to Vacholierette for being a quick beta! The First Date Arc is drawing to a close!
Chapter Text
Mikael wakes slowly, momentarily disoriented. Kuuno’s apartment is remarkably bright in the daylight. The early morning sun cuts through the blinds and casts horizontal beams of golden light across the bed. Everything feels calm and settled, like an old oil painting, frozen in time.
Mikael shifts onto his side and can’t help but smile at the sight of a sleeping Kuuno. He looks young like this, still teenaged, his sharp face rounded, his features softened. He sleeps on his back, one arm tucked beneath the pillow under his head, the other resting across his chest, face turned towards Mikael. His red-blonde eyelashes are stark against his pale cheeks. Beautiful, Mikael thinks. He’s really beautiful. Scars and all.
Mikael reaches towards him, then hesitates, his hand hovering over Kuuno’s cheek. Softly, he brings his hand down so that only his fingertips brush along Kuuno’s jaw.
Kuuno’s hand immediately jerks up to grab Mikael’s wrist. He blinks awake with a scowl, looking blearily around the room before his eyes land on Mikael. Then his features unfold into the dopiest, love-struck smile Mikael has yet to see on him.
Oh…he actually really likes me…
His heart feels like it’s going to explode.
Kuuno rolls onto his side and buries his face against the side of Mikael’s neck, his arms encircling him in a vice-like grip. “G’morning,” he mumbles against Mikael’s shoulder.
“Good morning,” Mikael replies with a soft laugh. He wraps his arms around Kuuno’s broad shoulders, strokes his hair, takes a deep breath. This is nice.
They lay like that for a long, silent moment. Kuuno seems to drift back to sleep, and Mikael continues to stroke his hair, wondering how soon is too soon to fall in love with someone.
Eventually, Kuuno stirs, sleepily kissing his way across Mikael’s shoulder to his collarbone, kissing the center of his chest, one hand traveling south to grip Mikael’s morning wood through his boxers. Mikael gasps and rolls his hips up into Kuuno’s hand.
“Rise and shine,” Kuuno says against his skin, kissing his chest again as he begins to stroke.
Mikael lets out a low moan as Kuuno shifts to lick a nipple. “God…”
Kuuno sits up and throws the covers off of them, now fully awake. He slides Mikael’s boxers off in one swoop and settles between his legs. He pulls Mikael’s hips against his own, his stiff cock poking Mikael’s ass through his boxers, before reaching for the lube on the night stand and squirting a dollop into his palm. He has a seriousness to him that's as if getting Mikael off first thing in the morning is a strict matter of business.
“Shit,” Mikael whispers, causing Kuuno to smile roguishly down at him.
He wraps his hand around Mikael’s cock and begins to pump. Mikael lets out a helpless moan as he squeezes his eyes shut, his toes flexing. Kuuno’s fist makes obscene, slick noises in the silent apartment as he strokes with single-minded focus. Then he slows down, grips the base of Mikael’s cock with his other hand, pumps slower. Speeds back up. Swirls his palm over the sensitive head.
“Oh fuck–” It still comes out as a whisper. Mikael opens his eyes to slits. “Kuuno…”
Kuuno says nothing, staring at his own hand as he toys with Mikael’s dick for several long minutes, making him squirm and whimper. Speeding up before slowing down, swiping a thumb across the slit. He seems to be experimenting. Or torturing. Mikael makes a desperate noise when Kuuno slows down again, jerking his hips and attempting to thrust up into his hand.
“Please,” Mikael begs breathily. “Please, please let me…” He lets out an aborted whine, biting at his lower lip.
“Alright, gorgeous,” Kuuno finally says, his voice low and gravely from sleep. He licks his lips, pupils blown wide, and increases his speed. “Come for me. Come on…”
Mikael throws his head back against the pillows, eyes screwed shut, and reaches up to grip the pillow beneath his head. His back arches, his legs lock straight around Kuuno’s hips, thighs quivering, and he comes with a hoarse shout, shuddering and convulsing as Kuuno milks his cock until Mikael tries to wriggle out of his grip, spent and oversensitive.
Kuuno swipes the head of Mikael’s cock with his thumb one final time with a grin. “Good boy.”
“Oh, fuck…” Mikael groans. “Don’t–you can’t say that.”
“Why not?” Kuuno asks with a laugh. “You are.”
“It’ll mess my brain up.” Mikael throws an arm over his forehead. “I’ll hear someone call their dog a ‘good boy’ and I’ll get hard.”
Kuuno tips his head back and laughs loudly. He shifts out from under Mikael’s hips and grabs the towel where it lays discarded at the foot of the bed. “Kinky little bastard.” He kneels next to Mikael on the bed and gingerly wipes the mess off of his stomach.
“It’s so sweet that you do that,” Mikael says dopily.
“Do what?”
“Clean me up.”
Kuuno lets out a scoff. “I’m not gonna let you lay there all sticky and shit. Plus, dry cum is the worst.”
“Yeah,” Mikael agrees, smiling. “Can I suck you off?”
Kuuno raises an eyebrow, smiling at him as he wipes the last of the cum away. “If I ever say ‘no’ to you offering to suck me off, that’s how you know I’ve been replaced by an evil clone.”
Mikael grins. Shifts to lay sideways on the bed, grabbing at the hem of Kuuno’s boxers.
“Oi, hold your horses.” He tosses the towel in the direction of an overly-full laundry basket, then gets to his feet and takes his boxers off. His cock springs free, bobbing in the morning sun.
Mikael shuffles until he’s lying on his back, head half-hanging off the side of the bed, then opens his mouth and sticks out his tongue.
“Fuckin’ hell, you’re an eager little slut, aren’t you?” Kuuno taps the thick weight of his cock across Mikael’s tongue, thrusts forward through the valley of his open mouth.
Mikael’s face and chest flush hot. He turns his head sideways and sucks the head of Kuuno’s dick into his mouth, closing his eyes and humming.
“Fuck…” Kuuno moves his dick in and out slowly, almost reverently. He uses one hand to guide his cock, the other placed against Mikael’s face, stroking his thumb across the bulge in his cheek whenever Kuuno fills his mouth. “A fuckin’ vision.”
Mikael just hums again, gives a suck. Over the past twelve hours he’s decided that he loves sucking cock and wants to become a master. He lets out a helpless gag as Kuuno thrusts a little deep, but brings a hand up to grab Kuuno’s ass, not letting him step away.
“Wait, wait–” Mikael shifts until his head is almost hanging completely off the bed and he’s looking up at the ceiling. “Like this.” He opens his mouth.
“How’d you learn all these kinky fuckin’ positions, eh?” Kuuno asks, stepping to straddle Mikael’s head.
“I told you. I’ve read a lot of books.”
“They write this shit in books?”
Mikael laughs and opens his mouth again. Kuuno slides back in, the cool skin of his sack pressing against Mikael’s nose.
“Oh fuck… Fuuuuck…”
Kuuno thrusts shallowly, and Mikael wills his gag reflex into submission. He’s half-hard again and reaches down with one hand to cup his dick and balls, the other fisting the sheets as he lets his mouth be used. Kuuno picks up speed, one hand resting gently on the side of Mikael’s neck, the other cupping the back of his head. Mikael gags a few times, but not hard enough for them to stop. He makes helpless little gluck noises whenever Kuuno’s cockhead slides too deep, inhaling sharply through his nose, his neck tense. It’s erotic in a way he can hardly comprehend—being used like an object—and it’s something he’ll probably think too hard about later, but for now, he groans and massages his half-hard cock as Kuuno fucks his way deeper into his throat.
“Shit! Fuckin’ shit…” Kuuno thrusts a few more times, his energy turning frantic, before he pulls out and jerks himself off across Mikael’s face, the majority of his spend landing in his mouth.
Mikael laughs, then closes his mouth and swallows, licks his lips. Kuuno sticks his thumb into Mikael’s mouth, and he compulsively sucks.
“Goddamn…fuckin’ shit…” Kuuno wheezes. “I could fuck you all day.”
Mikael pulls off of Kuuno’s thumb with a wet suction. “I’d let you,” he says, looking up at him from upside down.
“Oh, God…” Kuuno moans, and he sounds truly distraught. “Get up. Please. Fuckin’ hell. We’ll never leave my apartment otherwise.”
Mikael grins and rocks into a sitting position, wiping his hand across his face and reaching for Kuuno’s borrowed boxers. “Well, that was fun.”
“No fuckin’ shit,” Kuuno says with a breathless laugh. He steps back into his own boxers. “I’m not used to having someone be as fuckin’ horny as I am.”
“What do you mean?”
“All my girlfriends have always been like ‘ooh, Kuuno, I’m tired, I don’t wanna, I’m on the rag’ .” He pitches his voice high to mock them.
Mikael laughs. “Uh, I mean, there will probably be a point where I don’t wanna have sex but…” He gets to his feet and walks over to loop his arms around Kuuno’s waist. “Probably not in the near future.”
“Little freak,” Kuuno says affectionately. He leans in and kisses Mikael on the mouth, then pulls back with a grimace. “You taste like my cum.”
“Well, that’s because I swallowed your cum.”
Kuuno laughs and gives him a playful shove. “You want breakfast? I bought eggs. I think I have some bread that isn’t moldy yet. Eggs and toast. That’s my offer.”
“Sure.” Mikael grins and follows him into the kitchen. “Offer accepted.”
He sits at the small table and watches Kuuno move through his own kitchen, sunlight filtering through the window over the sink.
“How many girlfriends have you had?” Mikael asks out of curiosity.
Kuuno looks over his shoulder as he pulls a carton of eggs from the fridge. “Eh, I guess four, technically, but I don’t know if I can count the girl I dated for three months when I was fourteen as a ‘girlfriend’. The last two were the longest. The most serious, I guess. About a year each.” He places a pan on the stove, turns the burner on. “Broke off my last relationship about five months ago.”
“Oh, uh…” Mikael feels awkward. “Sorry.”
“Nah,” Kuuno dismisses with a wave. “She was crazy.” He throws Mikael a grin. “Plus, freed me up for you, yeah?”
Mikael’s breath flees his lungs in a rush and he laughs. “Yeah. Thank God for that, I guess.”
Kuuno turns back to the stove and adds a pat of butter to the pan. It slides across the hot surface and begins to bubble. “I only know how to make scrambled eggs,” he says, the backs of his ears red.
Mikael can’t stop smiling. “I love scrambled eggs.” He bites his knuckle and suppresses a joyful scream.
They chat while Kuuno makes the eggs. Even though they’d come to know each other better over the duration of Mikael’s internship, there’s still so much about Kuuno that remains a mystery. He’s still hesitant to disclose certain kinds of information, especially whatever his life was like before Harry adopted him, which Mikael is fine to leave well enough alone. But over breakfast, Mikael learns that Kuuno moved into his current apartment when he was seventeen, that Harry and Jean live in the same building three floors above him, (that they live together, but aren’t ‘together like that’), and that Jean practically helped raise Kuuno alongside Harry.
Jean is a weird thing to have in common, given the type of person he is—prickly and grumpy, more like a black raincloud than a man some days—but Mikael finds it comforting. A thread of their past that connects them. And it makes a little more sense why Jean can’t seem to stop hovering over their every move.
“Got any hobbies?” Mikael prods as he scrapes the last bite of eggs onto his toast.
“Ehm…” Kuuno flushes light pink and he slouches forward over his plate. “I, ah… I paint.”
Mikael stops the toast halfway to his mouth. “You paint?! As in, you make paintings?”
“Yeah, what of it?”
“That’s so cool!”
Kuuno blinks. “Oh. Yeah, I guess…”
“Can I see some?”
“Fuck no!” The flush spreads down his neck. “It’s private shit!”
“Please?” Mikael leans forward with a pleading look. “I love art. I grew up around it. My dad was constantly taking me to museums and exhibits when I was little, and my mom’s the dean of the Université de la Culture et des Arts. I can’t draw or paint at all, but I love looking at it.”
“Ah, that’s…cool.” Kuuno rubs the back of his head, avoiding eye contact. “You probably know way more about art than I do. I just paint the shit in my head, y’know? But nobody ever taught me anything. I just…taught myself.”
“But that’s what some of the greatest artists of our time did,” Mikael argues. “Formal training doesn’t automatically make you a great artist.” He sits back, takes a breath—realizes he’s being too much. “But, uh, if you really don’t wanna show me your stuff, that’s totally fine. I get that art is, like…personal. So don’t let me–”
“Nah, I’ll show you,” Kuuno interrupts with a dismissive wave. He takes a large bite of egg and toast, then speaks around his food. “It’s fine.”
Mikael grins and quickly finishes his breakfast.
–
The only word Mikael can summon to describe Kuuno’s paintings is: harrowing . Garish clashes of bright colors, found objects jammed into thick globs of paint, newspaper clippings and ripped out magazine pages, spray paint and acrylics mixed together. They’re chaotic and frenetic, but there’s still a compositional flow that draws Mikael’s eye across the canvas. In a technical sense, they’re actually quite sophisticated. He’s seen learned artists attempt this kind of style and fail miserably, muddying the paint and mucking up the balance. Despite the impressive nature of the work itself, he can’t help but feel disturbed by what he sees.
“They’re very intense,” he decides to say after he takes a long moment to assess his own feelings.
Kuuno grunts in response, fidgeting beside him. “It’s what my dreams are like.”
“Are these…uh…?” Mikael gestures to the oblong shapes falling from the top of one of the paintings. They’re made of clipped out magazine images of smiling people.
“Bombs,” Kuuno says.
At the bottom of the canvas, where the bombs terminate, is an explosion of yellows and whites—thick splatters that arc upwards to mimic the impact, dissolving into white static.
“You…dream about bombs?”
Kuuno nods solemnly. “Bombs, war, dead bodies, fuckin’...destructive shit. Brutal shit.” He shakes his head, then offers a small smile. “But hey, I didn’t last night.” He nudges Mikael with his elbow. “Maybe I just need you in my bed more often.”
Mikael smiles shyly. “What did you dream about last night?”
Kuuno’s smile falls away as his ears go red again. “Ah, I can’t fuckin’ remember. But it wasn’t about fuckin’ bombs going off, so… I’ll take it.”
–
Mikael had wanted to have sex again before they left, but they’d finally hit a wall, each only managing to get half-hard as they made out on Kuuno’s couch. They’d laughed about this, and Kuuno had sworn up and down that all he needed was more sleep and a little present for his nose and Mikael wouldn’t be able to sit for a week. Mikael had told him not to make promises he didn’t intend to keep.
Kuuno walks Mikael to the tram station. The red line runs from Jamrock to La Delta with a stop-over in Grand Couron, then it’s a fifteen minute walk from the station to Mikael’s house. It’s a familiar route—one he’s been making for the past eight months. Today, however, the Main Street Station fills him with a sense of melancholy.
He doesn’t want to go home yet.
“Are you working Tuesday?” Mikael asks as they sit close on one of the benches, waiting for the next tram to roll through. He clutches a plastic grocery bag in his lap that holds his blazer and polo shirt. He’d asked if he could wear Kuuno’s borrowed t-shirt home, and Kuuno had told him he could just have it.
“I work an overnight patrol Monday and Tuesday.” Kuuno has an arm over Mikael’s shoulders, his thumb absently tracing circles on the top of his arm. “Ten to six.”
Mikael wrinkles his nose. “That’s miserable.”
“It’s only twice a month they make me and Mills do the night watch. Never more than two nights in a row.”
“Still…” Mikael lays a tentative hand on Kuuno’s thigh, hyperaware of how public their affection is becoming. “Maybe I can swing by after I finish up at the precinct? Before you start your shift. I should be finishing up around six on Tuesday. I could make it five-thirty, if I wanted.”
Kuuno hums with a smile. “That’d be nice.” He leans in and kisses the side of Mikael’s head. “Would make my fuckin’ night way better.”
Mikael doesn’t question the PDA, instead choosing to bask in it. He leans his head against Kuuno’s shoulder and lets his fingers curl loosely around his thigh. People walk past them and don’t even spare a glance. Maybe they can finally be invisible—a non-event—nothing worthy of extra attention or derision or violence or scorn. Times are changing, after all. Revachol isn’t what it was ten years ago. This is what Mikael tells himself as he takes a deep breath and feels Kuuno’s arm tighten around him at the approaching rush of wheels on a metal track.
“Tram’s coming,” Kuuno says.
Mikael lets out a whine. “Maybe I can catch the next one.”
Kuuno’s laugh is flat and forced. He presses another kiss to Mikael’s head. “Tuesday isn’t too far away.”
Mikael turns his head to look up at Kuuno, bringing their faces close. His stomach flips; his lungs flutter. Kuuno’s expression is nearly as somber as he feels, and it’s stupid. They’re both being so stupid, acting like Mikael is going off to war. Like they won’t see each other again in two days. But, for whatever reason, it feels like trying to tear off his own arm.
Boldly, Mikael leans up and quickly kisses Kuuno, before starting to get up.
“Oi, hold it–” Kuuno jerks him back down to sit on the bench, then cups his cheek and gives him a much slower kiss that still ends too soon.
“Thank you,” Mikael says.
Kuuno lets out a chuckle. “The fuck you thankin’ me for?”
“For taking me on a date.”
“Shit date,” Kuuno reminds him.
Mikael grins. “Thank you for taking me on a shit date.”
The tram hisses to a stop and they each get up in tandem. Mikael glances around, but it still seems like nobody is really paying attention to them. He turns to Kuuno. “See you on Tuesday?”
“Yeah, just buzz my apartment and I’ll let you in.” He leans forward and gives Mikael a final quick kiss. “Call me tonight, yeah? Just to let me know you got home safe, I mean.”
“Yeah, sure.” Mikael smiles. “Um… bye.” He laughs nervously as he edges towards the tram. “See you soon.”
“Talk to you sooner,” Kuuno fires back with a wink, his hands retreating into his pockets.
Mikael’s cheeks hurt from smiling. He boards the tram and finds a window seat. Kuuno still stands on the platform, watching him. He gives a little wave. Mikael waves back. Then Kuuno makes a dick-sucking motion, using his tongue to pantomime a cock hitting the inside of his cheek. Mikael covers his mouth as he laughs. The tram pulls out of the station, and Mikael cranes his head to watch Kuuno’s figure grow smaller on the platform behind him. Then, the tram turns on the tracks, and he disappears from view completely.
Chapter 9: Art Break!
Summary:
I draw a lot.
Chapter Text
And some uhhhhhh NSFW stuff (you've been warned! scroll at your own discretion!)
Chapter 10: Father & Son - 1
Summary:
Mikael finally makes it back home – Trant makes a phone call.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
His father’s car is in the driveway when Mikael arrives home, and he thinks he might throw up in the ditch.
“No, no, no, no, no…” he moans miserably, grabbing a fistful of his own hair as he paces the sidewalk a few houses down. He checks his watch. It’s barely past noon. His father wasn’t supposed to get home until this evening. He thought he’d have plenty of time to shower and decompress and act like he hadn’t just rolled out of Kuuno’s bed and had some of the best orgasms of his life.
He slows his breathing, taps his chest the way his therapist taught him to, and begins to run through hypothetical arguments. I was responsible, Jean knew where we were, nothing bad happened, I’m eighteen, I’m an adult, I’m allowed to date, Jean was looking out, Kuuno is really sweet, actually. He’s a good man, actually. Yeah, he does drugs, but he’s honest about it. He doesn’t–
Mikael takes a deep breath as he climbs the front steps and unlocks the door.
His house is quiet and cool. It feels vast compared to Kuuno’s apartment, and Mikael now understands why he’d had the reaction he did upon seeing it for the first time. He slides out of his loafers and checks his reflection in the foyer mirror. His hair is frizzy and unkempt, and Kuuno, once again, left a massive hickey on his neck. He sighs, running his hand over his neck, feeling a mixture of fondness and irritation.
“Hello?” comes his father’s voice from the kitchen. Mikael sees him step around the corner, framed by the two archways between the living room, dining room, and kitchen.
“Hey,” Mikael says weakly, stepping up into the living room and making his way cautiously towards the kitchen. “I, uh…thought you weren’t getting back until this evening.”
His father’s expression is his usual pleasant mask—a soft, disarming smile that hides whatever he might actually be feeling at any given moment. He holds a mug in one hand, the other tucked into the pocket of his dark lounge pants.
“I managed to get on an earlier flight.” He takes a sip from his mug, then says, “I actually got in last night around ten.”
Mikael’s stomach lurches. “Oh…”
“Come sit.” Trant motions with his head to the kitchen island. “Let’s talk.”
His breath comes out in a long, hissing whoosh, and Mikael shuffles into the kitchen with his head hanging low.
“None of that,” says Trant. “You look like a man on the way to his execution.”
“Well…” Mikael slides onto one of the bar stools at the island. “Am I?”
“Of course not.” Trant lets out a soft laugh as he sits down beside him. “I’m just glad you’re home safe.”
His father looks tired with heavy bags beneath his eyes. His hair had turned completely silver by the time Mikael was thirteen, and he’d seen his dad so infrequently for those tween years that it had, at first, made him feel distraught in a way he couldn’t fully articulate. Now, it was simply a part of what made his father who he was.
“I, uh… I stayed with a friend,” Mikael says.
Trant nods. “With Kuuno.”
Mikael’s mouth drops open. “How…?”
Trant smiles, laughs a little, takes a sip of what Mikael now realizes is coffee. “Well, when I arrived home quite late last night, and you weren’t here, after a brief moment of panic, I called Jean.”
Mikael groans and hides his face in his hands. “Of course.”
“Who had fortunately just gotten word that the two of you had made it back to Kuuno’s apartment safely.”
“Right,” Mikael mutters.
“He then…brought me up to speed on the most recent developments between the two of you.”
“He’s a really nice guy,” Mikael immediately defends. “He’s so sweet to me. It’s really… Like, I know he comes off as this tough-guy delinquent, but he’s really sweet and thoughtful. And he’s a painter! And he made sure we were safe, and–”
“Mikael,” Trant interrupts, his brow furrowed. “Who are you arguing with?”
Mikael exhales in a rush. “I don’t know. Jean made it seem like you’d be really upset about all this.”
Trant smiles almost sadly, looking down into his mug. “Jean is the type of man who likes to imagine the worst-case scenario and then plan accordingly.” He lets out another soft laugh. “I also imagine the worst-case scenario, as well as the best. Then, I try to land somewhere in the middle.”
“Okay, then what’s the worst case scenario for you here?” Mikael presses.
“You getting hurt, maimed, or killed, and I don’t know where you are. And there’s no way for me to find you. Or to help you.” Trant doesn’t make eye contact when he says it, then shakes his head. “That has nothing to do with Kuuno. It’s just a parent’s worst nightmare. When I came home and you weren’t here, and I didn’t know where you were, my mind went to dark places. I felt great relief knowing you were safe and with someone familiar to both of us.”
“Oh…” Mikael takes a deep breath. “So you’re not…mad? About me and him…?” Mikael makes a sort of looping hand gesture. He isn’t sure if going on one date counts as ‘dating’. He doesn’t know what to call the relationship yet.
“I’m…surprised,” Trant says. “I, ah… It’s not something I could have ever predicted.” He smiles again. “But, I suppose that’s what our children do. They constantly surprise us.”
“Jean said, um…” Mikael picks at a hangnail. “He said it’s difficult trying to be with someone from a different…background.” He hazards a glance at his father. “Is that why you two–?”
“Jean is a complicated man with a lot of baggage,” Trant says neutrally. “I still care about him deeply, and I’m glad that we’ve remained friends. Sometimes…relationships just don’t work out.” He blinks rapidly as he stares off into the middle distance. “And that’s just part of life.” Then, he looks to Mikael with his trademark pleasant smile. “But I don’t think you need to be worrying about the future to that extent just yet.”
“So, you’re fine if we…date?”
“Mikael, you’re about to go to college. Your life is your own. I’d be a bad father if I tried to hold onto you too tightly.” He shifts, takes a hasty sip of coffee, then clears his throat. “I would not mention him to your mother, though.”
“Oh, absolutely not, no.” Mikael laughs. “She doesn’t even know…uh… She still doesn’t know I’m gay.”
“Really?” Trant looks at him with concern. “Still?”
Mikael shrugs. “You know how Rick is.”
Trant’s expression darkens in a way it only does whenever Mikael speaks about his stepdad. “Yes, I do.” He lets out a heavy sigh, runs a hand over his eyes, then gets to his feet. “Just let me know where you are and what you’re doing, and I’ll be content.”
“Uh, are you sure you want to know what I’m doing?”
Trant laughs, places a hand on Mikael’s shoulder and kisses the back of his head. “No specifics, I beg of you. But, ah… were you safe?”
“Yeah, I told you, he kept me safe.”
“No, I mean, did you use protection.”
“Oh my god.” Mikael folds over the counter and buries his face in his arms. “Dad, please.”
“It’s my duty–”
“Yes! Yes, we were safe. On my god…”
“That’s good! Good. Very proud of you.” He claps Mikael on the back and then makes his way over to the sink, setting his mug inside. “Please don’t give me any further details. I don’t want them.”
Mikael laughs, feeling delirious. He looks up, his cheeks hot. “Thanks, dad.”
Trant just smiles. “I love you. So very much.”
“Love you, too,” Mikael murmurs.
–
Mikael retreats to his room. He throws the plastic bag with his blazer and polo at the foot of his bed before collapsing stomach-first onto his mattress with a sigh. His body feels ten times lighter, nerves buzzing with relief. So much mental preparation for catastrophe, and suddenly everything is just…fine. Everyone is fine. He’s not in trouble. His dad didn’t forbid him from doing anything. And he has plans to see Kuuno again in two days.
He rolls onto his back and sits up, pulling the t-shirt over his head, then crumples it to his face and inhales. It still smells like Kuuno’s apartment, like his sheets and detergent. He smiles and falls back against the mattress, letting the shirt rest over his face. It feels like insanity—some kind of madness that’s taken over his brain and filled up every last corner of his rational mind. He wants to spend every waking moment by Kuuno’s side. While he’s never done drugs, he imagines this must be what it’s like to chase a high. Never enough, always wanting more.
He doesn’t just want more, he needs it.
He shifts on the bed and something in his back pocket crinkles. Rolling onto his side, he lets the t-shirt slide from his face as he reaches behind him to pull out the folded-up pamphlet. He’d been too shaken and nervous to actually read it sitting on the couch next to Noid. Unfolding it reveals a linocut print of a skull with stag antlers wreathed with may bells, an upside down star centered between the top prongs. He flips open the first page. It reads:
REVACHOL RISE UP!!
The means of production have been seized! The bourgeois grow fat and complacent on the wealth of the working class! The super-rich pacify them with false promises while they hoard resources, hoard wealth, and condemn the poor to death!
DO NOT BE COMPLACENT!
The working class and the employing class have nothing in common! What’s good for workers is bad for the bosses; what’s good for the bosses is bad for the workers! This opposition is built into the system by design! The working class holds the power by holding the means of production! The employing class would have no wealth without the working class! The super-rich do not want class consciousness!
TAKE ACTION!
We will not stay silent! We will not bow to the whims of the super-rich! We will not allow the bourgeois to go unchallenged! We will fight!
Mikael flips through the remainder of the pamphlet, but finds that it doesn’t actually outline how the authors plan to “fight”, but does advertise a music show at the end of the month. He’s also annoyed by the overuse of exclamation points.
Getting to his feet, Mikael steps over to his desk and opens the center drawer, placing the pamphlet next to the extra copy of Kuuno’s number and the single cigarette he’d left on Mikael’s desk on Thursday evening. A collection, he thinks fondly, then closes the drawer and grabs the towel hanging from his closet doorknob before heading down the hall to take a shower.
–
Trant waits until it’s later in the evening to retreat to his office. His hand hovers over the lock compulsively, but decides against it. Nothing worth locking the door over. Just a simple phone call.
He sits at his desk and checks the time. Half-past seven. Jean should be home by now, but ‘should’ does not mean ‘will’. Trant picks up the phone and dials anyways. The line rings a few times before a voice that is not Jean’s answers:
“Y’ellow.”
“Hi, Harry,” Trant says pleasantly. “I was hoping to speak to Jean, if he’s available.”
“He’s burning the midnight oil. Still at the station. But he’s just sitting at his desk filing out reports. I’m sure he’d love if you interrupted him.” He pauses. “I mean that, genuinely, by the way. Not sarcastically.”
Trant takes a deep breath through his nose, his curiosity getting the better of him. “When you see these kinds of things, does it come to you in a vision? Or do you just feel impressions? Or is it more like words on a page?”
Harry clucks his tongue. “No psychoanalyzing me tonight, Trant. Call Jean. He needs it.” Then, he adds after a beat, “But it’s like a snapshot, for the record. Sometimes like a reel-to-reel.”
“Thank you, that’s all I wanted to know,” Trant says with a laugh. “Goodnight, Harry.”
“G’night, Heidelstam!”
Trant hangs up and re-dials Jean’s desk number. It rings once before the line connects.
“Vicquemare speaking.”
Trant can’t help but smile. “Good evening, Lieutenant. Might I bother you for a moment?”
“Oh, sure, absolutely. Not like I have shit to do.” He can envision Jean relaxing back into his chair. “Not like I’m stuck at my goddamn desk an hour and a half after I was supposed to go home.”
“Terribly sorry to inconvenience you.”
There’s the sound of a soft exhale over a burst of static—Jean’s laughter. “How’d the chat with Mika go?”
“Well, you really seem to have put the fear of God into him.” Trant shifts back in his own chair. “He seemed convinced I was going to send him to a damn monastery over all this.”
“You and I both know you’ve been keeping him away from Kuuno for years.”
“Well, sure, but that’s when he was little and every other word out of Kuuno’s mouth was either a curse or a slur.” Trant runs his hand across his jaw. “More than anything, I think I regret not getting to know the kid a little more when I had the chance. No idea what he’s like, really.”
“He’s…a remarkably good kid, now, if you believe it.”
“Well, I know the men who raised him, so yes, I believe it.”
“I think you mean you know the men who desperately attempted to course-correct the damage that had been done.”
Trant lets out a soft sigh. “Yes, that.”
“I’m surprised you’re taking it this well.”
“Why?” Trant lets out a self-deprecating laugh. “The apple isn’t exactly falling far from the tree.”
“Oh, and what the fuck is that supposed to mean?”
Trant smiles, runs a hand across his eyes. “Jean…”
“Yeah, believe me, I’ve already drawn parallels. I don’t need it fucking spelled out.”
The silence hangs heavy between them for a moment. Trant hears the sound of paper shuffling over the line.
“He seems happy,” Trant says after a beat. “After we spoke today, once he… Well, once he realized I wasn’t upset, he–” Trant feels unwanted emotion pushing up his esophagus and clears his throat. “I haven’t seen him like this in a long time. Not since he was little.” He exhales softly. “Ah, to be young and in love. Do you remember it?”
“I’ve never been young a day in my life.”
Trant grins, holding the phone closer to his face. “I know.”
“But, yeah, I get what you mean.”
“It just makes me wonder.” His pulse quickens, and he regrets saying it, but pushes through regardless. “Maybe if we’d been younger…”
He hears Jean draw a breath, exhale. The sound of more papers shuffling. “Yeah, well, when you were Kuuno’s age, I would have been nine, so. Probably wouldn’t have worked out.”
Trant smiles and rubs his forehead. “Good point.”
“I would have been so fucking tight, though.”
Trant chokes on his laugh, doubling over his desk and covering his mouth with his hand. “Holy shit, Jean, you can’t say things like that.”
He can practically feel Jean’s smile through the line. “It’s my nine-year-old ass,” he argues. “I can joke about it.”
“Are you coming to Mikael’s graduation?” Trant redirects, still laughing, his cheeks burning red. He clears his throat. “I’m sure he’d really appreciate it. You mean a lot to him, you know.”
“I’ll see what I can do,” Jean says, which Trant knows means ‘I wouldn’t miss it for the world’.
“Thank you.”
They descend into an awkward silence, and Jean’s phlegmy cough crackles across the line.
“I should finish up with my shit and get home.”
“Yes, apologies. Thank you for letting me bother you.”
“You’re one of the only ones who gets a pass.”
Trant smiles, closes his eyes, breathes. “Goodnight, Jean.”
“Night, Trant.”
The line goes dead and Trant presses the receiver harder against his face, his brow drawing tight.
–
“I love you.”
Jean snubs out his cigarette and lets out a long sigh, rubbing irritably at his eyes. “Why the fuck would you say that? Now? Of all times.”
“Because it’s true.”
“Stop. Just–” Jean whirls on him, scowling. “How are you so fucking thick? I’ve done NOTHING but make your life harder. And now, that fucking bitch will barely let you see your son because of me.”
“Jean,” Trant tries to speak calmly despite the tremble in his voice. “That is not your fault. That’s her–”
“It is! It is my fault! If we–” He gestures aggressively between the two of them as he draws out the word. “–hadn’t been so fucking public about this, then you wouldn’t have to–”
“Enough!” Trant snaps. “How many times do I have to tell you I want this? How many times are you going to bring up some bullshit reason as to why it’s a bad idea?”
“For some fucking reason, you can’t seem to see any of this objectively!” Jean yells back. “I’m trying to fucking spare you.”
“From what!? It’s been years, Jean. Years of me trying to prove to you that–” Trant falters, swallows. “That I love you. That I want you in my life. I–I don’t have much more left in me.”
“Then maybe it’s time to give up.”
Trant opens his mouth to speak, then closes it. A tremendous pressure forms behind his eyes, and he blinks rapidly. It feels as though a black hole has opened inside of his chest and every conflicting emotion he could possibly feel is being sucked into it, leaving a howling void of nothingness in its wake. Utter numbness.
Jean is turned away from him, his shoulders rigid.
Trant lets out a long breath, his face going slack.
“Maybe it is.”
–
Five years of a turbulent relationship, and five years since it ended. He’s moved on, or so he tells himself. He and Jean are friends now, as much as they can be. He’s in a new relationship—a healthy relationship—with a woman who cares about him. She is everything that Jean isn’t: polite, reserved, soft-spoken. Sometimes, when Trant looks at her and she smiles softly back at him, he hates himself for reasons he can’t put into words. But still, he returns her smile and softly proclaims his love for her, even if it feels hollow.
All the while, Jean lingers around the edges of his life, and despite the self-loathing and the regret and the feeling of being an utter failure, Trant still has to catch himself at the end of every phone call they have. He nearly says it. Every time.
I love you.
Notes:
Shoutout to Houseofchaos for the dialogue line of Jean joking about his own nine-year-old ass being tight af. It killed me and resurrected me at the same time.
Chapter 11: Father & Son - 2
Summary:
Harry talks Kuuno through a brief crisis.
They take an impromptu trip to Martinaise.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
"I don't know... It's weird. It's like...yeah, he's pretty, but I don't think he looks like a girl." Kuuno stares into his coffee cup and chews on his lower lip, brow furrowed. "Like, I don't imagine he has tits and a pussy and shit. I like his–" He scrubs his hands over his face with a sigh. "This is awkward as shit to say out loud."
"I mean, you don't have to get that specific," Harry says, taking a sip of his own coffee.
It's one of the rare days that they both have off, and so Harry had picked up coffee and croissants and arrived at Kuuno's unannounced, only to find his kid chain smoking and pacing a trench into his apartment floor. He’d apparently just gotten home from dropping Mikael off at the Main Street station and was currently having a gay crisis about it.
"What I mean, is..." Kuuno tries again, trailing off as his eyes glaze.
"You like him," Harry finishes for him with a shrug. "It's allowed to be that simple. Your old man's a tried and true bisexual, remember?"
"Uhg, fuck me. I don't wanna think about you gettin' nasty with it."
"What, and you think I wanna think about my kid getting nasty with it?" Harry pulls a face. "Human sexuality is gross and confusing. That never changes, no matter how old you get."
"Thanks, old man," Kuuno replies flatly. "I just don't– I don't feel like I can call myself..." He screws up his expression, wrinkles his nose. "Bisexual. Like, what if he's the only one?"
Harry shrugs.
"And what if he's the only one?" Kuuno's tone is edged with panic. "What if I don't date anyone ever again? Does that make me a fag? Am I a full-on fag now?" His eyes are wide and disbelieving as he holds his head in his hands.
Harry lets out a soft laugh. "Shit, kiddo. You really like him."
Kuuno simply looks up, panic still written across his features.
"Well..." Harry heaves a sigh as he tugs at his beard. "It's...complicated. Because, on one hand, you're just gonna love who you love. But on the other, people are gonna put you into a box. Or they're gonna expect you to put yourself in a box, but only if it’s a box that makes sense to them. If you do not have a box, a box will be assigned to you.” He lets out an annoyed huff. “People are idiots, but I think you already know that."
"I don't wanna be in a box! And I don’t wanna have to hang out with a bunch of fuckin' fairies just to not get my ass beat."
"Kuuno, look at me. Look at Jean and Kim. You already hang out with a bunch of fairies."
Kuuno tucks his lips around his teeth, fighting against a smile and averting his eyes. "You know what I mean. You guys aren't fags like that."
"You're being stubborn and relying on stereotypes, and I think you know it." Harry straightens up. "And Jean would kick your ass if you ever called him a fag to his face."
"I’ve called him a fag literally a hundred times!"
“Yeah, but that was when you were a stupid kid. Now you’re an adult who knows better.”
“He’d probably break his wrist on my jaw of steel,” Kuuno argues, clearly for the sake of arguing.
"Be careful, kid. Once Jean punches you in the face—I mean really punches you—a part of your manhood shrivels up and dies and you never get it back. He's got that Vache temper and a hammer for a fist. You've got it a bit, too, but Martinaise-flavored. It's great. I love it."
"You love getting punched in the face and having your manhood shrivel?"
Harry grins at him. "Depends on the person. But this is all beside the point. What I'm saying is, you can worry all day long about what people are gonna think, what kind of box other people will try to put you in, but at the end of the day you can’t control other people, and you can only be who you are. You don't have to completely change your lifestyle because of that." He smiles a little wistfully. "I'm really glad you've found someone that you like so much. And Mikael is... Well, he's middle class, which is rough. But he's a good kid, too. I see the fire in him, y'know? He's got more stones than his old man, that's for sure. I think he'd stay and fight."
Kuuno lifts an eyebrow.
"Metaphorically, I mean!" Harry raises his hands with a nervous laugh. "Speaking purely metaphorically." He clears his throat. “Eat your croissant; you’re a fuckin’ beanpole.”
“I had breakfast with Mik.”
“Well, have some more.”
Kuuno full-palm grabs the croissant from the plate and rips a bite off angrily, making eye contact as he chews. Then he deflates, his gaze sliding away again.
“Actually, there’s…some shit I needed to talk to you about. Not gay shit. Serious shit.”
“I’m all ears,” Harry says with an open gesture.
Kuuno gets to his feet and walks into the other room, croissant still clutched in his fist, then comes back with a large, yellow envelope. He tosses it onto the table in front of Harry and then sits back down in the chair across from him.
“The hell is this?”
Kuuno takes another bite of his croissant and speaks as he chews. “Look inside.”
Harry slides a finger beneath the envelope’s flap. He pulls out a series of photographs and immediately recognizes the Martinaise church.
“The hell are these?”
“Cindy gave ‘em to me. She thought our people were in Martinaise. Had to break it to her that…” He flicks the photo in Harry’s hand. ”That is the fuckin’ ICP.”
“Sure is,” Harry says, his brow furrowing. “Motherfucker. I mean, I knew they’d catch wind eventually, but…” He rubs his jaw, presses his tongue to the backs of his teeth. “Fuck.”
“How bad is this?” Kuuno asks.
Harry looks up with a sigh. Kuuno’s expression is one of intense concentration, the half-eaten croissant dangling loosely from his fingertips.
“Depends on what they’ve found, but if they’re buzzing around the church, it means they probably found something. And if that’s the case, Martinaise’s days are numbered before they make up a reason to start pushing people out of there.”
“Shouldn’t people get the fuck outta there anyways?” Kuuno argues.
“It’s hard to say. As far as we know, the hole hasn’t gotten any bigger since they first built the church around it.”
“Isn’t that just your theory?”
“Well…yeah, but it’s a good theory.”
Kuuno shakes his head disapprovingly, then stuffs the last of the croissant into his mouth. “If they find what you found, they’re gonna fuckin’ know we’ve been keepin’ secrets. Then they’re gonna come sniffing around in our shit.”
“Yeah, that’s a more…pressing concern,” Harry agrees. He exhales forcefully, puts the photos back in the envelope, then slaps his hands against the table. “How about a quick trip to Martinaise?”
Kuuno blinks, his expression going blank. “Like…today?”
“The sooner the better. And we’re both off work. Oh!” Harry pushes to his feet. “I think Kim is off, too. Let me call him.”
“Wait, wait, hold on a fuckin’ minute. We can’t just fuckin’ trot into town like that. That’s suspicious as shit.”
“Why not? Why can’t a father and his son visit the beautiful coastal vistas of northern Revachol?”
Kuuno snorts a laugh and looks away. Then he turns thoughtful, quiet. “Y’know… It’d be my first time back.”
Harry’s candor evaporates. “Oh, kiddo, I didn’t… I didn’t mean to–”
“Don’t,” Kuuno snaps with a scowl. “I don’t want any fuckin’ pity. It’s just…” He looks down at his hands, picking the dirt from beneath his thumbnail. “Just pointing that out.”
Harry exhales slowly, nodding. “Okay, yeah. If you’re sure.”
“I’m on night patrol Monday and Tuesday, I’ll be fuckin’ useless on Wednesday because of that, and I have shit to do on Thursday. These were taken on the twelfth. Time is fuckin’ against us. This is probably the only chance we’ll get before they fuckin’ high-tail it, so…” He gets to his feet, groaning into a stretch. “Fuck it, let’s go to Martinaise.”
Warm fondness spreads through Harry’s chest, and he steps over and pulls Kuuno into a rough bear hug. “That’s my boy.”
“Oi! Take it easy, will you?” he shoves Harry away with a firm push. “None of that shit. Let’s just get to work.”
Harry laughs and steps over to the phone. “Well, get your ass dressed then. I’m gonna call Kim.”
He dials the number he knows by heart, leans against the wall as the line rings four times. In the middle of the fifth ring, it connects.
“Hello?”
“Hey Kim! It’s Harry.”
A soft huff of amusement. “Yes, Captain, I know. You have a very distinctive voice.”
“No ‘Captain’ shit when I’m off the clock, please.”
“As you wish.”
“Anyways, Kuuno and I are gonna take a quick trip to Martinaise today. Wanna come?” He keeps his tone casual, light, hoping it’s suspicious enough for Kim to pick up on the heavier meaning behind the invitation.
A long pause on the other end. “What time?”
That’s my guy, Harry thinks with a smirk. “Probably within the hour. We can come pick you up. That is, of course, unless you’d like to drive.”
“I’ll drive,” Kim says with no room for argument.
“Fantastic. Meet out front of our apartment?”
“I’ll be there in thirty minutes.”
“Just like old times.” Harry’s smirk widens into a grin.
“Hopefully not too old, Harry.” Then he disconnects.
“Damn, I love that guy,” Harry says as he hangs the phone back up against the wall. He pokes his head through the kitchen archway. “You gonna be ready to go in thirty minutes, kiddo?”
“Yeah, yeah,” Kuuno says from behind the paper folding screen that demarcates his bedroom. Then there’s the sound of a quick sniff, a forceful exhale.
“You snortin’ up back there!?” Harry asks, walking around the screen to find Kuuno rubbing his nose with a scowl.
“Gotta screw my fuckin’ head back on after the night I had.”
Harry lets out a long, disapproving sigh as he shakes his head. He waffles for a moment, shifting his weight from foot to foot, then asks, “Can I get a bump?”
–
Kim pulls the Kineema to the curb and Harry climbs into the front seat, Kuuno sliding into the back. In ten years, Kim’s hair thinned to the point that he has an impressive bald spot in the center of the back of his head, yet somehow managed to maintain the wispy front half of his hairline. In a way that only Kim could manage, it somehow makes him look even more authoritative.
“Afternoon,” Kim greets pleasantly.
“Hey Kits. Thanks for the ride,” Kuuno says with a lopsided smile and a salute.
Kim looks at him through the rear-view mirror. “Of course.” Then he looks to Harry. “I assume you’re going to explain…?”
Harry claps him on the shoulder. “Kim, have I told you how much I love you recently?”
“Gaaay,” Kuuno calls from the backseat.
“Hey, Kim,” Harry says with manic delight. “Kuuno has a boyfriend now! Would you believe it?”
“Shut the FUCK up, Harry!” He kicks the back of Harry’s seat.
Kim raises a finger, his eyes snapping back to the rear-view mirror. “Do not kick the seat.”
“Sorry,” Kuuno mumbles, crossing his arms over his chest and sinking low.
“As fascinating as that is to learn, I assume it doesn’t have anything to do with our trip to Martinaise.” He puts the Kineema into gear and accelerates down the road, jolting them all backwards in their seats.
“No, unfortunately. I’d love if this was an adventure rooted in a bisexual awakening.”
Kuuno lets out a strangled groan of agony.
Harry ignores him. “We got wind that the ICP is sniffing around Martinaise. Specifically, the old church. I think they might have found The Swallow.”
“Wait, ‘the swallow’?” Kuuno leans forward, resting his hands on the backs of their seats. “That’s what you fucking call it?”
“Yeah, it, like…swallows sound,” Harry explains, feeling defensive.
Kuuno lets out a squeaky laugh that makes him sound twelve again, falling back against his seat. “Fuckin’ hell you’re a fag.”
Kim clears his throat. “Naming conventions aside, that’s…concerning. Deeply concerning.”
“Yeah,” Kuuno says. “We’re all in agreement that they’re gonna figure out how to use this against us, right?”
Kim makes a thoughtful noise, ascending the ramp to merge onto the 8-81. “A bad-faith assumption, I think. The Coalition is as invested in Revachol as much as most of the people who live here are. It’s in the best interest of their investments to keep Revachol in one piece, for now. The knowledge of a possible Pale formation is going to lower the proverbial property value. If anything, I imagine they’re going to want to hide it.”
“Which means turning Martinaise into a no-man’s land,” says Harry.
“Possibly. I can only assume they will want to keep this out of the purview of common knowledge to prevent mass panic.”
“That also means going after anyone who has information on The Sw–” Harry glances over his shoulder at Kuuno who returns his look with a smug grin. “On the…anomaly.”
“Do we know if Soona continued her research?”
Harry pulls at his beard thoughtfully. “I’ll have to pull some serious strings to see if I can find out where she’s ended up.” He lets out a long sigh. “Y’know, I’m glad we left all of that out of our reports, but now I kind of wish we’d kept, like…a secret report.”
“Harry,” Kim says, gentle enough to send a brief shiver down Harry’s spine. He wears a small smile on his lips, eyes fixed firmly on the road in front of him. “You should know me better than that.”
Harry’s face splits into a grin. “Fuck yeah, funky baby.”
–
It takes another fifteen minutes to arrive in Martinaise, gliding down the exit ramp of the 8-81 and driving the final stretch past the GRIH and into the northernmost tip of Revachol. Kim pulls the Kineema off the side of the Rue de Saint-Brune just outside of the old fishing village, and the three of them get out.
“What in the hell is that?” Harry asks, shielding his eyes from the midday sun as he squints in the direction of the drawbridge.
Taking up the eastern half of the fishing village is a large, unfinished structure—nothing but rusting iron beams and a muddy pit for a floor. Seagulls perch atop the structure, squawking loudly as the three of them approach.
“Looks like the project was halted mid-construction, whatever it was,” says Kim. He adjusts his glasses. “What an eyesore.”
Kuuno hisses through his teeth to get their attention, then nods at a series of black MCs that are parked along the road a little further up.
Harry nods in return, sticking his hands in his pockets. “How about a quick visit to the old church?” he suggests with a forced smile.
Silently, the three men fall into step beside each other, making their way through the dilapidated fishing village and out towards the coastline. They stop a ways away and Harry scans the scene as best he can. Someone is posted up at the door outside the church, looking more like a bouncer than any kind of casual visitor. The outside of the church itself is covered in graffiti, some pieces more competent and artistic than others. A massive skull was painted on one of the sloping roof segments at some point, the paint now cracked and weather-worn.
“Cindy got bold at some point, it seems,” Harry muses. “She lives in Jamrock now, right?”
Kuuno just gives a silent nod, then steps off the path and begins walking towards the church.
Harry lets out a slow exhale, attempts to loosen the growing knot of worry, then follows suit. Kim falls into step beside him.
“Why do I feel like there’s no real plan here?” Kim murmurs loud enough for only Harry to hear.
“Because there isn’t. This is more of a…reconnaissance mission, if you will. Information gathering.”
“Harry, might I remind you that we are, ah, incredibly recognizable. I’m fairly certain the Moralintern has our faces pinned to their cork boards.”
“No way they use cork boards. I bet they have a big metal sheet with those super strong magnets. You know, like the ones that Judit bought that one time, but then everyone fought over them because of how strong they were?”
“You’re evading, Captain.”
“I know, Lieutenant.” Harry lets out a long sigh.
Kuuno reaches the church before they do. “Oi,” he addresses the not-bouncer. “This place foreclosed now or something? Or is it still open for public visitation?”
The man wears a crisp black suit, though his (undoubtedly expensive) shoes are caked in mud. From the way his jacket bulges in certain areas, he’s packing heat. He folds his hands in front of his waist, eyeing Kuuno with disdain.
“The church was purchased as part of a land deal and is now considered private property.” His eyes flicker to Harry and Kim as they approach. “So, I’m afraid you fellas are trespassing.”
“Oh! My apologies mister…” Harry looks at him expectantly.
The not-bouncer blinks and doesn’t offer a name.
“No real preference for a name then? That’s fine. Let me think. Hmm…” Harry taps his chin, pursing his lips. “I’m a bit out of practice, but how about… Polykleitos! You kind of look like your name would be Polykleitos.”
The man’s eye twitches but he otherwise doesn’t respond.
“My apologies, Mr. Polykleitos, we didn’t know. Y’see–” He slings his arm around Kuuno’s shoulder. “My son grew up here in Martinaise, and we were just revisiting some of the classic landmarks of his childhood. He used to throw rocks at the church windows. Character-building stuff, y’know?”
“When did this ‘land deal’ take place?” Kim asks.
“Is this an interview?” asks Polykleitos, immediately turning his attention to Kim.
“Haven’t set foot in this fuckin’ town in ten years, Poly,” Kuuno chimes in. “Can’t some blokes ask a fuckin’ question.” He points to the half-finished structure down the way. “Like what the hell is that?”
Polykleitos sucks at his teeth, then turns back to Kim. “The purchase was made last month.”
“And you are stationed here for…security reasons?” Kim presses.
“While the grounds are assessed for damages, yes. There was a homeless encampment occupying the church when it was purchased. We’re simply assuring that the property remains vacant for the now-owner.”
“Shit job,” Harry says with a sympathetic smile. “So, it’s just empty in there right now?”
Polykleitos stares him down without answering for a long, pregnant moment.
“You could just nod or shake your head if you’re feeling overstimulated or non-verbal.”
“You fellas are trespassing on private property,” Polykleitos says instead. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to vacate the premises.”
“Of course,” Kim says, grabbing Harry firmly by the upper arm and beginning to pull him away.
“You gonna tear it down?” Kuuno asks, cocking his head to the side.
Polykleitos sighs, his jaw tight. “I am not going to do anything. I’m hired to stand here and make sure people know that they’re trespassing on private property.” He pushes out the last two words through clenched teeth.
Harry pats Kuuno on the back as he begins to turn away. “Alright, Mr. Polykleitos, thank you for your time.”
The man closes his eyes and lets out a loud sigh through his nose, tucking his lips around his teeth.
Kuuno is the last to turn away, but eventually follows Harry and Kim back into the fishing village.
“A land deal,” Kim repeats once they’re out of earshot. “My guess is it’s a half-truth.”
“Definitely not the full truth. No regular private investor would get the goddamn ICP to play bouncer for their new acquisition. But, turning it into private property is one way to have complete control over the area.” Harry lets out a frustrated grunt. “I guess everything is for fucking sale at the right price.”
“I just wonder how much of the land was purchased, and by whom. And who was the original landowner?
“Questions all the way down,” Harry muses.
“We’ll at least be able to gain access to a recent bill of sale, if any exists, that is.” Kim looks at Harry out of the corner of his eye. “Did you get a read?”
“Definitely an InterCollab lackey, but low on the chain. And there are people inside. Multiple people. They have machinery. Not sure what kind. And…plants? I think I saw plants.” Harry wraps his knuckles against the side of his head. “This shit doesn’t quite work the way it used to.”
“Hmm, it’s as we feared, then.”
“What’re you two fucks mumbling about?” Kuuno asks, jogging up to fall into step alongside them.
“Finding Soona before they do should be top priority,” Kim continues. “Do we know when she concluded her research?”
Harry shakes his head, brow furrowed. “This feels off, but I don’t know why.”
“In time, detective,” Kim assures, and Harry smiles at him.
“I like when you call me ‘detective’.”
“Hey, homos, what’s the situation here?” Kuuno interjects, snapping his fingers irritably.
Harry throws an arm over Kuuno’s shoulder. “Y’know, kid, you’re on thin ice, considering you suck dick now.”
Kuuno tries to wrestle out from under his arm, but Harry puts him into a headlock. They scuffle briefly as Kuuno shouts threats and expletives and Kim looks on calmly, hands tucked at his low back. Eventually Harry releases him and they both grin at each other, red-faced and out of breath.
“Not fair,” says Kuuno. “You’re all frail and old and shit. I gotta hold back so I don’t cripple your ass more than it already is.”
“That’s so honorable of you, Kuuno.”
Kuuno wipes his forehead on the back of his hand, then shoves both hands into his jacket pockets. “So, what’s up? What’s with all the slumber party whispering and shit?”
“Just theorizing,” says Kim.
“What’s the theory?”
“Well, private acquisition is going to allow them a lot of discretion. Difficult for prying eyes to sneak a peek, even through official channels.” Kim sighs and pushes his glasses further up his nose.
“Let’s go ask the locals. Casually,” Harry adds. “Super casually. We’re just curious little Jamrockers.”
“Jamrockers,” Kuuno repeats. “Lame as fuck.”
They pass the massive unfinished structure to a chorus of squawking gulls and make their way over the waterlock. Lorries file steadily over the drawbridge and towards the open B terminal, WILD PINES emblazoned on the side of more than a few.
“It still fuckin’ stinks,” Kuuno comments. “Ten years later and this place still smells like fuckin’ shit.”
Harry tries to put a hand on Kuuno’s shoulder, but he shrugs it off.
The Whirling-In-Rags is in remarkably good shape, if not in better shape than it was in ‘51. They push into the cafeteria to find that what was once the Union Booth has been fully transformed into an arcade, mostly full of various pinball machines.
“Huh.” Harry turns his head to watch the flashing lights as they pass by. “Maybe we can play.”
“I’ll watch,” Kim says flatly.
Harry nudges him with his elbow and catches the briefest hint of a smile.
They waltz up to the bar. The menagerie of bottles on the wall glisten green, amber, and crystal, reflecting the glint of the old disco ball that hangs above the tiny stage. ‘I need to go to a meeting tomorrow’, Harry thinks, running his tongue back and forth across his molars and refusing to look at the ample stock. The bartender is a fresh-faced girl who can’t be much older than Kuuno.
“Welcome to the Whirling-In-Rags!” she offers cheerily. “Are you looking for a room for the evening?”
“Just stopping in for a day visit!” Harry says. “Might order some lunch. Hey, what’s that giant monstrosity on the other side of the waterlock?” He jabs a thumb over his shoulder in the general direction of his inquiry. “All metal beams and seagulls.”
“Oh. That was a little before my time, I think.” She laughs in a compulsive kind of way. “I think it was supposed to be some kind of…teen thing? Youth center?”
Kim and Harry immediately lock eyes, then look away.
“Right,” Kim says. “Might we look at a menu?”
The three of them browse the menu and each order the daily special, (stuffed cabbage rolls and steamed oysters), then move to take a seat at one of the long cafeteria tables.
“Oh, one other thing,” Harry says before he fully walks away, turning around and leaning back against the bar. “The old church northwest of the fishing village… Did that get sold recently?”
The bartender blinks back at him. “Uh, probably. A lot of property is being bought up in Martinaise right now. I think they’re trying to make it, um… ‘up and coming’.” She uses air quotes with her fingers. “I don’t live here, though. I live in Jamrock.”
“Hey! Us too.” Harry gives her his most charming smile.
She smiles warily in return. “Your lunch should be right out. I’ll bring it over when it’s ready.”
Harry waits until his back is turned to allow his smile to drop. You’re too old, Coach. You’ve lost your touch.
He slides onto the bench next to Kim, leaning in close to speak. “No dice.”
“Hmm, I didn’t expect the twenty-year-old bartender to know much about land deals. But I appreciate your ‘no stone unturned’ approach, as per usual.”
Harry fires off a wink.
Kuuno is looking out the Whirling’s large glass windows with a creased brow, his knee bouncing beneath the table. The lorries file by in a slow procession outside, muted honks filtering through the windows over the soft music that plays through the cafeteria speakers. The bartender brings their lunch order and they eat in silence.
“Hey, wanna go up to the balcony after this?” Harry says while wiping his mouth on a napkin. “Could have a little debrief.”
“Sure,” agrees Kim. “But it’s too early for my cigarette.”
“A cigarette sounds great,” Kuuno mutters. He’s only eaten about half his food and is currently using one of the cabbage rolls like a push broom along the edge of the plate.
“Eat up.” Harry gestures with his fork.
“I’m full.” Kuuno sets his fork down and pushes his plate across the table towards Harry. “Have the rest.” Then he gets to his feet. “I’m gonna get a head start on the whole cigarette thing.” Then he gets to his feet, walks over to the wide staircase, and ascends to the second floor.
Harry watches him go with a sinking stone of worry in his stomach. “I feel like I shouldn’t have brought him here.”
Kim dabs primly at his mouth with a napkin, setting his utensils in an ‘x’ on his empty plate. “This is his first time back, yes?”
Harry nods. “And I have no idea what he’s feeling. Somehow, early on, he figured out how to just…” Harry taps the side of his head. “Block me out. And he doesn’t like to…talk…about his feelings. We tried to get him into therapy when he was thirteen, if you remember. Catastrophic mistake. Somehow it made him worse. Jean and I were pulling our hair out trying to figure out what the fuck to do for this kid who felt damaged beyond our ability to fix.”
“And what was your solution then?”
“Well, the junior officers program helped a lot. Physical activity seems to help in general. He and I have that in common, so, y’know. I get that. But punching the shit out of a sandbag or running laps until you throw up doesn’t exactly equal ‘emotional processing’, y’know?” Harry runs his hands through his thinning hair. “We got him back into making art, and that seemed to help too, but I don’t know, Kim. I’m still worried about him. Maybe dating this kid will be good. He seems to really like him. But if the relationship goes south…” He exhales in a whoosh. “I may not be his biological dad, but he takes after me in a lot of ways. Which is not a good thing…”
“Who is this mysterious boyfriend, by the way?”
Harry grins, swiveling his head to look at Kim. “You’re not gonna fucking believe it. It’s Mikael.”
Kim blinks rapidly. “...Trant’s son?”
“The one and only.”
Kim clears his throat and adjusts his glasses. “That’s…not something I could have predicted.”
“None of us could,” Harry says with a laugh. “But it’s brand spankin’ new. I don’t think they’re even ‘official’ yet. But the way he was talking about him this morning…” Harry sucks at his teeth. “He’s in love. I know it when I see it.”
Kim hums thoughtfully, his eyes flickering across Harry’s face briefly. “We should go up and check on him.”
They drop their plates in the bus bin and head up the stairs. Kuuno is on the side of the balcony overlooking the traffic circle, leaning against the railing, cigarette half-smoked. Harry and Kim push through the glass door and stand next to him.
“The grind never stops,” Harry says, staring out across the harbor gates and shipping yard beyond.
Kuuno sniffs loudly, straightens up. “What happened to the fuckin’ Union fucks?” He takes a drag of his cigarette, holding it between his thumb and forefinger.
“The Union still exists, they just, uh…ceded some power, in my understanding.” Harry winces as he pulls out a cigarette of his own. “Another victory for the relentless capitalist machine.”
“No fuckin’ Commie talk. I’m sick of that shit.”
Harry places the cigarette between his lips then clutches his chest as if he’d been shot. “My own son wounds me so!”
Kuuno manages a quick smile, then hands Harry his lighter.
They smoke in silence for a long moment, overlooking the hustle and bustle of commerce in action.
“I gotta go take a leak,” Kuuno says abruptly, snubbing his cigarette out on the railing and flicking it over the side. He turns around and marches back inside.
“Man, I’m starting to feel like he’s avoiding us,” Harry bemoans. He shifts against the railing to look at Kim. “Am I uncool to be around?”
“The very nature of being his parent makes you uncool to him, I’m afraid.” Kim offers a sympathetic smile. “It was inevitable.”
Harry nods sagely. “Stochastic inevitability.”
“What?”
“Nothing.” Harry grins. “It’s a phrase that Mikael accidentally taught the patrol boys a few months ago. Something about statistics. ‘Anything that can happen, will happen’, eventually.” He takes a drag, exhales. “Stochastic inevitability,” he repeats. “Mostly it’s just fun to say, but everyone started saying it so much about every little fucking thing that happened that I put a moratorium on the phrase.”
Kim laughs, pressing the back of his glove against his mouth. “Which I suppose was a stochastic inevitability.”
Harry winks, resting his cigarette against his lower lip. Then he offers it to Kim.
Kim takes a deep breath, exhales loudly, then quickly plucks the cigarette from Harry’s fingers and takes a long drag. The flare of the red cherry reflects in his glasses.
“You’re a bad influence,” Kim says after he exhales a cloud of smoke, handing it back.
“I think that’s why you stick around.”
Harry cranes his neck over top of Kim’s head to catch a flash of red making its way across the courtyard and down Rue de Saint-Ghislaine. Kuuno strides swiftly past what was once the old bookstore, rounding the corner and disappearing from sight.
“Ah, shit…” Harry sighs. “He’s heading towards Capeside.”
“Go to him,” Kim says. “I’ll wait here. I’ll ask around and if anyone else knows anything about the land deal.”
Harry claps a hand against Kim’s shoulder, takes a final drag of his cigarette, then strides to put it out in the standing ashtray by the door before stepping back inside. He walks back around the upper mezzanine, down the stairs, and through the cafeteria, pushing out the double doors that lead to the courtyard. A stiff breeze blows in from the ocean, smelling of cold brine and fish. He shivers at the scent memory and briefly feels a wave of nausea rolling up his throat.
The walk down Rue de Saint-Ghislaine is familiar in the way that dreams are familiar. His memories of Martinaise are warped and fuzzy, like distant voices through radio static. His brain and body have mostly healed over the last ten years, though he still walks with a limp when the weather turns bad and wakes up with a racing heart in the middle of the night, wondering if the substance abuse has finally caught up to him and if Jean will have to clean up his stiff corpse come daylight. Death used to entice him, now it just terrifies him, but not for his own sake. He’d tricked himself into forming meaningful relationships, and the thought of leaving the people he loves behind makes him ache in a way he never thought possible.
Harry turns the corner to find Kuuno standing with his back to him several yards away, staring at the blank lot where the apartment building once stood. Construction fencing wraps the perimeter with faded posters flapping in the sea breeze, advertising the promise of a sleek-looking condominium complex, subsidized by Wild Pines. The ocean crashes against some of the rubble that lingers on the shoreline.
Harry steps up to stand at Kuuno’s side.
Kuuno takes a deep breath, exhales, then spits on the ground. “Good fuckin’ riddance.” He turns and walks towards the fence that surrounds the Whirling’s back yard. “I’m gonna go see what happened to my old shack.”
Harry follows him in silence.
There’s a break in the Wirling’s fenceline (where Cunoesse had once stood on an egg crate, jeering and taunting and egging them on). Kuuno squeezes through. It takes Harry a significant amount of squirming and sucking in his gut to follow suit. Once he pushes into the yard, he feels dizzy and disoriented. The entire area seems smaller than he remembered it to be, as if it somehow shrunk over the years. Kuuno is making a beeline for the shack across the way. Harry spares a glance at the old dead tree, then follows him.
The sheet metal in front of the door falls to the ground with a warble as Kuuno pushes it out of the way, then twists the handle and opens the weather-warped door, stepping inside without hesitation. Harry lingers in the doorway.
It’s dark, illuminated only by the light of the open door. Dust has settled across every surface in opaque layers of brown. Remarkably, it seems to be untouched.
“No shit,” Kuuno says with a soft laugh, stepping further in, hands in his pockets. “Can’t believe nobody found this place.”
“Well, it was expertly camouflaged,” says Harry.
The mummified pig's head fell from its perch at some point over the years. Its leathery skin shriveled even further, curling up so that its mouth shows a row of jagged, grotesque teeth. It’s been picked apart by insects, snout eaten away and its eyes gaping black holes. Kuuno gives it a kick and scatters a few bugs that had taken up residence beneath it.
The walls themselves are still covered in Kuuno’s old artwork—abstract slashes of paint and crude drawings of figures and animals painted directly onto the wood. Faded FALN posters peel off of the moist walls.
“You’ve always had fantastic artistic inclinations,” Harry comments.
Kuuno is focused on opening the drawers of a lopsided dresser and doesn’t respond. He yanks the bottom drawer open and feels around the edges on the inside, lifting out a false bottom. A smile flickers briefly across his face as he pulls something from inside. It looks like an old can. He holds it up and shakes it. The sound of coins rattle around inside.
“Saved this shit up for years,” he says, then tosses the can to Harry. “It was my ‘escape’ money.”
Harry catches it, running his thumb across the old label thoughtfully, a burning sensation in his chest.
Kuuno pulls something else out. A glass bottle. It appears to have some kind of rolled up note inside of it. He stares at it for a long, silent moment, then gets to his feet and hurls the bottle against the farthest wall. It shatters on impact and Harry takes a step back. Kuuno lets out a furious scream, putting his foot through the front of the dresser, cracking it in half. He lunges and rips down the old chair from its roost; it splinters against the dirt floor.
“FUCK!” he shrieks. “I’D FUCKIN’ KILL HIM IF HE WASN’T ALREADY DEAD.”
Harry drops the can of coins and steps over to grab Kuuno as he attempts to tear more things off of the wall.
“Kuuno–”
“STOP!” He tries to elbow Harry off of him, wriggling furiously in his grip—lean, wiry muscle and unchecked fury.
Harry holds fast, using all of his strength to pull Kuuno against his chest and hold him there. Kuuno eventually stops fighting, and they stumble to lean against the wall. It groans under their weight, but Harry doesn’t let go, clutching Kuuno to him with crushing force.
“I’ve got you,” he says against Kuuno’s temple as he trembles. “I’ve fucking got you.”
Kuuno shudders in his arms and lets out a choking sound. “I fuckin’ hate it here.”
“Yeah, me too, kiddo.” Tears roll unbidden down Harry’s face, dampening his beard. He swallows hard and brings a hand up to cup the back of Kuuno’s head, roughly stroking his hair with a shaking hand. “So let’s go home, yeah?”
Kuuno takes a long, stuttering inhale, resting his full weight against Harry, his chin tucked over his shoulder. His hands relax where he’d been gripping Harry’s jacket in his fists, and he exhales. Harry feels him nod, letting out a loud sniff.
“Yeah… Okay.”
Harry presses his nose against Kuuno’s shoulder and holds him tight for a moment longer.
“I love you, Kuuno.” His voice quavers as he says it, muffled by the fabric of Kuuno’s jacket. “Never, ever fucking forget that.”
There’s no response for a long, silent beat. Harry never really expects a response. Kuuno has never been a ‘words of affirmation’ person, and it’s fine. It’s something Harry learned to accept about him years ago. But then, barely more than a whisper, he hears:
“Love you, too, Pig…”
And Harry knows, without a doubt, that he would burn Elysium to cinders for his son.
Notes:
Thanks to stochastically_inevitable for teaching me the phrase "stochastic inevitability". :)
The Dad-feels got me good, y'all. But anyone who knows me knows that they always do.
Chapter 12: Overnight Patrol - 1
Notes:
Another thanks to Vacholierette for continuing to patiently review my chapters for dreaded typos and grammar mix-ups!
I'll probably cut back to updating once a week going forward. My chapter lengths keep getting longer and longer lol. 5k-7k averages for the next 4 chapters. So enjoy!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Mikael steps off the bus two blocks down from Kuuno’s apartment. The bus hisses and rolls away as he begins the final leg of his journey. He would have walked from the station, but between his school backpack and the extra bag of supplies he’d acquired, he felt a bit too weighed down to comfortably make the ten-block trek.
His heart pounds a little harder as he steps up to the intercom, finds Kuuno’s apartment number, and presses the call button. It lets out an off-key beep, followed by the sound of a dial tone. The rush of traffic from the 8-81 interchange that looms in the distance creates a steady drone of engine noise in the background.
After what feels like an eternity, Kuuno’s voice crackles over the line.
“Hey, door’s gonna buzz. You gotta yank hard.”
“Okay!” Mikael replies. He isn’t actually sure if Kuuno can hear him.
The door lets out a jarring buzz and Mikael throws his weight backwards to pull it open. The inside of the apartment lobby smells like cigarette smoke and bleach. He eyes the elevators warily and opts to take the stairs, climbing three floors and regretting how it causes him to sweat. Kuuno’s apartment is number 12. Mikael tries to catch his breath before he knocks, but his nerves make it impossible. He quickly attempts to smooth his hair down, takes a final breath, then reaches out and knocks three times. Immediately, footsteps approach, and the door swings open without hesitation.
Kuuno looks sleep rumpled with dark circles under his eyes, but his face splits into a crooked smile.
“Hey cutie.”
“Hi,” Mikael says, his voice quivering.
Kuuno steps out of the way and gestures Mikael in with a jerk of his head. “You’re all loaded down,” he notes.
“Yeah, I went straight to the precinct once I got out of class, so this is all my school stuff.” He throws his heavy backpack onto the floor by the couch. “And, I, uh–” Before he can finish his sentence, Kuuno is on him, pressing his lips to Mikael’s and wrapping him up in his arms.
Mikael sighs into the kiss, dropping the other bag in his hand, throwing his arms over Kuuno’s shoulders, and leaning back, letting Kuuno support his weight. His heart thuds against his sternum, his cock stiffening in his pants. Kuuno’s tongue is hot and insistent, sliding into Mikael’s mouth and swiping across his own tongue.
“I, ah–” Mikael tries to say between kisses. He lets out a whimper as Kuuno moves to kiss his neck. “I got you–hnng…” His knees buckle when Kuuno scrapes his teeth over his pulse point. “I got you a present.”
Kuuno pauses, pulls back to look at him. “What?”
“I got you something.” Mikael feels a flush spread across his cheeks. “Or, more accurately, I collected things for you.”
Kuuno steps back and allows Mikael to retrieve the bag he dropped.
“So, at the end of every year, my school throws out a lot of its old art supplies, which is, like…really wasteful, because usually they aren’t even bad. But anyways, I, uh, asked them if I could go through the stuff they planned on tossing, and I tried to pick out the things I thought you’d like or might be able to use.” He holds the bag up for Kuuno. “It’s a lot of half-used paints, and some of the nicer brushes I could find. I figured you’d be able to put them to good use. Otherwise, they’d just end up in the Jamrock landfill, y’know?” He laughs compulsively.
Kuuno silently takes the bag from him, staring down into it with a blank look on his face. He reaches in and pulls out one of the paint tubes, turning it over in his hand, then looks up at Mikael with a conflicted expression—something that lands between shock and confusion and disbelief.
“Thank…you…” he manages, blinking rapidly as he looks back down into the bag again. “I don’t think anyone has ever–I mean, aside from Harry, nobody has ever–” He sucks in his bottom lip, ducking his chin and attempting to hide a smile. Then he looks up at Mikael, smiling so wide his cheeks pit with dimples Mikael didn’t even know he had. He tosses the bag onto the couch, then steps forward and wraps Mikael up in a tight hug that lifts him onto his toes.
“You’re so fuckin’ sweet,” Kuuno says into his ear. “I’m keeping you.”
Mikael’s heart slams into this throat and he laughs. “Promise?”
Kuuno hums, then, after a quick kiss to his neck, pulls back and asks, “Bed?”
Mikael gives an enthusiastic nod. “Yes, please.”
They retreat behind the paper screen, then they disrobe and things devolve. Kuuno moves with single-minded focus as he settles between Mikael’s thighs to suck his cock, one spit-slick finger sliding along his taint to prod curiously at his hole.
“You still tender?” he asks, looking up with a hint of tentativeness in his expression.
Mikael shakes his head. “Nope.”
He grins. “Good. I want you riding me.” Then Kuuno closes his eyes and sucks Mikael’s cockhead between his lips while pressing his finger inside to the knuckle.
Mikael makes an embarrassing noise.
Kuuno soon shifts his focus from cock-sucking to fingering, grabbing the lube and kneeling between Mikael’s legs. He’s focused, attentive, and remarkably gentle, and Mikael feels like his chest is cracking open.
“Kiss me?” he requests, and it comes out like a sad little whimper.
Kuuno just smiles and leans forward, two fingers still hooked inside as he presses his lips to Mikael’s. He kisses him with the same rhythm he uses to slide his fingers in and out. Mikael gasps against Kuuno’s mouth when he slides a third finger in, groaning around the stretch of it.
“Alright?” Kuuno asks against his lips.
Mikael nods vigorously. “So good.”
Kuuno smiles again, pulls Mikael’s lower lip between his teeth, then kisses him hard as he pushes his fingers in just past the middle knuckle. Mikael groans, raking his stubby nails up Kuuno’s back. It feels better when he fingers himself—knowing his own limits, knowing when to push and when to relinquish—but even just the concept of Kuuno knuckle-deep is enough to make Mikael’s cock pulse as he clenches down around the three thick fingers inside him.
“Fuck, I felt that,” Kuuno mutters against Mikael’s mouth with a laugh. “Eager?”
“Very,” Mikael says breathlessly. “Lemme get on top.”
“You sure?”
“Yes.”
Kuuno removes his fingers slowly, then grimaces. “Uh, can I wash my hand real quick?”
Mikael’s lungs turn to ice. “Oh my god, please tell me there isn’t, like–?”
“No! No, no.” Kuuno laughs. “Just lube. But still, it’s like…” He slides off the bed and edges towards the bathroom. “I wanna be able to feel you up without worrying about ass juice, y’know?”
Mikael covers his face with his hands and laughs. “Fair,” he says through his fingers. “They don’t write about this part of sex in the books I’ve read.”
“Well, they should,” Kuuno calls over the sound of running water. “It’s important shit.”
They switch their positions when Kuuno returns, Mikael balancing on his knees while Kuuno rolls a condom down his dick and applies a generous amount of lube. Mikael straddles Kuuno’s hips, holding his cock by its base as he begins to slowly sink backwards. Just like the first time, there’s immediate resistance, but he at least knows what to expect. Frustratingly, he feels like he’d have an easier time taking it if he had his feet under him, but is hyperaware of the fact that it would make him look like a fucking gargoyle attempting to take a cock up its ass.
He sighs with relief when the head of Kuuno’s cock sinks home, his mouth falling open.
“Gorgeous,” Kuuno whispers, staring rapturously up at Mikael, hands resting against his thighs.
He slides down as far as he can go and stills, catching his breath around the intrusion, then sits back against Kuuno’s hips with his full weight, groaning as it drives Kuuno’s cock further into him.
“Fuck.” Mikael groans. “That’s deep.” He leans back, bracing one of his hands against Kuuno’s thigh as he uses the other to give his own cock a few pumps.
Kuuno sucks a breath through his teeth and Mikael feels his dick twitch inside him. “Whenever you’re ready.”
Mikael experimentally raises himself up, then lowers again, still bracing against Kuuno’s thigh. The angle is awkward, but he manages to slide up and down a few times, adjusting to the feeling of the girth inside him. Then Kuuno shifts, bringing his knees up and planting his feet flat against the mattress, and the angle changes pleasurably.
“Oh, that’s nice.” Mikael lets out a long sigh that devolves into a moan as Kuuno gently thrusts up to meet him.
They rock in tandem, skin slapping as Mikael begins to pick up speed, his cock bouncing.
“Fuck, that’s hot,” Kuuno pants, gripping Mikael by the hips. “That’s fucking hot.”
Mikael’s thighs begin to burn, and he doesn’t want to stop, but is quickly losing momentum. “Can we…switch?”
“Sure. Yeah… I kinda wanna see you from behind.” Kuuno’s pupils are blown wide. “Hands and knees.”
Mikael bites his lip and smiles. “Okay.”
They reposition, and Mikael glances over his shoulder as Kuuno slaps his cock against his exposed hole a few times. Mikael groans wantonly, turning away and squeezing his eyes shut. Then Kuuno presses back in, and it’s the easiest it’s felt yet.
“Oh, god…” Mikael fists the sheets, lets out a heavy huff of air as his eyebrows draw upwards.
The angle and the momentum drive him to the edge almost immediately, his mouth opening and wrecked, vulnerable sounds spilling out. His cock sways heavily between his thighs as Kuuno’s balls slap his taint like a kick drum. He doesn’t want to cum yet. He wants to ride the feeling—suspended in the slow buildup of pleasure for as long as he can manage. He drops from his hands to his elbows, reaching between his legs to grab the base of his cock, willing himself not to cum. The shift in position only seems to drive Kuuno to thrust harder.
“Fuck yes, fuck yes–” he chants in time to his own thrusts. “You look so fuckin’ good like that.” He reaches forward and tangles a fist in Mikael’s hair, pulling his head back.
Mikael gasps and scrambles to support himself while his neck is craned back at an odd angle. It’s uncomfortable, but devastatingly erotic. He moans, loud and shameless.
Kuuno releases his hair and leans forward, draping his weight across Mikael’s back to lave kisses along the back of his neck and across his shoulder, both hands returning to Mikael’s hips to pull them back as he thrusts forward.
“Towel!” Mikael gasps. “I’m gonna cum, I don’t wanna–on your sheets…”
Kuuno barely slows down to grab a nearby t-shirt hanging off the end of his bed and tosses it in front of Mikael. “Cum on this.”
“Seriously?”
“Fuck yeah, seriously. Get to cummin’.”
Mikael groans and drops to his chest, both hands moving to his cock—one holding the shirt against its head, the other vigorously pumping. It takes less than a minute before his toes are curling and his back is curving like a cat and he comes hard into the old t-shirt. Kuuno doesn’t stop, doesn’t let up his pace at all, and Mikael clenches his teeth and braces against the mattress. It still feels good, but almost too much. Every brush against his prostate feels like his guts are being squeezed from the inside. He grunts in tandem with the pounding beat, helpless to do otherwise.
Just as Mikael thinks he might actually have to ask Kuuno to stop, he feels Kuuno’s hands tighten around his hips, then he lets out a sharp exhale and his pace stutters, slows down. He falls across Mikael’s back again, breathing hard and thrusting slowly—twice, three times more—before he stills, panting hard.
“Fuck–” he gasps. “Oh fuck. That… That was good.”
Mikael lets out a helpless little giggle. “Glad you actually came inside me this time.”
Kuuno just laughs against the back of his neck, plants a kiss between his shoulder blades. Then, he slowly pushes upright and pulls out. The gape still makes Mikael gasp, not quite used to the feeling, and he clenches around the absence.
“You feel alright?”
“Yeah.” Mikael falls onto his side. He picks up the cum-soaked t-shirt and hands it to Kuuno. “Sorry about your shirt.”
“Eh.” Kuuno grabs it and balls it up before tossing it into the still-overflowing laundry hamper. “I was gonna try to do laundry tomorrow night anyways.” He squeezes the condom off his dick and staggers on wobbly legs to the bathroom. Mikael feels boneless and content as he watches him with a goofy smile plastered across his face.
After Kuuno washes up, he climbs back onto the bed and pulls Mikael against him with a heavy sigh. “I wish I could just stay. Wish I didn’t have to go to work.”
“Same.” Mikael snakes an arm around his back, shifts until his head is tucked beneath Kuuno’s chin, their torso’s pressed flush and their legs tangled. He traces nonsensical patterns with the tips of his fingers along Kuuno’s back, basking in the rosy afterglow of his orgasm.
“Did you, uh…” He feels Kuuno’s throat contract as he swallows. “Did you wanna stay here tonight? I know you’ve got class tomorrow, but I get off at six. I should be home by seven.”
Mikael shifts, props himself up on his elbow as Kuuno rolls onto his back to look up at Mikael with a nervous expression.
“You mean just, like…sleep here?”
“Yeah, I mean…” Kuuno shrugs, looking away. “I don’t know, I thought it’d be cool to come home to you in my bed, y’know?”
Mikael smiles. He reaches up and brushes the back of his fingers along Kuuno’s jaw. “You’re kind of a big softie.”
“I’ll fight you,” Kuuno says mildly, smiling. “You can’t say shit like that.”
“So I’ve heard.”
“The hell!? From who?”
Mikael just grins and shakes his head, leaning down and pressing a kiss to Kuuno’s mouth. He pulls away and clears his throat. “I, um, actually packed a change of clothes. Just in case.”
Kuuno lets out a triumphant laugh, pushing Mikael onto his back and wrapping his arms around him, then peppering kisses across his chest and neck and cheek. “Knew it.”
“I just like to be prepared for anything!” Mikael argues futilely.
They make out lazily for a while longer until Kuuno finally rolls himself out of bed, pulls on some boxers, and wanders into the kitchen to make coffee. Mikael retrieves his backpack and changes into his pajamas before joining him. They chat casually as Kuuno makes himself breakfast (at seven o’clock at night). Mikael tells him about his classes, his final projects.
“I’ve got a bit of homework I need to finish. I was gonna wait until you left for work, though. Also, my first period isn’t until ten tomorrow, so I don’t have to rush out of here at the crack of dawn.”
“Morning sex,” Kuuno says around a bite of toast.
Mikael grins and props his chin against his hand. “I mean, maybe. I’ll have to see how I feel.”
Kuuno just smirks at him and winks. His eyes drop to his plate. “You’re going off to college this fall, yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“Where?”
“Oh, actually not too far. La Delta Tech.” He gestures vaguely east. “Just a hop, skip, and a jump across the Esperance.”
Kuuno lets out a huffing laugh. “LDTI? Fuckin’ hell, that’s fancy.” He takes another bite. “Are there, uh…dorms over there?”
“Yeah, it’s an urban campus, so they’re, like… high rise dorms.” Mikael chews at his lip. “I considered just staying at my dad’s and commuting, but then my mom paid for my room and board without me asking, so…” He shrugs. “Guess I’m staying on campus.”
“Fuckin’ wild,” Kuuno muses. “Do they allow visitors?”
Mikael grins. “Why? Planning a visit?”
“Maybe.” Kuuno sucks some jam off of his fingers while maintaining eye contact. “Gotta hang a fuckin’ sock on the doorknob or whatever it is you’re supposed to do.”
“Oh, actually, I don’t think I’m gonna have a roommate.”
Kuuno grins, his teeth looking extra pointy somehow. “Even better.”
Mikael flushes hot and looks away, picking at a loose bit of skin on his lip. “Actually, I was kind of…wondering. I think I might see if the 41st wants to extend my internship through the summer. Or, like…give me a summer job.” He looks up. “Would I ask Captain Du Bois about that?”
Kuuno raises his eyebrows. “Uh, no. I mean, he’d be the one to approve it, and would probably approve it no problem, but you’d go through the hiring team for that. But shit, Mik, are you sure?” His brows crinkle in the middle. “You’d waste your summer hanging out with us?”
“Waste?” Mikael shakes his head with a smile. “Believe it or not, I actually really like what I do.” He nudges Kuuno’s foot under the table. “And the people aren’t so bad to be around.”
“Even Mills?” Kuuno asks, cocking an eyebrow.
Mikael rolls his eyes. “Okay, I could do without Mills, but everyone else is nice.”
Kuuno grins and gets to his feet, taking his plate to the sink and washing it. “Yeah, just submit a request with the hiring department. You already have your job outlined, and I've only heard good things about what you're doing from the higher-ups, so…” He glances over his shoulder with a smile. “I'm sure they'd give you a job.”
He sets the plate in the drying rack, then turns around, crosses his arms over his chest. “Hey, so, uh… Since you have to do homework and shit, do you care if I, uh…” He jabs a thumb towards the living room. “Checked out some of the paints and stuff? While you do that?”
“Not at all! Go for it,” Mikael chirps with a smile. Then he averts his eyes and tucks his lips around his teeth. “Would you mind if I…called my dad real quick?”
“Oh god,” Kuuno groans. “What are you gonna tell him?”
“That I’m staying here.”
Kuuno makes a strangled noise.
“It’s fine! I swear it’s fine,” Mikael assures with a calming hand-gesture as he gets to his feet. “He’s cool. He just wants to know where I am.”
“He’s cool with me fuckin’ his son?” Kuuno asks, skeptically.
“I mean, as cool as any dad can be about that, I think…”
Kuuno sucks at his teeth and shakes his head. “Suspicious.”
“It’s fine,” Mikael says again, stepping close and placing a quick kiss against Kuuno’s mouth. “Go look at all the paints.”
“Trying to distract me, huh?” He kisses Mikael again as he pushes away from the kitchen counter. “Well, fine. It’s working.”
Mikael smiles as he steps over to the phone that hangs on the kitchen wall, picking up the receiver and dialing his home phone number. It takes a few rings before his dad answers.
“Hello?”
“Hey, dad.”
“Mikael! Is everything alright?”
“Yeah! Everything’s fine. I’m at Kuuno’s,” he says as casually as he can, his cheeks growing hot. “I came here after I finished up at the precinct. I, ah… I think I’m gonna stay the night. He works night patrol tonight, so…I’d just be sleeping here.”
He hears his father let out a soft laugh. “Thank you for the unnecessary clarification.”
“Whatever,” he grumbles.
“Did you need me to pick you up in the morning?”
“Oh my god, dad, no. I’ll take the tram to school.” He laughs. “That’s way too much. Way too supportive.”
“Noted.” He hears the humor in his father’s tone. “Well, thank you for letting me know. Sleep well and I’ll see you tomorrow evening. Remember, Lorraine is coming over for dinner.”
“Right, yeah. Thanks.” Mikael pauses, swallows, then mumbles, “Love you.”
“I love you, too.” There’s warmth in his father’s voice. Mikael can see his smile in his mind’s eye.
He hangs up quickly, his face hot.
“Mikael loves his daa-aad,” Kuuno teases in a sing-song tone from the living room.
“You suck!” Mikael fires back.
They settle into a companionable cohabitation as they both retreat into their separate tasks. Mikael sits at the kitchen table with his maths textbook as Kuuno drags an easel and a drop cloth from the closet by his front door. He posts up on the couch in Mikael’s sightline, turns on the radio, and they each set to work.
The statistics homework is mindless, and Mikael breezes through it once he hones his attention to a fine point. It’s the same flow state he’s able to enter at the precinct recording old case reports. The world around him dims and the only thing that matters is the data in front of him.
In his early teens, his anxiety was so bad that his therapist had suggested he be put on anti-anxiety medication. His father was cautiously skeptical while mother had been staunchly against it, so instead, his therapist had opted for meditation, patiently attempting to walk him through it and enforce the practice. It never worked—if anything, it seemed to make it worse, because now he was failing at a new task that was supposed to make him less anxious about failing at tasks. But something about numbers seems to accomplish what meditation could not, calming the buzzing nervousness that always lingers just beneath his skin.
In a sense, Kuuno also has this effect on him.
He glances up, concentration broken, and takes a long moment to study Kuuno’s profile as he dabs paint onto a piece of primed cardboard.
“The fuck you staring at?” Kuuno asks without looking away from his painting.
Mikael smiles. “How handsome Kuuno is.”
“Shut the fuck up.” Kuuno grins and looks at him with unabashed fondness.
Mikael rises from his chair and wanders into the living room, stepping behind the couch to look over Kuuno’s shoulder. The cardboard canvas is predominantly a blend of different color combinations in little swatches, as well as a few minimalist depictions of bugs.
“I’m mostly getting a feel for what all the colors look like right now,” Kuuno explains. “You brought me oils and acrylics. I’ve never really gotten to work with oils because they’re expensive as shit.”
“Oh, I didn’t realize…” Mikael reaches into the bag and pulls out one of the smaller tubes he’d grabbed, reading the actual label: Couleurs Exquises - peinture à l’huile. “I mostly just grabbed any of the ones that felt the fullest.”
“You’re fuckin’ amazing for that.” Kuuno beams at him over his shoulder. “But I can’t fuck with the oils until I get some turpentine. I don’t know a lot, but I know that much.”
“I might be able to snag you some, actually. Maybe some linseed oil, too.” Mikael leans against the back of the couch, then leans in to whisper into Kuuno’s ear. “Maybe I’ll just steal it from the art department.”
“Careful, Mik.” Kuuno swirls the leftover paint on his brush against the canvas. “I may have to report you for that one.”
“Is it an arrestable offense?” Mikael lowers his voice. “Would you have to handcuff me?”
“Is this some kind of fuckin’ kink for you?” Kuuno turns around and scowls as Mikael, but his mouth twitches with a restrained smile. “You get off on my authority?”
“I mean, it’s a little hot. Strippers dress up as cops for a reason.”
“When the hell have you ever been to a strip club? I’ve never once seen a stripper dress up as a cop.”
“No, like, male strippers. And I’ve never been to a strip club. I’ve just seen pictures.”
Kuuno sticks his paintbrush into a small jar of water, then fully turns around on the couch, kneeling on the cushions and wrapping his arms around Mikael’s waist. “You’re the horniest virgin I’ve ever met.”
“Well, I’m not a virgin anymore,” Mikael corrects smugly.
Kuuno’s pleased grin wrinkles the bridge of his nose. “Guess not.”
They kiss heatedly. Mikael ends up climbing over the back of the couch to push Kuuno down against the cushions, and they make out for several long minutes, getting hard and grinding against each other. Kuuno breaks away with a frustrated groan as Mikael continues to kiss down his neck.
“Fuckin’ hell, I don’t wanna go to work. Usually I don’t mind working night patrol, y’know? Lots of action. Shit’s usually crazy. But, fuck–” He runs his hand through Mikael’s hair and yanks, pulling his head back to look him in the eyes. “You’ve got me all addicted.”
“To sex?” Mikael asks with a breathless laugh.
“To you, idiot.”
Mikael blinks, his chest going hot. “Oh.” He shifts to sit up and Kuuno releases his hair. He straddles Kuuno’s hips, their groins pressed flush. “Well, maybe it’s good that you have to go to work, then, right? If you got too much of me, maybe you’d just get bored.”
“I don’t think I could ever get too much of you.”
Goddamn, Mikael thinks as his heart clenches. Does he even realize what he’s saying?
As he thinks it, Kuuno seems to register what he just said, his ears and cheeks flushing pink. He abruptly sits up and gives Mikael another kiss, biting at his mouth a little more aggressively. When he pulls back, he says, “But sure, yeah. Too much of a good thing… Or, whatever. Right?”
“Right,” Mikael agrees breathlessly, holding Kuuno’s face in his hands. “Of course.”
They manage to peel apart. Kuuno heads for the shower while Mikael retreats to the kitchen to finish up the last bit of his homework. By the time he’s done, Kuuno is almost fully dressed, smelling like soap and freshly sprayed cologne. He’s extra handsome in his blue patrol uniform, the black belt at his waist accentuating how broad his shoulders are.
“Did you need dinner or anything?” Kuuno asks, struggling to put on his watch one-handed.
“No, I’m fine.” Mikael steps over and wordlessly takes the watch into his hands, sliding the leather strap through the buckle before tucking its tail through the keeper. “Is that too tight?” He looks up to find Kuuno staring at him with an unreadable expression.
He gives a small shake of his head. “No. It’s perfect.”
Mikael swallows and nods as his hands retreat.
Kuuno steps closer and wraps one arm around Mikael’s waist, the other hand reaching up to cup his jaw. Mikael rests his hands against Kuuno’s chest. Instead of kissing him, Kuuno just stares, eyes roaming across Mikael’s face. His expression looks oddly lost, almost confused, as if he’s trying to puzzle through some kind of riddle. Then, he closes his eyes, tilts his head, and kisses Mikael slowly and sweetly. It burns Mikael all the way to his toes. They pull apart only enough to speak.
“Enjoy my bed,” Kuuno says with a lopsided smirk.
Mikael’s heart thumps heavily against his ribcage. “I will.”
After Kuuno leaves, Mikael organizes his belongings to make sure everything is ready for the morning. He grabs one of the leftover beers still sitting in the fridge from Saturday and spends half an hour wandering back and forth through Kuuno’s apartment, looking at all of his knick-knacks, his paintings, and his collection of books. Kuuno seems to prefer nonfiction over fiction, the books covering topics like the history of Elysium, military strategy, biographies, and a broad range of political theory. There are also a lot of ‘how to’ manuals and guides. The thickest one that catches Mikael’s eye is titled ‘How to Survive Anything’. He plucks it from the shelf and curls up on the couch to leaf through it curiously as he drinks his beer.
The book broaches everything from creating simple machines, handyman fixes, and urban gardening, to Pale exposure, making bombs, and rebuilding society from scratch. It makes Mikael’s gut squirm with nervousness, so he tucks it back on the shelf, lining it up with the line of dust left by the spine so that it appears undisturbed.
He finishes his beer and doesn’t feel tired enough, so he climbs into bed, turns on the bedside lamp, and reads one of his textbooks until his eyes start to droop. He falls asleep with the light on and his textbook on his chest, then jolts awake in the middle of the night to the sound of gunshots alarmingly close outside the apartment. He gets up, checks the lock on the door, puts his textbook away, drinks a glass of water, then turns the lights out as he climbs back into bed, feeling very alone. More gunshots echo in the distance, and he pulls the covers up over his ears, his anxiety churning to life like a water wheel.
What if he gets shot on patrol? What if he’s already dead? What if I wake up in the morning and he isn’t here? How will I know? Who would I call? Would Harry tell me? Does Harry even know I’m here? Is Jean awake? Should I go knock on their door and ask? What if he’s already dead? What if he got into a car crash? What if he’s already dead? What if he’s dead?
He can’t make it stop, no matter how hard he tries; the thoughts loop and loop until tears start to roll down his cheeks and his body shakes. Whenever he attempts to close his eyes, his mind supplies him with detailed images of Kuuno’s death that flash across the backs of his eyelids like a fucked up slideshow. He gets out of bed and walks back and forth for an unknown amount of time, counting his steps and counting his breaths. When he finally thinks to check the clock, it’s nearly five am.
He gets off in one hour. It takes approximately twenty minutes to walk here from the precinct. He might have to stay and fill out reports. He’ll probably be home closer to seven. If he isn’t dead. Which he might be. He might already be dead. He could have gotten fatally shot.
Mikael bends over, grabs his hair, and pulls, as if trying to physically extract the never-ending thoughts.
“Shut up, shut up, shut up…” he mutters. “Five things I can see, four things I can touch–” He walks himself through the grounding technique with a shaky voice, naming various things he can see, running his hands across the back of the couch, over the paper folding screen, across the rumpled bed sheets. He stands next to Kuuno’s dirty laundry and feels a little gross for it, but digs through it for one of Kuuno’s old shirts and holds it to his face, sucking in a deep breath through his nose. The smell causes an immediate release of feel-good chemicals; his head spins with the high of it. Earthy and sharp and animalic—a hint of cologne, of deodorant, of cigarette smoke, of sweat—something distinctly Kuuno that defies description. He kisses the fabric and his breath slows.
He climbs back onto the bed, clutching the t-shirt to his chest and curls up on his side, the shirt tucked beneath his chin. Finally, the exhaustion seems to settle into his bones, and he drifts off into a light sleep with fitful dreams, only to wake up to the sound of the front door opening. He immediately sits up, puffy eyes wide as Kuuno creeps into the darkened apartment.
“Shit,” Kuuno whispers. “I was hoping I wouldn’t wake you.”
“Sorry,” Mikael says compulsively, his voice hoarse and soft.
“Why are you sorry?” Kuuno toes off his boots and hangs up his patrol cloak by the door. “I’m the one who woke you up.”
“I…didn’t get much sleep, honestly.” The trembling has returned, and Mikael’s voice quavers. He sucks in a stuttering breath as relief rolls through his body and tears spring into his eyes.
“Hey…” Kuuno strides across the room, sitting down on the bed. “You alright?”
The tears come against his will, and Mikael lets out a pathetic little blubbering noise that makes him want to die. “I, uh–” He sucks in a hiccupping breath as Kuuno reaches out to grab him by the shoulder. “I just have this, uh…” He buries his face in his hands as his eyes refuse to stop leaking. He feels like a child. “Fuck– I should have mentioned this sooner. I’m so sorry.”
Kuuno squeezes his shoulder. “S’alright. Just tell me.”
“I’m kind of, like… My brain is broken?” He looks up and attempts to laugh through the tears. “I’ve been in therapy since I was, like, ten years old, but it’s still…really bad sometimes. I just get stuck thinking about the worst things. And I mean…the worst things. And I woke up to the sound of gunshots earlier, and I couldn’t stop thinking you were dead–” He sucks in another breath. “And once it starts, it doesn’t stop. I just keep thinking it, and imagining it, and picturing it, and–”
“Hey, hey, whoa–” Kuuno takes his face in his hands. “I’m not dead, I’m right here.”
“I know. That’s what sucks. It isn’t logical.” Mikael’s face contorts as more tears slide free. “It’s a fucking mental disorder.”
“Hey, shh–” Kuuno shuffles closer, pulling Mikael against him. “I got you. I’m not dead.”
He smells like the city—like dampness and cool night air, cigarettes and motor oil—and Mikael wraps his arms around him, his uniform stiff against his skin.
“I’m so pathetic,” he whines. “It’s so embarrassing.”
“Hey, I don’t think it’s pathetic.” Kuuno rubs a hand up and down his back somewhat gruffly. “Just means you care, is all, right? But, it’s all imaginary.” He pulls back and swipes his thumbs across Mikael’s cheeks. “Yeah? Like…your brain telling you I’m dead. It’s just a bunch of bullshit. And even if I was dead, what’s losing your shit gonna do for it, eh?” He lets out a little laugh. “It’s like… Pre-game suffering. Might as well wait until I’m actually dead to freak out about it.”
Mikael lets out a sniff. “That’s…kind of a good point,” he says with a watery laugh. “I’ll try to use that next time.”
“You tellin’ me your fancy fuckin’ therapist never told you that?”
“I mean, not in those specific words, no.”
Kuuno shakes his head and sucks at his teeth. “I should be a fuckin’ therapist.”
Mikael laughs hard at that. “God, what a stupid way to waste a good night’s sleep.”
“Maybe I should have warned you about the gunshots,” Kuuno says with a grimace. “That’s pretty much a nightly thing. I’m just fuckin’ numb to it, I think. Sleep right through it.” He grins. “Welcome to Jamrock. I think we were too busy having sex the last time you were here for you to notice.”
Mikael smiles, even though he still feels like crying. He leans forward and kisses Kuuno, thankful and relieved that he still lets him after seeing him bawl like a literal baby. Kuuno slides his hands through Mikael’s hair, kisses him sweetly, then pulls away after a quick, chaste kiss.
“Lemme change real quick.”
“Yeah, sure. Sorry.”
“Stop apologizing and shit,” Kuuno says, getting to his feet and clicking on the bedside lamp before unbuckling his waist belt to shrug out of his overcoat.
“Right, yeah. I’m supposed to say ‘thank you’ instead of ‘sorry’,” Mikael corrects flatly.
“Uhh…” Kuuno raises a brow as he loosens his tie and begins unbuttoning his shirt. “Is that more therapy shit?”
“Yeah.”
“That’s weird.”
Mikael shakes his head. “No, like… ‘Thank you for listening to me’ instead of ‘sorry you have to listen to me’. That kind of stuff.”
Kuuno grimaces. “Still weird. Just be fuckin’ normal.”
Mikael laughs and falls back against the pillows. “What the hell even is normal?”
Kuuno laughs, too. “Who the fuck knows! I’m sure as shit not qualified to say. I’m as far away from normal as a bloke can be. I’ve got shitty brain shit going on, too, Mik.” He tries to tap the side of his head while stepping out of his pants, causing himself to stumble a little. “I’m a total whack-job.”
“Stop,” Mikael says with a grin. “You’re cool.”
“Well, yeah, but I’m also a total psycho.”
“You’re not. Psychopathy is a legitimate diagnosis, and I would have noticed if you had that by now.”
“Yeah?” Kuuno jumps onto the bed on his knees, wearing just his undershirt and his boxers. “You some kind of professional?” He straddles Mikael’s hips, leaning over him. “Or do you just get off on that psycho shit?”
“None of the above.” Mikael runs his hands along Kuuno’s bare arms. “I’m just a nerd.”
“Hey. Only I can call you that.”
Mikael smiles and they kiss. And kiss. Kuuno blindly reaches out and turns off the light, rolls onto his back until Mikael is lying on top of him, and they kiss some more. Warmth floods through Mikael’s body and the tears evaporate.
“Can you fuck me again?” Mikael asks softly against Kuuno’s lips.
“Yeah.” Kuuno kisses him hard, bites at his lip. “Yeah, you got it.”
His hole is tender, but he likes it; it hurts in a way that feels grounding, reminding him that he has a body. He lies on his back as Kuuno kisses him while he fucks him slow and deep, his ankles crossed at Kuuno’s low back. The sun is beginning to rise, painting the apartment in shades of blue, and Mikael makes soft, desperate noises against Kuuno’s mouth as they grow more desperate, more frantic, chasing release. He scrapes his nails over Kuuno’s scalp, screws his eyes shut, lets all the ragged, wounded sounds inside of him sing free. When he finally spills across his own stomach, it feels like an unburdening.
Once they’re cleaned up and Mikael makes sure an alarm is set for an hour from now, they crawl back under the covers, Kuuno at his back. Their bodies are flush, molded together, and Kuuno pressing soft kisses along the top of Mikael’s shoulder is the last thing he remembers before sleep pulls him under like an anchor.
Notes:
*blasts Mikael with the Anxiety Disorder beam*
Suffer as I have suffered, kid.
Chapter 13: Overnight Patrol - 2
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
The apartment is suspiciously bright when Mikael opens his eyes. Beyond that, he feels suspiciously well-rested. He glances at the clock, and his lungs turn to ice.
“FUCK!” He sits up abruptly in bed and Kuuno snorts awake beside him. “Oh, fuck-fuck-fuck–I am so fucking DEAD.”
“Whazzit?” Kuuno mumbles.
Mikael jerks the covers back and scrambles out of the bed, lunging towards the couch. “It’s fucking NOON!”
“Ah, shit…” Kuuno sits up, rubbing his face aggressively. He shuffles to the edge of the bed and checks his clock. “Fuck me, Mik. I’m so sorry. It was still set to PM for my night shift shit.”
“Oh my god, oh my fucking god–” Mikael is tearing through his backpack for his change of clothes. His throat starts to close, his breath coming out in a labored wheeze.
“Hey, hey, whoa–” Kuuno gets up and stumbles over to him, placing his hands on both of Mikael’s shoulders. “Calm down. What’s with the freakout, huh?”
“They’ll have called–” He sucks in a wheezing breath. “They might have called my–”
“Your dad?” Kuuno finishes for him, then shrugs. “Yeah, so? He knows where you are.”
“That’s the problem!” Mikael can’t catch his breath. It’s one awful thing after another. He can’t do anything right.
“Okay, c’mere.” Kuuno yanks on Mikael’s arm until he pulls him to standing, then wraps his arms around him so tightly that Mikael feels one of his ribs pop back into place. “You’re doing the thing, right? The stupid brain thing.”
Mikael clenches and unclenches his fists at his side as he hyperventilates against Kuuno’s shoulder. “This…is different,” he wheezes. “I’ve never skipped–and I didn’t even mean to skip–!”
“Mik, didn’t you just tell me on Thursday that you’re about to graduate and you can skip a day if you wanted?”
Mikael presses his forehead to Kuuno’s collar bone. “Y-yeah, but that’s…different…”
“How?”
“They’ll have called my dad. He’s gonna be so pissed.”
“Okay, he’ll get over it,” Kuuno says with a shrug. “What, are they gonna like…fire you from high school over this?”
“No…” Mikael takes a long, deep breath.
“You gonna get sent to rich kid high school prison for this?”
Mikael lets out a hysterical giggle, then sucks in another breath. “There’s no such thing.”
“Then stop freaking out about imaginary shit, yeah? Just…handle it. Call your dad, tell him you slept like shit and slept through the alarm.” Kuuno kisses the side of his head. “It’s imaginary shit, Mik. Don’t let it fuck with you like this.”
Mikael lets out a final, shuddering exhale. “Okay…”
Kuuno retreats back to bed while Mikael shuffles guiltily into the kitchen, feeling sheepish for waking Kuuno so explosively. His heart still hammers against his sternum as he dials his father’s work number, his mouth going dry. It picks up after two rings.
“Heidelstam speaking.”
“H-hey…”
There’s a long sigh on the other end of the line.
“I can explain,” Mikael immediately says. “It was a complete accident. The alarm wasn’t set right, and–”
“Mikael, I know that new relationships are exciting, and I want to give you room to explore this. I want to trust you to be responsible, but you’re not proving to me that I can when you do something like this.”
Tears immediately spring to Mikael’s eyes. “No, dad, it’s not like that…”
“I covered for you, by the way. When the school called, I said that you’d come down with something and it had slipped our mind to call.”
This makes the tears come faster. “You didn’t have to–”
“What else was I supposed to say? That I didn’t know where you were or why you weren’t in class? They might have called Corrine.”
“It was seriously a mistake,” Mikael insists through his tightening throat. Then he lowers his voice to a hoarse whisper. “I had a…really, really bad anxiety attack last night. Barely slept until Kuuno got off work.” He sniffs. “So, when the alarm didn’t go off, I just…kept sleeping.”
Trant is silent for a long moment. “What caused the attack?”
Mikael starts crying again—soft, pathetic little whimpers—and presses his forehead against the cool kitchen wall.
“How’d you do it?” he asks, and it comes out in a cracked whisper. “With Jean?”
He hears his father take a deep breath. “Do what?”
Mikael sniffs. “Not constantly imagine him dying?”
A long pause and a brief burst of static before his father speaks again. “My mind works very differently than yours. Not to say I didn’t worry—because I did—but it didn’t…haunt me…in the way that these kinds of things seem to haunt you. I was also much older than you are now. I had a better handle on my own anxieties.”
Mikael nods along as the tears roll silently down his face.
“It’s a dangerous line of work, for sure. But you just have to…have a little faith. And accept that there are many, many things in this life that are going to be out of your control.”
“I’ll try,” Mikael whispers, then sniffs again.
Trant lets out another long sigh. “Well, your school thinks you’re ill, so they’re not expecting you. Go back to bed. I’ll see you this evening. Remember, Lorraine is coming over for dinner.”
“I’m sor–” Mikael catches himself, swallows. “Thank you. Thank you so much.”
His father’s tone becomes marginally less icy. “Get some sleep, Mikael. I love you.”
“I love you, too.”
He sets the phone gently back into the cradle and presses his head against the wall again. Then he straightens, wipes vigorously at his cheeks, and steps out of the kitchen. Kuuno is lying on his stomach, face smashed against the pillows. Mikael shuffles back over to the bed and slides beneath the comforter. Kuuno reaches out and immediately wraps an arm around him, turning onto his side. Mikael shuffles until his back is pressed to Kuuno’s chest.
“All good?” Kuuno asks, his voice sleep-rough.
Mikael nods, even as the tears start to fall again. “Sorry I cry so much,” he says, then sniffles. “I don’t know how to turn that into a ‘thank you’, so… I’m just sorry.”
“Nah, don’t be. Harry cries over the weirdest shit all the time.” He presses a kiss to the back of Mikael’s neck. “He cried when I graduated from the J.O. program, when I got promoted to Patrol. One time he cried because he found a dying bee that he tried to nurse back to health, but it died anyway. A fuckin’ bee. So, I’m used to it.” He yawns, stretches his legs with a groan that makes the bed vibrate, then relaxes and mumbles, “Kinda wish I could cry like that.”
Mikael blinks and rubs at his eyes. “What do you mean?”
Kuuno shrugs against him, tucks his nose against Mikael’s shoulder. “I just can’t. It’s weird. Like, sometimes I feel like I’m gonna, and my eyes get wet, but then nothing happens. It just sits there and pisses me off. So usually I break shit instead.”
Mikael lets out a disbelieving little laugh, turns around and props himself up on his elbow. “I mean, I guess as long as the stuff you’re breaking isn’t important, that’s one way to do it.”
“Depends on how pissed I am,” Kuuno says with a grin. “But, y’know, it kind of comes in handy on the job. I never have to worry about crying in front of the guys. I’ve seen Mills cry, but it’s usually over fucked up shit, so I try not to give him a hard time.” He reaches up and tucks a lock of hair behind Mikael’s ear. “Also, maybe this is fucked up to say, but you look…kinda pretty when you cry.” He laughs.
“Oh, good.” Mikael rolls his eyes with a smile. “Thank god for that.”
“You do! Makes me wanna protect you and shit.” Kuuno rubs a thumb across Mikael’s cheek.
“I’ve never seen my dad cry. Ever,” Mikael diverts, turning away from Kuuno’s touch.
“Yeah, I’ve never seen Vic cry, but I think that’s because he goes and hides like a fuckin’ injured dog whenever he does.”
The imagery makes Mikael sad, and his frown deepens. “My stepdad doesn’t cry either. And he seems to hate whenever I do. Calls me a pussy. Does the whole ‘I’ll give you something to cry about’ thing.”
Kuuno’s expression darkens. “Whadda you mean?”
“Y’know, like…threatens to hit me or whatever. It’s just empty threats.”
“So he hasn’t?”
Kuuno’s tone is serious and focused, so Mikael chances eye contact, concerned. “I mean, if you count spanking–”
“So he’s hit you.”
“It’s not like that.”
“When was the last time?”
Mikael’s brain stutters around the question, eyes going unfocused. “I don’t wanna talk about this.”
“Hey, Mik?” Kuuno cups his face with both hands. “If he ever touches you again, I’ll fuckin’ kill him.”
“Kuuno–”
“I’ll fuckin’ kill him,” he repeats, attempting to hold eye contact. “I mean it.”
“Don’t–” Mikael dips to press his face against Kuuno’s neck. “Let’s not talk about it. I barely ever see him, anyways.”
Kuuno takes a deep inhale, his hands sliding through Mikael’s hair. “Fine. Sure, yeah. We should get some more sleep, anyways.”
Mikael just nods. “Thank you.”
They both lie in silence for a long while, and Mikael is painfully aware that neither of them are sleeping. He shifts against Kuuno’s chest, runs a hand tentatively down his side. The sound of traffic filters through the window along with the midday sun. It feels too bright to sleep.
“Sorry,” Kuuno says abruptly. “Shit just pisses me off.”
Mikael sighs. “I promise it’s fine.”
He slides up to press a kiss to Kuuno’s cheek, then to the corner of his mouth. Kuuno angles his head to press their lips together, and the tension seems to bleed from both of their bodies. They make out heatedly—Kuuno pushing Mikael back against the mattress; Mikael arching his body upwards, rolling their hips together, running his hands over any bare skin he can reach—until both of them begin to lose steam and settle back down with Mikael once again resuming the position of the little spoon. The traffic is still too loud, and the room is still too bright, but regardless, Mikael somehow manages to fall back asleep with the soft swell of Kuuno’s breath against his back.
–
Kuuno insists on driving Mikael home. They walk to the station to retrieve his patrol car, and by the time they make it down the 8-81 and take the interchange towards Grand Couron, it’s nearly five o’clock. Trant’s car is in the driveway when they pull up.
“I feel like I should introduce myself, or something,” Kuuno says, looking pallid.
“Haven’t you two already met, like…multiple times?”
“Well, yeah, but that was before I was porkin’ his son.”
“Are you going to ask for his blessing?” Mikael teases.
Kuuno’s expression is that of genuine concern. “Should I?”
“Ew, fuck no.” Mikael laughs. “I mean… If you want to come in, you’re welcome to. I don’t know if I’m gonna get a lecture about what happened or not. But…it might go better if you’re there. Or he might lecture both of us…”
Kuuno swallows, his hands tightening around the steering levers until the leather handles squeak. Then he lets out a harsh exhale and turns the MC off. “Fuck it.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, I’m gonna at least introduce myself properly, y’know? Be a good fuckin boyfr–uhh…” He blinks as his face goes bright red.
Mikael jerks to look at the floorboard, his lungs fluttering and his own face growing hot. He laughs nervously. “Are you…my boyfriend, then?” he asks, his heart thumping hard enough that he feels it in his throat.
“Is that too fast?” Kuuno asks, his voice cracking ever so slightly. “Because it just kinda came out, but we don’t have to if you’re–”
“I want you to be,” Mikael blurts. “I just…wasn’t sure if you’d be cool with…that.”
“I’m cool with that,” Kuuno assures, though neither of them are quite able to make eye contact.
“Even though it’s gay?” Mikael asks, then instantly regrets it.
“Hey, I’m bisexual,” Kuuno corrects with a laugh. He looks over at Mikael and offers a shy smile. “But, y’know, I was kinda thinking I should lock this in before you go off to college and meet a bunch of smart, rich guys who have way more going for them.”
Mikael unbuckles his seatbelt and slides across the front seat to wrap his arms around Kuuno’s shoulders and pull him in for a kiss. Kuuno hums softly against his mouth and it sets his entire body on fire.
“Boyfriend,” Mikael says against Kuuno’s lips. His smile widens. “You’re my boyfriend.”
“Yep.” He grins. “Now you’re fuckin’ stuck with me.”
Mikael’s heart flutters and he laughs louder than he means to, pressing his forehead to Kuuno’s neck. “Oh my god.” He can’t stop smiling. “Okay. Yeah. Yep.”
“Good. So, lemme be a good fuckin’ boyfriend and go ask for your dad’s blessing to keep porkin’ you, or whatever.”
“Please, god. Please don’t say it like that…”
They each get out of the MC and walk up the front drive. Mikael slips his hand into Kuuno’s, smiling broadly. Before he opens the front door, he turns and cups a hand around the back of Kuuno’s neck, pulling him in for another kiss.
“Boyfriend,” he says again.
“Damn right,” Kuuno agrees.
Mikael smiles and pushes the door open.
The smell of food immediately reaches his nose—savory and rich, heavy with garlic—and Mikael suddenly remembers.
“Oh, shit,” he whispers to Kuuno. “My dad’s girlfriend is coming over.”
“Your dad has a girlfriend?” Kuuno whispers back.
“Yeah, he’s also bisexual.”
“Well, fuckin’ duh, Mik. He fucked your mum, didn’t he?”
“Hello?” calls Trant from the kitchen.
“Hey!” Mikael calls back, toeing off his shoes. “Uh…” He looks at Kuuno, then gestures towards the kitchen with wide eyes.
“Um…hi?” Kuuno says, shrugging aggressively at Mikael.
“You said you wanted to ask for a blessing,” Mikael hisses under his breath.
“Listen, I’ve never fuckin’ done this before,” Kuuno whispers back. “So, give me a fuckin–”
“Mikael?” his father calls. “Is Kuuno here?”
“Uh, yeah!” Mikael says, then turns back to Kuuno and whispers, “Take your shoes off.”
“Fuck me,” Kuuno mumbles under his breath as he bends to unlace his boots.
Trant steps around the corner, framed in the kitchen archway. He’s wearing a black apron, holding a bottle of some kind. “Oh. Welcome, Kuuno.”
“Hi. Hello,” Kuuno says again, as he stumbles out of his shoes. “Eh, Mr. Heidelstam.”
Trant falls silent and seems to just stare at them for a moment. “Did… Would you like to join us for dinner?”
Kuuno looks panicked, waving his hands in front of him. “Oh, no-no, that’s not–I wasn’t trying to fuckin’ invite myself to dinner. I mean–shit, sorry. Sorry for saying ‘fuck’…”
Mikael lets out a long sigh; his father laughs.
“Come on into the kitchen,” he says, then disappears back around the corner.
Kuuno turns to look at Mikael with a distraught expression. “I’ve already fucked this up so hard.”
“You’re fine, I swear. Did you forget my dad dated Jean? He’s heard people say ‘fuck’ before. Like, a lot.”
Kuuno sighs and covers his face with his hands. “Okay, shit… Alright.”
Mikael reaches up and peels Kuuno’s hands away from his face, leaning in and giving him a kiss. “C’mon, boyfriend.” Then he takes Kuuno’s hand and pulls him through the living room.
The smell of garlic and onion swells as they step into the kitchen. His father stands at the stove, shaking a pan to the sound of crackling oil. Kuuno’s hand tightens around Mikael’s.
“Would you like anything to drink, Kuuno?” Trant offers without turning around.
“Ah… No, thanks. I don’t…drink.”
Trant smiles at them over his shoulder. “Water is also an option.” His gaze darts down to where they’re still holding hands, then gestures with the tilt of his head towards the large center island. “Please. Have a seat.”
They both shuffle to sit at one of the high bar stools. Kuuno scootches his chair as close to Mikael as physically possible.
“Can I date Mikael?” Kuuno blurts after a brief moment of silence.
Trant pauses, turns around, and gives Kuuno a look of concern. “...Of course.” His expression shifts into that of amusement. “So long as his missing school doesn’t become a regular thing as a result. But even still, it’s not my place to say ‘yes’ or ‘no’ to something like that.” He turns back around with a chuckle. “Though, I appreciate the sentiment.”
“I’m literally graduating in a month,” Mikael reminds his dad irritably. “There’s only so much more class I’m able to miss.”
“Once you’re in college, there won’t be anyone there to make sure you show up to your classes.”
“Dad, seriously, it was an accident.”
“Yeah, it was my fault. I set the alarm wrong,” Kuuno says, rubbing the back of his head. “Night patrol usually messes me up for a few days.”
“Understandably,” Trant replies, grabbing something from the fridge.
An awkward silence settles over the kitchen.
“When’s Lorraine getting here?” Mikael asks, resting his hand on Kuuno’s thigh. “Also, does she know I’m…uh…gay?”
“It’s never really come up, my love,” Trant replies, adding another ingredient into the pan. “And I’ve never felt like it’s my business to tell. But she knows about my orientation and doesn’t seem to have an issue. So, I’m sure you’re fine to introduce Kuuno as your friend or your boyfriend. However you'd like.”
“Okay.”
“As to when she’ll get here, I can never say for sure.”
Mikael leans in to whisper into Kuuno’s ear. “She’s kind of a flake.”
“I heard that,” Trant says with a hint of amusement. “She’s a very busy woman.”
Kuuno looks at Mikael with a smirk, slides his hand over Mikael’s where it rests on his thigh, and laces their fingers together, then he clears his throat. “Um, what does she do? Your lady.”
“She also works at the Bank of the World in La Delta. We’re in different departments.”
“Coworkers, huh?” Kuuno muses.
Trant looks at him over his shoulder with a raised brow and a small smile. “A bad habit of mine, I’ll admit.”
“Hey, no judgement from me,” Kuuno replies with a chuckle. “Like I have any fuckin’ room to talk.” He looks over at Mikael and winks.
Mikael’s head swims as he smiles back. It’s surreal to even just watch his dad and Kuuno interact casually. It fills him with immense joy. He leans over and kisses Kuuno on the cheek quickly before turning his attention back to his father.
“So, what’s for dinner?”
“Spaghetti Risottati alle Vongole,” Trant says with proper Messinian pronunciation. “Or, as we might otherwise say, noodles and clams in white sauce.”
“Damn,” Kuuno says under his breath.
“Mikael, would you mind setting an extra spot at the table?”
“Oh, uh, sure.” He slides out of his seat, and Kuuno squeezes his hand once before letting go.
“You really don’t have to feed me dinner. I just wanted to… Say hello,” Kuuno insists. “Didn’t want to seem like I was just sneaking around with Mik behind your back or anything, y’know?”
“Well, I very much appreciate that,” says Trant without turning around from the stove. “But if you don’t have anywhere else to be, I insist. There’s plenty to go around.”
Mikael grabs an extra plate and set of silverware, then steps into the adjacent dining room. There’s a bottle of white wine on the table, already opened, and three wine glasses, as well as a large bowl of salad. He smiles as he sets a plate in the empty spot next to his, lining up the two forks on the right and the knife on the left.
“You’re a patrol officer, right Kuuno?” he hears his dad ask.
“Yes, sir. I’m on my third year.”
“Three years already? I remember when you were promoted.” His father lets out a laugh. “Harry was very emotional.”
“Yeah, we all remember that…”
Mikael returns to the kitchen and slides back into the seat next to Kuuno.
“Any promotions in the near future you think?” asks Trant.
“Oh, fuckin’ hell, probably not.” Kuuno scratches at the grown-out stubble on his neck. “I was already the youngest P.O. they had when they promoted me. I’d be lucky to be a satellite to a sergeant by the time I’m twenty-five.”
“Well, Jean became a sergeant at twenty-nine, so, I don’t think that’s too far-fetched. So long as it’s something you want, of course.”
“I like patrol for now,” Kuuno says, stretching an arm out across Mikael’s shoulders. “I still feel like I have a lot to learn before I start climbing the ladder.”
“I can respect that,” Trant says as he pulls the pasta from the stove and dumps the boiling water into a strainer. “If you two would like, you’re welcome to have a seat at the table. This should be finished shortly. We’ll probably start without Lorraine.”
Kuuno still seems uncomfortable as they sit at the formal dining table, fidgeting and looking around.
“I sure as fuck didn’t expect all this,” he murmurs as he leans in close to Mikael. “And he’s talking to me all normal and shit.”
“Yeah, I told you. He’s not scary.”
“It feels like a trap.”
“It’s not a trap. He’s literally just trying to get to know you.”
Trant reappears not too long after holding a large bowl of spaghetti and clams smelling heavily of garlic, butter, and lemon.
“Here we are,” he says, placing it on an iron trivet in the center of the table. “Buon appetito.”
“Holy shit.” Kuuno blinks down at the food. “That’s the fanciest shit I’ve ever seen.”
“It’s a traditional staple in Messina.” Trant smiles and wipes his forehead on the back of his hand. “I’ve never made it before, but Harry actually bought me the cookbook that had this recipe in it.”
“Really?” Kuuno looks up with a confused expression. “I didn’t know you were friends like that.”
“Harry still gets me a birthday present every year,” Trant says with an airy laugh. “He takes birthdays very seriously.”
Kuuno grins with a snicker. “Yeah, I know.”
“Please.” Trant gestures to the food then begins to untie his apron. “Help yourselves. I’m going to clean up, then I’ll join you.”
“Dad, can I have some of this wine?” Mikael calls after him as he retreats into the kitchen.
“You have a glass, don’t you?” Trant calls back.
Mikael grins and pours himself a heavy glass, feeling pleased. He takes a sip and weighs the flavor on his tongue. It’s a little bubbly—tangy and light. His dad has described wine with words like ‘notes of stone fruit’ and ‘leather and oak’, but he thinks those are maybe more red wine things. He doesn’t know how to describe white wine other than ‘yeah, it tastes pretty good’.
“Do I just…take some?” Kuuno asks, staring at the large bowl of pasta.
“Here, lemme–” Mikael gets to his feet and uses the serving utensils to pile a heaping serving onto Kuuno’s plate.
“Holy shit, Mik, that’s too much!”
“It’s fine!” Mikael then does the same for his plate. “God this smells good…”
“Yeah. It’s hard to believe it’s real.” Kuuno picks up the bigger fork and takes a large scoop of pasta and begins to bring the massive bite to his mouth, but Mikael taps him on the thigh.
“We’ll wanna wait until dad’s back at the table to start eating,” Mikael whispers. “It’s just polite.”
“Oh.” Kuuno sets his fork down loudly. “Yeah, sure. Totally.”
“And this napkin goes in your lap.” Mikael points at the cloth napkin still under the remaining fork.
“Why?”
“In case you spill. And to wipe your hands.” Mikael shrugs. “Normal reasons.”
Kuuno complies, smoothing the napkin out across his lap with a look of concentration. Mikael leans over and kisses his cheek, then reaches up to cup his chin to steal a proper kiss.
“This is intimidating as fuck, Mika,” Kuuno says against his mouth. “You’re lucky I really like you.”
“I really like you, too.”
Kuuno pulls away with a bashful smile, his ears flushing red. Trant returns from around the corner. He sets a glass of water down for Kuuno and takes a seat across from Mikael with a sigh.
“Pour me a glass, please, my love,” he says as he scoops a portion of spaghetti onto his plate.
Mikael pours the wine, and Kuuno waits until he sees Trant take a bite to start eating his food. He immediately lets out a loud groan.
“Fuckin’ hell, that’s good,” he says with a full mouth of food.
Trant smiles down at his plate, twirling the pasta around his fork. “I’m very glad you think so.”
They eat in relative silence for the first few minutes. The dish is amazing—perfectly cooked noodles, buttery and zesty, with a thin, garlic-forward broth made rich by the clam brine—but Mikael has come to expect no less from his father’s cooking. Kuuno is making frankly embarrassing noises that border on inappropriately orgasmic, making Mikael laugh into his food.
“Kuuno,” he whispers through a giggle. “Keep it together.”
“What the fuck–how? It’s so good,” Kuuno moans. “I’m not doing this on purpose, it’s just happening…”
Trant is grinning wide, his cheeks creasing with wrinkles. “The chef appreciates the compliments.”
Just then, the sound of the front door opens, and Trant immediately pushes to his feet and steps towards the archway.
“Hello, dear,” he says, smiling into the living room.
“I’m so sorry I’m late!” comes Lorraine’s voice, slightly out of breath. “I picked up dessert on the way as an apology, but it only made me more late.” She strides into the formal dining room, then stops short, blinking in confusion at Kuuno. “Oh! Hello.”
Lorraine is only a year younger than Trant, but looks like she’s in her forties. She keeps her hair dyed a light blonde, meticulous about covering her graying roots. Mikael doesn’t dislike Lorraine. In fact, he thinks she’s very nice. She’s sweet to his dad, if not a little bit air-headed at times, but there’s something about their relationship that feels…thin. It isn’t anything he knows how to articulate, and at this point in his life, he doesn’t really consider it much of his business who his dad chooses to spend his time with.
Mikael smiles at her and wipes his mouth on his napkin before speaking. “Hi.” He glances at Kuuno, then back to her, his pulse spiking. “Uh, Lorraine, this is Kuuno. My…boyfriend.”
“Hey.” Kuuno gives a hesitant wave.
“Oh!” Lorraine says again, her eyebrows shooting up, causing her forehead to crease with wrinkles. “Hello…Kuuno,” she says with a wary smile. “I didn’t realize I’d be showing up late to a proper dinner party.”
“It was more of an impromptu thing,” says Trant. “Here, let me take this. Oh–” He pulls the container from her hands. “Tiramisu?”
Lorraine smiles fondly at him. “You said Messinian, so I tried to stay on-theme.”
Trant leans in and gives her a quick kiss before retreating into the kitchen. Lorraine sits down across from Kuuno and tucks her hair behind her ears, placing the napkin in her lap and smiling pleasantly.
“Oh, here…” Mikael picks up the wine and pours her a glass.
“Thank you, sweetie,” she says, then takes a remarkably long sip followed by a sharp exhale. “So, how did you two meet?”
Kuuno lets out a soft chuckle.
“The RCM,” Mikael says. “Kuuno is a patrol officer.”
“Oh! That’s nice.”
“Not really,” says Kuuno, then grins. “But I like it.”
Lorraine doesn’t seem to know what to say to that, so she takes another sip of wine and reaches for the food.
Trant returns and sits back down wearing his usual pleasant smile. He and Lorraine make benign smalltalk about her job, why she was late, where she picked up the dessert, how her day was, all while Kuuno’s hand creeps up Mikael’s thigh beneath the table. Mikael smacks the back of his hand, but doesn’t put up much of a fight beyond that.
“This was the best food I’ve ever had,” Kuuno says once everyone’s plate is clear. “Thank you so much. I’ll have to figure out a way to repay you.”
“Not at all,” says Trant. “I’m really glad you were able to join us. Would you like dessert?”
“Nah, but I appreciate it. I wish I could stay longer, but I borrowed my patrol MC to bring Mik home, so… I gotta get that back to the station.”
“I was wondering about that,” says Lorraine with a tittering laugh. “I thought one of the neighbors had called the RCM.”
“Just my son,” Trant says under his breath with a smile.
“You have to go right now?” Mikael asks with a pang of desperation in his chest.
“Yeah.” Kuuno reaches up and ruffles his hair. “I didn’t even expect to stay this long, y’know?” He pauses, glancing briefly at Trant and Lorraine, then back to Mikael. “Walk me to the door?”
“Duh,” Mikael says, pushing his chair back from the table.
“Thanks so much, again some more, Mr. Heidelstam,” Kuuno says as he gets to his feet. “This was fuckin’ bangin’.”
Lorraine makes a little choking sound around her pasta and Trant grins wide.
“I appreciate it, Kuuno.” He gets to his feet as Kuuno rounds the table, extending his hand for a shake. “And, again, I also appreciate your consideration. It…means a lot.”
“Yeah, ‘course,” Kuuno replies, shaking his hand firmly. He looks at Lorraine and then offers another wave. “Nice to meet you.”
“Brief as it was,” she replies, returning the wave with a flutter of her fingers. “Have a good night.”
Mikael walks Kuuno to the door, waits until he puts his boots back on, then walks him outside.
“Well, that was insane,” Kuuno says after the door closes, shoving his hands into his pockets as they walk over to his MC. “I can’t remember the last time I’ve been this full.”
“That went really well, I think,” Mikael muses, grabbing Kuuno’s arm and tugging until he turns around. “I think my dad likes you.”
Kuuno grins at him, wrapping his arms around Mikael’s waist. “Like I said, insane.”
They kiss in the middle of the driveway as the sun makes its descent in the west. Mikael feels warm and happy and optimistic. Kuuno presses their foreheads together and takes a deep breath.
“Boyfriend,” he says softly. “I think I can get used to saying that.”
“Yeah?” Mikael asks hopefully.
“Oh, yeah.”
Kuuno kisses him again, heated and forceful. He threads his fingers through Mikael’s hair. Aerostatics hum in the distance, hovering like black insects against the pale sky. Mikael’s heart beats heavy against his sternum, and he smiles against Kuuno’s mouth, runs his palm across the velvet-soft hair on the back of Kuuno’s head.
He is definitely in love.
Notes:
Rolling around on the floor. Clawing at my own eyes. I love them so much.
--
Next up: Mikael's graduation! Featuring obscene displays of wealth, Jean desperately trying to hold it together, Harry being a menace, an impressive amount of sexual tension, and everyone hating Mikael's stepdad.
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