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About ten years. Once he did the math, he realized it had been that long since he set foot in a bookstore, or library, or anything of the type. Akira walked around awkwardly with his hands in his pockets, staring down every row of shelves as if they didn't all look identical. The ceiling in here felt like maybe it was a bit too low, and everything was crammed in kinda tight. If he were claustrophobic, he might have turned on his heel and headed back out the door. Everything smelled of lumber, paper, dust and something else - tobacco? That couldn't have been right. Akira was imagining that one.
It smelled old, that was what he thought. Akira raked a hand back through his hair (the part that wasn't shaved), looking at all the genre labels with vague dismay. None of them seemed to be what he was looking for. What would it be under, even? Art? Biographies? He had no idea. He felt like a fish out of water.
Only one thing could have drawn him into a place like this - a love of tattoos. There was a famous artist whose work he greatly admired, and he'd been informed this artist published a book. The moment he learned of it, he was dying to read it, hoping to gain some knowledge and insight into the mind of a man he considered a genius. Naturally, he hadn't so much as touched a book since he was a schoolboy with assignments to be finished (this was before he went full delinquent in high school), but this shop was right next door to where he worked, so it was a no-brainer to at least look for it here first.
Once he realized he'd been standing in the same spot, staring blankly at a shelf dedicated to WWII History for a solid minute, he admitted defeat. He'd have to ask for help.
There'd been an employee near the door. Akira hadn't looked at him, but the man had uttered some kind of greeting when he'd walked in. He backtracked, hoping the labyrinthine network of shelves wouldn't somehow trap him, and found the front counter. Indeed, there was a guy sitting there, focused on whatever he was reading with a lit cigarette in his mouth. Akira's eyebrows raised in surprise. So he hadn't imagined the smell, after all. He started timidly. "Uhhhhm..."
The man glanced up at him over the thin, silver frames of his glasses. There seemed to be delayed reaction before he sat up straight, a friendly smile coming to his face. "Yeah? Need help finding something?" Akira hummed and nodded, and the man stood up, leaving his cigarette on the edge of an ashtray. "Whatcha lookin' for?"
"A book."
"Uhhhhhh huh." He crossed his arms, the corner of his mouth quirking up in amusement. He seemed to be trying to decide if Akira was an idiot, or just had a dry sense of humor. "Any particular title?"
"I forgot the title," Akira admitted.
The man nodded slowly. "Okay...uh, what kind of book is it?"
"Tattoos."
A tired sigh. This was like pulling teeth. "Anything else you can tell me?" the employee prodded, trying to rack his brains. "Like, author's name?"
"Horiei," Akira replied instantly.
The guy blinked at him a few times. Akira probably could have started with that and saved them both a lot of time. "Oh. I think I know the one you're talking about." He headed straight for whatever section he had in mind, walking with a sense of purpose, and Akira followed. Staring at the man's back as he walked, he was struck by his stature - both tall and broad, Akira got the strange sense he could be doing way more interesting things for a living than selling books.
Before long he'd stopped in front of a shelf and rubbed his chin as he searched with his eyes. "Ah!" He pulled down a hardcover by its spine and showed it to Akira. "This it?"
Akira didn't hesitate to open it and thumb through the pages. There were pictures, thank god. "Yeah, this is it," he said, and looked up at the man's face. "Thanks."
"No problem!" Akira didn't need anything else, of course, so both men went back for the counter so he could pay for it and be on his way. Something was nagging away at Akira's mind, and without thinking about it he'd been staring pretty intensely at the man's stubbled face, trying to piece together what it was. He paused, staring back at Akira. "Uhh...something wrong?"
"I've seen you before," Akira finally concluded aloud. No wonder it was bothering him so much - the memory had taken a while to click into place. "You were leaving at the same time as me the other night." It was curious, he thought now, that this guy left at such an hour. The bookstore closed hours before the tattoo-slash-piercing parlor, so what could possibly keep him so late?
"Ohhh," the other said slowly, eyes lighting up as he remembered too. "Right, right... of course. You work next door." The scanner beeped loudly as he ran the barcode under it, and Akira made a light grimace at the price that displayed. Well, it was worth it, so he dug out his wallet. "Are you new?"
"Kinda," Akira muttered. "Started a few months ago." He took his change when it was handed to him and crumpled it messily into his pocket.
"I see. Well, nice to properly meet you, uhm..." the man picked up his cigarette again, waiting expectantly for a name.
"Akira."
"Akira." He smiled. "I'm Motomi. Stop by again if you need anything," he said before taking a drag. Akira made no motions to leave, still staring Motomi down. This was the most he'd bothered to engage a stranger in as long as he could recall, but it just got under his skin somehow.
"Can you really smoke in here?"
"Of course I can. I'm doing it right now."
"Is that allowed?"
Motomi chuckled. "I'm the owner here, I make the rules," he said. "And I've got no employees to get on my case about it either."
"Making your own rules sounds awfully nice," Akira said. He'd do the same in a heartbeat, if he were in such a position.
"It is," Motomi said, looking pleased with himself.
"It makes it stink in here."
Motomi clicked his tongue in irritation. "Well, no one's puttin' a gun to your head, uh?" He gestured towards the door, putting on a proper Customer Service voice for the first time since Akira had walked in. "Feel free to take your patronage elsewhere, Sir."
Unable to help himself, Akira cracked a little smile. "I'm just giving you a hard time, old man." He could have laughed at the nonplussed reaction he got. Tucking his purchase under his arm, he went for the front door without a backwards glance. "Seeya."
---
Akira let the door close behind him and inhaled deeply, then let his breath out. It'd been a rough day. He'd always sneak out the back door on his breaks, enjoying the quiet of the alley and taking in some fresh air. This is where he'd come smoke, if that were a thing he did. Instead he stared off into space, collecting his thoughts. He leaned against the wall and embraced the relative silence. Even street noise barely made it back here.
He glanced to his right and noted the next door down on the strip. It could only be the back exit for the book store, though this was the first time he'd paid it any mind. For a moment he wondered why he never saw Motomi smoking back here, until he remembered, feeling a little dumb, that Motomi didn't need to sneak outside to do that.
Fuck, he was thinking about that guy again. Why did this keep happening?
Akira was still working on his book - he'd only had it two days, and he was kind of a slow reader - but it was, as he expected, very interesting, and worth the price tag. The only problem was that every time he picked it up or put it down, he remembered his encounter with that oddball of a shop owner. It didn't bug him the first few times, but it was starting to get old.
Akira crossed his arms, frowning at the adjacent door, as if it owed him an explanation. Why was his very short, meaningless conversation with some scruffy guy in an argyle sweater stuck in his head? What was it about that guy? Maybe it was the sense Akira had that there was more to him than appearances would suggest. If he were asked to put it in words, he wouldn't be able to. It was more of a vibe.
Either way, it was gonna keep bothering him, he was sure of that. He'd have to go back there again. The only question, then, was 'why'. Not really why, but what reason could he pretend to have that would bring him back? He inhaled and exhaled slowly, trying to dream up a believable excuse. There were plenty of other books he could suddenly have a need for, right?
...He'd think of something.
---
His pulse was starting to quicken in the most unpleasant way. What had started as a simple confrontation was quickly turning dangerous, his instincts reacting viscerally to the way these two men were acting. Raised voices, physically trying to corner him. Akira gulped, steeling himself and trying to keep calm. "For the last time, I know there was nothing wrong with what I gave you," he said evenly. "I must have weighed it five times just to make sure."
"You really think I buy that crap?!" the taller of the two snapped. "You must think I'm stupid!"
"My friend doesn't like being taken advantage of, got it, asshole?" the smaller, meaner-looking of the pair added.
Akira narrowed his eyes, concealing his anger. These dudes definitely waited for him. They'd just happened to show up right as he was leaving work for the night, and started laying this load of bullshit on him. They probably expected him to back down, become apologetic and be their doormat. Wasn't gonna happen. "Neither do I," he said.
"Listen, you little prick!!" The taller man slammed his hand against the brick wall behind Akira, invading his personal space even more. "I want every last cent of my money back! That'll cover what you cheated me, AND help me forget this ever happened. Got it?"
Akira felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up, and a prickling heat invade his skin. "You've gotta be kidding me," he said with a sneer. "I don't owe you shit." Despite how big he talked, his fight or flight response was kicking in. He was outnumbered, and he couldn't be sure they weren't armed. In spite of his confidence, part of him was sinking into dread - this didn't look good.
"Alright, he doesn't wanna do it the easy way," the friend said, moving closer to Akira. "Check his pockets."
Akira swiftly knocked the man's hand away. "Don't you fucking touch me!"
His reaction time wasn't fast enough for the first hit.
Instantly he felt an explosion of pain as a fist collided with his jaw. Most everything after that was a blur, as both men jumped on him and he fought them off frantically, or tried. It had been a few years since his last real fist fight, and he was small for a man his age. Akira fought like a cornered animal, desperately trying to get in a kick or an elbow wherever he could. In an instant, everything stopped and he heard a choked cry. When he looked up, the shorter guy had been pulled back, and his neck was squeezed tightly in a headlock.
"The hell is going on over here?" Motomi held the thug as he squirmed, tried to wrench himself free. He looked confused and irritated by the fight he'd stumbled upon, but his voice was hardly alarmed. The second guy was momentarily distracted, and Akira took this chance to throw an uppercut to his jaw. He reeled from it, and Akira sent a direct punch to his solar plexus, as hard as he could. At some point, the guy Motomi had grabbed freed himself, or was let go, Akira couldn't know - and had tried to hit Motomi, and it hadn't ended well for him. The older man had caught him by the wrist and twisted his arm behind his back, making him yowl in pain.
"Both of you, get the hell outta here!" Motomi gave the guy a harsh shove, and he held onto his twisted elbow, cursing loudly before he did as told and ran off, his friend hesitating half a second before following him. 'They only pick fights where they outnumber their opponent,' Akira thought bitterly. 'Rat packing little punks.' He panted heavily, his body tingling with adrenaline as he watched them disappear into the night. Luck was really on his side tonight.
"Hey, you alright?" Akira glanced at Motomi, who searched his face in the dark with concern etched into his features.
"Yeah, fine," Akira mumbled.
"You don't look fine!" Motomi came closer, cautiously brushing hair out of Akira's face to get a better look. "You're bleeding. A lot!"
Akira rubbed the back of his hand against his chin and looked at it, and sure enough, blood. "...Oh..."
Motomi pulled at the sleeve of Akira's jacket. "Come on." Akira found himself resisting, he wasn't sure why - just an instinct, maybe. Motomi wasn't having it, and tugged harder until Akira's feet started moving, and he quietly followed him to his shop, which was of course dark inside. Motomi unlocked it and took him in.
Akira had, since his purchase of the very important book, made several visits to Motomi's shop, but this time he was lead to the part he'd never seen, the room in the back - Motomi's personal office. It was nice and organized back here, unlike the employees-only part of the tattoo parlor, which always teetered on the edge of chaos. Akira sat when Motomi prompted him to, looking around in silence. There was a couch back here, and it looked new. Akira was also pretty sure he saw a small refrigerator. It wouldn't have looked like an office at all if there weren't the standard stuff like a desk and file cabinets. "What, do you live here?" Akira mumbled eventually.
Motomi gave a "hmm?" and looked up from where he was rummaging in a drawer, then laughed. "Well, sometimes, kinda. It's just me here all day, so I have to do all the boring work at night, after I close. Sometimes I work so late it's just easier to crash here than go home."
Well, that explained a lot, actually. Akira watched Motomi put some stuff on the table next to him. Seemed he had some first aid things stashed away. As the other man reached for his face, Akira flinched away. "I don't need you to do that," he huffed. Motomi frowned at him.
"Fine," he shrugged and gestured at the table. "Do it yourself, then."
Akira paused, and looked around the room. "Uhhh...got a mirror anywhere?"
"Nope."
With a long, defeated sigh he leaned back in his chair. He wasn't sure why he was being so fussy about this, and he should probably be a little nicer to the guy that just saved him. "Go ahead," he muttered under his breath. Motomi smiled at his surrender and got to work on Akira's battered face.
"Damn, did they do a number on you," he commented after a moment, rubbing that awful, stinging stuff on Akira's open wounds. Akira fought back the urge to tell him to shut up. He had no way of knowing what a hit his pride had taken today, and he didn't mean it in a bad way. It was curious, though...he hadn't asked what the fight was about. Was this possible? An older person actually having the sense to mind their own business? Akira wasn't sure he could believe it. At the same time, he began to feel a little self-conscious...he was being stared at, even if there was a legitimate reason for it, and someone else's hands on his face felt a little awkward too. He flinched only when the alcohol-soaked cotton caught his eyebrow ring.
"Yeah, well...sorry you got involved," was all he could think to say.
"Nah, it's no problem," Motomi said with a wave of his hand, and with Akira's face clean, started putting bandages over his cuts. "Shame you're so bloody pale, this is gonna bruise like hell."
Akira looked Motomi up and down, his thoughts straying to what he'd done minutes ago. His hunches about this weirdo had been right. There was a lot more to him than met the eye. "You can really handle yourself in a fight," he said.
Motomi eyed him for a second, then nodded. "I guess I can! How 'bout that?" He applied a bandage across the bridge of Akira's nose.
"And you were so calm the whole time," Akira pressed, picking each word slowly. "Almost as if it wasn't your first." His tone conveyed what he was really trying to ask, and Motomi considered him with a pointed look. He crossed his arms and smiled, raising an eyebrow.
"Is that right? So, what was the deal with those guys outside just now? Some random thugs, I take it?"
Akira's back straightened, and he inhaled sharply. "Point taken." Motomi looked satisfied, with both Akira's answer and with his face.
"You're as patched up as you're gonna be. Don't know if you'll wanna show up to work looking like that tomorrow, though." He stood up and stretched, packing away his medical stuff. "I'm not a miracle worker, I'm afraid."
Akira gingerly reached up and touched his lip. It was swelling, and hurt to touch. With the adrenaline wearing off, everything was starting to hurt. He wasn't looking forward to seeing his own reflection. Maybe it would be nostalgic, though, being all bruised and bandaged up. A hot twinge of anger flashed through Akira. The fact that stuff like this still happened...it was like he couldn't leave this kind of life no matter what he did, and he fucking hated it. He hated those stupid junkies. Suddenly, it occurred to him what Motomi would think, if he assumed Akira was one.
"I don't touch the stuff, I just sell it," he blurted out, and Motomi gave him a wide-eyed stare.
"Huh?"
"I, uh...I only sell it, right now, because I'm in a little...financial bind," he explained awkwardly. This oversharing was totally not necessary, yet here he was. "I don't use. At all."
"Well, not that it's any of my business," Motomi said, "but I'm kinda relieved to hear it. And I'm glad I walked by when I did." He smiled warmly at Akira, and the younger man found himself strangely wanting to hide. He was probably embarrassed about this whole ordeal, he told himself, even though the feeling was a little more complex than that.
There was something of an awkward silence that Akira didn't know how to deal with, so he stood up. "I've kept you long enough," he said quietly.
"Mm...it is really late. And you should get home and rest." Motomi picked up his keys. "Can you, uh...you can get home alright?"
"I'm good." Akira was a bit quick to answer that. That was when he realized, he'd failed to say something important. He looked Motomi in the eyes. "Thank you. Seriously."
"Like I said, I'm glad I was able to help." Taking Akira by surprise, Motomi reached out to ruffle the hair on top of his head. It made Akira scowl a little, as no one really enjoyed being treated like a kid, but it was weirdly comforting. "Do me a favor and try to stay out of trouble, huh? Don't make me worry 'bout you."
"I'm indebted to you," Akira said. Clearly, he was taking this seriously, no matter how Motomi tried to brush it off. He'd saved Akira from, at the very least, a severe beating, and it was no laughing matter. "Let me pay you back somehow, okay?"
Motomi put up his hands and tried to decline. "Y-you don't have t-..." Mid-sentence, he gave up, probably sensing from the severity in Akira's eye that it was useless. "Uh, in that case...you can buy me a beer. Then we're even steven."
---
Akira made good on the offer the very next night. He was irritated, though, because Motomi wasn't drinking nearly enough. "I'm paying for everything", he'd said. "Take advantage". If he didn't take advantage, how was this repayment? How did this make them even? Akira slumped his upper body across the small table, his sour mood making itself evident all over his face.
"What? Why are you scowling?"
"You're not drinking enough." Akira slammed his hand down a few times, the empty glasses and bottles on the table rattling lightly. "Come on! Live it up!!"
"I am!" Motomi laughed, and Akira made a 'pssh' sound.
"You call that living it up? Nerd." His voice had entered into a decibel range that it only ever reached when a certain amount of alcohol had been consumed, and there was a pleasant warmth in his extremities. His face and half-assed name-calling might have suggested otherwise, but he was actually enjoying himself. Finally, he could interact with Motomi in a setting that didn't require him to fake interest in books...or be bleeding.
The other man sighed and shook his head. "Look, I came out with you, didn't I? I'm letting you treat me even though you got beaten black and blue last night. Just relax, we're completely even now."
"Mmmmm, nah, it's not really enough," Akira argued. He furrowed his brow, thinking deeply for a few seconds. "Ah...! I got it." A glint came to his eye, mischievous ideas of all sorts entering his mind. "I'll give you a discount for my services."
Motomi's hand stopped midway bringing his drink to his mouth, and he stared dumbly at Akira. "Your...services."
"I could give you a real nice tattoo," he said. "Trust me, I do good work." Short on a few things Akira might've been, but not pride. His companion couldn't stop a snort of laughter from escaping, and Akira's eyes quickly narrowed.
"Oh no, no, I'm sure you do," Motomi said. "But that's not for me, sorry. I can't handle that kinda commitment."
"Then get something pierced. No commitment there, if you don't like it you can take it out."
"Are you serious?" Equal parts amused and horrified, Motomi gestured vaguely at his own face. "Can you honestly picture that on me? That would look ridiculous."
"I don't think so. It might look cool." Motomi might not believe him, but Akira meant it. He stared the other man down, considering carefully what part of his face he wouldn't mind poking a needle through. He was just drunk enough to have dulled social boundaries, and he leaned across the table, reaching out slowly and poking just below Motomi's lower lip. "Right here, maybe."
There was a delayed reaction after some more dumbfounded staring, and Motomi gently brushed him off. "You are a weird one." Akira couldn't see so well in this light, but he thought Motomi might've turned a little red. "Well, you can think that all you like," Motomi said, "But there's just no way. Besides, it's not just about it being a commitment or not. I don't like pain."
"It's not that bad," Akira shrugged. "You have any idea how many times I've had it done?"
Motomi leaned to the side, looking at Akira's exposed ear and counting under his breath. "One, two, three..." He squinted at the other ear, the one covered by hair, which Akira politely moved aside for him to see. "Four, five..." He then ticked off the ones on his eyebrow and nose. "Six, seven. Seven?"
"That you can see, yeah. In total, there's nine." Motomi blinked a few times and Akira was extremely entertained, watching the gears in his head turn. "Wanna guess where the other two are?"
"Nope, no thanks," Motomi answered immediately. "Th-that's perfectly okay."
"For you, how aaabboooout...oh! Belly button," Akira suggested after some thought. "No one's gonna see that. No one has to know."
"You deaf? I just said I don't like pain!"
Leaning his chin on his hand, Akira gave a rare smile. Something he was unaware of about himself was the power his smiles had. "It won't hurt if I do it. I'm very gentle," he said, his low voice almost a purr. "I promise, it won't hurt a bit."
After choking on his drink, Motomi avoided direct eye contact. He inhaled and exhaled slowly. "Boy, you're really into this idea, aren't you?"
"We could go do it right now," Akira suggested, straightening himself up as the idea struck him.
"There's one problem with that, dummy." Motomi reached over and patted his head patronizingly. "Have you looked at the time? The shop's closed."
"Exactly." Akira was looking downright devilish. "We'll have it all to ourselves." Remembering the other problem, he added, "And by the time we get back there, I'll be completely sober." Motomi could only bury his head in his hands, exhausted with him, but Akira could sense him starting to crack.
---
Being in a place he saw everyday, at a time when he wasn't supposed to be there, with someone who definitely wasn't supposed to be there, doing things he probably shouldn't have been doing in the first place; unsurprisingly, something felt "off". Layered onto the eerie stillness of the dead of night, it felt like Akira had crossed over into a weird alternate dimension. As promised, he was sober by now, but he was drunk on something else. It was kinda surreal.
Despite all his earlier confidence, he didn't really think Motomi was gonna do this. But here he was, on Akira's table with his shirt half-unbuttoned to expose his navel. The flash of tan midriff was even nicer than Akira had pictured in his head. He actually had abs. Like, better than Akira's. He tried not to make a show of staring and got to work sanitizing the skin he planned to pierce. With thoughts in the back of his head like what the hell kind of workout routine this guy was on, he did his best to treat this like any other customer. Be a professional.
Motomi fidgeted a little at the alcohol, and Akira glanced up at his face. "What?"
"Nothing. It's just cold."
"Ya nervous?"
Motomi gave an annoyed huff. "Don't start asking that now! Just hurry up and do it before I change my mind."
He had a point, honestly. "If you don't like needles, you might wanna look away," Akira suggested, and Motomi did just that, averting his gaze off to the side. The hand not holding the needle touched Motomi's stomach, flat against the expanses of warm skin. He noticed the light trail of hairs that lead down from his belly button and tried really, really hard not to think about the parts he couldn't see.
Nope, this wasn't professional. Not even a little.
The younger man could feel the slight flexing and relaxing of the muscles under his hand, betraying Motomi's nerves. 'Wow, I guess he really doesn't like pain,' he thought. Maybe his own senses were heightened, somehow, but it was like every little twitch Motomi's body made, he could feel loud and clear. Even the steady but tense pace of his breathing. "Just relax," Akira said in a voice hardly louder than a whisper, and wasting no more time, swiftly poked the needle through. He detected a little hitch in Motomi's breath, but that was all.
He guided the jewelry he'd picked out (a simple little thing, dark gunmetal in color) through the hole and sealed it. "Done." Motomi looked down at it, saying nothing at first. His expression was hard to read, but he didn't look displeased with it. "I told you it wouldn't hurt," Akira said. "Was I right?"
Motomi sat up, still looking at his new navel ring and poking at it very cautiously. "Uh...more or less."
"You didn't sound very into it, earlier. Why'd you change your mind?"
"I have no idea," Motomi sighed, and grimaced a little when he touched the fresh piercing. He then gave a defeated smile. "Life gets kinda boring if you avoid trying new things though, right?"
Akira could agree with that, and he hummed lightly. No one would likely ever see this or know about it, besides the two of them. Even if Motomi ended up taking it out later, Akira felt kind of special. He'd left a mark that would last, in some way. He moved closer to where Motomi sat on the edge of his table, leaving very little distance between them. He touched Motomi's navel and stroked lightly around the ring without directly touching it. "It looks good," he muttered quietly.
His eyes moved up to meet Motomi's. For once, he didn't see the older man becoming visibly flustered at his advances. He only stared at him in mild disbelief. 'I should probably say something,' Akira thought. His mind drew a perfect blank. Just as he started to try and awkwardly explain himself, he was interrupted. Motomi's lips touched his. Just for a few seconds, a chaste thing really, but when he tried to end it Akira wouldn't let him. Motomi's mouth tasted damn good and he needed more.
There was hunger and desire and frustration in Akira's kiss, all from having waited so damn long. Why, why did he wait this long. Motomi kissed back just as feverishly, and Akira felt large hands gradually end up in his hair to pull him in for more. A pleasant shiver ran up his spine. Akira was a little sloppy, not a lot of finesse. He didn't even try to keep his cool or act like he hadn't been wanting to do this for ages. Their faces crashed together, and the frames of Motomi's glasses jabbed at him. He didn't care for that. Stubble poked his skin a bit, too.
Motomi broke it when the need for oxygen couldn't be ignored any longer. Akira felt light headed, his heart making a ruckus in his ribcage, and didn't meet the other man's eyes for a moment. There was a tense silence. "You're a weird one, Akira," he heard with a small chuckle under Motomi's breath, and an odd urge to fight the guy he'd just been necking two seconds ago popped up.
"You're, you're...one to talk," Akira muttered. Glancing around the room as if he'd been transported from his surreal alternate reality back to the real world, he decided they shouldn't hang around here much longer. He began to put things away. "Let's get outta here."
They didn't say a lot else to each other, but the air wasn't nearly as awkward as it could have been. He could be thankful for that, he supposed. Motomi stayed with him as he locked up the front door. Akira wondered, nervously, what exactly was supposed to come after this, and Motomi spoke as if responding to his thoughts.
"It's late...I'm gonna head home."
"Mm. Yeah, same."
Motomi pulled something from his pocket and held it out towards Akira. "Here, I, uh...you can have this." In the middle of his palm was a key, which Akira took. He gave it a once-over, not understanding, and glanced up at Motomi as if to ask for answers. "It's a spare key, for the back door to the shop," he said, trying to act like this was very casual and didn't bear any sort of meaning.
Akira furrowed his brow. The gears were turning, but they weren't clicking into place just yet. "Uh huh..."
"You can come over, any time you want," Motomi offered with a shrug. "Just, yanno...if you get bored, and wanna...talk, or anything." His voice got softer and softer as he went, trailing eventually into a vague mumble.
Akira turned red on the spot. Really, thank god it was dark. "O-oh. Yeah, thanks," he stammered.
There was only one way to interpret this, right? He thought so. He hoped.
---
He wasn't about to wait around for the chance to use it. He'd already decided waiting wasn't his style. The next day, as soon as his shift ended, he went out through the back. The bookstore had been closed for a while and if he judged correctly, Motomi would still be there. He procured the key he'd been gifted yesterday and anxiously put it in the lock. There was no reason why he should've doubted it, but he was pleased when it clicked into place.
Akira sidled into the familiar room without announcing himself. Motomi looked up at him from whatever he'd been occupied with, a smile coming to his face. "Oh, hey!"
Akira held up the key between his fingers before he tucked it away in a pocket. "The key works," he said.
"Well, duh." Motomi grinned. He was so unabashedly happy to see Akira. Akira couldn't not like that. "What are you up to? Taking a break?"
"Nah, I'm done," Akira sighed, leisurely striding over to Motomi's desk, giving his messy pile of papers and junk a once-over. "What about you? You look busy."
"Nothing that can't wait," Motomi said, wheeling his chair back.
Akira hummed. "Good." He reached out and gently took hold of Motomi's glasses, pulling them off his face while the man looked confused. Those stupid things weren't gonna get in his way this time. He dropped them on the desk and leaned forward, pressing a kiss to Motomi's lips.
It wasn't so desperate this time. He soaked up Motomi's warmth and taste, no shyness as he gently pushed their lips together. The other man was stunned, motionless for a few seconds, but soon Akira felt him move, felt him kiss back. Pleasant goosebumps rose on his skin and he inhaled deeply through his nose, reached up and grabbed both sides of Motomi's face. His thumbs stroked along the warm skin, enjoying even the scratchy feeling of his facial hair.
Motomi's arms ended up snaking around him, hands gripping his back and pulling him in. Akira moved closer, carefully navigating his knees onto Motomi's chair and settling into his lap. Motomi broke the kiss for a second, a little sound of surprise escaping him. "O-oh..." Akira was incredibly amused by almost everything this man did, and that cute little 'oh' was no exception. Straddling Motomi's waist he wrapped arms around his neck, kissing him with renewed fervor and welcoming it when the other man's tongue entered his mouth.
They mingled this way for as long as Akira liked. He set the pace, and he was in absolutely no rush. His hands explored a little, touching hair, neck, feeling strong shoulders that he badly wanted to touch without the barrier of fabric in his way. Motomi seemed a bit shy, but would always respond to mirror what Akira did - with little delay, he'd done the same with letting his hands wander to other parts of Akira's body. Eager to give him more to play with, Akira unzipped his jacket.
"Woah...you, uh..." The older of the two fumbled for words while Akira threw it off, and smirked minutely as he started to pull his shirt off too.
"What? This isn't what you had in mind when you gave me a spare key?" He pulled it up over his head and threw that too unceremoniously aside.
"N-no! That's not really..." He stopped mid sentence and took in Akira's bare torso. His attention was captured by the few tattoos he could see - there were some on his chest and stomach, but more on his back. They were artistic, intricate and beautiful. "Wow," he said eventually, and Akira could see the surprise in his eyes when he noticed his nipples.
"Now you know where the last two are," Akira said.
"You're...uh..." Motomi squirmed a little under him. "My legs are kinda numb," he finally managed, and then nodded in the direction of the couch. "Wanna...move over there?" Akira looked over, realizing that was probably an okay idea.
He flopped onto his back and to his delight, Motomi made no hesitation about climbing on top of him. Yes, this was more comfortable - it was soft, and more importantly, big enough for both of them. He grabbed the front of Motomi's shirt with both hands, pulling him down to bring their mouths crashing together. Tongues made lazy, messy explorations of each other for only a short while before Motomi broke away again, taking his mouth instead to Akira's neck. His breath hitched, leaning his head back to let the other's teeth and lips tease the skin there.
While his neck and collarbone were peppered with love bites, those large, strong hands ended up on his bare chest and stomach. Their touch was a little calloused, but gentle in a way that made him shiver. He let out a little gasp when a finger brushed over his pecs, making Motomi pause. The other man touched his nipple, experimentally toying with the piercing there. Akira squirmed under him. Both his nipples were played with, making them stiff, and between that and the constant rough sucking on his neck, his pleasure was starting to voice itself in faint moans.
For his part, Motomi had obviously figured out where he was sensitive and was already playing it to his advantage. His head moved down further, and Akira outright gasped when his mouth covered one of the pink nubs. He sucked on it, not too hard, and flicked his tongue over it, catching on the piercing and doubling the sensation. Akira gave a very sensual whine, surprising even himself. He'd toyed around with them himself, of course, but he'd never had someone give them this kind of treatment. It was strange as much as it was intoxicating.
When Motomi sucked it a little harder, he yelped, not in pain but surprise. It was getting very hard to lie still while all these things were being done to his body, and his pelvis rolled forward, alerting the other man to a growing stiffness. The moment Motomi stopped, hot breath ghosting over wet skin, Akira shoved his shoulders back. He was so frustrated, he groaned. "Take your clothes off," he demanded.
Motomi gave him a surprised look, but sat up, and hastily started to unbutton his shirt. Akira's hands flew up to help him, almost ripping the damn thing off. His mouth stretched into a smile, seeing his work from last night hadn't been undone. Maybe Motomi actually liked it. He sat up properly and traced his finger on the belly button ring gingerly. "It really looks nice," he said quietly, and raked his eyes upwards. Finally, a decent look at Motomi's body. It all looked nice. God, he could eat him alive.
Their eyes met, and Akira wondered how obvious he'd been. Maybe he looked like a hungry dog in front of some meat. That probably wouldn't be a good thing. He lusted for this man, badly, but there was a lot more to it than that. He reached down to Motomi's pants and unfastened them, pulling them down enough to expose his boxers, and a rock-hard bulge concealed in them. He swallowed, heart beginning to race, and took Motomi's erection out.
The size was a little intimidating. But nothing he couldn't handle, he thought. He pumped it with his hand a few times, then quickly leaned down, swiftly taking it in his mouth. "Akira!!" He heard Motomi utter his name in surprise. He rolled his tongue around the head, making the other man gasp, and coated as much as he could reach with his saliva. He eased it into his mouth, then out, then back in, then out, back in, going a little further each time. Its thickness filled his mouth completely, but he tried to take just a little more, just a little more.
He slowly pulled out out to breathe, not caring when his drool soaked it messily. He put his hand to use again, listening to the way Motomi's breath caught now and then as he stroked it. His mouth went back at it, closing his lips around the shaft and really sucking this time, pulling it out and in as deep as he could manage. There was a hand on his head, not pushing, just touching his hair. His neck tingled with pleasure and he gave one last long, hard suck.
Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he glanced up at Motomi, who was slowly but surely starting to come undone, desire clearly hazing his eyes. He looked more or less the way Akira felt. He pulled two small metallic wrappers from his pocket, handing them to Motomi. "Here." One was a condom, the other a free lube sample he'd grabbed while buying it.
The wide-eyed look of abject shock was the funniest thing he'd seen in ages. Was Motomi really that surprised that Akira could plan ahead? Of course he wasn't just gonna run into this situation without thinking first.
"You...really wanna..." Motomi's question didn't need an answer, as Akira had already laid back and started taking his own jeans off. Motomi didn't seem to want to peel his eyes away, but he did just long enough to rip the condom open and hastily get it on. Akira watched him, his heart giving an extra hard thump, and then looked away, chewing his lip. He may be able to look and act calm, but his nerves were catching up with him. How could he not be nervous?
The next thing he was aware of was the larger body leaning over his own. Motomi reached down between his legs, and he felt a slick finger press against him. He flinched a little when it pushed inside, and he tried his best to relax.
"Akira." His name was uttered softly, and he looked up to meet Motomi's eyes.
"Mm?"
He was kissed again, teetering somewhere between gentle and rough. There was so much desire behind it, he wondered what it would be like if it all spilled out at once. He moved his lips and tongue with the other man's, welcoming a distraction from the fingers that were thrusting inside him with steadily increasing harshness. When Motomi's lips parted from his, Akira could hear his breath coming out shakily, such an intimate sound it hurt.
"I've been thinking about this for a long time," he admitted in a whisper, wearing a shy smile.
Akira moaned softly when those fingers brushed his insides, feeling himself heat up in the face. He really couldn't help the sounds he was making. "Not as long as me, I bet," he teased.
Motomi took his hand away, leaving Akira with a strange sense of emptiness that he knew wasn't gonna last long. His knees were pushed up towards his chest. His eyes clenched shut, he felt something much thicker against his entrance. Motomi's hot, hard sex pushed into him, inch by inch, taking it agonizingly slow. Akira groaned, feeling himself stretched. He wasn't sure if it was just pain, or the good kind of pain.
It took some time but finally, he was all the way inside, Akira now gasping and panting for air as he was filled in ways he could only have imagined before. Motomi's shuddering breaths and soft moans resounded in his ears when he slowly started to move. Akira turned his head, attempting to bury his face while giving high pitched whines. Motomi turned his chin gently to make him face forward, and claimed his lips once more.
His body rocked into Akira's over and over, keeping a steady pace. Akira let out small groans and sighs, the sensation growing slowly less painful. His hands found Motomi's back, and his legs wrapped around the man's waist. He pulled him closer. He didn't want any distance between them, nothing to block pure skin-on-skin contact. When Motomi's arms ended up around him too, his heart skipped a beat.
Something hard and not flesh-like touched Akira's arousal, forcing a little gasp from him. Motomi's navel piercing. It was rubbing against him with every move he made, and it was...very nice. He bucked his hips, responding to Motomi's thrusts as much as he could, encouraging him to go faster.
Motomi had stopped kissing him, both of them breathing heavily, and when Akira's eyes cracked open he realized he was being watched. It made his self consciousness shoot right up, being stared at during this; but he couldn't lie and say he didn't enjoy the view, too. Motomi's mouth was parted wetly, his eyes half-lidded, their focus entirely on him. Akira had secretly wondered a few times what he looked like during sex, and this was almost exactly as he'd imagined.
The sensations below were turning into something more than just pleasant. His insides being filled over and over again, his most sensitive places being teased constantly, moans were falling from his lips with building volume and pitch. He gripped Motomi's back tightly, fingernails digging lightly into his flesh. The other man's voice betrayed him with faint moans, whispered curses under his breath, shuddering sighs when Akira's tight heat squeezed him.
Akira pulled roughly with his heels to try and convey that he needed more. He just couldn't say it out loud, but fuck he needed more, and he needed it right now. Thankfully Motomi got the picture, speeding up his thrusts, pistoning his hips and driving into him harder. Akira whined loudly, biting his lip to stifle his sounds, and felt Motomi's hand in between their bodies, wrapping around his arousal to stroke him at a rapid pace.
He let himself get lost to the sensations, eyes slipping shut, a heady feeling spreading throughout him that made his whole body light. His moans needy and desperate as he got close, he voiced indecipherable pleas under his breath. It was a slow build, and he knew it was coming, but his peak still hit him hard, making him arch his back, cry out, drag his nails across Motomi's shoulder blades to leave long, angry marks in his skin.
Seconds after the fireworks in his brain started to fade, all his muscles became useless at once. Clinging to Motomi for dear life while the man kept pounding into him, panting and moaning as he pushed closer to his own orgasm. Finally Akira heard his voice shudder, his movement gradually coming to a stop. The sweaty expanse of back rose and fell with his breathing, the relaxed weight atop Akira almost crushing, but not unwelcome.
They lay there for long minutes in complete silence, other than the sounds of their breathing, and the light smooching sounds when Motomi lazily planted kisses on his head and face. Akira could almost fall asleep like this, and before long it felt like he was starting to. The weight moved off of him, the heat of the other man's body disappearing. He cracked open an eye just for a second when he felt something touch his stomach, but realized it was just Motomi cleaning off his cum. His eyes closing again, he smiled to himself. What a nice guy.
The couch sank lightly as Motomi sat next to him. "You still alive there?"
"Yeah," Akira said, noticing the gravelly quality of his own voice. Had he really strained it? He didn't think he'd made that much noise. Somehow, he summoned the energy to sit up. His head and limbs felt heavy. Even putting his clothes back on was an exhausting task he wasn't looking forward to. "Alive, but I don't think my legs are gonna work."
Motomi chuckled. "Is that so?"
"Mmhmm." Akira nodded. Keeping his expression neutral, he looked at Motomi. "I hope you plan to take responsibility and carry me home." The man stared at him for a while, trying to determine how serious he was, and Akira shrugged. "Or to your place, whatever's closer."
Motomi's brows raised slightly, understanding settling in. Akira reached for his discarded clothes and started dressing himself, doing so without actually removing his butt from the couch. This way probably took more effort, in its own way, but that wasn't enough to stop him. Motomi picked up his shirt and hummed as he put it on.
"I'm pretty strong, but carrying you all the way to my place?" He gave Akira a sideways glance, his mouth cracking into a grin he couldn't hold back. "I'll give it a shot." Once fully dressed (complete with glasses), and after grabbing his keys, he kneeled down in front of Akira. "Alright, climb on."
He was...actually humoring him? Wow. Akira hadn't seen that coming. He awkwardly hopped onto Motomi's back, who stood up with a grunt, securing Akira's legs with his hands. Here he was, a grown ass man, getting a real piggyback ride. Motomi seemed to handle his weight without much trouble, though getting through the door and then locking it behind him was...a challenge, to say the least. Having made it through that trial, he started up the street like this. Akira wondered if it was too late to say "I was just kidding" at this point. Did he actually plan to keep this up?
"You sure I'm not too heavy? You're going kinda slow."
"Oh no, not at all," Motomi groaned sarcastically. "You're like a bag of marshmallows."
"Even so, I think I'm gonna test my legs out," Akira said, "Just for fun." He wriggled out of Motomi's grip, landing on the sidewalk with a thud and a slight buckle of his knees, but staying upright. "Hey, what do you know? They're working after all." He gestured ahead. "Lead the way."
Motomi beamed at him, continuing on his way with Akira at his side. After a moment of walking under the night skies in comfortable silence, he offered Akira his hand. "You could hold onto this, though," he mumbled, "if you want."
Akira chewed his lip, trying not to laugh. Was Motomi being shy about this? Of all the things to be shy about. It wasn't like they just went all the way in his office, or anything. He grabbed Motomi's hand, looking almost like he had a chip on his shoulder about it. "Nerd."