grace period

[fushinbi-deactivated20150521]

breathing. harsh. he’s still working on coming back to himself, still wound around his partner, still holding onto him like he’s the most important thing in the world. he moves to say something, but the words are all a jumbled mess in his brain. did he tell ashe he liked him in english or japanese? he can’t remember.

but at least he remembers the cuffs. wordlessly, he pushes himself back, fishing around in the sweatshirt he’s still got on for the key. when he’s got it, he pulls the other into him, slinging his arms over his back so he can get at his hands. he sighs something soft into ashe’s neck as he reaches down, and with a creak and a click, the handcuffs are off, and his senpai’s free.

habitually, he feels for the hood on his head, and he sighs again when he realises it’s not there. even when he’s won over his partner, won the right to do things like this, it always ends up happening. there probably won’t ever be a point where he doesn’t show his face during sex.

ashe is— a mess, and he fucking should be. rival wraps his arms around him again, keeping him sitting up and close while he still can. there’s definitely something familiar in the fond, triumphant look on his face, a mainstay that’s bound to stay there until his temper gets the best of him.

'you look good like this,' he hums, in the one language they do share, smoothing the material of his fingerless gloves up and down ashe's back. 'we could keep it that way, y'know?' there's a kind of suggestion in his voice now. 'wouldn't even have to do anything.' but somehow, he doesn't really think his partner would agree.

rival lets him go, swinging his legs over the bed as he moves to get up. he takes another, critical look at the other, and for the first time in a while, he smiles. before he leaves, he unzips his sweatshirt, fishes out his lighter and inhaler, and then tosses the article of clothing at ashe. he beelines to the wardrobe as soon as he’s up to get something newer.

'wear that. we're going back out.' he grabs for the first hoodie-looking thing he sees, which is… green, and definitely not his. well. it's kind of fitting. 'i won this time, so i don't wanna hear you bitching.' since winning, after all, meant that he could take him wherever he liked. winning meant he could take ashe however he liked, too.

rival grins smugly at him, like he’s really, really proud of the mess he’s made.

'we're clear, right?'

[nachfrist]

With any help, he's going to need more than this. 

It takes time, serves years to get "used" to this kind of treatment. Takes all the wind out of him, makes him inhale sharply, unsteadily.

Pressed down like this, it takes much more to get some air in him; he gets everything but that. So it takes ...some great deal of effort to make any sense of anything else on the way up.

He could deviate from his partner's wishes, just for that. But he looks terribly good like this, and it's a relief that he's so pressed for air that the shallow laughter building up inside him never makes it out.

    > this sort of treatment? How should he rate it.

 It's not awful, and he's blatantly past agreeing to things he doesn't mean -- he's come so close to just speaking his mind, so he can't exactly bring himself to say it's an 'acquired' taste. 

   Which is really something to get off his chest if he can't even fully accredit his sweet maker. He thinks he'd be pissed knowing that, not something unsightly, but Rival is already coming down. He'll let him have that.

It's because he's so confident in his choice brand of nightmare that he doesn't mind the aggression, he never does -- and his partner doesn't care about that anyway.

And he never finds it in him to say 'no,' it's always been this way. when he's done in like this? given the option to leave or take away with the high-energy skirmish that left him looking frayed.

Again, it's hard not to give him everything he wants. To his spiking annoyance his partner verses that mention of his praise, already checking one off Rival's list. 

but he can't have that. So when he asks, and he doesn't ask nicely. Ashe lets himself be straightened out, arms nearly latching around him with a hid hesitation -- he just doesn't have that in him anymore.

the lingering affection resonates down through his knuckles and it's tender, doesn't match the gesture; Ashe rears his head back to lock gazes with his gracious other half. thoughtfully, forcefully keeping him longer than he should have to and shoving back half-heartedly when Rival makes for his leave. 

It's unceremonious, this whole scramble 'I heard you the first time.' He snipes back, 'Sixth and seventh, if you really want to know. We could have gone again, if you'd just been cooperative.'

 He holds a stern hand up as if to silence him, tsk-ing. 'Change of scenery? We're not out yet, so I can run my mouth for a little longer.'

'You too,' He insists, tugging on his jeans clinging around his ankles, 'would look pretty stark and fair with your legs up,' shoves his arms one at a time into an outfit he doesn't think would suit him. 'I don't have to be the only one. I don't see why you're denying yourself that type of fun.

 But when the score resets,' He swarms forth and gathers Rival's arm, hooking it with his own. 'you won't have to worry about where to look, ...hm?' The back-down, arms up position must have done a sizable mess on his throat, for what comes out next is this throaty laughter right next, directly into Rival's ear.

'Let me see what I'm working with next time?' It's a promise, more than anything. 'So where are we headed, chief.' That's what his "people" call him, right?

[nachfrist]

 It's not ungenuine in the way that he takes the floor, but he proceeds with caution anyway. Word has it, and does word travel fast. 

That based on what he knows of this someone, and as far as it concerns any body else he's never heard of this fellow. It's best to keep him under the radar, and this is one way that he knows that has worked in itself, turned up foolproof. 

      He's careful, careful   and he is not per usual to not quicken his pace too much, to let each foot come down in a ...standard procedure, 

not overbearingly excitable. That's what he's going for, type of manner. 

 His head is too big for his shoulders, and that's what it'd seem when he's out of his local and comforts' domain, a total lightweight 

if he has to, behind closed doors only because this airy personality that their intruder knows and has well acquainted with each meeting after that.

When they're reunited after time and time again. The trickle of time and its systematic countoff of seasons are nothing, when it comes down to it. If they're gathering up the essentials, 

     the only time that truly matters anything to him, is when they knock heads yet again at the halfway mark. This was what it was. 

That was all this is. 

Nothing like the heavyweight trudging these halls right now, almost un recognizable in his given pursuit. For a being that looks like he's so purpose driven, not afraid to put it in pen, and he's not. 

He's aware of what's out there, and there was plenty to list but none that could quickly endanger him when   he   was around. For that reason, walking these halls, with steps that sound clunky no matter what he does. They resound loudly in his ears.   He feels safe. 

That's the difference today. 

Glancing once over his shoulder, a weakness as any if he was spotted but he allowed himself that since he felt like there was only   one   other person in the 'room'. He takes an abrupt stop, scuffing the floor with the weights that that anchor and house his feet.

 I wasn't aware that I was having guests. Or should i say, guest. I would have put aside time for you. 

I thought you hated showing up unannounced. You're not here to take away a show now, are you.

Perhaps you're here for me?' 

[nachfrist]

It's a surprisingly early night for the both of them. Who called it a night, no one knows for sure; since the day had closed up clocked out long before with no one's permission on the line, that's still up in the air. 

Just where they'd last left it. 

 ' Aren't you the easy one to tucker out tonight? All that running around finally catch up to you at last ? I haven't got an update in ever on what's going on in your turf, is that so fair?' Well it's not, it's seriously not, but he won't say much on it. 

It is his business, but how much is only dictated with what Rival allows. 

He used to be so concerned, over the top probably until his partner was uncomfortable. It was never received in that great of a light, but rest assured he's dropped off some of that hanging on his person, that kind of mistress that just wouldn't let you get to sleep. 

They'd traded in a marked amount for the rest they shared, though it came in inconsistent and stretched increments, sure it did. 

When they could afford it, they'd get lots of it. And that's just how he liked it, and he was sure that Rival didn't mind (or know) that he strictly worked around his guy's schedule. 'You tired, big guy?'

[fushinbi-deactivated20150521]

     some people give introductions when they meet someone else. even the baddest of men still throw a “‘sup” to their gang before they get ready to make someone’s day worse. but him? clients, sure. (people looking to buy automatics love being asked “how’s it going?”). acquaintances, why not (and you’ve got no idea how satisfying it is to corner somebody and whisper “what’s up” in their ear and watch them squirm). but him? to the people he really cares about?

     he’s not the kind of guy who needs introductions.

     it’s not even 6 p.m., but in winter, that means that dusk is already here to stay. streetlights are flickering on; people are rushing home; and the sun gave up about ten minutes ago. if you paid attention to him for more than twenty seconds, you’d notice that he probably hasn’t slept — but fuck if he’s going to give ashe the chance.

     he’s on him as soon as he sees him, snatching up his partner’s wrist, towing him through the small crowds and in the opposite direction that he was headed.

     he flashes a smile, but it ends up getting overwhelmed by the pace he sets, getting the both of them to start pounding the pavement. he’s obviously in a rush. and, if he was a dick, he wouldn’t explain why, not until he’d thrown ashe straight into the inferno.

     but he’s not. so rival starts running his mouth, his usual smooth delivery made jagged by his excitement.

     ’one of my clients,’ he says in a loud voice, stirring some attention towards them, but it’s not like people weren’t staring anyway. he doesn’t even pause as he starts lacing their fingers together. ‘tried to buy a lot of stuff. an entire unit! which is pretty small, but.’ here he grins, because from here, it only goes uphill.

          ‘you know what he did? he had one of his bodyguards - who was smoking - start to take some of the stuff out. and it’s really, really powerful stuff. and—-’ he falters, but not for any particular reason. ‘and, i bet you know what happened. boom: the entire unit, just like that!

                ‘so they split, and the police aren’t there yet, and you’ve got to see it. it looks amazing.’ and here, he actually sounds like a man who just booked reservations to a romantic restaurant, not a man who just lost thousands in stock. what does he care, anyway? it’s pretty.

     he slows them a little once they enter the warehouse park, which is just starting to get choked up with smoke. if you crane your head, you can see the former unit, working up to a nice blaze.

     for a second, he stops smiling. just a second. he tips his head back. ‘and whatever you got to say, i don’t wanna hear it. just appreciate this time, won’t you?’ he didn’t start it, and it’s not like it’s gonna hurt anybody they know, so there’s no problem.

     and then it’s over. he takes a different approach and pushes ashe forward those last few steps, which bring the building fire full into view. he sighs wistfully, and reconnects their hands.

     ’sucks that it’s only metal. could do a lot more damage if it was wood…’

[nachfrist]

Should he be surprised? He should definitely be surprised. It wasn't a far-fetched thing for his other half to be immersed in hazards, which he was, all the time. How about that.

But there was something uncannily off, about today. Not in the bounce in his step, perhaps the ring in his voice? But to see Rival this lifted in spirits, it wasn't a bad thing. Couldn't possibly be the bad thing, unlike he was. An invitation to his every day,

One that neither of them were old enough or ready to grow out of. He never liked to wrap his mind around that type of conclusion, he never truly looked for conclusiveness in anything. But when it came down to it, he didn't think he could put his foot down. 

Not when it mattered, not when it

had been integral to do so. He'd never pulled through, he'd never shown up. And yet here they are, and he's so used to this by now he couldn't be asked to go without it.   It's grueling, sometimes, to have to channel this type of replicated narrative every   time when something goes

right, like in the quiet of the night. When it's just them, and the exhaustion has hit his former dear and quite taken him without pardon. When his head reclines, and when he's puttered out enough to say 'No, I do,' something similar to that? or better yet, nothing at all. 

So it shakes him. To see his partner carry through each passing day like it's never happened before, like nothing else before it or after that mattered. To not peter out with all that bottled up energy, where did he store it even, was there a surplus he was pulling from that he   didn't know about? Another set of questions that never had to be asked, and they would never make it out of his mouth if his rage didn't meet him first.

      If he had to put that into words. To see his beloved elated like this, to see the love of his life, get so worked up over the smaller, simpler pleasures did a number to him that he didn't care to go into. 

So just this once, he could do the service of not being a buzzkill, couldn't he? If he played his repeat-deck, cards correctly probably. 

There was just one thing, his partner had called it out already, so buckling down was looking grim. He could do something to not look so glum, which he wasn't.   He just didn't have to catch his breath, like Rival would light up when he did, some of the time. 

 'Sounds like you landed some excitement where it was needed, though what possessed you to invite me?' 

 Question of the evening, and he'd stubbed his toe already. 'I get a front row seat, can it, I've never felt so lucky.' 

[fushinbi-deactivated20150521]

     was that bossiness he was hearing? it gets him, more than what he’s saying. his partner’s usually competitive, angry, taunting, but bossy… not so much. ‘thought i beat that out of you ages ago,’ he mutters absentmindedly, not so much protesting as he is just wondering. and it really is weird. rival lets himself be reigned in, giving it a moment just to think it over.

     and then he disentangles himself, loosing their hands and catching his foot against ashe’s leg in his efforts to make away. he doesn’t distance himself much — and after another minute, he remembers to join their hands again, dragging up another smile to replace the one he lost. it flickers to life, but then struggles to stay lit, not much effort put into it.

     it’s experience or hardwiring that has him grit his teeth whenever the other says something that sounds like a command. it’s not like he won’t listen (he wants to, most of the time, but that wouldn’t be any fun), but for what? ashe is no higher-up than he is, no better off than he is. they don’t give orders —- and if they do, it’s supposed to be ashe who listens, ashe who acquiesces. that’s a big part of what this is all about.

     ever-obliging, rival pulls him closer, changing their tentative course for where home is. he takes a deep breath, and sighs. he doesn’t fix his hood.

     ’if i knew it would bother you that much, i wouldn’tve said anything,’ he notes. he doesn’t sound sour or anything, but he does sound considering, like maybe he’s thinking he should open his mouth less. he works his hand free to fish into his hoodie, dragging out a carton and his lighter. his smile finally revives when he’s got the light going, setting flame to a dollar-store cigarette. he stashes his stuff back in his coat and sucks in a long inhale.

     he only coughs a couple times when he’s finally ready to breathe again. a new record.

     ’so maybe i shouldn’t say “lying low.”’ he does air-quotes for effect, one pair lopsided because of the cigarette pressed between his index finger and his thumb. he inhales again and then passes it over, pressing into ashe at the same time. he backs him into the wall of the nearest building, smirking up at him and exhaling into the close space.

          ‘it’s not like i’m in danger or anything,’ he continues, looking away briefly and re-lining their hands. he drums the tips of his fingers against his partner’s knuckles in thought. ‘no more than usual, i mean. this stuff is pretty standard.’ and it is. it’s nothing he hasn’t seen before. ‘sooner or later, some people might get messed up—

               ’but it’s not going to be me.’

     he laughs and taps one of his shoes against ashe’s toes, almost kind of triumphant. it was never him! he’d gotten pretty messed up before, sure, but in the end, he always came out the winner. and that’s why he was better. that’s why he didn’t take orders.

     he drags the other close for a brief kiss, gentle as he can make it. all things considered, he’s still in a pretty good mood.

     ’i mean, if you want, you can come help me out. cooperation’s not really our thing, but i don’t mind.

          ‘question is: do you? not really your forte, am i right.’

[nachfrist]

 Well that solves just about everything. He probably shouldn't have gone about smacking orders around like he owned or ran anything, anymore, and it was evident to anyone as close as Rival that what he had going for him was simply what was alotted to him. 

A way to pass the time. 

Here's a hint: He never did. And yet he insists on carrying himself like someone that had that load taken off, or should he say stripped from his shoulders. All at once. 

It never did any good to fight this, he would never see to it that there was an end, to an end of means to what they had. The best thing yet, was to come, but there was no finish to them. 

No. There was more to that, and more where that came from. He heaves and his shoulders deflate, exasperatedly reaching where his voice would let him -- not that he had much of one to begin with. 'I may have pried in your story too much. That's your business, and you've drawn a fine line that clearly illustrates that I fall in nowhere near range of that.

It's not like I'd interfere.' He rasps out, grabbing for his sleeve and doesn't let go even as his partner finds the most foolproof way to loosen himself up. The audible flicker of the lighter tickles the insides of his ears, and he has to bat down that instinct to snatch. 'You, you take too much comfort in a simple light. 

Too hopeful, that everything will be handed to you.' His talk is large only to cover the thin amount of experience he's had in that field, because that's not entirely true. Rival earns, everything that's been, 'handed down' to him. So he's got no right, just piling on with the damage points to none but himself, just to get a little scolding out of the way. It's the only way he can relay that he, still, cares. 

Still, feels the same way. And he knows that Rival might feel like that only every other day, but he is still the same. 'It'd better not be you,' he mutters.

Making sure that the cig is back in the other's mouth, he snags him by the shoulders as they make their way up onto the next curb. Leans in, closing both hands over the sides of his face to obstruct the view and singes his own lips with the delicate touch that it takes to kiss the other end. He pulls back, 'Doesn't matter if it's not my thing.

 I go where you go.'

[fushinbi-deactivated20150521]

     he’s had a smile on his face ever since he saw ashe — got accosted by, more like — so there’s not a lot to fix when he gets messed with, put wrong and then put right in the same rickety motion. he doesn’t duck his head, but he grabs at the edge of his hood with just his fingertips, keeping it from sliding off. it makes it easier to grin, just as long as he knows it’s in place. ‘just your imagination,’ he comments, nonchalant as can be.

     the same hand that kept his hood in place sweeps down to grab a hold of his partner’s, tugging him close and along as he starts on a path away from the curb.

     it’s not like rival goes out of his way to avoid him. he hasn’t been avoiding him any more than usual, anyway — 40% of the time is what they agreed on, right? he’s pretty sure it’s agreed, even if they’ve never spoken on it. and, these past 48 hours? the time got away from him.

     ’the time got away from me,’ he complains, not sounding all that repentant. but he squeezes ashe’s hand, which has got to count for something, right? ‘and my phone—’ here he jerks the other forward a little, not on purpose, but because even remembering it makes him want to laugh. ‘had a bad client. wanted too much for too little, you know? and when i was about to call it in, tell my people the deal was off,’ he raises their conjoined hands and then slaps them forward in a dramatic flourish, forcing ashe into him and him nearly into the street again.

     he laughs anyway, and rights them, but keeps ashe as close as he can get.

     ’—he did that.’ that’s an okay explanation, right? for once, he’s not lying. he smirks even while he searches the other’s face for any signs of disbelief. ‘haven’t bought a new one yet. lying low. actually, i’m pretty lucky it was only that.’ he swings their arms, twining their fingers even more.

          ‘so. you believe me, right? you forgive me?’ he sounds more relieved than anything else, tipping his head up to look at the dead night sky. ‘i’m really sorry.’ and he is.

     but maybe not that much.

[nachfrist]

It wasn't the staggering or the tugging out of shape that got to him, but viewer afraid it was hard to paint his one-and-only in any other light. He couldn't always see those pearly whites in full light, but the lilt in his voice wasn't as aggressive as it normally was. It was unsettling. 

 As he listened in, hustled on around on his own time, everything went on Rival's clock once you were looped in. He tried to maintain the lax features he had entered the scene on but his face all too quickly grew stern, deep grooved marking around his eyes that only reminded him of how exhausted he was. You'd think he'd missed drinking up from the surplus of youth altogether, someone that had been set on taking his sweet time and living forever. 

And this man? It really didn't suit the gorgeous concentration of a riot in front of him, always a flurry of mismanagement and everything haphazard. How it had come to be that they were knit at the hip just didn't add up. But he was always compelled, at all times, to look after this practically force of nature. 

'You're -you're asking the,' He stammers and it's shaming to all the pomp he'd put into working this up, 'Unthinkable.' But moreso that he couldn't have just spat out what he really meant, was that he'd really appreciate Rival not involving himself with all these affairs. That was what was out of the question, it wasn't even anything to do with him. When he felt it on a whim, which was common -- and when he sought him out. It had something to do with him. But at the back of his mind he felt he couldn't say those words aloud, that wasn't their main mode of communication after all. Say if he were to spout his worries right there and then, it'd turn out that he wouldn't taper off if just to mock his effort, or spite him.

 'Unbelievable. You don't go out of my sight so long as you're laying low. Get that taken care of right away.' He yanks him back in by his waist, keeping their fingers woven together. Guides Rival's face into his shoulder, hissing into his ear while butting at the side of their heads. 'I don't want to hear it.' Lose that tone, he would say. If he had any sort of authority over him, but absolutely not. 

That was never the case. 'So you'll come home with me.' 

[nachfrist]

 'Is this a new statement of yours? Let's not be round about. I do like looking for you, it's not really a hunt without the chase part to it. But can it? Have you been busy all day? Phone off, too. Do you know how much of the last 48 hours I've invested in look for you?' He makes a grab for his sleeves and grabs him forth, because that's just how close they were. 

And it wouldn't give off any misinterpretable signs, that's for sure. From anybody watching? And on that street corner. They looked like they'd just reached a disagreement, be it thugs, or dealers, representing their share of a bad group of people. 

They fit that type of garb, didn't they? He fusses with the creases at Rival's shoulders and smooths them out, tapping fingers under his partner's chin and coaxes it up.

Light feathery touches, across his adam's apple until he daringly drags his thumpad across the other's dry lips. 'So?' He heaves out, 'How about it.' Jerks back his hand, shaking his head out to clear the air around them.  

Walk with me?' 

[fushinbi-deactivated20150521]

     subtle? he can do that. big are his explosions, bright and violent and beautiful, but when the situation calls for it, he can be creeping, quiet… creepy, if he really needs to be. most of the time, at least in his work life, there’s no need to be - do you think clientèle looking for explosive ammo are going to care about a small fire? - but his personal life? that’s an entirely different story.

     there’s plenty of fun to be had by staying just outside somebody’s range of vision, them knowing you’re there, but not exactly where. it takes patience to inspire impatience, discomfort in the people he’s after, but it can be well worth it, if you try! and he only tries on a special few, the few that always have the nicest reactions, even when they’re trying not to react at all. his partner probably ranks in his top three for “best reactions.”

      but right now? being subtle? that’s just not something he’s feeling. just for tonight, he’s not into the whole hand-waving, soft-step, whispered-words sort of game. it’s one of those nights where you should just get down to the quick of whatever you’re after. and that’s why he’s come on his partner without prior warning, standing close, running hands down his arms and threading their fingers like a girlfriend who really wants a new diamond necklace.

     he’s not feeling quite that sleazy just yet, but he’s getting there.

     ’you know how i hate waiting around?’ rival says, his idea of a conversation starter. his eyes are down, but his smile is up, tugging at ashe’s sleeves like they need to be just right. ‘i’m pretty sure you don’t like it either. even though you can be so slow sometimes!’ and here he grabs one of the other’s wrists, using his other hand to slide down the sleeve in an aggressive way. it’s pretty normal. ‘but you, me, we’re not into playing games, right? the waiting game, anyway.

           ’so let’s just cut to the chase. let’s go somewhere. make it a date. anywhere you want. i don’t care.’ he does care, but he cares a little bit less now than he usually does. he’s feeling generous. ‘what do you say?’

     ’make a guy happy?’

[nachfrist]

     He's a little charmed, he's a little mixed up, and a way bit rattled, and away, they, go.

 'Why I guess there has to be a certain crop of people that are down to be wait-ers, but we're not that type. You and I.' He's almost taken up off of his feet, and they haven't even gone anywhere.

The closeness, not very new news. Not something he's incapable of handling, and something favored because within this proximity getting singed or better yet, decked, -- presented with a token somewhat lasting. That was the most common running theme for sudden, and unexcused closeness. Rival was never excused. 

He'd grab for and do just what he wanted, and this Ashe prayed would never change about the gorgeous and happily met weight that hangs off of him now. Handles him, any way he wants to. His words sound pry-competent, maybe even negotiable, but he knows that's not what they're about. 

It's a short-lived joy, having those hands drag against his scalp and he has to crack open his eyes to jolt himself out of it. 'Is this some starter jive that I was not introduced to?

 You've failed me not twice, but thrice?' He barely chokes up the intentionally harmless jab, but it's something that would have gotten caught up in his throat skim off a few years or earn them back, it didn't matter. What's important is he tries, his best to look. Genuinely surprised.

 'Happy?' He balks. 'Now this is a whole new set of demands, I never promised to make you happy.' He tries not to give way to what's a clumsy laugh, batting the sides of Rival's head and holds him close so their foreheads are knocking. 'But you're giving me a 'choice' in the matter, why this is new. 

You know where we should go, that place you only every so often frequent to watch the sun come up. We left our supplies there. Do you remember? It was hellishly romantic.' 

 'Like everything is when you're with me, right?' Grand fucking start. You've got to see it to believe it. 

[fushinbi-deactivated20150521]

That’s not what he meant.

His anger makes him react before the rest of him can catch up, hands immediately grabbing at the other boy and forcing him back again. He does it for real this time, grinding his back against the brick, trying to ensure that he won’t be walking away without a number of bruises and scratches. He’d kick, too, but then.

He catches up, and, with a touch of reluctance, releases his would-be partner. Again. His hands start to fall, and he catches one against the other’s arm, gripping it with thoughtful gentleness.

Fuck if it’s meant that way, though.

‘Not what I meant.’ he sighs out, looking up and then looking away. As per what’s basically become routine, his hands start coasting over the older boy, the more-normal one between them, smoothing him down and conveying his grudging affection. It’s not an apology. It’s just what he does.

'You should be asleep,' he notes, which is basically a huge accusation, because hell if he wants the other out here with him. He should be sleeping. Keeping a normal schedule. Staying in school. Doing normal things! ‘But if you’re not, you should be with me.

'Being out this late is stupid.' And you should feel bad. Very, very bad. He thumbs a crease in Mr. Normal, Mr. Noble's shirt, in this protective sort of way. 'Do you know how bad you could get fucked up?'

[nachfrist]

 'What? What, --' He starts off sort of breathlessly but it's really the next few pushes, shoves that knock the rest out of him. He'd started to get comfortable unbeknownst to himself, because that hand that had coddled the back of his head before? That wasn't there either, not when he needed it.

-- and for about two moments, and counting, he was trying to recall whether or not he had ten fingers or like this grand count of thirteen. He couldn't even see them! They weren't anywhere near his face, though they did clutch at the back of his one and only's top, making their way to his sleeves to try and soothe him. 

Good luck with that, was more like it. 'Alright. Then, out with it?' He screws his eyes shut and shakes out the stars he keeps on seeing, so annoying, you'd think his sense of vision would adapt to this. but no, it's still the same number of hoops to jump through and the same stupid orbit he has to take before he feels both his feet are touching the ground. He's on planet earth, again. 'I don't need you to tell me what's stupid. 

 You know what's stupid,' his breath skips a decibel and his jaw tightens, readjusts and it winds up in this not so put-together, wide grin and he offers that because he's lost the steam he had split seconds ago. '- Might not be so bad, I think, if I'm around you. 

Shouldn't exempt you from the rules either, and there's like a multitude of those you like to break. On a daily basis.'

[fushinbi-deactivated20150521]

‘C’mon.’

That’s as much warning as he gives the other boy before he snatches him up into a nearby alleyway. It’s abrupt, aggressive, and above all, it serves the fucker right, walking without looking where he’s going. It’s basically the middle of the night - afternoon for him, based on his own schedule, but for any normal guy who has school in the morning, it’s way too late to be outside.

It’s not like he gives a shit, but it’s punishment anyway.

There’s no real reason for it, but he slams the other up against one of the alley’s walls, choosing, naturally, the one made of corroded brick. He keeps him pinned there for a couple seconds, really forcing him up against it, before he releases him all at once, no apology or even note of explanation.

It’s his “hello.”

So maybe a couple more minutes go by before he really says anything. That might just be the case, but in those two minutes, he gets real handsy, checking his companion’s arms, his face, sliding his sleeves up and inspecting his wrists for… whatever. He pays close attention to some pretty minor shit, but once he’s done, he’s done, and it’s then that he backs off from the one he’s abducted.

And then he says.

'—s’late, isn’t it.’

[nachfrist]

It's sudden, unexpected and a flurry of like five different things coming at him but it should be anticipated, because something on the wind. Something in the air, like his surroundings practically react to him, of all people. 

Like it's something he should know. He should always be in the know.  

But he's not, and the sudden onslaught (corrected: greeting) it's a greeting, and he knows better. Because this is him being friendly. 

Swear to god.

 ' I haven't laid hands on anyone, much less let anyone lay hands on me so you won't find anything stray on me. Not today.' He reaches back behind his head to cradle the back of his head on his palm, lips thinning at the jarring aftereffects from the  roughousing. 

'Might be. Depends on one's schedule I think, late for me.' He starts but he can't be assed to continue, and believe it or not he really does feel out of breath. 

And that's a hassle. 'Were you heading somewhere, against your policy to tow me around or were those your purpose all along?' 

[fushinbi-deactivated20150521]

     it’s not like he’s some sort of casanova. granted, how he acts makes girls go weak in the knees. he’s gotten his fair share of offers, like any guy as good as him should. but the people who’re actually in his life, the ones who can actually keep up with him? the number is surprisingly small! there’s only one person he’d really count, with half a person on the side for when he needs a little variety. but him? a heartbreaker? a guy around town? never.

     though the way his partner is acting, he’s sure starting to feel like one.

       ’wouldn’t know,’ he starts off, and even though he makes a point of shielding his face, how smug he feels is made all too obvious in his voice. but really, how’re you supposed to feel at a time like this? when the guy who’s supposed to be one of the most important people (period) willingly throws himself at you, acting no better than a floozy, your path is basically set. rival doesn’t have a choice! so, honestly, he doesn’t think he can be blamed if he comes off a little more condescending.

     he’s just excited! and pleased! and a whole lot of “nice to see you there,” too.

     ’we don’t really do the call thing, do we? this,’ he makes a dismissive gesture towards the two of them with his free hand, the one that isn’t currently locked up, ‘just kind of happens. so, i might not even be around later. you never know.’ he takes the hand of his captive arm and grips a handful of ashe’s shirt, for no more reason than because he wants to. ‘so, if it were me, i’d take my chances now.’

     and why wouldn’t he want to? honestly. for the both of them, rival’s pretty sure a lot of the excitement comes out of not always knowing how the other will react - like right now. he sure didn’t expect this. but it’s put him in a really good mood, so if it keeps up, they shouldn’t have any problems at all.

     probably.

     ’no, see, if i were you,’ he resumes, trying to tug the man a little closer. ‘i’d take this whole thing as an open invitation. as long as i’d let you, meaning me, pay.’ and even with the blurry perspective, it’s obvious what he means, right? rules are rules, even if they don’t talk about them. ‘if i were you, i’d go with it, and i’d be sure to keep running my mouth so it didn’t turn into something that should’ve been left for later.

          ‘but! i’m not you. so.

               ’what are we, you, planning to do, huh?’

[nachfrist]

 'I guess we do not. Not all the time, anyway...' He trickles off because he honestly needs to think about it. Structure or a schedule, did it go with them? Their hours clashed be as it may already, but it did all kind of blur at the end of the week. All the same, with how often you saw the person and just how sudden the outcome could be, 'It'd be an idea. One if we have gone and tried, rest easy that it's one we have not tried in a while.' He waggles his finger around in midair, trying not to look all that deflated from the lack of answer, or if there was one. He just was not getting the memo! And that was the bulk of their case, what else was there. 

 A small hiss escapes him, not enough past playfully offended to grow sour. But it's there. 'Is this the answer you default to with all your lineup crew, I'm kind of dying to know. 

It's not so much that you need to be dealing with me any differently, but is that working out for you? Is your pack liking it alright?' He reaches forth and takes the edges of his hood, seemingly sort of almost pleased with the way he's getting forcibly hounded and how no, as of right now he's actually not breaking any rules! Or most importantly, hood's not coming off, no flip off-flip on. ' Is this my ticket in, then? You're being awfully nice so it's not like we can't find a fight to attend later and audit it out, since you're being, well, 

so.' He loses track of where he was going with all this, shift a little and dives into land a kiss to his corner of his mouth, then his jaw. '-- Um.'

 He tentatively wraps both arms around himself and, if he allows it, turns just enough so that his back is against the other's chest, and sets them into this weird rhythm of a sway. Weird in the sense that, it might look terribly gaudy on them, but who's to judge. right? 'I thought you knew better than I.'

[nachfrist]

 ' so I take it that you've settled down with this great mess, it can't hurt to put it that way can it.' 

of course it can, in the same way that things can always get worse, but that's kinda how they do, isn't it? even ever so-often he knew what it mean on the know-how. 

 ' I'll ask again, but this means something like you have time for dinner with me. Is that correct, or should I,' he moves in this time, trying to be bold. wraps both arms around one of his, keeping him in a snug hold enough for them both. It was bound to look funny, something instigated by the least threatening out of them but he's resolved he thinks!? he does think, from time to time. Moreso than could be said of any other accessory rival totes around, he could have some say in that. nudging his head against the hooded one's shoulder and hoping to bide time by not making any sudden movements, he pipes up once again. 'call back at a later time. ...'

[fushinbi-deactivated20150521]

     is this a surprise? is it? well, sources are pretty confident on that point, and what a surprise it is. there he was, pulling his own nightly 9 to 5, and out of nowhere! -comes this strange, out-of-sorts man, eyeing his business partner like he’s a scarecrow in a field full of crows. and then, for no reason at all! -he gets pulled away, walked off from a deal in progress, a turn of events that’s probably going to come and bite him in the ass later.

     It’s a bad thing if he was smiling all the way through it, right? sources say…

     and so rival allows himself to be whisked off, nicely surprised despite the out-of-left-field interruption of his business. it was actually pretty important, and not just one of those one-off deals, either (no, this guy was one of those business guys, the kind he really hates but whose money he loves to take). he should probably be pissed, right? and he is, kinda sorta. there’s a burn brewing in the back of his mind, but it’s been immolated by the importance of his, y’know, immediate situation.

     not every day does your partner visit you at work.

     ’you don’t exactly tell me what you spend your days doing,’ he comments, and though he’s got his hands threaded through ashe’s hair, keeping his head down, the laugh is evident in his voice. he scoffs and tilts his head up, looking around. it’s a little too dead quiet. ‘never know; i might just be going on the idea that we’ve got separate affairs! and you wouldn’t be able to say shit to that.’

          and what a load of bs that is.

     he digs his hands through the other’s hair shallowly, tugging whenever he gets a good grip. that kind of staticky feeling of surprise that the guy brought with him still isn’t gone; it actually takes some of the usual edge out of his voice, his gestures. it’s pretty nice!

     he sighs and puts on his best put-out face. it’s not pissed, not happy, but mostly the kind of look he gets when they’re on the verge of something fun.

     ’not my fault if you end up fucked over, by the way,’ he continues, pretty much cooing the last part. agreeable idea, if you ask him. ‘that guy was pretty important.

          ‘congrats, mr. hero; you saved the town from some heartless yakuza, and you’ll probably end up dead (and/or) in deep shit right after me.’ the way he relays it, it basically sounds like a nice vacation. ‘how’s it feel?’

[nachfrist]

 ' Yeah ! yeah. got me by the tongue there, let's hear it for a round of applause, for. -  - think I,' His tone is teetering, but what really brings his nerves into light is the back and forth, even with the unstructured delivery of ---- everything, that's leaving his mouth right about now. '- You are my business, I think that's only fair.' Probably most to blame on the fact he hasn't managed to catch his breath yet, and they weren't really all that much in a surge to make their speedy getaway. He'd had worse than this. 

How do you think he survived those chases, by that he meant not surviving those blown-out marathons of going at each others necks -- or should he say hides. Either way. He always left with scratches. 

'... Course I know what I barged in for.' For being the one that went ahead and pulled out all the stops, to make this main, pivotal course of changed direction to their evening happen, well -- He wasn't very convincing. Now would be a great time to be full of himself. Instead, he reaches into the other's hood and makes a grab for a lock of hair, scanning his face. 

' Yakuza, really?' He presses in, snagging his bottom lip between teeth and tugs, leaving a few more open mouthed, - not messy yet, it's just to relay how desperate he is and it should be working. ' He didn't look like it.' Leaning in again, he darts tongue out and traces along the lines of his gums, dragging it across rows of his teeth. It takes a longer, drawn out and --- pretty unfulfilling moment, when he. decidedly defeated by his own unimpressive technique, he starts laughing into his rival's mouth. This was definitely hitting it off. Pulling away, he shakes his head and his shoulders droop before he can call them back up. 

' Man. Do yakuza always look that inconspicuous? I thought they were supposed to be kind of showy. Take no shit, don't take no for an answer, -- that guy sure did !' He exhales on a breathy spiel of high laughter, -- and he's not exactly all there. Surprise, surprise. ' Or do I need to take some time off with you.

 -- Are we in trouble.' The idea of it all kind of sets him on edge, if they needed to be running, they should be running, now. Shouldn't they?

He lets his eyes flutter closed, stamping a line of dusty kisses along his neck and inhales in gasps,   scattered laughter joining this sad escape to recompose himself. Yeah, this was making it up there to his top-knotch mockeries, well. 

That was fine. That was fine with him, if only he'd resolved this minutes ago. Squeezing at a hand trapped in his grasp, he nuzzles mindlessly -- knocking the hood off the other's head for now. 

He just wanted an answer. 

[nachfrist]

' Aaaalright, you know, as charming as that is! Now I'm sure you're a blessing, or so that's what the mother that bore you fed you --and, I think. No matter though, what I think. Right?' He cocks his head. ' you're both hitting it off greaaaatly, 

 But this is after hours. And unless we're desperate, ' He glances over at Rival, batting his eyes at him once, mouthing " and we're not desperate," letting his eyes flit over this curious specimen. The corner of his mouth twitches up into something of a foul smile; depending on the person it might be in their best interest if he could just focus on toning down the disgust -- he'd like to, but he can't. Not impressed, but more fuming than anything.

 What's this guy? No. Seriously, what's this guy? 

    Nnnnnot off the top of his head, does he look like he's got anything that he ...hasn't, got. - - to you?

And, he's think-speaking to himself again. '- Are we?'

He blurts out, flustered now and in a flurry of hands he works through the best of his grabbiness, taking Rival by the sleeves and yanks him towards him. Make way for insecurities, he's nailed, this one on the head. 

'Can we close up shop for the night, this is getting ridiculous. We're getting you home. You can always call back.' He spins Rival around and puts him in somewhat of a headlock, eyeing the other guy threateningly -Threateningly?

Not so much. 'Shop'll open up tomorrow, 

--- - Yyou, can get out of here. Guy.' He shuffles backwards with the dealer, leader in his arms and makes a cowardice kind of run for it, bolting him in hand from the scene.

A bit out of breath, and a little ways away, he plunks his face into the other's shoulder. 

 '- You should really tell me, next time. before you go out.' 

[fushinbi-deactivated20150521]

     ’i‘d say you’re the one looking to be the life of the party right now.’ funny how that works. the morning person? giddy as can be. him, the one who has to be up around this hour to get any business? about to fall over, maybe. rival pulls a face at the authoritative nature that almost creeps into their conversation (if they’re playing war, then he’s going to need his big guns — and those are at home), but leans into the other anyway.

     it’s not every day that his partner plays nice, either.

          ‘you know fun as well as i do, right? you’ve gotta.’ he tries to pull the same tone that his guy adopted before, and that pulls a grin out of him, too. he pushes away from the other and heads back out in front, but leaves his arm hanging on ashe’s shoulder. he drums his fingers against his neck in thought.

     ’intown is out. good riddance, am i right?’ his grin takes on a beleaguered edge. as much as he loves intown (and as much as he loves scaring the shit out of kids there), it’s not really any fun to attract attention together. and if he pulls something, then it won’t just be his partner he’s answering to. he laughs quietly, but in a fiery sort of way.

          ‘we could go to some of the old military stashes if you’re feeling all rank-and-file.’ he sneers at that, and it’s apparent in his voice. sure, it’s his technical place of business, but it’s never fun to mix business and pleasure. not fun, not ideal, not anything.

     an idea occurs to him. he turns back on ashe.

     ’what about a chase?’ he suggests with a casual shrug of his shoulders. it sounds like the best they’ll be able to get without any chaos to go on. ‘if you’re on a justice trip it can be cops-and-robbersy.

          ‘how about that?’

[nachfrist]

 'Oh, I get it.' He tuts, curling fingers into the back locks of Rival's hair without letting the hood slip, securing it with a grip just short of his bangs.   Wouldn't be very nice, or rewarding to de-armor him off the spot, that's a privilege if anything, and he likes earning that. 

He enjoys seeing his partner comfortable, alright. Just doesn't think that it's, well. Right. To pry someone open like that, and his partner was just any somebody. -- Unless they're playing mean, in that case almost anything goes. He'd like to think that those rules were set by his one and only, always abiding to the ever faithful   He started it. 

It's always nice to know that they've got it just about down to a science - when to call it quits, how to pull the rug from under the other, but it's nothing familiar to ritual. 

In a sense, it is, like the way they gravitate towards each other and no matter how many times they bounce off each other, a night like this can happen again. 

That's his source of comfort, where he draws it all from, but his partner's never to know that. It's sort of a hovering pact, better left unspoken, better not thought about explicitly. 

That's another reason he really, really likes Rival.   He prevents that. Cuts his thoughts off short, because as a matter of fact, it's usually he who ends up running. His attention sparks really, if just for that, with this unforgivably jarring look on his face. -- Because a chase meant, before it could all properly even sink in, that he should be thinking much faster on his feet than the time it took for him to realize: he was about to get into nothing but trouble. 

He owed that much to the hotkey word that sent him lurching, - backing off a few yards at best before he scuffled to a stop. --- He wasn't running just yet, but still light on his feet if he could help it. '- You still positive this is chase weather? If you're game, then I've got to play it. 

 Founding rules, right?' His voice tapers off on something of a nervous keen, clearing his throat. He points up with one arm, ' Though this is the clearest it's been for the past week, if you remember.

I'd say that it's still your call.' 

[fushinbi-deactivated20150521]

     it’s that kind of hour where he feels alive — to be clearer, it’s broaching 3 a.m., when the little kids are in bed and the not-so-little-kids are pretending to be. it’s also the witching hour, hour of the devil, etc. etc., but he doesn’t care about any of that. mostly he just cares about the way that it gets especially dark around this time, when, on the very borders of the city’s heart, bars and strip clubs finally turn off their lights and leave the streets awash in darkness. the neon life of the city itself is aglow about half a mile away.

     it’s pretty. it’s ‘specially pretty when you get far enough out that the city light dies, and all that’s left is the red blinking of some of the apartment lights, warning any stray planes of their existence. witching hour, demons, devils, yada yada. it’s mostly just exciting.

     supposed to be, anyway. right now, he feels like the one that’s dead.

     he breathesin a yawn through his nose, and it comes through as a big sigh, accompanied by a drop of both his head and shoulders. tired. not good, not fun, not ideal.

     he tries to stave off the lethargy by doing a quick jog ahead, turning around and walking backwards to observe his partner-in-crime. he dragged them out of bed for something fun, but so far, there’s no fun (or crime to be had). he strikes down another yawn and reaches his head far above his head.

     ’is this what you usually feel like? it’s no fun,’ he quips, turning this way and that to check out the surrounding area. it’s all dark, and there’s not even a spooky noise to keep them company. what a bore.

          ‘if you want, i can head back home and grab some firepower. we could play.’ he clicks his tongue. ‘anything’s better than this, am i right? am i not right.’

[nachfrist]

 ' Well I don't know, this isn't everyday you complain since you're what, the life of the party? Do they say that? -- You pick quite the hour to come out and look for some excitement when you're, ehm -- 

Uuuusually the source.' He has to think it over, index lining up with his jaw. 'Too drowsy to premeditate that when you came out,' -- or should he say, dragged, him out. 'Were you?' He shrugs, exercising his stale jaw muscles since they'd carved their way into that smile he'd not been able to forfeit since they left the flat. Watch his face get stuck that way, one of these days. 

Not nightmarish at all. '- But no,' He grabs onto Rival's wrist with two of his hands, palming them into place. 'I've got all the excitement I need right here! Quiet night or not. 

 - Or are you just antsy? That's bad. We're going to have to devote this night in that case, to look for a surefire cure.

I want my best partner in his best condition, since he looks his best.

At ease.' He drops the last bit, sort of like a command, but he eases up on the other and draws him in with his arms around his head. 'C'mon. 

What sounds like fun to you? That doesn't require us turning aaall the way back from where we came from.   What do you say?' 

[fushinbi-deactivated20150521]

          ‘help you to help myself? now, there’s a concept.’ he’s conducting two routines, now, between his words and his behaviour. his voice’s more or less smoothed out, taking the gentle crest of a rhetorical question and gliding downhill with the vague air of sounding impressed. he’s not ,actually. he’s craned his head back in a way that shows the light of his eyes, taking a good, long look at his partner. has better got a name? he looks curious, veering on “no”.

     he rocks forward on his heels, releasing ashe’s wrist and freeing both his hands. ‘okay. say I haven’t got a name. we’ll have to work off of other stuff, right?’ his smile quirks to one particular side of his face. ‘like, height. “better“‘d be like, oh….’ his hand jumps to ashe’s right, indicating specifically half his height. ‘about yae high? more or less. looks…’ he pauses like he’s thinking, cracking his knuckles. ‘blonde? tiny. brown eyes, a real looker— and a great chest. guess that means “better” has a different gender?’ he answers his own question with a playful shrug.

          ‘guess so.’

     rival inclines his head like his partner’s done, looking up and not at him. ‘now, let’s see. personality’s important, right? i think… some broad who knows how to shut her mouth would be great. oh, and a girl who can cook. that’d be even better.’ that said, he lets out an airy “oh” sound, gaze focusing back on ashe. ‘—actually. if she had a name, I think it’d be something like ashe… ley.’ he gives a scoff in return. ‘so I guess nothing like you at all, huh? what a shame.’

          ‘but maybe you can still help me out.’

     he pushes himself forward, taking the courtesy of stepping on the other’s shoes and forcing himself into an unnecessary tiptoe. his hood pulls back a little, but he doesn’t pay much attention, instead slapping his hands over the man’s eyes so he can’t see a thing. ust for the hell of it, he drums his fingers against the bridge of ashe’s nose.

     ’can you imagine anybody like that? think real hard.’ he hums a discordant note and digs his heels into ashe’s feet, trying hard not to lose his balance. ‘I’m really counting on you, you know. I’ve been so bored lately, I don’t think I’ll be able to stand it if you can’t tell me.

          ‘help a friend out?’

[nachfrist]

 'That's funny.' He talks through his teeth but oh, it's not the same composure he's used to. What's this tailored nobody, or was that an annoyed tick? To him, it couldn't have mattered much but it did grate on his nerves a little! 'Considering all things I've known on you,' The rest gets lost inside his throat, this was not the time to pull that card so early, was he riled? No, no, no. 

 ' More creative license I've heard in a while, I'll give that to you.' He tugs at the other's hands until he's secured a sure stand on his feet, -- which, he seems to have already got covered. Was he that transparent? One reason, however trivial he couldn't brush this off no problem was it sounded so uncannily identical to someone they both knew. Granted, he wasn't supposed to know much about her but it didn't take an expert to know that she wasn't anything but a throwaway. 

It was still irksome. 

 'cle-ver,' he tuts from the back of his throat and tightens the grip around the other's hips, swinging him full around for a rough tug that takes some impact to his frame. 'Has a nice ring to it, that. Miss Better. ' He yanks him back into a proper hold, ' If this friend doesn't try and play getaway, I just might.

We'll play the spotting game.' With one arm he pulls sharply under both of Rival's knees, hoisting him up with both arms. 

If he didn't like it, he'd surely wrestle himself out of it. 'For now, just sit tight.' He dips the other a little against his propped up leg, bumping noses together in result letting the hood slide back to see more of his face, he scarcely could get enough glimpses of that. 

Though he knew too well it'd cost him, sometimes.