↳ Chapter 3 of a MikoTotsu Week 2016 fic ♔
Exotic Pets & Violent Holiday Philanthropy (& giftwrapping!) | All Chapters |
w.c : 2498 | (AO3)
゜ﾟ･*･゜ﾟ･*･゜ﾟ･*･ﾟ゜ﾟ･*･゜ﾟ･*･゜ﾟ
“Good hustle, wasn’t it King?”
Tatara swung the bag full of holiday cheer on their way down the ill-lit corridor. Mikoto nodded along. If letting Tatara haggle prices with dicey-looking characters, all while he stood behind looking menacing enough to settle the deals, even counted as a hustle.
Whatever made the brat feel excited.
“That watch is sold out everywhere else can you believe it — jailbroken, passed a counterfeit scan, everything. And it looks like we made it all the way through the wishlist! They actually do have it all down here.”
Mikoto stopped to stare into a storefront fishtank. It housed only a pair of eels inside ribboning around each other. The neon above read “Exotics.” The rest of the sub-level mall strip felt dark in comparison; most places there found it wiser not to advertise.
“And a pet shop? We have to go in!”
Mikoto tailed him close, since they hadn’t made too many friends in this place. Plus, it was getting late. But no harm in letting Tatara poke around in one last shop. They had to duck to get in, beneath hanging cages, weaving around stacks of tanks piled high. Overpopulated with an oddball collection of screeching, hissing, cackling animals.
“Look!” Tatara reached down into a pen and pulled out a tawny tan ball of fur. It had been sleeping in a pile of littermates who looked suspiciously tiny in comparison: like a different species. He spread out his paws when Tatara lifted him by the middle.
“Now that’s a kitten,” he awed, “He must be one of those new designer breeds.”
No more than a few weeks old, his cloudy amber eyes followed Tatara’s every move. Round ears, broad nose, and a dramatic black eye-lined look gave his disguise away in the middle of these house cats.
He didn’t know how to “mew” either, but his snout wrinkled with a scratchy “raowl ! ” at this stranger picking him up.
“Just look at these weapons. You’re going to grow into such a big boy,” Tatara squished both paw pads — quite large for his size — gentle to reveal a set of claws. The cub squirmed, curious to sniff him over.
“Anna would love him to bits.”
“Tots’ka,” warned King. He knew he shouldn’t let his vassal entertain the idea, only to be disappointed.
“With a red bow around your neck,” Tatara coddled the tiny beast, who’d begun to teethe its fangs into the two fingers he offered.
“We’ll just keep you at my place, that’s what we’ll do.”
Little dish ears flickered nervous like the florescent lights above. Parrot screams and the roar of metal doors rolling down in the outside corridor seemed to startle him. The crowded, unkempt conditions were the worst of it. There was hardly room for him to move around in the pen with all the others. It bothered Mikoto.
He narrowed his glare at the baby lion, and suddenly plucked him from Tatara's hands by the scruff.
"Don't get attached,” he sighed.
But his actions said otherwise. He let go of the pelt to support the cub's rump and fluffy belly, just right. A brown-tipped tail twitched. He decided he felt secure enough with King to kneed claws into his chest, rubbing back with his furry chin and chirping up at him ... Tatara's soul nearly departed his body. If only returning to let him snap dozens of pictures.
Meanwhile, Yata and his reluctant team hid around a stack of cages. Waiting for a chance. Anna was desperate to run out and meet them, to hold the cub too (to help convince Mikoto to take him home). But she had to keep still.
The trio had an easy time sniffing them out. All they had to do was ask around for where the unmistakable Red King had passed through.
They ducked down when Mikoto stepped by, retreating to the storefront to watch the eels and smoke. He’d handed the furball back to Tatara before its playful cuddling made it impossible to put down, and told him to hurry up. Now everything was out of his sight.
Kamamoto tugged on the hood of Yata’s jacket.
It was just their luck a woman came squeezing through narrow isles to browse their selection of fish; looking as if she’d stepped off the cover of a magazine in her gold and embroidered silk coat. The man she came in with leaned back on the shopkeep’s counter, chiseled yet dull-looking.
Perfect.
Yata and Kamamoto whispered, clumsily, to each other. The girl was too fixated on the baby lion attached to Tatara’s shoulder; it caused him giggles nipping through his soft blond mane to chomp down on his ear.
“Oh no! Don’t eat me~”
Until they handed her a little folded strip of paper, and whispered down the plan. Anna shook off her reservations, and focused. Save Tatara’s life. Save them both.
The woman at the fish tank’s attention flashed down to find wide ruby eyes staring up at her. Between her mittens Anna offer up the strip of paper, then pointed, rather stiff, to Tatara.
“From him?”
Anna nodded. The woman looked over her shoulder at the front counter before kneeling down to her level. Coral lipstick made her smile look softer.
“Thank you very much.”
“Kim! What are you doing?!”
The girl’s heeled boots clicked away fast, gone the second the woman had glanced up at the boom of her client’s voice over the shop. He made his way over before she could shove the folded paper into her pocket.
“Saw that,” he barked at her. “Hand it over. Now.”
He demanded to see what she tried to tuck away.
“A little girl came and handed it to me. I swear. It’s nothing.”
“Awe, a little girl did? ”
Moments later, Tatara found himself grabbed by the shoulder and spun around before he had any idea of the argument going on the background. A guarding embrace went around the cub in his arms before he even considered fleeing or defending himself.
“The fuck d’you think you are, huh?”
“Umm, the wrong guy?”
Tatara’s easygoing voice didn’t give him the fearful response he was looking for. “Is there a problem?”
“You’re the only one else in here, champ. This your number?”
“Wow. That’s weird,” Tatara squinted at the paper shoved in his face, sort of giving himself away. It was definitely his number.
“It’s definitely my number.”
“Great. And I know you wanna’ tell me what it’s doing in my girl’s coat”
“Is this is supposed to be some kind of magic trick?” Tatara leaned back on his heels,
“Are you a street magician? Because this gimmick’s really something I’ve never seen anything like it.”
He guessed it was just an aggressive business to be in these days, because the man’s grip tightened harder on his shoulder. The ball of fur tucked its head down into the cradle of his arms to hide.
“We’ll just take a trip outside, if we wanna’ act ballsy.”
“ ’n something like I’d love to ’s my line next , huh?”
Mikoto’s gravel-deep tone interrupted. He blew out a lungful of smoke and didn’t bother with anything fancy snatching the guy’s hand off his vassal and forcing him back by the wrist.
“Always the same shit,”
Mikoto snarled, broad chest shielding Tatara from view.
“Back off!”
he didn’t think twice about squaring up with the Red King himself.
“Get away from them, what is wrong with you?!”
the woman flung her handbag at the back of the guy’s head, finished trying to hold back for her own safety.
“I see, yeah, let this guy hit on you while you’re out with me. You’re gonna’ regret it,” he gritted at her through his teeth. Before turning his caustic attention to Mikoto, who’d gone stiff, silent at the accusation against his vassal.
Possessive to the core, the Red King held Tatara under one protective arm — he rubbed King’s back gently, so maybe the whole place wouldn’t end up chargrilled
“If that little slice belongs to you I’d keep his leash on tighter,” he flicked the phone number back at Mikoto,
“He ain’t loyal.”
There was nothing Tatara or anything else on earth could do to help the guy out at that point. Mikoto caught him by the shirt collar, and let flame engulf his other forearm. It was all the warning most loudmouths needed to turn peaceful as brahman cattle.
“Look at that, a fucking freakshow…”
Mikoto only smirked. He thought he’d be generous — holiday spirit and all — and take this guy on a vacation outside like he wanted.
Wait for me
He eyed Tatara back before dragging the flailing man out.
And caught a heavenly smile in return: Always~
The woman and vassal were left behind to chat. After apologizing profusely, she could explain her situation once their aggressor was out of sight : she was an escort, and he was an overbearing client overstaying his allotted time with her — quite obsessive. He hadn’t allowed her communication with anyone for days, even her employer. It was a miracle they got involved when they did.
“I was afraid I’d have to spend Christmas with him.”
“It'll… probably be a few weeks before he makes it out of the hospital. So unless you’re planning to visit… no worries.”
Miss Kim looked relieved. Before a lion’s chirp caught her attention.
“You know, this fellow must belong to a zoo breeding program. See that.” she noted the small silver band at the bottom of the cub’s ear.
“We match!” Tatara flicked his own silver earring.
“The numbers engraved in it should correspond with his zoo’s accreditation number.”
The vassal nodded, “Then we could find where he belongs, easy.”
“Let me pay for him,” she decided, “If you promise to take him back to them.”
“Of course,” replied Tatara. “King and I will get you home first thing in the morning. Somewhere with lots more room to grow up.”
Tatara felt Mikoto’s chin set heavy down on his shoulder as he spoke. He smelt vaguely like burning leather. A clear signal that he was done tossing out the garbage and quite ready to leave. The payment was done quick as their harassor had been disposed of, in cash.
They were possession of an actual lion.
But the woman seemed hesitant to step out of the shop alone where she’d intended to part from them,
“I guess I had better get going,”
“Nonsense,” Tatara tugged on Mikoto’s arm, “We’re going to walk you someplace safe.”
“Thank you, really you don’t know how much it means.”
She tried to offer the strip of paper back to him.
Tatara took it only to scribble down another number on the back,
“Keep it. And here’s King’s too. If you need ever need help, it’s no problem.”
Mikoto grunted in agreement. Tatara would let him hold their teething, squirmy gift-for-the-night on the way back. Both he and the cub seemed perfectly happy to follow along together.
゜ﾟ･*･゜ﾟ･*･゜ﾟ･*･ﾟ゜ﾟ･*･゜ﾟ･*･゜ﾟ
The tittering between the two new friends was non-stop all the way to the ride awaiting her above ground. All about how incredible King and his powers were: Tatara’s area of expertise. He even demonstrated a bit of his own talent, bringing the little phoenix to life in his palm to her surprise. The lion cub batted a paw out at the bird as it fluttered, dripping flame, around King’s shoulders.
“That’s it, you two have got to come to my company Christmas party! You have to meet my girlfriend she’d absolutely flip over that kind of thing…”
“Company party? Sounds too professional for us,” Tatara laughed.
She waved him off.
“No way! That’s just what the girls like to call it. Plan on bringing friends!”
“We will!" Tatara waved back. "There’s more fire where that came from!”
Her lively calls reached back to them before she hopped into the cab,
“Thanks so much !”
“You alright?” Mikoto questioned him once they were alone, eyeing his shoulder where he’d been shoved around.
“I’m fine, King, thankyou”
Tatara’s patient tone soothed his worries. “It just reminded me of old times.”
Mikoto half-rolled his eyes, but kept close enough to shield him from anyone passing on the street. He was still feeling protective.
“You would come to my rescue. Before I got so good at running away.”
Two fingers — still marked by little fangs — latched onto two of King’s as they walked the long way home.
“I have to confess,” Tatara hummed, “it’s awful but I would daydream up ways for it to happen again and again.”
It still wound the kid up to feel Mikoto at his most possessive; those surges of muscle and aural energy, so eager to protect his own. Tatara had long been addicted to the way it felt to be close to him during, and after a confrontation. When his body still shivered down with power. He would have felt worse about it if King didn’t live for the occasional fight.
“So what happened t’ running away this time?”
Mikoto mumbled. Content in knowing little pieces of how Tatara used to think of and dream of him. The ways he still did.
“I had my hands full. I wasn’t thinking clearly,”
He stroked the cub’s ears to make sure they kept warm, all bundled up in a scarf in the crook of King’s arm.
“Lions can be troublesome.”
Mikoto guessed he’d let him get away with the insult.
“It would make me feel better if you stayed over tonight. We have all these gifts to wrap; can’t just bring them back to the bar and let everyone see.”
The delicate hold connecting them became a tight, loyal twine of hands.
゜ﾟ･*･゜ﾟ･*･゜ﾟ･*･ﾟ゜ﾟ･*･゜ﾟ･*･゜ﾟ
“Hold a finger right there, still.”
Tatara instructed him to help finish their first bow of the night. Gold silk ribbon tied up soft around him. Mikoto felt somewhat useful here, at least. The few wrappings he’d tried to do alone turned out to be abominations; mostly lumps and too much tape.
The piles of colorful, discarded paper, tissue and ribbon were apparently not enough to entertain their houseguest for the night. The tiny predator sprung out of them where he’d been hiding to tear across the living room floor.
“Prince!”
The baby lion pounced on the package the moment it was done, and dragged it off with his teeth like a kill he’d taken down himself. Tatara’s smile screwed up at his proud strut; his pathetic excuse for a tail wasn’t much help balancing him yet, and he tripped over his own paws.
But Mikoto was scowling again,
“Didn’t I tell y' not to name him?”
They had to take him home to the zoo in the morning.
“He’s Prince,” Tatara shrugged down into his shoulders, “just like King is King. I don’t make these things up. That’s just how it is.”
Ripping sounds from claws and teeth meant they’d have to start all over wrapping again.
Kikuhiko | 25. Fist Fight((rests easy knowing sgrs was confirmed for a 2nd season))1st p | word count: 1063
·●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●·It wasn’t often that I drank myself senseless. When I did, and do still it is always over him.
After a performance, to wash the bile of envy out of my throat, I would go alone. To a far corner and tip extra for my extended stay. I couldn’t return home. Evidence of him infested my flat - clothes and bottles scattered, window breeched to the cold air in the middle of the night. His scent still lay over both of our beds, heady and alcoholic.
The more I drank the closer he felt. And I knew better…And signaled for another.
I worked down the white collar of my shirt, the fourth button giving as if three weren’t enough. Alone here, the room’s warmth and noise wasn’t lively. It was suffocating.
What it needed were more patrons packed in.
“Congratulations!..”someone shouted. The rest was lost in a swell of voices.
The pale liquid spilled over the saucer’s edge in journey to my lips; the laughter and jostling of the group of men that entered crowded nearer until one of them backed into me.
My vision blurred around the edges. But that pressure on my shoulder belonged, undeniably, to him.
“Some spot you picked to hide out. I wouldn’t’ve guessed,” his crowing rattled nerves in me the liquor should have deadened.
It was true - this had to have been one of the filthiest places in walking distance of the theater.
Shin arrived from the after party in the same state I was after polishing off that last drink. He came flanked by new ‘acquaintances’ from our audience. He slurred his words proudly.
I kept my mouth shut, giving him a pretty view of my shoulder, stiffened. A dull pain bowed my forehead into one hand.
“You could’ve stayed around a while and come in with us,” he prodded and leaned harder, an arm slung around me the typical way.
“Don’t you want to know what they’ve been saying about your performance?”
“I’d rather not hear about it.”
“Then you ought to hear about mine.”
It was a lighthearted tease. But I snapped, quietly,
“I saw it. I’ve seen enough for tonight.”
That night, however, I’d disregarded custom and slipped away early. Walking out hardly gave me satisfaction I wanted. It felt childish.
“Fair enough!” he squeezed in between me and another man who looked near as agitated by his volume.
Shin-san’s corkscrew grin twisted knots in my gut. “Buy us a round and I won’t tell you.”
I snatched up my coat and my cane, depending on it to keep upright enough to shove past him.
“Come on, you never go out. Just this once?!”
My jaw clenched, and I pushed through the fabric hanging in the doorway, into the emptying street. I hadn’t realized how bad of a way I was in until the step down from the door threw me off balance, and the world was tossed on its side. My senses lagged in the tumbling forward, and when they caught up again I felt his clumsy hands tugging at me.
He dragged me up from the ground.
“They’ll have to pay you for work as the front doormat before the night’s over.”
There was something more violent in how my forearm dismissed him than our usual scuffling. The words felt caustic in my mouth:
“Get off!”
I will never forget - no matter how the world spun in that the moment - the flash of hurt in his expression. As if I’d slapped him across the face already. His grasp tightened on my sleeve. My slitted eyes focused on his chest; I couldn’t face him.
“Could if I knew some way better to get you to stay.”his voice rose. Then it slowed, and then it lowered,“… and stop staring through me that way.”
This is what I heard him say, if it hasn’t become so twisted by my memory. A moment my drunken heart stored away when he demanded my full attention - his art had always done the job for him. Gripping me tight and drawing me in. Keeping me there, in awe.
Breaking away in the middle of his rakugo, shoving him back over and over tore open a wound in me. Pride, jealousy… their sting was nothing compared to this distance I fought to put between us.
I had yet to conquer those vices.My head swam like in a basin of liquor, and it gave them reign over my tongue-
“Don’t touch me again,”
- then, over the rest of body.
“Follow me home from here and you’ll regret it. Not one more step.”
“Bon!”Frustration darkened his tone and drove him unsteadily forward to turn me by the shoulder. He demanded my eyes on his. He couldn’t understand. My body was too warm, my head was too light, and we were far too close. I wish I hadn't…
A storyteller should fight with words.
Our hands formed fists and swung before we could take responsibility for them. His in answer to mine. Neither had balance enough to keep from clashing, pushing, soon wrestling into violent co-dependency for ground and leverage; a disgraceful sight, I’m sure. Everything after blended, blurred then, until his eye went dark under the stark white of my knuckles. Until I my forearms were handprint-bruised around. He was beneath me, back to the ground.
I can’t be sure, but perhaps he was trying to quiet the intoxicated anger that shook in my hands each time I struck out at him. It could be that my memory has tried to sanctify him at every turn after death.
But this I know for certain: everything ugly pent up within me - what I was too weak to control, too thoughtless to understand at the time - spilled out at once. Until we were dragged apart. The crowd gawked at us; no better than stray dogs cutting teeth on each other in the street.
·●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●·
In the years that followed Shin-san would never admit to recalling that fight. He would plead a blackout and shrug haplessly, teasing in the face of my apology.
“Whatever happened that night, I’ve been in worse.”
I’m sorry.
Let me return to then. Let me tell him, sober on my knees and hands, for everything and everything that was to come.
“do you ever knock?!” prompts⌊ izumo kusanagi x seri awashima((i’m still not buying that she never met totsuka even once, with all that frequenting the bar after work hours…))
゜ﾟ･*･゜ﾟ･*･゜ﾟ･*･ﾟ゜ﾟ･*･゜ﾟ･*･゜ﾟ
“y’know i’ve been waiting forever to actually see this with someone.“
seri cringed at the next saccharine line of dialogue and pulled the blanket closer around herself. sometimes his lines could be awful as the couple on the screen’s. their hands entwined discreetly.
“that is quite possibly the saddest thing i’ve ever heard.”
“awe come on. it’s not that bad.”
“i find it hard to believe there was no one else,” she eyed him with suspicion, “it seems like something your… friend would be into.”
he knew by just the way she implied – the blond and seemingly romantic one.
“not without getting bored halfway through. and chatting the whole time til then.”
“like you’ve been?”
kusanagi returned his glass to his lips and shifted his glance for good measure - tasting the sazerac that likely had more to do with her staying over that night.
seri-chan wasn’t wasn’t wearing makeup; the liquor had stained her lips red, he could tell even in the dim lighting.
“you’re missing the subtitles,” she quipped, noticing his eyes trained softly on her. and for a while.
“it’s english, i’ll be fine.”
it wouldn’t be so terrible, wrapped up in the heavy blanket, she supposed, to relax and settle closer in the curve of his arm. once there, though, she couldn’t take it back. her expression screwed up and softened a little with the gentle bout of laughter she could feel through his chest.
…so he actually was paying attention to the movie…
that moment of buffered touch between them was not to last;
“oh neat, what are you guys watching?!”
the door to the film room - so-called by the one who used it most and was by then crashing their private screening - pushed wide open.
seri’s intuition about totsuka wasn’t wrong in the least. he leaned over the back of the couch fidgeting between them with acute interest.
“i’ve seen this one! the girls on the phone with him were actually the guy’s daughters and-”
“hey totsuka,” kusanagi tugged him down by the shirtcollar. both glasses clinked together as he passed them over one-handed. “since you’re on the clock and all could y’ run and mix another pair’ve these for me? easy on the sugar cubes, please.”
“got it,” totsuka caught on to the hinting and whispered this time, flashing a smile sealed with an index finger at their pretty guest before dashing back out.
“i prefer his sweet drinks, actually,” seri’s tone was suddenly more relaxed than it had been all evening. totsuka was prone to create a comfortable sort of atmosphere around him, that lingered like an alcoholic buzz.
“you could stand learn a thing or two.”
“might be. and after all these years of practice too,” kusanagi’s easy laugh was just enough to invite her close again.
for (belated) MikoTotsu Week 2015 ♔ Touch :
⌊ “On an unsuspecting winter’s night little-tiny Totsuka & Mikoto meet for the very first time & wreak very first havoc together”
He doesn’t want to hold her hand. He doesn’t want to hold anyone’s hand. Not on the train. Not crossing the street. Not anywhere.
And certainly not in the supermarket.
But the mother Suoh’s grip is inescapable. Whether by the wrist or hood of his little jacket. She kneels to lace up his boot again aside the sliding glass door; her eyes, defined by their stern creases underneath, connect with her son’s – a firm suggestion to behave himself.
They find shelter before the heavier snowfall begins to whisper down.
Once inside Mikoto is set free. In concept at least. He pouts down aisle after aisle – past the colorfully cold wall of milks and juices, past grinning brand mascot cutouts – in the few steps he’s allowed behind the tail of her peacoat.
But even the most vigilant mother lions tire of keeping the leash so short 100% of the time. In the wide open produce section he’s given more room to explore as she inspects winter radishes and answers a phone call all at once.
Not that there’s much to look at; Mikoto pulls a mandarin from the bottom of their pyramid display, unimpressed by the avalanche he creates.
The two of them seem to be the only signs of life around so late at night.
Until a shopping cart’s nose pokes out from the end of the last aisle. It draws the boy’s attention squeaking slightly back and forth on its wheels. Mikoto frowns under the florescent light, shoves the mandarin in his pocket.
“Stay where I can see you,” the mother Suoh warns without glancing over.
By then he’s already padding over to investigate. A peek into the aisle reveals the source of the squeaky wheel noises.
“Here ! Here!”
a voice squeaks just the same.
The younger boy in the cart peers down with bright eyes and blond hair dangling over. He’s been jarring the cart back and forth with all his wiggling. The sleeves of his threadbare sweatshirt are too long. He’s been left alone here too long too.
“Please down!”
Tiny hands reach and reach for Mikoto over the side of the cart with all their might. Asking for rescue. For a while all he gets is a steady glare,
before one of those too-long sleeves is grabbed and yanked down – out of sheer curiosity.
Totsuka peels away from the floortiles with a dark forehead bruise and a giggle after toppling out of the cart.
“No.”
Mikoto uses his favourite word as of late. Realizing his grave mistake, he tries backing away, now that this thing he’s released from its cage is free to hunt him down.
It toddles into him on unsteady legs, grabbing hold in a snug embrace around the older boy. Gripping the red-and-black flannel layered beneath his jacket.
And Mikoto thought his mother’s hold was inescapable. The more he pushes and squirms the tighter it clings on. Mikoto bats him on the head a few times for good measure.
“Let… go.”
What’s worse, the little one is fascinated by his hair, and grabs a fistful just to see the pretty red up closer.
Mikoto winces at the tugs. Until he’s had enough, and snatches the other boy’s hand in his own. The pulling stops, the squirming stops; they find agreement in a moment of puzzled blinking at each other. As long as Mikoto holds his hand.
Soon brimming with excitement, Totsuka pulls him to see a box rice crackers he’s had his eye on for a while. He’s a few inches too small to reach. So Mikoto - hardly tall enough himself - climbs up on the first shelf to knock it down and rip it open for him. They work up an efficient system going down the snack aisle : the little one points and nibbles on the spoils and Mikoto, basically, fetches and destroys. A trail of crumbles and gutted packaging marks the path behind them.
Not once do they break their hold on each other.
Mikoto’s never been entrusted with anything so fragile before. With hardly any weight on him, Totsuka is feather light. It makes him easy to drag around.
When the novelty of their raiding game wears off, the patter of small boots and even smaller shoes can be heard all the way to the other end of the aisle.
The pair leans out around the corner.
“Where we’re going?”
Totsuka pipes up.
“Shush.”
“Where where where where-”
The older boy tries smother his mouth with the other hand, but it only amuses his new acquaintance and prompts Totsuka to laugh and try to do the same to him.
The smack of a knife into a cutting board snaps their attention to the men slicing the heads from an evening shipment of tuna.
“Fish?” Totsuka whispers to him this time.
Mikoto imitates his mother’s grumpy tone and gives him a hard tug,
“Stay close.”
Totsuka is happy to do as he’s told. Their sneaking up is sheltered by a wall of live seafood tanks. The bins in front make it easy for two little boys to climb up and look inside. More soft giggles, then the blond one follows the red one’s lead in touching the water.
Vents make the surfaces bubble up in jet streams. The widest, deepest tanks hold fish that seem bigger than even the two of them together; the huge red crabs, though, are Totsuka’s favourites. He’s leaned over the edge, little arm dunked in to try touching one of their pinchers already.
“Hey! Get out of there!” one of the workers shouts from the other side of the tanks.
Mikoto’s scowl threatens them to back off. He bends down to slap the water at the approaching man’s face; when that doesn’t phase them he fires the mandarin in his pocket point-blank, determined to defend his small friend at all costs. All the while Totsuka plays with bubble-eyed rock cod in the next tank over; never once letting go of his hand.
Kitten heels click up from behind in hurrying rhythm. Before Mikoto can throw another handful of fish water his mother has him by the jacket scruff.
“I’m so sorry, please excuse us,” she apologizes as she gathers him up in one arm. Essentially prying the two boys apart.
Of course Totsuka toddles after them as they go. Reflected across the shiny floor. Reaching and reaching. All the way to the front registers.
“Shh,” Mikoto warns him not to get caught as his mother checks out her basket.
But Totsuka decides to be as brave as he was. And follows them all the way out the sliding glass doors where she sets Mikoto down in the snow.
The little one runs to take his hand again – shivering in the cold, no less determined to hold on.
The lady with the very tired eyes bends over to inspect him and his poor state of dress; Totsuka smiles up, trustingly, recognizing the same shade of crimson-colored hair falling over her shoulder.
The mother Suoh’s sigh is visible in the freezing air. She untwines the scarf around her neck, and passes it to her son to wrap around his friend with a bit of guidance (it does get just thrown over the smaller boy’s head at first). The length of wool fabric swallows him up so he can’t see without squirming for a bit. But his shivering goes.
And with this they’re gone too. Tiny hands, fluttering brown eyes reach out to find only footprints in the parking lot snow.
Mikoto frowns, as usual, with his last glance behind.
“You can play with your friend later.”
“Later” would come around. But not when either would remember there was a “before”.
for MikoTotsu Week 2015 ♔ Laughter | Fun :
⌊ “Homra Pizza Parties are known to be the illest, but not without a little startup ambition”
(fic) Mikoto Suoh x Totsuka Tatara + fam
((Parent lions journey out to bring back food for their young))
1331 w | ♪ (lmao is this not-) | AO3
゜ﾟ･*･゜ﾟ･*･゜ﾟ･*･ﾟ゜ﾟ･*･゜ﾟ･*･゜ﾟ
The sound of a torrential storm battering the glass interrupted Mikoto's nap schedule. He peeked over the back of the couch, and narrowed his eyes at the offending sound. Nothing was visible outside through the sheets of rain going sideways. The roar of the wind threatened to shake the bar down. Mikoto yawned.
A long groan from his stomach answered back. It dragged him into the kitchen to start gutting out the fridge. On the hunt for something particular.
“What should we do for food tonight? Since I kind of... forgot to go out for groceries,” Totsuka rubbed at the back of his neck.
With a barren fridge, a typhoon outside, and a Kusanagi out of town their options were limited. Empty boxes with scraps of cheese left haunted Mikoto from the counter.
“Pizza.”
“Now King, you've had leftover pizza for the past four meals,” Totsuka checked the hollow cabinet next. “It's time for something different don't you think?”
Totsuka felt a heavy chin on his shoulder, pressure in curve of his neck. An embrace from behind pulled him tight and warm with hands on his middle – flush together in his king's hour of need.….
“Pizza Prince? Yes I'd like to make an order for three large bacon, two winter crab with curry sauce, a pineapple, shrimp, and... barbecue? Um, the sausage-crust mascarpone 10 meat supreme, and one of your seafood topping specials, please.”
Totsuka (tried to) read from the list the rest of their stranded crew put together, handed up from Anna herself. He still wasn't sure Mikoto needed ten different varieties of meat...
“Oh and it's for delivery,” Totsuka chirped.
“Sorry our delivery service's done for the night. Road conditions are too dangerous to let the drivers out” – “Yeah it's only supposed to get worse out there”
They got the same story everywhere Totsuka called. Anna peered over his shoulder, watching him cross the names of pizza places off the take-out directory. On the last try he made the mistake of turning to King when he should've known better. Soulful amber eyes looking for pity in his own, and promising reward for his bravery.
Order: placed for pickup.
Totsuka stole the car keys from their hidden hook under the counter. The emergency keys. For emergency rides in Izumo's car...
“It'll be fine. It's not that far from here.”
He reminded as he buckled himself in. Mikoto slouched in the passenger's seat against the window smoking away.
With the car pulled out into the alley, out under the downpour, the backseat door suddenly opened. And in on a violent gust hopped Yata and Kamamoto. Both drenched, too impatient to wait.
“We'll help carry the boxes in!”
“Yeah ‘specially with all the rain.”
The sparkle in their eyes knew they'd get to the food first.
This is alright – said Totsuka's nerves of steel. As he drove on he could only see a few feet in front of him. Mikoto scowled, the cigarette hanging from his lips damp from the rain blown in.
“King, can you watch that side for me?”
“For what?”
“For– Anna!”
The little girl reached between them to play with the music volume dial like usual. She'd hidden under Kamamoto's jacket tail to sneak in.
Hearing her sneeze worried them both, so Mikoto pulled her into the safety of his lap and wrapped her up snug in his long blue coat.
A screech of wheels followed up by a blaring car horn sounded from their left side. Totsuka's sudden break threw everyone forward; he'd turned out into the street too early. The rain was thick enough to mask the flash of the oncoming car's floodlights.
“For that maybe,” Totsuka sighed, feeling Kamamoto attached to the back of his seat like a terrified cat. The smaller boy clung to him in turn.
“Oh,” said the Red King. He realized.
“We're fine, we're fine let's just pull up here.”
Totsuka merged them onto the expressway, attention fixed behind. No one was coming, that he was aware of, so he picked up speed. Lessons of experience always took a few times to sink in.
If anyone noticed the car hydroplaning sideways they were too paralyzed with fear to say anything.
Anna nodded along with Izumo's old-man-music selections of irrelevant smooth-jazz.
“Totsuka-saan,” Yata whimpered at the bright beacon signaling fast food through the deluge up ahead. Next exit! And suddenly everyone pressed to the glass. They would die without it.
By the defective logic that “a little something will hold them over so the pizzas will survive the trip home!”
Totsuka ended up with a receipt a mile long for supersized drinks, burgers, and extra large fries. He ended up wet from hanging out to a drivethru window too. The paper crown tilted on Anna's head matched the one she'd decorated Mikoto with. She gave him one fry at a time from the bag, rationing between him and the ones she offered their chauffeur. Very efficient. The two in the back lay sated, full to bursting, in a pile of a wrappers by the time the green-white-red flashing neon of their destination came into view.
“Stay in here with her, King. No need for Anna to get back out in the rain.”
And no argument there.
“Let's go team~ time to help with those boxes!”
Totsuka clapped his hands together cheerfully
only to illicit a chorus of groaning.
Unfortunately for them there were times when Totsuka could be extremely persuasive.
….
Swells of laughter and stereo music inside harmonized with the “waterfall” sounds hitting pavement. Heavy rain created a curtain from his barsign to step through into shelter. Izumo shook out his umbrella; it's so nice to come home and open the door to
stacks on stacks of pizza boxes. Leaning towers and arches of pizza boxes, cheap beer boxes, tipping precarious over each other. All over his bar.
“They had to close down early so lots of orders got canceled,” Yata elaborated with his mouthful, upside down on the couch. “These were all on the house!”
The bartender slid into a half-grin in spite of his instinct to panic.
Mikoto Suoh, the anti-king king, irritated by any special treatment or displays of servitude...
tilted his head like for a passionate french kiss, for dripping cheese; Totsuka, perched on the next stool over, was feeding him a slice by hand with the other held under his chin.
Izumo's attempt to walk out laughing and leaning against the doorframe was met with a happy uproar.
A few of their more inebriated clansmen tried lifting him up under the arms, ushering the bartender to have a seat at the “throne” beneath an elegant arch of boxes.
“I put your new champagne flute display in its case, all safe,”
Totsuka licked the sauce from the back of one hand.
“What, you mean it's missing the party?” Izumo ruffled Anna's hair with a wry look to their appointed guardian in his absence.
“It's feta and pesto, with marinara on the side,” Anna explained about the slice she handed him on a proper plate. Only after her little smile gave away it was going to be his absolute favourite.
“So I think you guys might know me extensively.”
“Not saying I put that order in but –” Mikoto stretched, smug, back on the bar so his arm could fall around his vassal. Totsuka wasn't so talkative then. Nevermind the drinks, the good company. King's chest was very warm, and every word was like a deep purr from the depth of it– and Totsuka was moreso content with being needed, and oh-so close.
Needless to say if anyone was the most satisfied that evening it was the pair of them. The one who'd brave anything to give the Red King his way, and the one who couldn't live without him.
“Settles it then Mikoto, you're in charge've catering the rest of our parties.”
Izumo wasn't going to think about how many months they'd be having leftover pizza from then on.
for MikoTotsu Week 2015 ♔ Lazy Days | Night In :
⌊ A little grooming never hurt to pull King out of another slump...
(fic) fem!AU Mikoto Suoh x Totsuka Tatara
780 w | AO3
゜ﾟ･*･゜ﾟ･*･゜ﾟ･*･ﾟ゜ﾟ･*･゜ﾟ･*･゜ﾟ
Tatara pushed her oversized sweater sleeves up past her elbows.
"Ready for the special deluxe service?"
Suoh managed a grunt. She wasn't much for being fussed over, but her hair had become a problem lately. There was just so much of it. Her kingly mane swept back high with volume, and tumbled down past her shoulders, to the chest.
But the more she slept and neglected to take care of it, the more it severely it tangled. It'd happened again, in the wake of another rough patch, of locking herself away to try dealing with her powers alone. Sometimes she refused to be a burden. And sometimes the most she'd let Tatara do for her
was this.
"I'm going to run a bit of conditioning lotion through. Then we'll brush it out. No trimming, unless you'd like me to," Tatara's soft-spoken voice carried through the steps as she rolled out her styling tool case on the bed. Her every word and every move held the Red King in a soothing trance.
"I won't try anything fancy, this time, promise" Tatara crossed her heart, played with a few strands between her fingers, "I just want King to feel better."
She guided Suoh to lay back between her legs. The closer they were the better she could do her job. Her thighs peeked out on either side from the lumpy bottom hem of the sweater.
"It's fine,"
Suoh drew a stabilizing breath at the fingertips massaging aura-warmed lotion through her hair. Tatara's vinyl player on the dresser made soft, smooth crackles in between tracks of lively French rock. It seemed to ruffle the curtains with its swelling sounds, out from the open window and into the night.
"Do you like it? The last time Kusanagi went to Europe she picked them up from an estate sale in Toulouse. "Everyone there's getting into records again."
Suoh's expression wrinkled. The vintage camera lay beside it, as if they were a couple.
"What's with all the old stuff?"
Most people just used digital cameras, digital players. Things that are easier to replace or fix if they get damaged.
"Not out of any opinion they're better but- they have some character don't they?"
"Guess so."
Whatever that meant for inanimate objects.
"And I like their sound. And the way my camera's picture is so grainy and sometimes sort of fuzzy. It just feels like that's how memories are supposed to look. They're not always so clear."
Tatara went by one handful of long red strands at a time, protecting Suoh from her pulling strokes with the brush. Every time she had to pull a bit too hard on accident she apologized to King; who honestly didn't mind a little rougher treatment for once.
Tatara took the clip she'd been holding in her mouth. It was especially amusing to put sections of their hardened gang leader's hair up in a topknot pouf.
"King, you're sliding off," she giggled. Suoh had grown bonelessly relaxed and was slipping from the bed in her terrible posture off the side; a sliver of her tan belly peeked out from under her white v-neck. Tatara had to get up on her knees to drag her back to the middle. She huffed and puffed at the extra weight, but won. Without any help.
"No shorts, huh?"
just had to be pointed out. Sometimes one couldn't help it with all that lacy silk suddenly in their face.
"I should charge extra for physical labor and for looking at those"
Her vassal cracked a knowing smile and gathered her back up close in her arms.
"Put it on my tab."
"You're certainly racking up a big one."
Tatara rubbed more creamy lotion between her hands, only to smooth it back into freshly detangled locks. The lavender scent clung to her even after the excess had been all used up.
"No wonder I have only old things, I never get paid."
"C'mere. I'll pay while you finish." Suoh eased into the deeper voice, sinking back down to lay on the bed, still positioned between her thighs. And actually took the initiative to rub them down.
Her client's request would make it very difficult to finish in a timely manner; the brush trembled in her hands above, trying to work out the knots at the tips that fell to King's chest in strokes that quickened and quickened. Before she had to drop them completely to cling onto the bedcovers, to Suoh's firm body, whining and squirming and not doing her job.
The neglected vinyl was left to spin, ready to be flipped to the other side. Only, the red king preferred a different track of sounds.
for MikoTotsu Week 2015 ♔ Angst :
“because the red king found it within himself to love something to the point of undoing.”
⌊ (( my (short) take on the classic timeline split where totsuka survives his gunshot wound. ))
(fic) Mikoto Suoh x Totsuka Tatara
1445 w | AO3
゜ﾟ･*･゜ﾟ･*･゜ﾟ･*･ﾟ゜ﾟ･*･゜ﾟ･*･゜ﾟ
“evening dosages received for : floors b… c…. d”
the helper robot’s voice chimes. it lifts the tray of medicine vials onto the desk. apart from the mechanical sound of its movement, the hospital’s 4th floor hall is silent.
“thank you”
the nurse’s dismissal cues it to roll away. she sets to work making sure each vial was taken; focused so that the figure shoving through the double doors passes without attention - at first. suddenly the weight of his footsteps, the searing effect of his presence causes her to stutter out,
“sir? excuse me, but do you have a visitor’s permit?”
a gut feeling warns her he doesn’t. perhaps it’s the smoke. or the disheveled mane of hair that sizzles wild with sparks from the ends. leaking, radiating something deadly.
a sickness unlike any she’s ever witnessed.
no other light, but the embers in his eyes. he pauses before one of the room doors. shoulders fallen, a hand laid on the knob.
“please let me know if you need anything,” she calls, “there are extra blankets and pillows in the cabinet - if you’re staying.”
an unholy red glares back, before slipping away into room 403. the nurse’s hand still hovers the emergency call button. but can’t.
there is a sickness consuming him alive.
…
the flowers have all been taken away. weeks ago they covered every conceivable surface of the room.
“they’re beautiful! but they’ll just go to waste here” he smiled for everyone, “if it’s not too much trouble, keep them watered and healthy for when i come home!”
mikoto suoh is only a husk of himself, come to haunt over the edge of the bed in the middle of the night. watches to make sure each shallow breath follows the last.
until he can’t stand anymore. he sinks down into the chair pulled close enough to lay his head down on the threadbare hospital sheets.
a spray of pink carnations and baby’s breath would do more good in his place. among the iv tubes, the tangles of cord, a pair of upturned wrists pale as the bedclothes, as the sterile white tile walls.
hands find the strength to move, and to vaguely touch. on contact they relieve the tension in king’s shoulders he’s all crumpled up into.
those hands are weaker than ever before. but they always rise to the occasion.
“ah, i know what these are~”
totsuka’s voice twines into the strings & muscle of his heart, the way his fingers twine with the two long, stray hairs fallen across king’s forehead.
“but this is different”
totsuka’s palm moves down to graze king’s unshaven cheek. it’s a shame he has to feel him like this.
“you didn’t scare the nurses in the lobby did you?”
mikoto sighs out his lungs and is slow to open his eyes as totsuka caresses over every part of his face. it’s a routine check.
“i meant with breaking in here after visitor hours,”
totsuka’s breathy giggle isn’t enough. the red king aches for his real laughter.
“not with the stubble. the stubble is so nice.”
mikoto can’t see his frown when his thumb passes lightly under each eye. the deepened lines and beds of dark circles tell stories of sleepless nights. the fresh scar on the left side reads “broken glass” and totsuka wants so badly to ask why. but he won’t ruin this calm space.
with its blank walls and medical equipment, the dark world out beyond the window - it may not be comforting to look at, but he’s happy to share this room with king. totsuka strokes through the tangle of red hair next.
“i’ve missed you. even when i sleep i miss you… i want to be with you”
confessions spill in near-whispers from the confines of a hospital bed. it’s all totsuka can do. having brushed so close with death, his filter is as broken as his body.
“why?”
the red king’s murmur is sharp-edged.
“because when i was born, twenty two years ago, it was to be with you. and when i’m not - i might as well be watching … everything from the window of a train,”
pain-drugged thoughts swim in his head and drip out of his mouth all disconnected. silky light brown hair touches mikoto’s forehead when he moves closer.
“it blurs, and ices over. always moving. until i arrive where you are, and it’s home. everything is still, and warm, and safe. and you give me my purpose.”
they pulled a bullet out of you. and i might as well ’ve put it there myself.
mikoto is deaf to all but this. and shudders, terrified, until his vassal strokes it out of him. he’s spent years letting totsuka lull him into disconnect. it feels so good like reality isn’t.
don’t forgive me, brat. not this time.
he strangles the bedclothes in his grip. totsuka tatara needs his legs for quick escapes. to carry that fragile body from danger; the kind that will chase mikoto and those he keeps near him for as long as he lives…
for as long as he lives.
you want me to protect you? protect everyone? there’s one permanent way i can figure.
mikoto’s stare glazes over instead of telling him these things. fixated on the blinking face of the pulse monitor.
once a king starts to think about dying, some say he’s already halfway there. and the way he’d go out of this world has been constant on his mind. somewhere out of the way. he’ll leave totsuka and the rest of their clan, their ill-purposed family, behind to live. not staring up from hospital beds. or wooden boxes.
“ ’m going”
but he doesn’t move.
“and where are you going, my king”
“away”
“ah, i see.”
with all the strength left to him he tries pushing the covers from his upper half.
“well. you might have to carry me out. my legs don’t really want to work yet.”
and it seemed that no one knew if they ever would again. the bullet paralyzed from the waist down.
“it’s about time too. i’d go back to eating weeds before hospital food”
“totsuka.”
listen to me, brat.
there’s a suffocating tightness in the red king’s throat.
he’s got to be the mikoto that everyone fears; that has no one, in the end. he cannot be shackled down or backed into a comfortable corner by a tamer’s hand. ‘cause he can sense the bad company he lures: the red on their teeth and the glow of their eyes - a color he can’t describe yet. they’re melted into the shadows at totsuka’s back as he fawns, bleeding, over his king. waiting to finish the job the bullet couldn’t quite.
they are too elusive to drag out and kill. there is not enough time. and they will not relent.
merely because the red king found it within himself to love something to the point of undoing. he understands now: if he can’t scare it away from danger, there is no choice but to run.
“when i go i won’t call for you. i won’t come back. get it?”
it goes still between them.
totsuka, who is always so full of replies and ways around everything, has nothing left then. he’s could feel what king had come to say from the moment he entered the room.
eyes turn down to his lap and his hands smooth out the wrinkles in the blanket there. as if there is something he could do to make it softer.
i am made for you
and you are made for me
he doesn’t know what to do with himself otherwise. and it tears mikoto to pieces to watch him form a painful little smile and rest back into the pillow. it’s alright to lie and to lie by omission. it’s okay. there is no happiness to be found in realizing the way things are.
but -
i understand. i know. you want to find some distant place to let it fall.
i’m sorry.
but stay. i’ll fix this. i’ll be careful from now on. it’s my fault, it’s mine.
i love you. i’m sorry.
please carry me with you if you have to go. i’m so selfish…
you’re going home to see your flowers. and i’m going to protect you.
they’ve never needed words. they lie like dead men side by side, lost in the clearer language of each others’ eyes and touch.
stay.
only morning light will tell if the red king makes good on his promise to disappear without a trace.
or if those frail hands can keep their grip on the chain
coiled around his neck.
