Chapter Text
Ichiro grabbed Samatoki’s wrist to get his attention.
“Look, Samatoki! Street dancers!” Ichiro exclaimed, already leading Samatoki to the edge of the fairly large crowd of people watching the dancers perform.
Samatoki followed him with little resistance, his unaffected expression quickly shifting to one of interest. The dancers were rough in some areas, and certainly not trying to dance in sync in others, but their freestyling was enthralling, and Ichiro found himself cheering them on along with the crowd. It wasn’t until after the performance ended and the crowd dispersed that Ichiro realized he had never let go of Samatoki’s wrist. Ichiro let go of his wrist like he had been burned once he realized. Samatoki stared at him weirdly but didn’t say anything.
“Can you dance?” Ichiro asked, trying to cover up his embarrassment and avoid thinking about how slim Samatoki’s wrist was in his hand.
“Hm? A little.”
Ichiro laughed. “What, are you trying to be modest?”
“Then what about you, huh?”
Ichiro smirked. “Of course! Before the Party of Words took over, I was already involved in the hip-hop scene. I’d say I'm a better rapper than I am a dancer though.”
Samatoki smiled around a cigarette. “Heh, maybe you should take a break from rapping and show me your dance skills instead?” He took a deep inhale of his cigarette as Ichiro contemplated his answer.
Ichiro flashed him a cheeky grin. “Are you asking me to shake my hips for you Samatoki?”
Clearly not expecting that kind of answer, Samatoki spit out his cigarette in surprise. He doubled over and began to cough, the smoke getting stuck in his lungs. Ichiro patted him on the back as he tried to recover, wondering where exactly that burst of courage had come from.
When Samatoki finally managed to catch his breath, he looked up at Ichiro with wide eyes. “Since when did you become able to make jokes like that?”
Ichiro snorted. “I was a delinquent, and I worked for a crook. People said stuff like that all the time.”
Finally recovering, Samatoki returned to his full height. He had a weirdly serious look on his face, which wasn’t quite the reaction Ichiro had expected. “Did people make those kinds of jokes about you?”
Ichiro didn’t really like this line of inquiry, but he decided to answer Samatoki anyways. “Yeah, they did. Especially the goons who worked under that dirt bag. Whenever I would go to see him, they would say I was probably spreading my legs for him, or whatever. I usually just ignored them.”
Samatoki’s brow furrowed. “It’s one thing to brush off what other people say about you, but why reduce yourself to that level?”
“What are you trying to say?”
“I’m saying don’t talk about yourself like you’re some cheap whore, Ichiro!”
Ichiro blinked at Samatoki, his words settling slowly in his mind. “Why are you taking this so seriously? I was half-joking, Samatoki!”
“And it’s a piss poor excuse for a joke.”
“And if it wasn’t a joke?”
“Hah? What do you-“
He grabbed Samatoki by the wrist again and pulled him in, their noses almost brushing.
“I was serious.”
Samatoki’s lips slightly parted as he stared into Ichiro’s eyes. Their faces were so close Ichiro could feel the moisture from Samatoki’s breath on his lips.
“You’re serious.”
Ichiro blushed, the reality of what he just admitted finally hitting him full force. Even though he was already eighteen, he could already hear Samatoki saying “I’m not into brats.” and the thought terrified him.
“Dumb brat,” Samatoki mumbled. Ichiro braced himself for the rejection, his chest already aching from the imminent heartbreak.
Instead, Samatoki said, “C’mon, let’s talk somewhere else.”
Ichiro nodded, feeling not quite brave enough to saying anything just yet. Samatoki eventually guided them to their regular hangout in Ikebukuro. Samatoki pulled the key from his pocket and unlocked the door. Ramuda and Jakurai were both busy today, so they had set up a meeting about their next battle for Sunday evening, meaning as soon as the door closed behind them, they were completely alone.
The awkwardness quickly began to accumulate the longer they stood there, kind of staring at each other expectantly, as if waiting for the other to say something first. Ichiro, for all his boldness earlier and eloquence while rapping, found himself lost for words.
“Well, what are you waiting for?” Samatoki snapped as he crashed onto the couch, sending little dust particles dancing in the air.
“W-What do you mean?”
Samatoki lit a cigarette and took a drag, letting the smoke fill the space between them. He gave him a smoldering look, his eyes half-lidded and expectant. “Shake your hips for me, Ichiro.”
Ichiro had always felt second-hand embarrassment when watching the couples in romance anime fumble around each other, but now that he was in their shoes, he wondered how they survived scenarios like this. All Ichiro could do was nod mutely before connecting his phone with the speakers they had set up opposite of the couch. He found himself shuffling through song after song, his brain not quite registering what he was about to do but at the same time wanting to make sure it was a perfect seduction all the same.
When he finally landed on a song he felt was right he shrugged off his jacket, leaving him in a plain white tank top and started to play it over the speakers. He took a shaky breath as the intro started. Then he started to move, rolling his hips to the rhythm. It was a slower song in the beginning, not the typical hip-hop he was used to dancing to. It was sensual and slow, and Ichiro danced accordingly, sliding his hands down his body as his hips swayed to the beat.
It must have been only a minute into the song when Samatoki put out his cigarette and walked over to him. Ichiro faltered, unsure of what he was supposed to do in this situation. Samatoki came up behind him and put his large hands on Ichiro’s hips. They were so close Ichiro could feel his chest against his back. “Keep going,” he said quietly, his thumbs tracing circles on Ichiro’s hips. Ichiro obeyed wordlessly, establishing an easy flow as the music picked up. The sensation was totally different as he felt his body grind against Samatoki’s, the friction sending a thrill up Ichiro’s spine.
Samatoki kissed his nape, his lips lingering there as he slid his hands underneath Ichiro’s shirt. Ichiro gasped softly at the skin contact as he felt his hands on his bare hips.
“Samatoki,” Ichiro breathed. The places where Samatoki was touching him sent him into a frenzy of sensation, his nerves alight and his body eager for more.
Samatoki kissed his ear. “So beautiful, Ichi,” he cooed as he began to roll his hips into Ichiro nice and slow.
They stayed like that for the rest of the song (a long one, thankfully) with Samatoki planting kisses down the slope of his neck down to his shoulder as they continued to grind into each other. When the song finally ended, Samatoki stepped back, letting his hands slide away from his body. Ichiro had to resist letting a whine leave his mouth as he did.
Ichiro turned around and wrapped his arms around Samatoki’s neck. He tried to play it cool and smile as if he had just given Samatoki a normal performance, but Ichiro was sure the heat he felt in his cheeks betrayed him. “So? What’s the verdict? You think I could make it as a dancer?”
Samatoki grinned sharply as he put his hands on Ichiro's hips. “I’ll admit you’ve got some skill, but I think you’ve got more potential as my lover than as a dancer, don’t you think?”
Ichiro let his hands slip from around Samatoki’s neck to his chest. “Y-You’re serious? You…want me?”
“I do.” Samatoki bumped their foreheads together, as if to gently scold him for thinking otherwise. “I love you.”
“Me too,” he whispered. “I love you too.”
“Can I kiss you?” Samatoki asked.
“Yeah,” Ichiro said shakily. “I’d like that.”
Samatoki tilted his head down and Ichiro lifted his chin, their lips meeting in the middle in a kiss. Ichiro trembled at how gentle his lips were against his own. Something about the rough, vulgar, and frequently violent Samatoki kissing him so tenderly shook him to his core. He had never felt like this, not with his brothers or anyone else.
When they finally pulled away, Samatoki brushed a piece of hair behind Ichiro’s ear, his touch featherlight and reverent. Ichiro wove his trembling fingers into the hair at Samatoki’s nape and tugged lightly. “Again,” he breathed.
Samatoki brushed his thumb over his jaw and kissed him again, this time lingering a bit longer before pulling away.
“Again,” Ichiro demanded immediately after their lips parted.
Samatoki chuckled, his eyes filled with mirth. “I’ll kiss you as many times as you want.”
“Promise?”
“Promise.”