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The moment lasts a little too long, Samatoki keeping the end of his cigarette pressed to Sasara’s long after the ember has passed over. Samatoki’s eyes smolder brighter than the end of his cigarette and they’re locked on Sasara.
Sasara’s the first to pull back. “Cheers for that.”
Samatoki straightens up as well, closing his eyes and taking a long drag. “So what now?"
"Good question. Finding a new comedy partner’s not exactly been a roaring success, if you don’t mind me saying.”
Samatoki snorts.
“But it’s not like there’s anybody waiting for me back home either.” Which isn’t completely true; he definitely has a few emails from his long-suffering agent he hasn’t replied to because he’s not ready to admit that Sasasama weren’t exactly the wildly successful manzai act he initially let on. But that’s not enough. He’s in no rush to go back to that echoingly empty room and the work that he loves but can’t see a way forward in anymore. He left Osaka to figure out a way to move on, and if he goes back now he’ll be admitting failure. “I’m a free man, I suppose.”
Samatoki takes another puff and closes his eyes. “Come home and meet my sister.”
Sasara chokes on his own cig. “Eh?”
“We can’t keep hanging around here or it won’t be much use as a safehouse. Especially now that both of us have pissed off the police. And Nemu’s got this idea in her head that you’re my savior or something. So come over to our place for dinner.” Samatoki’s eyes snap open and narrow accusingly at Sasara. “Don’t get any ideas.”
“No, no, wouldn’t dream of it!” Sasara waves his hands defensively. “I’m sure she’s a lovely girl, I mean, but I’m not -- I’m not on the market right now.” Also not exactly true. Technically he’s never precisely been off the market, but he’s … well. He can’t exactly say he’s married to his work these days. But he has no plans for romantic entanglements if he can avoid it, nor does he have any plans to end up on the wrong side of Samatoki’s fists again. (She’s also definitely too young for him, from what he’s managed to work out from the handful of times Samatoki’s talked about her. But bringing attention to her youth feels like it’ll just make Samatoki more protective.)
And Sasara’s already proven he can’t hold a partnership together, hasn’t he? No, he’s definitely not looking to date anybody. The last thing he needs is more memories to haunt him on rainy afternoons.
Besides. Being free to pursue whatever interesting opportunities he stumbles into has worked out pretty well for him lately.
Samatoki stubs out his smoke. “Get your shit together. We’re going.”
*
Nemu, as it turns out, is still out for the day. “School stuff,” according to Samatoki.
“Why’s she out at ‘school stuff’ when her beloved brother just got out of jail?”
“She doesn’t know I was in jail,” Samatoki mumbles. “And you’re not going to tell her.”
“I got it, I got it,” Sasara says. “If anyone asks, we were out on the lash all night.”
“Y-yeah,” Samatoki agrees hesitantly. “That’s probably still an improvement.”
“At the second bar, you broke a chair over a big guy’s head,” Sasara continues, miming as he improvises. “Because he was disrespecting women. And then … his guys tried to jump you, but pow! You knocked them out without even looking behind you.”
“Sasara.”
“And I made some absolutely devastating quips, like--”
“Sasara. You are not telling her I’ve been fighting, for any reason.” The grip on Sasara’s shoulder makes it clear Samatoki is not entertaining arguments on this.
“Crystal, crystal. It was just a perfectly peaceful all-night sesh. She must notice all the bruises and stuff, though.”
“Eh, they barely laid a hand on me today.” Thanks in part to Sasara's distraction, neither of them points out. It feels nice anyway. Been a while since he had someone riffing off him. “Anyway, that’s my problem. You just focus on not making things worse.”
“That’s me, Nurude Sasara, well-known not making things worse guy.”
“Anyway.” Samatoki always walks like he’s approaching someone he's considering punching in the face, no matter how incongruous the situation. Now he stomps through his surprisingly pleasant apartment and pushes open a door, gesturing for Sasara to enter. “We’ve got a spare room. It’s just a folding bed, but you can stay here while you figure things out.”
“Ah, you don’t need to--” Sasara starts.
“Look. I know you’re some big shot out west and you can afford to stay in a hotel indefinitely, but I’m not the kind of guy that can’t repay a favor.”
“In that case … much obliged.”
Sasara sets down his one bag and surveys the space while Samatoki fiddles and curses at the bed’s folding mechanism. It’s basically a boxroom, but he’s stayed in worse on tour. He might as well accept the hospitality for a day or two while he sorts out his next career move. And it beats having to blag his way into Samatoki’s office when he needs some inspiration.
“There.” Samatoki wins his battle with the apparently sticky mechanism, successfully flattening it into a bed.
“You know, if that’s as hard to fold back into a couch, you’ve got a twofold challenge.”
Samatoki stares at him. “They’ve got low standards for humor in Osaka, do they?”
“You wound me, sir.” Sasara swoons, mostly as an excuse to flop down on the bed. It’s surprisingly comfortable. Samatoki’s an intimidating guy, but he can be relied upon for quality. God knows how he makes the money to afford it all. Something extremely illicit, certainly. Sasara probably shouldn’t be so excited about the idea of finding out more.
“I need a shower,” Samatoki informs him, taking his jacket off and folding it carefully before leaving it atop a cabinet. “I smell like jail. Amuse yourself for a bit.”
Sasara can’t help sneaking a look at the jacket once he hears the shower running. He’s never really seen it off of Samatoki. The leather shows a few signs of wear, but it’s soft and well cared for. As rough around the edges as Samatoki can be, it’s clear he looks after the things he cares about.
Maybe Sasara buries his nose in it and takes a deep breath. Maybe it smells of tobacco and smoke and leather polish and Samatoki. So what.
He hangs up his suit jacket and flops back on the bed. It’s been what, a week since he got to Tokyo? He’s completely lost track of time. It doesn’t feel like it matters how long it’s been, anyway. He’s still young. He knew it would be hard to replace Rosho. Maybe impossible. A few years surrounded by comedians couldn’t do it, after all, and this is famously humorless Tokyo.
Maybe he isn’t replaceable, not really. Maybe there is no way forward that doesn’t leave those scars intact on his heart, as much as he’d wanted to be able to simply drop someone new into the space where Rosho used to be and go on with all the memories overwritten. Somehow that thought doesn’t hurt quite as much as it did a few weeks ago.
He hasn’t really looked for anyone else since meeting Samatoki, though, if he’s honest with himself. Even knowing Samatoki can’t share a stage with him, at least not if he doesn’t want to be carried off in a stretcher at the end of the night. Not that he’s had a lot of time to look, what with running around spying on gang leaders and willfully obstructing police officers. But he hasn’t wanted to, either. Sasara trusts his instincts for interesting people and those instincts are still going wild over Samatoki.
There’s no more precise way to say it. Samatoki is interesting. Most people have the same anxieties and self-delusions just below the surface. Sasara can see what they’re going to do before they do it, and it’ll be boring. That was the thing about Rosho: the interpretation that came naturally to him was completely incomprehensible to anyone else. You can’t teach that. Samatoki’s not like that exactly; fundamentally Samatoki reacts to most things the same way, with anger. And yet Sasara can’t help wanting to stick close enough to him to see what happens next.
Samatoki chooses that moment to walk in, as if summoned. Sasara hadn’t even noticed the shower stopping. He's wearing a different pair of jeans, these ones acid washed with dark textured patches where the indigo remains. (Samatoki spent a few hours the other day on an unsolicited but terrifyingly passionate lecture about denim washes. Some of it has lodged permanently and possibly even accurately in Sasara’s head.) His hair is still wet and freshly slicked back, and he’s wearing a sleeveless white T-shirt that clings a little to his damp skin.
Sasara is suddenly acutely aware of Samatoki’s arms, and legs, and face, and those sharp red eyes boring into him. It’s not as though he’s never noticed that Samatoki is a very striking man, but the fact hasn’t previously been quite so immediately, steamily present and standing between him and the door. He needs a smoke right now.
As soon as Samatoki takes his eyes off Sasara’s, Sasara clears his throat. Hopefully his voice won’t squeak like the teenager he suddenly feels like. “Hey, so, your sister…”
“Hhhah?” Samatoki snaps his head up, hackles raised.
“Whoa, whoa, settle down! I was only wondering if she’d mind if I smoke indoors.”
“Oh. Yeah, I smoke in here all the time.” Which he did figure; it smells like Samatoki’s Lucky Strikes. Still, better safe than sorry. The last thing he needs is two Aohitsugis after his blood. “Just crack a window and it’ll be fine.”
“Aye aye.”
The fresh air feels cold on his skin and he takes off his tie so he can breathe a little easier. It’s probably just homesickness, but the breeze in Tokyo never smells as good as back home. Ikebukuro’s been a pleasant surprise, all the same. Decent food and never a dull moment. He can hear Samatoki behind him, towelling off his hair. He wishes he wouldn’t. It’s cute when it’s rumpled up, but when it’s wet and slicked back, he’s...
Sasara sits abruptly back down on the edge of the bed and pulls a cigarette from his pocket. Just feeling it between his lips makes him a little bit calmer already. He reaches into the other pocket and … right. He still hasn’t had a chance to figure out where he put his lighter. He should have picked up something cheap from a convenience store along the way, but Samatoki was laughing and Sasara completely forgot to think about anything else.
Samatoki laughs now, softly, rummaging atop the cabinet and retrieving his lighter out of his jacket pocket. His jeans are so tight that the carton of cigarettes in his back pocket makes sharp lines against the denim as he pulls one out for himself. He lights up, but instead of tossing the lighter over to Sasara, he sets it back down and walks over to where Sasara is sitting.
Where did Samatoki pick up this habit? Sasara has heard it called a cigarette kiss, but thinking of it that way right now, as Samatoki leans in towards him, makes him feel jittery in a way no amount of nicotine could soothe. It’s an intimacy he wouldn’t have predicted from someone like Samatoki who oozes machismo from every pore. He doesn’t remember seeing him do it with any of his underlings around the office.
Sasara reaches up to hold his own cigarette steady so it’s an easier target, but Samatoki keeps leaning in, until the lit tip is past Sasara’s fingers and he has to tilt himself backwards to keep from getting burnt. He’d tease Samatoki’s aim, but he’d drop his cig if he opened his mouth. And Samatoki’s eyes don’t look like the eyes of a man who made a mistake. Sasara feels uncharacteristically speechless, caught like a deer in the headlights.
Samatoki gently puts one hand on Sasara’s shoulder and leans in further, ever so slowly, guiding Sasara down until he feels his back touch the bed. He plants one hand next to Sasara’s head for balance and plucks the unlit cigarette from Sasara’s mouth with the other. He then takes a long drag from his own cigarette, breathing the smoke into Sasara’s slightly open mouth.
Even fresh out of the shower Samatoki smells of bay rum aftershave and the clinging scent of tobacco, and some more fundamental Samatoki smell that Sasara recognizes from the jacket and from sitting across from him in the office and from walking next to him. It envelops him now, alongside the insistent heat of Samatoki’s body over his. When Samatoki takes another pull of the cigarette and leans in impossibly closer, Sasara opens his mouth wide to take it. The thought of Samatoki’s breath mixed inextricably with the smoke that fills Sasara’s lungs thrills him.
“Is this a skit?” Sasara asks after a few more slow puffs, when he finds his words again. He’s never been good at not ruining a moment. “It's been a while since I played tsukkomi. I'm not sure what the joke is.”
“So improvise,” Samatoki murmurs, only a little hint of a growl in his voice. “You don’t like it? Because you look like you like it.”
He does. He does, he does. Samatoki’s weight on him, the smell of him, the rumble of his voice. Sasara hadn’t ever really considered the possibility of anything like this, and so he hasn’t had the chance to talk himself out of it. If he was alone with nothing more interesting presenting itself, he could remind himself of every bad relationship he’s seen, every disastrous fling he swore he’d never emulate. Here, in the moment, he craves Samatoki like a cigarette after a particularly sweet cream soda.
“Yes,” Sasara says. “And…”
Sasara raises his head off the bed that last inch to close the gap between their mouths.
The kiss is cautious at first, and Sasara’s lip gets caught between their teeth for a moment. He can feel Samatoki laughing against his mouth, and it makes him grab fistfuls of Samatoki’s shirt and pull him in for more. And Samatoki more than obliges, shifting his weight over Sasara and claiming the gasp from Sasara’s open mouth.
Samatoki is clumsy but enthusiastic and Sasara is in no position to judge but he’s doing his best to keep up. Samatoki’s lips are plush and soft, and he stubs out the cigarette somewhere out of sight so that he has a hand free to grasp Sasara’s jaw and hold him in place.
Sasara would have expected to hate being pinned like this. He’s a fidgety kind of guy, always moving and not fond of other people blocking his space. But now, in this moment, he finds himself relieved. Maybe he hasn’t known Samatoki that long, but he trusts how they work together. And not having to be the one to run this scene is a relief.
Samatoki hovers above him, looking suddenly shy. “Look. if you - if you don’t want this, then tell me to fuck off of shove me or something. It’s fine. We never have to talk about it again.” There’s color on his cheeks that might be razor burn, or the red of exertion, or the pink of a blush. “I know you said you weren’t looking. I’m not either. It doesn’t have to be -- a thing. It can just be fun.”
Sasara’s gotten this far in life by doing what seems most interesting, and god Samatoki is interesting. He’s right. They can improvise. He’s never done this, but a few days ago he’d never hit anyone over the head with an improvised weapon either.
“I like fun. What’s next?”
“Next, we get you out of that damn suit.”
“Don’t let my tailor hear you,” Sasara quips, because the more uncertain he gets the more his mouth runs and Samatoki is suddenly unbuttoning his shirt with far more enthusiasm than anyone has ever shown towards Sasara’s nudity.
“The fit’s not the problem,” Samatoki retorts, pushing Sasara’s shirt open. “Your tailor’s doing your ass an incredible service.”
“Aw jeez,” Sasara blurts out, hiding his face. “Don’t stop, though.”
“Wasn’t planning to.” Samatoki kneels between Sasara’s legs now, undoing the button of his fly. Sasara feels ready to vibrate straight through the bed. He doesn’t get stage fright, but having Samatoki on his knees pulling his pants off is something else entirely. It’s not nerves at all, he’s realizing. Just excitement. A new experience with a fascinating person.
Samatoki removes Sasara’s briefs with the same brute efficiency and whistles. “Didn’t figure you for the kind of guy who shaved.”
“Wax, actually,” Sasara volunteers. “You never know when you’re going to get one of those skits where you’re naked except for some comedic prop in front of your junk. There’s a lot of tape involved. You don’t want that stuff sticking to your pubes.”
Samatoki snorts, still admiring the view. “Yeah? And what, you get it done all the way back just in case? You’re a real fucking trip.”
“It’s nice. Are you just going to stare up my asshole or are you -- Oh.” Samatoki interrupts by wrapping his hand around Sasara’s cock and stroking softly, smirking as it stiffens further in his hand. His grip is calloused but surprisingly gentle. With his other hand he cups Sasara’s balls, running a warm thumb over the skin.
Sasara’s almost used to the feeling of someone else’s hand on his junk when he feels Samatoki’s tongue replacing his thumb on his balls, the other hand still gently stroking his shaft. This makes him squeak again. It feels a little weird since they aren’t as sensitive, but it means Samatoki’s hair brushes his cock and the warmth of his breath on untouched skin makes Sasara feel delirious.
“You’re new at this, huh?” Samatoki comments.
“Thought -- hnn -- thought I was faking experience okay.”
“Don’t worry about it. I’ll go easy on you this time.”
“Jeez, you may be a delinquent but you sure haven’t been delinquent in learning oral technique.”
Samatoki glares up at him, mouth hovering over Sasara’s balls. ”That’s not even a real pun. Do you want me to stop or something?”
“Cocksucklutely not.”
“Ouch. If I hear one more word coming out of your mouth that’s not my name, I’m giving you head trauma.”
Giving head trauma! Ugh, he probably didn’t even do that on purpose. Sasara has no time to lament comedy’s loss of this natural talent, though, because Samatoki is mouthing up his shaft with his lips just slightly wet and sucking gently on the skin and it’s hardly anything really but it feels so warm and promising and Sasara has to bite down on his hand to stop from blurting out every pun he can think of to distract him from the buildup.
When Samatoki takes him into his mouth for the first time, he takes it agonizingly slow, as if showing off that even he’s capable of holding back. Sasara moans humiliatingly loudly and he can feel Samatoki smirking around his cock, which only makes it hotter.
“You like that, huh?” Samatoki asks after lazily pulling his mouth back off.
Sasara doesn’t really feel like testing his earlier assertion about saying anything else, so he just nods.
“Here. I can try something else, too, if you like.” Samatoki puts a finger into his mouth and withdraws it again messily, glistening with spit. He then presses that fingertip to Sasara’s asshole, no more than lightly teasing the entrance. “Yeah?”
Sasara may not have gotten his dick out with company before, but he’s spent enough time with himself to have a decent sense of what he likes. And yeah, he likes to play with his ass. There’s only so far he can reach with his own fingers and he hasn’t been interested enough in giving his agent a headache to risk getting caught buying toys, but the vigorous nod he gives Samatoki in response is definitely based on experience.
“Good,” Samatoki smirks. “I’m going to enjoy this.”
Sasara doesn’t know how he doesn’t just explode on the spot when he feels Samatoki’s finger sliding into his ass at the same time his mouth slides back down over his dick. He moves so slowly still, but confidently, like he has all the time in the world to get Sasara off. Sasara feels like he’s losing his mind, like he wants to stay like this forever and also can’t bear the thought of this torturously slow pace continuing any longer.
Sasara runs a hand through Samatoki’s hair, brushing it back. He doesn’t grab; Samatoki doesn’t seem like he’d appreciate that, and Sasara’s not the type to interfere with a master at work. He just wants that hair between his fingers.
Samatoki takes pity on him eventually and starts moving faster, once he’s convinced Sasara can handle the finger. He holds Sasara’s hips down with his other hand, less to keep Sasara from moving and more to stake a claim. His finger is a little wider than Sasara’s and reaches a lot deeper, and when he finally hits the sweet spot, Sasara gasps out “Samatoki -- Sama --”
“That’s more like it,” Samatoki murmurs, and runs his tongue up Sasara’s cock while he finger-fucks him for a moment before taking it all the way back into his warm, wet mouth.
“Fuck -- Samatoki, I can’t --”
Samatoki just moves his head faster, bobbing up and down on Sasara’s cock.
“Don’t -- ahhh -- don’t swallow, okay? I’d feel weird.” God knows why this is suddenly Sasara’s hangup, but he isn’t ready to be the guy whose jizz Samatoki swallowed. Not today, anyway.
Samatoki rolls his eyes, but when Sasara’s hand clenches involuntarily in his hair and Sasara cries out his name like a curse and a blessing, he doesn’t swallow him down. But he doesn’t pull away, either. He just holds it all in his mouth until Sasara finishes, while he slowly rocks his finger out through the aftershocks tightening around it.
“Fuck,” Sasara croaks.
Samatoki opens his mouth and drops the mouthful of cum and saliva onto Sasara’s stomach, watching it glisten across his skin. “Damn. You look even better like this.”
“At your service,” Sasara replies dazedly, idly dragging a finger through the mess.
Samatoki cleans his finger with a nearby tissue and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “Fuck, you taste pretty okay for a guy who smokes so much.”
“It’s the melon soda,” Sasara says, dazed. “Keeps me sweet.”
“Like fuck it is. That shit’s never been anywhere near a real melon.”
“Probably. Wow.” Maybe it’s not exactly fitting Sasara’s image to be so visibly wrecked by a blowjob, but he’s a firm believer in positive feedback.
“Well,” Samatoki says, “I did offer you a bed.”
“Ughhh, that’s terrible.”
“Ah. You don’t have to let me fuck you to stay here or anything, though. I’m not that kind of guy.”
“No worries, I didn’t think you were. … You could fuck me anyway, though?” Sasara adds hopefully.
Samatoki snort-laughs at that.
“C’mon, though,” Sasara continues. “Even your vintage jeans aren’t hiding anything.” Samatoki had also given him a lengthy lecture about how Denim These Days is too thin, and certainly the jeans he’s wearing now are heavy enough to make a valiant effort at keeping his boner down. And yet even that’s not keeping anything hidden, especially not now with Samatoki standing up and giving Sasara a better view of the tent in his pants. “Let me do something for you.”
Samatoki grimaces awkwardly. “Sorry. Not on the first date.”
“We’ve been on a date?! If I'd known I would have worn my best polka dot suit.”
“You aren’t even kidding, are you?”
“Look. You don’t have to let me do anything, but I’d kinda like to watch you jack off at least.” Which isn’t something Sasara knew he was into until just now, but the sudden disappointment that he felt when Samatoki turned him down gave him an idea. “If you want. No pressure, honest. I am. Very happy right now.”
“Oh.” Samatoki looks away, and he’s definitely turning pink now. The sudden bashfulness makes Sasara’s heart twinge. “Yeah, okay. If you’re into that,” he mutters.
“Cheers!”
“Move further up, so you’re all the way on the bed. Hurry up.” Samatoki’s back to his usual trying-slightly-too-hard bark, and Sasara obeys enthusiastically. He’s in no rush to stand up anyway.
Samatoki climbs up on the bed and kneels over Sasara so that he’s sitting on Sasara’s upper thighs. He’s almost but not quite close enough for his balls to touch Sasara’s cock, which is limp but valiantly twitching at the proximity, refractory period be damned. It’s a little embarrassing, but Sasara’s kinda proud of little Sasara for still being eager to entertain.
Samatoki shucks off his shirt, giving Sasara an excellent view of his toned chest, unzips his jeans, and pulls his cock out from his boxers so that it stands proudly framed by the V of his open fly. And boy, is he packing heat. Sasara whistles. Taking Samatoki’s Samatoki-sama would have to be a long-term project, but it definitely looks like a worthwhile one.
His eyes must be bugging out of his head, because Samatoki laughs at him. “Just lie there and look wrecked, will you?”
“I don’t usually do impressions, but that one’s easy.”
Samatoki takes himself in hand and starts to stroke, leaning over Sasara just a little and giving Sasara an incredible view of Samatoki’s chest, and abs, and the healthy treasure trail climbing up his stomach. He has to remind himself that he’s just here to watch, not to help. Not even if Samatoki starts to slowly, maybe unconsciously rock his hips against Sasara’s thighs; not even if he closes his eyes and curses under his breath as he jerks off faster.
God, Samatoki’s a natural entertainer no matter what he might say about it. He poses so unselfconsciously and he strokes himself like he’s going for the championship. Sasara could watch him like this all day, though he’d definitely have to join in at some point.
He must be getting close, because he leans down until his face is barely two inches away from Sasara’s, bracing himself with one hand. Sasara can feel his other hand moving faster and his hips jerking into it, the denim dragging across Sasara’s bare skin. Fuck, Sasara wants to kiss him, but it would interrupt him biting his lip. And if he kisses him he can’t watch.
Samatoki comes with a long groan, spilling out across Sasara’s stomach and adding to the fluids already there. Sasara feels each spurt hitting hot against his skin. Samatoki hovers over him for a moment longer, breathing heavily, before slumping over on his side, one arm slung over Sasara’s chest.
“Don’t go,” Samatoki murmurs after a long quiet moment.
“I mean, I’m gonna have to get up and wash myself off sooner or later if you don’t want your sister seeing your cum all over me.”
“No. I mean don’t go back to Osaka. I don’t want you to go.”
Sasara’s stunned into silence. Samatoki’s voice has the warmth of afterglow, and maybe he shouldn’t take anything he says right now too seriously. But he sounds like he means it, especially since he won’t look Sasara in the eye.
“You fucking weirdo,” Samatoki continues, voice quiet but full of passion and affection. “Call yourself a comedian if you want, but you’re a natural to this life. I don’t understand anything you do. I don’t understand what you are. Don’t leave. I’m going to figure you out. In a few years we could run this town, you and me.”
Sasara ruffles his hair. He’s definitely not agreeing to anything murmured in his ear after a sudden hookup, but it’s a thought all right. He can’t imagine how that would go, and nothing’s more compelling than that.
Samatoki mumbles something else that doesn’t quite sound like words, nuzzling clumsily into Sasara’s shoulder. “Hey, if you’re falling asleep, let me up first. I’m serious, I don’t want to meet your sister with your jizz on me.”
“‘S fine,” Samatoki mumbles stubbornly.
“It’s ‘fine’?! Ugh, I can’t believe you’re making me tsukkomi again. C’mon, I’ll make you coffee. It’ll only be a moment.”
“Hnnn,” Samatoki groans into the mattress. “Yeah, okay. Grinder’s next to the espresso machine on the counter, beans are in the cabinet below.”
“You couldn’t just have a nice simple jar of instant, could you?” Sasara laments, pulling on the simplest shirt and pants he can find quickly in his bag.
“Fuck no, not in my own home.”
Sasara shakes his head and leaves the room with a smile.
*
When he hears the door click closed behind Sasara, Samatoki smiles into the crook of his arm.
This was never the plan. Never until this afternoon, anyway, and he definitely hadn’t expected to blurt it all out like that. Fuck his post-coital sappiness. But meeting someone that trusted him more or less at first sight, someone that kept coming back, someone that he can trust to take care of things in his absence … that wasn’t something he ever expected, either. When it came down to it, he couldn’t let that go without a fight, even if he doesn’t have a clue how to do this right.
It’s fine. They’ll improvise.
Sasara crashed into his life so suddenly. Anyone else he would have told to fuck off and they would have stayed fucked off. But Sasara … It’s been a long time since Samatoki’s felt this comfortable around anyone, and there’s no way he can explain why it’s this guy. Sasara dresses like a clown’s accountant and half the things that come out of his mouth make Samatoki want to hit him, and yet. And yet, with no help or experience, he’d been the one to pin down the Tobaris and get Samatoki out of jail. He’s the one that makes Samatoki laugh despite himself. And, for whatever reason, he’s the one who makes the hair stand up on the back of Samatoki’s neck when he parts his lips for a cigarette.
It didn’t need to go this way; they could have kept their clothes on, he could have made his proposal over a cigarette and a whisky. And yet, somehow, he can’t bring himself to be anything other than glad about it.
If he drifts off now, Sasara will still be here when he wakes up. Even if he doesn’t come back in a moment with two coffees and a terrible pun, he’ll be here somewhere. Samatoki’s sure of that much, at least. It makes it easier to let himself fall asleep.
At least, he manages to fall asleep for ten minutes before a familiar yell jerks him immediately awake. When he rushes out to the living room, ready to fight, he finds Sasara with a fresh red mark on his cheek and his arm twisted inexpertly behind his back by Nemu, the other hand holding a cup of black coffee.
“Brother! This guy was trying to steal the espresso machine!”
“Hiya! The mean right hook runs in the family, huh?”
“Sasara, what the fuck is this?”
“Well, it was an Americano. Could you tell your beloved sister I’m not here to burgle you, please?”
Samatoki laughs. “Nemu, let him go. This is Sasara, the guy I was telling you about the other day.”
“Oh! Oh gosh, I’m so sorry,” Nemu gushes apologetically, rubbing Sasara’s now free arm like they’re already friends. If she’s noticed Samatoki’s lack of shirt, she’s tactfully chosen not to mention it. “Thank you for taking such good care of my brother.”
Sasara grins at Nemu, handing the coffee to Samatoki. “He’s a lot of work, isn’t he?”
“Don’t get me started,” groans Nemu, ignoring Samatoki scowling at both of them.
“I’m thinking of making Sasara my partner,” Samatoki announces casually, taking a sip. “Now that he’s finally learned how to make a decent cup of coffee.”
“Partner?” Nemu says, blinking.
“Partner?” Sasara says, face lighting up.
“Yeah. Partner.” Samatoki shrugs. “Why not. If you want.”
“You drive a hard bargain,” Sasara groans.
“That’s the job,” Samatoki grins, and claps Sasara on the arm. “Welcome.”