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“Are you kidding? Couldn’t you have told me this before I was stuffed into the trunk?”
“The ticket was already in her name, partner. You saw how strict that sailor was. You weren’t getting on that gangplank if you couldn’t pass as a Susato Mikotoba.”
It’s reasonable, which occurs to Ryunosuke as being the worst possible outcome. Logic takes understandable irritation and turns it into a much less impressive flat resignation, like: I guess he really did have no option other than tying me up and tossing me into a trunk. The thought doesn't make the burns around his wrists sting any less, which is a small comfort. He's never letting Kazuma around ropes again.
“Right,” Ryunosuke eventually says. “I mean, maybe. Are you, like — sure you didn’t just want to stuff me in a trunk?”
“Hah. You wish."
"Kazuma, I'm serious."
"And I'm serious too, partner. When am I not?"
Instances affix to Ryunosuke's mind on cue, but he doesn't bother bringing them up. A vague noise of disapproval is enough, earning him a laugh from Kazuma and a throb in his chest.
Yeah. He can save unpacking that until he's done unpacking all the luggage, a process thankfully demanding enough to be distracting. Among the knick-knacks, he counts kimonos, hairpins, papers, boxes, incense, collectibles, textbooks, and the occasional private item he feels bad for touching. A majority of it is luggage Mikotoba won't see for months and Ryunosuke will see daily. Kazuma's too busy centering his calligraphy to help.
“She really has a lot of stuff,” Ryunosuke notes after a while. He reads off the title of a book: “'Modern Trends in Tort Law.' Sheesh, sounds complex. What was she even doing with all of this?"
“Mikotoba was going to be my assistant,” Kazuma says. “Primarily for legal matters: filing things, advising me, things of that sort. She must've brought study material."
And despite all of this preparation — and, uncomfortably, all of this laundry — she decided to stay locked up in Japan, last minute, with no goodbyes. Kazuma claimed that Professor Mikotoba had no real answer for it other than "extraneous circumstances", which was the professional way to say "it’s none of your business." Are men just naturally inclined to be deceptive? Ryunosuke rolls a fountain pen labelled S.M. over his fingers. He wouldn't be surprised.
“So, since Mikotoba-san was going to be your assistant, what was I going to be? Your, like... moral support, or something?"
"Hmm." Kazuma makes a show of thinking about it. "Probably something like that."
“Seriously? Did you even decide?"
"I wasn't even sure you were going to agree to this trip! Anyway — don’t worry about it. We have all the time for you to find your own identity beyond partner."
Ryunosuke grimaces. Hey, he has a life outside of Kazuma. "Uhuh. Me, you, and all of Mikotoba's luggage. Sounds great."
“I’m sure we’ll be able to make use of it.”
“Make use of—” Ryunosuke stops. “Are you sure she won’t be mad we're touching her stuff?”
“Oh, she will. But it’ll be worth it.”
Phrasing it like that makes Ryunosuke wonder if Kazuma has already plotted the exact trajectory of how to make Mikotoba’s luggage worth it. Where's Ryunosuke on the chart? A mile off the line, or a point right through it?
Kazuma’s assessing him, like he seems to be deciding himself, before he says: “Let’s see where we can start. I am down a judicial assistant.”
"Making use" of Mikotoba's luggage turns out to be a misnomer for “forcing Ryunosuke to read her legal textbooks in an attempt to fill out his lacking repertoire of legal expertise." In his defense, he found out he was coming on this trip a week ago — down a judicial assistant, a mere three days. Even practical courtroom experience can’t make up for technical know-how.
Said know-how turns out to be drenched in legal jargon that he's fifty-percent sure the textbooks made up on the spot. Words like arbitration and exculpatory read like someone took a bunch of letters and jumbled them together. When the paragraphs start looking more like abstract art projects rather than actual words, Ryunnosuke decides it’s time to quit. His head bangs on the desk. Uuuugh.
“Taking another break?” Kazuma says.
“Yeah. Sorry. Law’s just hard.”
“Hah. Tell me about it.” He claps Ryunosuke square on the back. “You’ll do fine, partner. The start is always the worst.”
There it is. That lassiez-faire attitude of mild approval and vague disappointment. He wilts. Kazuma probably doesn't even care Ryunosuke stepped into shoes far too big to fill despite being made for a girl half a decade younger than him and half a foot shorter. Why would he? The thought meanders — it goes from shoes, to socks, to shirts, to... wait, wait, stop the ship.
“Hey, Kazuma?” Ryunosuke says. “I don’t mean to be rude, but I’ve been wearing this uniform for a while, and, uh,” he tugs at the suddenly-too-sweaty fabric, “I’d like some new clothes. Clean ones.”
"Oh, right. I was wondering when you were going to ask,” Kazuma says. “Remember when I said I didn’t have time to replace Mikotoba’s luggage?”
“Wha— Are you kidding?!” A glance tells him that no, he's not. Ryunosuke flushes. "Did you at least pack something I could wear?”
“I also didn’t have time for that,” Kazuma says. “You could try to borrow some of my clothes?”
“No way! Remember last month? They were way too big.”
"Then all you have left are Mikotoba’s clothes, partner.” Kazuma shrugs. “Tough luck.”
“Ha-ha, very funny.”
Ryunosuke tries to go back to his work, but he's newly aware that his clothes are sticky and eating away at him. Wearing this for a month sounds like an intricate torture device that should be handed down as a verdict. He could go naked, but the cabin is way too cold for that.
Curiosity gets the better of him. He goes over to the wardrobe and, carefully, pulls a kimono out of the makeshift bed he's been using. The fabric has been soft enough to function as a comfortable mattress, so, logically, it should be comfortable to wear… right? He turns this one over in his hands. Brushes a hand over it. Hmm. Silk. The same kind that Kazuma has in his wardrobe at home, actually.
“Are you really considering it?”
“Huh?” Ryunosuke didn’t expect Kazuma to comment. “Uh, well, maybe.”
“You know, if you do decide to wear them, I won’t mind. What Mikotoba doesn’t know won’t hurt her.”
Right. Because Mikotoba knowing Ryunosuke wore her clothes would be the worst thing about all of this.
He does have an uncomfortably valid point, though. Granted, the idea was... unorthodox, but Kazuma doesn’t seem particularly put off by the mental image of his best friend wearing his adoptive sister’s clothes. If that’s the case, then what right does Ryunosuke have? It's just clean clothes. How bad would trying it out really be?
A hand rests on his shoulder in answer.
“Do you need help putting it on?”
Ryunosuke gulps. Hard. “Yeah. Thanks.”
He fully intends to wear his student uniform later, but it’s all crumpled on the floor and kind of smells. By the loosest of technicalities, it's wearable, but why go to the trouble? The kimonos are on the smaller side, but they feel like soft little blankets, and Mikotoba packed a lot of them. It's only practical.
Anyway, Kazuma likes it, so his decision feels justified. He has this habit of running his hands over the folds and fussing with them like they’re wrinkly bedsheets in a mix between a massage and a grope. It’s weird, but then again, Kazuma is also the person who thought illegally stowing away to London was a good idea, so weird’s par for the course. If Ryunosuke’s honest with himself, he doesn’t mind it. Kazuma was always great, but now that he's dressed up in Mikotoba’s clothes, Kazuma suddenly seems greater, a totally different distinction.
He really is the best, Ryunosuke thinks. They’re cuddling in bed — the real bed, not the makeshift one in the wardrobe — so everything is nice and warm and comfortable. Without kimonos to bed the floor, the wardrobe suddenly became a very impractical sleeping spot, so Kazuma suggested the move. Or was it Ryunosuke? Maybe it was just something that naturally happened. He's not complaining.
Ryunosuke stops thinking about it and tucks his head deeper into the crook in Kazuma's neck. Kazuma responds by tightening the arm around his hip. Apparently, Kazuma's trying to square away some more reading: something about inheritance law, which is just as boring as it sounds. Ryunosuke plays with one of the buttons, half-listening to Kazuma’s self-directed muttering.
Time passes this way until there's a tap on the shoulder and Kazuma says: “Hello? Earth to Ryunosuke?”
“Whuh?” Ryunosuke ceases fiddling with Kazuma’s badge. “Do you, uh, need something?”
“An answer to my question, for starters. I was asking your opinion on Tichborne v. Lushington’s verdict. It was decided last month.”
“Uh…” Ryunosuke doesn’t remember that at all. “It was a good verdict? Very legal.”
“Really. What was the verdict?”
“Erm. Innocent.”
“Mmmhm. Under what grounds?”
"Good ones?"
Silence.
What makes it worse is that Ryunosuke’s certain coming up with an answer is textbook law. He can feel himself burning. How must he look right now? He’s like a damn kicked puppy on the side of the street and the assailant is a British legal circus. Kazuma seems to subconsciously concur with the metaphor; he places a hand on Ryunosuke’s scalp and ruffles it.
“It’s alright,” Kazuma says. “You haven’t studied for a week or so. It makes sense you’d be rusty.”
“I guess.”
Has it really been a week? Time feels like it passes in waves on the ship: not at all, and then all at once. Ryunosuke mumbles something, but the mere act of mumbling is definitely some kind of lawyer blasphemy. Another arm tucks into his other side. Oh, huh — they're hugging.
“Partner, look at me.” He does. Kazuma has that knitted brow he always gets when something worrisome happens. “You’re fine. I swear it. I shouldn’t have pushed you to do this. It was selfish of me.”
“No, no! It’s not that. Really. I’m okay with studying law, I swear. It just doesn’t come naturally to me, and we don’t have much time, so it's…”
“I know." Kazuma breaks the hug and rolls over, which stings. "I shouldn’t have been so harsh on you.”
Kazuma isn’t any less ashamed. It’s not a good look on him, but what can Ryunosuke even do in this situation? Cuddle? He nudges Kazuma with his sleeve, but he jerks away, looks away, pointedly. Wait. Was the kimono a part of it too? Ugh! Ryunosuke’s the one wearing it and he doesn’t even mind. Actually, no, he likes it. Kazuma did too — at least before this — so why shouldn't he?
Sure, law is a smidgen more soul-crushing, but still a nonfactor. Ryunosuke admires the principles of defending the defenseless and similar, Kazuma-espoused clichés, but that means squat if he can’t put annals of legal policy to memory. It’s not Kazuma’s fault he thought a square peg could make it into a round hole.
He pushes it aside. Thinking about it for too long feels like he's nailing up the final recesses of his coffin. He might be dressed in Mikotoba's clothes, but that doesn't mean he needs to be a constant reminder of what Kazuma can't have.
“Maybe there’s something else I can do,” Ryunosuke says.
“Besides law, you mean?"
Ryunosuke nods. “We can think about it. It’s like… I could still be your judicial assistant, just more assistant than judicial, or something.”
"Like an advanced version of moral support, then?”
“You know, like how Mikotoba-san ran and got evidence for us in court a while ago. I can do that too! But with other things. Like... I don't know. Groceries? Cleaning supplies?" He pauses. Thinks about it. "Moral support stuff, too. Lots of confetti."
Kazuma’s eyes give him another once-over. Ryunosuke adjusts the collar of the kimono so it covers his sternum. He didn't say something weird, did he?
“I mean, uh, I’m on this trip with you, aren’t I? I’ll help you in any way I can. It just… turns out law doesn’t fit into that. That's all."
“Hm. Really." Kazuma sounds like he's considering it. "You’ll help me in any way.”
“Maybe minus a few things…” Not that Ryunosuke can think about what they are. He’d probably run his chest through a sword if Kazuma asked. “But, really, I'll do whatever. It's not like I can toss myself off the boat."
Kazuma doesn’t say anything to that. It sets the cabin in an uncomfortable silence, as if the sway and rock of the boat suddenly substituted all noise in the hull. Ryunosuke's tempted to say something, but he doesn't want to ruin the sanctity of the moment. It's not his place to.
“No,” Kazuma finally says. “You can’t.”
There’s a sudden pressure on his shoulders. Ryunosuke crumbles against it, sending him off the bed and down to the floor with an oompf. He blinks a few times. What’s going on here? Was this Kazuma’s extreme way of setting boundaries? No, that can’t be right. Kazuma’s hand is still firmly wedged in his hair. His kimono folds where his knees do. He must look like… like some kind of hand-me-down wife.
Something drops in his stomach like a dull bell. Ah. Right. Moral support.
“We’ll take it slow,” Kazuma says. “I know you want it.”
He does? Ryunosuke shuffles through his memory. Sure, he always thought Kazuma was handsome, but it was in an abstract way, like admiring a Greco-Roman statue. Other evidence was more difficult to refute, like the handholding, and the snuggling, and the "partner"s. But that doesn't mean he wants to suck Kazuma off. At least, he thought so five minutes ago.
The confusion must be showing on his face, because Kazuma pipes up. “You said you’d do anything for me. Were you lying?”
“No! I mean. I wasn’t. But I didn't mean... this."
“Didn't you? I allowed you to stay on this ship. I allowed you to sleep in my bed. I even allowed you to replace the likes of Judicial Assistant Mikotoba, all at the risk of you being discovered. Imagine it. What would happen to my career? I think I deserve some repayment.” Said repayment seems to take the form of Kazuma unzipping his pants. “This is just — what’s that term? Yes. A quid pro quo. ”
"That's not even a legal term!"
"Does it matter?"
It doesn't matter. Nothing Ryunosuke says seems like it would matter. Kazuma tightens the grip in his hair, pushes against his mouth, and Ryunosuke vacantly feels his lips part.
It’s — It’s big. He’s not sure what else he expected. He kind of wants to spit it out, but it’s Kazuma, and that seems to be reason enough to keep it in. After a bit, it’s not so bad. He doesn’t even want to close his eyes. There’s something about the image of Kazuma looking down at him, legs spread, hand resting on his head, that makes his vision swim. Maybe he's just seasick.
Ryunosuke can still move his tongue around, which, when it prods the head, earns him a breathless sigh from Kazuma. It sounds good, so he does it again.
“Beautiful,” Kazuma says.
He thrusts into Ryunosuke’s mouth, hard. He gags. What, is he some girly dress-up doll that Kazuma bought for the express purpose of shoving his dick in? Somehow, he can’t bring himself to mind, not even when his eyes tear up, his knees ache, and his dick gets painfully hard against his underwear. Things get fuzzy. He can barely breathe.
Sometime during it, he notices that his kimono came loose. Kazuma probably pulled at the obi. It’s still on, but it’s fallen to his shoulders, exposing his clavicles. Since the kimono is a little on the small side, trying to adjust his thighs hikes the hem up, which makes him feel like a slutty schoolgirl in a skirt.
Kazuma notices. He sucks in a breath: that did it. “Ah, partner, I'm — I'm close.”
Shit. What should he do? Keep sucking, stop, use his tongue, or swallow? Kazuma relieves him of yet another decision by pulling out. Most of the come goes all over his face, but a bit of it spills onto Ryunosuke’s forgotten Yumei uniform. The tussling seems to have wedged it halfway under the dresser, almost out of sight.
After he’s done, Kazuma brushes some fingers over Ryunosuke’s face, whisking up clumps of come and tears and spit. Then, with no hesitation, he shoves it all down Ryunosuke’s throat. He almost gags again once or twice, but Kazuma always pulls back when he starts seeing spots. See? Kazuma doesn’t want to hurt him. His come tastes salty, but Ryunosuke gets used to it, and after a while, he’s pretty sure he’s not even crying anymore.
Kazuma notices at least part of that. “It’s alright if you like it, partner. It’s normal.”
“Mmmgh?" he says around the fingers. Kazuma laughs.
“You’re so soft.” Kazuma squeezes one of Ryunosuke's pecs. “Quiet. Humble. I knew it the moment I saw you, but — God. You’re further from a man than I thought.”
When Kazuma puts it that way, Ryunosuke almost feels like he should take pride in it, even though the question's clear on his face: what does that mean?
"Do I even have to spell it out, partner? Here — I'll show you."
Kazuma turns Ryunosuke around and manhandles his legs so he’s awkwardly straddling him, kimono bunched up at the knees. Ryunosuke is still too stunned to really stop him. Are they really going for another round? Kazuma’s hand moves the kimono’s folds aside, causing his underwear to peek out. Kazuma makes a wounded noise.
“Oh, Ryunosuke.”
He tugs the pair of panties down to his knees. Ryunosuke burns scarlet which goes up another shade when he realizes that he's wearing, of all things, lace. And it's pink.
“I — uh... there weren’t any boxers, so…”
Kazuma’s not listening. He’s barely breathing, actually, and Ryunosuke is punctured by the knowledge his unconscious fashion choices were responsible for that. Maybe he did want this all along? His dick is certainly liking it enough.
The panties get pushed off to the side of his thigh. Kazuma probably wants to keep them in his field of view as he does his business. Said business starts with Kazuma moving his hand between Ryunosuke’s thighs and fishing out his cock from beneath his skirt. Kazuma's hand looks like it's swallowing the whole length.
"Uh," Ryunosuke says, which is promptly shushed by Kazuma. He presses a finger against the base of Ryunosuke’s length with one hand, the other sneaking between the kimono’s folds.
“You’ll like this too,” Kazuma says. “I’m not selfish.”
A finger breaches him. He squirms. It feels like some foreign object got shoved up his butt, which is vaguely paradoxical, because he's known Kazuma for forever. He adds another finger. It starts to sting, but it also feels better, so he just whimpers in lieu of saying anything.
“I never had faith in your potential, partner,” Kazuma says, making casual conversation with two fingers up his partner’s ass and another rubbing the bottom of his dick. “I had faith in who you were. Who you are.” The fingers in his ass curl. Ryunosuke keens — oh, that does feel good. “You never needed to change. You’re perfect.”
“I’m what?"
Kazuma shakes his head. “You really don’t have any listening comprehension, do you? I swear. How would you ever survive on your own?”
Something about that feels contradictory, but Ryunosuke can't think of what. His muttered queries get a laugh and a slap on the ass. Apparently, Kazuma considers that answer enough, and doesn't deign to elaborate further. Ryunosuke should be irritated, but instead, he bounces up and down on Kazuma’s hand like he’s a girl. He stifles a moan. It feels so, so good. He really wouldn't survive on his own. Not without this, anyway.
Kazuma asks him more questions, but Ryunosuke doesn’t register any of them. He just nods. His firstborn? His law career? His life? Suddenly, it seems like a good idea for Kazuma to have all of it. Anything he wants.
“—few years," Kazuma's saying. "At least until I complete my mission. Are you okay with that?”
“Yes, sure,” Ryunosuke says. He doesn’t even know what Kazuma said, but it doesn’t matter. Could it kill him to push his fingers in a little more?
“Really? You'll actually do it?"
“Yes, yes. Of course.”
Kazuma’s face softens. Is he going to thank him? Kazuma giving gratitude like they were sitting on equal ground and not ass-to-lap feels wrong, even conceptually. But, no — instead, Kazuma leans in, presses his lips to Ryunosuke’s, and, around them, says: “I love you.”
Hysterically, he thinks back to an old relationship advice book he read: saying that on the first date is a red flag. Ryunosuke tucks his fingers under the one around his forehead for support. Kazuma gives intense, wet kisses. He feels floaty.
Kazuma loves him. Kazuma loves him. A million potential responses run through Ryunosuke’s mind. Me too. Why didn’t you say so earlier? Can you move your fingers a bit faster? The moon looks beautiful tonight.
He doesn’t end up saying anything. It would sound stupid, like trying to argue in a British court without knowing a lick of English or law. His silence is equally dumb, but Kazuma starts nipping at his neck and murmuring compliments and he stops caring. Kazuma was right. About everything.
Maybe... Ryunosuke is just fundamentally broken. A misshapen puzzle piece that will never, ever fit into anything. Kazuma is whittling away the bad parts of him so he could slot in place again — like soulmates, but under his authority. And isn’t that how Kazuma always did things? It makes so much sense that he pushes himself into the crest of Kazuma’s chest, and gets a deeper thrust for the trouble. If this is what Kazuma’s fingers feel like, what would it be like if he had his cock? The thought makes him whimper. Kazuma chuckles.
“Are you close?” he asks, mouthing at Ryunosuke’s lips again. He mumbles out a yes. “Well, then I shouldn’t keep you waiting.”
Kazuma pulls his fingers out of Ryunosuke’s ass and then, steadying himself with one hand, gives Ryunosuke’s dick a single, lazy tug. He’s not sure if he’s supposed to be humiliated about how that’s all it takes to make him come. It splatters all over his kimono and trickles down his thighs in white ropes. Gross. Hot.
Winding down is a blur, but it ends with him slumped against the headboard in a good impression of a dead fish. He’s getting come and spit all over the sheets — he’ll need to change them later. His kimono and panties are probably a lost cause, but he never wants to take them off ever again.
Kazuma’s still here, lounging against the foot of the bed. His pants are half-off, his shirt’s covered in spit, his hachimaki is teetering against its current and, wow, he looks like a dream. It’s like being disheveled is just one of his natural states, so far above anything Ryunosuke or anyone like him could ever attain.
“How was…” Ryunosuke sucks in a deep breath. “How was that?”
Kazuma moves onto his knees and cups Ryunosuke’s left cheek in his palm, then the other one. He leans in, presses a kiss against his forehead. Sighs.
“Ryunosuke, you’re the best judicial assistant a man could ask for.”
He should wear a bra next.