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Running, running from the- the person that gives chase and refuses to let go like a stubborn dog that got a whiff of its prey, dodging a dart then dodging something substantially bigger that could cause grave injury if it struck true but thankfully ended up in a wall—hey, detective, ever thought about being more careful with that?—KID runs like his life depends on it.
The footsteps behind him match his pace with an alarming precision as they get closer, impossibly speeding up despite this chase having lasted long enough to start tiring him.
He's got the steps of each pursuer who likes to appear on his stage memorized; their speed, their weight as they hit the ground, the desperation of their cadence as they run down the path he sets. Registering them, acting accordingly, that's what allows him to escape when things gets dire.
The one pursuing him today is particularly determined.
He tries to look back, half-trips, uncontrollably stumbles forward as the detective picks up the pace at the first sign he's losing his footing—a small part of his mind ceaselessly shouts about imminent danger on loop like he isn't constantly aware of that already—and one of his shoulders becomes violently acquainted with the wall when he slams into it instead of ending up on the floor.
Something closes in, someone catches up, pounces, and suddenly there's metal biting into the precisely exposed skin that lives between his gloves and shirt cuffs, one of the rare places where it's easily exposed.
"Caught you at last," Kudou says with an irritating satisfaction.
It's nothing he hasn't seen before—his face's washed out colors in the papers, then an approximation of it the mirror when he needed to borrow the detective's looks—but right here, feeling Kudou's breath hit the bare skin of his cheeks as he pants from exhaustion, looking into his eyes as they search Kaito's own, he's pertinently failing to say something; some sort of witty reply, some sort of quip befitting KID, they're all somewhere far out of reach, all the blood he needs to think currently busy leaving his brain and going on vacation to the south?
"Ah," he says after more time than acceptable has passed. "Um. Uh..."
Truly, what a brilliant reply from the great Kaitou KID.
Kudou's face is a fascinating thing; now back in his original form, all its proper handsomeness restored, it cycles through a few complicatedly interesting expressions before landing on the one Kaito recognizes to mean he's in the middle of a deduction—and KID's state is in the limelight.
Still catching his own breath, Kaito continues to valiantly attempt to maintain a semblance of composure; a good thing, too, because without said effort it would have crumbled when the confusion bleeds wholly into a look of intrigue that has Kudou leaning in. As it is, however, Kaito only lets out an embarrassing little eek that will surely haunt him for the next forever.
He tugs at the handcuffs and feels his cheeks get hotter when they don't budge and dig into his skin which does not help at all; there's no mask on his face to hide the blush he feels spreading on it.
Kudou's other hand comes to rest for a few moments on his waist. It makes the unfortunate decision of landing right below where he got deeply cut that one time, right below where that scar leaves a comma in the sentence of his life, and he's too lost in reminiscence (and anticipating some kind of hurt, and realizing it's the first time someone held him there in such a way) to notice Kudou's hand moved onto grabbing the bottom of his tie to loosen it with a firm tug.
He's briefly hit with the impression of being on a leash-
A wave of something terrified, a reflex beaten into him by countless heists and close calls with danger, comes back life with the renewed vigor of a fire forgotten behind a closed door that just got opened; armed in a clarity that bleeds and begs attention, it screams to get away, get out at any cost, but...
(But what? He could get out, he could force his way out—yanking his wrists hard enough would get the message across and, in case it doesn't, a kick or two where he knows it'll hurt, or maybe dropping a smoke bomb at their feet after lockpicking the handcuffs in less time than it would take for Kudou to pose a question—and yet...)
He doesn't know if he's breathing, pretty sure he's not even blinking, when Kudou tilts his head and his eyes crinkle with a smile- no, a smirk—cocky, arrogant, hungry?—and he has a dimple on one side and he smells good and oh, this is not good for Kaito's heart, not at all.
"What's the problem, KID?" His eyes land on Kudou's lips against his will, watching them form the words from up close. Kudou decides this is all he needs to make a move and leans in until Kaito can't see his face anymore because it's right by his ear. "Cat got your tongue?" He punctuates the end of his words with a kiss on the pulse point beneath Kaito's ear.
It's just pressure at first, the softness of lips against skin unused to such sensations—ceaseless shivers all over, setting him on fire everywhere they touch, oh, he's going to have dreams about this—but then there's a wet heat in the mix as Kudou licks the spot once, twice, thrice for good measure. One last gentle pressure, then suction so strong it tingles, and teeth dragged across that same place in a way that suggests they want to leave a dent in him, take his skin between them and trap it and wound it.
(His mind useless provides the image of a cat with a bird caught in its mouth as it bats its wings in vain to escape its fate-)
Kaito's shoulders hike up unhelpfully—pitifully—in some unconscious attempt at protecting the most vulnerable part of any human, the place that betrays him as a full-time person and not a part-time role; a tremor courses through his whole being like an electric shock, lightningfast and thundersoft; arms steadily falling asleep, pants getting tighter, knees getting weaker, so unbecoming of him, pleasure and shame dancing together in a tango around his thoughts like two-
"...KID?"
There's still fear fear fear in his heart getting pumped throughout his vascular system until his entire body is a confusing mixture of scaredscaredscared and don'tstopdon'tgo, and he tries to squirm away, tries to escape the concoction of emotions monopolizing his mind, but all it yields is an unfortunate friction that has his lips parting with a high-pitched sigh-turned-whimper he can't hold in before it goes off like an explosion between them.
"KID. Hey, KID." His wrists, held in place so far, are suddenly lowered then freed in quick order. Numbly, he realizes they hurt; a dully burning ache that matches a shoulder that matches a neck. "Are you oka-"
The spell is broken with all the subtlety of a gunshot.
He doesn't give Kudou the opportunity to discuss- this before he's off, pushing him away and stumbling through the corridors with a lack of gracefulness that's not at all KID but is entirely Kaito.
Only once he's home and all evidence of his criminal activities has been put away does he spare a glance at himself in the mirror; disheveled hair, dilated pupils, the ghostly impression of touch on his waist that tingles even now.
The worst part, he thinks as he stares at the red spot blooming on his neck, is that he didn't hate it—not entirely, not nearly enough to find the possibility of a repeat unappealing.
Eurgh, just thinking about it is giving him ideas.
Damned detectives.