Title: Last Call.
Warning: PG-13/light R
Summary: Everyone deals with grief in their own way. Takei's just happens to involve Shiba. Shiba/Takei.
Notes:For the hurt/comfort square "substance addiction". Any comments will be fed ice cream and petted endlessly ^_^
Shiba was used to the constant threat of danger; it was one of the perks of the job. There were always drug sellers who had to be chased through dark, slick streets, or users who were absolutely convinced that you were a three headed dragon that could only be defeated by plunging a spork through your thigh.
Sometimes, the danger came from within the place Shiba felt at his safest. The Yokohama office was secure, well lit, and generally devoid of criminals just waiting to pounce. Normally, walking through the corridors here was a fairly mundane event. Shiba had maybe tracked this exact same route a thousand times without anything more interesting than an untied shoelace to liven things up a little.
It was understandable then that, when a hand reached out and dragged him forcefully into a closet, Shiba's usually lightning fast reflexes just happened to be on a tea break.
This was not necessarily a bad thing.
"Why, hello there," Shiba said with a grin, once his eyes slowly adjusted to the dim, dusty light and his sudden burst of adrenalin dropped to a more reasonable level. "Fancy meeting you here." The cupboard was barely large enough for two people, but that was something Shiba was willing to put to the side if it meant sharing it with Takei. Especially thisTakei, who looked like he would very much like to devour Shiba.
"We," Takei began, his voice low and sultry, "are going to have sex. Right here. Right now." A slow, lazy smirk slid hypnotically across his mouth, and Shiba couldn't look away. "I just thought I'd let you know."
Now wasn't this interesting?
"I didn't know it was my birthday!" Shiba said happily. Shiba had only tried once to convince Takei that they were expectedto have sex at work. Takei had rewarded his bravery with a dubious look that had done nothing at all to minimise Shiba's desire to get intimate with him at that very moment. 'Nothing remotely sexy during work hours' was one of those nasty little downsides to professionalism.
"It can be whatever day you want," Takei offered magnanimously, tugging Shiba forward by the hoops on his jeans.
"You do know that this is totally inappropriate," Shiba offered weakly, because Takei was gazing up at him through half-lidded eyes and with a distinctly flirtatious smile. The last thing he wanted was for Takei to come to his senses.
Takei raised his eyebrows in disbelief.
"That's normally my line."
"I thought one of us should say it," Shiba said with a shrug. Now that that was out of the way-
Shiba pounced, drawing Takei close and peppering his hairline with silly little kisses.
Takei smiled, his hands curling around the back of Shiba's neck and dragging him down into a hard, possessive kiss. Shiba chuckled against those pouty, demanding lips, before violently shoving Takei back against the shelves, swallowing Takei's pained yelp. Bottles of something were knocked to the floor as Takei tried to gain some traction, before giving up completely and snaking one, stabilising leg around Shiba's. Shiba hooked it up higher around his waist, dragging Takei in tight against his hips as he tugged up the hem of his shirt.
"You are so ridiculously hot," Shiba murmured, barely bothering to move his mouth away from Takei's as he took a desperate gulp of air. Takei's breaths were unsteady and warm, his hair already a rumpled mess from his impact with the shelves behind him. Shiba dragged his fingers through the copper strands, his fingers sculpting around the base of his head.
And Takei, Takei practically purred. He curved in against Shiba, arching forward and up into another kiss. Tanned fingers fell to Shiba's fly.
The lingering hint of pain in Takei's eyes mingled with a dark arousal, which Shiba found only fair.
"This isn't going to be exactly comfortable," Shiba warned into Takei's ear before biting down on the lobe. He felt Takei's laughter reverberate through his chest.
"Somebody has a high opinion of themselves."
It was quick and fast and messy, with Takei's uneven pants consuming Shiba's senses and desperate arms clinging to Shiba's shoulders uncomfortably tight. Shiba was way too turned on and Takei felt far, far too good for Shiba to be able to think straight, but there were things-
Takei head buried against Shiba's neck, hiding away his gaze as Shiba thrust upwards -
Desperate hands that clawed into his back, urgent hips that buckled and slid -
Tremors that coursed through Takei's shoulders, his fingers, his mouth, no matter how hard Shiba tried to smother them away with his lips-
- just little things, that don't require much thought when instinct would do instead.
Quick and fast and messy. There were few other ways sex in a cupboard could go, really.
Pity. If it wasn't for the tiny little fact that this was as characteristic of Takei as abstinence was of Shiba, Shiba could have done this for hours.
"Not that I don't seriously appreciate your wonderful, sexy body and all the awesome things you are able to do with it," Shiba said lazily from the floor afterwards, arching up so that he could pull his trousers up over his hips without standing. "But do you want to talk about it?"
They knew each other far too well to play games only partway through.
Takei stood in front of him, looking the wrong side of wrecked. There was no emotion behind his eyes, but he slouched as he tiredly reworked his buttons and futilely ran heavy fingers through his hair.
"I received a phone call this afternoon." Takei said slowly, trying out each word on his tongue before speaking them. "Turns out my father died a couple of weeks ago."
"They took a little while getting in contact with you," Shiba said cautiously, his eyes never wavering from Takei. He took the offered hand and allowed Takei to pull him up, noting uneasily how Takei immediately put space between them.
Well, as much space as you could in a tiny cupboard lined on three sides with shelving.
Takei snorted, leaning back against the cluttered wall with an easy inelegance.
"It's not like we've talked in years. I don't think I've even met wife number 4, I'm surprised she even bothered calling. He fell getting off the bus," Takei supplied helpfully, his eyes thinning with a rare touch of bitterness. "Turns out he was stark raving drunk at 11am in the morning. Shocker, right? A real loss to society, that father of mine."
Shiba had met Takei's father only once, three years ago. They had been working a case out in Ueno, casing out a Pachinko parlour that was being used as a drop-off point. They had been sitting across the road, Takei with his coke and Shiba with his ice tea. The man who had stumbled against their table appeared rational and put-together to the normal eye, but Shiba had picked up the stale scent of alcohol from his clothes and the dilated pupils almost immediately.
It was strange, because Shiba couldn't for the life of him remember the conversation that had happened between the two, or even how Takei's father had ended up there at all. What he remembered was the older man's sickening smile and the way Takei had just turned away, refusing to acknowledge him with more than a blank look.
The coldness had been so unlike Takei, who forgave everything with a smile even as he locked away whatever you had done as part of the growing, personal profile he had on you. His father, however, had somehow managed to drain all of Takei's bottomless goodwill.
They both had things they never really talked about, even with each other. Takei's father was one of those topics that came up in rare moments of disclosure when the weight of his memory became momentarily too much for Takei to deal with on his own. Shiba knew that he had been a functional alcoholic for years, at least enough so to fool the outside world. He had been able to go to work every morning, but the drunken, slurred world he visited upon his wife and child each evening had eventually driven Takei's mother away. Takei had followed a couple of years later when he was 14, because even the philosophy that boys were best raised by their fathers fell into pieces when said father spent a few too many nights in the drunk tank.
There had been attempts over the years to get his father through detox, hundreds of thousands of yen spent on bailing him out. But in the end Takei's father hadn't wanted to help himself, and each encounter had torn deeper into Takei's soul. Takei had eventually cut himself completely off from his father in self preservation, and Shiba really couldn't blame him.
"Is there any way I can help?" Shiba offered simply.
"You can tell me how I'm supposed to feel," Takei replied, a sad quirk of a smile twisting at the corner of his mouth. "Because I think I'm maybe doing this wrong." Takei paused, his eyes clouding over as his thoughts turned inwards. "I know I should feel something, but there's just, just ... nothing. No hatred, no sorrow, no weepy self-pity."
And yet, they'd just had sex at work in what appeared to be a laundry cupboard.
Shiba thought about it for a moment.
"You know, I think 'nothing' is about right," he said after some consideration. Takei's eyes flickered up in surprise, quietly waiting for him to continue. "That bastard played enough of those emotional games when you were growing up. You've moved on since then," Shiba added, idly dropping a hand to Takei's waist and drawing him close. "You're allowed to."
"Yeah?" Takei murmured, their noses almost touching.
"Uh huh, and may I mention what a fantastic upgrade you made?" He caught Takei's mouth in a slow, gentle kiss. "He doesn't deserve any more of your thoughts, Takei."
"You don't feel anything like him, you know?" Takei replied, cupping the side of Shiba's cheek. Tired eyes drifted closed, and Shiba soundlessly wrapped his arms around him. "Nothing at all. Just don't-" he broke off.
"I won't," Shiba promised quietly. "And I hope you know that if any of those pesky emotions do turn up, there are plenty more cupboards for us to explore."
"You are such a pervert," Takei retorted, but Shiba could hear the humour returning to his voice. Still, neither of them made an attempt to move away.
Shiba had been wrong. The cupboard was the perfect fit for them both, after all.