Crawford was furious with himself. He was sitting on a park bench where any of his enemies could find him at any time, holding a bunch of flowers and feeling smug for getting one over a stunned Yohji. None of that bothered him. What bothered him was the fact he was doing it all because he was jealous.
He’d known Kudoh for less than a day. Less. Than. A. Day. And yet he’d positioned himself here to get a good view. He’d sat and glowered as Yohji had flirted and charmed the boy they were supposed to be hunting. He’d felt as strongly as he had when Hirofumi flirted with people at his father’s gatherings. More strongly, because Hirofumi was obliged to do that, but nothing was forcing Yohji to stroke the boy’s arm like that and wink at those girls and...
He wondered what the Japanese for ‘sexual tension’ was.
“So, what did you learn?” he forced himself to say.
“It’s not good,” Yohji sighed, slumping back on the bench and tugging that ubiquitous hat over his eyes to shield them from the afternoon sun. “He said he was an orphan, which I figured was par for the course, but he also said he didn’t remember his parents.”
“If he did, he would have gone back to them,” Crawford pointed.
“Exactly,” Yohji said. “That and the way he said it convince me he’s sincere. If he simply didn’t want to go back he’d have stopped at orphan. By saying he doesn’t remember he’s actually leaving a lot open. His parents could be alive. His parents could have abandoned him, or hurt him, or lost him to kidnappers. Even if he is working for this terrorist organisation, amnesia is a pretty dodgy excuse. Hard to disprove, but it’s one of those lies that snowballs until you forget bits of the story.”
“Does this mean we have to meet your sleazy... contacts?” Crawford caught himself.
“Yup,” Yohji sighed. “You got any other clothes?”
“No,” Crawford said coolly. “No one told me I’d be forced to live with you.”
“Forced?” Yohji asked, slightly hurt.
Crawford shook his head and stood up. “Come on. I suppose we ought to go back.”
Yohji nodded. As they stood up he looked back at the shop and touched the brim of his hat again. Crawford frowned. Either he’d developed a nervous habit in the last twenty minutes or...
“Hidden camera?” he asked in a low tone.
“You’re a smart guy,” Yohji grinned. He squeezed the brim of the hat again. “Smile!”
As they walked back, Crawford’s thoughts returned yet again to his current partner. Boyfriend wasn’t the word, lover was completely misleading, and even friend was too strong. He and Hirofumi had a lot in common. They both stood to gain from their current relationship. And, as if those were reasons enough, they both got sex out of it as well.
Oh, that was a cynical way of looking at it, but Crawford knew perfectly well he was a cynical person. He admired Hirofumi - yes, admired was the word. He couldn’t like the man any more than he could like himself. It would be a weakness, making himself vulnerable, especially should anything happen to Hirofumi. And they could hardly be open about their relationship, not without causing a scandal.
‘Relationship’. Damn.
Oh, any prolonged interaction with a person was a relationship of sorts. Professional, casual, sexual, romantic...
His relationship with Hirofumi
made sense. He stood to gain financially, politically and
socially. He spied on Hirofumi for his father, and he spied on Reiji for
his son. For these acts, he was rewarded. He was allowed more access to
coveted information, and his suggestions carried more weight. He earned
good money and had good sex. In a few years he’d be the power behind
Whatever Yohji represented to him didn’t make sense. If Hirofumi found out he’d be killed. Simple. Even if Hirofumi didn’t find out, Yohji couldn’t offer him anything. Even though Yohji could make him laugh. Even though he was already worrying about the young man’s self destructive tendencies. Even though he found Kudoh attractive in ways he never had Hirofumi. He’d known more attractive people and resisted them, and he couldn’t understand why this lanky idealist drew him in ways no one else ever had.
Perhaps the attraction was the idea that Yohji couldn’t offer him anything, and so couldn’t demand anything. Crawford glanced down at the flowers in his hand. It was easy to imagine something happening, even if it was just once. But then, ‘just once’ was precisely the opposite of the desire Yohji sparked in him. Crawford hadn’t dreamed, as a boy, of becoming an international assassin, or the power behind the political scenes, or even a rogue psychic. He’d wanted to be a detective, like the men in the comics and the books and on TV. And here was a guy who’d gone out there with the same dream, and lived it, despite the drawbacks.
Crawford decided in his own mind that he didn’t want Yohji, just Yohji’s life. It sat better with him than the idea that his fascination with the young man was both sexual and romantic. He couldn’t possibly like the annoying git.
* * *
Yohji led Crawford back into the dingy office, switching on a table light to provide some illumination. Crawford tossed the flowers, which had earned him some curious looks as they’d made their way back to Yohji’s car, onto the worn desk and deposited the whisky, no doubt another factor in the strange stares, in its drawer. Yohji took his hat off and extracted a tiny camera from it.
“I know a guy who’ll develop that for free overnight,” Yohji said. “I’ll take it over in a bit.”
“I think you better tell me more about what we’re doing tonight.” Crawford leant against the wall.
“We’re going to a club,” Yohji grinned wearily, like a comedian who’s bored of his own jokes. “The guy I know runs a kidnapping ring, as I mentioned before. Mostly early teens, not as young as Mamoru was, but he knows others who are happy to take a boy like that. Tends to look down on ransomers, which is a plus for us. He likes to bitch about others in the trade.”
The look of utter disgust on Crawford’s face made Yohji wince. “I tried turning him in. Got badly beaten up and left in an alley by some men in a distinctly unofficial official uniform, if you get my drift. He’s got friends higher up. I figure that’s another reason he doesn’t do ransoms.”
“If he’s got contacts like that,” Crawford mentally ran through a list of Takatori’s ‘unofficial business’ contacts, “you’d be dead.”
“I was ‘proactive’ with them,” Yohji said shortly.
“Ah,” Crawford nodded. “And because they shouldn’t have been there in the first place, there wasn’t much anyone could do. They probably didn’t even exist on legal records.”
“Is that how our politician operates?” Yohji asked coolly.
“Something like that, yes,” Crawford said honestly. “Back to tonight?”
“Oh, yes.” Yohji’s internal struggle to get back to the matter at hand wasn’t internal enough to keep Crawford notice his conflict. “Clubbing. Go through my stuff and find something that fits you while I get this film sorted out. We’ll have to drive to the club, so minimal drinking. He’ll try and get us drunk, of course. Have you ever been clubbing?”
“It’s not my scene,” Crawford said. Yohji half smiled at the half pun. “I sure I can bluff it.”
“Can you see without the glasses?” Yohji asked.
“No,” Crawford said.
Yohji grimaced. “I’ll guess we’ll have to make do. You don’t strike me as the sort to carry contacts with you.” He started to make his way towards the door, tiny camera nestled in the palm of his hand.
“What makes you say that?” Crawford asked, genuinely curious.
“I’ve checked your jacket pockets,” Yohji grinned. Before Crawford could point out he’d yet to take the item of clothing off, Yohji had gone.
“What did I do to deserve this?” he said to himself. Self-consciously he checked his pockets, still baffled at the Japanese man’s reply, and blinked at a scrap of paper he found.
‘I borrowed a bit of change for the flowers. No doubt your employer will reimburse you. P.I. Kudoh Y.’
Sorting out the film didn’t take long, though chatting up the new girl who worked in the shop wasted a few more minutes. Sometimes Yohji wondered why he bothered.
He usually arranged dates with about half the women he got numbers from, and maybe half again he slept with, but he’d never been on more than two dates with a girl since Asuka...
These thoughts brought him back to his office rather sooner than he’d hoped, but his temporary partner had already found some clothes that fit. Yohji frowned.
“Casual doesn’t come naturally to you, does it?” he sighed.
Crawford glanced down. “Do you know how hard I had to look for a top that fit me?” He was wearing a pair of Yohji’s leather trousers, slightly too short in the leg, and a mesh top. He looked uncomfortable, to say the least. He also looked like a single father who had trusted his teenage daughter to choose him clothes for a date with a girl her age.
“We’re the same height,” Yohji said pointedly. Crawford wondered why he hadn’t started laughing yet.
“And yet, so much more flesh than I’m comfortable displaying,” Crawford spread his hands.
Yohji looked him up and down. “You know what? Too casual. You’re going to stand out like a sore thumb because it’s so obvious you’ve tried too hard.”
“The shops are closed,” Crawford pointed out. “Unless you suggest I go in wearing Armani-”
“Exactly!”
“What?”
Yohji snatched up Crawford’s neatly, obsessively neatly, folded suit and held up the trousers and suit critically. The trousers were black, bootlegged, and the shirt expensive burgundy silk. He smiled predatorily.
“Take your trousers off,” he commanded.
Crawford raised an eyebrow. Yohji kept smiling. Crawford undid the leather trousers. Yohji’s smile broadened slightly. The trousers being tight, Crawford couldn’t just let them slid, and had to bend over and push them down. He stood up.
Yohji’s jaw and the clothes he’d been holding dropped.
“Oh yeah,” he managed. “Underwear not so much under those trousers. Tight trousers. Right. No underwear. Naked. Yes.”
“Are you going to continue with your plan, or was the resolution the part where you stand here gawking at my tackle?” Crawford folded his arms.
“Oh. Yeah.” Yohji bent down and retrieved Crawford’s crumpled clothes again and held them out. “Put on.”
Crawford dressed, amused smile still quirked at the trying-not-to-blush Yohji. He started buttoning the shirt and Yohji grabbed his hand. Crawford swallowed at the warm skin contact. Yohji’s hand was sweating slightly.
“Undone,” Yohji said firmly. “Casual.”
Crawford wished for a mirror. “So I look... cool?”
“In so much as anyone who screams ‘suit’ and is over twenty-five can.”
“Over twenty-five?” Crawford stepped back slightly. “That makes me old?”
“If you hesitate before using the word ‘cool’ you’re too old to use it,” Yohji said firmly. “I didn’t say you were old, just that you act it.”
And Crawford felt embarrassed. It was a foreign feeling. “No you didn’t,” he retorted automatically.
Yohji shrugged. “Okay, you caught me. Pretty quick for an old guy,” he smirked.
And then Yohji was pinned to the wall, handgun pressed to his exposed naval, staring at his own wide eyes in over polished glasses.
“I guess I am,” Crawford smiled. Yohji was breathing heavily, chest rising and falling against his own. He could feel the heat of Yohji’s startled body through the mesh of his top. Yohji looked a little vulnerable, a little scared, and a little turned on.
“We have to get going,” Yohji breathed. “We don’t want to be unable to get in.”
Crawford released him and stepped back. Finally, he’d made Yohji feel as uncomfortable as he felt. Sure, the boy thought he was straight, but he was young and easily influenced. Crawford traced the cold muzzle of his gun along Yohji’s jawline, watching a thin bead of sweat slide down it.
Maybe Hirofumi wouldn’t be happy about it, but Crawford was going to seduce this youth, consequences be damned.
* * *
They got into the club surprisingly easily, with more money Yohji had filched from Crawford’s wallet. Looking around, though, Crawford spotted something about the clientele Yohji had failed to mention previously.
“It’s a gay club,” he said flatly.
“I didn’t think you’d mind,” Yohji said. His voice was steeped in confidence, but it was sly rather than smug.
“You presume to make assumptions about my sexuality having known me for less than a day?” Crawford said frostily.
“No, I presume to make assumptions about your sexuality having heard you tell your boyfriend and boss that you basically miss him.”
Taking advantage of Crawford’s shock, Yohji dragged him over to the bar and sat him on a navy leather stool. He flagged down the bartender and handed him a card as he ordered their drinks.
Crawford leant back against the bar and surveyed the club. It had two floors, or rather, one and a half. The walls on the ground floor were lined with booths and tables, the centre reserved as a dance floor. The bar took up and entire wall as well, with several staff serving on it, all shirtless. The first floor had an industrial look to it, made of metal scaffolding pipes and perforated metal sheets. There were more niches and booths, curtained off. From it hung a few cages with gogo dancers in, and on top of it were platforms for other employed dancers. It was an exhibitionist’s wet dream.
Most of the staff, Crawford noticed, looked far too young to be working there.
“I didn’t realise you swung both ways,” Crawford leant in to be heard.
Yohji gave him a scathing look. “I don’t,” he said bluntly. His face softened. “Well, not as a rule. I guess if it was a real special guy I’d make an exception.”
“You seemed so at home here,” Crawford said awkwardly.
“It’s a club,” Yohji grinned. “I don’t care who it’s aimed at as long as there’s good booze and good music.”
A guy appeared over his shoulder. “And good looking people?” he asked.
“Sure,” Yohji grinned.
“Anything to further my reputation as the biggest slut in
The guy leant forwards over him. “Well, if that’s what you want, I can see a free booth upstairs...”
“He’s with me,” Crawford said stonily. Yohji managed not to look too surprised.
The guy laughed. “Like fuck.”
“Sorry,” Yohji shrugged the guy away. “He’s right.”
“No way,” the guy said, draping his arm around Yohji again. “My wife and I make a more convincing couple.”
Yohji frowned. This guy was going to be trouble, he could tell. He didn’t want any sexual entanglements tonight. He needed Kotoku to know he was here for business, not pleasure.
He was dragged off his stool by Crawford, and into the old man’s lap. He forced himself to relax quickly, and raised one hand to caress Crawford’s cheek.
“He’s with me,” Crawford repeated coldly. Yohji smirked at the persistent young man. The guy stared at them both suspiciously.
“I still don’t believe it,” he said firmly.
“If you think I’m going to change my behaviour towards my boyfriend just because you’re trying to challenge it, then I pity you. You clearly have a weak mind.” Crawford laughed softly. “Come on,” he stood up, tumbling Yohji from his lap. “Let’s get away from this creep. I hate these places enough without having to defend your honour from other men.”
”You promised you’d try to enjoy yourself,” Yohji said. It was an
easy game to play. “Please? At least one dance.”
Crawford sighed. “Well, considering the amount I had to fork out to get in here, I suppose we ought to get our money’s worth,” he grumbled.
“I still don’t believe it,” the stranger said, but the confidence was replaced with petulance.
Yohji leant against Crawford and let the older man wrap and arm around his waist. The silk of the shirt felt cool against his skin and gave him goose bumps. Crawford squeezed him slightly, pulling him close. They walked to the dance floor like that, Crawford’s nose in Yohji’s long hair, looking to all the world like young lovers. Well, like young people who were just waiting for the right moment to jump in to bed together. In a place like this there wasn’t much of a difference between one night stand and long term relationship.
“Was that guy ‘real special’?” Crawford asked. Yohji frowned, Crawford’s tone was casual, but his expression intent.
Yohji knew what he meant, though, and concentrated instead on squeezing Crawford’s hips and writhing against the awkward American. “No, not at all,” he said, looking over Crawford’s shoulder.
“And what would you have done if I hadn’t been here?” Crawford persisted.
Yohji squirmed under that gaze. He knew he’d have done precisely what Crawford was suggesting, what the flirt had wanted, and he knew he’d have regretted it, but he’d have swallowed those regrets and do it again and again. He was running out of women, after all; they’d all started to look like Asuka. They had breasts, she had breasts, they had hair, she had hair, and so on. He’d be gay be default, not choice.
“I know it’s not my business,” Crawford went on solemnly, “but your behaviour worries me. It’s irresponsible and putting you in danger.”
“And you?” Yohji asked wryly.
“I can defend myself,” Crawford said calmly. “You appear not to want to.”
Yohji grimaced. Crawford’s expression was almost sympathetic, as though he’d done this himself, or knew someone who had. Well, he was older, wasn’t he, and he must have been through a few rough-ended relationships himself. Of course, he was still on his way up, while the end of Yohji’s relationship had signalled the end of his career, his ability to pay for his apartment and every single dream he’d once cherished. His idle boasts to Crawford that he was living his dreams were nothing more than that, idle.
“He’s still watching,” Crawford breathed in his ear. Yohji wasn’t sure when the older man had gotten so close. He tried to focus on Crawford’s face, but it was too close and then...
And then they were kissing.
It wasn’t like kissing a woman. For a moment, Yohji wondered if this was what it was like for a woman, but he rejected that idea quickly. Crawford’s lips were hard against his own, hard enough to feel his teeth behind them, and Yohji opened his mouth hungrily. Tongue on tongue was equally firm and forceful, making Yohji want to kiss back as fiercely as he was being kissed. It was a challenge. Yohji responded well to challenges. Why else was he hunting a boy who should have died for a man who wouldn’t give him information with a bodyguard who apparently wanted to jump him in the middle of a club?
For Crawford it was something different. Yohji had been standing there in his arms, apparently too listless to keep up even the most minimal impression of dancing in the swaying crowd, the look on his face that of a boy who just learnt Santa wasn’t real. No, that Santa had been brutally murdered by the elves. It wasn’t an attractive look for the brunette, whose eyes were too narrow and his mouth too thin to look beautifully sad. That had needed changing, Crawford told himself, descending on unsuspecting lips and being pleasantly surprised with the way Yohji responded so eagerly.
He withdrew and over his shoulder Yohji could see the man who’d flirted with him earlier, leading some other apathetic young man towards the private compartments. Yohji smiled. Crawford smiled back a little uncertainly. Yohji darted his head forwards and placed a quick peck on Crawford’s lips, to see if he could make that shock run a little deeper.
“We should approach Kotoku now,” Yohji told him. “He’s knows I’m here, and he doesn’t like waiting.”
Yohji tried to move out of the circle of Crawford’s arms, but Crawford pulled him in tighter, concern written on his face. Yohji frowned at him.
“I suspect,” Crawford said slowly, “this Kotoku may be an illicit business contact of Takatori’s. If so, he may recognise me.”
“If so, he already knows damn well you’re here,” Yohji said bluntly. “May I ask what stopped from mentioning this earlier, when it might have actually mattered?” he added snippily, trying again to move away from the American, who still hung on grimly, one arm around his shoulders, the other around his waist.
“Because I don’t know you,” Crawford said. “I’m not entirely sure I trust you. Over the course of a single day you’ve already gathered enough information to implicate the entire Takatori family several times over. Even without evidence the papers would tear them to shreds.”
“Are you in the habit of flirting with people you don’t trust?” Yohji asked caustically.
“I trust no one,” Crawford said glibly. “So, were I inclined to flirt with people, which I’m not, I wouldn’t have much of a choice.”
Was Crawford trying to imply
that sticking his tongue down Yohji’s throat wasn’t flirting? Yohji
bit back the doubt. Perhaps they did things differently in
“So what do you suggest?” Yohji asked. “If you’re right, you know this man better than I do.”
Crawford opened his mouth, but closed it again. Yohji growled in frustration. He really hated it when people pointed out problems without giving constructive advice on how to fix them.
“Well,” Yohji said firmly, pressing his advantage to take control again, “if Kotoku knows who you are, he will assume this has Takatori’s backing, and may be more giving. He seems to rely on that kind of help to prevent legal interference. If he doesn’t know who you are, you’re simply my latest partner.”
“How many have you been through?” Crawford asked. He released Yohji, uncomfortable with Yohji’s sudden acceptance of the cold grip Crawford had had him in.
“Including you? Two. But he doesn’t know that. I’ve usually got some tag-a-long when I’m here anyway, because I don’t trust him. I want a witness around, you know?” Yohji make the most of Crawford’s action to pull away and lead Crawford by the hand through the writhing mass of bodies.
“You don’t mind putting innocent strangers in life-threatening situations?” Crawford frowned. That wasn’t something he’d expected of the youth.
Yohji offered him a one-shouldered shrug. “Hardly innocent, and such pretty faces Kotoku would shoot himself for removing from the mortal plane. Anyway, he’s got no reason to. We always chat in English, so my ‘friend’ doesn’t know what’s going on.”
“How does Kotoku know your friend doesn’t speak English?” Crawford demanded. Kudoh couldn’t have been relying on luck to such an extent. Crawford refused to believe it. The young man was smart, even if he made a point of giving an impression of being quite the opposite.
“He checks, of course. I always have the friend wandering around down here with me first, so he can make a few checks.”
“I’m American.”
“I know.”
“I speak English.”
“He speaks weapon, and that gun in your waistband is yelling pretty damn loudly.”
They reached a nondescript door tucked between a metal crate and a scaffolding pole. It was painted to match the wall and looked like tired chipboard, but when it opened Crawford saw about two inches of steel backing it up and a complex mechanical locking system withdrawing in clicks and whirs. Yohji squeezed his hand and released it, tucking thumbs into belt loops and swaggering like a cowboy into the dim interior.
With a tired sigh, Crawford followed the posturing PI into a den of depravity unlike any... well, like most he’d known. But still, it wasn’t something he enjoyed.
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