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no_true_pairTitle: Club Night
Author: Sententia
Fandom: Switch
Pairings: Shiba/Miyoshi, Shiba/Takei, Ibu/Miyoshi.
Word count: 3781
Warnings: none.
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Miyoshi and Shiba have to go undercover as a gay couple. Luckily they have Ibu and Takei around to help them practice.
Challenge: Miyoshi and Shiba in a marriage of convenience.
Notes: I feel like such a cheat, because the Shiba/Miyoshi portion of this ended up being way smaller than I intended. There is much more Shiba/Takei and Ibu/Miyoshi than the prompt calls for.
The club was not the kind that Ibu generally frequented, in part because Ibu tended to be above clubs in the first place. Perhaps because of his own personal high standards and superior relaxation mechanisms, Ibu had only ever gained an understanding of what clubs actually entailed through his work in Intelligence. On the other end of a phone line, clubs sounded loud, obnoxious, and devoid of any sort of moral purpose.
What you couldn’t pick up over the phone was how they were also a desperate, pathetic attempt at social relevance and – as Takei so delightfully put it – ‘pant hopping’ going-ons.
As distasteful as the club was (Ibu had ventured once into the bathroom and then never again), the poor lighting and pumping, headache inducing music served as perfect cover for a bit of undercover preparation. It was not a typical mission, if there was ever such a thing. Hiki had been approached by the Yokohama department for some assistance with an undercover project that would require two agents. They would have to play the role of young lovers participating in the new ‘hip and dangerous’ night club scene that had sprung up illegally on the docks, and (more importantly) where a new brand of drugs were being secretly distributed.
Which, fine. It was the sort of job that other departments did on a frequent basis. However, the staff shortage had meant that someone from Intelligence had to volunteer as Lover Number 1. That hadn’t posed the issue Ibu felt it should have, as Miyoshi had jumped at the opportunity, barely even flinching when Hiki (rather belatedly, in Ibu’s mind) announced that the two agents would be playing gay lovers.
It had been suggested that perhaps Miyoshi and Shiba (Yokohama’s sacrificial Lover Number 2) would benefit from a little bit of practice before being inflicted on the intended clubs, least of all because neither had any experience in this particular niche of under cover work. Hiki’s suggestion had seemed simple enough: a quick dry run at an unconnected night club, just to trial things out.
And. Well.
There was clearly a reason Hiki had risen through the ranks as quickly as he had. Ibu wandered darkly if Hiki had foreseen the tacky and amateur attempts at romance that the make-shift coupling had resulted in. It was almost impossible to find the words to describe just how disturbing the scene on the dance floor was, but Ibu valiantly searched for them, regardless. Miyoshi dancing with Shiba was a little like, a little like -
“- a wild cat trying to dance with a scratching post,” Takei offered from the bar stool on Ibu’s right. Even with the poor lighting, Shiba and Miyoshi’s display was particularly hard to filter out. Ibu had tried. Repeatedly.
Miyoshi was at least trying, as horrifying as the end result was. His overly dramatic displays of affection were frightening enough on their own, but Ibu conceded that they could possibly be written off as an enthusiastic, unhinged, stalkery kind of love. Shiba, however…
Ibu paused thoughtfully. It was hard to pinpoint exactly what was going wrong with Shiba. He was smooth and easy to watch on the dance floor, smiling in all the right places and leaning in just so. It was just that he was…
“As passionless as a sack of potatoes,” Takei completed helpfully with a playful shake of his head. “It’s like he’s tackling a paint-by-numbers picture and the only colour he’s got in black.”
“Do you normally resort to endless, pointless metaphors?” Ibu asked dourly, although the other man had a point. Shiba was doing everything right, but it was clinical. Cold.
“Only when I’ve been drinking.”
It was a hobby that Takei had been engaging in since their arrival. Ibu didn’t venture much from the Investigations unit these days, mostly because there simply weren’t enough hours in the day to be both amazingly efficient and a social butterfly. But even back when he had been Takei’s age and free of all his current expectations of brilliance, he had never frequented such dives with such regularity that it took only moments for him to become as familiar as the tatty wood work and the blinding strobe lighting.
It wasn’t, if Ibu was to be honest, what he would have thought as being Takei’s likely natural habitat.
“It’s quite obvious why I had to come along,” Ibu started, his eyes narrowing as Shiba tried to find Miyoshi’s hips but ended up settling for somewhere around his ribs, instead.
“Baby sitting duties,” Takei replied, his gaze never leaving the ‘dancing’ couple, either.
Quite right. Miyoshi should never be unleashed on others like this without some form of supervision.
“Remind me why you are here, again?”
“To point and laugh,” Takei replied calmly. Aah. Acceptable. “I spent months under cover in a high school. As a student.” The thought still seemed to rankle him. “They sent Hal in as a teacher, and he’s two years younger than me. I got screwed.” Ibu thought it was prudent to keep to himself that Takei’s current expression de-aged him by about 8 years. “Do you know what it’s like having a secret rendezvous with your partner in a school uniform?” Takei’s expression became especially mournful. “In summer, I had to wear shorts.”
“Didn’t you almost die on that mission?” Ibu asked, distracted. Miyoshi was doing something strange with his hands, skimming them through the air in slow, exaggerated movements.
“Eh, not close enough to get more than a couple of days off work. What I wouldn’t do to work for an organisation that wasn’t perpetually in a staffing crisis.”
Now that was a line of thought that Ibu could appreciate, and he took a commiserative sip of his drink. Really, this was NOT his department’s line of work, that Miyoshi was having to-
The thought slipped from his mind like jello through a sieve. Glompy, thick, and with a sense of disbelief that anyone would attempt something so stupid in the first place. Ibu looked on in horror as Miyoshi pressed up onto his toes and tried to consume Shiba in the wettest, sloppiest, most needlessly enthusiastic kiss that Ibu had ever seen.
It was mortifying.
Takei folded nearly in half, one shaky hand all that was keeping him on his barstool as he laughed helplessly. Shiba detached himself almost immediately from the ... the .... kiss ..., giving Miyoshi the world’s most awkward pat on the head before streaking over to where Ibu and Takei were sitting.
“I think I need a drink,” Shiba said wryly, sliding onto a spare chair. “A strong one.” Takei soundlessly handed over his own drink, before ordering himself a new one. Miyoshi remained on the dance floor, looking far too pleased with himself as he swayed in place.
“Do you think it’s a good idea to leave him out on the floor alone?” Ibu stated coldly as Shiba took an ill-timed time out.
“Not after that display, you can see the pervs flocking to him.” Shiba downed half his drink, while Ibu’s gaze refocussed back onto the dance floor. One particularly unsavoury looking man was starting to eye Miyoshi up in a completely inappropriate way. “Well?”
“Well, what?” Ibu asked, preoccupied.
“Aren’t you going to go out there and look after your partner?” Shiba thought he had the right to give Ibu that look, one laden with reproach and just a touch of pity? “You don’t want someone to take advantage of him, do you?”
What?!
“Miyoshi is YOUR responsibility tonight,” Ibu spluttered, not liking at all the way both Shiba and Takei sadly shook their heads. “And we’re not partners.” Technically, they simply worked in the same department. The fact that they ended up together more often than not was really due more to the restrictions of the other departments. Takei’s expression turned especially sad and disappointed, and Ibu ground his back teeth together. “Fine.” Clearly, Shiba did not feel as though he had any obligation to cleaning up the mess he had helped make.
Ibu slipped off his bar stool and strode stoically onto the dance floor and towards Miyoshi. He even made it a whole two meters before someone spilled their drink over him.
***
“Oh, god.” Shiba moaned, dropping his head backwards. “I thought he’d never bugger off and I’d have to pretend to be having the time of my life with that odd partner of his.” He rolled his eyes helplessly over to Takei. At least he had his best friend here in his hour of need. ”Save me from the wandering hands of a virgin.”
Takei grinned. “Somehow, I don’t think you would be having the same problem if those hands belong to a woman.”
“That part went unsaid.”
“Naturally.”
“I feel like a sacrifice.” One who was likely to get his heart torn from his chest and then eaten by a cute, fluffy rabbit. “Remind me again why they didn’t rope you into this insane undercover mission?” And was it too late to switch places?
“Eh. They’ve seen my face before. You know that.” Yeah, Takei’s sympathetic shoulder pat might have been a tad more effective if the bastard didn’t sound positively gleeful. “Besides, they clearly looked at you and thought: now this is a man who knows the ins and outs of a gay bar.”
“You are dead to me.”
“Noted.”
They relaxed back against the bar, idly watching as Ibu tried (and only partially succeeded) in convincing Miyoshi that he didn’t need to find a new dance partner to replace Shiba. The end result of said discussion was the two of them standing awkwardly on the dance floor, Miyoshi trying to ‘tempt’ Ibu into rediscovering his hips through doe eyes alone.
“Are you still imagining him with breasts?” Takei asked after a moment.
Shiba had broken down his plan to Takei on the drive over, and while his partner had given him that particular look he normally reserved for those who thought that Friday night drinks could be held anywhere other than a bar, Shiba had felt the plan was fool proof. There were no two ways around it. Dancing with another man was just too odd a concept for Shiba to wrap his mind around. Oh, he was perfectly happy with other men dancing with men, because that was what men who were into that sort of thing did. Shiba, however, was into busty busts and short skirts that slid higher up the thigh as the night wore on.
Miyoshi was somewhat on the smaller side, and had been good enough to line his eyes so they appeared ridiculously large. Still, where the hell was Shiba even supposed to place his hands? The man had no hips!
He had thought that the chances of passing off as legitimately infatuated with the other man was damn near impossible, right up until Shiba had concocted his simple plan. Just pretend the man in front of him was actually a woman. With boobs. How could it possibly go wrong? After all, once you got past that major lack of femininity, there really wasn’t much else that was important.
What he hadn’t counted on was the Frankensteined image his mind had put together upon actually meeting up with Miyoshi at the club. Shiba was used to his various teammates cross-dressing for undercover investigations, but that was a deliberate distortion of reality that worked on some strange level. This had been purely down to Shiba’s own imagination, and it appeared he wasn’t as familiar with how boobs should look as he had thought.
“They won’t go away now,” he admitted with a grin. “I think I’m almost getting used to them.” He dipped his head to one side, his forehead suddenly scrunching inwards. “Uh, maybe not.”
“I don’t want to know,” Takei hurriedly said at the sudden horror that flitted across his friend’s features. “Not now, not when I’m drunk, not when I’m on my death bed and begging you with my last breath.”
“Good call,” Shiba said sagely, before relaxing back into his chair. “The problem is, I can’t find him attractive as a man with breasts, and there is just something about men that I can’t reconcile with pulse racing, breathless, hot-naked sex. I can’t even imagine it.”
“They’re only asking you to dance with him,” Takei said dryly, before perking up in a dangerous fashion that set all of Shiba’s Takei-senses trembling in fear. “Wait. You’ve never been able to imagine yourself with a man?” Now this was an interesting and unexpected line of questioning. “Not even with me?”
“You want me to fantasise about you?” He narrowed his eyes thoughtfully at Takei. Where in the world had this come from?
Takei blinked with mock hurt up at him, before his frown dissolved into an easy grin. “Maybe now and then,” he admitted warmly. “It does amazing things for your ego, knowing that your partner occasionally wants to get into your pants.” His grin turned teasing. “They are very nice pants, you know?”
Shiba cuffed him around the head, and Takei laughed in against his shoulder.
“At least we’ve identified your problem, this is nothing more than a mental block.” And Shiba did not at all like the way in which Takei’s grin had turned more than a little evil. “As your friend and partner, it is my duty to help you break through it.”
“Oh, really?” Shiba asked dryly. “And how are you planning on doing that, oh sexy one?”
Like silk shimmered over the smoothest of stones, Takei practically liquefied up beside Shiba, stealing his personal space, his air, and his breath all in one dangerously placed smirk. Hooded eyes captivated, taunted – fucking teased, and why the hell couldn’t he breathe? – and Takei hadn’t even said a word, just stood there, close.
So close that their hips touched, that when Takei breathed out (with Shiba’s stolen air, the bastard), the fabric of Take’s shirt ranched up against Shiba’s.
“This,” Takei said, his voice dipped low without quite breaking into a whisper, “is why I get all the girls.”
The kiss was slow and enduring, inviting itself in and then suggesting that maybe it be allowed to stay. And really, it was purely instinctive for Shiba to slide a leg in between Takei’s and smother away any of that last, lingering space that dared to come between them. He couldn’t be blamed for the hand that slid beneath Takei’s shirt (this would not have even been an issue if Takei ever tucked it in), smoothing over the taut skin lurking beneath it. Nor could he be held responsible for how that same hand then curled in around Takei’s waist and drew him in even closer. Shiba knew this body and how it felt; he’d leaned on it when riddled through with bullets, held it desperately to his chest as Takei struggled for each, painful breath. Hell, he was pretty damn sure he knew exactly how many shot glasses shorter Takei was than him, and just how each of Shiba’s shirts looked when Takei was wearing them. Shiba was just confirming all those details right now out of a scientific curiosity brought on by way of the lingering alcohol in Takei’s mouth.
“You’re thinking of me naked, aren’t you?” Takei murmured against his lips, before sliding away. Takei didn’t go far, really only half a meter if that, but the distance could have been filled by a sumo wrestler for all it did to Shiba.
“I’ve seen you naked,” Shiba reminded him, his words slurred. “Countless times.” You gained a symbiotic sort of indignity over nakedness when you were partnered for years. Long expanses of tanned, tight skin set off by the pale stretch of bandages that you’d stripped from your own shirt because you’re both totally fucked in some hideout somewhere. Slick and wet after a late night shower, steam fogging up the air.
Fuck.
Takei smirked, turning his gaze (and taking Shiba’s with it) out to the dance floor.
“And now you’re thinking about kissing Miyoshi.”
Shiba blanched at the memory. “I’ve already kissed him.” It was not something he was interested in dwelling on, not while he still had the aftertaste of Takei on his lips.
“But now you’re actually thinking about it, aren’t you?” Takei leaned in against him, one arm resting comfortably on his shoulder - just as Takei had always done and would undoubtedly continue to do because he knew now how much it would drive Shiba to distraction. “He’s pretty cute, seriously. Those large, impish eyes, that wide mouth….”
Wide and soft. Shiba remembered how soft those lips were, even when used as weapons of misplaced seduction. Miyoshi was shorter than Takei but that was hardly an issue because Takei wasn’t an issue (just an obnoxious friend whose current smirk was totally not making Shiba hard), and besides. Takei was right.
In the right kind of light, Miyoshi was pretty damn hot. In the wrong kind, he was downright fuckable.
“Go get him, boy!” Takei said proudly before giving him a light shove, mingling Shiba back into a crowd.
“Let’s try this again,” Shiba murmured as he moved in front of Miyoshi, easily manoeuvring Ibu out of his space merely through his body placement. He ignored the cold glare Ibu shot him, focussing instead in on in his cute little target.
There was no grandiose sweep, no manipulative comment whispered into the younger man’s ear. Oh, no. Shiba was way too much of a pro for such childish props. Instead, he cupped Miyoshi’s face gently (but not too gently, he wanted Miyoshi to feel the texture of his fingertips, the scars that cut down his fingers and the cool of his palms), and brought Miyoshi in against him. Wide eyes danced hypnotically like snakes completely unable to resist Shiba’s charms.
And then, Shiba leaned down and simply claimed Miyoshi’s mouth as his own.
“Oh, wow.” Miyoshi babbled once Shiba relinquished ownership of those pretty lips back to him. Miyoshi was breathless and starry-eyed, not that Shiba could blame him. Now that was a kiss – he hoped Takei was taking notes. Miyoshi sagged in against his chest, his awed gaze gliding up to meet Shiba’s. “You are so, so awesome. Can we do it again?”
“I think you’ve had enough practice for tonight,” Ibu interjected sourly, dragging Miyoshi out of Shiba’s arms and possessively to his side. Miyoshi stumbled slightly, and Shiba almost missed the thoughtful look on Miyoshi’s face before it was hidden away behind a pout.
Well, well, well. Miyoshi might just be better at this whole undercover thing than Shiba had been giving him credit for.
“I didn’t think Miyoshi had a curfew,” Shiba said with a smirk, holding out a hand to Miyoshi. “Besides, we still have second base to consider. We’ve only got a couple of nights to get this right.” His smirk widened. “Why don’t you go take a seat?” The cool flame of anger that flashed through Ibu’s eyes made it all worth it, even if Ibu practically left scorch marks on the floor as he bid his annoyed retreat.
***
“Dance with me,” Ibu demanded, having elbowed his way through the crowded dance floor and back to Takei’s stool.
“Oh, poor Ibu,” Takei said sadly, unable to keep out the hint of good natured humour in his voice. “You have so much to learn. Sit, have a drink, and enjoy the show. It’s being put on for your benefit, after all.”
“I have no idea what you are talking about.” He downed whatever the shot was that Takei slid over to him, spluttering half of it back up. Of course Takei would give him something foul. “But both our partners are making complete fools out of themselves, and if you have any professional regard for Shiba you will-“
“-show Shiba how he can’t compete with your overpowering sensuality and he should turn in for the night with a hot toddy, leaving poor Miyoshi with no-one else to practice on other than you?” Takei shook his head. “You’ve spent too long behind a desk, Ibu. Just look.”
That sneaky bastard had wormed his arms around Miyoshi’s waist and was whispering surely deprived words into his ear. Miyoshi, lacking any appropriate level of shame, seemed to be relishing in it all, practically snuggling up against him.
“And?” There had better be a point to all this, or Takei would pay.
“It’s all for you.”
Ibu had an acid remark on the tip of his tongue, but then Miyoshi, Miyoshi peaked over the top of Shiba’s shoulder and back over at Ibu. Almost as though he wanted to know if Ibu was watching...
“Why are you helping me?” Ibu asked finally, but only after that head had tucked back down against Shiba’s chest. It was as close to an admission as Takei was going to get.
Takei was, Ibu was able to admit without a great deal of reluctance, a rather admirable man. He constantly came to the aid of their branch even though his own department was stretched just as thin.
Takei gave him a warm smile. “Because you two are cute together, and deserve nice things. Because even when he’s dancing like that-” Takei flinched briefly as some of Miyoshi’s old moves returned, although this time they added something much more dangerous and seductive, “- you still can’t take your eyes off of him.” Takei’s smile turned a little guilty. “Plus, I don’t have you and Miyoshi hooking up in the pool until next month.”
Ibu’s eyes narrowed as Shiba’s hand slid lower down Miyoshi’s back. Suddenly, so much made sense. “I gather Shiba is in on this as well?”
Takei snorted. “Like I’d want the competition. I know how that man’s mind operates.”
Ibu has a feeling it worked a hell of a lot like the one in front of him right now.
“Then how about we come to a little arrangement that is beneficial to us both.” For the first time, Ibu felt as though he had Takei’s full attention. It was an odd thought, as he hadn’t noticed before now how much it was lacking. He would be a fool to waste it. “And after that, we can discuss the pool currently running on you and Shiba.”
“What?!” All in all, it was almost worth wearing Takei’s drink for his horrified expression. Almost. That his drink of choice was vodka certainly worked in Takei’s favour. “There isn’t a pool out on us.”
“Not yet,” Ibu agreed. “Not yet.”
He saw no reason why Shiba and Miyoshi should be the only ones engaging in a marriage of convenience.
Author: Sententia
Fandom: Switch
Pairings: Shiba/Miyoshi, Shiba/Takei, Ibu/Miyoshi.
Word count: 3781
Warnings: none.
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Miyoshi and Shiba have to go undercover as a gay couple. Luckily they have Ibu and Takei around to help them practice.
Challenge: Miyoshi and Shiba in a marriage of convenience.
Notes: I feel like such a cheat, because the Shiba/Miyoshi portion of this ended up being way smaller than I intended. There is much more Shiba/Takei and Ibu/Miyoshi than the prompt calls for.
The club was not the kind that Ibu generally frequented, in part because Ibu tended to be above clubs in the first place. Perhaps because of his own personal high standards and superior relaxation mechanisms, Ibu had only ever gained an understanding of what clubs actually entailed through his work in Intelligence. On the other end of a phone line, clubs sounded loud, obnoxious, and devoid of any sort of moral purpose.
What you couldn’t pick up over the phone was how they were also a desperate, pathetic attempt at social relevance and – as Takei so delightfully put it – ‘pant hopping’ going-ons.
As distasteful as the club was (Ibu had ventured once into the bathroom and then never again), the poor lighting and pumping, headache inducing music served as perfect cover for a bit of undercover preparation. It was not a typical mission, if there was ever such a thing. Hiki had been approached by the Yokohama department for some assistance with an undercover project that would require two agents. They would have to play the role of young lovers participating in the new ‘hip and dangerous’ night club scene that had sprung up illegally on the docks, and (more importantly) where a new brand of drugs were being secretly distributed.
Which, fine. It was the sort of job that other departments did on a frequent basis. However, the staff shortage had meant that someone from Intelligence had to volunteer as Lover Number 1. That hadn’t posed the issue Ibu felt it should have, as Miyoshi had jumped at the opportunity, barely even flinching when Hiki (rather belatedly, in Ibu’s mind) announced that the two agents would be playing gay lovers.
It had been suggested that perhaps Miyoshi and Shiba (Yokohama’s sacrificial Lover Number 2) would benefit from a little bit of practice before being inflicted on the intended clubs, least of all because neither had any experience in this particular niche of under cover work. Hiki’s suggestion had seemed simple enough: a quick dry run at an unconnected night club, just to trial things out.
And. Well.
There was clearly a reason Hiki had risen through the ranks as quickly as he had. Ibu wandered darkly if Hiki had foreseen the tacky and amateur attempts at romance that the make-shift coupling had resulted in. It was almost impossible to find the words to describe just how disturbing the scene on the dance floor was, but Ibu valiantly searched for them, regardless. Miyoshi dancing with Shiba was a little like, a little like -
“- a wild cat trying to dance with a scratching post,” Takei offered from the bar stool on Ibu’s right. Even with the poor lighting, Shiba and Miyoshi’s display was particularly hard to filter out. Ibu had tried. Repeatedly.
Miyoshi was at least trying, as horrifying as the end result was. His overly dramatic displays of affection were frightening enough on their own, but Ibu conceded that they could possibly be written off as an enthusiastic, unhinged, stalkery kind of love. Shiba, however…
Ibu paused thoughtfully. It was hard to pinpoint exactly what was going wrong with Shiba. He was smooth and easy to watch on the dance floor, smiling in all the right places and leaning in just so. It was just that he was…
“As passionless as a sack of potatoes,” Takei completed helpfully with a playful shake of his head. “It’s like he’s tackling a paint-by-numbers picture and the only colour he’s got in black.”
“Do you normally resort to endless, pointless metaphors?” Ibu asked dourly, although the other man had a point. Shiba was doing everything right, but it was clinical. Cold.
“Only when I’ve been drinking.”
It was a hobby that Takei had been engaging in since their arrival. Ibu didn’t venture much from the Investigations unit these days, mostly because there simply weren’t enough hours in the day to be both amazingly efficient and a social butterfly. But even back when he had been Takei’s age and free of all his current expectations of brilliance, he had never frequented such dives with such regularity that it took only moments for him to become as familiar as the tatty wood work and the blinding strobe lighting.
It wasn’t, if Ibu was to be honest, what he would have thought as being Takei’s likely natural habitat.
“It’s quite obvious why I had to come along,” Ibu started, his eyes narrowing as Shiba tried to find Miyoshi’s hips but ended up settling for somewhere around his ribs, instead.
“Baby sitting duties,” Takei replied, his gaze never leaving the ‘dancing’ couple, either.
Quite right. Miyoshi should never be unleashed on others like this without some form of supervision.
“Remind me why you are here, again?”
“To point and laugh,” Takei replied calmly. Aah. Acceptable. “I spent months under cover in a high school. As a student.” The thought still seemed to rankle him. “They sent Hal in as a teacher, and he’s two years younger than me. I got screwed.” Ibu thought it was prudent to keep to himself that Takei’s current expression de-aged him by about 8 years. “Do you know what it’s like having a secret rendezvous with your partner in a school uniform?” Takei’s expression became especially mournful. “In summer, I had to wear shorts.”
“Didn’t you almost die on that mission?” Ibu asked, distracted. Miyoshi was doing something strange with his hands, skimming them through the air in slow, exaggerated movements.
“Eh, not close enough to get more than a couple of days off work. What I wouldn’t do to work for an organisation that wasn’t perpetually in a staffing crisis.”
Now that was a line of thought that Ibu could appreciate, and he took a commiserative sip of his drink. Really, this was NOT his department’s line of work, that Miyoshi was having to-
The thought slipped from his mind like jello through a sieve. Glompy, thick, and with a sense of disbelief that anyone would attempt something so stupid in the first place. Ibu looked on in horror as Miyoshi pressed up onto his toes and tried to consume Shiba in the wettest, sloppiest, most needlessly enthusiastic kiss that Ibu had ever seen.
It was mortifying.
Takei folded nearly in half, one shaky hand all that was keeping him on his barstool as he laughed helplessly. Shiba detached himself almost immediately from the ... the .... kiss ..., giving Miyoshi the world’s most awkward pat on the head before streaking over to where Ibu and Takei were sitting.
“I think I need a drink,” Shiba said wryly, sliding onto a spare chair. “A strong one.” Takei soundlessly handed over his own drink, before ordering himself a new one. Miyoshi remained on the dance floor, looking far too pleased with himself as he swayed in place.
“Do you think it’s a good idea to leave him out on the floor alone?” Ibu stated coldly as Shiba took an ill-timed time out.
“Not after that display, you can see the pervs flocking to him.” Shiba downed half his drink, while Ibu’s gaze refocussed back onto the dance floor. One particularly unsavoury looking man was starting to eye Miyoshi up in a completely inappropriate way. “Well?”
“Well, what?” Ibu asked, preoccupied.
“Aren’t you going to go out there and look after your partner?” Shiba thought he had the right to give Ibu that look, one laden with reproach and just a touch of pity? “You don’t want someone to take advantage of him, do you?”
What?!
“Miyoshi is YOUR responsibility tonight,” Ibu spluttered, not liking at all the way both Shiba and Takei sadly shook their heads. “And we’re not partners.” Technically, they simply worked in the same department. The fact that they ended up together more often than not was really due more to the restrictions of the other departments. Takei’s expression turned especially sad and disappointed, and Ibu ground his back teeth together. “Fine.” Clearly, Shiba did not feel as though he had any obligation to cleaning up the mess he had helped make.
Ibu slipped off his bar stool and strode stoically onto the dance floor and towards Miyoshi. He even made it a whole two meters before someone spilled their drink over him.
“Oh, god.” Shiba moaned, dropping his head backwards. “I thought he’d never bugger off and I’d have to pretend to be having the time of my life with that odd partner of his.” He rolled his eyes helplessly over to Takei. At least he had his best friend here in his hour of need. ”Save me from the wandering hands of a virgin.”
Takei grinned. “Somehow, I don’t think you would be having the same problem if those hands belong to a woman.”
“That part went unsaid.”
“Naturally.”
“I feel like a sacrifice.” One who was likely to get his heart torn from his chest and then eaten by a cute, fluffy rabbit. “Remind me again why they didn’t rope you into this insane undercover mission?” And was it too late to switch places?
“Eh. They’ve seen my face before. You know that.” Yeah, Takei’s sympathetic shoulder pat might have been a tad more effective if the bastard didn’t sound positively gleeful. “Besides, they clearly looked at you and thought: now this is a man who knows the ins and outs of a gay bar.”
“You are dead to me.”
“Noted.”
They relaxed back against the bar, idly watching as Ibu tried (and only partially succeeded) in convincing Miyoshi that he didn’t need to find a new dance partner to replace Shiba. The end result of said discussion was the two of them standing awkwardly on the dance floor, Miyoshi trying to ‘tempt’ Ibu into rediscovering his hips through doe eyes alone.
“Are you still imagining him with breasts?” Takei asked after a moment.
Shiba had broken down his plan to Takei on the drive over, and while his partner had given him that particular look he normally reserved for those who thought that Friday night drinks could be held anywhere other than a bar, Shiba had felt the plan was fool proof. There were no two ways around it. Dancing with another man was just too odd a concept for Shiba to wrap his mind around. Oh, he was perfectly happy with other men dancing with men, because that was what men who were into that sort of thing did. Shiba, however, was into busty busts and short skirts that slid higher up the thigh as the night wore on.
Miyoshi was somewhat on the smaller side, and had been good enough to line his eyes so they appeared ridiculously large. Still, where the hell was Shiba even supposed to place his hands? The man had no hips!
He had thought that the chances of passing off as legitimately infatuated with the other man was damn near impossible, right up until Shiba had concocted his simple plan. Just pretend the man in front of him was actually a woman. With boobs. How could it possibly go wrong? After all, once you got past that major lack of femininity, there really wasn’t much else that was important.
What he hadn’t counted on was the Frankensteined image his mind had put together upon actually meeting up with Miyoshi at the club. Shiba was used to his various teammates cross-dressing for undercover investigations, but that was a deliberate distortion of reality that worked on some strange level. This had been purely down to Shiba’s own imagination, and it appeared he wasn’t as familiar with how boobs should look as he had thought.
“They won’t go away now,” he admitted with a grin. “I think I’m almost getting used to them.” He dipped his head to one side, his forehead suddenly scrunching inwards. “Uh, maybe not.”
“I don’t want to know,” Takei hurriedly said at the sudden horror that flitted across his friend’s features. “Not now, not when I’m drunk, not when I’m on my death bed and begging you with my last breath.”
“Good call,” Shiba said sagely, before relaxing back into his chair. “The problem is, I can’t find him attractive as a man with breasts, and there is just something about men that I can’t reconcile with pulse racing, breathless, hot-naked sex. I can’t even imagine it.”
“They’re only asking you to dance with him,” Takei said dryly, before perking up in a dangerous fashion that set all of Shiba’s Takei-senses trembling in fear. “Wait. You’ve never been able to imagine yourself with a man?” Now this was an interesting and unexpected line of questioning. “Not even with me?”
“You want me to fantasise about you?” He narrowed his eyes thoughtfully at Takei. Where in the world had this come from?
Takei blinked with mock hurt up at him, before his frown dissolved into an easy grin. “Maybe now and then,” he admitted warmly. “It does amazing things for your ego, knowing that your partner occasionally wants to get into your pants.” His grin turned teasing. “They are very nice pants, you know?”
Shiba cuffed him around the head, and Takei laughed in against his shoulder.
“At least we’ve identified your problem, this is nothing more than a mental block.” And Shiba did not at all like the way in which Takei’s grin had turned more than a little evil. “As your friend and partner, it is my duty to help you break through it.”
“Oh, really?” Shiba asked dryly. “And how are you planning on doing that, oh sexy one?”
Like silk shimmered over the smoothest of stones, Takei practically liquefied up beside Shiba, stealing his personal space, his air, and his breath all in one dangerously placed smirk. Hooded eyes captivated, taunted – fucking teased, and why the hell couldn’t he breathe? – and Takei hadn’t even said a word, just stood there, close.
So close that their hips touched, that when Takei breathed out (with Shiba’s stolen air, the bastard), the fabric of Take’s shirt ranched up against Shiba’s.
“This,” Takei said, his voice dipped low without quite breaking into a whisper, “is why I get all the girls.”
The kiss was slow and enduring, inviting itself in and then suggesting that maybe it be allowed to stay. And really, it was purely instinctive for Shiba to slide a leg in between Takei’s and smother away any of that last, lingering space that dared to come between them. He couldn’t be blamed for the hand that slid beneath Takei’s shirt (this would not have even been an issue if Takei ever tucked it in), smoothing over the taut skin lurking beneath it. Nor could he be held responsible for how that same hand then curled in around Takei’s waist and drew him in even closer. Shiba knew this body and how it felt; he’d leaned on it when riddled through with bullets, held it desperately to his chest as Takei struggled for each, painful breath. Hell, he was pretty damn sure he knew exactly how many shot glasses shorter Takei was than him, and just how each of Shiba’s shirts looked when Takei was wearing them. Shiba was just confirming all those details right now out of a scientific curiosity brought on by way of the lingering alcohol in Takei’s mouth.
“You’re thinking of me naked, aren’t you?” Takei murmured against his lips, before sliding away. Takei didn’t go far, really only half a meter if that, but the distance could have been filled by a sumo wrestler for all it did to Shiba.
“I’ve seen you naked,” Shiba reminded him, his words slurred. “Countless times.” You gained a symbiotic sort of indignity over nakedness when you were partnered for years. Long expanses of tanned, tight skin set off by the pale stretch of bandages that you’d stripped from your own shirt because you’re both totally fucked in some hideout somewhere. Slick and wet after a late night shower, steam fogging up the air.
Fuck.
Takei smirked, turning his gaze (and taking Shiba’s with it) out to the dance floor.
“And now you’re thinking about kissing Miyoshi.”
Shiba blanched at the memory. “I’ve already kissed him.” It was not something he was interested in dwelling on, not while he still had the aftertaste of Takei on his lips.
“But now you’re actually thinking about it, aren’t you?” Takei leaned in against him, one arm resting comfortably on his shoulder - just as Takei had always done and would undoubtedly continue to do because he knew now how much it would drive Shiba to distraction. “He’s pretty cute, seriously. Those large, impish eyes, that wide mouth….”
Wide and soft. Shiba remembered how soft those lips were, even when used as weapons of misplaced seduction. Miyoshi was shorter than Takei but that was hardly an issue because Takei wasn’t an issue (just an obnoxious friend whose current smirk was totally not making Shiba hard), and besides. Takei was right.
In the right kind of light, Miyoshi was pretty damn hot. In the wrong kind, he was downright fuckable.
“Go get him, boy!” Takei said proudly before giving him a light shove, mingling Shiba back into a crowd.
“Let’s try this again,” Shiba murmured as he moved in front of Miyoshi, easily manoeuvring Ibu out of his space merely through his body placement. He ignored the cold glare Ibu shot him, focussing instead in on in his cute little target.
There was no grandiose sweep, no manipulative comment whispered into the younger man’s ear. Oh, no. Shiba was way too much of a pro for such childish props. Instead, he cupped Miyoshi’s face gently (but not too gently, he wanted Miyoshi to feel the texture of his fingertips, the scars that cut down his fingers and the cool of his palms), and brought Miyoshi in against him. Wide eyes danced hypnotically like snakes completely unable to resist Shiba’s charms.
And then, Shiba leaned down and simply claimed Miyoshi’s mouth as his own.
“Oh, wow.” Miyoshi babbled once Shiba relinquished ownership of those pretty lips back to him. Miyoshi was breathless and starry-eyed, not that Shiba could blame him. Now that was a kiss – he hoped Takei was taking notes. Miyoshi sagged in against his chest, his awed gaze gliding up to meet Shiba’s. “You are so, so awesome. Can we do it again?”
“I think you’ve had enough practice for tonight,” Ibu interjected sourly, dragging Miyoshi out of Shiba’s arms and possessively to his side. Miyoshi stumbled slightly, and Shiba almost missed the thoughtful look on Miyoshi’s face before it was hidden away behind a pout.
Well, well, well. Miyoshi might just be better at this whole undercover thing than Shiba had been giving him credit for.
“I didn’t think Miyoshi had a curfew,” Shiba said with a smirk, holding out a hand to Miyoshi. “Besides, we still have second base to consider. We’ve only got a couple of nights to get this right.” His smirk widened. “Why don’t you go take a seat?” The cool flame of anger that flashed through Ibu’s eyes made it all worth it, even if Ibu practically left scorch marks on the floor as he bid his annoyed retreat.
“Dance with me,” Ibu demanded, having elbowed his way through the crowded dance floor and back to Takei’s stool.
“Oh, poor Ibu,” Takei said sadly, unable to keep out the hint of good natured humour in his voice. “You have so much to learn. Sit, have a drink, and enjoy the show. It’s being put on for your benefit, after all.”
“I have no idea what you are talking about.” He downed whatever the shot was that Takei slid over to him, spluttering half of it back up. Of course Takei would give him something foul. “But both our partners are making complete fools out of themselves, and if you have any professional regard for Shiba you will-“
“-show Shiba how he can’t compete with your overpowering sensuality and he should turn in for the night with a hot toddy, leaving poor Miyoshi with no-one else to practice on other than you?” Takei shook his head. “You’ve spent too long behind a desk, Ibu. Just look.”
That sneaky bastard had wormed his arms around Miyoshi’s waist and was whispering surely deprived words into his ear. Miyoshi, lacking any appropriate level of shame, seemed to be relishing in it all, practically snuggling up against him.
“And?” There had better be a point to all this, or Takei would pay.
“It’s all for you.”
Ibu had an acid remark on the tip of his tongue, but then Miyoshi, Miyoshi peaked over the top of Shiba’s shoulder and back over at Ibu. Almost as though he wanted to know if Ibu was watching...
“Why are you helping me?” Ibu asked finally, but only after that head had tucked back down against Shiba’s chest. It was as close to an admission as Takei was going to get.
Takei was, Ibu was able to admit without a great deal of reluctance, a rather admirable man. He constantly came to the aid of their branch even though his own department was stretched just as thin.
Takei gave him a warm smile. “Because you two are cute together, and deserve nice things. Because even when he’s dancing like that-” Takei flinched briefly as some of Miyoshi’s old moves returned, although this time they added something much more dangerous and seductive, “- you still can’t take your eyes off of him.” Takei’s smile turned a little guilty. “Plus, I don’t have you and Miyoshi hooking up in the pool until next month.”
Ibu’s eyes narrowed as Shiba’s hand slid lower down Miyoshi’s back. Suddenly, so much made sense. “I gather Shiba is in on this as well?”
Takei snorted. “Like I’d want the competition. I know how that man’s mind operates.”
Ibu has a feeling it worked a hell of a lot like the one in front of him right now.
“Then how about we come to a little arrangement that is beneficial to us both.” For the first time, Ibu felt as though he had Takei’s full attention. It was an odd thought, as he hadn’t noticed before now how much it was lacking. He would be a fool to waste it. “And after that, we can discuss the pool currently running on you and Shiba.”
“What?!” All in all, it was almost worth wearing Takei’s drink for his horrified expression. Almost. That his drink of choice was vodka certainly worked in Takei’s favour. “There isn’t a pool out on us.”
“Not yet,” Ibu agreed. “Not yet.”
He saw no reason why Shiba and Miyoshi should be the only ones engaging in a marriage of convenience.