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[10:52PM] Kazutoshi: You bored of being a special guest yet?
[10:54PM] Ken: Yeah. I don’t know why they were so insistent on me staying overnight.
[10:54PM] Ken: Really nice hotel though!
[10:55PM] Ken: [VID14243.mp4]
Kazutoshi cocks a brow as Ken pans around his room. It is really nice. It’s European-inspired, sort of gothic, with a four-poster bed and intricate furnishings. He’s jealous. It’s moody, with ruffled curtains and bedsheets, like a vampire’s lair, or a deranged king’s bedchambers.
[10:55PM] Ken: There’s 90 rooms and they’re all in a different style, all devised by one interior designer!
[10:56PM] Kazutoshi: Woooooow.
[10:56PM] Kazutoshi: Pays to be a big-shot huh
[10:56PM] Ken: I’m just annoyed I couldn’t bring you.
[10:56PM] Kazutoshi: Heh
[10:57PM] Ken: Anything fun happen today?
[10:57PM] Kazutoshi: Not much but I went to that market I was telling you about
[10:57PM] Ken: On the riverside?
[10:57PM] Kazutoshi: Yup
[10:58PM] Kazutoshi: [IMG43094.png]
[10:58PM] Ken: Oh, that’s so cute! A windchime?
[10:58PM] Kazutoshi: Yeah for the yard
[10:58PM] Ken: I love it. Are the little fishes all ceramic?
[10:58PM] Kazutoshi: You bet
Kazutoshi sighs into his palm. He curls further into the couch, head bolstered on a pillow, hoodie drawn up around his face. Ken had left late last night for Sendai. Kazutoshi had waved to him through the fluorescent train window as it disappeared into the dark. He rolls onto his side and sighs again, like the couch will swallow him up if he seems sad enough. He’s never usually this needy, this clingy, but as he sits alone in their living room he feels Ken’s absence intimately. It's the little things, mainly - Ken not being there to kiss the back of his neck in the kitchen, not being there to lay his meds out on the counter, not being there to ease him back to sleep when he wakes up in pain in the night. A dull, half-psychosomatic ache ebbs through him. Just one more day.
[11:00PM] Ken: Do you miss me yet?
He blinks down at the text fondly.
[11:00PM] Kazutoshi: Duh
He watches as Ken types out a message and then deletes it. He does it four or five times and Kazutoshi can't help but grin. He fiddles absently with a long front piece of his hair.
[11:02PM] Ken: Miss you too.
[11:02PM] Kazutoshi: Idk it took you two whole minutes to type out
[11:03PM] Ken: I was going to send something stupid.
Interest prickles sharp and fast through him.
[11:03PM] Kazutoshi: Oh?
[11:04PM] Kazutoshi: Tell me
[11:05PM] Ken: No
The absent punctuation sends him further into intrigue. He doesn’t notice he’s smiling so wide until it starts hurting his cheeks.
[11:05PM] Kazutoshi: Why?
[11:05PM] Ken: It’s embarrassing.
[11:06PM] Kazutoshi: Were you gonna send me a photo of your dick
[11:06PM] Ken: NO
Kazutoshi snorts.
[11:06PM] Kazutoshi: Shame
[11:06PM] Ken: You are so weird
[11:06PM] Kazutoshi: It was something like that though right
Ken takes five whole minutes to reply. They are the longest five minutes of Kazutoshi’s life. He pretends he doesn’t care, picking at his painted nails like it’ll make Ken answer faster. He feels lighter, though, buoyant, effervescent with interest. When he sees Ken's response, he jolts up from where he’s been laying. He feels like he’s been punched.
[11:11PM] Ken: [IMG7635687.png]
[11:11PM] Ken: Miss you
It’s a photo of Ken, taken in the huge ornate mirror facing the bed. His face is obscured by his phone. He’s in a suit, the one the show commissioned for him to wear. It’s dark blue, with a black undershirt. A silver jewelled brooch dangles from one of the lapels. The suit jacket is half-shrugged off. The shirt is unbuttoned and wide open. In the low bedroom light, Kazutoshi can make out the defined muscle of his abdomen, the dips of his v-lines. The zip of his slacks is undone, and the band of his underwear flashes. He looks half-undressed. Half-ravaged. Heat rushes through him.
[11:12PM] Kazutoshi: What the fuck Ken
[11:12PM] Ken: Do you hate it
[11:12PM] Kazutoshi: Are you stupid????
[11:13PM] Ken: I feel like a pervert
Kazutoshi barks a giddy laugh into his fist. His face is so hot. Something in his gut stirs.
[11:13PM] Kazutoshi: Hottest pervert in my phone
[11:13PM] Ken: Feel bad for the other guys
He looks at the picture again. Saves it. In it, the hand not holding his phone is screwed up into the dark bedsheets. They look soft. High thread count. Ken is so broad, so big, and here he’s posed so open and unapologetic, shoulders back, collarbones jutting, light drooling across his chest like syrup.
Kazutoshi has unholy thoughts as he turns the TV off and pads upstairs into their empty bedroom. He settles on Ken’s side of the bed and buries his face in his pillow. It smells like his cologne. Sea spray, salt and something else, something purple and floral.
[11:15PM] Kazutoshi: So like was that just for me to look at or
[11:15PM] Ken: I wasn’t really thinking straight when I took it and then I went to delete it but I felt weirdly guilty about doing that so I sent it to you anyway as a form of penance
Kazutoshi snickers into his pillow.
[11:15PM] Kazutoshi: Gee thanks
[11:16PM] Ken: I’ll delete it now then.
[11:16PM] Kazutoshi: Already saved it
[11:16PM] Ken: Shit
[11:16PM] Kazutoshi: But nice try
He doesn’t send anything else but Kazutoshi knows he’s waiting for a response, for something real, like a dog alone in a hallway, waiting for the front door to push open. Waiting for keys to jingle in the lock.
[11:19PM] Kazutoshi: No but seriously what was that for
[11:19PM] Kazutoshi: Did you want to remind me how hot you are
[11:20PM] Ken: I just missed you
Kazutoshi considers making some kind of snide joke about how missing someone doesn’t magically make your clothes unbutton and fly open, but refrains.
[11:20PM] Kazutoshi: I’m not sending one back
[11:20PM] Ken: I didn’t do it for that.
[11:20PM] Kazutoshi: Ohhhh
[11:21PM] Ken: What?
[11:21PM] Kazutoshi: You just wanted my attention
[11:21PM] Ken: Maybe
Kazutoshi bites his lip.
[11:22PM] Kazutoshi: What are you thinking about
As soon as he sends the message he presses his phone against his chest. It doesn’t get any less exciting, the flirting thing, especially with so much distance between them. His heart is skipping a little - he feels it flutter against his knuckles. When his phone buzzes he almost drops it in his rush to read the message.
[11:23PM] Ken: Just you
[11:23PM] Kazutoshi: Yeah?
[11:23PM] Kazutoshi: What about me
[11:23PM] Ken: Everything
Kazutoshi’s smirking, about to reply with ‘cop-out answer’, when he continues.
[11:24PM] Ken: Your hands.
[11:24PM] Ken: Your voice.
[11:24PM] Ken: You know. Everything
Kazutoshi feels a little light-headed. His breathing is funny. He smooths his nail absently against his lip.
[11:25PM] Kazutoshi: More
[11:26PM] Ken: This is embarrassing
[11:26PM] Kazutoshi: Guy who’s embarrassed to tell his boyfriend he’s sexy
[11:26PM] Ken: Shut up
[11:27PM] Ken: Your mouth.
[11:27PM] Ken: Your dick
Kazutoshi presses the back of his hand against his mouth to stop himself from making a mortifying noise. He’s so hot between his thighs. His stomach aches with anticipation.
[11:28PM] Kazutoshi: Are you all red
[11:28PM] Ken: Yeah
[11:29PM] Kazutoshi: Show me
It takes a minute or two.
[11:31PM] Ken: [IMG7635694.png]
He’s not looking into the camera. His hand half-covers his mouth, but he’s so pink and pretty, flushed, brows drawn down almost petulantly. Kazutoshi presses his thighs together.
[11:31PM] Kazutoshi: Cute
[11:32PM] Ken: Why the hell did I do that
[11:32PM] Ken: This is embarrassing
[11:32PM] Kazutoshi: You literally fucking started it
[11:33PM] Ken: Urgh
[11:33PM] Ken: Remind me why you aren’t here again
[11:33PM] Kazutoshi: Because you let me talk you out of it
[11:33PM] Kazutoshi: And I have diagnostics tomorrow
[11:34PM] Ken: I’m so stupid
[11:34PM] Kazutoshi: Stupid cute maybe
He stares at the message he’s typed out for a long time before he sends it. His fingers tremble. His heart hammers in his throat. He wonders if Ken is the same, wonders if he’s pulling his bottom lip between his teeth, if his lashes are fluttering with nerves. He swallows the urge to throw his phone across the room as he hits send.
[11:36PM] Kazutoshi: You gonna jerk off to the thought of me or what
[11:37PM] Ken: Maybe
[11:37PM] Ken: Am I pathetic
[11:38PM] Kazutoshi: Yeah but I like it
[11:38PM] Ken: Thanks
[11:39PM] Kazutoshi: How hard are you
[11:39PM] Ken: Stupidly
Kazutoshi can’t do it anymore. He sucks a breath in through his nose.
[11:40PM] Kazutoshi: Call me
He waits a moment or so before his phone starts buzzing. He lets it ring three times before he answers.
“Hey,” he says.
“Hi,” Ken replies, soft. His voice is full with thinly-veiled tension. He smiles into the phone.
“Carry on with whatever you were doing,” he leans back into the pillows. “Don’t mind me.”
“Wh- … what do you mean, don’t mind you?”
Kazutoshi grins. He’s so easy to rile up. He lifts his hips to tug his sweatpants down and sets them at the foot of the bed. “Just, y’know. Pretend I’m not here.”
Ken is silent for a second.
“I–I can’t.”
“Why not?” he rasps, staring up at the ceiling, trying to picture how he might look. “Shy?”
“I… ” Ken’s voice is shaking, or maybe it’s just the signal. “A little? I-I guess? ”
Kazutoshi hums, thinking, tracing around the waistband of his boxers with his index finger, like Ken so often does, light, teasing. “You weren’t shy when you sent that photo.”
“I was,” he replies haughtily.
“Well, you didn’t look shy,” Kazutoshi’s voice dips low, “you looked like a slut.”
Ken makes a sound that crackles down the receiver. “Kazutoshi.”
“What did you want to happen,” Kazutoshi continues, smiling, knowing he might not get a truly honest answer if he doesn’t ask now, “when you sent it?”
All he can hear are Ken’s ragged little breaths.
“I …” he mutters, “I just wanted your attention.”
“Well, you’ve got it," Kazutoshi replies. "I mean, you’ve always got it, but, like, holy fuck you’ve got it now.”
“Yeah? ”
Kazutoshi scoffs. “Are you kidding me? Did you even see yourself?”
“I felt,” Ken laughs nervously and it sends warmth all the way through him, “really dirty.”
“I mean, yeah, you looked dirty,” Kazutoshi drawls, only half-joking, grinning wolfishly as he hears Ken’s breath hitch, “but god. It kind of drives me insane, how hot you are.”
“Fuck, Kazutoshi—“
“What?”
“I, ” he’s all shaky as he says it, “I miss you.”
He trails his hand downwards, brushes across both of his hips with his knuckles. “Are you, uh ... y'know. Touching yourself?”
“Y-yeah,” Kazutoshi’s heart beats hard and fast in his ears as he replies. His voice is so pretty, strained, effeminate. It drives him nuts. “Are you? ”
Kazutoshi leans the phone between his ear and shoulder. He trails a hand beneath his hoodie, up his chest as the other pulls his boxers down. “Not yet.”
“R-right. Fuck,” Ken curses.
“So what happened?” he asks. “Just pent-up?”
“I,” Ken begins, voice small, “i-it’s embarrassing.”
“Say it,” Kazutoshi urges.
“It’s stupid.”
“Ken. Say it.”
Ken breathes shakily for a long moment.
“I got to the room earlier, to bring my bag in before I went out with my manager to eat,” Ken rambles, “a-and I got in here and it smelled like you.”
Kazutoshi’s breath sticks in his throat. A wave of heat washes over him.
“It smelled like that lotion you use after you shower, the … the iris one. And then I saw it, the room, all dressed up like you’d want it, a-all the fucking ruffles, and the bed and shit, all dark, and I just … imagined you here. I-isn’t that so pathetic?”
Kazutoshi blinks. Once, twice, then immediately preens. His brain will not shut the fuck up about Ken being so smitten with him that from something so minor - something so arbitrary and sensory and immaterial - he sent him an artistic half-nude.
“God, you’re so fuckin’ cute,” he breathes. Ken makes a tiny, whiny noise that has him slipping a hand around his dick. His hips stutter up. “What did you imagine?”
“Okay, I can’t say that."
There’s half a delirious laugh in his voice that Kazutoshi can’t help but take as a challenge.
“Yes the fuck you can,” he drawls, “cuz otherwise I’m gonna hang up.”
“Kazutoshi,” Ken croaks.
“Ken,” he breathes, “just tell me.”
The hesitant, guilty silence on the other end of the phone makes heat curl pleasantly in his stomach.
“I, g-god, I–” Kazutoshi scrambles to turn his volume up, to press his ear harder against the speaker, and he curses his nervous system for how his hand fumbles with weakness, with imprecision, “I imagined you … c-chaining me to the bedpost. O-on my knees.”
Kazutoshi’s blood rushes downwards so fast that he feels immediately light-headed. He tenses up.
“God, w-was that too weird? Please say something. ”
Kazutoshi laughs a little incredulously. “Are you trying to fucking kill me?”
“S-sorry,” Ken pants. “I just– fuck.”
Kazutoshi closes his eyes, listening. He flexes his wrist around himself, trying to ignore how hard he is, how wet he’s got from just listening to him. He imagines, like Ken had. Ken, on his knees on that bed, with its indigo drapes and canopy. Maybe he’s dressed up, wrapped in swathes of black toile, fishnets and leather, or maybe he’s in a white bra and panties, bridal, honeymooned, lace up to his neck, garter around his thigh. Maybe he’s in that fucking suit that’s burned itself into the back of Kazutoshi’s brain. On his knees, shaking. Collar and chain around his neck. Mouth shiny from sucking Kazutoshi’s cock. Hands in his hair. Hard. Begging.
“Chained, huh?” Kazutoshi huffs. “I, uh. I didn’t expect that.”
“Me neither,” Ken breathes, and it sends chills right through him. He sucks a breath in. Ken’s still panting. “I-I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”
Kazutoshi smiles. “Y’sound so desperate.”
“R-right, fuck, sorry,” he repeats, almost babbling, and he sounds so genuine, so broken, scrabbling for apologies, for excuses, “I’m just– god, I- I just need you so bad right now.”
Realisation surges through Kazutoshi like a spear of lightning.
“Are … ” he breathes hoarsely, “are you fucking yourself?”
The line is silent. Heat crawls down Kazutoshi’s back.
“Maybe," Ken croaks.
Kazutoshi’s cock jumps in his hand. Blood roars through him. He feels it in his throat, in his ears.
“Fucking jesus, Ken,” he whimpers.
“Not as good as you do,” Ken’s voice hiccups and crackles down the receiver. “C-can’t get the angle right. It’s– it’s not enough.”
Kazutoshi bites down on the skin between his finger and thumb. He might die. Ken had been gone one day and he was already fucking himself to the idea of him. In Kazutoshi’s imagination he’s pornographic, any semblance of his restrained, awkward, inferior personality banished. He's still half-dressed in that demonic fucking suit, splayed out on those expensive sheets, eyes flickered shut, mouth slightly agape. His back is arched prettily. His long, elegant fingers are crooked inside himself. He's blushing, sweating, flyaways sticking to his forehead. He can't help himself. He can't.
“Just imagine it’s me,” Kazutoshi’s voice is rough, gravelly, self-indulgent, “‘n I’m prepping you.”
Ken sobs. “Oh, god.”
“Just- just close your eyes ‘n focus,” he rasps, closing his eyes, too, “always so tight, huh? Need to take my time.”
“Please.”
Kazutoshi can’t believe he’s this turned on just by talking, just by listening. He feels pathetic. He's so hot. He leans his head back into the pillows, letting the lingering scent of Ken wash over him. “Bet you’re such a mess right now.”
Ken laughs breathlessly. “I-I don’t even wanna know.”
Kazutoshi sucks a breath in as he palms the head of his cock. He wants to know. He wants to know so badly his head spins. This might be a new low for him, being jealous of a hotel room, being jealous of a fucking mirror. He’s so hard it’s embarrassing.
“Are you laying down?”
Ken pants out a sheepish laugh, like he's been caught. He’s smiling. Kazutoshi can hear it. “I’m kneeling.”
The image of Ken kneeling, chained to the bed frame, comes back to sucker-punch him. He curses, clenches around nothing. His body is so warm, so sensitive, keyed up.
“Try your stomach,” the words scratch through his throat. “Kneeling, but like, forwards.”
He listens to Ken move his phone, listens to the sound of the hotel bedsheets swishing beneath him.
“Oh,” Ken hiccups, “f-fuck.”
“There you go,” he murmurs.
Ken’s pitch slides into a low whine and Kazutoshi groans. He can hear the way he’s fucking the breath out of himself. It makes him feel dizzy with want. He thinks he would probably give anything in the world right now to have Ken beneath him, on his way to ruined, begging for him, subdued and fucked into a king-size mattress. He slides his tongue across his teeth. He’ll have to settle, he thinks, for jerking himself off to a phone call with two whole prefectures between them. At least until he’s home tomorrow night.
“Kazutoshi,” he whines. “Kazutoshi.”
“Keep going,” he urges. He’s so sensitive. He spits into his hand and tips his head back as he fists his cock. “You close?”
“Yeah,” Ken pants.
“Me too,” he presses his ear impossibly closer to the receiver, “you sound so good.”
“Fuck, K-Kazutoshi, I, god, I need you,” his voice is breaking, like he’s crying, half-muffled by the pillows, and fuck, it’s not illegal for Kazutoshi to imagine it, being inside him, fucking him, bringing him off into the sheets. He feels his stomach drop at the thought. He stills his hand around his cock and holds himself there, at the edge, eyes clenched shut with restraint.
“Ken,” he hears himself speak, hoarse, desperate, and has to stop himself from snapping his mouth shut, “g-gonna finish inside you, okay?”
Ken sobs. “Fuck, fuck, please—!”
“Oh, god,” he rasps, “Ken—!"
Kazutoshi bites his lip so that he doesn’t embarrass himself further as he hears Ken unravel. Ken’s gasping, his body strained, shaking. Or, at least, that’s how he pictures him from the sounds, all uneven, wanton, half-sobbing Kazutoshi’s name like a final rite. He grinds himself into his fist and pretends it’s Ken’s body, all molten and golden and broken, and jolts as he comes. He sees stars. He kicks back like a shotgun. He curses but he can’t hear it over the sound of his heart pounding in his ears, over his body going weak and unconscious.
When he comes around, he’s still breathing hard. He gropes around weakly for his phone in the pillows. He's all shaky, imprecise, worse than usual.
“Ken?” he croaks.
“Hi,” Ken’s voice is small and warm. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” Kazutoshi breathes. “Jesus.”
Ken laughs down the receiver and he sounds so sweet and gentle and soft that his heart clenches. “Sorry.”
Kazutoshi grins feebly. “Don’t you dare apologize.”
“Well, I-I’m still sorry for disrupting your night. You were probably busy, right?”
Kazutoshi doesn’t know how to tell him that he was just floating around the apartment like a poltergeist, moping, watching TV, waiting for him to come back. So he doesn’t.
“It’s okay,” he quips, “you can make it up to me tomorrow.”
“Yes sir,” Ken jokes in return.
The line goes quiet.
“I’m probably gonna wash up and try to sleep now,” Ken says softly. “Do you want to stay on the line?”
“Please,” Kazutoshi murmurs.
“Okay,” Ken replies. He goes quiet for a while, and Kazutoshi can hear him pottering around the hotel room, before he continues, “it does say on the website that these rooms are, um, soundproofed, but I really hope nobody heard me.”
Kazutoshi snickers. “Only the government agent assigned to listen in on all of your phone calls.”
“Oh, great. Just the government agent, then,” Ken drawls. “Hope he enjoyed the show.”
Kazutoshi smiles into the phone. A satisfied, warm sensation ebbs in his stomach. His eyelids are so heavy with sleep, and if he drifts off at some point, listening to his boyfriend chattering about his day, curled up on his side of the bed, he’s pretty damn sure it’s nobody else’s business.