Work Text:
By the time Kyouji arrives at Kuroneko, most of the tables are taken and the bar is packed with girls and regulars alike, all clamoring over the bracket for the Christmas karaoke contest. He makes his way over to the small, dark booth in the very corner, unwinding his scarf and listening in idly. Apparently Mama's been dethroned, and this year's top seed is Miwa-chan. Scandalous stuff. The men around the center of the bar are all consoling Mama, who's putting a brave face on and doing a good business in overpriced shots encouraging the fellas to drown their sorrows with her. There's another cluster congratulating Miwa-chan, who's looking all shy and modest. A pretty little golden-eyed kitty in a slinky black dress breaks away from this group, customer service smile dropping the second she sees his face. She dutifully unbuttons his heavy wool coat for him and drifts away to hang it up in the back. Kyouji slides into the booth, craning his neck to watch. Hate for her to leave, love to watch her go, as they say.
She stalks back over, the click of low heels on wood flooring inaudible over the loud round of cheers that rises up from the bar at that moment. "What can I get you?" Flat tone, total disinterest.
"Lemon water and something a little stronger, dealer's choice." He reaches out and taps her elbow. "And the pleasure of your company, please? Misato-chan?"
Misato fixes him with a look of utter contempt. He really can't stop himself from grinning back at her. You don't hire a girl who can't attract her fair share of loyal customers, no matter how extenuating the circumstances, and between her pretty face, nearly impeccable manners, and the way her smile never makes it all the way up to her eyes, Misato-chan's plenty popular. She's got a solid fanbase of guys obsessed with the idea of her smiling at them for real, but Kyouji's the only bastard lucky enough to receive the full force of her disdain. She sweeps the room with a professional gaze and relents. "I'll see what I can do. We're busy tonight."
Grin. "No pressure, of course."
Glare. "I'll have that right out for you, sir," she says, retreating back into cold politeness, and steps away again.
Kyouji lets the smile drop and gives the room a professional once-over of his own. Mama's doing her part, of course. Looks like she's managed to drag the last holdout in the seat by the door into her little drinking circle. Miwa-chan's got her own racket going, it looks like, because there are a bunch of takoyaki boats over there and the guys are taking it in turns to feed her, one bite at a time. As he understands it, the industrial freezer in the back will run out of microwave takoyaki before she runs out of stomach space. Clever girl. Not that he'd expect anything else from someone Misato personally recommended.
The problem is the other two girls. Acchan's huddled up in a booth with her favorite regular, discussing the latest chapter of Masanori's manga, ha. Wouldn't be a problem if the regular didn't feel the need to break it down panel by panel, and if Acchan didn't feel the need to gaze at him with starry eyes and coo about how smart he was every time he paused to draw breath. Hell, still wouldn't be a problem if the guy kept his wallet as open as his mouth, but the cheapskate can sit there for hours on one beer and a bowl of edamame. Small consolation that he buys Acchan a couple cheap beers too.
Then there's Rikapin. Ah, Rikapin. Not like shy girls can't make it in nightlife - half the job is smiling and nodding while some drunk old fart rambles at you - but one month out of her training period and she's still hiding in Mama's skirts. On her way to fetch a lemon slice, Misato puts a hand on Rikapin's shoulder and says something. The girl flushes and scurries out from behind the bar, dropping a nervous bow in Kyouji's direction before going to check on the rest of the booths.
Misato returns a minute later with the two drinks. Her dress peels away from her body as she leans over to place Kyouji's water in front of him, but he's a gentleman, so he doesn't sneak more than a peek. She slips into the booth beside him, props her elbow right up on the table with her old fashioned glass firmly in hand, and allows him to wrap his arm around her shoulder. He glances into the cup. "Long night?"
Her shoulder shrugs gracelessly under his hand. "Not really."
Rikapin skitters past, clutching her notepad. He nods. "Thank you for that."
Misato shrugs again. "That's the job. If I'm not working, someone else has to pick up the slack."
"Aw, who says you're not working? You've got the most thankless task of them all."
She gives him a long, hard look and tosses back her drink. Grimacing, she pushes the empty glass across the table. "Sitting with you isn't work, Kyouji."
"...Have you eaten yet?"
Forget her smile. All he needs in life is to see that sparkle fill her eyes the way it does now. "Nothing much."
"None of these boys got the decency to feed a poor starving kitten? That's a real shame." He squeezes her shoulder. "Go get something to tide yourself over. Whatever you like. And think about what else you might want."
"Sure."
She gets up, leaving his arm to fall back to his side. Ah, you'd think he'd be used to it by now. It's a pleasure to watch her work, truly it is. Her first move is to take a drink tray from Rikapin, passing them out to the biggest table and insinuating Rikapin into the booth with them as she does. On the way back to the kitchen, she drops a word in Mama's ear and suddenly the shot glasses are disappearing and the hot sake bottles are coming out. The TV input switches from background noise variety show to the shiny blue menu of the karaoke system, and all the guys are crowding around to get their requests in. As the first song's outro plays, Misato reappears from the kitchen with a basket of garlic toast. She calls Miwa-chan's name and interrupts the takoyaki feeding frenzy to pop a piece of toast in her mouth. At Miwa-chan's delighted squeal, timed for maximum volume in the silence between songs, the takoyaki feeders rush to place a new round of orders for garlic toast. "Acchan, can you help in the kitchen?" Mama calls. Misato dumps her bread on Kyouji's table, spinning so fast the hem of her dress gives him a flash of thigh, and gets comic book guy paid up and pushed out the door practically before the kitchen curtain flutters shut behind Acchan. Not a wasted movement. Not an opportunity missed. None of it means a damn thing to him. Only the part where Misato slides back into the booth beside him. She taps a finger on the table. "Aren't you thirsty? Drink your water." Then she starts shoving garlic bread into her mouth.
He is thirsty, come to think of it, plenty thirsty indeed. Thirsty enough to scoop her up onto his knee and kiss her on the cheek. His kitten doesn't squeak or push him away or threaten to write him up for misconduct, like she would have once. All she does is sigh. So, he figures he can take a few more liberties. He wraps an arm around her lovely lithe waist and squeezes. "I went around a few department stores today. Saw a couple gorgeous cocktail dresses. You want me to get you a new one?"
Misato wrinkles her nose. "Ew. Why?"
"Cuz you'd look sexy in red?"
"Gross. Don't waste your money. I have enough." She turns away; he turns her back and pops a slice of garlic bread in her mouth.
"These still not selling?"
"Mmph. A little better now." She leans over to look at Miwa-chan and her fellas before settling back into Kyouji. "We'll see if they start buying it on their own, though."
"If they don't, you can take the box home and eat the rest yourself. You like 'em, right?"
She grabs him by the face and stares directly into his eyes. "Can you maybe try not to bankrupt yourself after all the work I've put in trying to make sure this place doesn't go under?"
He gives her his best lovesick grin. "Hey. You're awful cute, y'know that?"
Predictably, this has no effect whatsoever. "Have some garlic bread, Kyouji. It's good."
"Okey-dokes," Kyouji says, and leaves his mouth open. She deposits a chunk of bread on his tongue and opens his untouched wet napkin, wiping each finger down with delicate disdain.
Kyouji eats his bread. A polite round of applause goes up as another karaoke song comes to an end. Acchan comes back from serving up a bunch of orders, stopping in her tracks when she sees the comic guy's booth empty. A couple of college age guys stumble in, on the hunt for their second or third bar of the night, and she perks right up, seating them in the empty booth and joining right in with whatever conversation they're having about the World Cup for some sport that definitely didn't exist back in Kyouji's day. "I wish he'd just ask that guy out already," Misato grumbles. "They could talk manga in bed instead of here and literally no one would be inconvenienced."
"Mm-hmm," Kyouji says, and presses his leg up in between Misato's.
"Kyouji."
"Mm-hmm?" He does it again, pressing between her thighs in a long rolling motion.
Next he intends to kiss her neck, but she catches his hand before he can sweep her hair back. "Don't," she says softly. A little pause as she presses her teeth into her pretty red lip. "I lost a pin earlier and I didn't have time to fix it," she confesses. "You could knock the whole wig off if you're not careful."
"Who says I'm not careful?"
"You're always careful, except when you don't want to be. And-" She swallows back a gasp as he rolls his hips and rocks his leg up into the root of her, where he knows it feels so good. "And right now you don't want to be," she concludes, glaring daggers.
"Might have a point there," he admits.
"Long day?"
"Not my best."
She continues to look deeply unimpressed with him even as it becomes increasingly clear just what effect he's having on her. Her lips part, her eyelashes flutter. Her hand curls around his wrist and she digs her nails in. "Tonkatsu," she gasps at last.
"Hmm?" He slows his pace enough to let her speak, but not so much she worries he's lost interest. Never that, dearest.
She squeezes his wrist. "The tonkatsu place over north of the station, the one that's open late. That's what I want for dinner."
He squeezes her waist. "Yeah? Sounds good to me. Shall we?" Releases her so that she can make the decision herself instead of him pressing the issue, haha.
"Um..." Misato squirms a little bit before lifting his other wrist to check the time. She sighs and slides off his leg. "Yeah, okay. Finish your water."
Instead of drinking, he pops the lemon slice off the rim of the glass and bites into it. The sour juice stings his throat and he can't help but kiss her after that, to replace the taste with sweetness. As he's about to leave the semi-privacy of the booth, she grabs his arm. "Wait. Can you, um..." Her lovely legs are pressed tightly together. "You can't see anything, can you?"
He smiles at the little bump in the front of her dress. "Not if you take big enough steps," he assures her, and settles his hand back around her waist. Before she can argue, he sweeps off, guiding her around the partition and around behind the bar, where she'll be safe from any prying eyes. "Thanks everyone, we'll be heading out early," he announces, and Mama and all the rest of the little kittens drop what they're doing to bow and chorus "Thank you, Owner!"
Not that he gives a shit. He pushes the kitchen curtain up and leads his girl through to the tiny staff room. Maybe it's not fair to be disappointed that Misato doesn't immediately grab him by the tie and push him down on the plush armchair the second the door clicks shut, but he can't help it. She does peel his hand off her waist and lean up into him, heels lifting out of her shoes, golden eyes gleaming. "You disgust me," she says.
"Oh boy do I know it," he chirps, and waits.
She looks him up and down, sniffs, and steps away. His coat is hanging above the heater, getting nice and toasty, and she pulls it down and shoves it at him.
"Aww. No kiss for your Kyouji-san?" He pulls her in, smothering her small form in his arms, rubbing his face against her shiny black hair until it really does start slipping.
"Do you want me to spend half an hour brushing this thing? Or do you want me to eat dinner with you?"
He pouts adorably at her. She pinches her brow. "You think you're so cute and you just aren't."
Wrong, wrong, wrong. He's her cute Narita and always will be. He knows it, she knows it, everybody in the whole bar knows it. He just keeps on snuggling up to her. "Misato-chaaaan. You know I won't see you again until next year, right?"
"What do- Right. Sometimes I forget how weird you are."
"I do such a good job of hiding it," he agrees.
"You don't, there's just so much that it's easy to lose track." She gazes up at him with mussed hair and warm eyes. "Just a kiss?"
"Doesn't have to be."
"No, it does." She considers for a second longer before tipping her face up. "Fine."
Kyouji kisses his girl goodbye, long and soft and sweet. "I'll get the car warmed up for you."
"Okay." She heads into the girls' dressing room and he pulls his coat on and goes out the back.
First thing Kyouji does is walk the perimeter, making sure no creeps are lurking behind the building or in the parking lot. Not so big a problem with this particular establishment, but he's not taking any chances with his dearest darling's safety. Never again. Once he's confident there aren't any stalkers to flush out of the dark corners, he checks to make sure all the cameras are still flashing their friendly red recording lights at him. Finally he unlocks the car, turns on the engine and the heat, and leans against it to wait.
He thinks about pulling out a cigarette, but nah, he's only got one left for the day and he'd much rather save it for after sex. Yeah, pretty sure he's getting some tonight. Watching his breath stream out in cold puffs of white, he can almost pretend it's smoke. He inhales, imagining the ghost of nicotine pouring into his lungs, and exhales, long and steady. He waits. He waits. He waits.
At last the door opens, and there he is, his boy, his boy at last. There's nothing better than his boy. Kyouji pushes himself up and scrambles to get the car door open so that he won't have to freeze out here. Satomi deserves better than the mean streets of Tokyo in December. He closes the door carefully behind him in his best chauffeur manner and hustles around to get into the driver's seat before someone rushes out and makes off with his Satomi. He puts on his seatbelt and rests his hand on the gear shift only for Satomi to put his own hand over it.
"I wish you wouldn't wait out in the cold for me."
"But I want to." He gives him his best winning grin.
"I know. But I always want you to be warm." His hand is nice and warm and his serious gaze washes over him like liquid gold. How could he ever be cold when Satomi is here with him? When he's here in the passenger seat of his car, holding his hand and leaning over the cup holders to kiss him? Satomi can be so silly sometimes. That's why Kyouji's gotta be here to take care of him.
Ah. Speaking of. "Before we go, you need a hand with anything?"
The concern in Satomi's eyes flips immediately into annoyed resignation. "No. I took care of it while I was changing."
"Shame."
"You don't know the meaning of the word," Satomi mutters, which is his cue to lean waaaay over and kiss his cute little nose, bumping his glasses a little.
"Sure don't," he agrees, and Satomi's cheeks go just a little pink. He's gotten quite shameless himself. What a bad influence he's been on this poor sweet kitten, and he can't say Satomi's been a good enough influence on him to even out the scales. Gotta take responsibility for that somehow or another, and the easiest way to earn a few points on his karmic credit report is to top up Satomi's bottomless stomach. He backs out of his parking space and heads out down the narrow road, taking it nice and slow and avoiding the occasional group of staggering pedestrians.
A red light catches them just before their destination, and as the car rolls to a stop Satomi reaches out and rests his hand on Kyouji's thigh. "What's up, Satomi-kun?"
"You know I meant it, right?"
He always knows when Satomi's serious, of course he does. "Which part?"
"Don't... don't buy me a new dress. I'll be starting my real job at the end of the school year, so there's no sense getting something expensive for just three months. The ones I use now are fine."
"Ah, don't remind me that my time with my lady love is coming to an end. Let me live in blissful ignorance a while longer."
"You're so gross," Satomi says. Here's something he means every time he says it, and he says it a lot, but he doesn't seem inclined to do anything about it. Must not be a dealbreaker. "It's not like I'm going anywhere," he adds. The light turns green, but he leaves his hand where it is. "I'm staying with you forever," he says, raising his voice a little, like Kyouji's not gonna hear him over the engine's soft purr. "I just won't be wearing a dress three nights a week to do it."
Kyouji doesn't respond, a little too busy making the tricky turn into the parking garage. Satomi squeezes his thigh. "Kyouji."
"I know, I know. Hey, you see any spaces down that aisle, or should I go for this one?"
"There's one in the front there." Satomi doesn't move his hand even after Kyouji parks. "If," he starts, head turned toward the window, "you really want to see me in... in red. Just buy a cheap miniskirt Santa costume from Donkii or something, okay? I'll wear it for you." He gives his leg one last squeeze before finally letting go.
"Noted. Well, I'll see what I can do. Not making any promises, though." Kyouji winks. He hops out of the car and goes to get Satomi's door for him. "Dinner first, though. Your tonkatsu awaits, my dear."