dinohouse | For Gotou-chan!

I could argue the point, since he's the one wobbling and I'm not, but he's always been more stubborn than me, and it is his bike, after all. Then he offers to simplify the whole process by giving us one destination instead of two, and I can't deny that it does make things easier.

I've known about, and been more or less at peace with, my condition for long enough that it takes me a few minutes longer, til I've managed to catch us a taxi and we've climbed in, already heading out of the shopping area, to realize that he's only had a couple hours to process the idea. He probably doesn't want to let me out of his sight for the immediate future.

I wish I could promise him that he's got nothing to worry about, but the best I could reasonably say without knowingly lying to him is he's probably got nothing to worry about. And I guess that wouldn't be much comfort if I were in his position, either.

The ride to my apartment is about three kilometers from where we picked up the taxi; it doesn't take long, and the driver wishes 'my friend' a speedy recovery from his drink as I hand over the fare and tug Gotou-chan out of the vehicle. He leans against me as the cabbie sticks his hand out the window with my change. I fold the man's hand over the money, giving him a friendly smile.

"Have a good night, sir."

As for us? The building's a converted house, not that large, and the staircase is external, wooden and relatively sturdy, leading up to my second-floor apartment. It's not very large but it's not very cluttered, either; I don't have many things to make a mess with (though I've done my best with the few possessions I do own).

"Sorry it's not swept up," I mutter, reaching down to untie my shoes on the doorstep. I'm not sure if Gotou-chan's gonna need help with his, but he can lean on my back while I'm bent over at least, so he doesn't fall.

I'm not paying attention throughout most of the taxi ride. It all pretty much passes in a blur. The driver's talking about a "speedy recovery." Which confuses me, because did Date-san tell him about the bullet and the operation and everything? Why would you just open up to a stranger about that? I'm about to say something but I'm feeling a little dizzy. I think I'll just lean out of the window.

The next thing I know is we're out of the taxi and going up to what is presumably Date-san's place. I look around for the taxi, it's only fair I share the cost; but no sign of him. Did we run away without paying? I'm a police officer, I don't do that kind of thing. I'll tell sempai off later.

We go up about a hundred steps, me clutching onto the hand rail because I can't keep track of all the stairs. When we get to the top he just bends over in the doorway. I don't know what he thinks he's doing. I may have to literally kick him in the ass for him to let me into the house.

Gotou-chan doesn't seem to be very with-it at the moment. I can tell because he is prodding my backside, presumably because I'm in his way. I thought there was enough room beside me in the entryway to let him unshoe, too, but I suppose not.

"Gotou-chan, here. Lean on my shoulder."

I crouch down once I'm done with my shoes, beginning to work on his. Are standard police shoes' laces supposed to be double-bunny-knotted, according to regulations?

"Why?"

To lean on his shoulder, I have to lean down to reach him. But then he crouches on the floor and I almost do a somersault over him. What is he even doing? Is he looking for something?

"I've got a torch light in my pocket," I volunteer helpfully. I usually take it with me everywhere as it is useful for police work; but it's not in either of my coat pockets or in my shirt. Maybe the taxi driver stole it in revenge for us not paying him.

I'm gonna go over there and arrest him tomorrow. Wonder if Date-san got the license plate number?

Wow, he is seriously past wobbling. I kneel in front of him, steadying him with one hand grasping his, the other on his hip. Looking up at him like this, my head's right about at his belly level. I am Not Thinking about how nice of a pillow he might make. Nope.

"Um, Gotou-chan, you only had the one beer, right? Have you eaten much today?"

I got his shoes untied, and I can wobble them off his feet easily enough as he shifts balance, digging around in his pockets for something.

"No, we don't need a torch," I soothe him, holding on to the one hand he's not patting himself down with. "I was just undoing your laces."

"No, not one. Maybe two?" I can't remember anything about our bar tab. I somehow know I should remember, that I usually keep track of all these things, whose round it is and how many we've each had. But for whatever reason I don't, "I don't know any of these things. We had dinner, didn't we? Or lunch?"

Oh, yeah, gotta take my shoes off. Then I remember I need to put them on again, because I'm going home, "I should go. I was gonna make sure you got home safely. Byeeee, sempai." Too bad that taxi's gone, I could have asked him to give me a lift. It shouldn't be far from the station, but what time did the last train leave?

"Ohhh no you don't." Gotou turns to leave, half-stepping into one of his shoes, tripping over the other, and I rise from my crouch to try to stop him as he heads back toward the door. I pull his wrist; he stumbles; I try to counter-balance us, trip on my own shoe. His weight falls onto me to support as we both end up mostly-vertical against one wall of my entryway.

"Um, Gotou-chan?" He's draped across me, his face pressed against my chest, one arm around my waist for balance, the other hand still held in mine - and probably a bit tightly, I should let go, and I do.

Both of my hands go to his shoulders, with the intent to steady him and keep him from keeling further over.

"I think it'd be best if you got some sleep here, before you go home. Doctor's orders, okay?"

I look up at him warily. I wish he'd slow down, it is hard for me to keep up with him. I think he tripped me over, and now he's pulled me up and has his hands on my shoulders. Or maybe he's holding me so that I don't fall again.

"I don't need a doctor, sempai. I only fell over," I point out, and then realise that he is a doctor. Was he making a joke? Is it rude that I didn't laugh? Too late now, I'll look like the guy that never gets the punchline in time.

I won't say no to sleep, though. There's only one problem, "how will I get to work tomorrow? I've got no clothes or toothbrush." I'm not going to show up in Date-san's clothes. We are not exactly the same size, and people will jump to conclusions if they think I stayed out overnight with him.

"You can leave early, so you have time to get ready at your place," I explain. This should be obvious but he IS rather addled at the moment.

"You should lay down, and drink water, and sleep it off. Okay? Come on, let me lead you over to the futon." Gotou-chan really seemed to like the idea of getting beers together, but now I'm worried he'll wake up with a hangover and be in pain.

I wish I knew why he drank so much more than he said he was going to...

Oh, great. I'll be stuck on a train with commuters for hours and hours and hours. During rush hour. It would be faster to crawl there on my hands and knees. I really do think I should do something about this. Maybe I'll write to my MP tomorrow.

"Sleep what off? What's happening?" Nobody ever tells me anything around here. Maybe if I go to sleep I'll wake up somewhere normal instead of this crazy world full of stairs and taxis and people falling over.

Ooh, this futon's nice and soft. It feels a bit like sleeping on a giant marshmallow. It should also double as a handy midnight snack. I still can't remember if I had any dinner.

...He's so out of it.

I've gotten him onto the futon, but he's flopping about and doesn't seem very settled. Mumbling something about dinner.

Oh, Gotou-chan.

I lower myself onto the futon beside him, dropping one arm heavily across his middle to weight him down. He squirms a bit, but I'm insistent. He needs rest, and I do too.

For all that I know Gotou-chan fairly well, I wasn't aware that alcohol brought out such loopiness in him; to be honest, it's extremely endearing, and I have to fiercely rein in my urge to kiss him because he's being so adorable. That would not be good for me to do, not at all. He's drunk, and I'm taking care of him.

"Go to sleep. You can scold me when you wake up."

What's he doing with that arm? Are we wrestling? Well, too bad, I haven't got the energy for it now. I flop back onto the pillows with a sigh, "why am I scolding you this time? Is it because you locked me in an office and kissed me?"

Yeah, that's a good reason to tell him off. Especially because he knew where the key was the whole time. I'm going to have a skeleton key made for every lock in the building. Even the ones for the rooms that Kougami-san doesn't think I know about.

"You threw the key out of the window. And you ran away from that taxi without paying. You're a bad example -" I begin, and then remember I haven't woken up yet, "sorry, it's not tomorrow yet, is it?"

...Talk about challenging my sense of resolution.

"You can scold me about that, if you want to," I reassure him, carefully adjusting a corner of the pillow that's folded funny under his cheek. He probably isn't noticing it right now, but it might not be comfortable to sleep on.

My knuckle brushes his cheek lightly, and I have to smile sadly, his skin so warm and smooth, barely shadowed with beard growth even at this late hour. I shouldn't enjoy such a little wisp of his warmth so deeply, and I know I'm not meant to; I don't regret telling him, and I feel lucky that he hasn't chosen to hate me for feeling that way toward him.

I don't know what the morning will bring, though.

"I would have let you out if you told me to, Gotou," I tell him softly, shifting the lay of my hips to something a little more comfortable, maintaining a hefty distance between his body and mine throughout. My cargo pants aren't exactly comfortable sleepwear, but I've dealt with far worse. I just want to make sure I'm as comfortable as I can be in falling asleep, so that I don't seek out greater comfort, or closeness, in my sleep.

"I had that key prepared so that you wouldn't be trapped with me. That I had to push myself to such an extreme just to be honest with you...

"I am sorry I wasn't braver, aibou."

"You had a key made just for that? Sounds like kind of a waste." It does, but then I can't be mad at him. Because he is my sempai, and he loves me, and has bits of a bullet stuck in his brain. All of these are very good reasons to forgive him, "I forgive you. Because you are my sempai, and you love me, and you have bits of a bullet stuck in your brain."

He's sort of fiddling around with my face and pillows. I want to ask him what he's doing but I'm sleepy, too sleepy to care. He's stronger than me but I'm still able to yank him down next to me. His chin's all prickly because he has a little beard there and I don't. We're going to have to work out this love thing better, I think. I don't want stubble rash.

"You don't call me Gotou-chan any more," I complain.

He's continuing to hop topics, which is making it challenging for me to keep up with the focus of his attention. So I'm going to explain that I didn't have the key made, just had Satonaka-chan prepare a way for him to access it and me to be unable to; and then I'm going to rewind a bit and explain that I didn't steal our cab ride, I paid the driver while Gotou-chan was still dozing on my shoulder.

But then he says he forgives me, in a manner approximately just as blunt as he guessed what I was dancing around back in the office, and my heart drops a little, hearing it said in quite that way from his mouth.

"Because you have bits of a bullet stuck in your brain."

I have just enough time to think about how desperately I didn't want to become that to him, the crippled one, for whom allowances must be made because Great Tragedy will eventually befall him. I would happily be a lot of things in Gotou-chan's eyes, but not that. Never that. But I am now, forevermore, only that.

And almost as soon as the thought forms in my head, before I've got time to feel the associated crushing disappointment, it's stunned right back out; he grabs my neck, yanks, pulls me down onto the pillow beside him, dragging me close, pulling my face against his.

I-- I think he was trying to get me to kiss him again! -or to kiss me. I'm rather sure there was a kissing intent in there somewhere!!

His aim was rather off, though, and I'm working on gently putting distance between us, he doesn't know what he's doing--

And then he's throwing me another curveball, except this one's less comical and more like a fierce, brutal punch to the gut, and the alcohol I drank is suddenly very much affecting me and I might have to go out on the staircase, actually, to get some fresh air and perhaps throw up.

"You don't call me Gotou-chan anymore," he says, and I can't even begin to process how to answer that. I fishmouth at him from a distance of far too close for my sense of chivalry and moral upstandingness and ability-to-resist-imminent-kissing-from-drunk-junior-partner-who-will-most-certainly-regret-it-in-the-morning.

Does he mean he wants me to? Or has noticed I'm not and wants me to return to it? Is the surname the issue, or does he think that my unintentional slips without the honorific, earlier in the night, mean something different than how I intended them? And he's drunk, I can't have this conversation with him now, I can't trust anything he'll grant me now, and he's too polite to contradict me later, and--

I swallow, hard, and my nose bumps against his just from that motion. Oh, gods.

(no, I'm not calling you Gotou-chan anymore, and yes, I keep omitting the honorific, because I want to be calling you Shintaro, you impossible man, but how do I tell you that?)

"Should I?" I ask, trying to put levity in my voice, ending up just sounding scared.

Note to self, if my heart makes it through this night: Don't get Gotou-chan drunk. It's really not good for my blood pressure.

"You always used to. Why did you stop?" His lips are moving but I can't hear anything. I poke at the side of one ear - no good. Maybe I need a hearing aid? I'll book a doctor's appointment in the week.

I'm about to ask Date-san to write that on a sticky note so I don't forget about it, and that's when I look at him properly. Oh. I reach out to put a clumsy arm around him, because even though I'm normally awkward about such things he looks upset. As if he's just been told his house burned down and all his family died, or something like that. I wonder if it's sinking in at last about the fragments of bullet, "what's wrong? Is it because I fell over you and took up your futon?" That's enough of that, don't want him to throw me out, I've definitely missed the last train now.

"I-- I just forgot," I manage. Far too slow and overwhelmed with all the various ways this could go very wrong at any second, I think my brain's just given up on analyzing the situation and is just sitting back to wait til it's all over.

Flip of a Medal, everything changes, I remind myself. No regrets.

"It's not the futon, Gotou-chan," I tell him, carefully including the honorific on purpose this time. "If it upset you that I forgot the honorific, I am sorry for that."

Don't burden him further. No regrets.

"You never forgot before." I'm starting to sound like a whiny child. It's hard to understand what's going on when no one ever tells me anything, and there's something more he's not saying, "you look like I ran over your bus. Or pushed your granny under a cat, c'mon, Date-san, what is it?"

At this point a little voice speaks up in my head to remind me that he is after all my sempai, and I might be talking out of turn. I acknowledge it's right, "sorry. Sorry. None of my business."

"Pushed my--what?" I'm not going to follow that one further.

"No, Gotou-chan, it is actually your business, it's just--I don't want..."

He's got no idea, I'm realizing, he really has no idea, and his petulant face, with his bottom lip pushed out so cutely like that, and he's RIGHT THERE--

Oh, fuck it.

I am going to the special hell, with the taste of his lips on my mouth.

But gods, despite the beer, despite the hour, despite my guilt even as I give in to the urge to explain to him in the simplest way I know how, my lips against his and far less chastely than the two kisses I gave him before --

Gods, he's worth it.

That's not really an answer. It's fun, however, so I can go along with it.

I try to sit up so I can reach him properly, but there's all these pillows and bits of futon and stuff in the way. Instead, I'll hook my spare arm around his shoulders for support. I'm going to need it; he's pretty eager. Wonder what got into him? But I'm not going down without a fight.

I'll mention the beard rash problem later. He does have very nice lips.

He reaches for me, and I love him, and I kiss him back with tender vigor, drawing my breaths from inside his little gasps.

He rises up, and I cup his head in my palm, fingers raked through his thick hair, supporting his head to ease his neck. I tilt his mouth against mine, gasping; he makes such a pretty sound and I move to kiss his sharp cheekbones, the line of his jaw, his temples and his brow. Gentle, worshipful kisses; I can't give him enough. He is handsome and beautiful in my eyes. In the eyes of anyone who can see.

I've rolled closer, I know I shouldn't, but I have and the motion has pressed his chest against mine and I can feel the thunder of our hearts rebounding against each other. I could cry for joy.

He's pretty good at this. I almost wish he'd said something about the whole love business earlier, so that we could have done these things before. He's moving ahead of me, all sort of pushing up against me and kissing all around my face. I don't mind though, it feels good and I don't seem able to keep pace with anything this evening.

I can very faintly hear some sort of thumping sound. I try to glance over at the doorway in case someone's knocking on it - maybe that taxi driver has found us again. But no. It takes several moments for me to realise it's my or his or both our hearts. Is it supposed to be that loud? I feel like a silly doki doki schoolgirl now.

I think Date-san does too. He's making little gasps and breathy noises. He's never quiet at anything else, I don't know why I expected this to be different.

His heart's beating so fast; he's so warm against me, and we're both completely clothed, so the only skin I can reach of him are his face and his hands, and those are smooth and thin and holding on to me, holding me close. Expressing clear want, clear desire.

He's drunk.

He's kissing me, actively, eagerly, and he probably doesn't realize the soft, needy nasal sounds he's making. I do.

My fingertips are rough from a life lived outdoors, but I can still appreciate the smooth delicacy of his jaw and cheekbone, the structure of his jaw. And as he opens his mouth to mine, letting my tongue lick slowly and tentatively against the tip of his, I can feel his cheeks hollow out against the gentle touch of my fingertips.

I can't help but suck inward, a gasp and a hungry sound, kissing him harder, tracing the contours of his face with fascinated fingertips. I gently drag my touch across to the corner of his parted lips, letting my fingers learn the shapes of our mouths as they fit together. Then, the gentle bulge of his tongue - and mine? - swells the soft plane of his cheek against my fingertips, just for a second, and I am so overcome that I must pull back, or maybe die.

"Shintaro!" I can't help it, his name, his given name, escapes my lips on a desperate groan, breathed very nearly into his own mouth.

"Yes? What?" But he's moving away from me now. Did I bite his tongue or something? I try to sit up, again, but have to use him to help me keep my balance because for some reason my head has started swimming.

No one calls me Shintaro. Not even my mother; she says "Shin-chan."

My lips are kind of swollen and wet, but if I wipe them, it'll look rude, as if I'm trying to wipe traces of him off me or something. I don't want to do that. It was a nice kiss and, well, we're more than friends now.

His mouth is plush and red and wet from our kiss; his eyes are dark, pupils widened; his heart rate is elevated, his breath catching in his throat as he pushes himself upward, following my retreat.

I'm glad that I can trust part of my brain to clinically catalogue these sorts of details; I can trust that in that way, I'm observing his physical state fairly, equitably. That he's not displaying signs of nonconsent which my lesser nature has yet to heed.

So the immense guilt that I felt closing in on me pauses, waiting for further input before the final determination of whether I truly am an awful lecherous aibou who's taking advantage of his junior partner while he's intoxicated and cannot defend himself.

"Shintaro," I say again, breathing the syllables reverently; it feels like the greatest intimacy, to call him by his first name, looking into his eyes from so close like this; I know my expression has to be extremely intense right now but it's only fair that it convey the emotion I'm feeling right now.

"Shintaro!"

I might be getting lightheaded just from calling him by his given name.

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[Short tag JUST TO SPITE YOU]

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[Hope this isn't too much GM'ing, yell at me if so]

It's fine!

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[Date has lost the ability to preserve food in cylindrical containers. HAVE A CARE, GOTOU-CHAN]

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