[ When he thinks of Fukuzawa, he thinks of hands around his neck. Of getting held down, his own nails digging into the other man's back, biting his lower lip, snarling into his face, growling fuck me, or get out of here. They had their heyday, of course - it had lasted long enough; they'd been young, they'd loathed each other with personalities specific to that kind of thing. The typhoon and Yokohama's rain finds him without a taxi and in Fukuzawa's neighbourhood, and he thinks, why not.
So things have mellowed between them, it means nothing - there's no harm in winding his way through the front garden of the apartment complex, stepping up to the intercom and keying in the passcode that he knows from memory.
He's a little dampened from the rain - it has let up in the past few hours, but Yokohama is a ghost town regardless.
There's a moment of hesitation and he thinks that perhaps he ought to return to Elise - oh, his little demon - and the Port mafia; that's more advisable, but Mori has only ever done exactly as he pleases, provided it suits the occasion. There's something else in Fukuzawa's presence and apartment that leads him to the elevator - maybe it's just the rain, and some misplaced kind of sentiment. His black coat flaps against his shins, and he shucks it on the landing, folding the thing over an elbow.
An old enemy can be a safe haven in some respects - he knows there are no surprises with Fukuzawa, and given the day that the Mafia have had, he wants that consistency. Even if it comes with a hoard of damnable cats, curling around his heels.
The front door is as dull as he remembers it - understatement is just so Fukuzawa, and he raps twice on the door, leaning against the doorjamb, studying his cuticles with a bored look. ]
[ He's not expecting visitors. Which could mean something harmless. Not Kunikida, Kunikida always has his life planned to the second, but if not his student then there are a number of old friends who could be stopping by. Members of the government or old comrades. Even neighbors, for some reason or other. And an assassin likely wouldn't knock.
Not that he ever rules out assassins.
Still, of all the possible benign visitors he could have, Fukuzawa isn't even surprised when he looks out the peephole to see who it is.
As always, just like every single time this has happened over the last decade, he contemplates just leaving the door closed.
He can't even blame politeness, though, when he flicks the locks open and pulls the door in to give Mori a weary sort of look, wordlessly stepping back so the man can come in. Looking the man over to note his state; Mori's wet of course, and Fukuzawa instantly decides this is a social call, not a work one. It usually is, at this hour. Good. He's tired and it's far too late for chasing younger people around in the dark and rain. ]
I'll get a towel.
[ Is his only comment as he turns to do just that, leaving Mori to close the door. It's not that he's comfortable turning his back to Mori on a regular day, but there's something of a ritual to Mori's visits. Fukuzawa's apartment an unspoken neutral zone, and in all their years at this Mori has yet to be rude enough to break that into true violence, not on visits like this.
He returns quickly with a towel for the other man, Fukuzawa himself only in his night yukata, loose around his shoulders, hair still damp from a bath earlier. He's been winding down from the day, ready for an evening of reading, meditation, and sleep. The exciting life he leads reflected in the layout of his dwelling--all of it traditional, simple, understated. He waits for Mori to get somewhat less damp before asking. ]
[ When Fukuzawa turns his back on the mobster, Mori turns to re-lock the front door with the familiarity born of habit. He slides the latch into place, then hangs his coat on the wrack near the door, slipping his shoes off at the genkan. There's a glance spared for Fukuzawa's somewhat tired look - Mori takes in the sight of him in his sleepwear, sees the dampness of his hair. It's an oddly comfortable image, or as comfortable as the image of an enemy can be.
He accepts the towel when it's handed over, his hair limp against his skull after the typhoon. ]
I hope I'm not interrupting anything, hm?
[ He makes his way to the living room then, trailing after the Agency boss, finding a chair that suits him. He sits, towelling his hair off, looking ruffled but still as composed as he's able to, given that he looks like a half drowned cat. Despite being a little bedraggled, Mori still has his gaze trained on his arch nemesis, seeming at ease as he relaxes against the chair - altogether too comfortable with the situation, as at home in Fukuzawa's house as he would be in his own. ]
Tea would be lovely.
[ There's that airy tone, though he does sound smug about the whole situation. There's always that moment of hesitation where he could be turned away, where maybe he ought to refrain from knocking on the door altogether, but it just never seems to pan out that way. They end up in the same bed one way or another, though occasionally he's occupied the couch - blood isn't easy to remove from sheets, of course.
When Fukuzawa returns with the tea, he'll accept it with a nod of thanks - he's still gentlemanly in their opening go-arounds, of course.
Head tilting back to rest against the chair back, he warms his hands against the cup, still lazily watching Fukuzawa, eyes a little hooded. ]
I hope you don't mind if I stay. Taxi's aren't running in this weather.
[ Or maybe, he's just looking for company on a cold night - who knows. ]
[ He doesn't comment on the fact that Mori could literally just summon a subordinate of any level to bring him a car. Instead, he moves to start tea. He has one of those instant water boilers, simply for convenience. A gift from Kunikida one year. In any case it makes filling a pot with hot water and tea leaves and bringing two cups with him to sit across from Mori the work of a few moments. ]
If I were otherwise busy I would send you home.
[ Which is true enough. If he actually had obligations this evening he wouldn't be entertaining Mori. He certainly wouldn't be shy about telling Mori to go away. Their relationship has always been anything but coy, at least on Fukuzawa's end. He's never had the patience or aptitude for mind games of the sort the mafia leader seems to excel at. But it also makes him straight-forward and blunt, despite his reserved nature.
So he pours them both hot tea, fitting for the weather, and a better idea on a work night than breaking out the alcohol. They aren't in their twenties, hangovers aren't so easy to shake off in the morning.
One of the cats wanders into the room, jumping into Mori's lap with the easy familiarity of a feline who knows this person well. Then, offended, jumps off again, shaking slightly damp paws and wandering to a drier seat. ]
What brings you here so late?
[ Work, presumably. And not something he's above asking about, if the leader of the Port Mafia is in his neighborhood in this weather he'd rather like to know why. ]
[ There's a faint look of amusement from Mori as the cat rejects her chosen perch - he's not all too fond of animals, though Fukuzawa's resident felines seem to like him well enough. They can be exasperating in their affection sometimes, particularly when these trysts of theirs started with too much alcohol - finding the kitchen with several cats bustling around one's ankles is far more tricky than it ought to be.
Mori's voice is very near a purr - when he accepts the cup of tea from Fukuzawa, he allows the touch of their fingers with a kind of unsurprised, return touch, tilting his head as the other man nears him, pleased with his decision to stop by for a visit. ]
A social call, and the rain.
[ There's a vague gesture towards the window, which is currently being battered by the storm outside. Mori seems to be sticking with his excuse of the weather for this visit - though it's probably clear to them both that a bit of rain is not in the least what this is about. Mori's whims are more likely the reason for his showing up on Fukuzawa's doorstep, that or some misplaced idea of a late night fuck. With their wild days mostly behind them, however, the latter is probably less likely - not that he doesn't enjoy the former assassin's hands on him; oh, he does - he never has made a secret of that, anyway.
Warming his hands on the cup, the mobster watches his long time enemy with an expression that hovers between fond and sly, head tipping to the side, leaning further back in his seat. ]
It's been a while since we last did this, hasn't it?
[ Did this - there's the real answer; the shared secret.
Mori's relaxed posture, as he meets Fukuzawa's eye, is his way of saying come here, though he accepts the next cat that claws at his knee into his lap instead, stroking the ginger ears absently. ]
[ He gives Mori a piercing look for a while and then settles back with his tea into his seat. He holds it in his hands in a somewhat unconscious mirror of what Mori's doing, savoring the warmth on his fingers. Most notably, decidedly, not getting up to approach Mori like that suggestion in his tone and the look in his eyes urges.
The day he dances to Mori's tune is the day he'll retire in earnest. He takes a sip of his tea, ignoring entirely that Mori clearly wants this to go somewhere.
Or, perhaps not ignoring. Ignoring Mori is never an option. But choosing not to acknowledge, that is entirely what he's doing. Mori can work for it, if he wants to entice Fukuzawa to bed he can put in the effort. ]
Hm.
[ A vague response, as he sips his tea. Debating how much he wants to engage Mori tonight, how tired he is, how early he has to be up in the morning. Even if he takes sex off the table (which he hasn't yet, because for all he complains he still can't deny he returns to this same pattern with Mori for a reason), rising to sparring with words would be his own inevitable loss. He may be dangerous enough to take Mori down with just his cup of tea but Mori is by far the better at weaving infuriating nets with his words when he gets going.
He heaves an almost heavy sigh, tired at the thought.
No, he doesn't feel up to bantering with Mori, he'd rather keep it blunt, on a level he can actually engage with. ]
What brought this on?
[ Direct, again. Not annoyed yet but certainly ready to be if Mori is... Well himself, to be honest. ]
But anyway - it seems that despite Mori's double-talk, he's relaxed here. The cat has started kneading his legs, claws picking at the dark fabric of his slacks (really, really? The things that he puts up with for Fukuzawa, honestly), the animal is purring, and Mori, with his head laid against the backrest, is able to watch Fukuzawa with an affectionate kind of nuance in his usually creepy stare - he's doing his own sort of purring. ]
Maybe I'm growing fond of the feline army.
[ He doesn't even like cats.
The first one to complain when they yowl in the early morning for their breakfast, Mori is no cat lover. Though he has been known to be somewhat affectionate towards the creatures in his own way, he doesn't claim to like them (he actually does like the one tortoiseshell one, but maybe only Fukuzawa has realised that).
But, he's being cagey, he seems to want to talk around in circles for a while.
There's a funny look from Mori that is levelled at the Agency's boss after a moment, however - he knows the other man's tones, knows his body language, knows his body well enough - by now, surely. And fine, they're not bickering tonight, it looks like the cards need to be lain on the table.
There's a long breath from Mori and he leans forward, disrupting the cat that had settled on his knees. ]
[ Well there it is. I appreciates the bluntness at least, actually somewhat unexpected. Not unheard of, but Mori is always too fond of his own cleverness. Or maybe just too fond of getting under Fukuzawa's skin.
But as refreshing as Mori being upfront is, it does make Fukuzawa suspicious. I might just be Mori's whim to accommodate Fukuzawa's preference for plain speech today, but he's long learned never to just assume with Mori.
Still, suspicious as he always finds Mori's anything, he'll take him at face value to an extent, setting his tea down. ]
I'm not opposed. But I'm not staying up all night for this, so nothing elaborate.
[ Romantic. But honestly, as romantic as Fukuzawa actually is, that has no place with Mori. And though he feels a pleasant coil of heat at the familiar memory of Mori's body, it's nothing urgent, a lazy background warmth that he can easily ignore if need be. ]
[ As if Mori could truly ever be straight forward. Getting the okay was step one, and now he looks set to play with it - his smile sharpening. ]
Lost the taste for our old antics, have you?
[ Having walked in rather haggard himself, and seeing that his nemesis was equally ready to call it a day, Mori knows full well that neither one of them is even remotely interested in anything elaborate tonight.
That's just the thing - and maybe it's the thing that has changed the most, because these days, whether they fuck or not, Mori will likely end up in Fukuzawa's bed - they've passed the stage of staying the night and sex being mutually exclusive. But, Mori being Mori - regardless of if he ends up pressed against a wall, bruises around his wrists, or in bed beside his long time enemy, borrowing reading glasses and nursing a second cup of tea - he's going to make this difficult.
The mobster stands, that smile unwavering, and he replaces the cat on the ground in a somewhat considerate gesture, and steps over to the agency president, placing his own cup down on the side table, beside Fukuzawa's.
He'll push only so far.
But he'll push.
He steps closer still, their knees brushing, leaning down to brace his palms on both armrests, that foxish smile now in close-up, his voice a bit of a treacherous purr. ]
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locked to allcatsareequal
So things have mellowed between them, it means nothing - there's no harm in winding his way through the front garden of the apartment complex, stepping up to the intercom and keying in the passcode that he knows from memory.
He's a little dampened from the rain - it has let up in the past few hours, but Yokohama is a ghost town regardless.
There's a moment of hesitation and he thinks that perhaps he ought to return to Elise - oh, his little demon - and the Port mafia; that's more advisable, but Mori has only ever done exactly as he pleases, provided it suits the occasion. There's something else in Fukuzawa's presence and apartment that leads him to the elevator - maybe it's just the rain, and some misplaced kind of sentiment. His black coat flaps against his shins, and he shucks it on the landing, folding the thing over an elbow.
An old enemy can be a safe haven in some respects - he knows there are no surprises with Fukuzawa, and given the day that the Mafia have had, he wants that consistency. Even if it comes with a hoard of damnable cats, curling around his heels.
The front door is as dull as he remembers it - understatement is just so Fukuzawa, and he raps twice on the door, leaning against the doorjamb, studying his cuticles with a bored look. ]
no subject
Not that he ever rules out assassins.
Still, of all the possible benign visitors he could have, Fukuzawa isn't even surprised when he looks out the peephole to see who it is.
As always, just like every single time this has happened over the last decade, he contemplates just leaving the door closed.
He can't even blame politeness, though, when he flicks the locks open and pulls the door in to give Mori a weary sort of look, wordlessly stepping back so the man can come in. Looking the man over to note his state; Mori's wet of course, and Fukuzawa instantly decides this is a social call, not a work one. It usually is, at this hour. Good. He's tired and it's far too late for chasing younger people around in the dark and rain. ]
I'll get a towel.
[ Is his only comment as he turns to do just that, leaving Mori to close the door. It's not that he's comfortable turning his back to Mori on a regular day, but there's something of a ritual to Mori's visits. Fukuzawa's apartment an unspoken neutral zone, and in all their years at this Mori has yet to be rude enough to break that into true violence, not on visits like this.
He returns quickly with a towel for the other man, Fukuzawa himself only in his night yukata, loose around his shoulders, hair still damp from a bath earlier. He's been winding down from the day, ready for an evening of reading, meditation, and sleep. The exciting life he leads reflected in the layout of his dwelling--all of it traditional, simple, understated. He waits for Mori to get somewhat less damp before asking. ]
Would you like some tea?
no subject
He accepts the towel when it's handed over, his hair limp against his skull after the typhoon. ]
I hope I'm not interrupting anything, hm?
[ He makes his way to the living room then, trailing after the Agency boss, finding a chair that suits him. He sits, towelling his hair off, looking ruffled but still as composed as he's able to, given that he looks like a half drowned cat. Despite being a little bedraggled, Mori still has his gaze trained on his arch nemesis, seeming at ease as he relaxes against the chair - altogether too comfortable with the situation, as at home in Fukuzawa's house as he would be in his own. ]
Tea would be lovely.
[ There's that airy tone, though he does sound smug about the whole situation. There's always that moment of hesitation where he could be turned away, where maybe he ought to refrain from knocking on the door altogether, but it just never seems to pan out that way. They end up in the same bed one way or another, though occasionally he's occupied the couch - blood isn't easy to remove from sheets, of course.
When Fukuzawa returns with the tea, he'll accept it with a nod of thanks - he's still gentlemanly in their opening go-arounds, of course.
Head tilting back to rest against the chair back, he warms his hands against the cup, still lazily watching Fukuzawa, eyes a little hooded. ]
I hope you don't mind if I stay. Taxi's aren't running in this weather.
[ Or maybe, he's just looking for company on a cold night - who knows. ]
no subject
If I were otherwise busy I would send you home.
[ Which is true enough. If he actually had obligations this evening he wouldn't be entertaining Mori. He certainly wouldn't be shy about telling Mori to go away. Their relationship has always been anything but coy, at least on Fukuzawa's end. He's never had the patience or aptitude for mind games of the sort the mafia leader seems to excel at. But it also makes him straight-forward and blunt, despite his reserved nature.
So he pours them both hot tea, fitting for the weather, and a better idea on a work night than breaking out the alcohol. They aren't in their twenties, hangovers aren't so easy to shake off in the morning.
One of the cats wanders into the room, jumping into Mori's lap with the easy familiarity of a feline who knows this person well. Then, offended, jumps off again, shaking slightly damp paws and wandering to a drier seat. ]
What brings you here so late?
[ Work, presumably. And not something he's above asking about, if the leader of the Port Mafia is in his neighborhood in this weather he'd rather like to know why. ]
no subject
Mori's voice is very near a purr - when he accepts the cup of tea from Fukuzawa, he allows the touch of their fingers with a kind of unsurprised, return touch, tilting his head as the other man nears him, pleased with his decision to stop by for a visit. ]
A social call, and the rain.
[ There's a vague gesture towards the window, which is currently being battered by the storm outside. Mori seems to be sticking with his excuse of the weather for this visit - though it's probably clear to them both that a bit of rain is not in the least what this is about. Mori's whims are more likely the reason for his showing up on Fukuzawa's doorstep, that or some misplaced idea of a late night fuck. With their wild days mostly behind them, however, the latter is probably less likely - not that he doesn't enjoy the former assassin's hands on him; oh, he does - he never has made a secret of that, anyway.
Warming his hands on the cup, the mobster watches his long time enemy with an expression that hovers between fond and sly, head tipping to the side, leaning further back in his seat. ]
It's been a while since we last did this, hasn't it?
[ Did this - there's the real answer; the shared secret.
Mori's relaxed posture, as he meets Fukuzawa's eye, is his way of saying come here, though he accepts the next cat that claws at his knee into his lap instead, stroking the ginger ears absently. ]
no subject
The day he dances to Mori's tune is the day he'll retire in earnest. He takes a sip of his tea, ignoring entirely that Mori clearly wants this to go somewhere.
Or, perhaps not ignoring. Ignoring Mori is never an option. But choosing not to acknowledge, that is entirely what he's doing. Mori can work for it, if he wants to entice Fukuzawa to bed he can put in the effort. ]
Hm.
[ A vague response, as he sips his tea. Debating how much he wants to engage Mori tonight, how tired he is, how early he has to be up in the morning. Even if he takes sex off the table (which he hasn't yet, because for all he complains he still can't deny he returns to this same pattern with Mori for a reason), rising to sparring with words would be his own inevitable loss. He may be dangerous enough to take Mori down with just his cup of tea but Mori is by far the better at weaving infuriating nets with his words when he gets going.
He heaves an almost heavy sigh, tired at the thought.
No, he doesn't feel up to bantering with Mori, he'd rather keep it blunt, on a level he can actually engage with. ]
What brought this on?
[ Direct, again. Not annoyed yet but certainly ready to be if Mori is... Well himself, to be honest. ]
no subject
[ No, he isn't.
But anyway - it seems that despite Mori's double-talk, he's relaxed here. The cat has started kneading his legs, claws picking at the dark fabric of his slacks (really, really? The things that he puts up with for Fukuzawa, honestly), the animal is purring, and Mori, with his head laid against the backrest, is able to watch Fukuzawa with an affectionate kind of nuance in his usually creepy stare - he's doing his own sort of purring. ]
Maybe I'm growing fond of the feline army.
[ He doesn't even like cats.
The first one to complain when they yowl in the early morning for their breakfast, Mori is no cat lover. Though he has been known to be somewhat affectionate towards the creatures in his own way, he doesn't claim to like them (he actually does like the one tortoiseshell one, but maybe only Fukuzawa has realised that).
But, he's being cagey, he seems to want to talk around in circles for a while.
There's a funny look from Mori that is levelled at the Agency's boss after a moment, however - he knows the other man's tones, knows his body language, knows his body well enough - by now, surely. And fine, they're not bickering tonight, it looks like the cards need to be lain on the table.
There's a long breath from Mori and he leans forward, disrupting the cat that had settled on his knees. ]
--Maybe I just like sleeping in your bed.
no subject
But as refreshing as Mori being upfront is, it does make Fukuzawa suspicious. I might just be
Mori's whim to accommodate Fukuzawa's preference for plain speech today, but he's long learned never to just assume with Mori.
Still, suspicious as he always finds Mori's anything, he'll take him at face value to an extent, setting his tea down. ]
I'm not opposed. But I'm not staying up all night for this, so nothing elaborate.
[ Romantic. But honestly, as romantic as Fukuzawa actually is, that has no place with Mori. And though he feels a pleasant coil of heat at the familiar memory of Mori's body, it's nothing urgent, a lazy background warmth that he can easily ignore if need be. ]
no subject
[ As if Mori could truly ever be straight forward. Getting the okay was step one, and now he looks set to play with it - his smile sharpening. ]
Lost the taste for our old antics, have you?
[ Having walked in rather haggard himself, and seeing that his nemesis was equally ready to call it a day, Mori knows full well that neither one of them is even remotely interested in anything elaborate tonight.
That's just the thing - and maybe it's the thing that has changed the most, because these days, whether they fuck or not, Mori will likely end up in Fukuzawa's bed - they've passed the stage of staying the night and sex being mutually exclusive. But, Mori being Mori - regardless of if he ends up pressed against a wall, bruises around his wrists, or in bed beside his long time enemy, borrowing reading glasses and nursing a second cup of tea - he's going to make this difficult.
The mobster stands, that smile unwavering, and he replaces the cat on the ground in a somewhat considerate gesture, and steps over to the agency president, placing his own cup down on the side table, beside Fukuzawa's.
He'll push only so far.
But he'll push.
He steps closer still, their knees brushing, leaning down to brace his palms on both armrests, that foxish smile now in close-up, his voice a bit of a treacherous purr. ]
Don't tell me. Long day at the office?