#AU idea ive been cooking up for funsies | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

perfeggso · 4 years ago

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Noir (yutae)

Week IV pt. 2

Tokyo – fall of 1983: Nakamoto Yuta is quickly rising in the ranks of one of Japan’s most notorious yakuza families, and he’s poised to climb even further if he can stop himself from being ruined by the pretty Korean boy who’s shown up out of nowhere.

Glossary of Japanese words

Characters: Yuta x Taeyong + NCT ensemble, Twice J-line (for funsies)

Genres: Gang!AU, angst, smut, fluff, 1980s!AU

Warnings: graphic violence, swearing, minor character death, alcohol use, mentions of drugs, period-typical homophobia, xenophobia, BDSM

Rating: 18+

Length: 6k

In the days that followed, Taeyong declared that he was giving himself three short-term goals. “Oh yeah?” Yuta asked, raising an eyebrow in curiosity. “What would those be?” Taeyong elaborated: Goal number one was for Taeyong to get his friends, new and newer, to help him be a better gangster. So, Yuta arranged for Sicheng and Yukhei to take Taeyong to the training room for workouts and, once he’d confirmed Taeyong was comfortable with it, to have Ten give him more “lessons.” Yuta had sat in on their first session, watching in pained silence as Ten used one of his long metal pins to tether Taeyong to the ground through his shoe and then attacked him. Yuta then enlisted Dejun, Yangyang, and Kunhang to teach Taeyong (and Mark and Jungwoo for good measure – they needed some review) how to follow people effectively and avoid being followed. According to Taeyong’s recounting, it had been exactly like Yuta’s own training, each of the Inagawa members taking turns slinking around the backstreets of Kabuki-chō and getting critiqued by the Triads afterwards. Yuta let Taeyong hang around when he discussed strategy and finances with Doyoung, Taeil, Johnny, and Jaehyun. Taeyong didn’t really understand any of it, nor did he need to, but Yuta figured it was good for him to feel like he was getting the whole picture.

Taeyong’s second goal, he said with almost too much confidence, was to get Yuta to fuck him as much as possible without it becoming a distraction, and it’d been going well for both of them. Taeyong had slept over at Yuta’s place three out of the last four nights and Yuta started taking a kind of dirty pride in the way his regiment grew used to seeing Taeyong in his clothing. They’d started experimenting explicitly with dom/sub dynamics and their own kinks, one of Yuta’s favorite moments coming when Taeyong accompanied him home after a long day. He’d fixed himself a drink and sat, legs spread over his couch and arms elongated over its back, the drink in one hand and a cigarette in the other. Since that night, Yuta had to stop himself intermittently from getting half-hard at the memory of Taeyong trying to get off grinding on his thigh, Yuta more or less ignoring him as his clothes soaked through with his sweat and he cried in frustration into Yuta’s shoulder for him to just do something – touch him, degrade him, anything. Yuta even impressed himself with the willpower he’d used to keep Taeyong strung out like that. So yeah, Taeyong’s second goal was going just fine, Yuta would say.

Goal number three was the most complicated: It was for Taeyong to make up his mind about what he’d do after the Mitsubishi deal (hopefully) went through. As promised, Yuta tried to remain removed from Taeyong’s decision making process, even if Taeyong would sometimes come to him with questions. Would they be able to keep seeing each other? Whether Taeyong stayed or left, they could still be together, Yuta had answered, although part of him worried that if Taeyong left he’d find someone he liked better the minute they no longer shared a lifestyle. But that wouldn’t be the case if Taeyong left after officially joining, right? Taeyong had clarified. If he changed his mind too late? That’s right, if you leave too late, you leave everything for good. It’s okay, Yuta had told him, don’t force yourself into a decision until the deal’s been worked out.

Yuta’s goal, on the other hand, was simply to stay sane and focused, and enjoy everything while it lasted. Specifically, he wanted to enjoy cooking takoyaki, Osaka’s specialty food, for Taeyong one night after a rare day off, and he wanted Taeyong to enjoy eating it. He wandered around Taeyong’s kitchen, alternating between muttering to himself and asking Taeyong why the hell it was so hard to find anything in there. Yuta paused before his metal mixing bowl, trying to remember what the next ingredient for the batter was supposed to be.

“You sure you don’t want help, babe?” Taeyong asked, and Yuta looked over to where he was sitting on the little table he kept in the kitchen, swinging his legs over the edge and giving Yuta moon eyes. He almost laughed. Taeyong had been nervous to have Yuta over, endlessly denigrating his apartment to the point that Yuta would have thought he was being invited over to a literal shack if he hadn’t already seen the building once, so Yuta made a point of fawning over the small space the second he arrived.

“No, darling,” replied Yuta to Taeyong’s question. “I told you, this is my treat.”

Taeyong shrugged as a new Blondie song started to play from his record player in the living room. “Suit yourself.” Yuta stretched his shoulders, finally remembering that the egg was supposed to come next. He’d learned how to cook from his mom, but that meant that sometimes his recipes were more like distant memories from ten to fifteen years ago. Yuta hummed along to the music, turning to search for the egg carton in the fridge.

“So, can we go over this one more time so I don’t screw it up?” Taeyong asked. Yuta was losing track of the number of times Taeyong had already been briefed on their plans for Minatozaki Sana, but if he needed to hear it again to feel secure, Yuta supposed he’d play along.

“Sure,” Yuta confirmed, cracking one egg into the half-finished batter. “But there’s really not that much you have to do, Taeyong. I just told you the whole plan so you won’t be caught off guard by anything.”

Taeyong practically buzzed against the table below him. “Right, so basically I’m going to stand by her door while you and Doyoung convince her to flip on Yamaguchi. There’s a window in the entryway, so I’ll have an easy view out if anyone comes, but I need to be sure not to be seen from the other end.”

“Exactly,” said Yuta, whisking. The yellow yolk was swirling into the sticky mixture like streaks in hair. “I don’t anticipate it taking too long, but I can’t make any promises. If she resists, you just stay at your post and we’ll deal with her, unless she makes it all the way to her front door or something.”

Taeyong nodded, his legs knocking against the table’s. “What’s ‘not too long?’” he asked.

Yuta thought for a moment. “Twenty minutes to an hour.”

“Alright.”

“Alright?” Yuta finished mixing his batter and tapped the butt of the bowl against the counter several times, looking quizzically at Taeyong. “Is that all clear? Can we talk about something not work-related now?”

Taeyong smiled. “Yeah we can,” he agreed, and Yuta let out a sigh of a laugh. “Like what? Is gang talk stressing you out?”

Yuta sniffed the batter. It smelled like it had enough dashi in it, so he figured it was fine. Now where did Taeyong keep his soy sauce? He rattled through Taeyong’s drawers as he answered.

“Honestly, a little bit. This is the most responsibility I’ve ever been given, and I want it to go well.”

When Yuta looked back to Taeyong, soy sauce triumphantly in hand, Taeyong’s face had contorted to show his own worry.

“Wait, you’re really anxious about it?” he asked. “I was sorta joking.”

Yuta set the bottle down on Taeyong’s green plastic countertop, making his way to the table.

Taeyong pouted as Yuta’s palms pressed over his soft cheeks. “I’m a little anxious,” Yuta admitted, a warm feeling flashing through his chest at the sight of Taeyong’s face all squished up, “but I gave you your job description and worrying about my anxiety is not included. Got it?”

Taeyong smiled sheepishly. “Got it.”

Yuta let go of Taeyong’s face and returned to his cooking project. “Just wanted some time together where I didn’t have to worry about work.” He dumped some of the soy sauce into his batter and started to stir again. He registered a little giggle coming from Taeyong.

“Anything I can do to help destress you?” he asked slyly. Yuta mixed harder.

“Yonggie, now is not the time…”

Taeyong just shook his head. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Yuta tried to ignore the not-so-subtle look Taeyong was giving him, opting to divert the conversation to ask where Taeyong’s takoyaki griddle was. Taeyong hopped off the table, mouthing the words to “Heart of Glass.”

“I’ll get it,” he offered, crouching next to the low cabinet where he kept his pots and pans and extracting the desired item.

“Thanks.”

Taeyong leaned against his counter and watched Yuta rub oil over and then pour the batter into the six half-spheres in the cast iron griddle. Yuta inserted the octopus bits, tenkasu , beni shoga , and sauce into the center of each raw takoyaki, conscious of every movement under Taeyong’s sticky gaze but trying to relax by listening to Taeyong’s whispery singing. Once sufficiently prepped, Yuta brought the griddle over to the table and turned it on, sitting to watch the food cook. Taeyong sat across from him, laying his head against the wooden tabletop and blinking as heat started to sizzle from the takoyaki.

Yuta sighed, thinking. Taeyong made him think a lot about a lot of things. Some of it was serious like, was their relationship sustainable? Was he blinded by his infatuation and risking too much for someone he’d know for barely more than a month? Was Taeyong going to end up hurt? Because if he did, it would be squarely Yuta’s fault. Mostly though, the thoughts Taeyong prompted in Yuta’s head were less dire but just as invasive. Yuta felt a rush at how gorgeous Taeyong looked like that, sleepily gazing and allowing himself to receive the care of someone else’s cooking. On second thought …

“Hey, so I know I just said now is not the time,” Yuta began, rolling his sleeves up as he registered the room warming and noticing Taeyong’s eyes on his arms, “but there might be something that would help me destress. But uh, you might think it’s a little early, I’m not sure.”

Taeyong sat up, smiling. “Oh?”

“I think it would be fun to spend a night at a love hotel,” Yuta admitted, and a splotch of oil jumped out of the griddle as if to punish him for being pushy. “ Ita !”

Taeyong just grinned. “Yuta,” he began, crossing his arms over the table, “why is that such a big deal?”

Yuta sighed, feeling like he was about to get laughed at. “Because, I don’t want to take you to just any love hotel,” he explained. He figured he’d gotten himself this far, he might as well finish digging his own grave. “I want to take you to the Alpha Inn.” To his surprise, Taeyong didn’t laugh, nor did he look confused; his grin only stretched wider, giving him crow’s feet around his eyes. Yuta wondered if he needed to clarify what he’d said. “It’s –”

“I know what the Alpha Inn is,” Taeyong blurted.

Yuta felt his face go small, the sizzling of the takoyaki turning to static in his ears. “Oh, then why didn’t you say anything?”

“Because,” Taeyong explained, “I was waiting for you to tell me why you were being weird about it.”

“Oh,” Yuta repeated, and Taeyong pressed on.

“So why were you? I mean, we’ve already kind of established that we both like that kind of thing, right?”

Yuta was beginning to feel like a first-class idiot. “Yeah,” he tried to backtrack, “but I think it’s a bit different from anything we’ve discussed. There are whips and stuff on the walls there and…”

Yuta hadn’t managed to finish his sentence before Taeyong was laughing in his face.

“Yuta,” he said, “have you been there before?”

“Yeah, I have,” Yuta explained, growing indignant, “but you’re different too.” Taeyong’s eyes rounded in curiosity. “You are! I haven’t had many relationships so when I’ve gone there it’s been, like, with hookups who are there for a specific purpose.”

Taeyong wiggled his eyebrows. “And what if I told you I’d been there with hookups before too?”

Yuta let out a breath of relief, settling into a more self-assured comportment. He honestly should have figured. Taeyong seemed to notice the change in Yuta’s body language, because he wiggled back into his chair, away from the table, and softened his face from the challenging aspect it had taken on before. Yuta smiled in satisfaction. “Then, I wouldn’t worry about anything but us enjoying ourselves,” he answered.

Taeyong smiled to himself as he looked at his hands in his lap. “So, letting you take me to a BDSM-themed love hotel: that’s what I could do to help you destress before next week. Glad I got that out of you.”

“But there are some things we need to discuss first,” Yuta said, figuring the takoyaki looked adequately brown and standing to find a couple plates and pairs of chopsticks.

Taeyong nodded. “Of course.”

Yuta returned, having found what he was looking for with surprising ease.

“First of which being that we have to change up the title, ‘kay?” He sat and turned the griddle off, using his metal chopsticks to pull out two takoyaki balls. “No more Shategashira during sex. I can’t be getting hard every time anyone talks to me at work.”

Yuta slid a plate of food over to Taeyong. “That’s fair. What should I call you, then?”

Yuta blew on his dinner. “Sir? Does that work?”

Taeyong smiled. “Yes, sir .” And Yuta smiled back.

“Perfect,” he remarked, hand reaching out to Taeyong’s hair on instinct. “You’re perfect.”

Taeyong nuzzled into Yuta’s touch, whining when Yuta pulled away. Yuta was happy to have taken back control of the situation, but he also figured he needed to change the topic of conversation if he was going to be able to focus on his food. Thankfully, Taeyong did it for him, picking up a ball of takoyaki and holding it near his face, expression contemplative.

“Smells good,” he said. He blew on it until it had stopped steaming, then nibbled experimentally after a quick "itadakimasu." Yuta still held off, all too familiar with the treacherousness of eating takoyaki.

“How is it?” he asked as Taeyong broke through to the molten center. He paused.

“Yuta?” Taeyong began, holding the takoyaki to show off the liquidy center. He started laughing and Yuta found himself hurled back into embarrassment. “I don’t think it’s cooked all the way…”

“Shit, sorry!” Yuta spluttered. “Here, give it back!”

Taeyong guffawed, letting some of the hot but nearly raw batter fall from his mouth to his cupped hand. “What?”

“Just give it here!”

“Okay…” Taeyong handed over the mangled ball and watched Yuta return it to its iron slot, switching the griddle back on and trying to look competent.

“Guess this will have to do,” he said, placing his own serving back to cook more as well. Yuta smiled to himself, propping the side of his head against his fist and his elbow on the table. Taeyong smiled back and said in a small voice,

“I thought you knew what you were doing, Osaka boy. I’m a good cook, you could have just let me help.”

Yuta shrugged. “Maybe I oversold myself. This’ll work though.”

Taeyong made a pained face (“I’m so hungry though”) and Yuta rolled his eyes.

He became suddenly hyper-aware of the silence framing their conversation, so he got up to switch out the finished album while the food got done cooking.

“What do you want me to play?”

“Kate Bush!” Taeyong yelled in response. “’The Dreaming’ should be sitting right next to the record player.”

Yuta replaced “Parallel Lines” with Taeyong’s suggestion, dropped the pin, and returned to the kitchen as “Sat In Your Lap” began to play. He also realized he forgot the mayo and the bonito for their dinner, and puttered around the kitchen again to find them, feeling like even more of a dumbass than he had for undercooking the food. The takoyaki came out much better the second time around, and once it had cooled off, it was gone in a fraction of the time Yuta had spent making it.

“Okay, I guess you do know what you’re doing,” Taeyong admitted, his mouth contorting around a particularly large bite.

After eating, Taeyong insisted on doing the dishes. Yuta took on Taeyong’s former position watching from the table, thinking to himself how lovely he looked in an apron, focused on getting everything spick and span. Fuck, it was so domestic, and Yuta hadn’t had anything like it in so long. Yuta was so shaken up about it he felt like the takoyaki in his stomach was trying to bust out through his belly button.

Taeyong glanced at his admirer as he scratched the suds from his hands into the sink. “Stop looking at me like that,” he said.

For a mobster, Yuta had kind of a bad poker face when he wasn’t focused enough on it. “Like what?”

“Like you want to…I don’t know, make me a housewife.”

Yuta rested his face in his hands. “What if I do?”

Taeyong chuckled. “First of all, that’s quite literally impossible. Second of all, it makes me feel weird.”

“Weird how?”

Taeyong dried the metal mixing bowl as he spoke. “Not sure how to explain it,” he said. “Kind of itchy. Like I want to hide?”

Yuta tried to calm down so he could stop the fascination from practically dripping over his face. “Sorry.”

Taeyong put the bowl away. “S’okay. I’m also flattered. Thanks for cooking, by the way – even if I gave you shit about it.”

“Of course. It was kind of fun.”

Taeyong finished drying off and putting everything away, took off his apron, and suggested they retire to the living room couch to listen to their music.

Yuta sat down and let Taeyong situate himself so that he was lying down, head in Yuta’s lap. Yuta played with Taeyong’s hair.

“Yuta?”

“Mm?”

Taeyong’s face had an air of stress about it, not like there was anything truly wrong, but more like he had a thought he needed to sort out.

“How did you figure out you liked guys?”

Yuta took a moment to process. That was not what he expected Taeyong to ask.

“Oh, um, I don’t know, how did you figure it out?”

Taeyong scowled. “I mean eventually it just sort of became obvious,” he said.

“Exactly,” Yuta confirmed. “So, that’s not really what you’re asking, is it?”

Taeyong shook his head, skull rocking against Yuta’s thighs.

“Guess not,” he allowed, “How old were you though? When you realized?”

Yuta pulled a strand of Taeyong’s dark hair until it stood on end. “I don’t know, late teens probably, when I really sorted it out?” Yuta chuckled, calling upon some well-repressed memories. “I had tried fooling around with girls at that point, and it wasn’t bad, actually. I was very sure I was straight. I liked the girls I was with – had a real fondness for most of them, but it was never very deep. Momo and I even hooked up once.” Yuta laughed wryly as he watched a look of shock and, maybe jealousy? flicker over Taeyong’s face. “Don’t worry,” he reassured. “It was alright for me, but she made it very clear that it was never to happen again.”

Taeyong hummed thoughtfully. Yuta wanted to grill him back, but it looked like he had another question brewing, so he stayed quiet. “So, who was the first guy?”

Yuta breathed a laugh. “Well, he was actually my boss when I was a Kumi-in…”

Taeyong’s eyes lit up. “Like us?”

“Kind of. He was older though,” Yuta clarified. He smiled, both in recollection and in amusement as he registered the dissonance between Kate Bush’s wailing singing and their quiet conversation. “I remember thinking to myself, oh, now I know what this whole thing is supposed to feel like.” By “thing” he meant to express the nebulous concept of attraction, love, relationships, lust; all those intangibles which tug at the heartstrings. He hoped Taeyong would understand despite his lack of eloquence. “He was the one who convinced me to go to the Alpha Inn the first time, but, uh, I was the one taking the orders back then.”

“What happened to him?” asked Taeyong, twisting the hem of his shirt in his hands.

“He decided this life wasn’t for him, so he left. And, you know, if you do that you get excommunicated, banished – whatever you want to call it – so I haven’t heard from him since.”

Taeyong looked like he wanted to say something, then didn’t.

“I’m sorry,” he said instead.

The apology made a pang of guilt run through Yuta. Here he was telling the sob story of his first love in front of poor Taeyong. If he got uncomfortable hearing about Momo, why would he want to know this? “Don’t be sorry. I have you now,” Yuta said with a smile, and he meant it deeply.

Taeyong sat up and sighed, eyes clouded over. “I just feel like this would be a lot easier if I wasn’t…you know…me.”

Yuta felt like he had cold water rushing over his skin. What was Taeyong getting at? “No, I don’t know,” he challenged.

Taeyong refused to make eye contact and Yuta thought he saw the other man’s skin tone draining a bit grey. “I keep thinking about Johnny and Mina,” Taeyong tried to explain. “They seem so normal. Like, they know what each of them is there for. I don’t know how to explain it. I just feel like if I were a woman it’d be easier and make more sense. I wouldn’t be weirdly wrapped up in your work and having to make all these dire decisions and putting you in danger. We could just see each other like average people.”

Yuta didn’t know if he wanted to cry or laugh. He settled instead for gripping Taeyong’s chin with his fingers and forcing their eyes to meet. “Taeyong,” he said softly, “I think you’re missing the point.”

Taeyong’s eyes looked glassy. “Which is?”

“Which is that if you were a woman A) we probably wouldn’t have met in the first place, and B) I wouldn’t be as interested in you.” Yuta searched Taeyong’s face, awaiting a response.

“You mean that?” he asked, finally.

Yuta let go of Taeyong’s face. “I do. Why would I be lying?”

Taeyong smiled slightly. “I dunno. Sometimes you lie for fun.”

“God, Taeyong, not about stuff like this.”

“Alright,” Taeyong said, letting his smile extend and settling his back more squarely into the couch cushions. “Sorry for being so insecure.”

Yuta took Taeyong’s hand. “You and me both, baby.”

“Houdini” started to play and Taeyong closed his eyes, mentioning absently that it was his favorite song on the album. When it was over, he spoke again.

“Mina warned me at the party,” he said, and Yuta was put on immediate alert by the threatening vagueness of the statement. “Back at Johnny’s bar, we started talking. She said I should leave as soon as possible and not get sucked in.”

Yuta stiffened, training his eyes on the stains in Taeyong’s rug and making a mental note to bring this up to Johnny. “Well,” he began, “that’s her opinion. It’s up to you to make up your own mind.”

“I know.”

Yuta laughed breathily, catching Taeyong’s drift. “So, she told you that and then you immediately turned around and landed in my lap; let me pull you in deeper. Was that a sort of decision?”

Taeyong nodded, squeezing Yuta’s hand. “Maybe. I just wanted it at the time. I wanted a real reason to stay.”

Yuta tutted. “I told you not to make me the clincher for such an important choice.”

“Yeah, but that was after,” Taeyong asserted. “I think I’d already decided early on, even if I didn’t want to admit it. Yuta?”

“Taeyong.”

He looked Yuta right in the eyes. “I’m going to stay. I invited you over tonight to tell you that I’m sure I want to join the Inagawa-kai. I just didn’t know how to bring it up until right now.”

Yuta could feel the adrenaline coursing through him, like he was a candle wick being sparked; like he was about to go on a mission. He was exhilarated at the idea that he’d fully gained Taeyong’s trust and admiration, that they would continue on as they had been; but at the same time, the possibility that Taeyong could get hurt or decide too late that he’d gone down the wrong path made Yuta’s blood run cold.

“You’re sure?”

Taeyong nodded. “Yeah, I am.” He looked at Yuta and smiled sideways. “When do I get initiated?”

Yuta didn’t know how to respond to Taeyong’s sudden burst of self-assuredness. “Well – uh – the Oyabun won’t let you until our current project is secured –”

Taeyong pouted.

“But!” Yuta had an idea. “But, but, but, if you want, we can do something fun right now that might help.” Yuta stood, about to head off to the kitchen until he remembered he didn’t know where anything was.

“What is it?”

Yuta placed a finger in front of his mouth. “It’s a secret,” he whispered. “But I need you to help me find some things.”

In a matter of minutes, they were back in the living room, couched in silence with the music having run out and kneeling at either side of Taeyong’s coffee table. Between them, Yuta had set two empty masu cups, a bottle of amazake (since Taeyong didn’t have normal sake), and the knife that Yuta always carried around with him: medium-size and gunmetal grey with teeth like the one in the Rambo movie that had come out a year before. Taeyong had stared at it almost in horror when Yuta took it out.

“Okay,” Taeyong said, eyes roaming over their spread. “Now will you please explain this to me?”

“Sure,” Yuta agreed, grinning at his own creativity. “So, you said you wanted to be initiated,” he began, “but you can’t technically do that for a bit, so I’m going to give you a little run-through; a rehearsal of sorts that can prepare you for the real thing while also making you feel more official right now.”

Taeyong nodded, looking sold. “Okay. What’s the knife for?”

“For when I sacrifice you to Amaterasu,” he deadpanned, and for a moment, Taeyong actually gaped.

“No, I kid,” Yuta said, cracking himself up. “We’ll get to what the knife’s for in a second.”

Taeyong let out a confused breath, making Yuta laugh even harder. Once he had contained himself, he went on.

“So, this will be the setup when you’re initiated. Ideally there’d be witnesses, but you know.” He shrugged. “Okay, and you should know that I am standing in for the Oyabun .”

“You’re Goro?” Taeyong clarified.

Yuta nodded, pressing a hand to his chest. “Yes, I’m Goro, who I don’t think you’ve met yet, by the way.” Taeyong shook his head in confirmation. “Soon enough, then. You’re you, and what we’re going to do first is you’re going to hold out your cup to me and I’ll fill it halfway with sake.”

Taeyong followed directions, prostrating himself ever so slightly as he offered Yuta his cup and watched him pour the cloudy liquid inside. Then, Yuta did the same with his own cup, passing the halfway point and filling it to the brim, images of his own initiation six years earlier flashing across his vision. He’d been a baby in an ill-fitting black suit and Goro had looked more imposing to him than usual – like Mt. Fuji on a clear day. He picked up the knife, remembering the sharp taste of Goro’s blood in a particularly strong batch of sake.

“Now we switch cups,” he instructed, and Taeyong obliged, eyes trained on Yuta’s knife. They went wide when Yuta positioned his hand over Taeyong’s sake and cradled the blade so that it was invisible in his palm, although the implied pressure and discomfort made Taeyong’s face contort. Yuta sliced shallowly into his palm, careful to adhere to the lines of his old scar as much as possible. Taeyong’s gaze followed as a ruby droplet fell and dispersed into the alcoholic liquid.

“We could just get a raspberry or something if you have one and crush it into the other cup,” Yuta teased, “if you don’t want to do this.” He grinned when Taeyong shook his head quickly.

“No, I can do it, Shategashira .”

“Good.” Yuta wiped the blood from the knife onto a paper towel and handed the blade to Taeyong, who took it hesitantly. “Just do the pad of your thumb for now,” Yuta suggested. Taeyong hissed a bit as he cut into the flesh there and pressed down to force out a rivulet of blood. Yuta realized he’d made a slight oversight when he registered that each of them now had one bloodied hand. In the real ritual, this fact would have been ignored, but Yuta was already testing Taeyong and he didn’t want to also stain his nice bamboo cups.

“Gimme a sec,” he said, finding his leather jacket in the entryway and rooting around in it one-handed for another thing he always kept with him: bandage tape. He called Taeyong into the kitchen and they took turns washing up and covering their self-inflicted wounds. Yuta registered neutrally the kind of hazy and quiet state Taeyong was in. Finally, they returned to the coffee table for the next leg of the ritual, starting off by switching their drinks back so Yuta had a full cup with Taeyong’s blood and Taeyong had a half cup with Yuta’s.

“What now?” Taeyong asked.

“Now,” Yuta answered, “you take the seihai-gishiki ; the oath of allegiance to me, Hirai Goro.” They both laughed at that. “Repeat after me okay?”

“Okay.”

Yuta flexed his hand, still adjusting to the feeling of raw openness under the pink-tinged bandages. "I vow never to reveal the secrets of the organization.”

“I vow to never reveal the secrets of the organization.”

“I will never violate the wife or children of another member.”

Taeyong balked. “Wait, that’s kind of messed up,” he said, mouth poised to laugh. “Why is that there?”

“Aish,” said Yuta in mock disappointment, “good thing I’m running you through this – Goro would never accept this interrupting. Actually, the first ever yakuza clan in the 1700’s had a real problem with cheating and child molestation, so their boss had to make up this rule to stop it from turning into one giant super-illegal orgy,” he said matter-of-factly. Taeyong’s eyes went wide.

“Really??”

Yuta frowned. “No!! You need to stop being so gullible with everything I tell you.”

Taeyong bowed his head several times while laughing nervously. “Ah, okay, okay, Shategashira . Gomen , gomen . Got it.”

Yuta smiled. Taeyong was so damn cute it made his muscles hurt. “It’s okay,” he said. “In all seriousness, I have no idea why that rule is there, but it’s a reasonable expectation, anyway. Shall we move on?”

Taeyong nodded.

“Okay,” Yuta restarted, “I vow to have no personal involvement with narcotics.”

“I vow to have no personal involvement with narcotics,” Taeyong repeated.

“I will not withhold money from the gang.”

“I will not fail in my obedience to superiors.”

Taeyong blinked forcefully and gulped before echoing, “I will not fail in my obedience to superiors.”

“Last one, okay? I will not appeal to the police or other legal authorities.”

“I will not appeal to the police or other legal authorities. Now what?”

Yuta picked up his cup with both hands. “Now we drink.”

Taeyong followed his lead. “Kanpai.”

“Kanpai.”

The taste of Taeyong’s blood was less harsh mixed in with this sweet type of sake, mellowed and drowned out until it was nothing more than a heady undertone, like the scent of skin.

They put down their cups once they had finished and stared at each other silently for a beat. Then Taeyong broke into a grin. “Did I pass?” he asked.

Yuta guffawed. “Pass? This isn’t an exam.” He cleared his throat and put on his Hirai Goro voice: gravelly and low and embellished by rolled r’s. “But uh, yes, well done, Kumi-in. Welcome to the Inagawa-kai.”

***

After the elaborate rehearsal, they had a bit of cleaning up to do. Taeyong rinsed their masu cups in the sink as Yuta disinfected his knife and reinforced his bandages.

“The last vow reminded me,” said Taeyong, shutting the water off and setting the cups on the drying rack, “it only occurred to me after Johnny and Mina’s lesson the other day, but what if it’s not another gang that gets ahold of me? What if it’s the police? Wouldn’t they also interrogate me?”

Yuta burst out in laughter and Taeyong looked perplexed, leaning his lower back against the kitchen counter.

“Oh, sorry for laughing at you,” Yuta said, collecting himself. “You’d have no way of knowing this.” He walked over to join Taeyong. “You don’t have to worry about the police,” he explained even if Taeyong looked dubious. “I mean, if we like, killed someone in a public alleyway, sure.” Taeyong’s eyes flickered in recollection. Yuta continued. “But if you’re just going about your business, they won’t dare take you in. Most of them like us anyway – like that we instill a little fear and discipline into public life, that we rake in local tax revenue and do charity work, etc. I mean they’re just as much thugs as we are, too, and I guarantee you in every ten cops you’d find at least three former wannabe gangsters. Anyway, sometimes we get busted by national law enforcement, but you rarely need to worry about the local police; they only get involved if you kill someone, as I mentioned; if public opinion is especially bad; or if someone comes to them directly with proof of wrongdoing.”

Taeyong nodded heavily, taking in this new information with a mixture of horror and relief.

“I know. It can be a bit odd at first,” Yuta offered. “I imagine as a former street kid you’re not used to that kind of free reign.”

Taeyong shook his head. “Yeah, m’not,” he confirmed. “I used to get the cops called on me for standing wrong.”

Yuta hummed a chuckle. He didn’t doubt it. His face hovered closer to Taeyong’s, drinking him in, and he paused over the scar next to Taeyong’s eye. He still had never asked about it, so he did.

“Oh, this?” Taeyong said, pointing to the pitted skin. He demurred a bit, embarrassed, and Yuta suddenly felt bad for asking. “It’s not very interesting. I used to have atopic dermatitis and I picked at my skin a bit too much when I got a flare up there.”

“I see,” Yuta said. “Sounds irritating.”

“It was,” confirmed Taeyong. “Did you have a theory about how I got it?”

“I didn’t but Doyoung did,” said Yuta. “He figured you’d gotten it in a fight or something like that. I didn’t really know.”

Yuta thought he saw a shiver buzz up Taeyong’s body. “Do you guys talk about me often when I’m not there?”

Yuta laughed. “Only at the beginning,” He admitted, settling his elbows back on the countertop. “You were kind of mysterious to us.”

Taeyong looked shocked. “Me? Mysterious? Alright…”

“Well you showed up out of nowhere,” Yuta asserted. “In fact, I got asked on separate occasions by Jungwoo and Jaehyun how I was sure you weren’t a spy.”

Taeyong spluttered. “A spy? That’s too wild.”

Yuta only shrugged. If he was being honest, Taeyong was still a little mysterious to him. He still wanted to turn Taeyong’s earlier questions about sexual awakenings and such back on him, but that could wait. Taeyong pushed away from the counter and shifted so he was facing Yuta, his hands on Yuta’s shoulders.

“Want to dance?” he asked coyly. “Just like after Johnny’s party?”

Yuta slipped his arms around Taeyong’s waist. “How could I say no to that?” he teased, and they plodded like that back into the living room. Yuta let Taeyong go momentarily to put on “Three Imaginary Boys” by The Cure, scooping him back up the second the music began. Taeyong laid his head on Yuta’s shoulder and murmured into the base of his neck.

“I can’t wait to help you destress, sir.”

Yuta petted Taeyong’s soft hair with his bandaged hand and hummed. “You’re too perfect,” he said, and he meant it deeply.

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