Who: Victor Shou, Taro Yamada What: Not-so-accidental neighborly interaction. When: Saturday night. Where: Victor's place. Rating: R Status: Complete
Late nights were highly usual at the Adjustment Center, so when Victor pulled up the grate to the service elevator and climbed out at eight fifteen in the evening, the fact that the landing smelled like food and rang with the sound of voices behind closed doors was more than a little creepy. He tossed his keys in his right hand, using the dominant to unlock his door once he got there. The silence, he was used to. Signs of life and people, not so much.
The room Taro sat in was fairly empty, he just rented the space only a week before. If it was worthwhile to stay longer, he might be motivated to actually fill the spaces with furniture. As it was, he was merely pretending to live there. He heard footsteps in the hall, the man seemed to arrive home at close to the same hour every night.
He picked up the stack of envelopes he collected and crossed to his door. He opened it and stepped out into the hall like he was planning on going somewhere. As he went to lock his door, he looked over his shoulder at the man and smiled his brightest smile. "Oh, hey. Welcome home."
It was unusual to meet people in his building - on a normal day, Victor would be out of the door before most were up and he always came back too late for anyone to still be up - but today wasn't a normal day. His presence alone said as much.
He turned at the greeting, not recognizing the face but attributing it to the designation of some neighbor. It wasn't an unusual face. A pleasant symmetry of features. He smiled politely. "Hello. Thanks. I'd take an umbrella if I were you. It looks like it's going to rain."
He laughed softly and shook his head, "I wasn't planning on going to go far. I just got home and was sorting through my mail. Looks like the mailman put all of my neighbor's mail in my box."
He grinned sheepishly and looked at the envelope as if he didn't know for sure who the mail belonged to, but he already knew. "...which, if you live in that apartment, is yours. If you weren't here I was gonna just slide them under your door."
Victor left the key in the lock and turned to take the envelopes. "Oh, thank you. That's an interesting mishap." He threw an eye over the names printed and, satisfied that they listed him, looked up to his altruistic neighbor. "Lucky that you moved in. I thought that apartment was empty." It was entirely possible that he thought wrong. He wasn't around often enough to know if someone lived there or not.
"You'd be surprised how often I end up with other peoples' mail," Taro said with a grin, mailboxes were surprisingly easy to break into with the right tools. "I just moved in, actually I usually 'just moved.' Anyway, since I already know your name, I'm Taro Yamada. Just in case you end up with my mail by mistake."
The name and the man were both Japanese. Victor's assesment had been close. "It's a pleasure to meet you," he offered and held out a hand in greeting. Body temperature said a lot about a person. "All the more so since it means I can recover a hefty stack of bills."
"Likewise," Taro grasped the man's hand in a firm shake, and held on just a little longer than one would in grasping the hand of a stranger. It was friendly and possibly overconfident, just like it must have appeared in the way he gazed directly in the older man's eyes. He had to be sure to leave a lasting impression, after all it would be counterproductive if he was dismissed and forgotten. "If you ever find any of my bills, feel free to burn them."
Victor chuckled and released the other man's hand. "That would be highly unhelpful. And downright unneighborly. I'd be contributing to your eviction." His level of interest in the topic was limited, but the other man inspired trust, so Victor gave it in full knowledge of the rarity of such an occasion as far as he was concerned.
"I don't need to see them to know I've got to pay them," Taro laughed and hooked his thumbs in the pockets of his jacket. "Think of the environment. More people need to go paperless anyway."
He glanced at his watch and lifted an inquisitive brow, "I'm starved, do you know of any restaurants still open? I haven't had a chance to go to the store, I hit the ground running once I moved here. Demanding boss, let me tell you, if it wasn't the pay and benefits I'd quit."
It wasn't in Victor's nature to stick around and chat, but he had time and he felt the impulse to be polite. "Sounds familiar," he commented with a smile and tapped the stack of enveloppes so the edges alligned against his palm. "There's a few that stay open until pretty late. I suggest just turning a right into the street and then rounding the corner. You can have your pick once you're there. They get crowded on the weekend, especially around this time."
"Thanks, I'll do that. If you want, I can pick you up something. You know, if you're hungry. Think of it as saving in delivery fees." Taro smiled wider and looked down the hallway. "If not, I'll just leave you to...well, go home."
The offer was tempting and he admited as much, casually, because sacrificing downtime in favor of having a positive relationship with his neighbors was a simple tradeoff. "I wouldn't want to impose. I'm already in your debt for the mail."
"Nah, you look like you've had a long day and rather take it easy. I've been there. Think of it as one last thing for you to worry about," Taro shrugged his shoulders and gave an amiable tilt of the head, the easiest way to build up someone's trust is to offer something they want with no strings attached to them. It was human nature to take advantage of those willing to be taken advantage of. "Don't even worry about it, the good karma'll eventually come back to me."
"That's a nice way to look at it," Victor noted, feeling himself relent even as the scientist in him reminded of the risks, the poisons that could be diluted in food and drink until they were indistinguishable. Government training suggested that he avoid this, but Taro was right. He was tired. "Alright, if you insist, I'll let you do the legwork. I think I have a bottle of something expensive and highly alcoholic inside - assuming you drink."
"I insist," he agreed with a slight bow at the waist. Bowing was such a submissive gesture, and it allowed him to invade the other man's personal space if ever so slightly. He straightened his posture, and adjusted his jacket. "And when I get back, we can toast on being fortunate to have friendly neighbors. Any preferences, or do you want me to surprise you? I warn you now, I'm adventurous."
It was too subtle a change to pick up on, but submissive or not, the gesture contributed to the shattering of Victor's reservations. "Consider me warned. And curious. I hope I'm sending you to the right place to fulfil that ambition." He made a mental note to make sure nothing official was left lying around before the other man returned. It would be prudent, because amiable or not, neighbor or not, bringing a stranger in could have devastating consequences for his work.
Taro waited until he was in the elevator before he flipped open his phone and autodialed the number to the restaurant he had become a regular customer of days before. He doubled his usual order and asked for a dessert as well. Genuinely nice people think of dessert, at least in his experience. The order would be ready by the time he got there.
It was just his luck that it started to rain on the trek back to the apartment building. When he knocked on Victor's door, he was soaked, but he looked accomplished that the food he fetched remained dry.
Official documents that Victor had clumsily taken out of the SAC had been shredded in the time available and most, if not all of the apartment, had been combed for compromising materials of any kind. No polaroid stills outlining the progress of test subjects. No printed emails. It was standard issue paranoia.
Having abandoned his jacket on the back of a chair, he'd barely removed his tie before a knock sounded on the door - ten minutes too early. Seeing no additional reason for suspicion, he moved to answer and went from amusement to mild concern in the space of a few seconds. "There goes one prediction I wish I'd been wrong about. Let me help you with that--come on in."
"You warned me, and I didn't listen." Instead of entering the apartment he offered the bags in hand. "I was just going to drop this off, and go to my place to dry off. Go ahead eat." It gave off the appearance of guilelessness and that helped lower a person's guard in his presence. "I'll only be a minute."
Victor took the bags and some of the outside rain in with him, nodding. "Okay..." He felt terrible knowing he was partly - if not wholly - responsible for Taro's expedition. "If it's any consolation, you probably won't catch a cold. Flu season is over." The scientist in him surfaced briefly before fading to the background once more. "Sorry, I'll see you in a minute. I'll leave the door open."
He placed a hand on Victor's shoulder and gave a reassuring squeeze, "hey, don't worry about it." Then pretending to just notice that said hand was wet and left a palm-sized print on the man's shirt, he laughed. "Oh, sorry. I'll be right back. One minute."
The cold seeped through into his skin, but it did not serve as a wake-up call. Perhaps the other man had a different sense of personal space, he judged. It was possible. Perhaps he was freer with his gestures than most. It was possible.
As told, he left the front door open an inch off the frame and moved into the kitchen to transfer the contents of the bags to something more appropriate for eating purposes.
It didn't take long to dry off or swap into drier clothing, his time in the military gave him plenty of experience in quick changing out of garments. He knocked on the doorframe twice before he stepped into Victor's apartment, "not exactly one minute, but close enough. So how did I do? I stopped by the Indian place, I hope you don't mind." If his profiling of the doctor was correct, he managed to bring back his favorite dish.
"Impressive," Victor replied, passing through from the open plan kitchen to the other side of the counter with two empty plates. "I'm amazed you found the Indian place. It's not as visible from the street compared to some of the others. Your internal GPS must be alive and well, in spite of the rain. Have a seat."
"I recognized the smell, and it smelled good," Taro smiled as he pulled out a chair, "it was worth getting a little lost in the rain. I love Indian food. Ever since I went to this one restaurant in Mumbai. Ever been? It's a beautiful city."
"To Mumbai? No. I imagine it's very vibrant and hot, if television and literature can be trusted in getting something right." Victor brought their food over, intrigued that the other man should've guessed his favorite dish in one try. Pure luck and coincidence had been blamed for stranger things.
"You would be right. I spent a good month there, on business," what sort of business were of the unofficial and technically never happened sort, but the truth of it was that he was there at some point in his life. "This was my favorite thing to eat there, thank you, mainly because it was the first dish I could say in the local dialect."
Victor pulled up one of the three other chairs and arched a brow. "You learned the local dialect, too? For a businessman, that's an interesting approach to travel for professional purposes." Interesting and novel, but not necessarily dubious. Different people had different interests. It was possible.
"It made navigating the city on my downtime easier, and my knack for languages is one of the things thatt landed me in my line of work," he picked up his fork and speared one of the pieces of chicken on his plate. "I saw on your envelopes that you're a doctor, of what? If I catch a cold, even if you said I won't, could I seek your advice?"
"Biomedical research," Victor replied without missing a beat, playing his fork through lemon rice. "You're welcome to seek my advice. You might even find it. Not that I'd tell you anything you don't already know." People didn't travel the world without ending up with some knowledge of how to care for themselves medically.
"Even if I do know, I may ask just for an excuse to have someone to talk to every now and then," Taro grinned and ran a hand through still damp hair, "I move around so much that I usually don't stick around long enough for friends or anything...else."
He cleared his throat, "uh, so...biomedical research. Do you work for one of those companies that advertise for those clinical trials on TV? When I was seventeen I once tried to sign up for one of those."
Victor didn't falter, didn't pause. He listened and understood and made a mental note to review the conversation later. In the moment, he found himself too caught up to analyze. Observation was key. "That's close but not quite it. What happened with your attempt? I take it didn't succeed." He sidestepped the question about his profession, curious to see if the other man would push or not. Prepared for either eventuality. Or so he thought.
"Halfway through they found out I wasn't twenty-one," he answered as he spun the tines of his fork through his rice, "the drug they were testing reacted badly on people going through puberty, they soon found out." Taro winked and made note that the man didn't wish to speak of his profession just yet. Not that he didn't already know, he just needed to get past the basics to get to the information he really wanted.
"I still think the scarring was worth the money I got out of it."
"That's a very dangerous thing to do, even for money," Victor noted, resisting the urge to ask more about the trial in question. It wasn't his job to perform interrogations and this wasn't the occasion to start. After all, if someone had gone through the trouble of approaching him, they would've made sure their story made sense first. "Was that why you did it?"
"I just wanted a way out; best case scenario was walking away with a bunch of money, acceptable was getting wheeled away with a bunch of money, undesirable but still acceptable was ending up dead. Still, I got out, which was all that mattered." It wasn't exactly the truth, but close enough to it that it would sound genuine when it reached the doctor's ears.
Victor paused and leaned forward. "Sounds like quite the experience for a seventeen year old." And it seemed to involve quite the planning. "I don't know if admiration is the right response."
"Pity is more appropriate, if a teenager considers death as an acceptable outcome, that's hitting bottom," Taro pointed out, playing around with his food while looking nostalgic of times past. "Once I turned eighteen, I found the first recruiter I coud find. The military sorted my life out pretty quick."
"You were in the army?" Interesting, somehow he didn't look the part. But perhaps the past tense had a lot to say about that. Victor focused his attention on his plate, keeping his tone light and his interest scientific. "Is that what you do now? Work for the army?"
"Marine, actually, ten years," he grinned mischievously, "I got out the minute my enlistment contract ended. I'm not cut out for the life, I liked the travel but spending months out at sea doing the same thing over and over for years? It was so boring. I worked for the government for a little while, but now I work for a brokerage firm. People pay me to buy or sell things for them, and I'm a lot better at it than soldering."
Somehow, Victor found he could well believe that. His mannerisms didn't lend themselves to those of a soldier. "Sounds like the perks were insufficient to keep you. Their loss." He chewed rice but barely felt the flavor. "Is that how you ended up in Mumbai? Soldering?"
Taro shook his head, "not really, I was on leave." That was the official story anyway, all that he did there couldn't be linked back to his superiors in anyway. "Mumbai wasn't too far from port, so I went there. Earned rupees playing security guard."
"What an interesting life you've led," Victor commented softly. "Seattle must be boring after that. There's not much of a challenge here. Not in fitting in, not in learning languages." And he had the feeling the other man liked challenges. That he enjoyed a good chase.
"I just got here, who knows what kinds of trouble I can get myself into," he commented with a wiggle of his brows and a playful wink. "If I can't find the challenge in work, I'll find something worthwhile to chase after. Maybe find a body to keep me warm at night."
"Wrong time of year," Victor returned. "Summers in Seattle are warm enough." It wasn't what the other man meant and he wasn't so obtuse as not to get it, but it was his choice to play it this way.
"Doesn't matter, it gets boring sleeping alone after awhile," Taro shrugged his shoulders and trailed his fingertips along the rim of the empty drinking glass on the table. A suitable change of subject was in order, "so, you were offering something expensive to drink earlier?"
"I lied," Victor replied without missing a beat. "But I do have wine, if you're interested." He filed the rest of the information away for now.
"Tsk, and to think I trusted you," Taro chided, but nodded to the offer of wine with a smile, "though it makes us even. I lied to you."
"About what?" He didn't change his tone nor express anything beyond a modicum of interest as he rounded the table and moved into kitchen to retrieve the white wine from the fridge.
"About not knowing about the Indian restaurant, I've been going there everyday since I moved," Taro answered, it amused him how easily he could switch between telling the truth and lies so easily. "A little white lie, after passing over the mail I just had to make up an excuse to keep talking to you." Chasing after something worthwhile, indeed.
Victor smiled. He hadn't seen that one coming, although he'd wondered. "I see." He uncorked the bottle and returned with it to the table. "If you're looking for absolution, consider yourself forgiven." There wasn't much to resent about a lie that had so much potential. As he poured, he took a moment to watch the other man from a different angle. Interesting.
"I don't regret anything," he worried his lip with the edges of his teeth, playing coy as he watched the other man observing him. "I had a good feeling about you. It would have been a wasted opportunity if I didn't take it."
The myriad of temptations in those eyes... Victor averted his gaze and watched as silver-white liquid vacillated against the sides of the glass. "Opportunities should never be wasted," he agreed and moved to fill his own glass. He remained standing, however, because it was an interesting change in level.
"I agree," Taro lifted his glass, taking note that the man seemed more open when the difference in eye level was in his favor. So he liked to be looked up to, something that could be easily arranged. "To new opportunities?"
"New opportunities," Victor agreed and toasted. The glasses clinked together with a melodious sound. "Do you know much about wine?"
"All I know about wine is that if I drink enough of it, I get drunk," Taro teased as he lightly swirled the liquid in his glass. "I know the difference between a Chianti and a Beaujolais, a chardonnay from a white cabernet."
"Then you know more than I do," Victor noted and took a sip. "I only know what I like and what I don't." He looked into the glass like fortune tellers looked into tea cups. "I'm not entirely certain about this, but I'll give it a chance."
"I hope you're not only talking about the wine," he murmured as he took a long sip from his glass. "I always take chances when I think the outcome will be worth it." Good or bad, as long as it pushed him closer to his ultimate goal.
Victor smiled into the glass. "I'll have to remember that." He thought about recovering his seat but that hunger had long abated. There was a different satisfaction to be derived from this dinner. "I lied about the wine and you lied about the food. Other sins to confess?"
"No," Taro mimicked the doctor's action and smiled into his wine before he took another sip. He stood and moved until he was standing next him him. He lowered his voice, "do you?"
Victor returned the glass to the table, aware of the other man's movement and too old, too bitter to feign surprise. "Numerous," he replied and fixed him with a look. "But they can wait."
"Waiting implies there is a later," Taro set his glass down, and watched the other man carefully. Even the slightest change in the direction he looked with his eyes could tell so much. "I can accept that."
"There is always a later," Victor retorted casually. "Even if one of us doesn't live to see it." He didn't expect the other man to be working with one of the many so-called rebel groups around, but he didn't discard the possibility entirely. "I think the rain has stopped."
Taro laughed light-heartedly, "I said I was adventurous, not dangerous. My risks are all calculated." He took the mention of the weather as a chance to look away, to look out the windows instead of looking at the older man. "I think you're right."
Somehow, Victor found he could easily believe that. Calculated risks, indeed. He wasn't foolish. "If only we'd waited half an hour... Do you mind if I smoke?"
"I don't mind if you do, do you mind if I join you?" He grinned and nodded in the direction of the balcony, "do you like to smoke outside?"
Victor rose and brushed past him. "What gave it away?" he asked over his shoulder, moving to retrieve his depleted pack from his jacket. He made a mental note to buy more the following morning, if he didn't forget again.
"Most places stateside have it illegal to smoke indoors, smoking outside is practically part of the addiction," Taro joked as he pulled the pack of cigarettes and lighter out of his pocket, and walked toward the balcony door. "That and you mentioned the rain before you mentioned smoking. A leads to B."
"Leads to C. Do you have a light? Good." Victor didn't wait for a reply, leading them out onto the balcony. It still smelled like rain, even if the downpour had stopped. Directly across the street, in another building, a couple argued loudly. There was a crash and then silence. "Do your windows face in the same direction?"
"No, I have an entirely different view." He placed a cigarette between his lips and lit the tip with the flame. He turned his body and leaned in to offer the flame to the other man, with the pretense of shielding the flame from the wind.
Victor placed the cigarette between his lips and inhaled, drawing the flame to him. He didn't hesitate to grasp the other man's wrist to hold it still and he didn't think there was a reason Taro might mind. They were both adults here. "Thanks," he murmured, releasing him and blowing out a breath full of smoke into the street below.
"No problem," he exhaled a stream a smoke, drawing back with a pleased-with-himself expression on his face. The look itself was rather genuine. The night's events have gone far better than he planned it.
Victor didn't miss the look so much as choose to ignore it. He leaned forward, with both forearms on the still wet railing. "When did you start? Smoking, I mean. At seventeen?"
"Twenty-two, during my first stretch out at sea. It was sort of like prison, almost everyone smoked, and cigarettes were hoarded like currency." Taro answered and tapped a bit of ash toward the ground. "How about you?"
"A year ago," he replied. "And now I can't stop. Can't say I regret it." The couple across the street went back to yelling at each other. He smiled. How mundane.
"I've been at this longer, do I win a prize?" He queried jokingly and stepped toward the railing to stand more in the other man's space. "Kind of recent, doc, any reason you started? You don't seem the type to start doing something without a good reason behind it."
"You might get lung cancer sooner," Victor suggested, but didn't put any conviction to the statement. "I started because I was curious. I factored in the risk of developing an addiction. I'm not surprised." He tapped ash onto the other side of the railing.
"So like playing with fire, I'm surprised," Taro glanced sideways at the man, "you knew the risk of getting addicted, and went for it anyway. Hmm, seems I've found a kindred spirit."
Victor turned to smile at him. "Were you looking for one?" he teased, smoke on his tongue and in his breath. They smoked different brands, he'd noticed that much. He wasn't sure yet if it mattered.
"I wasn't, but I'm not going to curse good fortune when I get it," he turned to face the other man directly as well. With his cigarette perched securely between his lips, he reached for the other man's arm, turning it to get a better look at the inside of his forearm in the light. A perfect circle burned into the skin, he already knew the cause, from experience. He wondered who marked the man, and if there was even a reason for it. "Does it still hurt?"
Victor stiffened at the initial touch, not having foreseen it. He followed the other man's eyes to the circular scar and understood. "Not at all." Not on rainy afternoons, not in winter. Not if someone poured acid onto it. He was fairly sure there was some surface damage to the nerves, but he didn't extend that information. Instead, he wondered at the thought process behind dark eyes. "It was sometime ago."
"How long ago?" He queried, tracing the mark with his thumb before he let go. He opened his hand to show the circular mark in the center of his palm, "when I was five, that was the first one. It always hurts more when it comes from someone you love."
"Three months..." Victor replied, but his attention was no longer on his scar. Taro's somehow looked more vicious and the explanation that came with it unavoidably hit home. Not because he could relate and maybe not because of the child abuse hints. Nothing quite so logical. "There are others?"
"I stopped counting after awhile, my nickname growing up was ashtray," Taro snorted, "and I still ended up smoking. Never told anyone before. Ever." It was the truth, and for some reason it bothered him. Insight like that left him open to be manipulated in turn, and that was something he preferred to avoid.
Victor took a deep drag from his cigarette, wavering on the edge of trust. "Kindred spirits," he muttered and let the smoke evaporate into thin air. "I'm sorry." It was what one said. It was what one felt.
"If it didn't happen, I wouldn't be here now," Taro inhaled the smoke, and then puffed a circle into the air, "everything happens for a reason."
"Do you really believe that?" Victor queried, unconvinced as he watched the smoke disperse. Little details built up a picture of the man beside him - one he wasn't sure quite fit together but was prepared to accept regardless.
"Not really, but it sounded good when I said it, didn't it?" Taro smiled and then looked at the butt of his cigarette. "I should switch to your brand, yours burns slower."
Victor tapped ash onto the rail and held what was left of his cigarette out to the other man. "You might not like the taste," he suggested. "Won't know until you try, of course." He spent a moment in quiet contemplation of the other man's sheer presence in his apartment before going further. "The other burns, where are they?"
"Scalp, neck, back, shoulders, places burn marks can be hidden," He picked the cigarette from the other man's fingers and took a drag from it, deciding that he'd rather change the subject than keep answering such questions, "different, but not bad. Something I could get used to."
Someone had been methodical, Victor surmised. He watched Taro smoke his cigarette and exhale the same smoke and straightened, the rail now cold against his back. "Show me."
For a brief moment, he hesitated, but the older man was taking an interest in him. Even if it wasn't in a way that he intended. He should indulge it the man's curiosity, let the man see that he wasn't making up his claims. "All right, only because I like you."
He put out the remainder of the cigarette and made his way back into the apartment, unbuttoning his shirt on the way.
He could have refused, Victor thought, but he didn't. Reasons were multiple and varied and he didn't feel in the mood to untangle them just then. Instead, he followed Taro back into the apartment, pulling the sliding door shut behind them. It drowned out voices and streetlight, reduced all to silence.
Taro shrugged the shirt off and folded it over his arm, he wandered to the stray ottoman and sat on it. He almost likened it to going to the doctor's office, a thought that amused him. "Start just behind my right ear, and the pattern gets obvious after that."
He seemed impervious to embarrassment, which, for a victim, was an interesting development. Victor followed him to the sitting area, rounding the ottoman to stand behind him. If there was a pattern, he didn't see it. All he saw were scars and wrinkled skin, circular mark after circular mark. He didn't speak and he didn't touch him. It was just satisfying his curiosity.
After sitting still long enough to be silently scrutinized, he leaned back and looked up at the other man, "I'd be a lot less uncomfortable if you actually said something. Can I put my shirt back on?"
Victor met his eyes over his shoulder. "No." He asked, he got a reply. It was an even trade even as he supposed it wasn't the answer desired. In that case, the question should have been different.
"I'd like to know why," he said with a slight smile, not shying away from the man's stare. "Unless you're counting them, you've got something else in mind."
"Sixteen," Victor replied, though he didn't pretend that that had been his purpose. Not to start with and definitely not anymore. He folded one hand in Taro's hair, tugging lightly as he leaned one knee against the ottoman and knelt behind him.
"Twenty, but you can't see the rest," Taro corrected, and reached up to grasped the hand that tugged at his hair. Whether the gesture was an invitation or a warning, he left it up to the good doctor's interpretation.
Instead, Victor took it as a challenge, relaxing his grip but not letting go. His other foot came off the ground, bending at the knee as he took up whatever space was left on the ottoman. "I'll take your word for it."
"Good, you have no choice." He whispered as he slid his hand along Victor's wrist. "It would be stupid to ask if you're interested."
Victor nodded, a smile tugging at his lips. "Yes. It would. So don't. I don't want to have to revise my opinion of your intelligence." His hand slipped lower, out of Taro's comfort zone, to the back of his neck.
"I'd love to hear your opinion of me so far," Taro grinned and slid his hand to Victor's shoulder, "so I can adjust my behavior accordingly." The statement was mostly made in jest, he was fairly confident that he did not have to change his current behavior.
"That's not much incentive for me to tell you," Victor commented, "if it means you'll make adjustments." They were playing with fire, but he didn't want to be the only one at risk of getting burnt. "We never finished dinner."
"It isn't? If I'm willing to change to please you, I'd be willing to do anything. I think you're into that." he grasped Victor's collar and twisted the fabric as he pulled the man closer to him. "I lied about being hungry."
Heat flared in Victor's chest, lust like a quivering flicker turned flame. "Careful," he breathed, against the other man's lips. "You sound less and less trustworthy by the second."
"If you didn't trust me, you wouldn't get this close," Taro challenged, his lips brushing against the doctor's with each hushed word. "If I wasn't careful, I wouldn't be here."
Victor shrugged one shoulder, not agreeing or disagreeing per say. "You got this far because you're creative." His hand traced Taro's cervical curve, the bones fine and breakable under his fingers. Another tiny scar. He traced, then avoided the raised skin. Swallowed thickly.
"Don't give me too much credit, you make it sound like I have some sort of plan," he closed his eyes and pressed their lips together, inhaling at the same time. Taro pulled back before the man could reciprocate. He liked to blur the line between being the chaser and being chased. "I make things up as I go along."
It was a brief kiss and the joints in Victor's hand locked to keep him from going to far. It was none too gentle but that didn't matter. So far, Taro seemed apt at reading him. "The best plans are always flexible," he drawled, silencing all possible reply with a bruising press of lips against the other's.
Taro let the older man indulge in kissing him. He made note of his harsh grip and forceful press of his lips. Taro parted his lips, feigning submission to test to see if that would bring out more of a passioned response. He was merely biding his time.
It was the right move. Victor leaned into him, teeth sharp against his lips as he deepened the kiss. Hands tightened against naked skin, flirting with the edge of pain. It was a challenge, a bluff and he didn't want to give Taro the chance to call it. He bit at his skin, lips trailing over an angular jawline.
Taro inhaled sharply and bared his neck to Victor's questing lips, he held the man close, and encouraged the rough treatment. Then suddenly, at least to one of them, he began to push the doctor away. "This is...I should go..." he muttered, his breath heavy as he pretended to sound unsure.
Victor almost didn't let him. He felt the hands against his chest posing resistance, but he chalked it up to nerves, to this game they were playing. He sought Taro's lips again, hoping to get through the act and move to more interesting things.
Taro evaded, his hands firm against Victor's shoulders. It was clear that Taro was stronger of the two, any dominance over him was allowed only because he allowed it. He wanted to get that point across as subtlely as possible. "I'm sorry...I should go."
The force in his hands notwithstanding, Victor hadn't expected the other man to be so definite about this. He paused, a deep breath in his lungs and pupils dilated. "Alright." He drew back and stood abruptly, the other man's taste still in his mouth. "I trust you can find your way across the hall."
"I'm sorry," he repeated as he tugged on his shirt but neglected to button it. As regretful as he looked, he was secretly very pleased. He'd leave the man to wonder what was done to make him want to leave, if there was anything that could have been done differently to make him stay. "Good night, Victor."
Victor offered a nod of the head in exchange for a goodbye, moving to pick up what was left of his wine as the other man dressed himself. Deep creases between his eyebrows spelled remorse and his voice was tight. Victor surmised he was no more pleased with their evening than he was, yet he couldn't understand his reservations. It wasn't until he brought the glass down from his lips that realization dawned - he held no more his glass than he did the other man's character. Interesting.
"We should meet for dinner again sometime," Taro called from the door, smiling across the room at the man before he departed into the hallway. It would have been counterproductive to leave without the impression that he intended on seeing the other man again.
Having established his lack of interest in dinner in the first place, Victor was left to wonder what in the hell that meant and why he even cared. He had been given an inch and he'd tried to take a mile and had been rejected. One moved on, one didn't receive follow-up invitations. Victor finished the wine and went to lock the front door. The temptation to knock on his neighbor's was easily quashed.