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hornyhermitry · 4 months

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Roppongi Nights

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Rated: NSFW, 18+

Characters: Takeomi Akashi x Ran Haitani

Word Count: 6114

Summary: When Takeomi is thrown out of his friend Wakasa's bar due to lack of funds, he ends up in a Roppongi night club and has an unexpected encounter.

Preview:

Takeomi waved the folded paper money in front of the man’s face. “I’m here to have a good time, nothing more, nothing less.” The muscular thug clad in a very traditional black suit looked the former Black Dragon executive up and down and then stepped aside to let him in. The loud bass from inside was already greeting Takeomi warmly, stirring up anticipation in his body, when he walked past the wardrobe. He nodded to the wrinkly old geezer peeking out the little window and his tired eyes quickly adjusted to the dimmed lights inside. He could smell the main room already before entering it. The light smell of the fog machine, its clouds wafting over the stage and settling down in half-drunk glasses of drinks that had lost their carbonation a long time ago.

Roppongi Nights

Blinking neon lights lit up the dark alley greeting Takeomi when he stepped out of the stuffy establishment. Cigarette stub between his right middle and ring finger, the man in his late 20s rubbed his face and groaned.

He hated it when Wakasa treated him like that. Time and time again he’d have him kicked out of his club as soon as he was a few drinks in and running low on cash. He wasn’t sure when this had become a common thing to happen - it hadn’t always been like this. Wakasa used to encourage him to crash at one of his hostess bars and catch up over a few drinks there. There were always plenty of girls and sometimes Wakasa would call over a few new hires to get acquainted with their expected duties. But somehow…

Takeomi took a drag of his cigarette and used his hand to comb back his slick hair. Somehow, somewhere down the line the drinks had become more and the catching up had become less. Irritated at the little piece of soft plastic shifting out from between his fingers when he rubbed his eye socket, he flicked the cigarette away - only for it to fly against the club bouncer’s collar.

The orange stub quickly burned through the violet satin shirt he was sporting.

“Ah, shit man, I’m-” Takeomi quickly nodded his head apologetically “I’m sorry, it wasn’t on pur-” he threw up his hands in an attempt to calm down the gorilla approaching him with big strides but it was no use. The much bigger man grabbed him by the collar and pulled him in close enough for Takeomi to smell the sake and Tonkotsu sauce on his breath.

“Stop causing trouble for Imaushi-san, A k a s h i .” He spat the last word into his face and shoved him onto the boardwalk. “He doesn’t need your kind here, you’re upsetting paying customers. Get lost.”

Flipping the guy off, Takeomi grunted and then shoved his hands into his pockets as he turned his back away from the LEDs signaling “SHIROI NEKO - GALS GALORE”.

It was only 8PM and he was already well into it.

He had started drinking early today. Earlier than he usually would on a Thursday night but he’d already been up at 5 in the morning to be on his way to Haneda Airport in order to catch an old business partner over a coffee before they left the country for a while.

Ever since Black Dragon had been disbanded, Takeomi was struggling to get by. At this point he was hoping for someone to invest in the underground fighting ring he had been thinking about. It made sense for him to approach old contacts about it, considering his old alias “God of War”, but it wasn’t as easy to convince people of a market for that as it was for girls or drugs. Takeomi wasn’t too keen on actively dealing in either of the two. Many people would consider him a man with rotten morals, and they probably weren’t entirely wrong about that, but there was some code of honor he stuck to. And thinking about his younger siblings, the thought of roping young people into addiction or sex work himself didn’t sit right with him.

Grounded by the familiar buzz of the alcohol he had already downed tonight, the scar-faced man aimlessly wandered about searching for another strip club to wind down with a few more drinks and a pretty little thing grinding against his lap.

He was not a stumbling drunkard by any means, but the half unbuttoned shirt paired with his tattooed chest peeking out and the huge scar running down from his forehead to just next to his lips made people generously avoid him and step out of his way still. Some of them whispered to each other as they passed.

Not that he minded. He was a delinquent and a drop-out, he was already too involved with crime syndicates to ever make a life as a salaryman or even blue collar worker, but he hesitated to fully commit to crime some of the others had done. Shinichiro had taken the good money that Black Dragon had made in its last breaths to buy a small store space and was working on setting up a bike repair shop. Wakasa had already been involved with the local Yakuza when they had met for the first time. He was running multiple bars and had lots of guys roaming the streets to recruit women into adult entertainment. And Benkei helped him convince some competitors to step off their turf as if he had been waiting to do just that his whole life. Absentmindedly looking up while his fingers fumbled to get a cigarette out of the crumpled up pack in his hands after some time walking around, Takeomi noticed a little violet arrow pointing up a narrow staircase leading up to a first floor entrance plastered with labels reading “18+” “ADULT ONLY” “DANCE” and suggestive black cutouts on faded red signs as high as the whole store.

Bingo.

Jogging up the stairs, Takeomi stuck the cigarette into the corner of his mouth and nodded towards the bouncer, stretching his neck to subtly flash his ink at him .

“Evening, Onii-San. We good?” Arm above his head, he pushed the bar’s half-length veil out of his face and was already halfway through the barrier when the stern man put a hand on his shoulder and leaned in close.

“We don’t appreciate trouble here. You go in, you are discreet about what you see and do, you pay, you leave.”

Takeomi’s eyebrows shot up and the wide grin pushed up the long facial scar as he bit into the cigarette filter. “Who do you take me for?”

Not waiting for the response, Takeomi pulled the folded paper money held together by a metal clip out of his shirt pocket and waved it in front of the man’s face. “I’m here to have a good time, nothing more, nothing less.”

The muscular thug clad in a very traditional black suit looked the former Black Dragon executive up and down a last time and then stepped aside to let him in.

The loud bass from inside greeted Takeomi warmly, stirred up anticipation in his body when he walked past the wardrobe. He nodded to the wrinkly old geezer peeking out the little window and his tired eyes quickly adjusted to the dimmed lights inside.

He could smell the main room already before entering it.

The old and new smoke that lingered between the walls and mixed with the stale sweat guys carried under their shirts and in their pants after a long day of work and also that of oiled up overly perfumed dancers that lazily ran down between their thighs and shimmered in the flickering spotlights giving the movement of their limbs a magical quality. And the light smell of the fog machine, its clouds wafting over the stage and settling down in half-drunk glasses of drinks that had lost their carbonation a long time ago.

It wasn’t a big room and most of the small round tables were already taken, a longer one fitting 6 was half-taken up by a group of 3 youngsters awkwardly looking around in such an out-of-place way that had Takeomi doubt they were old enough to be here.

They reminded him of the first time he had snuck into a strip club with Shinichiro. The two of them had been so piss-drunk, when they tried to go to a private booth with one of the dancers, Shin had fallen flat on his ass, dragging the slightly older boy down in the process.

It ended with them being kicked out under a lot of shrieks from the ladies. A crooked smile disappeared as quickly as it had shown up on his face. Takeomi leaned over the counter and signaled for the barman to get him a lemon chu-hi. He missed the days of hanging out with his old friend, but that son of a bitch only had eyes for his little brother anymore and taught him everything about gangs and bikes there was to know, so he could one day take up the torch. Tchk. Dragging kids into this.

With a hollow clink sound, a glass of chu-hi appeared in front of him. Exchanging glances over the steep price too common for this kind of establishment, Takeomi stuffed his money bills back into his shirt pocket and went looking for a place to sit down.

The stage ran all through the center of the room and split it in half. A few sofas were placed in front of it, inviting especially thirsty customers to take a rest and watch the show up close. Music and lights were going wild, but there was no one at the stage right now. A quick glance at the watch and the advertisement hanging behind the bar told Takeomi the next show was due to start in a few minutes.

Just in time for a prime spot then , the former Black Dragon executive thought to himself and slumped onto one of the sofas right in front of the center-stage.

Cranking his neck and shaking out the stiffness from staring at the ground while walking, he fished out his money again and started to count. The bass was slowing down to a seductive thumping already and he was keen on making sure he had enough cash on him to enjoy the joy.

10,000… 15,000… 25,000 His big thumb brushed through the Yen bills stuffed between the two ends of the clip. Snatching the ashtray closer to his end of the table, Takeomi put his pack of cigarettes down next to it, pulled his slightly disheveled shirt into place again, shifted the glass around and made himself comfortable.

As he lit a new cigarette, the lights went out and the bass stopped. A group of businessmen whose ties indicated they already were a few drinks into the night pushed past him and sat down to his left. Somewhere behind him an animator was talking into a cheap microphone. Leaning back over the sofa’s neck rest, Takeomi glanced around and noticed a little crowd was gathering behind him. With a raised brow he lazily turned his head and watched a bunch of old guys with visible beer bellies scurry to the seats to his right while seemingly arguing over whether the drinks were self-service or to be brought by a waitress - a quarrel that was quickly solved by a scarcely dressed hostess guiding them to their seats and taking their drink order.

Fog was already being pushed onto the stage from various sides again, turning it into a mystical sea of promises for the dancer to emerge from.

The announcer spoke a few more words that the speakers strategically placed around the room blasted towards the crowd, but Takeomi did not catch much of it, nor did he care for it.

With an especially loud blast, another cloud of fog slushed onto the stage, pushing older wafts down around the edges and then the show began.

Red, pink and purple spotlights frantically jumped over the thick clouds blocking the view, the bass came back hammering the rhythm of sex through the crowd’s bodies and under plenty of whistles and cheers, the lady of the night emerged from the fog.

Shiny black heels were pushing through the shimmering clouds and revealed long and slender legs as pale and smooth as almond milk. Takeomi’s glance took in the elegant feet and bony ankles confidently walking towards him and he could feel the tugging in his loins when his gaze wandered up those sinful slim thighs.

Just like the snake tempting Eve in paradise, a black snake-like tattoo wrapped itself around those slender legs and disappeared in that forbidden area made for him to explore but just barely covered by the shortest and most teasing pleated skirt imaginable to mankind. Takeomi gulped at the sight and leaned forward to flick some ash into the ashtray before him, his eyes wandering further up the dancer’s body winding and squatting only inches away right in front of him.

The way those delicately curved hips swayed left and right with the music, the way the strobes danced over the immaculate and tender skin squishing at the hips and then stretching again in front of his eyes, Takeomi could not help but imagine burying himself in the heat waiting between those inked thighs.

Glass of chu-hi in hand and taking a sip, he raised his gaze and took in how far that black snake wound around the soft curves at the girl’s hips, her waist, snuck up her ribcage and -

A coughing fit shook the man so violently he sputtered his drink all over his shirt when he realized he was definitely not looking at female breasts. And that barely contained bulge jiggling in the satin thong every shake of the hips flashed at him from under the tiny skirt was definitely not a vagina.

Neither was the guy whose crotch was less than a few inches away from his face a stranger to him.

Quickly discarding the initial shock he wiped off his hands on his pants, got a grip on himself and met the dancer’s smug stare with a lopsided grin and cocked his head to the side.

“Didn’t know you like whoring yourself out for money, big Haitani.”

The tall beauty on the stage shifted from squatting mid-bounce onto kneeling on all fours and leaned forward to hum into the curve of Takeomi’s neck, the bratty twin braids brushing against his collarbone.

“Didn’t know you like crossdressers, Akashi.”

Loud whistles cut through the fluorescent lights and someone repeatedly hit the table with an ashtray.

“Get that little ass back to grinding that pole.” someone yelled from the other end of the room.

“We’re here for a show fag, get to it.”

The last shout caused Takeomi to turn his head and push himself up from his seat, but Ran halted him mid-motion with a hand on his chest and turned to look at the group himself.

Batting his lavender eyes seductively, Ran spoke with a low voice.

“Want me to show you what a fag I am?”

The man in his late 40s scoffed and gestured aggressively. “Why are you giving that twat a private show, what’s so special about him!?”

Lowering his head so far his steady breath gently pushed the fog out of his way, the tall and handsomely curved man on all fours snaked his body over to the older salaryman, never breaking eye contact. It could have been the alcohol, but the flush appeared on chubby cheeks so fast after Ran’s body was moving towards the guy, there was little doubt the older Haitani brother was the one who caused it.

Ignoring the sign reading “no touching”, spidery fingers crawled over the man’s thighs and Ran’s big palm brushed over the sweaty crotch and up to his navel.

The flickering spotlights danced in his eyes and the skimpily-clad boy opened his mouth to lick his fingers, raised his hips and spread his legs further. Takeomi and the instigator had two very different views on the man in his early 20s stretched out on his knees between them.

There was a sizable dick held in place by that thong covered by a skirt barely worth the name, balls spilling out playfully over the sides. Ran’s smooth and shapely thighs were more attractive than most women’s, the former gang vice president had no problem admitting to himself.

The chubster’s chest heaved up and down under heavy breathing under the spell of watching the eldest Haitani push the fingers that had just massaged his crotch deep into his mouth. Coated in spit and strings connecting his bottom lip and his fingertips, he pulled his hand back revealing a long wet middle finger and spat in the guy’s face crooning seductively.

“Call me a fag again you fat fucking faggot and I’ll fuck you up the ass so far with your mom’s dick prosthetic you’ll think Christmas Eve came early.”

After a last gentle pat against the guy’s cheek, Ran pulled his arched body up into standing position in one elegant move and strutted back to the pole that had been hidden in the generous smoke show.

Takeomi wanted more and he was determined to get it tonight.

From the corner of his eye Ran caught Takeomi winking at him with a couple of bills in hand just as he was bending over at the waist and ran his hands teasingly up his sides and along the titillating ink when he came back up. With a subtle head tilt and sipping from his drink, the former Black Dragon vice beckoned him over and the younger man wrapped one leg firmly around the metal bar, spinning around with a lasciviously arched spine. When he swung past him, he pointed at a discreet door a few meters behind the visitor, who turned around and got the hint.

Takeomi briefly dropped by the bar to get a new drink as well as cash out on a bottle of champagne. Within seconds of the barkeep pressing a button, a cute girl dressed in frilly lingerie, slightly younger than the Haitani - and on second glance not a girl either - took up the bottle, grabbed Takeomi by the wrist and led him over to the secluded space behind the nondescript door. Bending over in front of him to place the tablet with glasses on the small round table in front of a black velvet sofa, the young boy spoke with a surprisingly light girlish voice when he ran Takeomi through the rules. 30 minutes at most or he’ll have to get another bottle, no touching allowed unless explicitly stated, sexual services beyond a dance have to be paid upfront and no haggling, condoms, lube and oil are in the little compartment under the table.

“There’s a little sink behind the furthest pillar in case you wanna take a quick sponge bath, but …” The waiter threw a glance over his shoulder and stood upright again. A flirtatious smile showed up on his face. “You do smell really good. Call me if you need dessert later.”

Raising both brows while lighting a cigarette kept safe between both hands, Takeomi bit on the filter. “I’m not in the habit of being into ladyboys.”

The light rose-coloured frills around his tiny waist wiggled when the young man stopped for a last wink back at Takeomi before he left the secluded room. “It’s crossdressers, actually. And… that’s what they all say, uncle.”

The playful expression on his face died the moment he pushed through the barrier and nearly bumped into the much taller man striding into the room as if he owned the place.

Takeomi chuckled to himself. Ran Haitani probably did own this place.

Legs spread wide, he leaned back and rested his arm over the sofa. Watching the confident but underplayed strut as Ran walked towards him, Takeomi could not help but notice the natural air of grace and danger that surrounded the long-haired man like a feline predator.

“Those are real bills, right Akashi? You’re not trying to rip me off on my own turf?”

Exhaling smoke and leaning forward to grab the champagne bottle, Takeomi mustered the teasing man in front of him.

“They are real.”

He poured the two of them two flutes of the sparkling alcohol and extended one to Ran.

“Are your services?”

Grabbing the thin stand at the bottom of the slim glass, Ran closed the distance between himself and the older man and stood between his legs. He looked down his nose as he took a sip and smiled discreetly when he noticed how unabashedly the man took in the sight of his half-naked body and the semi hard on growing underneath Takeomi’s pants.

“Very much so.”

One of his crooked eyebrows raised, the scar-faced man placed the hand holding his cigarette on the outside of Ran’s thigh and brushed his thumb over the black twine winding along his side and under the tiny skirt.

“You gonna let me shoot a load into that pretty little ass of yours?”

His finger slid under the strap holding Ran’s thong on his hip and he flicked it against his skin. Ran’s smile grew more visible but he did not twitch and followed Takeomi’s glance scanning his light abs, his slim waist and playing with the little cloth covering his crotch.

“I take it you enjoyed the private show earlier, old man.”

Takeomi scoffed and slapped Ran’s ass half-heartedly. “Who’re you calling old man? I’m not even 30.”

Something the experienced gang executive wasn’t prepared for happened. Ran’s eyes narrowed and he licked his lips. “You sure look like it.”

Disbelief shook the former Black Dragon member’s face but before he could fly off the handle, Ran put his glass down, leaned over and put one big, graceful hand on the man’s thigh, the other one started to unbuckle his belt.

Braids again tickling against his skin, Ran whispered into Takeomi’s ear.

“I’m into older men anyway, Akashi. Fuck me and the dance is free.”

The hand resting on his thigh slid up and joined the other one at his crotch pulling the belt open and unzipping his pants. Reaching around Ran’s bent hip, Takeomi stubbed the cigarette out on the ashtray and put his hands on the slender man’s sides when he leaned back again. Ran’s long bony fingers did what they did best and massaged light grunts out the man under him who bucked into his touch. The intimate purr had him tense up and groan for more. Thumbs brushing along the inked ribcage, Takeomi grounded himself against the slender man pushing against his body and grunted when he found pierced nipples under the cropped shirt and that hardened under his fingers.

Truth be told, if it wasn’t for the cock between his legs, the big Haitani might be one of the most desirable women Takeomi had had on his lap so far. And he’d spread the love among the lot of them over the last few years.

One of his hands roamed onto Ran’s and he pushed the nimble fingers away from between his thighs, away from his hard cock aching to be taken care of. The other hand grabbed the back of the braided head and pulled his neck into an arch.

“First you dance for me.”

Violet eyes curled into slits and Ran’s hands left Takeomi’s body. Elegant fingers now twirled his twin braids and he knelt down between Takeomi’s slim hairy legs with a pouting expression comically unbefitting his manly long face and pronounced cheekbones.

“How would you like me, aniki~?”

He was playing a stupid little game with him, but with that dainty bone structure, the mysterious lilac eyes framed by hair as black as both their hearts, he was also beautiful. Between his legs rested a nymph with a body as delicately curved and fierce as the stroke of a brush on silk.

The full-body tattoo winding from his shoulders to his ankles accentuated the natural form of his body. His skin was like satin. What a perfect illusion he was, the cropped fishnet top loosely hanging over his midriff and that lewd skirt just barely touching his thighs.

It bothered Takeomi how the braids put the older Haitani’s muscular shoulders on full display and the dimmed light deepened the shadows his toned muscles cast over his body.

“Get rid of those braids and turn around.”

Nothing else needed saying, Ran simply complied, violet gaze locked onto bronze one. He rested his head on Takeomi’s thigh and started pulling the first braid apart. Takeomi did not like that grin flashing across his face when he looked up at him.

“What?”

The devilish nature of the arrogant prick between his legs clawed its way out to the surface.

“I could also get a pink wig if that is more to your liking.”

The older man scoffed.

“When you’re done, turn around and get on my lap.”

Haitani Ran took his time unbraiding his hair.

Strand by strand his fingertips patiently unwound the hair neatly tied together. When he finally was done, he pushed it over his shoulder and loose waves of darkness interspersed with light fell against his back. Black and blonde streaks that framed his pale face and gave it a much softer shape than before. Takeomi brushed over them and was intrigued by how soft they were compared to his own. Before the erection twitching noticeably for attention could bother him any further, Ran cut the games and got up in one swift motion.

Fuck, how beautiful he was.

Hands resting on the knees of the man with slicked back and skunk-striped hair, the dancer lowered his hips bit by bit onto his lap with every sway of his body and the music. Takeomi’s hands explored the tall beauty’s gentle curves while Ran’s barely covered ass ghosted Takeomi’s crotch.

The slow, heavy music he had entirely drowned out during the past few minutes faded back into his focus guided by the soft swings of the younger man’s milky body.

Teasingly grinding his bare ass against the scar-faced man’s hard-on, the feel of that surprisingly big cock between his cheeks worked up Ran’s own desire.

The growing erection pushing up the little skirt curtain did not go unnoticed by the restless hands kneading and tugging at his smooth skin.

An excited prickling feeling surged through Takeomi’s body and he mumbled into Ran’s ear. Not waiting for a reply, his big hands cupped the soft ass-cheeks that bumped against his cock and spread them. Patiently but persistently pushing his tip against the tiny hole he bit into Ran’s ear, dick twitching at the little moan he drew out from him.

“Get it.”

Massaging Ran’s ass-checks still grinding against his dick, Takeomi’s middle fingers also tugged at Ran’s asshole. Ran bent over to fumble out the lube from under the table, moaning at how the older man didn’t stop spreading and teasing him. Snapping the lid open with a squeaky plastic sound he reached around his back and squeezed some of it onto the senior delinquent’s fingers.

The friction of Ran’s whole body weight pushing his ass against his dick in the process made something in the ex vice leader snap. He impatiently rubbed the lube between Ran’s cheeks and pushed a long finger into him, within mere seconds more followed. Two fingers, three, he was pumping his digits into the squirming body on top of him and then shoved Ran off his lap onto the small table.

Ran stabilized himself with his hands on the glass surface that was cool against his own hard on and reflected the dim ceiling lights.

Already anticipating what was to come now, he heard Takeomi’s pants rustle and the belt fall to the floor with a clinking sound.

Ran was as tall as Takeomi, taller even in his stiletto heels, but when the scar-faced man grabbed hold of the skirt around his slim waist and crunched it up between his fists, to pull his ass closer, Takeomi’s hands seemed like shovels digging into his fragile body.

Roppongi’s most famous delinquent did not get a chance to turn around and look at the man behind him.

Without skipping a beat, Takeomi pushed his hard dick into him and made him moan. Keeping his hips right where he wanted them, he fucked the man into the table without any care. Bent over like a bitch, shaved all over, long legs ending in glistening black stiletto heels and winding under his thrusts with heavy pants, Ran Haitani might as well have been a regular whore and not the boogeyman of Roppongi. Takeomi roughly thrust into him and enjoyed seeing him struggle with the sweaty skin spanning his belly sticking to the surface and the nipple piercings clinking against the glass.

The view onto the elder Haitani made his balls tighten. He couldn’t see his face, all there was to see was a sea of dark silky hair spilling over the table and framing the writhing body as one with the ink painting his curves. Spurred on by his imagination of Ran’s face with eyes fluttering closed when he rolled his own hips into him, Takeomi sucked in a deep breath.

“Is this why you can summon 100 men with just one shout?”

Now it was Ran’s turn to scoff and turn his head.

Before he could come back with a smart remark, a heavy hand deliberately slapped his ass.

“Shout then.”

Takeomi pushed deep into him and hit just the spot.

A loud moan left Ran’s lips and the older man watched him try to tip-toe and press his knees together whining for more.

The view was even better now. With the saucily dressed man slightly twisted, half-way lying on the side Takeomi could see his face while he rutted into him. It was reddened, his lips swollen and dry from panting and he caught a glimpse of the man’s every breath fogging up the glass surface underneath. His gaze wandered lower and he could see Ran’s dick trapped between his belly and the glass surface as well, eagerly twitching under the thrusts.

An odd thought about definitely not wanting to put his siblings into a line of work like this crossed his mind and Takeomi hoped in passing that his little brother did not have the same tendencies as this rotten shithead under him. That comment about the wig had stuck with him.

Dammit.

Thrown out of the heat of the moment, the man in his late 20s pulled out, careful not to stain his own pants hanging around his knees and dropped onto the sofa behind. Palming his dick with his left, he snapped his fingers a few times with the right to draw attention.

Dismissively wagging his head, he signaled for Ran to come over to the sofa and finish him there.

Catching a breath Takeomi lit a cigarette and took a sip from the champagne. The fact his ass sweat was seeping into the black velvet was no concern to him, he was glad his cock got a final breather in before the grand finale because damn, he had been pent up already when he had gotten kicked out of Wakasa’s club.

The other man got up, but later than Takeomi would have expected. Puffing on his cigarette he wondered if that cocky bitch had been serious earlier and was really into getting fucked by older men. Had they been here in private, he’d have been pretty damn sure Ran looked a bit let down and on edge.

The skirt had fully turned into a crumpled up belt resting on his hips. His cock had broken free from the satin thong and was bobbing along every time the stiletto heels dug into the floor. The cropped fishnet top was crumpled up around his right nipple and a few nets were torn and his long hair was damp and stuck to his neck and cheeks. His usually immaculately neutral face devoid of any real emotion was flushed and he was swallowing visibly while walking over.

A pity he had not been wearing any make-up or lipstick, smeared red around his mouth would have been the perfect look for this slut, the old chunibyo thought.

“Nearly had me there, aniki.” There was that purr from the androgynous beauty again that he hoped to feel against his length very soon. Much to Takeomi’s surprise, Ran had no shame in confessing his state and took a good look at him during his own refill on champagne.

“Few more thrusts and I’d have written your name on the table with my cum.”

First he lowered himself onto the naked thigh covered in thin black hairs and slowly stroked the senior gang member’s hard-on with a calm hand. Takeomi leaned against the curve of his neck and said something to which Ran shook his head. Pleased with that reply, Takeomi caressed his cheek and lips and then pushed the former Tenjiku executive off his thigh.

Then Ran knelt on the floor in front of him and started lapping the lube and the precum off Takeomi’s dick like it was candy.

In turn, Takeomi grabbed a fistful of Ran’s hair and yanked his head back so he could get a good view of Ran swallowing it down and licking his lips clean. The sight of that wet open mouth built pressure in Takeomi’s groins that needed to be taken care of fast and Ran was fully aware of it. He wrapped his swollen lips around Takeomi’s cock and moved deep down his shaft. His hands disappeared between his own legs. The tight wet suction Ran’s mouth worked on his cock sent Takeomi reeling and he groaned, pushing Ran deep enough for his nose to touch his pubes.

“Fuck, Haitani, don’t stop.”

Takeomi grit his teeth and tensed up to hold out just a little bit longer as his length stretched out Ran’s throat with long, deep thrusts.

He tried, but he couldn’t take it any longer. The sudden raspy murmur of Ran’s voice vibrating around his cock sent him over the edge.

“Come for me, Akashi.”

The pressure that had been building in his balls and winding up his loins spilled out of him accompanied by a hoarse groan. Still balls deep in Ran’s mouth, he shot sticky ropes of cum down his throat.

Panting for breath, and holding Ran’s head in place rougher than necessary, he suddenly noticed the jerking motions between his feet. Takeomi yanked Ran off his dick, and caught him jacking himself off. He grabbed his wrist to pull it away and looked into his clouded purple eyes but it was already too late. Pierced nipples hard and pointing at him, hips bucking towards the man between whose legs he knelt, Ran’s spine arched back violently and his load spilled over his stomach and thighs and onto the floor with a loud whimper.

Takeomi also noticed the fully burned down cigarette stub still between his fingers and the ashes scattered on Ran’s back.

Right. Why did he light up a cigarette mid sex again? Oh well. They had staff here to take care of that.

After a quick glance at the mess that Ran Haitani currently was, flushed, half-naked and slumped over the little table to do a line of coke, he got up. Fanning some air onto his skin with his open shirt, the slick-haired man walked over to the sink at the back of the room for a quick wash. It had been a strange night. The last place he’d have expected to end up tonight or any other day of the year was in Roppongi’s very own Ran Haitani. Both his ass and his mouth.

He grimaced to himself with raised eyebrows thinking how he wouldn’t suck a dick that’s been in his ass. Kids these days. Turning off the water tap and drying his hands, Takeomi grinned and lit up a cigarette. What a silly thought. He wouldn’t suck a dick full stop. But a hole was a hole. That much was true.

A tall lithe body pushed past him and stood at the other side of the sink.

“You gonna come again, old man?”

Again Takeomi suddenly noticed the music reaching his ears now but not while they had been busy. He had forgotten about it for quite some time. Now the bass was helping him steady his breath back to normal. Blinking under the smoke wafting into his eyes, Takeomi glanced at the bi-coloured hair that had fallen into Ran’s face aside and leaned over the sink.

“What happens here stays here.”

With that he stuffed 30,000 Yen into the waistband of Ran’s skirt and left.

Takeomi went to the wardrobe first, to pick up his jacket, but it wasn’t here. Damn. He must have left it back at Shiroi Neko. There was still an open discussion to be had with Wakasa about the way he treated a friend coming to his establishments. In hindsight he was lucky that he had all his valuables on him and nothing in his jacket pockets. He nodded to the old geezer again on his way out and noticed the blinking sign above his head advertising “Roppongi’s hottest this way”.

It made him wonder.

There were two Haitani brothers, weren’t there?

#takeomi akashi #akashi takeomi #ran haitani #haitani ran #rarepair #smut #tr fanfiction #tokrev takeomi #tokyo revengers fanfiction #tr fanfic #smut fic #tokrev #ran x takeomi

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hornyhermitry · 4 months

Text

The Ghost of Christmas Past - A Bonten Christmas Carol

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Rated: Teen

Characters: Takeomi, Shinichiro, Sanzu, Bonten

Word Count: 8668

Summary:

Where Takeomi Akashi, the hard-hearted middle-aged criminal advisor to Japan's most infamous crime syndicate Bonten is visited by the ghost of his former best friend and gang leader Shinichiro Sano and the spirits of Christmas Past, Present and Yet to Come to turn his life around.

A Bonten take on the classic Christmas Carol.

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A long time ago in a Tokyo of a time long past, a very inconspicuous boy by the name of Shinichiro Sano used to have a dream of bringing back the golden age of biker gangs.

By the time the events of this story unfolded, Shinichiro Sano was dead as a door nail and had been for a long time.

Bonten’s veteran advisor Takeomi Akashi was intimately aware of this. During their time as leading duo for the infamous biker gang Black Dragon, Shinichiro and him had been best friends for many years before the leader’s untimely death. As the naturally more amicable of the two, Shinichiro Sano rallied all kinds of delinquent youths under his banner and put up his best friend Takeomi as his vice president to make the strategic calls to grow their numbers and earn the respect they deserved.

This youthful ambition set in motion the events that would, many years down the line, indirectly cause the death of Shinichiro Sano.

Losing his leader, his friend and the only person who saw more in him than the mediocre guy with a bad temper and a collection of vices to rival the worst - hurt him in a way he had never thought possible. He wouldn’t be able to say when it started, but the pain of being left behind got less over time. Nevertheless, no matter how many years passed, his best friend’s death had taken something from Takeomi that he never managed to get back.

Despite taking on Sano’s figurative legacy in the form of his brother’s gang formed from the ashes of Shinichiro’s, Takeomi Akashi did not take on Sano’s literal legacy:

S S Motors.

Still, the abrasive gambler never had it in him to change out the sign for Shinichiro’s old bike shop. It remained hung above the window front, letters slowly fading. Forever a reminder of the friend he had lost too soon.

While the shop had not gone to him, it still was occasionally used by the boys Shinichiro had taken in during his days as a mechanic. Takeomi never had any remarkable technical skills the way Shinichiro had and would often just leave scratches in immaculate paint as soon as he touched a wrench or a screwdriver with hands unstable from drinking, not to mention the hazardous spills of oil buckets while he hung around smoking one after another.

No, he was never as good at anything as his former best friend was and it had always reflected in people’s demeanour towards him.

As the years had gone by and their shared past faded, fewer and fewer people ever bothered to chat him up on the street. Takeomi couldn’t remember the last time he’d heard an “Hey, Akashi-kun. How are you doing?” from someone not under Bonten’s boot and small talking to buy time.

With his fall into alcoholism after his friend’s death, years of gambling debt and unemployment, even the most benevolent acquaintances had rid themselves of him.

A lot of time had passed since those darkest days and Takeomi had managed to pull himself up again to work as advisor for Shinichiro’s little brother running Japan’s most infamous crime syndicate now. But the amount of people that had a kind word for him were few and far between.

His moody, disgruntled personality perhaps played a role in that, but what gives.

This Christmas eve, Takeomi Akashi sat in a stuffy backroom of a Bonten-owned gambling hole and was busy counting the monthly profits.

Outside it was bleak and dark. Despite the clock only striking four in the afternoon, the sun was nearly done setting and the theoretically colourfully illuminated Tokyo alleys were swallowed up by a thick fog.

In order to keep an eye on the owner vacuuming the stained carpets and picking up stray gambling chips, Takeomi had left the door open and checked what he was doing every few stacks.

For a while now this place had been behind in turning over the expected profits and only last month Takeomi had made the call to cap their monthly expenses for heating and electricity. What he counted so far didn’t look good. They’d probably have to shut the place down or give it into more capable hands.

Already uncomfortably cold due to the turned off heating, the man only clad in a white shirt and red waistcoat shivered and rubbed his own upper arms when the door opened and a gust of cold air swept through the premises.

A familiar voice snarked across the hall. “Merry Christmas or something, old man.”

Takeomi did not need to see the pink mane to know who had just dropped in. It was his estranged brother who nowadays went by the name of Haruchiyo Sanzu.

Before the older man was able to kick the door shut in his face, Sanzu had stepped into the room and extended an arm to hold the door in place.

“If you’re gonna keep grouching like that, chances are Enma’s gonna let you roam the deep lakes for half an eternity before swallowing your soul, you know.”

Always the notorious chainsmoker, Takeomi dismissively exhaled a breath of smoke and threw a pack of bills into the bag between his feet. “Anyone still celebrating Christmas should be strangled with one of those stupid wreaths and lit up like a candle. What do you want?”

Sanzu briefly thought about the Christmas evenings with his older brother back when he had still been a kid. He could not remember any gift he’d gotten. Money had always been tight, despite their father being gone all day and night to bring home some of it. What he did remember though was sitting around the kotatsu in the living room - their little sister maybe 4 years old, him barely much older and Takeomi heavy-handedly lobbing pieces of fried chicken onto their plates. He remembered how his older brother accidentally knocked his beer can over in the process and started cursing like a sailor, only to get an even worse fit about it when he remembered about the little girl at the table and frantically jerked back and forth between the plates and trying to cover her ears while cursing even more.

Back then, as a kid, it had scared him a little. If he thought about it now, there was a slight comedic edge to it.

There was no love lost between Haruchiyo Sanzu and his older brother Takeomi Akashi - the name change was the most glaring proof of that. The slender man with facial scars as prominent as his brother’s was hard-pressed to come up with any kind of fond memory of their shared past. And yet, looking back as an adult, Sanzu had come to see that Takeomi had always tried to do his best for them. After all, he wasn’t the one who had wanted kids, but the one who stepped up to save what was left to save after their parents neglect.

Sanzu also remembered how little Senju’s crystal-blue eyes had lit up that night when she unwrapped a training jacket with the Sano dojo logo on it while he was busy doing the dishes like Takeomi had told him to. She had run around looking for Takeomi to thank him, and bumped into his leg while he was on the phone in the hallway. Takeomi punched the wall and his voice came out louder than he intended to as he yelled into the speaker that their father might as well be dead if he never bothered to be around and angrily hung up.

Senju looked up at Takeomi and started to cry on the spot. Takeomi’s shoulders dropped down, once again unintentionally having scared his siblings with anger not directed at them.

Sanzu had watched him sigh deeply and then ruffle the little girl’s head apologetically before turning his head yelling for the blonde boy to remember to look after their sister.

“You know…” Sanzu fumbled a cigarette out of his waistcoat and lit it. “You can bitch about Christmas all you want, but you weren’t always this miserable. There was a time you tried.”

The older man’s facial scar crinkled when he narrowed his eyes and gestured for his junior to bugger off. “You’ve always been too sentimental for your own good, Haruchiyo. Grow up.”

Turning on his heel, the pink-haired man lingered in the door frame for a moment.

“Thanks to you I did, a long time ago.”

Not waiting for another reply, thin long fingers waved goodbye to the man with a cash bag between his feet.

“Hurry up, Mikey-san wants to know if it’s time to tear this place down or not.”

Takeomi grunted and got back to the task at hand.

After some time the man, approximately the same age as the one doing the counting, hesitantly peeked into the backroom again. “Is it enough, Akashi-san?”

Dark brown eyes met in silence. There was no need for words to get the message across. When the realization sunk in, sweat formed on the rattish employee’s forehead despite the bitter cold around them.

“Is there nothing to be done? Can you at least postpone the closure until the new year?”

"You owe Bonten, Tanaka-san. We’ve given you enough chances. Finish up and hand me over the keys to this place.” The middle-aged casino owner was too baffled to react, so Takeomi decided to bark him out of his shock. “MOVE IT.”

“B-but Akashi-san, I live here.”

“Not Bonten’s problem, not my problem. Only proves you’ve been dragging out the inevitable for even longer than we thought.”

Stuttering the man fell onto his knees and put his head to the ground.

As if on cue, a throaty cough could be heard from upstairs, immediately followed by a wailing baby.

“I beg you, Akashi-san. Only 2 more weeks to help me figure out something else, we have nowhere to go.”

Takeomi’s right foot pushed the man back by his shoulder and he snipped the cigarette stump against his forehead.

“Not my problem. Now grab your lot, give me the keys and get out.”

Takeomi’s big scarred hands pulled the collar of his wool coat closer to his ears.It really was exceptionally cold today for a Tokyo winter. The climate was changing noticeably in recent years and it showed on days like this. When the Bonten advisor stepped out of the Konbini, plastic bag with cheap snacks and drinks in hand, he could barely see four steps ahead. Most of his surroundings were eaten up by the fog, and the area he lived in usually was gloomy already regardless of this weather making it that much worse.

Since his gig at little Manjiro’s syndicate had started, the former bosozoku with the glaring facial scar dooming him to a life of crime either way, had not only made his way out of his own piled up debt, but also looked after the well-being of all their shared finances to make sure his best friend’s legacy was safe.

He had learned his lesson during his gambling days. Long gone was the time of living beyond his means. Takeomi lived in a humble place - a one-room in a big run down apartment complex. Small. Convenient. Close to SS Motors. Easy to keep tidy, even if he never bothered and just lived in his dirt for the most part.

His shoes clacked past his late friends’ store when just before turning a corner, Takeomi felt a shiver run up his spine and turned around. For a brief moment he thought he saw Shinichiro in the shop window next to the latest refurbished zipper bike. His face untouched by the years gone by. Spit got caught in his throat as he wanted to shout and he ended up coughing into his cold hands. When the man looked up again, his friend was gone.

Muttering to himself, he climbed up the stairs to his flat and unlocked the door.

As usual, he had instant ramen and an onigiri for dinner by himself and washed it down with some Asahi. For a few times his phone screen lit up, but Takeomi was not in the habit of letting others interrupt his dinner time, come what may, so he ignored it. Indecisively flipping through the channels, he eventually fell asleep in front of his old tv.

A shrill noise woke the man in open dress pants and a white undershirt from his nap. Startled, he hurled insults at the unknown source of the noise - that turned out to be an obnoxious tv ad for a singing moose santa to mount on your living room wall.

Takeomi fell flat on his back and stared at the ceiling. He was so utterly fed up with this Christmas nonsense. All this noise, the bright lights, stupid songs everywhere and families rushing through the streets in their struggle to find some latest gadget to gift their kids spoiled rotten. He hated it. The sentimentality of it, the compulsive gifting, the forced joy. His thoughts trailed off to his childhood, a time so long gone he couldn’t even remember the face of his mother anymore. She had left his dad and him when he was 14, when his siblings were in kindergarten. The only thing he faintly remembered was the way her heavy perfume mixed with cigarette smoke used to tickle his nose.

As he sat back up and turned his head to look for the remote, his glance fell onto a figure sitting cross-legged in front of him in silence.

Takeomi’s eyes widened.

Dorky as ever, the black-haired figure waved at him.

This had to be some prank. Takeomi’s eyes widened.

“What is this? Who’s doing this?”

“Come on now, Omi. It’s me, Shinichiro. We used to be best friends, remember?”

Scrambling to his feet, Takeomi went to search the kitchen and the balcony for the perpetrator responsible for this stage play.

“There is no way you are Shin, this is some stupid VR trick or something.” His voice thundered through his flat. “SANZU!? Where are you? Did you lace my dinner with some of your shit again?”

The unnaturally transparent boy in his living room laughed.

“It’s really me, Takeomi. I am here to give you a heads up, so listen up you old grump. You’ve been on a pretty bad downward spiral since I’m not around anymore. I’m a bit worried where you’re headed like this. My hands are kind of tied -”

Spectral hands splayed and held in front of his chest, the thing claiming to be Shinichiro gestured apologetically and chuckled.

“So here’s what we will do with you, old man. I’ll be sending some hauntings your way. Heed their warnings..”

Bushy eyebrows furrowed.

“What do you mean ‘hauntings’? What nonsense is this? SANZU!?” The upset advisor looked behind curtains and wardrobes alike, but he couldn’t find anyone else in his flat. Finally coming to terms with the ghostly visitor in his living room, Takeomi turned to look him up and down for good, but the lanky figure was already disappearing towards the balcony.

“Shin! Wait! Is it really -”

Even as a spectre, Shinichiro looked the same way he always had. Loose, ripped jeans and an oil-smeared white tee that was a mess even in his friend’s transparent state. Last but not least, his messy hair stood up in all directions as it always had after a day of screwing together a machine.

Big black eyes curled into crescents and with a wide grin, the ghost of Shinichiro Sano disappeared off the balcony into the night.

Takeomi slumped back onto his floor pillow and - fumbling with a new beer can without looking at it - stared at the night sky outside.

Surely this must have been his stupid brother’s prank or something.

The encounter weighed more heavily on him than he wanted to admit and he fell into a deep sleep only a few sips in.

When Takeomi awoke, it was still dark and the clock on the tv screen displayed a slim white 1:00 in the top right corner. His phone buzzed and nearly gave him a heart attack. The slippery thing evaded his long fingers like a fish struggling against being caught, but there was not an issue a bit of impatient violence didn’t fix. Outraged by what was on the display, the man in his mid 40s blinked a few times to make sure he was awake.

“From: Shin

First one coming right up.”

Eyebrows looking angry by default curled over the bridge of Takeomi’s strong nose. First one … what …?

“Over here.” A familiar voice made the advisor look up.

At the other end of the room stood a white-haired boy whose face looked too old for his otherwise youthful appearance.

None the wiser at a first glance, Takeomi rubbed his eyes before getting up and approaching the oddly familiar looking apparition. There was something about the tanned skin and the deep purple eyes that called to a forgotten memory of his.

“Who … what … are you?”

A gentle, yet eerie smile lit up the boy’s face.

“I’m the ghost of Christmas past, Akashi-san. Catch up.”

In his hand he held a hanafuda card that caught Takeomi’s attention. Could it be this was …?

“Kurokawa, is that you?”

Not answering, the white-haired boy turned away from the man and did something with the card in his hand.

“Follow me.”

Unsettled, Takeomi reached for the button up shirt he had carelessly thrown onto the floor earlier and put it on. He had a feeling the white wifebeater wouldn’t do for where they would be going. He scrambled to get into his shoes as well, threw on a jacket and stumbled after the much shorter apparition.

As Izana mumbled something he could not make out, the kitchen wall disappeared and the two of them stepped onto a snow covered driveway.

“Does this look familiar to you?”

Following his guide’s gaze, Takeomi noticed the very peculiar front door. Made of dark wood and with some thick glass tiles at its center. Nothing unusual about that type of door, but the glass tiles were badly cracked and makeshift taped over with multiple layers of duct tape.

Inside someone shouted and hectic tapping of little feet on the wooden floorboard could be heard.

The door opened and a little boy with black hair and eager eyes looked up at Takeomi.

Realization hit him like a truck. This was the last Christmas he had spent with both his parents together. He was looking back into his own eyes.

“Oto-san, you’re home!!”

Young Takeomi’s face lit up with excitement.

Insecure and a little concerned, Takeomi turned around to see if there was anyone behind him.

Indeed there was.

His father, younger than Takeomi himself was now, was walking towards them and waving happily.

A prickle he had not felt in a long time spread in his eyes. He could not remember his father ever looking that young. Neither could he remember the way it felt to be so happy to see him. The years that came after this had made the both of them pay their dues. And all because -

A tiny slender hand wrapped around young Takeomi’s shoulder from behind.

“There you are, Tsu. Better late than never.”

The knot Takeomi had not noticed in his throat tightened. He was scared to look up from his younger self’s shoulders.

Izana knocked his elbow against his.

“Must have been nice to spend your childhood with a mother.”

The sheer bluntness of that remark snapped Takeomi out of his dread and after biting back that she was barely there for the most of it, he looked up and his face lost all colour.

She had been beautiful. So young and beautiful. A lump of spit got stuck in the man’s throat and he wished he had brought his cigarettes.

No wonder his father had three children with a wife like that. And she was barely older than Shinichiro was when he died. On her arm she had a little toddler whose crystalline eyes were framed by beautiful lashes.

Cold ran down his spine and suddenly Takeomi felt very old between the memory of his best friend, that friend’s family’s late stepson, his younger self and his parents barely half his own age.

Where had all the years gone?

His feet moved before his mind caught up, but Izana waved the card that would become the core of Bonten’s logo. Instead of touching his mother’s cheek, Takeomi stumbled into a whirling fog and lost his balance.

The shock of seeing his long gone parents so vividly had dispersed the comfortable daze the evening’s cans of beer had gifted him.

Mouth and eyes wide open he cursed loudly when his knees gave way and he hit the floor. Falling on his ass was way more painful than the former delinquent remembered.

“What are you doing, Takeomi? Get up, we gotta get out of here. NOW!”

The man’s heart skipped a beat and in he looked up.

Face roughened up pretty badly but still grinning like an idiot, Shinichiro held out his hand to him.

“Shin… ?”

Still struggling with temporal and physical disorientation the scarred man hesitantly held up his hand.

“Gotcha.”

One jerk and Takeomi was back on his feet again while Shinichiro donkey-kicked a rival gang member to get him off their back.

Confused when realizing Shinichiro had pulled him up but hadn’t actually pulled HIM up, Takeomi watched his past self jump over Shin’s bike to get to his own and start the engine.

Nodding towards the machines, Izana’s ghost indicated for the two of them to get on as well.

Teenage Takeomi was already kicking the stand back so the older man hurled his creaking bones onto the backseat and off they went.

Chest and heart full of excitement the boys changed gears, yelled triumphantly and sped off into the night.

His own voice cut through the night air as the scenery whizzed by. “That was the best one yet, Shin. Did you see how Hiro ran away?” “You mean when he realized there’ll be no reinforcements?” Laughter shook both their bodies and they slowed down for a moment. Shinichiro briefly turned around and said something before focussing back on the road. Whatever it was he said, it did not reach Takeomi’s brain because that confident smile was like a spear through Takeomi’s heart. They say time heals all wounds, and in a way you do forget the pain. It becomes a pale aftertaste of a memory you can grasp less with each year that passes. But this same way, you also forget the happiness. You forget just HOW happy you were. Forgotten the elation of flying high on excitement with a good friend. How high they had flown together and made the most out of life. So many years fell by and none had brought a memory fonder than riding his bike with his best friend after a crazy fight. Tears that he had kept in for a long time rolled down Takeomi’s cheeks. The feeling of wind in his hair, the humming engine between his thighs, the adrenaline high after a brawl and Shinichiro leading the way in front of him with a smile. He barely took note of Izana changing the scenery once again, because he was bawling his eyes out over the loss of his friend. Again.

Back against the wall, Takeomi slid down to squat on the pavement and rubbed the tears off his face with his sleeve.

The only thing worse than bad memories were good memories you could never relive again.

With a loud sniff he pulled up the snot stuck in his nose and looked around.

There was nothing he wanted more right now than a stiff drink and a cigarette. His eyes were red and his nose stung from crying.

Performing a coquettish sort of bow, the white-haired spectral boy keeping him company pulled the curtain of a close-by bar aside just in time for the bouncer to come out.

Shaken from the jump in time, Takeomi pushed himself up on wobbling legs and stepped aside from his spot to watch the scene unfold.

He knew too well what he was looking at. At this point in time he must have been in his early to mid 20s. Black Dragon had been disbanded and he had found himself struggling with status and purpose, all too suddenly left to his own means and goals. No matter what time in his life, Takeomi Akashi had never been good at setting goals, not for himself nor for anyone else. He was the guy who stood beside someone grander and cleared the way for them. The guy who did the talking and the deals. Not the guy with a vision.

When the suited gorilla grabbed his former self by the collar and pulled him in close, Takeomi’s attention returned to the scene at hand.

“Stop causing trouble for Imaushi-san, A k a s h i .”The bouncer spat the last word into his face and shoved him onto the boardwalk. “He doesn’t need your kind here, you’re upsetting paying customers. Get lost.”

Takeomi watched himself flip the guy off and then walk away with his hands shoved into his pockets.

Only this time he noticed that his old friend Wakasa Imaushi who owned the bar had stood in the dim entrance and watched him make an ass out of himself. Wakasa was never one to let his emotions show on his face, but Takeomi could read his mannerisms well enough. The way the long chewed-off odango stick rolled from side to side between his lips was a dead giveaway for how angry his old friend was at him.

It stung to think back about this time in his life. This was where he had really lost the plot for a long time.

Melancholic and really wishing for a drink, Takeomi turned to his ghostly guide.

“Can we go now?”

The purple orbs seemed to stare into his soul. Quietly, a tanned finger was raised. Takeomi expected a mean remark, but instead the apparition merely pointed at the alley next to him and kept staring.

Takeomi swallowed.

What else could he possibly want to show him?

Reluctantly putting up with the odd request, Takeomi wiped his dirty sleeve at the side of his jacket and walked ahead. Grumbling, of course.

“This better be quick.”

Izana Kurokawa’s voice was gentle. “My time on this plane with you is nearly over. Walk on.”

After a while, the road led to a seemingly regular building. Skipping ahead of him a few steps, Izana opened the gate and beckoned for the man sunken in thought to come on in.

What he had seen had already been plenty for such a short time. Too much was going on in Takeomi’s head about the paths his life had gone down. When he looked up, r e a l l y wishing for a smoke, the building towering in front of him did not ring any bell for Takeomi. Where was he?

Stepping through the gate, the two travellers were met by what seemed to be a group of mourners. Some of the faces seemed familiar. Just behind a nearby pillar, Takeomi spotted a familiar purple-yellow dye job stood next to a burly guy nearly twice his size.

This had to be …

Wakasa spat his trademark odango stick on the ground. “Playing poker over his last money, like always.”

Paralyzed by the shocking realization setting in, Takeomi stared at the scene. Guilt chased ice-cold goosebumps across his skin and his heart sunk.

“Kurokawa! Get me out of here!”

“This is a shadow of what has already been in the past. Don’t blame me for your own shortcomings, Akashi.”

A nonchalant shrug followed his words.

Over at the pillar, the tall beefy guy with the buzzcut lost control of his temper for a moment. With one big fist he punched the wooden structure and hurled a curse at it.

The conversations around them stopped and everyone turned to look at the odd pair they knew to be close with the deceased.

Apologetically bowing, picking up the wooden skewer and lowering their voices, Imaushi and Arashi carried on.

“It’s a disgrace. Missing his best friends funeral.” Wakasa cleaned the dirt off his stick and stuck it between his teeth again. The taller of the two grunted. “It should be him who’s dead and not Shinichiro.”

“Take me home!” Takeomi exclaimed. “I cannot bear this any longer.”

As he struggled with the shame and anger burning up his face, Izana complied with his request and brought them back to his apartment with a snap of his fingers.

Exhausted and breathing heavily, Takeomi sank to his knees. Not daring to look up at his visitor, his place, the outside world, or anyone and anything in the world, his fingernails cut deep into the tatami mats underneath him. For a long time he remained in this desperate, prayer-like pose and just sobbed.

Finally, he had nothing left to let out anymore and sank into a heavy sleep next to his kotatsu.

When Takeomi awoke, it was still dark, even though it should have been another day by now. The clock on the tv screen displayed a slim white 1:00 in the top right corner. His phone buzzed again, just like the night before. Again, it nearly gave him a heart attack. With his fingers still half asleep he came close to dropping it multiple times, but this time he fared a little better. It fell flat onto his face, once, but other than that he managed.

The words displayed on the screen dispersed his hopes of this all just being a bad dream.

“From: Shin

Number two is ready for you. Don’t get too hung up over who he is.”

Frowning, Takeomi stared at the screen and reread the message. In fact, he reread it so often, you’d have thought he was looking for a secret code hidden in those barely 10 words. Once he bothered to get up, he saw an unexpected guest leaning against his kitchen counter.

“Manjiro.”

He gave a quick nod and lit a long desired cigarette. “Sorry, I think I overslept.” The man still not fully awake rubbed his temples and took a drag of his cigarette.

“Did Sanzu share yesterday’s outcome with you already? We’ll have to shut the casino down. I already kicked the guy out.” Noticing his boss’s short hair was back to his natural color he asked “Did you get your hair done today? Looks good.”

Unmoved, Mikey stared back at him.

“I’m not your Manjiro, Akashi-san. I am a different timeline’s Manjiro. More importantly, I am the ghost of Christmas present.”

By now, Takeomi Akashi did not have it in him anymore to fight what was going on. He had always hated effort and he wanted this to be over and to have a drink. And some smokey meat skewers.

“A different timeline you say? How many of you are out there?” Chewing on his cigarette filter he wondered if there was a timeline where he was rich and drowning in pussy with Shinichiro still alive.

“Many. Now follow me.”

When the alternate Mikey turned away from him, Takeomi noticed the dragon tattoo winding around his neck. Did he get that because … ? The pensiveness only lasted for a few moments. Not waiting around for the man of the hour, the very thin looking Mikey had already opened a pathway and gone through. Takeomi stumped his cigarette out on another day’s plate and followed the apparition with hasty strides.

On the other side of the ominous fog a party seemed to be going on. Most of Bonten was mixing with some patrons and regulars. The lighting was fairly dim and the barstools and sofas spread around the place were visibly past their prime. Old-fashioned japanese pop music played on metallic sounding speakers. A long stage protruded from the other end of the room into its centre, a pole prominent where it was closest to the tables arranged for patrons.

Over at the bar, the Haitani brothers were sipping champagne flutes with a few slender women between them whose dresses seemed a bit too revealing for regular guests. Seated at a table close to the stage, Mochi was talking to a group of young men. Judging by their training suits and polished leather shoes it was very likely they were the new bunch of loan sharks who wanted a merger with Bonten. Some beer had already been spilled over the table, much to the dismay of Ran Haitani who accidentally bumped into it with a drunk lady on his arm, staining his designer suit with stale alcohol. Hands in his pockets, Rin angrily stormed after him, slapping one of the loan sharks on the back of his head in passing. They disappeared behind the curtains at the end of the room, but not before Ran visibly grimaced at the taste of the champagne and poured the rest of his glass into a flower pot next to the stage.

At the far end of the room Takeomi could make out two silver manes sitting in one of the more private booths and just when he started to wonder where his own flesh and blood was, shots could be heard, followed by loud shouting.

Messy hair covering his facial disfigurement, Kakucho peeked out from the booth where Hajime Kokonoi and the real Manjiro Sano were also sitting, and whistled sharply to shut the mad dog up.

The mad dog in question popped up from behind a sofa and walked in big, exaggerated strides over to his boss.

“Miiiikey~ I have a complaaaaint to maake.” He spoke oddly melodic.

Kakucho hissed. “Get a grip on your state of mind or leave the boss alone.”

Sanzu responded with a wild laugh. Bending over to look Mikey straight in the eyes, he temporarily stuffed the gun he was still holding into the front of his pants.

“That true, Mikey? Am I bothering you?”

The ever enigmatic head of Japan’s biggest crime syndicate let slip a mild smile.

“What’s on your mind, Haru?”

Sanzu forcefully slammed the table with his fist.

“I think this party is shit. Where’s the good booze?” He spread his arms and gestured around the room. “Where’s the girls in skanky reindeer outfits begging to ride my sleigh and letting me blow some snow off their tits? Where’s the Christmas lights and the music? What the FUCK is this?”

Takeomi’s eyes went wide at the audacity to talk with their boss like that. Childhood friends or not, this was unacceptable behaviour for his little brother. Koko got up and carefully pulled Sanzu a few steps away from Mikey.

“That’s nothing to do with Mikey-san, Sanzu. Let it go.”

Sanzu shoved him back and kicked one of the chairs away.

“He’s the boss, is he not?”

Now Kakucho also stepped in and grabbed Sanzu by the shoulders. His voice was low so the externals would not hear more than they already had.

“You know who advises us on the budgets. Kokonoi can only work with what he gets approved.”

The worn out cassette tape playing late 60s enka in the background hit a rough spot and the emotional singing distorted into slowed down demon noises.

That was the straw that broke the camel’s back. Sanzu exploded and flipped over a table.

“FUCK TAKEOMI. We work hard enough every day, what’s the issue with a little fun at the end of the year. Why does he always have to piss around about the money, we have enough.”

Rindou split the curtains open and returned to the main room. “That was the worst handjob I’ve gotten in a long time. Fuck these cheap hookers. Fuck Takeomi for booking them.”

As the younger brother lit a cigarette, Ran also stepped through the heavy curtains, closing his zipper. “That alcohol the stingy twat organized expired half a year ago. I wasn’t planning on spending my Christmas on the shitter.”

One of the patrons joined in.

“Yeah fuck him, only 2 weeks ago he raised our tribute fee.”

All Bonten executives turned their heads to look at the guy who immediately raised his hands to his chest. “Apologies. Nevermind.”

“And he had the audacity to tell me how he hates Christmas. Figures, if you are that stingy with the preparations. It’s good he’s home alone now, at least his miserable mood can’t ruin this evening any further.”

Ran Haitani clicked his tongue. “Maybe he’ll do us all a favour and die over night so Kokonoi can take over the finances and get me some Veuve Cliquot instead of this rat poison.”

The conversation between executives started spiraling into more and more primitive jokes at the expense of Takeomi who could do nothing but watch. He cringed in suppressed anger and shame.

“It’s enough. I get it. Let’s go.”

Black eyes stared back at him without saying a word. In the background, Rindou Haitani put on his sunglasses, pulled down the corners of his mouth comically wide and puffed his cigarette away hands-in-pockets and legs spread wide like a cartoon character.

“OoOH LisTen To Me. I’ve BeeN In The BusinEss AlREaDY WhilE All oF YoU weRe StiLL WeT BehinD The Ears. LiSten To Me. CriME is SeriouS. MoneY Comes FasT And GoeS Fast. SavE it. YoU HavE TO HonOr ShiniCHiros LeGacy. I’m TakeOmi GRRRRR.”

Sanzu cackled and threw back a shot.

“There’s no need for me to listen to anymore of this, let me go now.” Cheeks flush with rage and embarrassment, Takeomi turned away from the scene and walked out the run down nightclub. Outside, Mikey suddenly stood in front of him again and pointed down the street. Takeomi’s gaze followed the gesture and saw a thick cloud of fog wafting towards him, a dark figure hidden inside.

His phone buzzed inside his pocket. He didn’t need to look at it to know Shinichiro had just announced the third and last visitor.

Something from Alice in Wonderland came to his mind when he heard the manic giggle from within the fog.

“First the smile, then the cat.” or something like that.

Or, in case of the tall bony figure in a dark cloak emerging from the fog - first the sin, then the punishment.

There was someone Takeomi had not seen in a long time. The apparition’s face was hidden under the hood of its dark cloak, but there was no doubt about this being the former Kabukicho Reaper.

Takeomi swallowed an uncomfortable feeling of approaching dread and stepped closer.

“You are the ghost of Christmas Yet to Come, then?” Much like the previous apparition, this one did not seem to be one for many words. The hooded figure merely nodded and floated past him. A steady murmur accompanied their walk that made the uneasy advisor conjure images of ghostly hands reaching for his ankles to pull him onto the other side. He shivered and jogged after the last ghost, who had stopped next to a bunch of suited elderly men.

One with a very prominent chin shrugged his shoulders. “No, I don’t know. It’s not like they let us in on those details.” Another one wearing sunglasses despite the advanced time of day lit a cigarette and handed the lighter to the guy next to him. “You think it was natural?” His buddy took the lighter and stashed it into his breast pocket. Some long-faced younger guy chimed in. “I know Kobayashi held a grudge over some deal gone south.” “Didn’t he have a personal bodyguard?” The grey-haired one with the sunglasses took a drag of his cigarette and chuckled. “Yeah, but word is his loyalties lay elsewhere after a bad falling out with the old fucker.”

At first, Takeomi was surprised at the random conversation. When the chatter took a turn and jokes about the deceased’s smoking habits fell, a glum feeling spread in his stomach. He turned to the silent guide by his side. Before he could ask about the suspicion that lay heavy on his heart, the robed figure started moving again and motioned for him to come along. His feet moved on their own and it was the crunching sound of gravel underneath his soles that drew the ageing executive’s attention back to where they were going.

Around them were vertical columns made from grey stone standing out against barren trees. A bit further down the gravel way, a familiar group of people exited the shrine towering above the premises.

Takeomi’s hand started to shake and his knees felt weak. A lightheadedness took over that spun reality around. Was this …?

Hesitantly, he staggered towards the grave pillar his colleagues were headed towards as well and cold sweat formed on his skin.

His usually full-bodied voice was a feeble husk of itself.

“I will look, Kabukicho Reaper. But first tell me this: Is this the shadow of what will be or the shadow of what could be?”

The tall harbinger of what was to come pointed the hand spelling “Punishment” towards the grave.

“Men’s choices in life foreshadow certain ends to the paths they walk.”

Trembling as he went, Takeomi Akashi staggered towards the stone structure as a wave of nausea hit him.

Unsteady hands reached for support and he laid a flat palm against the side of the column, forcing bile back down his throat. Amber eyes looked up and read the writing on the stone. Fear violently shook his body and his eyes went wide.

TAKEOMI AKASHI

10th March 1981 - 22nd December 2023

Takeomi couldn’t help it. Convulsing, he broke down and spat bitter stomach acid onto the earth.

“Is there nothing I can do? I never meant to become like this. I was just trying to save what was left of your legacy. Shin! Can you hear me?” Sobbing, he smacked his hands against his own grave. “It’s so damn hard to live without you, Shinichiro. What do you want me to do? How should I have cheer and support for all your boys when you left me behind all those years ago?

I miss you so much. I miss you so much it breaks my heart every day.”

His little brother was the first to walk past and he spat on the ground between his feet. “Rot in hell, you old bastard.”

The sobbing man barely took note of the other Bonten executives’ harsh words as they passed his grave and flicked cigarette bums and crumpled up receipts against it.

“All I want is to ride by your side, Shin. I don’t know what to do if you don’t tell me.”

Tears streamed down his face and blurred his vision.

“I miss you.”

He carelessly wiped snot into his sleeve. A new wave of tears shook him again.

“I don’t want them to hate me. I don’t want to die. I don’t want to die.”

For a long time, Takeomi sat leaned against his own grave, crying into his hands.

When he finally had no tears left to spill and his vision slowly cleared, he looked up at the phantom in front of him with reddened eyes. “Is there nothing I can do to prevent my death?”

The dark spectre wobbled, as if in acknowledgement. Then it shrunk and collapsed in on itself, turning into a bedpost.

Agitated, Takeomi looked around. He was back at his own place. Alone.

The clock displayed 1:00 AM. Again.

Exhausted, he fell back into his sheets and passed out within seconds.

Takeomi awoke to a long chiming ringing at his door. Throwing the bed covers off, he hobbled to the entrance in nothing but his briefs and pressed the button to let the mailman in.

“Good morning!” He opened the door wide.

“Good morning, Akashi-san!”

The mailman was so used to Takeomi opening the door in all kinds of states, he barely noticed the lack of clothes.

Furrowed brows stared at the floor between naked feet and then amber eyes looked up at the visitor inquisitively.

“What day is it today?”

“Had a rough night again?”

Takeomi grimaced.

“Could say it like that.”

The mailman laughed and pointed at the field requiring a recipient signature reading 24/12 as delivery date.

“It’s Christmas eve.”

Zoning out, Takeomi scribbled his signature onto the display and waved the postman goodbye, wishing him happy holidays.

There was still time.

An hour later, Takeomi’s small flat simultaneously looked like a bomb had hit and like he was the head of the secret service’s communication department. Open magazines, telephone books (yes, he was a sentimental oldie who still kept old-fashioned telephone books), scribbled notes and everything else that had been in shelves gathering dust was scattered across the place and Takeomi sat cross-legged on the floor, cigarette in mouth and industriously made one phone call after another.

Flagged as urgent, he sent a location to the Bonten group chat when everything else was done.

“TONIGHT. 8PM. HOPE YOU’LL LIKE IT. MERRY CHRISTMAS”

“No way he did all of this within a day.” Ran laughed politely at what the silver-haired accountant was telling him. Koko leaned in closer to the purple-haired man next to him and whispered more aggressively.

“I’m telling you. He was acting like a man possessed. Thank you.” Nodding to the waiter offering flying food, Hajime Kokonoi grabbed an hors d’oeuvre and took a bite. Loud music was floating through the exclusive event location and laughter bubbled up from the other end of the room where Kanji Mochizuki was toasting with a bunch of loan sharks to a successful merger.

“Yesterday he still had some other place booked but something must have gotten into him. First thing this morning he called the whole thing off and redid it.”

Equipped with two champagne flutes in his hands, Ran’s brother bumped into the gossiping executives. “Can you believe it? The bar is fully stacked with Moet & Chandon. There’s Imperial even. He really went all out.”

Violet irises looked up at the scantily clad dancers getting busy on elevated platforms around the room.

Signalling one of them to come down, Ran nodded. “He did. No two ways about it.”

Rindou took a sip of his drink and scanned the crowd distorted by a red and green light show for his best friend.

Bonten’s mad dog was helping a hostess in reindeer underwear sat on his lap to spread some snow on the mirror in front of them. To his left and right were his childhood-friend-turned-boss and his older brother - subtly directing bar & kitchen staff from where he was seated to offer refills before they were needed.

Noticing the Haitani brothers looking over to them, Takeomi elbowed Sanzu’s hip and pointed to them.

Somewhere on the dance floor, a drunk patron shouted.

“A SPEECH.”

Reinvigorated from a fresh line of coke, Sanzu lapped that input up like a dog and joined the shouting.

“YES! A SPEECH!”

Leaning over the edge of the sofa from behind, Takeomi’s friend Wakasa exchanged glances with Bonten’s big boss and pushed the scar-faced man off the seat.

Outraged and caught off guard, Takeomi jerked around to give that short statured troublemaker what he deserved, but decided against it when droopy eyes challenged the former gang colleague to try.

“Go on, old man. Don’t make your best friend’s quiet little brother do it.”

Voice rumbling in from behind, the big ex-Black Dragon who rarely left Imaushi’s side in public chimed in as well.

“We all know you love the attention, Takeomi. Off you go.”

Bashful at first, Takeomi Akashi scratched his neck and didn’t know what to say. He looked around and his gaze wandered across dozens of people happily celebrating and enjoying the treats. Mumbling into his drink as he took a sip for inspiration he couldn’t spot a single person seeming to have a bad time and something in him quieted down.

He cleared his throat.

“Thank you all for coming.”

Since barely anyone noticed he had started talking, he repeatedly hit his whiskey glass with the chunky signet ring adorning his finger. When some heads started turning to him, he raised his voice.

“THANK YOU ALL FOR COMING.

Not many of you are aware of it, but this year marks a special year in the history of Bonten.”

He looked at their boss whom his own little brother had protected with his life for many years now. Deep black eyes looked back at him knowingly and subtly gave him the permission to proceed.

“This year we mourn the death of Manjiro Sano’s big brother, and my best friend, Shinichiro Sano for the 20th time. He has been dead for a long time and yet he is forever dearly missed. Without him, none of us would be here today. Only through his determination to bring back the golden age of delinquency back as a teenager and his dedication to offer kids without much prospect in life an option, we are here today. Only through handing his legacy over to his brothers, I was given the opportunity to turn my life around many years ago, when Sano-san kindly took me in as his advisor.”

He briefly bowed towards Mikey.

“Deeply shaken after a life of debt and bad decisions, I have assisted this organization with the best advice I thought I could give and, to my regret, may sometimes have been too strict.” Toasting towards his brother fondling the stripper on his lap he continued.

“My own brother Haruchiyo Sanzu might have to tell you a story about my harshness, which he unfortunately often ended up on the receiving end of.”

“Oh shut up, we’re trying to have a good time here.”

Sanzu threw a crumpled up napkin at the speaker before getting back to the reindeer keeping him company.

“So today, I would like to thank you all for showing up. For some it’s a bond written in blood - “ he toasted towards the Haitani brothers “For some it’s companionship closer than any blood could ever be.” he toasted towards Kakucho, Mochizuki and Kokonoi. “But whatever it means to you, there is nothing more important than family. Everyone in this room is a part of the Bonten family and I know that Shinichiro Sano would be proud of what we have achieved together, if he were here to see it tonight. Thank you all, and merry christmas.”

Takeomi’s rather pathetic sniffles at the end were luckily drowned out by the cheering of the crowd who had just waited for the peak to get back to partying. Shoulder to shoulder with the Haitani brothers and followed by a small group of girls, Sanzu briefly stopped next to his older brother and patted him on the back.

“See? You’re better when you try. Merry Christmas.”

With that, the group evidently off to no good disappeared into the lasershow.

For a brief moment, Takeomi thought he saw the ghost of Shinichiro wave at him from across the crowd. When he focused his gaze, nothing was to be seen anymore. A waitress offered him a new drink he gladly took and he went to stand with his old friends Keizo and Wakasa.

It was hard to believe that after 30 years they were still here together while Shinichiro was not. He swore to him, and them, he would atone for his shortcomings and keep his best friend’s memory alive the best he could.

Later that night he was seen dressed down, dancing in nothing but naughty reindeer briefs, tie around his forehead - with the bulky Kanji Mochizuki in briefs to match, wildly pulling at the reigns attached to their … front.

In the following years, Takeomi Akashi had no further encounter with spirits coming to haunt him, but the Bonten Christmas party always was an event to behold.

Merry Christmas and happy holidays to all the readers who are also part of the extended Bonten family! :“)

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