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Nebulous Drabbles 1
Fandom: Detective Conan/Magic Kaito
Pairings:
KaiShin x2
AkaiGin x2
Gen x3
KaiHakuShin x1
Rating: T/M
Warnings: Drabbles/Ficbits. Precisely Why Not is from the same 'verse as my Sekrit Christmas Projekt fic
Genre: Multiple
Kaito always went to him in the guise of Kid, because they had yet to meet in the light of day. Fate hadn't been so kind as to allow an open windowed opportunity like that and, even then, it would still be different. Because Kaito wasn't Kid and Kaito wasn't really Kaito and, yet, he was. He had so many distinct personalities that he used, so many acts, that Kaito had trouble remembering which ones were real. Shinichi seemed to know, though. Shinichi told him he acted real with him.
Still, sometimes he wanted to be able to be seen with Shinichi in the daylight: To see the way sun highlighted Shinichi's dark hair, or shadows under a tree played over his eyes, or the way he'd move through a crowd that had nothing to do with running to catch a thief.
Despite that want, almost a painful need, Kaito also cherished their little moonlit liaisons. It was a secret the world would never know, protected by the thin fabric of darkness. It was a risk, and exposure was always a single mistake away. He was both chilled, and thrilled, every time he leapt from his home, not to go and steal a priceless jewel but to steal a kiss or two or three from a young man he adored.
Shinichi had many strange habits. Some of them he found amusing and endearing, others frustrating, and some still were simply confusing. Take, for example, the fact that Shinichi would never touch his monocle. No matter what was occurring, he would never even make a move toward it. Kaito could have him drawn close, wrapped in his arms, the thick fabric of his cape falling around them, their lips sealed in a slow passionate kiss that burned them, and Shinichi would simply clutch at him.
Kaito never understood why, so he asked because, after all, Shinichi knew very well who he was. Nights had been spent, sitting together and whispering secrets of their daily lives like it were those that were unreal; like it was the lives they lived in the daylight that were the big secret, not this hidden reality in the moonlight. Shinichi knew all about Kuroba Kaito, and Kaito knew all about Edogawa Conan, and the Kudou Shinichi that the world saw. He saw someone different. Shincihi was real with him, too.
Shinichi's answer had been simple yet complex: 'If I don't take it off, I haven't unmasked you, and I don't have to lie as much.'
He didn't really understand it, because it was still lying. He supposed, however, that Shinichi knew a little more about lying to protect other people. Kaito lied to preserve himself.
So, it was Kaito would would take the monocle off, set it aside, and become Kaito rather than Kid just so that Shinichi could continue deluding himself that he didn't, in fact, have any knowledge of Kid beyond what the rest of the world knew. He did it because there was no other way: Shinichi's morals and since of justice would not allow him such liberties, and neither would Kaito's sense of self preservation.
He knew, even if they, one day, met in the daylight that they'd be just the same. Kaito could be no other way with Shinichi. They would always have moonlight, and secrets, and lies, and monocles that only they, personally, could take off. They couldn't strip everything away from each other, because that was all they had, and because the world demanded they be this way.
Kaito was content, and so was Shinichi, for now, at least. Kaito was a Kaitou: He always got what he wanted in the end and, this time, he didn't plan on ever giving back what he'd stolen.
He could never tell anyone why this place meant so much to him; could never tell anyone that he came here for anything more than to see the place that honored so many. Secrets bound his mouth shut, and Eisuke had learned not to ever speak a word of an important secret. He could never tell a soul why he was drawn here, to stand here, gazing at this expanse of wall, but he thought that maybe the other people who sometimes passed by understood.
They looked at that wall much the same as he, but he always stayed and gazed longer.
Eisuke stood, his hands clasped at the small of his back, and gazed through the lenses of his glasses at the memorial wall. White and imposing, it stared back, decorated with a myriad of dark, black, anonymous stars. To the left the American flag hung, and to the right the agency's banner mirrored the country's pride and glory.
Beneath them, those harsh but important stars, the Book of Honor lay silent and weary encased below its thick glass cover, and above the stars the words were all consuming and blatant: In honor of those members of the Central Intelligence Agency who gave their lives in the service of their country.
He could not tell anyone, because even in death some names had to remain a secret, even in death the secrets were too great to be known, but they were honored here. Two stars: Nameless, black, anonymous stars against an immense field of white.
Hondou Ethan.
Hondou Hidemi.
They may be nameless to the rest of the world, but Eisuke's eyes could always spot them, the ones belonging to his family. Eisuke simply knew, and that was enough even if the world never would.
Wataru sat back, staring with wide eyed, almost thoughtless, disbelief at the screen in front of him. It just couldn't be accurate. There was no way. The programming had to be scrambled, or, or, or something. It just...wasn't possible. Maybe he'd accidentally screwed up the search? It hadn't happened before, but, hey, everyone had off days and Wataru was rather used to having his at the least opportune times.
How many of his attempts to get closer to the lovely Satou had been foiled thus far?
Wataru hung his head, letting out a forlorn sigh. He'd rather not think about it.
Still...
Leaning forward in the rather decrepit computer chair with a creak he squinted at the computer screen. No matter what he did, no matter how many times he rubbed his eyes, or gulped down a half a cup of coffee (and the mug was empty so he'd tried this twice) the results remained the same: The fingerprint database continued to insist that it had had not one, but two hits off a single set of prints.
Edogawa Conan and Kudou Shinichi apparently had identical fingerprints.
Sitting back with another squeaky creak Wataru crossed his arms over his chest and stared at the flickering screen of the computer. People weren't supposed to have the same fingerprints, yet, here he was, having just run a check on the prints off the phone that foreign FBI woman had brought in and it refused to say anything else.
The only possibilities were that, maybe, someone had changed things, but there was no real motive for that so all that remained...
Conan-kun was Kudou Shinichi, and that made even less sense.
Kaito disappeared with his usual explosion of smoke, though not before taking his usual parting shot at Hakuba and chucking a banana custard at the poor half-Brit. Well used to this (After the glitter, water, ferrets, and clothing change– a purple pimp suit, really?! –and a fair dozen other horrible things.) Hakuba ducked neatly out of the way. Unfortunately the same could not be said for Heiji who was standing somewhere behind him.
There was a singular loud squelch. Heiji froze, arms going stiff at his sides as custard slid off his face and down his front, spattered gloriously across his dark hair and skin. Growling angrily the Osakan reached up and pawed the mess from his eyes.
Hakuba stood looking side long at the steaming Osakan detective with half lidded eyes and a slight smirk on his face.
“Don't give me that look,” Heiji growled, pointedly sending a dark glare Hakuba's way.
Hakuba affected a look of innocence. “What look would that be, Hattori-kun?”
“Or that innocent look,” came the snarled reply. Huffing in displeasure Heiji flicked one hand to fling off the banana flavored goo clinging to his fingers. “I just got outta the shower too...”
“My apologies?” Hakuba asked, not sounding apologetic at all.
Heiji shot the half-Brit a particularly dark look. “No, yer not. Yer not sorry at all.”
“This is not my fault. Kuroba-kun was the one who threw it.”
“But you ducked it,” retorted Heiji irately. The Osakan took a half step forward, face twisted into a grand show of temper. He might have been intimidating if he wasn't covered in custard. Then, smirking a bit dangerously he said, “Ya should've taken yer punishment like a man. Yer used to it after all.”
Looking, and sounding scandalized, Hakuba asked, voice slightly sharp, “Are you saying I should have let myself be hit?”
“YES!” Heiji bellowed.
Placidly, Hakuba blandly said, “I see. So that's how it is Hattori-kun?”
Conan, sitting on the couch and watching the entire thing, muttered softly, “The one good thing about this, is the idiot rarely targets me.” Propping his elbow on his knee the shrunken detective watched the duo go at it like a particularly interesting tennis match. “Classic. Put them in the same room and you get instant entertainment.”
The banter suddenly halted so fast the sound of proverbial tires squealing could be heard. As one the two normal sized detective's turned considering gazes on their tiny counterpart.
“Far be it from us to allow Kudou-kun to be neglected,” Hakuba said after several moments.
“Yer right about that.”
“They do say sharing is good manners, after all.”
And, with that, Heiji attempted to grab the small detective. Conan, however, proved as slippery as ever, and ducked under the Osakan's incoming arms then scampered across the room to duck under the table. It was just tall enough for him to run under without any hindrance, but small enough that the larger detective's would be forced to get down on their hands and knees to get at him. Conan smirked smugly. For once his tiny stature was actually useful.
“That isn't going to save you, Kudou-kun,” Hakuba murmured.
Conan scoffed, watching the two's legs through the forest of chairs. For once the two seemed to be in accord. It would just figure that that accord circled around making Conan's life miserable.
“You take that side, I'll take this one!” Heiji called, just before he ducked down and dove under the table at the small detective.
Conan quickly ducked under one of the nearby chairs and squirmed through, popping out the other side and darting for the cover of the couch. Hakuba, using his best Kid Tackling Skills, made a go for the shrunken detective just as Heiji burst out from under the table, scrambling after Conan. The two went down in a tangle of flailing limbs, and swearing, as custard got smeared and spread around.
Behind the couch, Conan snickered at their plight.
Shoving at Hakuba, Heiji tried to disentangle them.
“Do watch where you're putting your hands, Hattori!” Hakuba yelped, giving the Osakan detective a hard shove and scrambling, crab-like, away from him.
“Like I wanted ta touch you anyway!” Heiji roared in response.
“That's rich,” Conan called. “And here I was thinking I was the kid around here.”
The two zeroed in on Conan then, and together relaunched their assault. Eventually Hakuba managed to grab him despite his best efforts. Now, all three, thoroughly covered in custard, stood in the middle of the room.
“You realize,” Conan said, voice mildly irate, “that this calls for revenge.”
“Quite,” Hakuba concurred.
“But, how?” asked Heiji.
“If we reciprocated and dropped food on the fool he'd likely thank us and start eating it,” Hakuba pointed out.
Conan snorted in agreement. “And if we used glitter he'd thank us for making him pretty.”
Hakuba pursed his lips, “And, no doubt, want to share.” He'd had quite enough glitter to last a life time, and was, in fact, still picking the stuff out of the strangest places.
An epiphany occurred in the smallest detective's eyes, and he grinned sharply. “We need a trap,” said Conan slowly. “and we need bait.” Above him, the two slowly turned to look down at the, apparently, unaware boy.
Hakuba raised a brow at Heiji who grinned, shark-like, and said, “You make good bait.”
Conan's head jerked up, and, without a word, he attempted to make a run for it only to find himself scooped up by Hakuba. Squawking indignantly the boy flailed and squirmed.
“It's all fer the sake of revenge,” Heiji reminded him.
“Yes,” Hakuba agreed. “We've the bait, now for the trap...”
At that moment the sound of footsteps, and cheerful humming, could be heard, fast approaching. Having yet to form any coherent plan the two normal detective's looked back and forth at each other. Conan hung in Hakuba's grip, small arms crossed as he pouted grandly. Kaito rounded the corner and strode into the room, taking the scene in at a glance just as Hakuba tossed Conan to Heiji.
A puff of smoke appeared in the air, the boy vanishing to reappear in Kaito's arms with a wide eyed look on his bespectacled face. Kaito cooed at him, “What's the matter?”
Then, just as quickly, the befuddled look disappeared and Conan shoved a fish plushie (Where he had gotten it would forever remain a mystery.) directly in Kaito's face. The magician shrieked in utmost terror, tossing the poor boy in the air as he made a dash for it.
Arcing through the air Conan squawked and flailed, and, luckily, landed back in Hakuba's grip. The three stood (or, dangled, in Conan's case), staring after the departed magician. Finally Conan gave vent to a triumphant smirk and said, rather smugly, “I knew mentioning bait was a good idea.”
The room was small, the paint on the walls peeling and the carpeting thin and threadbare. Every piece of furniture was sparse and worn; the veneer heavily scratched until it no longer shown in patches. Through the thin curtains the light of the city lanced, casting lines of man made light against the walls, walls that were a riot of posters used to cover holes and dents in the plaster: Scantily clad women brandishing weapons of all variety.
It didn't really mesh with the man sleeping in the bed at all, twisted dark hair splayed against the dirty white of his pillow. He lay on his stomach, arms curled under the pillow, the sheets down around his hips, bare skin highlighted by a trail of off color light.
Gin moved forward, platinum hair fanning out behind him. He prowled, black coat making little to no sound as the heavy folds shifted with his every step. The heavy soles of his boots touched softly against the thin carpeting with each step until he was standing over the low bed. His fingers twitched against the pistol in his hand, caressing the trigger lovingly as Gin leaned over Akai's prone form.
In seconds the dark haired man twisted around, the sheets slipping lower, his hand flew up to press his own gun against Gin's temple, just beneath the brim of the man's hat. The barrel of Gin's own gun hovered inches from Akai's forehead, right between his eyes.
“Rye,” Gin breathed the single word voice dark. He lowered himself down, the bed dipping beneath his weight as he settled alongside Akai's hip.
The barrel of Gin's gun was still warm from his latest kill, while Akai's was cold as the grave, but warming against his skin. Akai's mouth twitched into a razor edged smirk, curling and elongated to show a hint of teeth. Gin bared his own in a mockery of a sane smile.
“Gin,” Akai returned, voice placidly neutral. “Going to kill me?”
There was no fear.
“I should. You're too complacent.”
“Go ahead.”
But, even as he said it the barrel of the cold gun traced back along the side of Gin's head, pushing snarled platinum hair back, drawing along his ear in a dangerous, barely there way. A flick upward and it dislodged Gin's hat to fall to the ground with a hollow sound against the thin, dirty carpet.
Gin sneered, “I'll kill you on my time, never when you want me to.”
The cool metal of the gun slid down again, along his cheek bone before passing over his lower lip. Gin smirked against it, danger and threat were nothing but a game that made the heat of their encounter all the better.
“Only when you're ordered.”
Akai's hand caught behind Gin's head, pressing the hard lines of the gun into the back of his skull through the mess of his hair, and pulled down. Gin let him, the barrel of his still warm gun knocking against Akai's forehead before the dark haired man's hand knocked it aside.
There was nothing gentle or tender about the meeting of lips between them. It wasn't a kiss: It was too bestial and violent to be anything so romanticized. The heavy folds of Gin's coat fell around them as did the twisted snarls of his hair. Outside sirens wailed a tireless song.
The rhythmic stab of traditional steel needles into his skin had long ago fallen away into the background. Shuuichi lay on his stomach, arms crossed beneath his head and his eyes heavily lidded. The scent of the ink, the sumi, pervaded his senses as did the heady rush of adrenaline brought forth by the pain. It washed him away on heavy, time swallowing, waves.
He could remember the first time he'd really seen horimono up close, splashed in saturated colors across Gin's skin. He'd been bleeding, his lip split open, and a sly smirk on his lips that pissed the long haired man off to no end. It had been like tickling the toes of a tiger.
Shuuichi could never recall how it had degenerated, how Gin's coat, and shirt had gotten shoved back to reveal the tattoos covering him beneath, could remember seeing them in the watery neon glow.
Sakura blossoms and chrysanthemums nestled in a whorl of dark gray clouds in which mirroring tigers and a large, vicious, dragon had pranced. He could remember wondering what all those well crafted lines had covered as he traced them with his tongue, while they writhed against each other, high off the rush of the latest job. He had been shameless, his hand gripping a fist full of Gin's tangled hair.
It wasn't until later, when he'd stumbled into the small dingy apartment he was calling home while he worked undercover, that it all rushed back to him: what he'd done, what had occurred. All trembling limbs and regret for another dirty job, but pride and determination not to let it ever show. He'd put himself in this position, taken it, wanted it, would see it through and never let anything stop him. No matter how much those sordid little memories and meetings woke him at night, sweating and panting, and hungry...
That was done and gone now, a blistered memory of neon glow, dark wet allies, and moist flesh. An unspoken bit of history best left alone, but which he revisited all the same. It was all for the sake of the mission, he told himself, and maybe it was or wasn't.
He would never know.
Still, the feeling of ink, the needles piercing his skin, in and rise and back and in, lulled him. Despite the taboo, despite the stigma, it felt almost like it was cleaning away some dark, dirtied, part of him, even as he knew it was a memory being laid forever into his flesh. His dirty, inescapable memory.
He really wasn't sure how it had happened. One minute he was chasing the damnable thief around the display cases and towering sets of samurai armor perched on mock-up samurai armored horses, and the next his cloths were gone, shredded, and falling all around him like confetti.
Shinichi gave a startled squeak, back pedaling faster than he ever had in his life to put a rather nice display of old swords between him, and the task force and news crew. Several feet ahead of him, and dodging Hakuba who was trying, determinedly, to get a pair of cuffs on any part of the thief he could reach, Kid glanced up, caught sight of him, and stumbled to a halt, nearly loosing his balance and falling, face first, to the highly polished floor. Hakuba took the opportunity to snap a cuff around Kid's wrist, with a smug grin, before glancing along the gaping criminal's line of sight.
The Great Detective of the East went even redder, and tried, valiantly, to sink into the floor.
A little pon announced that Kid had recovered, and a small cloud of smoke enveloped him and Hakuba. A moment later the two appeared right in front of Shinichi. Hakuba was looking a little dazed like someone had waltzed him around in circles... Shinichi wouldn't be very surprised if Kid had done just that. He wouldn't put it passed the thief.
Kid gave him a leering once over, a particularly lewd expression on his face before, even with the cuff on one hand, he undid the clasps and knobs holding his cape in place, and, much like a gallant gentleman, draped the slightly heavy white fabric around Shinichi's shoulders.
Automatically the detective clasped the edges of the cape, tugging it around himself defensively, and if he rubbed his cheek against the material no one saw it, except, maybe, Kid and Hakuba. The thief pranced forward, just as, conveniently, the lights went out leaving the confused task force stumbling around in the dark, and draped himself around Shinichi's shoulders. This, of course, dragged Hakuba tight against the other detective's front half.
“Kid...” Hakuba growled.
The thief sniggered, and lapped the shell of Shinichi's ear happily, “Come on, I'll take you home. I need my cape back, after all.”
Breathless for a second, pinned between the pair, Shinichi licked his lips and tried to formulate a response.
“I suppose then,” Hakuba murmured, breath puffing against Shinichi's cheek. “I should probably chaperone. Can't have Kid slipping away, after all.”
The low, dark, purr in Shinichi's ear, and the arm around his waist told the tell as well as the words the followed, “I have no intentions of 'slipping away', not yet at any rate. The night is yet to begin...”
Somehow, Shinichi got the feeling that Kid had engineered everything to end up just like this and, after a moment, decided it probably wasn't a bad thing. Leaning back into the thief's embrace he used one fist to tug Hakuba closer, ghosting a kiss under his jaw. “Let's go then. I don't want to be on TV in nothing but Kaitou Kid's cape.”
Shinichi frowned, snatching the box of granola from Kaito's hands as the spy attempted to add it to their already overloaded basket. “We don't need any of this.”
“Aw, why not?” Kaito sighed exasperatedly. “Aren't you supposed to be an advocate for healthy eating? You are a doctor after all.”
Frowning more, and pretending that he wasn't staring at the other man's ass what with the way the worn denim of his jeans molded perfectly to the contours of said posterior, Shinichi rebutted, “That doesn't mean I like granola.”
Ahead of him, and bouncing along cheerfully like an overgrown toddler, Kaito made a little 'pfft' sound. “Yeah, yeah... Hey, if you hadn't become a doctor what would you be doing?”
Shinichi's frown deepened until a small crease formed between his brows. Kaito wasn't even watching him, far more interested in the displays of goods in front of him. The other man even seemed to be humming a catchy little tune. Turning away, because Kaito was practically dancing and Shinichi was a young man with a perfectly healthy libido, he eyed the nearby shelves and replied dryly, “I wanted to be a detective when I was younger, then my dad died working a case.”
“Ouch. Police seem to have a rather bad life expectancy around here.”
Shinichi nodded faintly, understanding the reference to Kaito's own past and how a friend's father had died. “My father wasn't a police officer, he was a mystery writer.”
Kaito appeared at his elbow then, face twisted up in bafflement, “Why was he doing casework then?”
Shrugging absently, Shinichi turned to face him, getting momentarily sidetracked with the whole being close to his object of affections thing. He was pretty sure that there was supposed to be some sort of tense awkwardness wherein he contemplated what it would be like to kiss him, and how amazing Kaito's looks were, but all Shinichi could think about was how unhealthy the dark smudges under his eyes were. Well, that, and the fact that Kaito had and amusing cluster of very faint freckles to the left of his nose.
Turning and walking away, the young doctor called back, “He liked playing detective, that's why I don't.”
“Huh. So you'd rather play Watson than Holmes?”
That caused a pause on Shinichi's part and he peered back over his shoulder at Kaito who followed him like a faithful puppy. “How do you even know that reference?”
“Aside from the fact that almost the entire world knows Holmes?” Kaito asked cheerfully, and Shinichi nodded promptly. “I got bored the other night while you were working the emergency graveyard shift.”
Giving a noncommittal 'Ah' in reply, Shinichi proceeded to carry their goods toward the check out, silently amused with how comfortable this entire thing was. Ever since he'd run into Kaito, who was working on infiltrating some sort of high level evil organization as some sort of spy to gain justice for the murder of his father by his apprentice in a bid to gain Kaito's inheritance, or maybe that was a lie and Kuroba Kaito was merely an insane hobo– Shinichi wasn't sure which, but the blood and urine tests Shinichi had not so subtly gotten from his house guest were all clean so... –they'd ended up living together for some reason.
Probably because Shinichi was lonely as hell, and had the room.
“So,” Kaito hummed, dancing idly to the crappy music being piped through the store much to the gawking happiness of the idiot drooling behind the cash register. Shinichi tried to count out his money and watch the rather interesting way Kaito was wriggling his hips at the same time. “What's on the schedule for tonight Dr. Kudou?”
“I'd like to play doctor with you,” Shinichi replied baldly, not really thinking about it until he'd said the words and then not caring to retract them.
Kaito blinked, then flashed him a lascivious grin. “Only if I get to be the doctor and give you a full physical,” he said, wriggling his fingers in a rather lewd and telling manner.
Okay, so, maybe getting into Kaito's pants wasn't going to be as hard as Shinichi had expected it to be, but then tact and subtlety had never been his strong suit. He was rather known for saying the first thing that came to mind. Tilting his head he gave the thought some due consideration then nodded, “Sure.”
Kaito's leer widened cheerfully in response, and he sent the gobsmacked cashier a pleased look. “So, do you guys sell lube?”
Pairings:
KaiShin x2
AkaiGin x2
Gen x3
KaiHakuShin x1
Rating: T/M
Warnings: Drabbles/Ficbits. Precisely Why Not is from the same 'verse as my Sekrit Christmas Projekt fic
Genre: Multiple
Delusions of Moonlight
words: 626
words: 626
Kaito always went to him in the guise of Kid, because they had yet to meet in the light of day. Fate hadn't been so kind as to allow an open windowed opportunity like that and, even then, it would still be different. Because Kaito wasn't Kid and Kaito wasn't really Kaito and, yet, he was. He had so many distinct personalities that he used, so many acts, that Kaito had trouble remembering which ones were real. Shinichi seemed to know, though. Shinichi told him he acted real with him.
Still, sometimes he wanted to be able to be seen with Shinichi in the daylight: To see the way sun highlighted Shinichi's dark hair, or shadows under a tree played over his eyes, or the way he'd move through a crowd that had nothing to do with running to catch a thief.
Despite that want, almost a painful need, Kaito also cherished their little moonlit liaisons. It was a secret the world would never know, protected by the thin fabric of darkness. It was a risk, and exposure was always a single mistake away. He was both chilled, and thrilled, every time he leapt from his home, not to go and steal a priceless jewel but to steal a kiss or two or three from a young man he adored.
Shinichi had many strange habits. Some of them he found amusing and endearing, others frustrating, and some still were simply confusing. Take, for example, the fact that Shinichi would never touch his monocle. No matter what was occurring, he would never even make a move toward it. Kaito could have him drawn close, wrapped in his arms, the thick fabric of his cape falling around them, their lips sealed in a slow passionate kiss that burned them, and Shinichi would simply clutch at him.
Kaito never understood why, so he asked because, after all, Shinichi knew very well who he was. Nights had been spent, sitting together and whispering secrets of their daily lives like it were those that were unreal; like it was the lives they lived in the daylight that were the big secret, not this hidden reality in the moonlight. Shinichi knew all about Kuroba Kaito, and Kaito knew all about Edogawa Conan, and the Kudou Shinichi that the world saw. He saw someone different. Shincihi was real with him, too.
Shinichi's answer had been simple yet complex: 'If I don't take it off, I haven't unmasked you, and I don't have to lie as much.'
He didn't really understand it, because it was still lying. He supposed, however, that Shinichi knew a little more about lying to protect other people. Kaito lied to preserve himself.
So, it was Kaito would would take the monocle off, set it aside, and become Kaito rather than Kid just so that Shinichi could continue deluding himself that he didn't, in fact, have any knowledge of Kid beyond what the rest of the world knew. He did it because there was no other way: Shinichi's morals and since of justice would not allow him such liberties, and neither would Kaito's sense of self preservation.
He knew, even if they, one day, met in the daylight that they'd be just the same. Kaito could be no other way with Shinichi. They would always have moonlight, and secrets, and lies, and monocles that only they, personally, could take off. They couldn't strip everything away from each other, because that was all they had, and because the world demanded they be this way.
Kaito was content, and so was Shinichi, for now, at least. Kaito was a Kaitou: He always got what he wanted in the end and, this time, he didn't plan on ever giving back what he'd stolen.
Your Star
words: 296
words: 296
He could never tell anyone why this place meant so much to him; could never tell anyone that he came here for anything more than to see the place that honored so many. Secrets bound his mouth shut, and Eisuke had learned not to ever speak a word of an important secret. He could never tell a soul why he was drawn here, to stand here, gazing at this expanse of wall, but he thought that maybe the other people who sometimes passed by understood.
They looked at that wall much the same as he, but he always stayed and gazed longer.
Eisuke stood, his hands clasped at the small of his back, and gazed through the lenses of his glasses at the memorial wall. White and imposing, it stared back, decorated with a myriad of dark, black, anonymous stars. To the left the American flag hung, and to the right the agency's banner mirrored the country's pride and glory.
Beneath them, those harsh but important stars, the Book of Honor lay silent and weary encased below its thick glass cover, and above the stars the words were all consuming and blatant: In honor of those members of the Central Intelligence Agency who gave their lives in the service of their country.
He could not tell anyone, because even in death some names had to remain a secret, even in death the secrets were too great to be known, but they were honored here. Two stars: Nameless, black, anonymous stars against an immense field of white.
Hondou Ethan.
Hondou Hidemi.
They may be nameless to the rest of the world, but Eisuke's eyes could always spot them, the ones belonging to his family. Eisuke simply knew, and that was enough even if the world never would.
Suspension of Disbelief
words: 278
words: 278
Wataru sat back, staring with wide eyed, almost thoughtless, disbelief at the screen in front of him. It just couldn't be accurate. There was no way. The programming had to be scrambled, or, or, or something. It just...wasn't possible. Maybe he'd accidentally screwed up the search? It hadn't happened before, but, hey, everyone had off days and Wataru was rather used to having his at the least opportune times.
How many of his attempts to get closer to the lovely Satou had been foiled thus far?
Wataru hung his head, letting out a forlorn sigh. He'd rather not think about it.
Still...
Leaning forward in the rather decrepit computer chair with a creak he squinted at the computer screen. No matter what he did, no matter how many times he rubbed his eyes, or gulped down a half a cup of coffee (and the mug was empty so he'd tried this twice) the results remained the same: The fingerprint database continued to insist that it had had not one, but two hits off a single set of prints.
Edogawa Conan and Kudou Shinichi apparently had identical fingerprints.
Sitting back with another squeaky creak Wataru crossed his arms over his chest and stared at the flickering screen of the computer. People weren't supposed to have the same fingerprints, yet, here he was, having just run a check on the prints off the phone that foreign FBI woman had brought in and it refused to say anything else.
The only possibilities were that, maybe, someone had changed things, but there was no real motive for that so all that remained...
Conan-kun was Kudou Shinichi, and that made even less sense.
Baiting the Trap
words: 1181
words: 1181
Kaito disappeared with his usual explosion of smoke, though not before taking his usual parting shot at Hakuba and chucking a banana custard at the poor half-Brit. Well used to this (After the glitter, water, ferrets, and clothing change– a purple pimp suit, really?! –and a fair dozen other horrible things.) Hakuba ducked neatly out of the way. Unfortunately the same could not be said for Heiji who was standing somewhere behind him.
There was a singular loud squelch. Heiji froze, arms going stiff at his sides as custard slid off his face and down his front, spattered gloriously across his dark hair and skin. Growling angrily the Osakan reached up and pawed the mess from his eyes.
Hakuba stood looking side long at the steaming Osakan detective with half lidded eyes and a slight smirk on his face.
“Don't give me that look,” Heiji growled, pointedly sending a dark glare Hakuba's way.
Hakuba affected a look of innocence. “What look would that be, Hattori-kun?”
“Or that innocent look,” came the snarled reply. Huffing in displeasure Heiji flicked one hand to fling off the banana flavored goo clinging to his fingers. “I just got outta the shower too...”
“My apologies?” Hakuba asked, not sounding apologetic at all.
Heiji shot the half-Brit a particularly dark look. “No, yer not. Yer not sorry at all.”
“This is not my fault. Kuroba-kun was the one who threw it.”
“But you ducked it,” retorted Heiji irately. The Osakan took a half step forward, face twisted into a grand show of temper. He might have been intimidating if he wasn't covered in custard. Then, smirking a bit dangerously he said, “Ya should've taken yer punishment like a man. Yer used to it after all.”
Looking, and sounding scandalized, Hakuba asked, voice slightly sharp, “Are you saying I should have let myself be hit?”
“YES!” Heiji bellowed.
Placidly, Hakuba blandly said, “I see. So that's how it is Hattori-kun?”
Conan, sitting on the couch and watching the entire thing, muttered softly, “The one good thing about this, is the idiot rarely targets me.” Propping his elbow on his knee the shrunken detective watched the duo go at it like a particularly interesting tennis match. “Classic. Put them in the same room and you get instant entertainment.”
The banter suddenly halted so fast the sound of proverbial tires squealing could be heard. As one the two normal sized detective's turned considering gazes on their tiny counterpart.
“Far be it from us to allow Kudou-kun to be neglected,” Hakuba said after several moments.
“Yer right about that.”
“They do say sharing is good manners, after all.”
And, with that, Heiji attempted to grab the small detective. Conan, however, proved as slippery as ever, and ducked under the Osakan's incoming arms then scampered across the room to duck under the table. It was just tall enough for him to run under without any hindrance, but small enough that the larger detective's would be forced to get down on their hands and knees to get at him. Conan smirked smugly. For once his tiny stature was actually useful.
“That isn't going to save you, Kudou-kun,” Hakuba murmured.
Conan scoffed, watching the two's legs through the forest of chairs. For once the two seemed to be in accord. It would just figure that that accord circled around making Conan's life miserable.
“You take that side, I'll take this one!” Heiji called, just before he ducked down and dove under the table at the small detective.
Conan quickly ducked under one of the nearby chairs and squirmed through, popping out the other side and darting for the cover of the couch. Hakuba, using his best Kid Tackling Skills, made a go for the shrunken detective just as Heiji burst out from under the table, scrambling after Conan. The two went down in a tangle of flailing limbs, and swearing, as custard got smeared and spread around.
Behind the couch, Conan snickered at their plight.
Shoving at Hakuba, Heiji tried to disentangle them.
“Do watch where you're putting your hands, Hattori!” Hakuba yelped, giving the Osakan detective a hard shove and scrambling, crab-like, away from him.
“Like I wanted ta touch you anyway!” Heiji roared in response.
“That's rich,” Conan called. “And here I was thinking I was the kid around here.”
The two zeroed in on Conan then, and together relaunched their assault. Eventually Hakuba managed to grab him despite his best efforts. Now, all three, thoroughly covered in custard, stood in the middle of the room.
“You realize,” Conan said, voice mildly irate, “that this calls for revenge.”
“Quite,” Hakuba concurred.
“But, how?” asked Heiji.
“If we reciprocated and dropped food on the fool he'd likely thank us and start eating it,” Hakuba pointed out.
Conan snorted in agreement. “And if we used glitter he'd thank us for making him pretty.”
Hakuba pursed his lips, “And, no doubt, want to share.” He'd had quite enough glitter to last a life time, and was, in fact, still picking the stuff out of the strangest places.
An epiphany occurred in the smallest detective's eyes, and he grinned sharply. “We need a trap,” said Conan slowly. “and we need bait.” Above him, the two slowly turned to look down at the, apparently, unaware boy.
Hakuba raised a brow at Heiji who grinned, shark-like, and said, “You make good bait.”
Conan's head jerked up, and, without a word, he attempted to make a run for it only to find himself scooped up by Hakuba. Squawking indignantly the boy flailed and squirmed.
“It's all fer the sake of revenge,” Heiji reminded him.
“Yes,” Hakuba agreed. “We've the bait, now for the trap...”
At that moment the sound of footsteps, and cheerful humming, could be heard, fast approaching. Having yet to form any coherent plan the two normal detective's looked back and forth at each other. Conan hung in Hakuba's grip, small arms crossed as he pouted grandly. Kaito rounded the corner and strode into the room, taking the scene in at a glance just as Hakuba tossed Conan to Heiji.
A puff of smoke appeared in the air, the boy vanishing to reappear in Kaito's arms with a wide eyed look on his bespectacled face. Kaito cooed at him, “What's the matter?”
Then, just as quickly, the befuddled look disappeared and Conan shoved a fish plushie (Where he had gotten it would forever remain a mystery.) directly in Kaito's face. The magician shrieked in utmost terror, tossing the poor boy in the air as he made a dash for it.
Arcing through the air Conan squawked and flailed, and, luckily, landed back in Hakuba's grip. The three stood (or, dangled, in Conan's case), staring after the departed magician. Finally Conan gave vent to a triumphant smirk and said, rather smugly, “I knew mentioning bait was a good idea.”
Arma-goddamn-motherfucking-geddon
words: 567
words: 567
The room was small, the paint on the walls peeling and the carpeting thin and threadbare. Every piece of furniture was sparse and worn; the veneer heavily scratched until it no longer shown in patches. Through the thin curtains the light of the city lanced, casting lines of man made light against the walls, walls that were a riot of posters used to cover holes and dents in the plaster: Scantily clad women brandishing weapons of all variety.
It didn't really mesh with the man sleeping in the bed at all, twisted dark hair splayed against the dirty white of his pillow. He lay on his stomach, arms curled under the pillow, the sheets down around his hips, bare skin highlighted by a trail of off color light.
Gin moved forward, platinum hair fanning out behind him. He prowled, black coat making little to no sound as the heavy folds shifted with his every step. The heavy soles of his boots touched softly against the thin carpeting with each step until he was standing over the low bed. His fingers twitched against the pistol in his hand, caressing the trigger lovingly as Gin leaned over Akai's prone form.
In seconds the dark haired man twisted around, the sheets slipping lower, his hand flew up to press his own gun against Gin's temple, just beneath the brim of the man's hat. The barrel of Gin's own gun hovered inches from Akai's forehead, right between his eyes.
“Rye,” Gin breathed the single word voice dark. He lowered himself down, the bed dipping beneath his weight as he settled alongside Akai's hip.
The barrel of Gin's gun was still warm from his latest kill, while Akai's was cold as the grave, but warming against his skin. Akai's mouth twitched into a razor edged smirk, curling and elongated to show a hint of teeth. Gin bared his own in a mockery of a sane smile.
“Gin,” Akai returned, voice placidly neutral. “Going to kill me?”
There was no fear.
“I should. You're too complacent.”
“Go ahead.”
But, even as he said it the barrel of the cold gun traced back along the side of Gin's head, pushing snarled platinum hair back, drawing along his ear in a dangerous, barely there way. A flick upward and it dislodged Gin's hat to fall to the ground with a hollow sound against the thin, dirty carpet.
Gin sneered, “I'll kill you on my time, never when you want me to.”
The cool metal of the gun slid down again, along his cheek bone before passing over his lower lip. Gin smirked against it, danger and threat were nothing but a game that made the heat of their encounter all the better.
“Only when you're ordered.”
Akai's hand caught behind Gin's head, pressing the hard lines of the gun into the back of his skull through the mess of his hair, and pulled down. Gin let him, the barrel of his still warm gun knocking against Akai's forehead before the dark haired man's hand knocked it aside.
There was nothing gentle or tender about the meeting of lips between them. It wasn't a kiss: It was too bestial and violent to be anything so romanticized. The heavy folds of Gin's coat fell around them as did the twisted snarls of his hair. Outside sirens wailed a tireless song.
Memoirs in Ink
words: 423
words: 423
The rhythmic stab of traditional steel needles into his skin had long ago fallen away into the background. Shuuichi lay on his stomach, arms crossed beneath his head and his eyes heavily lidded. The scent of the ink, the sumi, pervaded his senses as did the heady rush of adrenaline brought forth by the pain. It washed him away on heavy, time swallowing, waves.
He could remember the first time he'd really seen horimono up close, splashed in saturated colors across Gin's skin. He'd been bleeding, his lip split open, and a sly smirk on his lips that pissed the long haired man off to no end. It had been like tickling the toes of a tiger.
Shuuichi could never recall how it had degenerated, how Gin's coat, and shirt had gotten shoved back to reveal the tattoos covering him beneath, could remember seeing them in the watery neon glow.
Sakura blossoms and chrysanthemums nestled in a whorl of dark gray clouds in which mirroring tigers and a large, vicious, dragon had pranced. He could remember wondering what all those well crafted lines had covered as he traced them with his tongue, while they writhed against each other, high off the rush of the latest job. He had been shameless, his hand gripping a fist full of Gin's tangled hair.
It wasn't until later, when he'd stumbled into the small dingy apartment he was calling home while he worked undercover, that it all rushed back to him: what he'd done, what had occurred. All trembling limbs and regret for another dirty job, but pride and determination not to let it ever show. He'd put himself in this position, taken it, wanted it, would see it through and never let anything stop him. No matter how much those sordid little memories and meetings woke him at night, sweating and panting, and hungry...
That was done and gone now, a blistered memory of neon glow, dark wet allies, and moist flesh. An unspoken bit of history best left alone, but which he revisited all the same. It was all for the sake of the mission, he told himself, and maybe it was or wasn't.
He would never know.
Still, the feeling of ink, the needles piercing his skin, in and rise and back and in, lulled him. Despite the taboo, despite the stigma, it felt almost like it was cleaning away some dark, dirtied, part of him, even as he knew it was a memory being laid forever into his flesh. His dirty, inescapable memory.
Precisely Why Not
words: 529
words: 529
He really wasn't sure how it had happened. One minute he was chasing the damnable thief around the display cases and towering sets of samurai armor perched on mock-up samurai armored horses, and the next his cloths were gone, shredded, and falling all around him like confetti.
Shinichi gave a startled squeak, back pedaling faster than he ever had in his life to put a rather nice display of old swords between him, and the task force and news crew. Several feet ahead of him, and dodging Hakuba who was trying, determinedly, to get a pair of cuffs on any part of the thief he could reach, Kid glanced up, caught sight of him, and stumbled to a halt, nearly loosing his balance and falling, face first, to the highly polished floor. Hakuba took the opportunity to snap a cuff around Kid's wrist, with a smug grin, before glancing along the gaping criminal's line of sight.
The Great Detective of the East went even redder, and tried, valiantly, to sink into the floor.
A little pon announced that Kid had recovered, and a small cloud of smoke enveloped him and Hakuba. A moment later the two appeared right in front of Shinichi. Hakuba was looking a little dazed like someone had waltzed him around in circles... Shinichi wouldn't be very surprised if Kid had done just that. He wouldn't put it passed the thief.
Kid gave him a leering once over, a particularly lewd expression on his face before, even with the cuff on one hand, he undid the clasps and knobs holding his cape in place, and, much like a gallant gentleman, draped the slightly heavy white fabric around Shinichi's shoulders.
Automatically the detective clasped the edges of the cape, tugging it around himself defensively, and if he rubbed his cheek against the material no one saw it, except, maybe, Kid and Hakuba. The thief pranced forward, just as, conveniently, the lights went out leaving the confused task force stumbling around in the dark, and draped himself around Shinichi's shoulders. This, of course, dragged Hakuba tight against the other detective's front half.
“Kid...” Hakuba growled.
The thief sniggered, and lapped the shell of Shinichi's ear happily, “Come on, I'll take you home. I need my cape back, after all.”
Breathless for a second, pinned between the pair, Shinichi licked his lips and tried to formulate a response.
“I suppose then,” Hakuba murmured, breath puffing against Shinichi's cheek. “I should probably chaperone. Can't have Kid slipping away, after all.”
The low, dark, purr in Shinichi's ear, and the arm around his waist told the tell as well as the words the followed, “I have no intentions of 'slipping away', not yet at any rate. The night is yet to begin...”
Somehow, Shinichi got the feeling that Kid had engineered everything to end up just like this and, after a moment, decided it probably wasn't a bad thing. Leaning back into the thief's embrace he used one fist to tug Hakuba closer, ghosting a kiss under his jaw. “Let's go then. I don't want to be on TV in nothing but Kaitou Kid's cape.”
Eye Spy
words: 778
words: 778
Shinichi frowned, snatching the box of granola from Kaito's hands as the spy attempted to add it to their already overloaded basket. “We don't need any of this.”
“Aw, why not?” Kaito sighed exasperatedly. “Aren't you supposed to be an advocate for healthy eating? You are a doctor after all.”
Frowning more, and pretending that he wasn't staring at the other man's ass what with the way the worn denim of his jeans molded perfectly to the contours of said posterior, Shinichi rebutted, “That doesn't mean I like granola.”
Ahead of him, and bouncing along cheerfully like an overgrown toddler, Kaito made a little 'pfft' sound. “Yeah, yeah... Hey, if you hadn't become a doctor what would you be doing?”
Shinichi's frown deepened until a small crease formed between his brows. Kaito wasn't even watching him, far more interested in the displays of goods in front of him. The other man even seemed to be humming a catchy little tune. Turning away, because Kaito was practically dancing and Shinichi was a young man with a perfectly healthy libido, he eyed the nearby shelves and replied dryly, “I wanted to be a detective when I was younger, then my dad died working a case.”
“Ouch. Police seem to have a rather bad life expectancy around here.”
Shinichi nodded faintly, understanding the reference to Kaito's own past and how a friend's father had died. “My father wasn't a police officer, he was a mystery writer.”
Kaito appeared at his elbow then, face twisted up in bafflement, “Why was he doing casework then?”
Shrugging absently, Shinichi turned to face him, getting momentarily sidetracked with the whole being close to his object of affections thing. He was pretty sure that there was supposed to be some sort of tense awkwardness wherein he contemplated what it would be like to kiss him, and how amazing Kaito's looks were, but all Shinichi could think about was how unhealthy the dark smudges under his eyes were. Well, that, and the fact that Kaito had and amusing cluster of very faint freckles to the left of his nose.
Turning and walking away, the young doctor called back, “He liked playing detective, that's why I don't.”
“Huh. So you'd rather play Watson than Holmes?”
That caused a pause on Shinichi's part and he peered back over his shoulder at Kaito who followed him like a faithful puppy. “How do you even know that reference?”
“Aside from the fact that almost the entire world knows Holmes?” Kaito asked cheerfully, and Shinichi nodded promptly. “I got bored the other night while you were working the emergency graveyard shift.”
Giving a noncommittal 'Ah' in reply, Shinichi proceeded to carry their goods toward the check out, silently amused with how comfortable this entire thing was. Ever since he'd run into Kaito, who was working on infiltrating some sort of high level evil organization as some sort of spy to gain justice for the murder of his father by his apprentice in a bid to gain Kaito's inheritance, or maybe that was a lie and Kuroba Kaito was merely an insane hobo– Shinichi wasn't sure which, but the blood and urine tests Shinichi had not so subtly gotten from his house guest were all clean so... –they'd ended up living together for some reason.
Probably because Shinichi was lonely as hell, and had the room.
“So,” Kaito hummed, dancing idly to the crappy music being piped through the store much to the gawking happiness of the idiot drooling behind the cash register. Shinichi tried to count out his money and watch the rather interesting way Kaito was wriggling his hips at the same time. “What's on the schedule for tonight Dr. Kudou?”
“I'd like to play doctor with you,” Shinichi replied baldly, not really thinking about it until he'd said the words and then not caring to retract them.
Kaito blinked, then flashed him a lascivious grin. “Only if I get to be the doctor and give you a full physical,” he said, wriggling his fingers in a rather lewd and telling manner.
Okay, so, maybe getting into Kaito's pants wasn't going to be as hard as Shinichi had expected it to be, but then tact and subtlety had never been his strong suit. He was rather known for saying the first thing that came to mind. Tilting his head he gave the thought some due consideration then nodded, “Sure.”
Kaito's leer widened cheerfully in response, and he sent the gobsmacked cashier a pleased look. “So, do you guys sell lube?”
no subject
Keep up the good work!
~Angel