Wild Adapter Fan Fiction ❯ Big Blue Cat ❯ Big Blue Cat ( Chapter 1 )

Big Blue Cat

 

Kubota hesitated outside the door of his apartment, key in one hand, bag in the other, listening. It was quiet, which was a serious improvement on the yelling and destruction that had been in progress when he'd taken off the night before. For a pair of not-very-big people, Fujiwara and Tokitoh could do a hell of a lot of damage…

 

All Kubota had done was say that until they figured out what to do about the thing with Masaki, it would probably be better for Fujiwara to stay at the apartment. His kouhai had ruffled up ; Tokitoh-kun's eyes had narrowed, and the two had stared at each other like cats meeting on a back-alley fence. It was only a matter of time until the fur started to fly.

 

“Kubo-kuuuuuun!” Tokitoh had started it.

 

“Tokitoh doesn't want me here, senpai -“ Fujiwara's lower lip quivered in a way that made Kubota want take it between his teeth and... Tokitoh's zori bounced painfully off the side of Kubota's head, almost knocking his glasses off.

 

“Shit!” Kubota shoved them back into place. “What's wrong with you?”

 

“Stop looking at him like that!”

 

“Kubota-senpai can look at me if he wants to.”

 

The other zori hit Fujiwara between the eyes.

 

Grabbing Tokitoh by the collar of his t-shirt, Kubota dragged him into the genkan and shoved him up against the door.

 

“What do you think you're doing, you idiot?” he hissed.

 

“Get him out of here.”

 

“I can't. You know Masaki's having this place watched. He has to keep thinking that Fujiwara's my -“

 

“Your WHAT? Your fucktoy? He IS your fucktoy.” Tokitoh squirmed angrily and Kubota tightened his grip on the t-shirt. This was really getting out of hand.

 

“Are you…damn. You're jealous, aren't you? Come on, Mino-chan - it's not like I can't take care of both of you…”

 

“Like you're going to get the chance. I'm out of here.” Tokitoh twisted around, half-strangling himself, and scrabbled for the doorhandle.

 

With a sigh, Kubota pinned the younger boy's arms behind him, picked him up and carried him back into the main room, tossing him onto the couch beside Fujiwara, who looked ready to start crying any second.

 

Yatta, Kubota thought, rolling his eyes. One in tears, one raging mad. And both of them so…

 

…so totally fuckable.

 

He had a brief, thoroughly distracting mental flash of what it would be like to have the two of them at the same time: Fujiwara pale and perfect, with his redhead's fine skin and that look in his eyes that said he'd do anything to please his senpai, playing off against the darker, more dangerous appeal of Tokitoh…both naked, both a little sweaty, both HIS…Kubota bit his lip and thought fast. There had to be a way to make this work.

 

He opted for the voice of authority. “Listen. There's not going to be any more discussion. Fujiwara-kun is staying here. If you can't…”

 

That was when Tokitoh had thrown a party-size bottle of Asahi at him and jumped Fujiwara. Before Kubota could do anything about it, the fight had moved from the main room into the kitchen, where it swiftly escalated to involve the rice-cooker (plus rice), the washing-up bowl, a container of cold sesame noodles left over from the night before, and Tokitoh's huge stuffed Doraemon, whatever the hell THAT had been doing in there…

 

The choices seemed limited. Kubota stepped around them, filled the washing-up bowl with cold water from the tap, and upended it over their heads. They jumped apart; Tokitoh bleeding from a split lip (having failed to avoid Fujiwara's tennis-honed backhand) and Fujiwara decorated with a set of clawmarks and a sticky brownish sauce (having failed to avoid the sesame noodles).

 

Taking advantage of their momentary confusion, Kubota half-shoved, half-dragged both combatants into the bedroom, threw Doraemon in after them, and locked the door.

 

“Now fucking sort yourselves out by the time I get back. Remember, if you kill each other, NO ONE is going to get fucked.” And that made about as much sense as anything else anyone had said that evening.

 

The only answer he got was the sound of something heavy falling over on the other side of the door.

 

 

Kubota spent an uncomfortable night trying to sleep stretched out on the counter in Kou-san's shop with his coat for a blanket. It was made worse by the fact that Kou was brewing some decoction that smelled like a mixture of mizuna and rhino bile, and the longer it cooked, the worse it got. The apothecary was also unsympathetic regarding Kubota's domestic problems.

 

“It's your own fault, you know. You're all Tokitoh-kun has - all the brother, all the lover, all the guardian angel - how do you expect him to act?”

 

Kubota thought about that for a minute. “Yeah, OK, but how I feel about Fujiwara has nothing to do with that. It's…different. HE'S different. It doesn't change anything between Mino-chan and me…”

 

Kou had gazed at him sorrowfully through slightly steamed-up lenses. “For a smart boy, Kubo-kun, you're rather stupid. I'd say you deserve whatever you get.” And he'd gone back to stirring the nasty mess on the stove. Kubota had finally fallen asleep thinking that what a person deserved was whatever he was prepared to take, and that included Fujiwara AND Tokitoh…naked. In his bed. In several different positions….

 

When Kou came down to open the shop the next morning, he noticed that Kubota was smiling in his sleep. He woke him, handed him his coat, and pushed him out the door with one last word of advice.

 

“Doughnuts.”

 

And so Kubota stood outside the door of his apartment, hesitating, holding his key and a white paper bag of still-warm andagi, Tokitoh's favourite treat. If worse came to worst, he could always throw the sack of Okinawan pastries in first - maybe it would distract Tokitoh long enough for Fujiwara to escape…

 

It was so quiet that Kubota got nervous. He went in through the main room as silently as he could, carefully unlocked the bedroom door, and looked in. The bag of doughnuts slid unnoticed from his hand.

 

The floor was strewn with opened boxes of strawberry pocky (Tokitoh's second favourite treat) and empty coke cans. Judging by the mess on the bed, Fujiwara and Tokitoh hadn't been killing each other, they'd been playing cards using pocky and small change as a stake - and judging by the faint smoky scent that still lingered in the air, they'd found his stash.

 

They were naked. In his bed. Fujiwara was sleeping on his stomach, mouth slightly open, sprawled out like a doll that had been knocked off its shelf and played with a bit too roughly, Tokitoh curled up next to him like the little stray cat he was, one hand tangled in Fujiwara's red hair. Doraemon was propped up against the wall by their heads, and Kubota could have sworn that the stupid blue thing was smirking.

 

The damn brats had done it without him - he'd told them to sort it out, and it looked like they had. Maybe that was what he deserved, after all… or maybe THIS was, Kubota thought, shoving Doraemon out of the way and unbuttoning his jeans.