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Staying [Digimon Tamers, Yamaki/Reika, R]

Title: Staying
Author: purplekitte
Rating: R
Warnings: drunken sex, suicidal thoughts
Word Count: 931
Prompt: Sept 13; Digimon Tamers, Yamaki/Reika: loss of dreams, loss of certainty - Why are you following me past your turn-off?
Author's Note: playing fast and loose with canon timing; long-time lurker first time poster here--author tag please, mods?

“We should have stopped the cab already. We’re past your apartment.”

“I know. Sir.”

“I don’t need you paying the fare for me. My salary is higher than yours.” There had been enough humiliation already today. Shinjuku was in shambles from a giant pig of a wild one. He had bee turned out of his own headquarters “for his own good” by his own organization. As Reika herself had told him, it was over, and he failed and he had been wrong.

“Should I turn around?” the cab driver asked.

“No,” she commanded. “I have things to do.”

“No you don’t. Martial law is in effect. Go straight home.”

Despite this, he found her getting out at his house, paying the cab, and leading him inside, not that she’d ever been there before. He found himself unable to get angry or even curious about anything at this point. The world had fallen out from under him. He wanted his couch and a bottle of whisky. He might have entertained fantasies of dying of alcohol poisoning, but if Reika was there she would call an ambulance too early for that.

He should have stayed. Stayed while his life’s work collapsed around him. Damn her for staying till he went too. Damn her for not leaving yet. Yamaki reached his liquor cabinet without noticing anything in between. He felt drunk already; would drinking even help? He took a long swig right out of the bottle to test that hypothesis. He needed a smoke.

Reika sat in a chair opposite his, drinking shots of a sherry he didn’t even remember having. Should they be making conversation? Should he be regaling her with his maudlin thoughts? Being alone would make drinking himself into oblivion feel reasonable rather than awkward. He didn’t need to care. She was the one forcing her company on him.

“You’ve had enough,” she said after awhile.

Listening to her felt natural. Hers was the voice of reason, telling Megumi to stop daydreaming, telling technicians what they were doing wrong, her matter-of-fact commands making his orders from on high a reality. When she spoke to him, she was brisk and efficient, her questions worth answering, her misgivings worth addressing, particularly as seen in retrospect.

He had needed her to leave, to save herself, more than he’d needed to stay. He had no basis to classify this, no way to understand it. She was just his subordinate.

Besides, he hadn’t had nearly enough. He was still conscious. He ignored him. Enjoyed the burn in his throat at swallowing another drink.

Then Reika was kneeling in front of his couch, taking the bottle out of his hand.

‘Insubordinate,’ Yamaki opened his mouth to say. Not that they had jobs anymore. ‘Don’t overstep your bounds.’


Everything stopped. His heart stopped.

“That’s enough.”

Then she leaned in and kissed him.

It was light, just a press of lips, but not hesitant. It took him only a moment to decide this was everything he wanted at that moment. Hypnos was gone, he had never done anything but make matters worse, in the morning she would feel she’d discharged whatever last duty she still felt she owed him. He had a hand at the back of her neck and one tangled in her long red hair and he could taste the sweet and bitter of liquor on her tongue.

They didn’t take their time or worry about doing things right. Taking off clothes would take too long when they needed human contact more than skin-to-skin. She ended up lying on top of him, the lengths of their bodies pressed together. Her hair brushed his face as they kissed. Her body was warm and soft and tying him to the present. She ground against him, legs moving to either side of his hips to get more friction.

Reika fumbled between them to get pants undone, but neither wanted to pull away that much. Yamaki could feel the heat of her through their clothes, wasn’t sure he could handle it without.

She moaned into his mouth, made little breathless pants when they came up for air. He didn’t want this to be a one-time pity fuck of a thank-God-we’re-not-dead thing. He wanted to see her like this again, everyday, more than he wanted a smoke or to turn back time and kill the Monster Maker’s grandfathers. He wanted to see her beautiful and naked and spread out for him, wanted to map every inch of her body like it was unfamiliar code he just needed to decipher.

“Mitsuo,” she whispered as he body shook, hot and wet and trembling against his fingers, and he arched against her, his world reduced to her her her as he too reached completion.


* * *

He woke without the weight of her in his arms, needing a shower and to clear the taste of something dead out of his mouth. That made the night before half dream, half hallucination, all regret. Yamaki sought the cure for his hangover in the same thing that caused it. His feet hit the floor gracelessly and he pulled himself to his feet.

“Breakfast will be ready in just a minute,” came a voice from his kitchen.

She hadn’t left yet. Yamaki didn’t quite know what to make of that, so he sat back down, fished for a cigarette before remembering he’d thrown all those out when he’d quit. He’d have to buy more. Maybe that would calm him enough that he’d eventually turn the television or his cell phone back on. Maybe.

She didn’t leave.




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