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1/5
Kenshi barely slept last night. Maybe three or four hours, which was just enough for him to manage, but nowhere near ideal. He turned awfully sloppy when tired.
Kenshi was no stranger to insomnia, but this was new. He had been a bundle of nerves the entire night, tossing and turning in his sheets, every possible scenario running through his head over and over again. Kenshi knew this was a mistake, as much as he hated to admit it. Flying all the way to America to rob a celebrity was one desperate, mindless stunt to pull off, but he was desperate. That much he could admit.
He needed Sento. Kenshi didn’t care if he’d lose any useless honor or end up in whichever Hollywood’s most wanted list by pulling off this stunt. He needed that sword and was determined to get it.
There was no need to be up yet for another hour but Kenshi was feeling restless. When falling asleep again clearly wasn’t working out, he opened his eyes and looked up at the ceiling. Some of the white paint was starting to come off.
He ran through his plan once again. He’d done as much research on Cage’s residence as possible, then stitched together his strategy. Surprisingly, an A-lister like Johnny Cage didn’t seem to have any vast security around his mansion. Almost as if he was inviting others to break into his home. Knowing people like him, Cage most likely wanted just that, the paparazzi and obsessive fans to see his every movement. That suited Kenshi just fine. The easier to get in, the better.
It could be quick. Break in, locate Sento, break out. No need for violence, as long as everyone co-operated. But no matter how much Kenshi tried to assure himself, he couldn’t shake the uncertain feeling off his mind.
Soon, the longer Kenshi stared at the ceiling, it started to feel like he’d probably burn a hole through it, and so, with a deep breath in and out, he sat up. The mattress underneath him creaked when he raised to his feet. A brief glance towards the clock confirmed that it was slightly past 5 am. Kenshi counted the hours to his plane’s departure in his head as he started to prepare for the morning.
Shibuya was already wide awake with people commuting to work when Kenshi sat in the kitchen and drank his second cup of coffee. His free hand’s fingers tapped on the wooden table mindlessly, his gaze cast in front of him on a magazine, the cover starring the one man that seemed to seep into Kenshi’s thoughts lately.
Cage was smiling, all flashy and bright white teeth. He was leaning on a sports car, his button up shirt open enough to show some of his chest and his hair combed over, looking like a proper moviestar. The text was simple:
“People’s Sexiest Man Alive: Johnny Cage”
What a joke, Kenshi thought, that some had the money to pay themselves into these headlines. The article written about Cage hadn't even revealed anything beneficial.
He had to get this man off his mind.
Looking out the window, the sun was starting to rise higher, now painting the city skyline bright and golden. Three and a half hours before take off. As tense and weary as Kenshi felt, he knew who he was doing this for. Kenshi’s father had made him promise to behave once in America, stating that Kenshi caused him to worry enough back home. With a small smile and a nod Kenshi had assured that he’d be swift. He wasn’t planning on getting side tracked from his goals anytime soon.
48 hours later, after his plane had landed and the heist was unsuccessful, Kenshi was recruited as one of Earthrealm’s champions. There goes that promise.
-
2/5
“I can’t believe they’re making us train in these conditions,” Kung Lao complained under his breath as he stretched his arms, both hands reaching out towards the clear, blue sky.
“It could be worse. Imagine what the fields must be like,” Raiden next to him reasoned leniently in turn.
It was the heat record of the year, or so the monks said, at least. The air was dry and the sun brighter than ever.
As a child, Kenshi used to spend summer days like these at his grandma’s in the countryside. He’d spend a month far away from the city, from everything his father was involved in. Kenshi had always liked summer as a kid.
He didn’t like this.
It had started last night, the unbearable heat that just seemed to increase every hour. Kenshi had felt the muggy air hanging around him in the room the whole night, making it impossible to sleep. The bed sheets clung to his skin, beads of sweat rolled down his back. The heat had nearly weighed down on him. It made every position more uncomfortable than the last. Kenshi had spent most of the night just staring up at the ceiling and wiping off oily sweat from his sticky brow.
This hadn’t been his first sleepless night at the academy. Kenshi didn’t think of himself as particularly prone to homesickness, but he found it even harder to sleep than usual in the Wu Shi. To make matters worse, he shared a room with Johnny Cage, who, among other things, is one hell of a snorer. He didn't even want to think about it.
Kenshi was used to operating on low sleep, but this level of exhaustion was something else entirely. Like all of his reserves had been burnt up, his movements during training were sluggish and mind lagged behind.
“Still,” Kung Lao then continued, his voice now slightly strained as he lifted himself up into a handstand, his palms securely planted on the training ground floor. Even now the man had to show off. “The least they could do is cut our hours a bit.“
Raiden hummed in thought. Kenshi stood a small distance from them, stretching his somewhat sore arms. They were instructed to spar today. For real this time, to see how far they’ve come after a little over a month of training. Every bone in Kenshi’s body was silently dreading it. Not today, not in this heat, not when I can barely stand on my own two feet. But there was no refusing.
The first thing he’d been taught as a child: Never let them catch you slipping.
“Kenshi,” Raiden suddenly called out, snapping the man out of his thoughts. He turned his face towards the other. Raiden’s face was slightly flushed from the heat and a few loose hairs clung to his forehead, but the expression on his face was of concern. “Are you alright?”
Feeling slightly self-conscious of just how well Raiden saw through his facade, Kenshi just shifted his weight from one leg to another and nodded a few times, his left hand gripping his bokken somewhat tighter.
“I am, thank you.”
Raiden didn’t come across as too convinced as his eyes searched Kenshi’s face, but before either of them could discuss it any further, the man they’d been waiting for finally arrived to steal the show.
“These guys should really invest in some air conditioning,” Cage groaned as he approached the others, fashionably late as to be expected. He seemed to suffer just as much as the rest, cheeks red, hair sticking out and his top looser than usual. He was missing his undershirt. Kenshi’s gaze trailed lower at the exposed skin of the man’s chest before he quickly snapped his eyes up again.
“What the hell took you so long?” Kung Lao asked as he returned to his feet. Cage just shrugged, his smirk as infuriatingly self-assured as always.
“I had to give you all some time to prepare for the absolute ass-kicking you’ll be experiencing today.”
There was pride in Cage’s voice. Kenshi huffed under his breath and rolled his eyes, but left it at that. Ever since the two men had grown accustomed enough to being around each other around the clock they’d found this habit. Johnny says something dense, Kenshi snarks back. Like an indelicate dance, it was something Kenshi couldn’t exactly put into words. Today he wasn’t feeling up to it. It just seemed like Johnny had expected for Kenshi’s comment and looked disappointed when none came. Or maybe Kenshi was just imagining it.
Raiden cleared his throat, driving the attention to himself once again.
“We were instructed to train in pairs,” he recalled, holding his hands behind his back. Though the man didn’t say it out loud, it was obvious who he’d rather spar with.
Kenshi’s eyes met Johnny’s. “I think we have that covered,” he stated and watched as Johnny’s smile grew a little. Challenge accepted.
The sun shone right above them when Kenshi and Johnny moved to their spot. It bore down on Kenshi’s back, making it almost impossible to think of anything other than the intense heat. He wanted nothing more than to tear this robe off and jump into water. Instead Kenshi attempted to focus on the man in front of him.
Johnny’s lighter eyes shined, almost like they were reflecting the sunlight right off. His gaze was locked on Kenshi as they circled each other, assessing the opponent. Out of the three men Kenshi trained with, he had admittedly studied Cage the most. How could he not, when the man was so flashy and over exaggerated his moves whenever he could, yet still also somehow managed to best Kenshi. It was infuriating for Kenshi to admit that Johnny Cage really was as captivating in person as all the interviews reported.
“Done ogling me yet, Takahashi?” Johnny asked, clearly still looking for that banter.
This time Kenshi was quick to respond, “Don’t flatter yourself, Cage.”
Johnny let out a laugh and stilled, getting into position.
“I’m only stating the obvious.”
The way he held himself was strange in Kenshi’s eyes. Cage was relaxed, feet lightly shuffling on the ground, like he’d never been in a real fight before. Kenshi held his bokken low with both hands as he settled in his stance as well, his gaze fixated on the other, even as he struggled to focus
“Just say the words and I’ll go easy on you,” Johnny continued to taunt and Kenshi heard himself scoff.
“Hand me Sento and I might just consider it.”
Johnny’s smile didn’t even falter. “Keep dreamin’, Tattoo.”
Then it was no more banter. When Johnny finally charged towards him, Kenshi found out that his legs were indeed slow, even more than he initially anticipated. He stepped to his right just in time as Johnny’s fist flew past his face. Everything moved a few seconds too slow. Kenshi swung his bokken, aiming for Johnny’s back, but the man turned around and deflected his blow. Even that sharp turn was laced with certain gracefulness, he noted.
Kenshi struggled to keep his mind sharp. He grit his teeth together, keeping up at first as he concentrated with all his might, but eventually Kenshi felt his control slipping. His dodging and blocks grew sloppier, as did his attacks. Johnny’s occasional quips didn’t help the matter, which Kenshi tried his best to ignore. Sweat stained his back and the heat nearly suffocated him, and even then it seemed like Cage still had more in store.
Kenshi parried Johnny’s elbow and in turn kicked the man’s side with his knee, which made Johnny let out a soft, small yelp. Kenshi sucked a sharp breath in, and when Cage countered him with a kick of his own, Kenshi finally slipped.
It felt like Kenshi’s knees gave out and legs turned into jelly as he stumbled forwards, his grip on the bokken loosening as he instead grabbed Johnny’s collar for balance. Unfortunately, the man wasn’t as steady as Kenshi had hoped and Johnny staggered backwards along with him.
“Hey-” the actor managed to shout loud enough to ring across the entire grounds before the both of them toppled over and fell into the fountain that was located in the middle of the training grounds for whatever reason. Kenshi gasped at the sudden temperature change, the cool water effectively snapping him out of his previous haze. He heard Johnny’s grunt once the man’s back hit the bottom of the shallow pool, sending water splashing everywhere. Kenshi followed right after him, falling on top of the other before immediately pushing himself up to his hands.
Kenshi opened his mouth, maybe to apologize, maybe not, but before he could muster up a single word, his breath hilted in his throat.
Johnny laid underneath him, propped up to his elbows and face tilted up to meet Kenshi’s. His eyes were wider than usual, his lips slightly parted as he drew in one deep breath after another. Water dripped down Johnny’s hair, sliding down his face to his neck, then his chest, making Kenshi’s mind reel. He hadn’t felt this wide awake in a good while.
Kung Lao laughed somewhere in the distance. Kenshi blinked a few times, dazed, opening and closing his mouth though no words came out.
After what felt like hours Johnny broke the spell and stirred in the water, saying, “I… guess that’s a tie, huh?”
Johnny’s breathy tone betrayed his humorous words. Kenshi managed to let out a low hum of recognition before hurrying off Johnny. He almost felt like a wet dog, his clothes soaked and each step leaving footprints behind on the ground.
Sparring was called off soon after. The heat turned tolerable once evening came, but Kenshi couldn’t look Johnny in the eye for the next few days. In hindsight he wished he’d taken every chance when he still could. Johnny did have the prettiest of eyes.
-
3/5
Years ago, when Kenshi was younger and more heedless, he had thought that he would die in the midst of a fight. Now, as he sat on the floor, leaning against a cool, solid wall, his body heavy and rigid, he wished that would have been the way. Instead he ended up useless, stuck underground.
Kenshi felt weariness in his bones. He wanted to sleep. Anything other than staying awake, but he can’t shut his eyes. He has no eyes. The horror was only slowly dawning on him, like a pit deep in his stomach that grew larger each passing minute when Kenshi realized over and over again that this wasn’t a nightmare. He feels, he smells, he hears, he is in this moment and he can’t see. Every second he spent awake here, in whatever basement Shang Tsung had them shut into, was agonizing.
At least Kenshi wasn’t alone. Baraka had been kind enough to keep some company.
“Keep talking, will you?” he had mumbled to Baraka, his tone sounding foreign to his own ears, “To keep my mind off this.” In reality Kenshi could barely concentrate on the words that left Baraka’s mouth. He felt the pain spread through his whole head, starting from his eye sockets and radiating all the way to the back. It was thrumming, prickly, flaring, making him break a cold sweat and breathe unevenly. Kenshi was so damn worn.
Then he heard Johnny’s voice in the midst of the darkness, followed by sounds of shuffling and Kenshi’s name leaving the other man’s lips. Though his tone was rough, it cut through everything else like a knife. The tremble in Johnny’s voice didn’t go unnoticed as the man apologised to Kenshi.
Soon Johnny’s hands were on him, first his forearm and then his cheeks, assessing every inch of Kenshi’s face and mooring him in the present, and Kenshi didn’t have it in himself to pull away. Not when Johnny was like this, a far cry from what Kenshi's seen before. The actor’s voice was soft, his touch even softer once a piece of cloth was eventually wrapped around Kenshi’s sore sockets. It was alien, but before anything else went down, Kenshi felt the brief touch of Johnny’s chapped lips on his forehead and he leaned in for just a few seconds.
He found that once they made it out of Outworld and Titan Shang Tsung was defeated, Johnny’s warmth still haunted Kenshi’s mind every night.
-
4/5
“He enjoys the spotlight, doesn’t he? Your superstar,” Tatsuki said as his needle pierced Kenshi’s skin one last time, the suture pulling his gash completely shut.
It came right out of the blue after a long silence filled with nothing else than Kenshi’s suppressed grunts. Even after countless stitches, Kenshi still disliked the feel of his flesh being pierced and sewn together over and over again. His face had been scrunched up through the whole ordeal, but once Kenshi heard the other man’s words, his brows twitched briefly in surprise. There was no doubt in Kenshi’s mind what Tatsuki meant by his superstar .
“What do you know of him?” He asked while pulling his shirt down. Kenshi’s side felt raw, but the gash wasn’t fortunately as bad as he had initially thought. He could only thank his friend for that, who somehow still stuck by Kenshi’s side even when his fights turned just bloodier and bloodier ever since his departure from the yakuza.
Tatsuki hummed and Kenshi heard the sound of the man's first aid kit close as he spoke again, tone surprisingly lenient.
“Nothing you don’t already know. I’m just saying. Crime’s a nasty business. If you keep making appearances next to him, the wolves will soon follow your trail.”
Unsure how to exactly reply, Kenshi nodded in acknowledgement and stood up once the stitching was finally completely done. The cut stung like hell, but Tatsuki’s stitchwork was professional. You should see the other guy.
“I know. I appreciate the sentiment,” he said.
Before Kenshi left Tatsuki’s place, the other offered one last piece of his mind.
“Kenshi. Don’t push yourself too hard. Rest.”
Kenshi knew that his weariness was becoming more and more visible as the days rolled by. His usually straight form had turned into a slight slouch and the only thing hiding his obvious eyebags was the blindfold Johnny had given him months ago. But this was what he had been preparing for his whole life. Kenshi knew what he had set out to do when he swore to break his family free from the yakuza. He could rest once his name wasn’t tarnished anymore.
“Stay safe, Tatsuki,” Kenshi regarded the other man before stepping out the front door. He knew that Tatsuki only meant well, but sometimes the man was too nosy for his own good. Paparazzi pictures taken of Kenshi and Johnny had been a shock in themselves already, and the last thing Kenshi needed now was anyone breathing down his neck and asking what he was to the American ‘Sexiest Man Alive’ superstar, because Kenshi, honest to every god, didn't know. The feel of Johnny’s lips on his forehead still tingled on his skin every time Kenshi thought of it, but they still kept their distance. The dance had turned delicate, full of carefully considered words and things left unsaid.
He had visited Johnny in the US last week. It had been a quick one, the two of them barely stepping foot in public together, but apparently it had been enough for the vultures to spot them. Two days ago Kenshi’s mother had bombarded him with questions about an article conveniently titled ‘Johnny Cage Spotted With a New Man Right After Divorce’. Oh, the joy. Kenshi had no idea how Johnny dealt with this daily.
His own apartment was chilly when he stepped inside. February was colder than usual and Kenshi had problems with the heating. It had to suffice for tonight, though, because Kenshi was too beat up to call his landlord. Instead he heard his bed calling out for him.
Kenshi lowered Sento down to lean on his mattress as he stripped down and nearly collapsed on top of the tousled sheets. He never dared to stray too far from the katana, even when he knew that he should probably learn how to live without it and the sense of security his ancestors provided. Maybe one day, but while Kenshi was still adjusting to his new life, he preferred to be as reassured as possible.
It was nearly three in the middle of the night when Kenshi closed his eyelids. His body was heavy and Kenshi felt gravity pulling him in. Even lifting his finger felt exhausting, but sleep didn’t come. It never did, not for Kenshi.
He felt his every movement in bed pulling on the tightly sewn together skin, the few bruises over his other side ached silently, and his eye sockets never gave him a peace of mind. Though they had healed, the phantom pains came and went. Sometimes more intense and piercing, like the sais were thrust into his head all over again, sometimes a more permissive pounding that faded and reappeared as it pleased. Sometimes it was accompanied by tinnitus, sometimes not. Apparently fatigue increased the symptoms, but how could Kenshi sleep with the pain always there?
This time it was moderate. If Kenshi tried hard enough, he could mostly ignore the pain, but it was still present. Every time he forgot about it, he re-remembered.
Not like it mattered. Kenshi’s thoughts were too cluttered for sleep, anyway.
After what felt like twenty minutes, he gave up with a huff and rolled over to his side to reach for his phone without any further of a thought. The command to Siri to call Johnny rolled off his tongue naturally.
The call rang once, then twice, but Johnny answered before the third time, like he almost always did.
“Hey, hey, hey. How’s my favorite samurai doing?”
Johnny’s voice was always full of life, even through the speaker. Kenshi felt the corners of his lips pull upwards.
“Hi. Bad time?” he asked, voice hushed, like he wanted to keep this conversation between just the two of them, even though there was no one else to share it with.
“Never a bad time for you, Ken,” Johnny assured and that was all Kenshi needed to hear. Just for a moment, Johnny was his to steal away.
“Hm, good. I need someone to talk to. Mind being my victim?”
“To you, always. Lay it on me.”
With a small sigh, Kenshi rolled over to his back again. Discomfort pestered his body, but he concentrated on the quiet sound of Johnny’s breathing while considering his next words.
“I was in a fight today,” he finally said. Johnny didn’t sound too shocked at the revelation.
“Huh, again? I assume you won.”
“Obviously.”
Johnny chuckled. “Cocky, Takahashi.”
Kenshi couldn’t suppress the small snicker that left his lips. Johnny was rubbing off on him, sure. Kenshi had never been devoid of humor, but sometimes he felt more free than usual to let his mouth run in the other man’s company. Johnny had that type of effect on other people.
Johnny spoke again. “You gave them hell, right?”
Kenshi shifted a little in bed as he hummed and pressed the phone even closer to his ear. “I did,” he confirmed. The small, satisfied noise Johnny let out made Kenshi feel almost proud. “It was a tough one. I had been tracking those men for weeks with a friend. They didn’t let us off easy.”
“Yet another perfect victory for the great Kenshi Takahashi,” Johnny proclaimed. His voice was light and Kenshi nearly forgot how serious the fight had really been. It felt distant now, as Johnny took up all the space in Kenshi’s mind.
“Don’t overblow it,” Kenshi warned despite his tone, and Johnny just laughed.
“Overblow? Baby, I’m only stating the facts and nothing but the facts.”
Baby.
Kenshi tried to ignore it, the way that word made his chest tighten and mind reel. The best tactic was to switch the subject.
“Where are you right now?”
“My kitchen. I got some breakfast, eggs and bacon.” A pause, then followed by, “You?”
“My bed,” Kenshi replied. He heard Johnny chewing on something before the man asked, now slightly muffled, “Can’t sleep?”
Kenshi let out a grunt in approval. Johnny continued, this time his voice clear and concerned, “Are you in pain?”
“No, no, not like that,” Kenshi started while raising his free hand to run his fingers through his hair. He wasn’t in pain pain. He was in pain, but it was nowhere near the worst he’s experienced. Not like at Shang Tsung’s.
He was reminded of the thrumming in his eye sockets again and he sighed.
“Mild injuries and a headache,” Kenshi then reported, knowing that Johnny wouldn’t stop worrying nevertheless. With a slight reassurance in his words he added, “I’ll live.”
There was a pause on Johnny’s end. A brief one, followed by, “I- No, nevermind.” Johnny’s tone was indecipherable to Kenshi, almost tentative but clearing up before Kenshi could fully apprehend it. And before Kenshi could ask, Johnny was already moving on to the next topic. Same tactic as Kenshi’s, it seemed.
“So, if the pain’s not the main concern, what’s up? You got something on that pretty mind of yours again?” He asked.
You, Kenshi thought. “Life, mostly,” he answered instead.
“Ah. The classic. Anything specific that’s tormenting you, big guy? I’m as confidential as they get.”
Johnny’s words were light, playful, but Kenshi could read the implications hidden between the lines. They screamed: Please, talk to me. Johnny always coaxed Kenshi out of his shell with clever, carefully picked out words, making him speak his mind even though he was taught to never do so. There no longer was any punishment laid out for Kenshi if he did, was there?
“Where should I even start?” Kenshi wondered, giving in to Johnny’s gentle persuasion.
“Something simple,” Johnny proposed and Kenshi huffed but entertained the suggestion.
He shifted in bed again, feeling the way the sheets rubbed against his skin, the texture rougher than he’d like. Ever since his blinding, it felt like Kenshi’s sensitivity to everything else had tripled. He paid more attention to things he never did before, like Johnny’s sharp inhale after Kenshi said, “The photos.”
Johnny didn’t ask any followup questions. Apparently he’d seen the headlines as well, then.
“Oh, yeah…” he muttered. Was it shame that Kenshi heard in his voice? “Listen, man, I’m sorry about those. You’d think I’d have some typa sixth sense for the paparazzi by now, but they still catch me off guard when I’m not looking. Damn vultures,” Johnny then said, sounding genuinely apologetic.
In reality, Kenshi didn’t care that much. As much of a nuisance as the photos and headlines were, they were only a small part of the larger problem that carried the name of Johnny Cage. If only they stopped this dance and pulled their heads out of their asses for once to figure out what they both want, maybe then Kenshi could get some goddamn sleep. But no, wherever Kenshi went, in whichever place he crashed to get some shut eye, Johnny’s shining eyes and chapped lips followed him like a ghost forever bound to him, keeping him wide awake and plaguing his every thought. And they continued dancing.
He heard Tatsuki’s words echoing faintly in his ears. The wolves will follow. But Johnny had known this when he got involved with Kenshi, hadn’t he? And yet he still stuck around.
Kenshi rubbed his nose bridge with his other hand, still feeling gravity pulling him in, maybe more than before. He didn’t want Johnny feeling guilty over something so redundant.
“I know, don’t beat yourself up. If it makes you any happier, my mother has already given us her blessing,” he murmured, lips turned up in a small, tired smile.
Johnny’s voice was loud enough to rattle the speaker when he barked out a laugh. “Ha! Has she?”
“Mhm,” Kenshi confirmed, ”It’s all she talks about. If it were up to my family, we’d be standing at the altar the next morning.”
“Imagine that,” Johnny mused. Then a surprisingly comfortable silence fell upon them. Johnny was chewing on something again and Kenshi laid still. His head felt heavy, thoughts incoherent and fuzzy.
He was unsure how long the silence lasted. At some point Kenshi just forgot to keep a count of time. His bedroom wasn’t so cold anymore and the throbbing of his gash and bruises were like a distant memory. Before Kenshi could fully tip to the other side of consciousness, though, Johnny spoke up again and snapped him right back to reality.
“It’d have to be a spring wedding.”
Kenshi opened and closed his mouth a few times, but was too drowsy to ask anything else than, “Why?”
“The cherry blossoms bloom in early spring,” Johnny answered matter-of-factly.
“You want to get married under the cherry blossoms?”
“Yeah.”
Another beat of silence, this time broken by Kenshi.
“Johnny,” he said, his voice hazy.
“Hm?”
“Could you stay in the call for a little while longer?”
“Of course.”
It was unclear when exactly Kenshi eventually managed to fall asleep, but once he woke up some time later, he was shocked to find out that the call had lasted for five hours. By the Elder Gods.
-
5/5
Kenshi gently slid the balcony door shut behind himself and shivered as the crisp night air hit his skin. Though it was only May, the cicadas were singing somewhere in the distance. It was a sign of yet another warm summer to come. He was somewhat surprised when he met Johnny on the balcony, the sound of low humming unmistakable. Kenshi had assumed that no one else in the teahouse was up at this hour anymore, but apparently he had presumed wrong.
Judging by the smell of smoke, Johnny had already made himself comfortable.
“Can’t sleep?” Kenshi asked as he made his way further towards the railing. He heard the other man draw in a sharp breath and shift, his feet sliding against the wooden floor swiftly before coming to a stop.
“Jesus, man. How the hell do you sneak up on people like that?” Johnny asked right as Kenshi joined him and leaned on the fence with his elbows. Kenshi couldn’t help but smile.
“You’re just unaware of your surroundings,” he chided with no real hostility. Johnny just huffed faintly.
“Can’t argue with that.”
Kenshi heard Johnny beside him take another drag of his cigarette as the two of them shared the tranquility of the early night. The hustle and bustle of the Fengjian Teahouse had dwindled long ago. Kenshi still felt the pleasant fizzing under his skin after taking a few too many glasses of baijiu at dinner, though his drinking was nothing compared to Kung Lao’s. It was actually strange to stand on the balcony and not hear the shouts and chatter of the others. Only after many months apart had Kenshi realized how much he had truly missed the other champions of Earthrealm.
He had missed Johnny like hell. Kenshi had nearly forgotten how warm the other’s voice sounded in person when it wasn’t distorted by a phone’s speaker.
After a long evening of eating and drinking, accompanied by Johnny’s and Kung Lao’s awful singing and Raiden constantly trying to hush them, they had finally called it a night and withdrawn to their rooms. Kenshi, of course, couldn’t fall asleep. He didn’t know what he had expected. Maybe Kenshi had hoped that the comfortable state he’d lulled himself into was enough for his body to relax. Though now, when he at least wasn’t awake all alone, it didn’t feel as sombre.
When Kenshi silently put out his hand to ask for a drag, Johnny spoke while slotting the cigarette between his fingers, the man’s voice full of exaggerated anguish. “Remind me to never ever sleep in the room next to Kung Lao’s ever again.”
Kenshi let out a low chuckle and raised a brow. He lifted the cigarette near his lips but didn’t take a drag yet. “Why? Does he snore?” he asked. Johnny must not have liked the subtle glee in his tone, because he sighed heavily and most definitely threw his hands up, judging by the sudden yet small wind of air that hit Kenshi’s face.
“Yes!” Johnny groaned. “There’s a thick, dense, wooden wall between us and he damn nearly shakes the floors with his snoring. How the hell does he do that? How does Raiden put up with it?”
“His snoring isn’t too far off from yours,” Kenshi simply replied before finally fitting the cigarette between his lips and inhaling. In response, he felt a light kick to his ankle.
“Okay, take that back.”
Kenshi only huffed and blindly swung his leg back, only to kick nothing. “Make me,” he challenged. Though he meant the words lightheartedly, Kenshi still felt the air nearly crackle between them. Even when blind, Kenshi could tell that Johnny’s gaze was locked on him. The man never was exactly subtle about it.
The cicadas continued their song and Kenshi felt the wind brush through his hair. It must be a beautiful night, he reckoned.
Johnny didn’t speak, yet Kenshi still felt his eyes on him. Odd of him to keep quiet, but Kenshi didn’t mind. It wasn’t hard to imagine what the actor looked like at that moment, his big brown eyes cast on Kenshi like some puppy, hair gently flowing in the wind. Though Kenshi avoided using Sento as much as possible when with friends, he had briefly caught a glimpse of Johnny once they met outside the airport. His hair had grown out slightly since the last time they'd seen each other and Kenshi had had to resist the urge to run his fingers through the strands.
He heard the man next to him stifle a sound that sounded suspiciously close to a yawn. It nearly caught on Kenshi.
“When is your flight taking off tomorrow?” Kenshi asked while he offered the cigarette to Johnny again. He heard the man hum in thought as the nearly burnt cig was snatched back from between his fingers.
“7:30.”
“Ouch.”
Kenshi hid the disappointment from his voice. They were both busy men, he knew as much, and duty obviously called. Still, he had hoped to have Johnny for a little while longer before the man eventually returned to the States.
Johnny sighed. “Tell me about it. 15 hours up in the air again, lucky me,” he muttered, then paused and suggested with some mirth, “Maybe I should move closer to you guys. That way you’d always have me nearby in case you start missing me too much.”
Johnny chuckled, most likely meaning those words as yet another joke, but Kenshi tilted his head to the side and admitted, “I do miss you when we’re apart.”
Johnny’s breathing staggered just a bit. Just enough for Kenshi to notice. “You-” the man started with a crescendo and cut himself off to lower his tone. “You really do, huh?” he asked with obvious delight in his voice as he bumped his hip against Kenshi’s softly, playfully. “The ever-so reserved Kenshi Taka-”
“Quit it,” Kenshi said, this time successfully landing a kick on Johnny’s calf, earning a small squeal from the other man.
“I’m just sayin’,” Johnny defended himself. Kenshi, despite himself, let his head hang low and huffed out a small laugh of his own. Even now, it was impossible not to loosen up around Johnny. It was almost frightening, how a single man managed to make the front he spent years building up crumble bit by bit.
“You know,” Johnny then started, his voice now mellower, “I miss you, too. Like crazy.”
Kenshi’s heart made a leap in his chest and he momentarily gripped the railing hard, nearly getting splinters in his palms.
“Like crazy, huh?” Kenshi echoed, using all his might to keep his voice steady.
There was a small beat of silence between them again, the burning feel of Johnny’s eyes on Kenshi unmistakable, before Johnny murmured, “Yeah. It’s…”
His words drifted off into the night. Kenshi patiently waited for Johnny to continue, feeling how his heart had started to pound against his chest at some point. It was a strange feeling, nearly unsettling. Silently Kenshi wondered how many other people had seen, or heard, this side of Johnny. It felt precious, hearing the usually brash voice turn soft spoken and smooth like this.
“I’m worried about you, Ken,” Johnny finally confessed. Kenshi was immediately ready to protest. He didn’t need yet another scolding from anyone regarding anything. He opened his mouth, but Johnny was faster, cutting in, “I know, I know. You know what you’re doing, but fuck, you keep me up most nights. I feel like a damn… military spouse, or something.”
Kenshi’s mouth shut and his brows furrowed in confusion. “I’m… sorry?” he muttered, unsure what else to say. Johnny let out a small, displeased sound and probably shook his head.
“No, don’t be. I know what you’re doing is noble and I’m ready to support you to the world’s end. You’re one of the best fighters I know, but I’m afraid that someday I’ll get a text message from someone informing me that you were found bleeding out and dead cold in some random alleyway. You don't even sleep. Like, ever. I hate to see you like this.”
Kenshi inhaled. He felt the sudden sensation of Johnny’s thumb brushing over the crease between his brows that seemed to always be there. “You already have yourself to look after,” he reminded Johnny. At the airport, aside from the hair, Kenshi had noted the new worry lines that had formed on Johnny’s face. Hollywood wasn't being kind to him, it seemed.
“Then stop worrying me,” Johnny replied. He sounded so assured, so sincere, that Kenshi just couldn’t continue the careful dance anymore. He grabbed Johnny by his bicep and kissed him.
Johnny’s lips against Kenshi’s weren’t as chapped as he remembered them from before. They were much softer, warmer, a perfect fit for Kenshi’s. There was no time to regret, because as fast as Johnny had gone rigid against Kenshi, his stiffness melted away just as quickly, replaced by something entirely else. Soon Kenshi found out that Johnny’s lips were definitely willing as the other licked into Kenshi’s mouth. Kenshi felt fingers tangling into his hair and he gently turned them around, pressing Johnny against the railing.
The kiss definitely wasn’t the most coordinated one, but it also wasn’t as hasty as Kenshi had expected. Their lips moved against each other slowly, relishing the taste, drawing back and going in for more in between short and humid gasps of air. Kenshi had imagined it a few times previously, what it would be like to finally kiss Johnny, but this was substantially better.
While his mouth was busy, Kenshi let his hands explore. His palms slid over Johnny’s waist and clutched his shirt, which in turn caused the other man to let out an upset groan into their kiss and draw back to mutter, “Watch it. I paid a hundred bucks for this one.”
Kenshi huffed and pressed his forehead against Johnny’s, feeling surprisingly out of breath. “Really, Johnny?”
He felt Johnny press a light kiss on the corner of his lips, which unexpectedly did quite the number on Kenshi. His fingers dug into Johnny’s flesh tighter despite the other’s complaints. The idea of leaving an imprint on Johnny suddenly felt so tempting. Something to remember him by once they’re apart again.
“Mh, money doesn’t grow on trees, Kenny,” Johnny persisted. His words turned breathy near the end once Kenshi’s mouth moved south and pressed against the soft space between Johnny’s jaw and neck ever so gingerly.
“I’ll buy you a new one,” Kenshi promised dismissively and then continued to nose Johnny’s jaw, making the other tilt his head back. Once he felt Johnny’s hands fall down to clutch his back, Kenshi momentarily wondered if he was only hallucinating after the countless sleepless nights finally culminated into some strange fantasy. Then Johnny sighed and turned his head enough to kiss Kenshi’s temple, and Kenshi concluded that this had to be real.
Johnny nudged Kenshi until he finally drew his face back from the man’s neck. When the actor took Kenshi’s hand and started to lead him back inside in a subtle hurry, Kenshi didn’t find any need to protest. Neither one of them would sleep tonight, anyway, and the temptation to give into his need was too powerful to ignore. They way Johnny squeezed Kenshi’s hand while they walked through the empty floors of the teahouse told Kenshi all he needed to know.
It wasn’t too difficult to pick between their rooms. Kenshi wouldn’t be caught dead doing anything of this sort anywhere near Sento, and besides, Kung Lao’s snoring in the room next door would be a great help in drowning out any noise. Kenshi’s hands were all over Johnny once again when they stumbled on the bed, the mattress creaking slightly under their weight as they nearly crashed down on it. He wasn’t being this demanding on purpose, but knowing that Johnny would leave early in the morning and travel all the way to the other side of the world again made Kenshi want to memorize every part of his body.
He slid his palms over Johnny’s neck to his shoulders, down to his chest and over his flanks. Johnny snickered underneath Kenshi. Oh, so he was ticklish. Kenshi would remember this for later use.
“Easy there, cowboy,” Johnny breathed out when Kenshi’s nimble fingers unbuttoned his shirt and pushed it off Johnny’s shoulders. Despite that, he still arched into the pleasant touch and joined in to nearly tear Kenshi’s clothes off. So much for being careful.
Johnny’s body was warm against Kenshi’s. He was all firm, hard muscle and impossibly soft skin under Kenshi’s touch. He smelled of cologne and some fruity shampoo, and his lips were velvety when they travelled down Kenshi’s shoulder. Shuffling slightly in the sheets, Johnny’s thigh brushed briefly against Kenshi’s straining erection and Kenshi swore under his breath.
“Do you have-” he started, but Johnny was already pressing the bottle into Kenshi’s palm before he could finish.
“Way ahead of ya."
Kenshi probably should have questioned why the hell Johnny had lube with him, but then again, he wasn’t too surprised. Once he had settled between Johnny’s thighs and two of his lubed up fingers circled Johnny’s rim, the sound of small, uneven gasps filled the room, and Kenshi didn’t find the need to dwell on unnecessary details. He tried to take it easy, sinking one finger past Johnny’s entrance, carefully and gently probing him, but the way Johnny was writhing under him and encouraging him on was difficult to ignore, even as Kenshi tried to satiate Johnny with tender kisses down his thigh.
“Shit, Ken. You have no idea how hot this looks,” Johnny babbled on with a hushed voice while Kenshi eased a second finger in and stretched Johnny further. “You look so good there, between my legs with your tattooed fingers working me open. If only I had a camera on me right now.”
Kenshi’s cheeks heated up. “I never knew you liked my tattoos so much,” he muttered with some flustered mirth in his voice. He scooped himself forward to catch Johnny’s lips into yet another heedless kiss before the other man could say anything else, swallowing Johnny’s low moans as he spread and curled his fingers inside him. Johnny was so soft, so pliable, so willing and needy when Kenshi added a third finger into the mix. If they had more time, Kenshi would have leisurely indulged in everything. But Johnny would leave soon after sunrise and Kenshi would return to Tokyo, to his lone apartment, and he wanted to commit every bit of this to his memory to make the restless nights a little more bearable.
Once Johnny was loose enough, Kenshi drew his fingers out. Their kiss had turned into an incoherent mash of their lips together once Kenshi lined himself up and grabbed Johnny’s hips, slowly easing himself inside the man. Johnny gasped and hugged Kenshi’s cock nicely when he bottomed out. Kenshi had to draw a deep breath in to stabilize himself, already feeling too keyed up. Too keen.
Johnny’s legs wrapped around Kenshi's hips and his blunt fingernails dug into Kenshi’s back when Kenshi started to move. Thank the gods for Kung Lao’s snoring, because neither of them could keep it down once Kenshi finally set up a forbearing rhythm. His patient pace didn’t last too long when Johnny egged him on to go faster.
Kenshi mouthed Johnny’s neck again to suppress any moans as he thrust into Johnny. Johnny wasn’t being as careful and rather let Kenshi hear his enjoyment, groaning and running his mouth on how good Kenshi felt, how good he felt. Kenshi himself bit his lip hard to not let any noise past, rather just enjoying the feel. His back was sticky with sweat when he drove into Johnny’s warmth. Soon Kenshi sneaked one hand down to grasp Johnny’s cock all the while he finally managed to find the right angle with his next thrust.
“Shit,” Johnny swore and tightened his grip around Kenshi, making Kenshi’s breath hitch and rhythm falter. Heat coiled deep inside his gut and a few more well aimed thrusts later he came with a stifled whine. Johnny wasn’t too far behind, bucking against Kenshi and soon spilling between their heated bodies while letting out a string of creative profanities and praise.
Kenshi struggled to even out his breath once he came down from his high. Feeling boneless and fuzzy, he carefully lowered himself down against Johnny right after pulling out. This level of relaxation was something entirely new, like all the juice had been squeezed out of him in the most pleasant way possible. Kenshi’s mind was nearly blank.
He felt Johnny’s arms wrap around his back and keep him firmly in place, even as Kenshi eventually stirred, beckoning to clean them up.
“Johnny,” he muttered, too worn out to actually struggle against him. Kenshi felt Johnny’s hands slide over to his face, fingers cradling his cheeks briefly before they pulled on his blindfold and lifted it off his face. Gentle thumbs brushed against the scar tissue near Kenshi’s sockets.
“Sleep,” Johnny said. It sounded more like a demand than a request. Kenshi sighed, feeling himself unravel at the seams.
“We’re disgusting,” he nevertheless protested, though right after he lowered his face down to nuzzle the nape of Johnny’s neck. Johnny still smelled like the cologne and shampoo, though now the fresh musk of sex was also in the mix. Strangely comforting.
“Yeah, yeah. I’ll take care of it. Eventually,” Johnny mumbled and nosed Kenshi’s cheek. Kenshi didn’t say anything in return. He was too spent to even think of talking anymore. No more than five minutes later he had already, finally , fallen deep asleep.
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