Curry Udon - GotoxHazama Samurai Flamenco Fic

"Your place's always cleaner than I thought it'd be," Goto says, dropping his bag off next to the door. Every room is familiar already. The taste of his curry, too, is more than a fading memory. Stretching as he relaxes into the couch, he eyes Hazama, who busies himself making tea.

There is a distinct lack of personal touch. No tablecloth, no posters on the wall, no haphazard magazines. Even though he knows that everything is stored in the back room, he can't help but wonder. He watches the way their drinks are brought towards him, thin frame, pale skin, genuine.

Hazama smiles, passing him tea in likely the only normal mug he owns.

Whenever they watch tv, it is tokusatsu. Superheroes, and villains, and each series more ridiculous than the last. Slipping into nostalgia that isn't his, more time is spent watching the man beside him than the screen. There's too much space in-between them, and so he shifts a little, and changes position. Arm on the back of the couch, like an American movie star. Fingers dangling just close enough. Hazama is keeping him in conversation even as he stands up and sits down, recites lines and copies poses memorized years ago. At one point he attempts to return, lands unbalanced, and stumbles into Goto's side.

And stays there.

The clock is late. Goto has one arm around his, the other nudging against his outer thigh, both in pretence to keep him steady. The tape is muted; Hazama's breathing is louder than the sound. His girlfriend is away. His girlfriend is -

The policeman's back is against the arm of the couch, one leg pressed against Hazama's side, the other hanging off the edge towards the floor. The dialogue is indistinct. Neither of them mind. Goto wonders if the man has ever had friends before. If he's ever had...

"Do you think I'm strange." Hazama suddenly asks, as if their conversation had never ended. A serious expression. His face is averted in embarrassment, and he leans backward while he speaks, as if forgetting where he is. Starts to lean forward again. Changes his mind.

"Anyone would. But that's not a bad thing."

He doesn't quite reach for something comforting to say. Instead, almost absentmindedly, thumb caressing the seamline of his trousers and Hazama saying nothing about his touch - they settle into each other.

The credits have long ended.

Goto's drifting off to sleep when he hears a mumble, the low sound jolting him awake. Something in his lap shifts.

"What's that?" He asks, eyes still closed. There was work tomorrow, but late. There would be time to eat breakfast, or lunch, return to his own flat…

"I don't have a guest bed." Hazama clarifies.

He laughs quietly and begins to sit up, gradually, his weight an easy pressure against the model from behind. Hazama isn't blushing, and when Goto's hands slide towards his middle - slowly, calmly, pushing up at the fabric of his shirt to feel the skin underneath - he isn't surprised.

"I knew that."