You're Coming Home With ME

A gasp was pulled from a lithe body as it was tossed effortlessly onto the mattress. A heftier frame followed, making quick work of pinning it down. Teeth nervously worried a bottom lip, as the trapped soul realized that all of his fidgeting and wriggling hadn't moved the bulkier form on top of him, not one inch. It was easy to forget, even though he saw him wandering around the house, shirtless, on those hot, summer nights. But, Hiroshi Koga was strong; the strongest man he had ever known. And knowing that was enough to kill any hope of escape.

All thoughts ground to a halt as his blue tee was rucked up by calloused hands. Muffled grievances gave way to a grunt of relief, as the fabric finally popped free, leaving the younger man's short, black hair, sticking out chaotically in every direction; the stormy eyes watching with rapt attention grew all the hungrier.

However, as the yakuza's hands trailed further down, slowing to appreciate all of that smooth skin, they were seized at the wrists; caught before finger tips could even so much as brush the waist band of those stretchy, little shorts. It was a tragedy worthy of Shakespeare. Grey orbs found the other man's doe-like eyes. They had lost their typical tranquility some time ago and were now blown wide with alarm.

"...What?"

"I said, we can't do this!"

The older man raised a quizzical eyebrow at his companion's dramatics.

"If you really wanted me to stop, you woulda pushed me off, already."

Hiroshi stared into his house mate's eyes, giving him just enough time to show a sign of resistance: any. When it didn't come, the yakuza went back to pillaging the leaner physique; he brought as much gusto to the task as he would bring to a knife fight. Battle-hardened fingers tweaked the tender, pink buds, as sharp teeth nipped at a defenseless collarbone. The younger man yelped, before making a sound that he, even with his vast vocabulary, had no words by which to describe. His temperature was skyrocketing, as those hands he had caught in both caring and violent acts, alike, heated his blood as they left a trail of fire with every caress.

This was the most raw the young man had ever felt. The most exposed. It left him aching. But, it also made him feel truly seen for perhaps the first time.

Brown eyes slowly fluttered shut, as he surrendered himself to the sensations. There was no point resisting any longer. Perhaps there never was. So, he gave in to the rougher fellow's advances, even with a nagging question burning a hole in the back of his brain.

'How did I even get into this mess?!'

Kota's forehead creased as he looked over the enormous pile of bills. He knew it was frowned upon not to pay your expenses on time. But, it wasn't like he was hoarding a pile of money that was burning a hole in his pocket, either. In fact, he was broke; dead broke.

'It's my own fault,' he reminded himself with a sigh, as he rose from the faded tatami mat of his modest, studio apartment.

He took a sip of tea from his faded, Bakuman cup, before mulling everything over. Even if the young man could admit that there was no one else to blame, he couldn't find it in himself to be angry. Kota made his own choices. He wouldn't have done anything differently, not even if the whole world showed up at his doorstep with every opportunity imaginable; not even if they were presented to him on a silver platter!

That's not to say that Kota hadn't considered other options. But, going to school like his father to become an engineer was just never one of them; he was smart, but not like that. It would have been a complete waste of time.

He could have trained with his uncle to become a shop owner, but he really didn't have the business sense to run a store. Not to mention that he was shit at selling things. No. In his heart of hearts, Kota Tanaka knew that he was made for one thing and one thing only; he was meant to be a writer. Mocha eyes rolled, as they once again found the excess pile of overdue bills taking up space on his countertop.

'A writer who is about to be kicked out of his apartment. I'm going to have to figure something out.'

Maybe the local diner was still hiring? He was about to use his worn out laptop to look up their number, when something stopped him. On his cracked screen was the story he had been working on for the better part of two years. Kota paused for a moment, before starting to read it from the very beginning. A smile came to his face. Warmth blossomed in his chest, as he was transported to a far off land. One where girls were goddesses, dragons were pets and even the most ordinary guys like him could become heroes and kings.

By the time he looked around his apartment again, it was dark. He had gotten so wrapped up in his novel that he had lost all sense of time. But, one thing he had gained was determination. Kota shut his laptop with a decisive click, cloaking himself in darkness. He crawled over to his futon before pulling the blankets over his head.

He couldn't get a normal job. He just couldn't! His story had so much potential! He just needed more time; more time to finish it! And what bought time? Money.

Of course, he didn't have any of that. And he didn't have anything to sell that other people would be willing to buy. But, he did know a way to get a substantial amount into his hands, quickly. Though, if he failed to pay back THIS debt on time, the consequences would be dire; losing his apartment would be the least of his worries. The writer rolled onto his back, his eyebrows creasing in thought as he stared absently at the ceiling. Should he really make a deal with the yakuza?

All night Kota battled with himself. He examined his situation end over end, over and over. But, by the time the sun finally came shining in through the window, the baggy-eyed, young man sat up, raising both hands in surrender. This was easily the worst idea he ever had. The few positives were swallowed up by the endless amount of negatives that could and probably would happen to him, if he went down this road.

But, he was a writer! Not an engineer, not a shop owner and not a busboy! Just a writer, who realized that the only choice left for someone like him was to remain true to themselves and hope that he was born under the right star to make things happen!

"Maybe I'm crazy!" he declared as he jumped up with as much conviction as his tired body could muster, "But, I have to try!"

Six months later, a black, S-class Mercedes cruised up to the modest apartment complex. The driver glanced in the mirror at the man sitting on the plush seats behind him. He wore an equally black, leather jacket, a low cut, white shirt and tight jeans. But, what really topped off the look was the large set of blue, reflective shades he wore over his eyes. Everyone else in their organization wore black suits and black sunglasses. But, who was a mere newbie like Daichi Mori to question one of the highest members of the yazuka?

"We're here, boss."

After that announcement, the chauffeur popped out of the vehicle to open up the leader's door. The boss hesitated for a moment, before turning in his seat and planting his steel-toed boots firmly on the sidewalk. He gazed up at the modest apartment complex, as he dug out a carton of cigarettes. The driver stood stoically, a light sheen of sweat appearing on his forehead as the other man lit up; everyone knew Hiroshi Koga meant business whenever he smoked.

Three men leaned up against the wall and railing of the second floor. The twins snickered, carefree amongst themselves, only to snap to attention when they saw the boss coming up the stairs. One of them scrambled to snap up the makeshift battering ram.

"Are you ready, boss?!"

"Yeah," Hiroshi said as he slipped on a set of brass knuckles, "Break it down."

The other twin rushed to the opposite side, gripping the other set of handles, before the two men began beating against the door. But, after only two hits, the barrier caved in.

"Wow. That was.. kinda disappointing, huh, Haru?"

"Well, no wonder it was! Look how thin this door is, Aito!"

They stared at the paper-thin wood, pushing it back and forth between them like children at play, only for, Genri, the oldest of the group, to give them a much needed whack on the head.

"OW!"

"H-Hurts!"

"I hope it did! We're on a mission, remember?! We've got a debtor to find! Now, get moving!"

The two yakuza members scattered, before the greying man nodded to his superior.

"Sorry about that, boss. They're such goof balls, sometimes."

"It's alright, Yamazaki-san."

The man shook his head. Yes, he was older. But, for the man he once called the young master to still address him the same way he did back then? Sometimes, he didn't know what to think of it.

"Huh, there's not much here," Haru said, as he nosed through the barren cupboards.

"The guy musta skipped town, boss!"

Daichi used his enormous strength and height to open up a ceiling panel, only for the family living upstairs to stare at him in abject shock.

"Uh. S-Sorry," he muttered, putting things back the way he found them with a blush on his cheeks.

"I think it's like Aito said, boss. The loser must have skipped out on us. I guess the next best thing we can do is take all of the assets in this apartment and sell them. Not that he has much to-"

Hiroshi suddenly flung open the closet, before shoving aside the few clothes that were hanging there. And what did he find? None other than Kota Tanaka, who screamed in shock and alarm at being found. The twins were on him, before he could even get up. They dragged him out of the closet, both of the plum-eyed devils gripping onto the younger man's shoulders like a vice.

Suddenly, something the young man had been clinging to was ripped out of his arms, compliments of Daichi, who handed the prize to Genri.

"A laptop?"

"Yeah. That's how I found em. There was a plug for one stickin' out of the wall, but no computer."

"Good call, boss!"

"Yeah, good call! We've got em now!"

At that point, Hiroshi Koga had expected the debtor to begin begging for his life in a bid for self preservation. He had heard a million pleas by now and a million more excuses. In fact, he dared say that there wasn't a single one he hadn't heard. So, what would be the flavor of the day this time?

"P-Please, sir! I.. I.. I-!"

"Spit it out, kid." Hiroshi said as he pushed back some of his spiky, bleach-blond hair.

It was like watching a dam burst. Kota wailed as tears cascaded down his pale cheeks.

"I just wanted to write!"

The yazuka leader's eyes widened. He had been expecting all kinds of excuses. But, hadn't been expecting that. Something changed in the air. Suddenly, it was like they were the only two people in the world, as he stared down into those teary, brown orbs that caused him to remember something from so many years ago. He only came out of it, when Genri mentioned something about payment.

"Huh?"

The twins looked at each other in surprise. Someone as hyper focused as the BOSS zoning out? Now they had seen everything!

"I was just saying that it's a shame he's so damn skinny! We could of sold his body on the street corner to pay back his debt."

Hiroshi glanced at the trembling mess that was Kota Tanaka with an appraising eye.

"Skinny, huh?"

The would-be writer watched in shock as the yakuza boss approached him, squatting down to take his chin in hand. He slowly turned his face to the left and right, taking it all in. His right hand man couldn't have been more correct. Usually by the time he showed up to kick the Hell out of debtors, they had blown all the money on things they could have gotten if only they waited just a little bit longer. But, this kid seemed to have spent every, last yen keeping the lights on, if only so that he could finish his book; it was a passion he could appreciate.

Hiroshi finally stood up straight, before taking the cigarette out of his mouth. His gang members stared in shock as the cancer stick met its demise beneath his steel-toed boot.

"Pack your shit, writer-san."

"Pack my- W-What do you mean?!"

"I mean you're comin' home with me."

And that's how Kota became the unofficial housewife of a yakuza! He just didn't know it yet.