Aresene Lupin III (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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c17h19no32015-02-12 04:28 am
peacocklocked) wrote in c17h19no32015-02-12 04:28 am
It's about you, me, and tautology
What rouses him from slumber isn't a deep, satisfying yawn, the crack of his jaw over the need for oxygen to his brain, the darkness that envelops his bedroom, or the incessant chirp of birds outside his window.
He's lightheaded. It isn't the kind that comes hand in hand with a hangover after a satisfying night, no. Breaths are caught tight in his chest and throat and his legs are cramped, bracketed by something other than the humble frame of his bed. Lupin is sure this is some shit when his palms settle against wood. The air, what minimal air he has left, is thick with the scent of sandalwood.
He's in a goddamn coffin. This is decidedly not how last night ended. He and Jigen Daisuke had teamed up again for a certain painting, one held in an armored vault with a mind of its own (supposedly. Not much of one left after Arsene Lupin III got done with it. Nothing but gibberish after, not even enough for The Man Behind the Curtain.)
The first lesson in Waking Up in Your Own Coffin is to breathe as shallowly as possible, right? (He has no idea. This is his first time he'll care to remember in his adult life). His belt! His belt should have something...
His fingers feel heavy and fumble with the belt buckle, the sharp corners will probably be able to dig through the vinyl and wood pretty decently. Enough.
By the time he's dug through part of the lid his fingers are bloody and his breathing comes out fast and he's trying to keep his noises as minimal as possible, Grandpa would be able to get out of this in two snaps of his fingers, so why not him--
And that's when he hears a noise. A person shaped noise.
He's lightheaded. It isn't the kind that comes hand in hand with a hangover after a satisfying night, no. Breaths are caught tight in his chest and throat and his legs are cramped, bracketed by something other than the humble frame of his bed. Lupin is sure this is some shit when his palms settle against wood. The air, what minimal air he has left, is thick with the scent of sandalwood.
He's in a goddamn coffin. This is decidedly not how last night ended. He and Jigen Daisuke had teamed up again for a certain painting, one held in an armored vault with a mind of its own (supposedly. Not much of one left after Arsene Lupin III got done with it. Nothing but gibberish after, not even enough for The Man Behind the Curtain.)
The first lesson in Waking Up in Your Own Coffin is to breathe as shallowly as possible, right? (He has no idea. This is his first time he'll care to remember in his adult life). His belt! His belt should have something...
His fingers feel heavy and fumble with the belt buckle, the sharp corners will probably be able to dig through the vinyl and wood pretty decently. Enough.
By the time he's dug through part of the lid his fingers are bloody and his breathing comes out fast and he's trying to keep his noises as minimal as possible, Grandpa would be able to get out of this in two snaps of his fingers, so why not him--
And that's when he hears a noise. A person shaped noise.
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He says that like it's the most ridiculous indictment against his character in the world; after all, how many years has it been since he's stopped taking offers from organization to organization? How many years has it been since he's become 'Jigen Daisuke, Lupin's right-hand man'? But he has a feeling that that's not what Lupin's talking about, and his brows furrow under his hair, contemplative and surly.
Speak for yourself, is what he'd say, but he knows the answer to that one already. Heard it a million times.
("I always come back". Idiot.)
The nervous laughter isn't missed, because Jigen's looking for it. He tips his head, bushy hair tipping along with the motion of his neck.
"Because you're the one that should be worried."
About being here, about everything. Pretending that he doesn't have any concerns is ludicrous, and that's the silent implication made with a light tap of knuckles against head.
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There's a moment where he draws in a breath, where he thinks Jigen's going get puff up again with rage-- but thankfully it doesn't come.
What follows almost makes him wish it were so. Licking his lips, he shakes his head and chuffs another laugh, this one a little stronger
(can't let him scrape it back, that's your job).
"Why should I worry? A Lupin always gets what he wants in the end," he says, in a tone that's light and airy and completely like he's recited it. He turns into the motion of Jigen's knuckles, inquiring.
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Now, now Jigen looks a little angry. How silly of him, to take everything else in relative stride, and bristle only when his partner says something slightly off-center about himself.
(Not that it's wrong, it's not, but.)
"Bullshit. I already know what I want. You're the one digging up photos and trying to pretend that you're just 'intellectually curious'."
His teeth grit together, canines showing from the little lift of his upper lip. The hand on Lupin's shoulder grips, then shakes his partner's frame once, twice.
"If you don't want to say anything, fine. I put up with your cryptic shit all the time. But I'm not blind, Lupin."
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(it's heavy, this weight. Another legacy stretched out before him, untouchable, this hand on his shoulder)
"Ah, right, now you get it." He hums, a question in his eyes. "And just why was I digging up these photos, then. Tell me, Oh Enlightened One."
(No. He doesn't want to hear it. Not at all.
one of its corners digs into his back)
But he will acknowledge a fact: "About time you woke up, then. Welcome back." And brush it off.
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"Because," he says through still-tightly ground teeth, angry because of their collective stubbornness, angry because he knows why he's doing this despite everything that tells him that it's stupid, useless. "You're a stupid goddamn kid."
Lonely? Posturing? He knows both of those feelings, and there's something about Lupin, this one, that makes him draw both knees up on the bed and draw his arms around those wide shoulders, those shoulders that carry everything.
"Forget about all of this once you're back in your world, idiot."
He's still angry, words still bitten through clenched teeth, but his arms are dangerously gentle; still the same Jigen Daisuke, the same stupidly softhearted gunman who takes the fall for mafia wives.
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Mimicking the night before, slowly, ever so slowly, his hands find their way to Jigen's back. There's tension coiled there beneath his fingers.
"What are you still mad for, idiot? I'm the one who should be mad. Being called a stupid goddamn kid..." Sure, he's certainly not happy about it, but his tone belies little of that. It's too light.
But Jigen's last comment strays his hands from trailing down his back. Fingers dig into a smokey jacket.
"Is that what you're going to do when this is over?"
(It'd probably be for the best, but...)
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"Then be mad— you're always sulking about something."
A light snort to accompany the sentiment, as knees shift to get proper traction on his perch. He still smells like fog, like ash still settling into cracked corners of a cooling volcano.
Lupin's question sounds like a low whine to Jigen, coupled with the grip to his jacket and that moment of hesitation.
"You already know the answer to that question, so don't bother."
(He won't, he's not the one that'd be better off forgetting.)
(That, and... well. He's Jigen Daisuke, what can you say.)
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"Who's the one sulking? You're definitely projecting your own traits onto me, man. I'm cool as a cucumber."
Lupin inhales, as if to prove it, and his eyes flutter closed. Fingers remain dug into fabric, twisting. Jigen's a bubbling volcano, still smoldering with dust and hardened lava around the edges.
"Then why should I expect to do the opposite? I won't stand for blocking out a single part of something that's still me. Even if it makes me....irritated. It's good to have a rival, right?"
He's his own rival, now? How many rivals can this idiot child handle.
"This was supposed to be about you, you know."
(He can always count on Jigen to be the one doing the waking, huh. Lupin wanted to prove a point just once)
(aside from the general...irritation and the unease in his belly, he can't help but be amused)
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His breath ruffles Lupin's hair.
"Rival, huh. This isn't a damn competition."
Unless his partner thinks it is, in which case Jigen will happily punch him for his trouble. Back straightening, Jigen rests his chin on top of the kid's head, settles there as he transitions from nursing his residual anger to channeling it into something more useful. Practical, thy name is Jigen Daisuke.
"And don't bother— I don't need you to worry about me. I never have."
He could have phrased that in a kinder way, could have said you shouldn't instead of you don't, but he's never particularly been good at that.
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Jigen is very, very warm in his arms and Lupin is getting pretty damn comfortable...and maybe the older man won't kick his ass! Everything might be coming up Lupin...for the moment. So the moment between Jigen ending a sentence and beginning the next.
Now it's Lupin's turn to scoff, fingers curling into a fist he softly knocks into Jigen's back, lips twisted into a scowl.
"Well excuuuuse me for looking out for a friend. Someone's got to make sure your ass stays in one piece during this turn of events. Someone's got to wake you up."
(And it's mine right now. My responsibility. My pleasure. My job.)
(to think it's the same set of grumbling in this particular part of the partnership....)
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"What do you think, that we're all out to get you? I'm looking down on you right now."
Looking down at, more like, but. Semantics. His chin works against the crown of Lupin's head, knees flush against the thief's sides.
And it's not without a quiet warning that he says what's coming next, a slow: "I'm your partner" in correction of the word 'friend'.
Not business, though: not obligation.
"If you tell me that you don't trust me to be able to work with this, I'm throwing you out in your goddamn underwear."
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"How dare you assault my full head of luscious hair! If you make me bald in the future I'm going to shave your damn face, baby face."
There are two perfect dots of pink burning into his cheeks, embarrassment and annoyance and maybe a little bit of softness attempting to cull his edges all at once.
A little more seriously: "Don't look down on me, I'll shoot right up to the sky and you'll sprain something if you look too far up."
And maybe, maybe he softens a little more, palms flattening against his partner's back.
"I trust you with my life," he says, evenly. "I just don't want you to get in over your head, that's all."
(Weird fucking owls and pyramids are one thing...)
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"I'd like to see you try," he huffs, ignoring the statement about Lupin going anywhere that he can't reach, because it's not worth addressing— Jigen won't hold him back, but he won't be happy if he's left behind with the soles of his shoes worn down from running.
The thought makes that fire in his gut flare again, and he pulls out another strand of hair for good measure.
"Maybe try not being such a goddamn handful all the time, then. I wouldn't be 'in over my head' if you didn't rush head and pants-first into everything."
Especially dick-first, but let's not be crude. He has no idea what this Lupin's done with his Jigen, but he has a feeling that they haven't gotten to that point of exasperation, of mutually-acknowledged inevitability.
He smiles about that to himself, privately.
"—But that's awfully straightforward of you, for once."
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"Don't go to sleep tonight or you'll see just how hard I try...youth has a lot of merit too, you know," said sulkily as hell. What a fucking baby.
"You'd be bored as hell worrying about the weight of your heart if I didn't rush in head and pants-first with you right at my heels. You'd still be waiting for your heart to be devoured if I hadn't showed you the trick to it."
Lupin never actually divulged the trick, now, did he. Oh well, a thief's a thief.
(Thinking about Jigen still stuck there, like a wandering wolf with no pack, no homeland of his own, makes something in his belly curl uncomfortably)
(not that he ever needed anyone to pick him up, but--)
(he's still glad he had)
Lupin harrumphs in response. "Well take a picture, it lasts longer."
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Jigen isn't exactly embarrassed by his nostalgia. Like many things, they become better with age; kinder, fuller. He's not Fujiko, he's never seen a reason to outrun his past.
That revelation softens his posture, makes his joints more generous and his anger less stubborn, chin traveling from Lupin's head to his shoulder, knees easing themselves down so he can sit, surprisingly, on his current partner's lap. Not docile, but knowing when to acquiesce.
"Don't think I'm not grateful for it."
He says in response to the observation about his heart, with an astonishing matter-of-factness. It should be a moot point, really, and Jigen twines his fingers at the small of Lupin's back, looking straight at the headboard of the bed, the wall in front of him.
"And I'm not taking a picture, you'll whine about that, too."
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(Thankfully Jigen can't see his expression, but can probably feel the tension eased from the line of his body)
A beat passes. Then two. And, slowly, "You don't have to be grateful. Just follow me for awhile."
(Forever, apparently)
One pointy chin, accentuated with a grin, levels itself upon Jigen's shoulder in return.
"What, me? I'm so photogenic, though! You can't convince me you don't have some of these, too."
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(And there's also a quiet pang somewhere, when he wonders if this is something Lupin hasn't found for himself yet. A second pair of shoes to clutter closets with, ties to fight over.
Is it stupid to be angry with himself, a not-himself, angry with a gruff hound with his face still squabbling over the difference between companionship and domestication?)
"You're giving me a choice?" is the soft chuckle, even if he knows that he can't answer that affirmatively; he's not the one that's going to follow this Lupin into the future.
Like Lupin, he's glad that Lupin can't see the expression he's making now, the smile without fully smiling.
"—And don't be stupid, I don't keep photos of you. I see your damn face every day."
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(and he doesn't resent Jigen for it, either, because hello?? Master Thief, permanently on the run with handcuffs jingling in his ears)
(and he knows he'd be out the door if the pay wasn't so good, if the thrill wasn't amazing, if he admitted to how much he liked all this)
His mouth lifts at the corners. Yeah, right. These ears are attuned to gruff fondness, buddy.
"Sure you don't. You're totally not the type to covet secret photo stashes in the dark...You have to have a few."
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He'll let the kid figure that out for himself.
So he snorts, shrugs against Lupin's shoulders and makes them rise with his.
"I have a feeling why 'me' in your world would be threatening you with black eyes."
Little Blue has a lot to learn... but then he goes ahead and says something that has a grain of truth to it, something that can easily be proven if Lupin reaches into Jigen's pants pocket and takes out his cell phone.
"That's what I call wishful thinking", is what he says though, hoping that Lupin won't find the modest snapshots that Jigen's kept, of Lupin feeding strays in Rome or posing next to statues.
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(Lupin doesn't need it, but Jigen might)
(a little)
(he could use it, regardless)
"You are getting better at the whole condoling violence thing. I might be rubbing off on you more than you anticipated...not that I don't appreciate the enthusiasm."
Lupin knows. Or at least, he reads something in the line of Jigen's shoulders, in the creases around his mouth, in the embarrassed grumble, damned if you do, damned if you don't. Jigen, then and now and for always, has always been a creature of sentiment, as much as he once tried to dash it from his sleeves like dust. But that was Before his time. He can't run anymore.
"It's not wishful-- it's tautology."
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And when it sinks in, he laughs, his whole body shaking with the sentiment, every inch of him trembling with his own amusement. For all of Lupin's hesitance, he says this with such certainty that Jigen can't help but find it so...
...funny. Cute. He looks so proud of himself, God, he can't deal with this.
"Listen to yourself. What, are you stealing million-dollar words now, too?"
(Somewhere inside his gut, he's delighted: he hates the word inevitability, and yet.
This is one he doesn't mind so much.)
"Goddamn, I could kiss you."
Still chuckling softly, he doubles into himself, head resting on Lupin's chest.
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(as nice and reedy and low-rumbly as that laugh is against his chest)
"I don't have to steal those-- they're all mine. It doesn't hurt to use a dictionary every once in awhile. It might draw the ladies to you, though."
There's a note of sulkiness in the turn of his mouth, dipped low into a narrow line, and his shoulders are tense and coiled. But those gray eyes spark with interest.
"I wouldn't oppose this motion. All in favor say 'aye'. It's the least you can to subdue my wrath."
His voice is just as low, it's quiet, slow deliberation.
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His eyes glint when he lifts his head back up to match his partner's gaze, a little misty from his shortened breathing.
"I'm not talking about women right now, idiot."
Nor will he ever, with his simple aversion to the subject, but that's not important right now; what's important is that he does sit up, Jigen Daisuke, the man with every reason to push people away but with all the fortitude not to.
It's still a bad idea, he knows, but he leans in and presses his lips to the corner of this kid's mouth, closer to the cheek.
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That big mouth opens, a retort spring loaded on the tip of his tongue, with heat and sparks, but then Jigen's lips plant themselves on the edge of his mouth, warm and real, and like he wanted, it closes with a clack of teeth.
Oh.
His mouth lifts beneath the tickleitch of Jigen's beard while he turns his head, forging his own clash of his lips to the gunman's bottom lip.
"Then you can bet the world won't end just like this," he says against his mouth.
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But those things are ultimately things that suit his partner better, the highbrow, high-minded things that are beyond Jigen. He cushions his second brush of lips against skin with his own facial hair, finishes his slow drag across Lupin's face with a light nudge, and then pulls back.
"If that was enough to stop the apocalypse, then it must have been a damn shoddy one anyway."
A light shove, and Jigen starts pulling himself back up on his knees, starts pulling his weight up and away from his temporary charge.
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