Of course, his timing couldn't have been worse.

As a tinkling of bells and Aoba's flustered yells herald his exit from the shop, a smirk plays at Noiz's lips. It had been extraordinarily refreshing, messing with him. Maybe he should make an effort sometimes, do it more often...

"...the fuck are you doing here?"

Ah.

Fuck.

Noiz's smirk melts off his lips like the last lingering traces of ice cream on a stick at the sound of that obnoxiously familiar voice from across the street. "Is minding your own damn business not something they teach you in schools over here?"

He resolutely keeps his eyes fixed on a flashy neon sign advertising services of questionable repute as he mutters out his response, unwilling to look at the advancing Koujaku.

"It makes it my damn business if you're walking out of the shop my best friend works at when I've warned you about harassing him!"

Noiz snorts, line of sight unintentionally landing on Koujaku. "Knock it off, old man. Aoba isn't one of your damsels in distress. He doesn't need a withered old prune protecting him."

Koujaku flushes.

"That's not-," he begins, but Noiz, amusement reawakening at the red that has suddenly tinted in Koujaku's cheeks, cuts him off. It's wild, wild speculation, a total shot in the dark, but if this is Koujaku's weak point-

"Or-don't tell me, gramps-you want him to be?"

He barely has time to gloat over the way Koujaku's face goes an ugly shade of purple before his head is snapping back and he distantly hears a hollow-sounding crunch that is definitely his nose shattering.

Bingo.

"What, impotent-dick old man? Just pissy 'cause you haven't been able to get it up for a girl after Aoba?"

He dodges the next hit Koujaku levels at his solar plexus, wiping off what he can of the blood gushing freely down his face before he kicks low, going for Koujaku's ankles. He snickers when he knocks them out from under him, making him stumble and land flat on his ass.

"...Ngh!"

Before Koujaku has time to do anything more than glare, Noiz moves to straddle him, flashing him a quick grin before punching him square in the face.

"Who the fuck do you think you are, old man?"

And before he knows it, the black-tar is melting viscous in his stomach again and he lets himself sink into it as he hits, feels the crack of skin, bone, cartilage splintering, giving way in the face of his assault-he hates this, hates this-but then, what is it he hates again?

His vision is still swirling black-green when his head jerks back a second time and he's sent sprawling, Koujaku looming over him, face bloodied and scowling as he knocks the breath out of Noiz with a well-placed knee to the stomach. Before Noiz can buck wildly to get him the fuck off of himself, throw him off and regain the upper hand, a grating voice, way too close for comfort, makes him freeze in his tracks.

"You little fuckerrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrs!"

"...Akushima, motherfuck."

Koujaku stills above him, too, for a split second, cursing. Fist still poised in midair. And then he's on his feet, and before Noiz can resist, he's being seized by the wrist and dragged off into the nearest back alley, in, in, in.

And they run.

They run, twisting, weaving, doubling back until even Noiz's meticulous memorization of Midorijima's street plans is beginning to fail him and Akushima's hollering has subsided into the safety of distance.

As soon as they break pace, Noiz wrenches his arm put of Koujaku's grasp, turning away, leaning against the wall to pant, and if he were anyone vaguely normal, he'd be clutching at his side from the bruising and the stitches. As it is, it's getting hard to breathe, and he hopes Koujaku will leave soon so he can succumb to the dizziness he feels flitting somewhere in the back of his head.

But the tail-end of that thought is lost somewhere, left suspended in the empty air as his body flies back into the wall, head thudding dully against it, the featureless concrete bracing him so that he looks straight into Koujaku's eyes, fiery with the thrill of an actual spar.

"Forget what just happened between us. Everything you know-think you know."

Noiz tilts his head to the side at Koujaku's snarl, pushing away the gray threatening to close in on his vision so that he can level the full weight of his contempt at the older man.

"Now why would I want to do that? I'm sure Aoba would be very-,"

Interested, he wants to say, but one of Koujaku's hands have migrated to his throat, bearing down hard enough to make Noiz's voice cut off in a choked gurgle-a warning in no uncertain terms.

". . . I kissed him, you know," he gasps out as soon as he can breathe again. He doesn't know why he's telling Koujaku this, what is possessing him to spit the words out; except that maybe he revels in the dangerous, different kind of dangerous, almost hungry light that fills Koujaku's eyes, at once a rebuff and unless he is very much mistaken, a demand for more. Wants to see the manic flame dancing in those eyes burn even brighter, wants to be knocked unconscious and not think for a while, wants- "Earlier today. In the shop. It felt surprisingly good. Light. Like-mph!"

He'd though he was well on his way to another brawl in the middle of the street with that statement, body tensing in anticipation of it. But what cuts him off this time isn't a fist to the face, a knee to the diaphragm.

It's Koujaku's lips.

A hand at his chin, digging in hard enough for even him to register the pressure of it. Their bodies, flush against each other, keeping Noiz pinned up against the wall behind him. And Koujaku's lips.

These are the only things Noiz registers, even after the first split-second of shock fades and his own lips curve up into a smirk against Koujaku's, eyes fluttering closed.

So he's the same.

And his body goes limp with the relief of it, because he knows what comes next. Because when Koujaku fucks him up against the alleyway, leaves him to slump on the ground as he walks away in the aftermath, Noiz will finally be able to let go of the discomfiting memory which his mind insists on hanging on to; of Koujaku's troubled, flustered face as he'd mouthed the words no one had said to him in a long, long time.

And so he leaves off thinking, letting his instincts guide him as he buries his hands in Koujaku's hair, pulls roughly at the strands he supposes should be silky to touch. Opens his mouth to the one covering his intently.

And oh, Koujaku's mouth.

Koujaku kisses like he fights, vicious, deep, all offense and entirely focused. Noiz hates to admit it, even to himself, but he can kind of see what all the women hounding Koujaku have to swoon over. Koujaku lets out a hiss into the kiss when he feels Noiz yank at his hair, but doesn't let up one bit, forcing Noiz's lips open with his own, letting his tongue run over every crevice of his mouth.

And Noiz shivers, because he's kissing Koujaku. He's kissing Koujaku, and he swears on every gasping inhale that no sex he's ever had has felt as intimate as the slick slide of their tongues together. It's stealing his breath from his lungs, his secrets from his lips, and laying him out bare for Koujaku's scrutiny.

And he hates it.

He can swear he hates it.

Hates Koujaku more than anything.

And then it's over, Koujaku has pulled back, and Noiz is staring glassy-eyed at the line of saliva connecting their lips until he leans in again, and Noiz's entire body tenses.

"Don't ever fucking touch Aoba again."

And before Noiz even realizes that, yeah, Koujaku just brushed past his lips to his ear, the older man is reinforcing his threat with a harsh bite to Noiz's ear-even that blunt pressure making him shiver-and stepping away from him, turning his back.

Right. Right.

Aoba.

Noiz's knees give out.

He'd like to say he maintains complete composure, that he spits out an insult or five into Koujaku's face right after he pulls away, but the truth is that he's weak to that smarmy bastard's mouth and all the more pissed off for it. So he sinks to the surface of the street, and it's a while before it registers that Koujaku has no intention of bending him over the nearest flat surface and showing him exactly how much he hates him. Has no intention of feeding into Noiz's algorithm how he wants him to-and, fuck-trust stupid old men to make things difficult for him.

"Oi, old man. Where the fuck do you think you're going?"

He dislikes difficulty. He dislikes Koujaku. And he especially dislikes the way his voice comes out, breathless and fucked-out. It does the job, though, as the retreating, kimono-clad back stalls.

"Didn't your mother ever teach you that a real man always finishes what he starts?"

Koujaku visibly stiffens, and it just spurs Noiz on as he gets to his feet, closing the distance between them, gait awkward with every step rubbing up against the hardness building between his legs. "Or are you telling me that the whole seppuku-samurai act is just to get you laid?"

He's right behind him, now, and Koujaku flinches when Noiz turns him around with a rough hand to his shoulder.

"Tell you what," and their faces are close, close now and Koujaku is making to back away but Noiz stops him with a hand fisted in his hair. "It'll never fucking work on the person you want it to."

And there it is, the dangerous flash Noiz had wanted to see in Koujaku's eyes, the one that warns him to back off right the fuck now or else.

So naturally Noiz draws closer, pushes further.

"So how about this," he darts his tongue out to lick at a trail of blood snaking its way out of Koujaku's mouth, smirking as he shudders. "You take what you can get."

For a moment, Noiz almost thinks he sights hesitation in the grip of Koujaku's hand as it comes up to dislodge Noiz's from his shoulder, but then it's gone and Koujaku has an iron-grip on his wrist.

"Let go of me, brat. You don't know what you're asking."

"Oh?" Noiz digs an expert finger into the acupressure point on the back of Koujaku's hand, moving in closer when he snarls in pain and snatches his hand away, makes as if to kiss him. "I think I do."

And then, just as Koujaku is tensing up, forgetting to pull away, he splits his lip right open with a vicious bite to it.

"Tsk-!"

For a moment, Koujaku flinches away, wincing, and Noiz braces himself for the punch he feels coming. But then he just stares. Stares fixedly, blood streaming a scarlet rivulet down his chin, him not even bothering to wipe it away. Something builds in his eyes, smolders, and then a hot mouth is covering his own, and oh.

Oh, Koujaku's mouth.

He can taste the copper-tang of blood in it, mixed in with their saliva, tingeing the kiss seven shades of desperation; all with a spicy, smoky undertone-tobacco? - that makes Noiz's hips rut up into the solid pressure against them as saliva escapes where their mouths are joined and drips down his chin.

They separate with a gasp that could have come from either or both of them, and only when Noiz practically yanks Koujaku away by the hair so he can breathe. He uses this opportunity to look over Koujaku with some satisfaction, properly take in his clouded eyes, his swollen lips, the bruises just starting to show at his cheek as they both gasp for breath, staring each other down.

Koujaku puts up with it for a heartbeat before he lunges for Noiz again, growling low in his ear.

"Don't fucking blame me if you can't walk after this."

Noiz responds to the full-body shiver Koujaku's words elicit in him the only way he knows to. ". . . Hurry it up, old man. Does it really take you that long to get it up? Just pretend I'm Aoba, I don't care."

Koujaku just goes for Noiz's lips, his throat, in reply, and the younger man thrills in anticipation, walking them off to the side, walking them off to the side and back until he's up against the wall again. He tears his mouth away from Koujaku's then, because it's making him fucking dizzy and he needs to focus on untying the obi on the damn stupid kimono Koujaku insists on wearing.

Just when he's well on his way to tugging it loose, though, Koujaku's hands grab his, mouth leaving his neck.

"Not here."

"Hm?" Noiz's hands, disregarding Koujaku's resistance, continue to pull at his obi until he tsks under his breath and forcibly yanks Noiz's arm away.

"I said, not here. Come on." Koujaku uses the leverage he has on Noiz's arm to dislodge him from his position against the wall, try and lead him along.

"Save it, old man." Noiz spits, twisting his arm free. "I'm not a girl."

Koujaku scowls at him.

"And thank mercy for that. That shitty attitude of yours would be even less appealing on a girl." He easily sidesteps as Noiz makes a grab for him, hoping to put a quick end to this pointless discussion, and continues. "There's a difference between treating someone like a girl and simply having class."

And there it is again, that black-tar feeling melting his insides, scorching at him, sliding down his limbs until all he can see it the red of the anger that no one but Koujaku can inspire in him. Before he can act on it, though, before he can punch Koujaku or kiss him or both, he grabs Noiz's arm, twists it behind his back until he feels the warning pressure before a dislocated shoulder. "And I, for one, am not fucking anyone in a dirty alleyway where it is illegal and the chances of catching an STD are ten to one."

Noiz wants to struggle against him, fuck the danger of dislocating his shoulder and aim a bone-shattering kick at his fucking face if he can get away; but it is undeniable that he can't get away, that Koujaku has the advantage in terms of sheer brute strength.

That the realization sends a thrill of excitement down his spine.

"Fuck you, old man."

Koujaku just grins that infuriating, cocky grin that makes women cream and Noiz want to sock him one for his overconfidence.

"You want me that bad?" And although he smirks as he says it, shoving Noiz forward, releasing his hold on him so he stumbles, his voice is low, heated.

". . .Let's go already."