Disclaimer: I don't own Samurai Flamenco.

x

In the morning, curled under the blanket, wearing less clothes than he is used to sleeping in - Hazama awakes. He touches his hand to a spot in-between his legs, and to the hair on the inner side of his thigh, then brings it back to where it was. Feeling a bit crusty.

"Goto-san," he says, voice low from slumber. Swallows, mouth dry. Waiting. "Goto-san, what do you want for breakfast?"

The man sighs and sits up, and stretches, and notices a spot where Hazama left a mark. He gives him a look, running a hand through his hair.

"Something that's not curry." he replies, and slips himself out of bed to find his clothes.

Later, in the bathtub, which Masayoshi is graciously letting him use first - he starts to think that he should panic. But for now they eat egg-on-rice, and drink coffee, and talk about which superheroes wear pajamas and which go without.

"The Red Axe definitely wears something flashy," says Hazama with a mouthful of food, and Goto wants to slap him.

Please don't talk about that guy he almost complains, occupying himself with the memory of last night. Stirring another cube of sugar into his drink, dabbing at the grains of rice still left in front of him with half-hearted movements. Instead, "Didn't he go abroad for some shoot?"

Hazama leans forward, placing his head on the flat of the table. He pushes his bowl a little out of the way, and studies the policeman's face with a sour expression. The counter is too big for them, stretching endlessly to his right, glossy and unused. The entryway is barren. The livingroom furniture is for the ghost of family who must have lived here before him, far too much for two or three. In the back room, leaning against boxes and memorabilia, seems to be where they belong.

"Yeah… and left me alone when I needed help."

"Serves you right. Didn't I say you shouldn't go to Numasaki?" But his words are gentler now, just a little. His idol is lying to him, probably, but he won't voice that thought again just yet - so bringing a hand to his cheek, he watches Masayoshi back. They stay like that. For a moment. Until Goto squirms a little and asks if he can take a shower, or bathe, and they find him a towel, and he flicks the lightswitch as he steps into the room.

"Do you want to know if your girlfriend texts you?" he's asked, right after the door closes. He doesn't think that deserves a response, but calls out loudly anyway - No, that's alright, she can wait.

He takes a long time, studying the shampoo. Drawing a little heart on the condensation in the mirror, and erasing it. When he comes out, towel wrapped loosely around his waist, Masayoshi has laid out a pair of clothes he thinks might be large enough to fit. But they aren't.

"Well, I've gone home in worse." He mutters, accidentally snapping the elastic after he slides his boxers to his hips. Wondering, briefly, how much they smell.

Hazama's eyes are bright, and he's blushing.

When he's walked to the door, Goto grabs his girlfriend's umbrella from the holder by the entryway. His mobile sits in the depths of his pocket, no unanswered messages after all.

"Ah, I've got work tomorrow too." He says, and Masayoshi nods.

They wave each other goodbye, and after the door shuts he pulls out his cigarettes. Begins to light one, reconsiders, and finally shuffles it back into the packaging. He'll wait for a smoking zone, he thinks. He'll wait until he's home and in freshly-pressed, clean clothes. He'll wait until Masayoshi says I like you.

xxxx

Not originally meant to be a continuation of the first chapter, but it seems to fit. Written for a prompt on the Livejournal kink meme, "Let's say that after so many visits to Hazama's apartment, they actually ended up doing it. I just want awkward morning after, when they wake up together."