This was inspired by one of @primal–scream‘s porny reblogs involving a chair. 😀
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It took James a full minute to comprehend his hands were bound to the arms of a chair.
It was his chair, but not the tall, more eloquently designed one behind his desk. It was another one, used for guests that usually sat in front of his desk or off to the side. He sat in it from the left side of his cabin and facing inward. The ropes were thick rigging ropes and after a quick try he knew he would never be able to escape them by sheer use of muscle. In fact when he tried he found he was too drained to exert much energy at all.
He’d been drinking last night. More than usual. The men were still in constant celebration over their single victory against Rogers. He and Silver had decided to let them have their fun for a couple more nights before reining them in to plan their next move. So they’d gone hunting off the coast of the Queen’s island, which many of the men considered part of the celebration—a chance to claim a prize and all the valuables on board after so much time spent away from true pirating.
Silver. James suddenly remembered he’d been with him late last night, well after James should have quit drinking.
“There you are, alive and well,” came the quartermaster’s voice from behind. James strained to look over his right shoulder. Only when Silver stood could he tell that the younger man had been sitting on James’s bunk. He didn’t know if he was bothered more by being tied to a chair or the fact that the likely culprit was sitting quietly in the room with him still.
“Many of my movies have strong female leads – brave, self-sufficient girls that don’t think twice about fighting for what they believe in with all their heart. They’ll need a friend, or a supporter, but never a savior. Any woman is just as capable of being a hero as any man.” – Hayao Miyazaki
With his leads turning into dead ends and corpses, Detective Takashi Shirogane realizes that he has plunged into a violent conspiracy way over his head and that he is running out of time. If he ever wants to unravel the shadow games that plague his beloved city, he’s going to have to be willing to bend the rules and turn to strange bedfellows to prevent mutual destruction.
And none are stranger than the volatile and enigmatic Keith Kogane, sole heir to the Mafia family that has held an iron grip in the area since time immemorial. Shiro would much rather see the young crime lord behind bars than at his side, but desperate times call for desperate measures. Despite the detective’s best efforts, Keith seems to have taken a liking to him, something that has proved both useful as well as garnered him the ridicule of half the precinct. But despite his sarcastic wit and aloof nature, Keith is frighteningly clever and ruthlessly dangerous. Bargaining with him will meaning dancing with the devil and dealing with dragons. But if Shiro plays his cards right, perhaps he’ll take out two birds with one stone in the process of solving this mystery. It’s not like the younger Kogane means anything to him.
Right?
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It’s FINALLY UP!!! Chapter 1 of my Sheith Mafia AU writing inspired by the amazingly talented and kind @lightningstrikes-art ! (created and posted with their blessing) Check out their Mafia AU tag with their art and other amazing stories here.
After seeing their amazing Mafia AU art, I felt my muse strike and asked them if I could write for this. Months later, I finally pulled this together through all the craziness with work and the rest of that silly thing called life.
Chapter 2 is already almost finished and yes, there WILL BE SMUT. Just bear with me for a little setting up on the first chapter ;p
Also, I just wanted to add that I think the most common comment I received from folks who proofread this for me was “I want Keith to step on me too” and I think that is both hilarious and a high form of praise.
The sound of Shiro’s chipper voice rouses Keith from a deep sleep and he slowly reaches to rub crust from his eyes and ears. The night had been filled with Kuro apologizing for tearing and hurting his ear while Kuron glared at him from across the room. Keith hopes the new day will bring new friends and not new enemies.
“Good morning, Keith,” Shiro says in his warmest voice while offering a black t-shirt. “I washed your clothes for you so this should be all clean to wear into the city.”
“Are we going shopping today?” Keith asks and strips out of his nightshirt to pull on the new offered t-shirt. Shiro doesn’t respond and Keith looks up when he pops his head through. “Shiro?”
“Uh– did you say something?” Shiro asks, eyes glazed and cheeks slightly rosy.
“I said, are we going shopping today?” Keith repeats as he realizes Shiro’s so glassy because he had been without a shirt for a brief window of time. Suddenly, he feels a bit like prized meat.
Shiro shakes himself a bit to snap out of his reverie and nods with enthusiasm. “Yes, yes we are. It will be so much fun, especially since you’ve never been to the city before.”
“Is it big?” Keith asks even if the question feels a bit stupid.
“Yes. Very big.” Shiro hops over to wake Kuron and Kuro on their cot where Kuro is curled up beneath Kuron’s chin, his ears tickling under Kuron’s nose, while Kuron snores like a chainsaw. “Kuron, Kuro. Up and at ‘em! Omelets are on the table, Keith. Yours is on the end, I made it special for you.”
Keith feels his ears perk up and he jumps to go and see which omelet is his, sniffing the air until his nose lands him in front of the omelet on the end of the table and he feels his mouth salivate. Shiro had put real meat in the omelet. Not tofu. Steam coming off of the dish tells Keith it’s hot but it doesn’t stop him from tearing into the eggs, ham, cheese, and onions viciously.
“Does he not have table manners?” Kuron asks, voice gruff with the morning as he approaches slow, scratching at his stomach.
“No, and I guess that means you’ll just get along splendidly,” Shiro replies and sits to help himself. “Come on, Kuro. I made you a veggie omelet.”
@lightningstrikes-art made me watch Magnificent Seven and I fell pretty hard for Goody & Billy, and then Sa drew the cowboy Sheiths so here we are. If you haven’t seen the art this is based on, you can see it here
Watching Keith risk his life should have caused distress but Shiro can’t bring himself to wipe the smirk off of his lips so he turns his face to look out into the desert rather than watch Keith take out a fool. He’s been to enough one on one draws to know how things would play out. Keith would win and they would take home the money in a burlap sack.
Keith always wins.
“On my count,” the man announces and Shiro slides a flask out of his pocket to take a sip still trying to keep back a barking laugh. Anyone who thought they could draw faster than Keith was a fool and quickly learned their lesson. “One… two…. Three…”
The sound of guns going off finally make Shiro look, his eyes falling onto Keith where he stands confidently, legs spread in a calm stance. Keith hates guns but he bears one pistol, given as a gift by Shiro, mostly for contests and in an offhand chance he may need a gun in a tight spot. Shiro would never forgive himself if he let Keith enter a fight without at least one gun.
“Keith wins,” the man announces which only makes Keith’s opponent angry.
“No, no, no,” Keith’s opponent growls.
Keith is slowly walking over to where Shiro lounges on the fence, adjusting his belt and shirt as he does. Shiro tries not to stare. Keith rolls his eyes and shakes his head a little. Shiro isn’t able to keep the smirk off of his face this time and they share an amused glance at one another.
“For real this time,” the opponent snarls. “I can outdraw him any day.”
“Your funeral,” Shiro says and takes another drink while Keith returns to his spot. He watches Keith drop his gun and belt to the ground, leaving his weapons in the dust. The air tenses and Shiro is pretty sure he can see Keith’s opponent flinch and look worried – which he should be.
Bone from a black cat, graveyard dirt, and a photograph buried in a box at the crossroads. Dirt under his fingernails the only remaining visual evidence of his current sin. The moon hides behind the clouds, not daring to shed light on the unholy deal about to take place on an October night. Shiro tries not to think too hard on the implications of summoning a crossroads demon.
The world stands still when the demon appears in a cloud of burgundy smoke. The demon seems young, barely in his twenties with a cigarette hanging from his mouth whilst he pats his jacket for a lighter. All for show, they both know the demons needs no man-made aide to light the cigarette. Shiro also knows the demon is older than his vessel looks.
Finally, the demon finds a silver Zippo and lights the end of the cigarette cherry red. The embers light up his eyes and Shiro watches them turn red, too.
“My favorite holy tax accountant,” the demon greets while blowing smoke over his shaggy black hair. Bags under his eyes betray his vessel’s youth.
“Akira,” Shiro greets tersely. A lowly crossroads demon. Shiro recognizes his ugly mug from across a few centuries. “New vessel?”
“It’s Keith, now,” Keith smiles wickedly in the dark, his eyes glowing with pleasure. “And isn’t he quite lovely?”
“Isn’t he a little young for you?”
Keith laughs, a sharp whip across Shiro’s resolve. “Is he not to your taste? I picked him up at a crossroads just like this one. Fool wanted more time on his contract but it was time to collect and his physique keeps me young.”
Shiro snorts and regards Keith’s many tattoos – the ones he can see – along with the long black hair and the multiple silver piercings. “Looks like you picked him up at a discount laundromat.” Shiro knows his joke doesn’t quite fit the situation but he also knows Keith appreciates his bad humor.
Keith laughs and steps closer until Shiro has to look down to see his eyes. “So, tell me Feathers, what can I do for you?”
nightlilium 