Angelcakes

10:26PM on a Wednesday night. There wasn’t a single light on in the Kitaki mansion. Since the gangster family went into the baking business, their hours changed drastically. Little Plum and Big Wins had turned in for bed 25 minutes ago. Had to be up at 5AM to start baking, after all.

They left their son and his fair-haired boyfriend dozing and cuddled up under blankets on the couch. The blue light of the TV flickered across their gently breathing forms.

Machi was awake, his back to the screen. He admired Wocky. Smoothed delicate fingers over his two-toned hair. Asleep and deprived of all loudness and mannerism, Wocky was very handsome. He even looked like an adult. Machi smiled as Wocky stirred awake and gave him a sleepy smile.

“Did I die and go to heaven?”

“Yes,” said Machi, hunkering down to kiss his lips. Wrapped legs around him. The couch was narrow for both of their forms. He needed the balance. “This is heaven. Eternity with Machi.”

“What’d I do so good to deserve all that?” Wocky cupped Machi by the chin. Demanded more from the kiss. Machi gave way like steam, a little whimper escaping him as Wocky ran his tongue across his teeth. Wocky tasted of tempura sweet potatoes and still smelled of the bakery, though he changed out of his work clothes hours ago. Machi tugged ineffectively at Wocky’s T-shirt, shifting, tried to find a way to lay where he didn’t like he was about to roll off the couch. Wocky pulled him closer, making little circles on the small of his back. Machi could swear his touch left little trails of light and heat. Like magic, Wocky could awaken him in new ways from touch alone.

“You are such a good boy,” Machi breathed his reply several moments too late, when Wocky surfaced from the kiss to nuzzle his throat. He slid his hand up over Wocky’s side and chest, relishing the well-defined muscles beneath the thin material of his shirt.

Wocky was pleased. Machi could tell by the way he muttered, “Shoot,” a little bit shyly and then applied teeth to Machi’s neck. Machi squeaked and nearly squirmed off the couch. Wocky grabbed the edges of the blanket, pulled him back up. They were lost for a few moments in relieved laughter.

Machi put his arms around Wocky’s neck. “Maybe, it is time we should turn in?” He laughed against Wocky’s cheek, pressing a kiss there.

“But baby, I ain’t the least bit tired.” Wocky’s fingers teased up the base of Machi’s neck, buried in his blond hair.

“I am not tired either,” Machi pointed out, tugging at Wocky’s collar to expose his collarbone. He brushed lips there.

“W-wait, angel,” Wocky stammered. His hands were gone from Machi’s hair, looking for… the remote?

Machi hadn’t been paying any attention to the TV. Now, he heard a theme song that made his whole body clench with irritation.

10:30PM on a Wednesday night. The Jammin’ Ninja reruns came on.

Huffing, Machi sat up, hugging his knees to his chest and trying to ignore a problem his legs that was rather poignant and painful for a boy of 16.

Wocky was completely intent on the TV, turning up the volume on the surround-sound.

“Is this necessary to watch every week?” Machi griped.

“It’s the Jammin’ Ninja. He’s a pimp!”

“The Pink Princess is better.”

“Whatever, yo.”

“Whatever is right.” Machi stood up. He was fed up, embarrassed, and more than a little bit frustrated. He grabbed his jacket from the closet and toed into his shoes at the door.

“Don’t go, babe! Didn’t you say you wanted to stay late to watch it?”

“Is late, Wocky. I have not yet done my homework.”

“Angelcakes,” said Wocky. In the half-light, he was totally crestfallen. Machi almost stepped out of his shoes and back into the Kitaki house.

He really did have homework to do. He wasn’t in the mood to watch some dead guy in a ninja suit sing to animals, and he knew from experience that Wocky would doze off before the ending credits. Tonight was a bust. “I’ll see you at work tomorrow, Wocky. Good night.”

Machi pulled on his coat and prayed the damp November night would do something to assuage the heavy heat pooling in his groin. Funny, how things changed in a year or so. When he first started dating Wocky, he wondered what the Big Deal was about sex anyway. He was glad that they never went beyond kissing.

Lamiroir always called him a late bloomer, and Machi supposed he was. Spending years in isolation and not doing simple things like looking and reading and speaking to others added a layer of social ineptitude to his already cool persona of genius.

Or something like that.

Machi shoved his hands in his pockets as he stepped through the gates of People Park. In Borginia, there would be at least two feet of snow in the ground. He would be able to see his heavy sighs as they lingered in the air. Not here. Here in the land of vending machines and defense lawyers, it was pretty warm, even in November. Walking through the park could easily bring back memories of summer. Right there, on that bench, he had his first kiss with Wocky. Had it already been a year since they met and started dating? Had it really been two since the murder case that kept Machi in exile in this country?

The kiss was awkward, rushed, and completely delightful. Machi remembered thinking he didn’t think another person’s mouth would feel slightly cold. The expectation was of heat. He also recalled that spit was a little bit of a problem, and breathing. But Wocky seemed to know the dynamics well enough, and was able to teach Machi.

Wocky never thought it was weird when Machi didn’t know things. He never laughed when Machi got a phrase wrong or corrected his pronunciation. Machi could see in the faces of others that they didn’t know what to make of Wocky. To them, he was loud, obnoxious and bewildering.

To Machi, he was someone who listened and touched him gently. Someone who never thought it strange that he didn’t know about kissing, or freestyle, or recipes. Who replied to Machi’s confession of, “I think I am blooming late,” with “Momma always said the same ‘bout me.”

The problem now?

Machi was blooming all over the place. And if the Jammin’ Ninja interrupted another make out session he’d soon be rotting in jail with Daryan Crescend and that mean bitch Alita Tiala. Not even Mr. Justice would be able to save him. He’d go back in time and murder that actor again. Then he would come back through time and murder the hell out of Wocky. He would hit him so hard his ancestors would cry.

Not Little Plum, though. She was scary.

Machi was still mulling over his problem when he got home. No one had gone to bed, of course. Apollo pored over his case file and several thick books on the kitchen table, furiously nibbling on the eraser of his pencil. Phoenix sat on the couch reading a book called Beyond the Cravat: The Unauthorized Biography of a Perfect Prosecutor and letting out an occasional snort. Lamiroir sat on the other end of the couch, practicing contact juggling with two silver balls. Between them lay Trucy, her head on Phoenix’s lap and her feet on Lamiroir’s. She was the only one watching TV but had it on full volume anyway.

A twangy tune rang out through throughout the living room. Machi nearly screamed.

“I hate that ninja,” he muttered instead. He didn’t have to take his feet off in the Wright-Gramarye household, so he just threw his jacket on the coat chair and ran upstairs before anyone had a chance to comment.

He fell asleep in the middle of doing his homework. He had a dream about trying to explain to a fox that a + b = b + a. The fox ran away. The Pink Princess came by and gave him a pink balloon. “It’s okay,” she said, “You’re trying your best. Don’t rush it.”

The next morning found Machi in a better mood. Somehow, he’d gotten used to all the noise. Apollo practiced his Chords of Steel in the next room. Lamiroir attempted to teach Trucy how to make breakfast (today’s burnt concoction: eggs-in-a-basket). Phoenix was nearly at the end of his book, which was apparently more hilarious than ever.

“Phoenix, aren’t you going to shave?” Apollo rushed, his arms full of files and his face full of giddy-yet-irritated enthusiasm. “You’re coming with me, aren’t you?”

“Have you read this?” Phoenix didn’t even take his nose out of the book.

“N-no. I’ve been working.” Apollo cast Phoenix a withering look. The man was dressed for court, suit and glasses in place, but hadn’t bothered to clean up his face. Despite being reinstated, he still had a rather lackadaisical way of going about things that seemed to bring out the worst in Apollo. Or maybe it was the best. “You know, work? That thing that lawyers who actually take cases do?”

“Of course I’m coming.” Phoenix’s hand darted out to catch a piece of almost-unrecognizable toast as Lamiroir set the platter on the table. He munched it without the slightest change of expression. “Seriously, you should read this. It’s like bad fanfiction.”

Machi poked at his toast with a fork. At one point did something become so dead that it actually gained new life? Was this zombie toast? He was afraid to eat it.

“What’s fanfiction? Never mind, I don’t want to know. Let’s go!”

“Polly! You haven’t eaten breakfast!” The plate of burnt eggie toast appeared magically in Trucy’s hands and she brandished it at her older brother. Lamiroir laughed behind her hand.

“I’m fine, promise,” Apollo assured her a bit too quickly.

“But breakfast is an essential element of a productive day! Health class said so.”

“…Which essential element, carbon?”

“Then again… health class says girls and boys should go on lots of dates but never watch a movie alone together…”

Phoenix finally put the book down. He dabbed the sides of his mouth with a napkin and stood up quickly. “Stop dallying, Apollo, we’ll be late for court.”

“…You think?”

“Daddy! You can’t leave without a goodbye hug!”

Machi was always impressed with how close Trucy and Phoenix were. Even though Trucy was seventeen, she never entered a stage where she felt she was too cool for her scruffy, card-playing father. Even more important to their brief expression of trust was Lamiroir’s expression as she looked on them. A gentle sort of pride tinged with sadness. She had only recently moved in to spend more time with her family, and had feared she and Machi would upset the flow of the Wright household. There seemed to be no concern as Phoenix gave Lamiroir a brief hug too.

“You two be good at school today.” Phoenix addressed Trucy and Machi.

“I’m always good!” Trucy bubbled. “It’s Machi you’ve got to worry about. Just look at him! You’re planning something, aren’t you?”

“I planning to throw this icky toast on your head.”

“Please don’t injure your sister, Machi,” said Phoenix easily. “We can’t afford the hospital bill.”

“Seriously, we can’t,” Apollo added.

“Aren’t you two going to be late?” Lamiroir murmured.

Apollo did a movement that looked like a cat going all bristly. He grabbed Phoenix’s sleeve, dragging him to the door. As they got on their coats he kept repeating questions. Machi went back to dissecting his toast, only half paying attention to their conversation.

“The court record?”

“Got it.”

“Even the newspaper clipping?”

“Yup.”

“And the pictures of the crime scene?”

“Uh-huh.”

“I feel like I’m forgetting something.”

“You’re cute when you get all flustered and legal.”

“…For your own, good, shut up.”

Their tango of a conversation continued out the door and down the steps.

“Well,” said Lamiroir, emptying the tray of blackened former-breakfast into the trash. “Who wants to get bagels?”

School did its best to sap Machi of his energy. Unlike his adoptive sister, he simply couldn’t maintain cheerfulness the whole day. Then again, it was difficult to maintain a day with something you didn’t really start out with. Most teachers tended to ignore him and his eccentricities, so Machi could catch naps behind his sunglasses during classes. The only class he really couldn’t get away with this was physical education.

How he hated PE. The sunglasses “had to go, Mr. Tobaye, unless they are prescription!”

As if to add insult to injury, Ivy High’s school colors were goldenrod and emerald green, a combination that couldn’t possibly make Machi look sicklier if he tried. The smallest set of the PE uniform still hung off Machi’s short, slender form. Whatever team he was assigned to always looked a little disappointed. Today, the sport was rotation volleyball. Machi’s serves were terrible.

“C’mon, Emily the Cow serves better than you,” one of his classmates. “Can’t you at least try to hit the ball? It’s like you’re afraid it’s going to hurt you. Are balls deadly weapons in your homeland or something?”

“Heheh, balls,” the classmate’s friend contributed. “I bet Machi has a lot of problems with balls flying at his face.”

Machi ignored them. Stood too far to one side for the formation, but who cared, really? He wished time would pass more quickly. After school, he could go to his part-time job at the Kitaki Bakery and see Wocky. Wocky was so cute in the little fox apron that Machi just wanted to eat him all up…

Machi’s classmate was wrong. Volleyballs were not deadly weapons in Borginia. They were, however, rather harmful projectiles here in the USA. When a particularly sharp serve from Emily the Cow came hurtling his way, Machi toppled like a house of cards. In the brief moment between falling and hitting the hard gym floor with his head, Machi felt relieved he would probably get out of PE for the rest of the week.

Unfortunately, the Kitaki Bakery was hopping when Machi got to work and tied on his apron. Little Plum, Big Wins and Wocky were running around in the back, rushing to finish an order for a bride who suddenly she wanted ‘traditional’ red velvet cake instead of the strawberry shortcake she ordered. Machi found it ironic that a bunch of former-gangsters could be so beholden to a tiny, loud woman with weird hair and a weirder way of speaking. Why didn’t they just give her a scary look and tell her they’d only cook what she ordered?

The thought occurred that they had tried this and their Southern bride-to-be simply wasn’t afraid of them.

Since Thursday wasn’t a big day for the bakery, Machi was fine with manning the front alone. He did it all the time. His brain felt like a skipping record as he chatted idly with a customer. Honestly, where did people come up with these questions?

“How do you eat a chocolate cornet, anyway?” Machi recognized the customer as a friend of Phoenix’s. Larry, wasn’t it? The one with a sort-of-funny last name.

Machi shrugged.

“I mean… which end is the head? I think it’s the small end. But if you eat it like that, then the chocolate smooshes out. On the other hand, if you start on the wide end, you don’t have any chocolate left by the last bite.”

Machi stared out the window. “I tear off one small piece at the end, dip in the chocolate. Can eat it very easily this way.”

“Oh. You’re a genius!”

“People say that,” Machi said agreeably.

“I’m gonna tell Tangelina! She’s gonna be so thrilled.”

Larry rushed out the door. “Feel free to be wasting my time and buying nothing,” Machi muttered as the door slammed and the little bell rang over and over. Machi stared out at the street and wondered if he should wash the windows or something.

He was so engrossed in his plan to possibly wash the windows that he didn’t notice two flour-covered arms closing around him, lips near his neck. Wocky startled him out of his reverie. Machi leaned back into the taller man’s arms. “Hi.”

“Momma said to come give you your break. Sorry I didn’t come say hi before, sweetness. I’ve been up my elbows in cream cheese frosting.”

“Oh… is okay.” Machi felt the flush traveling over his body, merely from the feeling of Wocky’s breath on his skin.

“Babe, why you hidin’ your gorgeous face? I thought you gave up wearin’ those whack sunglasses.” With nimbleness unbecoming of his nature, Wocky removed Machi’s sunglasses and tucked them into his apron pocket.

“At school today…”

“Who did this to your face, angelface?” Wocky yelped. “Who hit you? I’ll kill him! Where’s my shiv?”

Machi took a single step back from Wocky’s flailing. He held Wocky’s shoulders in hope of calming him. “Is sports injury. Nothing so bad.”

Wocky leaned over to touch Machi’s face, trace the line of the bruise. Even though that area was tender, his fingers produced a strangely pleasant tingle. With just the slightest shift of weight, Machi could kiss him. So he did.

He pushed Wocky against the doorframe that led to the back of the shop. From that angle, they wouldn’t be easily seen from outside the shop. Good.

Even under the aprons and layers of clothing, Machi’s hands could make out the hardness of Wocky’s body. Hips weren’t enough, tongue wasn’t enough, Machi was feeling ferocious. He undid the first few buttons of Wocky’s collar. This time, he wouldn’t thwarted by the Jammin’ Ninja. They could have at least a few moments to--

The bell rang. Someone came in the door, and Wocky’s attention turned.

“Ya oughta take your break, beautiful,” Wocky smirked. Machi smirked right back, pressing a knee between his legs.

“Take your break with me,” he whispered into Wocky’s ear.

Wocky pushed him away gently. “Naw, naw, babe, I gotta help this customer. This is work, ya hear me? We gots to act professional.” He brushed a strand of golden hair from Machi’s face and offered him a smile that could melt the polar ice caps.

Machi sucked in a breath through his teeth and straightened his apron. “Right.”

Machi locked himself in the bathroom and wondered if it was possible his boyfriend was actually a Zen monk in disguise. How did he not manage to not be driven crazy by every moment they spent together? How had they dated a whole year and never moved past the occasional impassioned grope?

He did what was needful for a teenage boy and spent the rest of his break sitting on the toilet lid, smoking a cigarette with the fan on. Plum Kitaki would scold him if he found out, and Wocky thought that smoking was “totally uncool, yo,” but some habits died hard from years of touring with rock bands.

Machi watched the smoke drift a little. Something clearly had to be done. If they continued like this, Machi was going to turn into some sex-obsessed maniac, waiting to jump Wocky at every opportunity. He was sure he’d feel better if they would just go through with it already.

That’s when the idea struck him. Machi tossed his cigarette in the toilet, and fished his phone out of his pocket. He had some calls to make.