Chapter Text
“Hi. You must be dying of boredom right now.”
Just seeing the accursed name flit across his phone screen completely cut through the slight happiness that filled his body when Abby’s photo appeared in his messages. Edamura didn’t know why he accepted the call, maybe because he was mad that this was the first time after the con that the man was contacting him and his need to yell his feelings out hadn’t been satiated. But hearing the French drawl on the other end after that one sentence filled him with a burning annoyance. Before his mind could catch up to his movements, he had the phone right next to his ear.
“No! I’m actually fine, you blond bastard! I’m in Japan trying to live my life and you calling me is interrupting my research!” Edamura screeches into the phone, surprising the coffee shop owner in front of him considerably.
“Now, now, Edamame, don’t be so mad!” Laurent says with a smirk on his face, the cheers of the crowd drowning out his end a little bit. “I’m just wondering if you’d like some company on your fun coffee excursions. I can wrack up some vacation days and we could try some drinks together. You know, drink a cup in Rome, sip something nice in Wellington, I’d love to-”
“Stop,” Edamura abruptly cuts him off. "You already think I’ve forgiven you?”
Edamura’s words ring icily throughout the quaint shop. He lets out a shuddering sigh of barely contained rage and looks up to the kind Okinawan man in front of him, him looking in his direction with an afraid glance before averting his eyes. He probably couldn't understand his English but he could definitely recognize the international signals that someone was about to flip out. The ex-confidence man gives an apologetic look to the owner before shuffling his way out of the shop, letting him know, in Japanese, that he will be right back.
There are not enough words in the English OR Japanese vocabulary to express the anger flowing through Edamura’s body. Just a few weeks ago he had gotten done with one of the most traumatizing experiences in his life. His emotions had been deadened because he had heartlessly sold children, fucking children, to people all over Asia for the sole fact that he had believed he was the cause of his teammate’s deaths. Numbed because he was the one responsible for putting a bullet through Cynthia and Abigail. Watched unfeelingly as his father’s body dropped limp into the Pacific Ocean with a bullet he provided himself.
The overflow of emotions stemming from seeing all of them alive again was like being lifted out of a hole that he'd been buried in alive. Not realizing he had been suffocating under massive pressure and his lungs gasping for air and his hands clawing for a way out until it came rushing back to him in exhausting bursts of energy. Happy they were alive. Relieved he wasn't a murderer. Irritation at being left out of the plans once again.
And most of all, anger.
Anger at being conned once again, anger at himself for letting those poor kids be sold off to the elite, anger at his dad for trying to console him like he was still a child, and absolute rage at being treated as Laurent’s toy. Yelling his true feelings at Laurent and his father had been extremely cathartic, but did they really expect him to become buddy-buddy once more after years of abuse and lies?
His father, an actually decent human being, had gone to jail for one of the worst crimes in humanity to protect his own teammates. Laurent went on to complete the task of finding worthy confidence artists to help aid him in revenge for what the Shanghai mafia did to the carefree Dorothy. Shi-Won tagged along with the blonde con-artist on most cons because she knew that he couldn’t be left alone to deal with the fallout of losing his lover.
It's sad that he still believes what he said back at the fake tower to be true. Con artists being lone wolves was a massive lie, a bunch of narcissists working together conning the rich in what they believed to be faux justice.
He never wants to deal with Laurent's antics again. He is tired, purely tired, of being treated as someone incompetent, a liability. The amount of ‘trust’ Laurent had in Makoto was heavily outweighed by the trickery and duplicity of his actions over the past four years. He wanted to bring him back each time because what? He wanted something interesting on his cons, someone to make fun of, a nice outlier that he wouldn’t be able to predict? He'd heard from Ozaki how Laurent called him a "two-bit" swindler, someone he had to put in their place. Wasn't he the one to put him there in the first place? Edamura is done with that manipulative bullshit and now Laurent is pushing his buttons far too early in the day, no, the entire week, no, this entire year to suggest anything like going out for a cup of coffee. That was the extent of how much he did not want to deal with the sleazy buffoon. He’d make the French man repent for what he did.
They were not friends.
“Laurent, get this through your thick skull. I will never, ever voluntarily go out of my way to hang out with you. Call me if you want and I'll let it ring on. Text my number and I'll leave you on read. Maybe try taking a hint and focus on something that isn’t related to my life?” Makoto waits patiently after he bites back with his poisonous response, waiting for the blonde man to respond with something lighthearted, a taunt, or a coo of disappointment. All he hears from the line is a distant cheering in the background and Laurent’s steady breathing. Finally, he makes out a heavy sigh.
“Alright, Edamame. I’ll keep my distance. See you later.” A beep on the call signals that the man on the other side hung up, leaving Edamura standing stupidly with a phone near to his ear next to a couple of colorful tables outside the cafe.
The Japanese man is shocked at how calm and understanding Laurent sounded. It was as if he expected to get rejected so quickly. That only gets his mind angry again. How dare he try to call him like he’d forgive him so easily? Did he want Makoto to be mad at him? Did he live and breathe for the sole purpose of riling up his blood pressure? He takes a couple of deep breaths to calm down. Deep breath in, deep breath out. Once he feels significantly more serene, he stomps back to the coffee shop and sees the owner staring back at him quite curiously, almost with a glint of pity. Edamura immediately dismisses the thought of it as his back straightens and he bows low towards the owner, bellowing his apologies.
“ごめんなさい! 本当にごめんなさい! ご迷惑めいわくをおかけして、申もうし訳わけございません!” [ I’m sorry! I’m really sorry! I apologize for the inconvenience caused! ]. Makoto stumbles around his words, the blush on his face from embarrassment at his tone used when he initially picked up the phone. It must have looked extremely disrespectful to the older man.
The older man just smiles and pats his leg, looking a bit relieved now. “全然大丈夫です。 あなたは怒る正当な理由があったと確信しています。” [ It’s alright. I’m sure the other person deserved it. ]
Makoto nods and sits down again, looking around the coffee shop once more. It was a really nice shop, with comfy long seats embedded into the trailer and the walls a rich yellow, full of optimism and warmth. The cup of coffee he had was also refilled, which was a blessing because the taste of it was splendid. Nice and lightly-roasted with a toasted toffee scent, a nippy start that bleeds into a sweet full finish, all with creamer and sugar cubes on the side in case he needed to thin it out (which wasn’t necessary because the coffee was too good to be desecrated like that). This place was one of the only shops in Okinawa to sell exclusively coffee and not their widely famous milk tea, allowing for the owner to really go in-depth on his supplier and selection process and how he came to appreciate the art of the brew.
Hours pass as the two of them discuss various types of beans and coffee and methods that best drew out coffee flavors (Makoto was a fan of the tried and true pour over while the man stuck by his guns with his ancient Moka pot). It is only when the sun is beginning to set when Edamura asks the question he has been dying to say the entire time.
“Where was the last place you had a really good cup of coffee?”
The older man looks at his Moka pot and laughs before recommending Makoto to a fine cafe in Noto, Italy that he visited 25 years ago. He mentions offhandedly that he hasn’t been there in 15 years but a quick Google Search finds it to be still open and extremely popular. He explains to the young coffee explorer how he had gotten one last cup of coffee by chance at a newly opened cafe just hours before his flight home. The taste of it had impacted him so much that he bought a Moka pot, the one sitting on the table, next door and opened a shop and to this day still dreams of going back.
This is what Edamura had been wanting to hear. He's going to go on a coffee telephone adventure around the world and taste the best of what the owners have, then go and taste the best of what they have had. He wasn’t going to open his own shop just yet (and prove that French asshole right in that he, in fact, did want his own shop). He wanted to see how coffee has made these people’s lives happier and how they have been affected by it. Hearing Akemi mention how he helped her enjoy coffee more after trying his own made him sure of the fact that there were others who might be just like that. People who learned to love something they disliked in the past. People who changed their ways and became coffee lovers. He was going to achieve just that.
Somewhere almost 12,310 kilometers away from Okinawa, Japan, one French man turns off his phone and pulls out a gacha toy from his pocket. He sighs wistfully as he leans against the pillar, knocking his head against it as thousands of people cheer loudly for the man in front of him.
Noto, Italy has equally fine cups, or shots, of caffè espresso just for him. A charred, bitter texture fills his mouth before tartness flies across his tongue with a hint of a juicy blackberry aftertaste. The owner, a thin man with leathery hands and smiles lines carved into his skin, even suggests eating them with his signature creamy jumble berry cheesecake, on the house, which accentuates its acidic saccharine flavors even more. The region down here is not known for their berry production, so it shocks Edamura how he can supply himself with divine tart treats such as the cake. He recalls to Makoto as he dines about how he used to live up north and how he alone would travel almost 80 kilometers to the best berry farm in the countryside as a teenager. Bringing some back home on a cart, he'd make this very cheesecake with his mom once he got home. The idea to open his own shop came when he was able to visit Poland for a cup of coffee that had tasted exactly like his mom’s cake and he needed to share these flavors with others down south. His sons and daughters, living back up in his hometown, recommend him to the locals who'll ship him quality ingredients for cheap. Edamura nods and smiles at the response, entranced at the atmosphere of family that surrounded this place.
The Japanese man takes a picture of the delicious food and scenery laid out in front of him then sends it to all of his previous members of the confidence team, barring Laurent. Knowing him, he would just re-engineer the background and contact each teenager in the group by the bush to find out where he went. It was petty, he knows, but he doesn’t care. He leaves the cafe with the shopkeeper's recommendation to Turin, Italy and a phone number, satisfied with the experience. A little spring in his step, he seemingly misses the old man remark on how nice Koreans are these days.
The day before he leaves for Turin, however, his suspicions become true. A message appears on his phone screen while he packs his suitcase.
[From: Stupid Blonde Bastard]
Edamame, you leave for Italy right when I suggest you and I go to Rome? Aren’t you being a little too obvious? *insert image*
It was the image of him and his food. He sends back a heated response, fingers mashing his touchscreen.
[From: Edamame]
Who the fuck gave you that photo? I’ll delete everyone’s number off my phone and you’ll never hear from me again.
[From: Stupid Blonde Bastard]
I thought you'd block my number if I texted you or was that another one of your bad lies?
And it was Cynthia. And Abby. And Kudo. And Oz. You even sent the photo to Shi-Won! If you’re going to send it to people you and I both know, of course they’re going to circulate it back to me, my little soybean.
[From: Edamame]
Dumbass bitch, I said that to deter you. Even if I blocked you I'm sure you have my phone number saved to, like, 20 other burners.
[From: Stupid Blonde Bastard]
You know me so well, soybean. 😚 I'll be sure to receive anymore photos from you from the others we know.
[From: Edamame]
(҂⌣̀_⌣́) Jesus Christ, I hate all of you. Especially you, Laurent. Keep your distance, remember?
[From: Stupid Blonde Bastard]
Yes, I know. Invite me next time. See you later. ❤❤❤
[From: Edamame]
As if, jackass! 🖕🏼
On the other hand, Turin’s coffee starts off rough, salty, and slightly acrid, surprising Edamura the first time it touches his taste buds. He had been expecting a flavor similar to caffè macchiato, judging by the deep brown roast surrounding a small dollop of cloudy foam in the middle of the cup. For a second, he is almost disappointed in the man in Noto.
Almost.
After only a quick five seconds, his hand reaches back and he begins sipping at it more vigorously. It's just as addictive as the previous two coffees. The main selling point, Edamura finds, is in its delayed distribution of a rich chocolatey texture, velvety across the tongue, which washes away the previous flavors and leaves behind just a hint of the bland cream in his mouth like an intense hot chocolate. Not surprising, however, as the Nutella culture certainly has its hold in Turin. This shop is also known for providing a decadent feast for the sweet-toothed as he tries the coffee with a selection of bread, cookies, and fruits available to be dipped in chocolate-hazelnut fondue. Edamura has to hold back his sobs at how delicious the gooey chocolate is with his drink and calls one of his contacts immediately to have someone to share his feelings with.
“Edamame! How’s Italy treating you?”
“It’s so good! Oh god, it’s so good.” Cynthia is definitely surprised to hear sobbing on the other end despite his enthusiastic response. She knew the man was afraid of heights but to be afraid of coffee was unheard of.
“That’s great! But... why are you crying?”
Cynthia’s curiosity leads her down a rabbit hole of trying to understand Makoto’s still tricky English accent through his joyful tears. Edamura’s explanation of the food entertains her as well, trying to explain how the ‘pungent’ coffee pairs perfectly with the ‘flaky exterior’ of the buttered bread and how the chocolate fulfills the role of ‘umami’ despite not being something umami at all. He sounds like one of those pretentious art critics, to the likes of Coleman, but so unlike them in the fact that his appreciation for the food is entirely genuine and without underlying intentions.
“It’s a really good place! I need to take you here if we ever get the chance to meet up! What are you doing right now?”
“Well, I’m currently visiting a mutual friend of ours in the States with Kawin while we go on an art tour. I’d bring him across Europe but he’s never been outside of Eurasia so I want to treat him, the poor lad.”
Makoto’s eyes widen as he hears she’s meeting up with a friend. What if she’s with Abigail in Nevada? That would be so nice since it’s been a while since he’s heard from the ferocious girl.
“Oh, okay! Let’s do a voice call then!” Edamura taps his screen with his free hand and looks at his phone excitedly, ready to see Abigail. A few moments later, the screen begins moving and he can see Cynthia holding her phone horizontally to get the widest view of her surroundings using her front camera. Kawin, the small boy from the auction house, moves alongside her left in the streets of some city.
And on their right, lo and behold, is Laurent Thierry idly strolling beside them in what he now recognizes as downtown Washington D.C.
"NOOOOOOO!"
His scream of pure terror pairs with him immediately turning off his front camera, muting himself, and throwing the phone in his backpack with precise aim, causing the ancient lady behind the counter to jerk in surprise and look at him with a bewildered stare. Grabbing his face in his hands and thrashing around in anguish, he whips his death glare, which had been directed at the phone, to her momentarily and she yelps before escaping behind a wall. His fondue sits in front of him, bubbling steadily like the bubbling anger in his stomach. Why the hell did Laurent always have to appear each time he went to a new city? All he wanted to do was drink coffee and talk to people. He even called Cynthia because he wanted someone familiar and nice to talk to about his food, but the French playboy seemed to be everywhere he went!
Sadly, he still has his wireless headphones on and he could hear outright laughter coming from the other end. Cynthia is howling into the speaker, probably catching the attention of quite a few passersby in the United States. Edamura huffs to himself as he grabs the coffee in front of him and sips aggressively. He could only hear Cynthia laughing so he only assumed Laurent was not in on the call.
“Oh, god, Laurent, come here. No, come here while I get the tickets, it’s hilarious! I have just the thing to cheer you up.” Makoto groans as he hears shuffling through his headphones and someone’s delighted gasp on the other end. He picks up on how the phone had transferred ownership and is now in the French man’s slimy grasp. What he doesn’t pick up on until it starts pouring into his ears is the sultry tone of voice that violates his eardrums.
“Oh, Edamame, how I’ve missed you...” Makoto shrieks loudly once more as he throws his headphones into his bag too before he could hear the words move forward, catching even more stares from not just the quivering cashier behing the wall but the people in the back baking goods. He nods slowly in their direction, mentally noting how he’d give them extra money for dealing with his insane behavior, and fishes the headphones and phone out of his bag. He puts them on and turns his camera back on just as Laurent was apparently finishing his speech.
“...please, let me know where you go next, Edamame. I would love to share some chocolate fondue with you, mon chéri.” The Japanese man sighs and looks right into his camera, a disappointed glare on his face at the beaming white man in a tidy brown suit.
“I threw my headphones into my bag as soon as you started speaking. I heard not a word you said.” Laurent’s face is worth the insult as Edamura begins cackling at the affronted look on him. He continues eating at his delicious dessert, picking a banana up and dunking it as Laurent begins speaking once more but this time in a less sexual manner.
“It's fate, my little soybean. The world is telling us to make up. I want to eat with you Edamame. Just one cup of coffee with you, please. Just one.”
“No.”
“Aw, don't be like that, Eda-”
“No.”
"But I truly miss you, my l-"
"No." Makoto had propped his head on the table by now, staring out the window with a bored glance. The French man would get the message soon enough.
“Edamura.” Makoto glances at the screen again, surprised at hearing Laurent say his name correctly for the first time. The blonde man’s face is still slightly playful, a smirk falling on it rather easily. His eyes, however, his infuriatingly entrancing blue eyes, are serious. Usually, during their past cons, they’d be light and airy, almost reflective of the blonde’s airheaded persona. But now, they hold a storm just aching to be loosed, something that might become dangerous if Makoto leaves it be for a while. He looks at the storm in its eyes and glares daggers.
“Yes, Laurent?”
Laurent, sighing in relief now that he has Edamura’s attention, looks into the screen again with a pleading pout. “I can’t keep my distance from you anymore. You already left me for two years in jail once. Please, Edamame, let me know when we can meet up. I have a week saved for travel already. I would love to see you again.”
“Why bother when you can just ask one of your connections where I go?”
“Because I want you to start trusting me.” Trust? The bubbling inside of Edamura increases with the word. It hadn’t even been two weeks since Noto and the bastard was already vying for his trust?
“Now you want me to trust you? Now you want me to just let you in so you can stomp over my emotions again? Cause another ruckus that I’ll have to deal with myself? Well, tough shit!” His words are whispered heavily but Makoto could feel the worried glance of all the workers inside the shop, catching all of his intense movements with rapid eyes. On the outside, he looks absolutely furious.
On the inside, he’s a mess. Edamura doesn't like it but knows he’s just elongating the inevitable. He’s going to one day meet Laurent, the blonde man will talk him through some emotions that he expressed during the heist and unmentioned ones that have yet to be opened up about, then they’ll shake hands and be on their merry way. It was inevitable and he knew it was inevitable because he felt in his gut that he’d forgive him. He hated how correct Laurent had been back when they met in Los Angeles, how he mentioned so casually, while eating buttered lobster, that he was trying to act like a bad boy when really he was innocent and kind. It burned his heart in the worst way possible because he wanted to be able to hold onto this one grudge and fly off the handle each time the French man crossed his vision and entered his ear and texted him. The Suzaku Empire was the closest he’d gotten to fulfilling that grudge. Those months messed him up so badly that he wanted to wring the life from the blonde man. But it wasn’t something that was in Makoto’s blood. He couldn’t even bear to stay angry at his dad when he found out that he did in fact visit his mom during her final months. He could never let his emotions overtake him like that again, he was too genuine.
And he hates that about himself.
He stares back into the phone screen and immediately regrets it when he sees the disheartened look in the bastard's face. And fuck, the bastard is pouting now.
“Edamura, I just want to hang out. We don’t have to discuss anything. I just want to see you. I miss you.” The crack in Edamura’s heart grows larger as he hears the man beg to him so softly, so seriously, so calmly. His carefully woven honeyed words making it hard to keep his facade. It cools his emotions, despite how much his insides were screaming to stay livid. He couldn’t deal with this extra baggage right now.
“Give me one moment.” Edamura hangs up the call and walks up to the owner, who with just his luck is the cashier he spooked terribly. He smiles nervously at the Italian woman, looking around her late seventies with curly white hair. She watches him warily and trembles like a leaf in the wind, almost expecting the Korean man in front of her to throw something in her direction or yell loudly. He gives her a remorseful smile and asks her where she had her last good cup of coffee in the world.
She responds.
Edamura nods in affirmation and returns to his table. He scrolls to his contacts and sees Laurent’s name shining right in front of him. His thumb hovers over the name, the word almost beckoning him to touch it. What good would seeing the bastard again do for his psyche? He had never heard the man say sorry, so maybe hearing him say it to his face would help them both move on? But had he already moved on from Dorothy? He wasn’t sure now.
Regardless, he has a choice to make.
Meanwhile in Washington D.C, Cynthia is busy pointing out multiple art pieces to Kawin and keeping an eye on Laurent who gives smiles to the statues around him with an empty look to his eyes. The one day he is able to come and hang out with her, and Edamame of all people had to call. She knew something dramatic would happen when she opened her phone and let it play out accordingly, making sure to capture it all with video recording. Edamame’s face when he saw Laurent would forever be on her camera roll.
But just as she is about to pull Kawin (and Laurent by extension) over to the next exhibit, she sees the tall man pull out his phone and a huge grin pops up on his face. Quietly, still holding her phone, she snaps a photo of the blonde man. A minute follows by as she waits with bated breath for her friend to finish his phone call. As he hangs up, the blonde man jaunts up to Cynthia and ruffles Kawin’s hair fondly. She raises an eyebrow at him curiously.
“So, I’m guessing Edamame came around?”
“Oh, yes he did. Can’t help my natural charm, it comes in handy every time.”
“This is why no one ever likes you, playboy. Especially your favorite snack.” Cynthia says as she rolls her eyes.
Laurent presses a hand to his chest. “You wound me with your cold words once again.”
“Where to then?”
Laurent smiles his trademark smirk, pointing at Cynthia and winking. “Cape Town.”
An hour passes as Makoto sits inside the food court of Cape Town International Airport, shielded from the hot South African sun, looking up and down the aisles for a familiar pink Hawaiian shirt. Both places the Italian woman had recommended were actually run by close friends of hers that she had met back during her own coffee adventures and operated near to each other. One was situated in metropolitan Cape Town for coffee and the other in Stellenbosch for wine, a nice change of pace, which they were both expecting to see him within the week. His plan was that he had only told Laurent about the one in Cape Town and would sneak off a couple of days later to enjoy some fine wine without the presence of a wine snob like the French man. He would only be a buzzing fly in his ear at that point.
Sitting in his seat drinking a cold bottle of water, Makoto fails to notice familiar large hands clamp down on his shoulders. He yelps in surprise and turns around to find that, yes, it was indeed Laurent Thierry and he was in fact wearing his pink Hawaiian shirt and khaki pants. Edamura scowls as he remembers this was the get-up he got conned in the first time they met. The man wears the look like a natural, being able to blend into the tourist crowd so easily that Edamura could not notice him if he tried. The image of Laurent was a true embodiment of the word ‘dorky’, to a T, yet it made the man look more handsome than most of the people in the airport. It was a conundrum that stumped the Japanese man even to this day, glaring up at the French man in question who beamed down at him like he was the light of his world.
“Hola, Edamame! Qué tal?"
Before he could respond with a despondent ‘I’m good, go jump off a cliff’, Edamura feels something soft press against his cheeks. Wait, his cheeks? It lasts a moment before releasing him. He touches the side of his face and looks back up at Laurent, who has the same exact expression of a cat who ate the canary, licking his own.
Laurent Thierry had just kissed him.
Almost immediately, Edamura shoots up and uppercuts the blonde flirt in the stomach, winding it back and forcing all his strength into the punch as if he was Luffy and Laurent was the Celestial Dragon. It seems Laurent was expecting just the punch but not the impact, so he doubles over in pain while all the tables around him seem to gather their attention at him.
“Oh my god, you scared me! Here, let’s go to the restroom!” Edamura begins speaking in choppier English that usual as he grabs Laurent by the waist and hauls him over his shoulder. He starts apologizing fervently as everyone diverts their attention away from the dangerous Japanese man who had socked the ever-living shit out of the French man. Apology after apology comes until they arrive at a deserted airport hallway away from most travelers. He finds a bench and, as soon as he is out of line of sight, catapults the French man onto the bench. His seething mood is now displayed proudly on his face.
“Are you trying to make me pissed off? Who the FUCK told you to do that?” He had been around the French man for 2 minutes and he had already pissed him off. He knew he was a horndog of a human being but to kiss him on the lips as soon as he arrived? That was something he did not approve of, not one bit.
Laurent is heaving on the bench, looking worse for wear but a smile still spreading on his face. “I couldn’t help myself, Edamame. Our reunion had me overwhelmed with joy.” He tries to sit up but he gasped and laid back down, once more trying to catch his breath. “You sure know how to pack a mighty punch.”
“I thought you would have learned when I decked you back in Japan but here we are, repeating the same mistakes.” Edamura’s cold words blanket over Laurent and he relaxes his body on the bench, staring into the Japanese man’s eyes before rolling up and into a sitting position, a hand still on his stomach. His expression softens as he roams his eyes over Edamura.
“I’m glad to see you again, Edamame.”
“The sentiment is not received. Our ride is here, so let’s go to the hotel.” Laurent nods and tries to get up but fails at the resounding pain in his stomach. Edamura, now feeling a bit more guilty than he did 20 seconds ago, rushes over to his side and helps the man to his feet. The both of them return to the food court where, miraculously, no one has stolen their luggage. Laurent insists on checking his luggage and once making sure no one had stolen a thing, they go off on their way.
The ride to the hotel is awkward, to say the least. The cab driver is fine with the both of them sitting in the back, but Laurent, still recuperating from being hit like a punching bag, decides not to lean against the hot plastic on the side of the cab but on Edamura himself. Unfortunately, he gets shoved off his shoulder rather forcefully and onto the hot window, but decides to lull back and forth between Makoto’s comfortable shoulder blade and getting pushed back onto the window.
They arrive at the hotel and, at the moment, it seems that Laurent is not aching as badly as he was an hour before. He steps gracefully out of the car and looks up at the five-star hotel that Edamura has chosen for both of them. The hotel stands high in the sky, overlooking both the Atlantic Ocean and the Indian Ocean with beachside access to the Atlantic. The entrance to the hotel is nice and air-conditioned, high ceilings adorned with intricately cut wood support beams and gleaming bronze chandeliers. The floor is spacious, save for a couple of fine leather couches and a check-in counter made of African blackwood. The South African flag hangs behind the front desk in a splash of color against the rustic modernism of the hotel with the hotel concierges also adorning vivid uniforms that match the flag. One such person, a black male with a practiced smile and multiple gold rings on his fingers fitted in a traditional African dress uniform, comes over quickly.
“Welcome to Ubukumkani Resort, the Kingdom of Cape Town. Sirs, welcome to our hotel. How may I help you?” The man states with a wide grin, apparently eager to help them out. Edamura smiles back at him and asks to be brought to the front desk and to check-in. Laurent whines way too close to his ear once he finds out they would be not sharing the same room until a swift kick to the back of the taller man’s legs silences him. For now.
Edamura had been following a concise plan for the past few coffees he’s tasted. Visit the city, try the coffee, stay there for a week to relax, and play tourist, then fly off to the next place recommended. It had worked well for the past month and a half of him traveling on his own all across Japan's small hole-in-the-walls right to the tip near Okinawa, then Italy. Now he is in South Africa with Loser Thierry and he wants to get the trip over and done with as quickly as possible. He’d enjoy discovering the oceanside activities of Cape Town and go on a more extensive wine tour of Stellenbosch if he had the chance, but dealing with Laurent for the next couple of days without the excuse of a con to keep him out of line of sight? Near impossible.
They were set to visit the coffee shop in two days and, for Edamura only, the winery in four. The old lady in Italy, who became much nicer once she found Makoto to not be an absolute asshole who purposely disrupted the sanctity of her quiet coffee shop but a kindred spirit on the quest to find a good cup of joe, let her friends know that he would be coming and they vowed to go above and beyond to ensure that he would enjoy their respective brews and fermentation. The entire coffee shop would be closed early in the morning and he’d be allowed in to get a taste of their newly shipped coffee beans and fresh pastries. It was like he was a renowned coffee critic now! However, the coffee shop owner declined to give him a personal number or even a name for contact keepsake because frankly, she was still too terrified of him despite his polite requests.
Over the next two days, Edamura (and Laurent, who insisted his need to adhere to Makoto’s ass like Flex Tape to a cracked glass container) visited all the tourist attractions of Cape Town including Kirstenbosch Botanical Garden and the Camps Bay Beach that lined the Atlantic shore. Laurent cheekily remarked as they walked beside the beach how they should go on an excursion together and dive deep into the ocean with white sharks. He’d protect him, Laurent had said grinning.
Edamura as he heard this stopped, glanced at him with a once-over, and replied, “I think I’m fine. A certain white shark already seemed to drown two of my friends in the past.”
Laurent was silent the rest of the walk back, Edamura’s smirk burning a hole into his neck.
Finally, the fateful day arrived. The Japanese man wakes up bright and early, having gone to sleep at 8 PM the night before to wake up bright and early to get to the coffee shop. He dresses and washes up in an incredibly quick amount of time before rushing to Laurent’s door and knocking on it, a smile plastered on his face.
“Hey, Laurent, time to get up! We have to be there by 5:30 AM if we want to get the coffee!”
No response. Edamura gives a knock again, a bit too chipper to allow someone like Laurent to ruin his day so early. Once more. No response. And so he again gives more tries. If truth be told, it was quite hilarious to be continuously knocking on the other man’s door, relishing in the fact that he now held the power between them and the possibility that he might be slightly ticking the French man off. Was this what Laurent felt for the first few years of knowing him? If so, it was helping purify Makoto’s soul to its previous pure state before he ever did conning. When he was about to knock for the fifth time, the door slams open, and out walks one very pissed Laurent.
Nude as the day he was born.
Now, it was not as if Makoto knew he was naked. While he was knocking, he had closed his eyes and sung out to the door in the hopes he’d be able to wake his despondent partner. Once the door opened, he stood back with his eyes still closed, a cheeky grin on his face.
On the other hand, Laurent had been rudely awakened by the very first knock, mind racing as he imagined it to be a figmentational Dorothy returning to him before remembering where he was and what he had done for her. Once that spun through his brain a few times like a computer loading symbol, he attempted to fall back asleep when he heard not one more series of knocks, not two more, but four more consecutive series of loud, maddening, sleep-disrupting knocks. Whoever this was, they did not realize it took time for him to get in the mood to be as charming as he is. Ire filled his body as he rushed to open the door, ready to bite the head off of the insolent person behind it who decidedly thought 4:17 AM was a great time for him to wake up on such a lovely day. And so, Edamura grinned, eyes closed as Laurent pulls back the door, eyes crazed and hair mussed.
“Finally, Mr. Thierry, I thought you’d never pick up! We have an arrangement this morning to drink some coffee. Please get ready,” Edamura rings out like an overly cheery neighbor, ready to start the day. Laurent lets out an angry groan and slaps his face around a bit, trying to wake himself up. He narrows his eyes at Makoto and lets out a resigned huff.
‘Yes, Edamame. Anything else you’d like to report?”
“Nope, just wanted to know why you took so lo- AHHHH! WHERE THE FUCK ARE YOUR CLOTHES!” Near the end of his sentence, Edamura opens his eyes to soak in the probably angry look of the man in front of him. Except, he soaks in the very angry look of the man in front of him and so, so much more than he had ever hoped for. His virginal eyes sting as he backs into a wall, sucking in large amounts of air at the sight of a naked Laurent Thierry that he is unable to pry his gaze from, eyes flitting everywhere. Meanwhile, the French man is unperturbed, if not slightly amused at the expected reaction.
“Did anyone ever tell you to wait a couple of seconds before knocking? It was like you were using my door as a percussion instrument.”
“PUT SOME GODDAMN CLOTHES ON, YOU SICK PERVERT!”
“The only pervert around here is the one who smiled as I came out of my room naked, Edamame. Give me a couple of minutes to warm up before I go real heavy on your-”
“STOOOOOOOP!” Edamura bemoans and ultimately covers his eyes, squatting on the floor in an attempt to salvage his fallen pride. The French man on the other side of the door laughs and waves at Makoto, who can’t even see it due to his blocked vision. He blows him a kiss, winking at the scarred man.
“I’ll be down in 20, mon trésor. I won’t keep you waiting any longer.” Invigorated by the wake-up call, Laurent closes his door and sighs happily as he walks to grab some underwear. What a great start to the day.
Edamura hurriedly runs to the elevator, trying hard to catch his breath and regain some semblance of sanity at being exposed to something so erotic this early in the morning. As he clicks the down button to the ground floor of the hotel, flashes of the incident pass through his mind and only one constant thought repeats over and over.
“Oh my god, he was so big…" And just like that, a terrible start to the day.
The car ride is, once again, awkward to say the least. Laurent is making bedroom eyes at Edamura, ogling him without any shame. Edamura is avoiding Laurent’s gaze and wishes he were in a deep hole from how embarrassed he was from seeing the other man’s naked body before he even got the chance to kiss someone. Wait, scratch that, Laurent already took that too. The insufferable man. Their van driver, the concierge with many rings, is sitting uncomfortably at the front, blasting South African jazz as he tries to ignore the palpable tension of his two newest foreign clients.
They arrive at the already busy coffee shop, from what Edamura could hear, near the edge of the water with a large amount of outdoor eating space. Undoubtedly an extremely pricey piece of real estate that must mean something is going good for business if this tiny shop is dominating a part of the shoreline. Despite sharing company spaces with big-name chains that surely could destroy the shop with one paycheck, he could feel a tingle in his spine that this place was surely going to be worth the plane ride. As they walk out of the car, Edamura hands the concierge fifty dollars in South African money and asks him politely to meet them outside a small parking lot at around 4 PM. Eyes bulging, he takes the money out of the kind Japanese man’s hand and nods happily.
“Okay, sirs, have a wonderful day! And to you, sir, 감사합니다 [thank you]!” With that, the man grins to himself at his attempted politeness and peels off down the street. Edamura turns towards Laurent with an honestly confused stare, who has to try extremely hard not to burst out laughing despite his poker experience. Oh, Shi-Won was going to get a kick out of this one.
“What did that guy say to me? Was that “thank you” in Xhosa?”
“Probably, Edamame. Let’s go try some coffee now.”
The owner of this coffee shop is very boisterous and just as old as the previous woman, speaking with a thick Afrikaans accent and busying herself around the shop along with her husband, two sons, and a granddaughter in her pre-teens running around lugging bags of flour and beans. Laurent sits at the counter to begin speaking with the two sons before he is pulled by the collar by Makoto towards the lively woman making their cups of coffee.
The woman smiles toothily at Edamura who looks between ready to kill the French man and hideaway in sheepish misery. “Ag, you didn’t have to pull him away from my sons over there, please! It’s fine, ah, Edamura, yeah?” She pours more water over the coffee cup, which is enticing Edamura more and more by the second by its aroma.
Deciding that his opinion finally matters, Laurent gives a light smile at the woman and winks at her. “Ma’am, don’t worry. My friend over here is just dying to try your coffee and wants me to taste it too.”
In response to his flirtatious compliment, she chuckles to herself and eyes her husband. “Nel, help me out here! I’m being seduced!” Her extremely buff husband gives a gruff response, flicks her the middle finger, and pulls a fresh loaf of bread from the oven. Edamura fondly reminisces over a certain Arab girl who would do the same thing before he is pulled back into reality by the lady in front of him.
“Try it! It’s very good, the shipment just came last week, and today’s prime time to grind these suckers. My muscles are still sore from carrying all the beans in myself!” She flexes her arms at Edamura and he watches as the muscles droop pitifully, both of them snickering at the sight. He takes a deep sip of the coffee and sighs happily.
The coffee itself is the fruitiest he’s ever had, but the dark flavor hits his palate so deep that he has to take a second to breathe and re-immerse himself. Edamura is reminded of the coffees he tried in Noto and Turin and immediately decides that this one is superior. The fruit is no longer a subtle hint like Noto's but a full blast right at his face. He can feel the rapid bursts of raspberries, navel orange, and chocolate flowing down his throat become staggering, standing on the precipice of enjoyable and sickly. The weight on the flavor scale shifts to become enjoyable as he is hit by a full body of flavor, sharply acidic and bitter notes of the coffee punching his saliva gland and forcing his mouth to pucker and water despite the hot liquid already in there. It’s like he visited Stellenbosch already with the winey depth of the drink. He savors the flavors in his coffee, groaning into the cup.
It seems Laurent is also enjoying his cup, eyes widening as he experiences the same flavors going down his throat. He looks at the cup with wide eyes, in awe at the amazing coffee in his mouth. Both men are now feeling the effects of the warm java enter their bodies and they begin to come out of their unnoticed slumber, ready to taste more. The woman sees both of them come to and guffaws at their silence. Already equipped for Edamura, who seemingly could not bear to savor the flavors and drank the cup swiftly, she gives him another cup to sip at. As polite as he may seem, he only gives a quick nod of thanks before greedily cupping his new drink in his hands and sipping once more, ready to experience the flavors all over again.
Except this one is much, much different than the last one. The coffee this time barely even tastes like coffee but more like a mixture between coffee and tea, surprising the Japanese man. He can taste hints of jasmine and crisp bouts of bergamot dance across his tongue as the light coffee goes down his throat, almost confusing his taste buds on whether or not she gave him a palate cleanser. Is this the benefit of wet-processed coffee beans? It’s like he took a shot of cucumber juice because the taste is so clean going down his throat that he nearly misses the small hints of luscious coffee shining through, like the sun peeking through a well-shaded tree. These bits of sunlight spread throughout his chest, warming his skin, and Makoto begins laughing while staring at the coffee in amazement.
“すごいなあ...めっちゃ 素晴らしいです [Wow… it’s really great!]! Where did you find such great quality beans?” He asks, his face perpetually stuck in a childlike grin. The old woman sneers at him playfully, raising an eyebrow at the young gentleman.
“I’m not caught up on my Japanese but I sure as hell know that means my coffee was good! The second one tasted like something an Asian would drink, yeah?” Edamura nods in agreement and she fists the air, whooping in delight. “Honey, I still got the touch!”
“Yeah, yeah, Estia. You got the touch still, bokkie.” The man is still looking into the furnace as he brings out two more trays of fresh baked goods, possibly cookies if going by the scent in the air, but turns and walks toward them where he places the tray down on the counter. As he walks away, he smacks Estia down below and, judging by her yelp of delight and her granddaughter's disgusted demeanor while passing by, Edamura slightly reddens at the blatant PDA. She giggles and looks towards the two men again while batting her kind wrinkled eyes.
“Nelius is the best, he even made our clementine cookies for you! On the house, too. Those coffees, though? Not, but if you came all the way here after meeting with Serena, you probably have the money to spare. I swear, she spoke about you like you were a criminal, screaming in her shop! Hell, last time I visited her I hollered so much she nearly beat me with her wooden spoon! Such a bangbroek.” Edamura side-eyes Laurent at the “criminal” comment, but all the blonde man does is continue sipping his cup and looking as if he’s enjoying the taste. He gestures his hand over the table instead.
“So, where did you ship the beans made for this from?”
“Oh, these? I got the first cup’s batch from Kenya, around Nyanza, and the other one I had to order from Yirgacheffe, where the best of the best comes from, in Ethiopia.”
Out of the corner of his eye, if Edamura hadn’t been paying attention to his surroundings he would have missed it. A slight twitch in Laurent’s eye at the mention of the country. A place that was probably extremely taboo to him still. Makoto winces on the inside at bringing up such unsavory memories and directed the conversation elsewhere, not wanting to mess the day up even further.
They speak on and on about the coffee and how she got into coffee and why she was so successful with her business. She directed them around the shop in a mini-tour and it turns out she was a ruthless businesswoman, domineering over the coffee shop chains in the area. Her tactics were so harsh that she ran a ton of conglomerates out. Now, most of the cafes around the city were now family-owned and South African-owned, black and white alike, save for a couple of places way too popular for someone of her stature to take away from the community.
“And I swear, these Chinese people come into South Africa and make their bubble tea so popular! It’s ridiculous and it’s so sweet, I feel like an American drinking it sometimes. But everyone likes it for some reason. This one shop, I believe it’s called Brew-Tea-Ful, has made all the people in the area suddenly crave coffee with tapioca! Ag, disgusting!” Estia shouts over to Makoto, who is slurping his 5th cup of coffee and nodding intently. “I can’t believe it, I’m so gatvol.”
“What’s that mean?”
“It means just done with it. I’m gonna focus on my business though and keep the nice coffee going till I roll in my grave, yeah? Oh, by the way, I heard you’re going to see Nambitha in Stellenbosch in a few days, could you bring me back a bottle of her black-currant Cabernet Sauvignon? I’ll cut you a discount for the coffee, I need to have some before I die of old age- wait, why are you waving your hands around?” Estia cocks her head confusedly at Edamura, who was trying hard to shut the old Afrikaans lady up before his coffee partner noticed. Laurent had finished his sample cups and went to discuss certain “topics” with her sons that he was not interested in, lest having someone else join him on his wine-
“Did someone say Sauvignon?”
Well, he tried. He really tried to stop the ball from rolling but Edamura could not halt the alcoholic from saying his piece about what wines to drink. It is only after he hears what Estia has told Makoto to do that Laurent turns towards him, slowly, a hurt look crossing his pretty-boy face before he leans in close to Edamura. Caging him in between his two arms. Invading his personal space so easily in a public area. He gasps as the French man breathes close to his ear, violating him as he did back in Noto. Only this time, instead of over the phone, the real thing was too much. Much more auditory with the volume unable to be lessened and much more tactile as breaths fanned over his skin.
“Oh, Edamame, did you really expect to go wine tasting without me? Really?” Laurent whispers softly near his earlobe, a firm hand grabbing his arm. "How dare you, you very bad boy."
A soft whine escapes from Makoto as his sensory functions overload and he is left unable to do anything but shiver and melt into a puddle at being breathed on and touched and whispered to. It’s not his fault. He can’t help being seduced by such a sensual voice, despite it belonging to actual trash. His back stiffens when he feels a soft kiss against his forehead as Laurent smiles back up at Estia, blue eyes twinkling.
“Do not worry, ma’am, we’ll get you your wine back on the trip. I promise.” And whenever Laurent promises something, he never backs down on that promise, or so Makoto had never seen before. He kisses him once more on the side of the head and ruffles his hair before sitting down next to him, staring at him softly. The spots where he was kissed burn hot against the Japanese man's skin, making him desperate to itch at them.
Meanwhile, Estia is staring back and forth between the two, a wondrous smile working up her face. “Now I had a hunch the two of you looked like you could speak Gayle, but what did this old bitch know? I still got the touch, Nel!” Nelius nods silently at Estia’s shout and brings a sign to the front of the shop saying that it’s open. A large queue has formed outside of the shop and Edamura, thankfully unseen from the public, does not have to worry about any of them having seen Laurent kiss him on the head.
Picking up their cups, Estia claps her hands and hands him a piece of paper with two numbers. “Alright, boys! Thanks for the business and I’ll see you in a few days! Here’s my number if you ever need to call me about anything related to coffee and Serena's if you want to give her a good ol’ scare. Knowing her, she probably didn't give it up. She’ll appreciate you calling her after what you did to her poor heart.” As she cackles loudly, Edamura makes a note not to ever cross this old woman.
They leave the shop, to the surprise of the queue out the door, and make their way downtown to do a bit of window shopping, or as Edamura liked to think about it, awkward talks on walks.
Laurent has his hands in his pockets and is swaying slightly, looking down at Edamura with a fond glance every now and again. He nudges Makoto on the shoulder.
“So, what did you think of the coffee? I thought it was good.”
The coffee critic whips his head around, looking at the man insulted. Good? GOOD? It was incredible, the best I’ve ever had and you say it was just ‘good’, stupid blonde man. Edamura thought as he glares at the sidewalk.
“Wow, no need to go for insults, Edamame.” Oops, did he think aloud? Well, Makoto did not care one bit what the French man thought. All he cared about was being able to drink that coffee one more time after visiting the supposedly great wine farm. With Laurent.
Edamura turns back to Laurent once more, eyebrows raised and sulking as he asks, “Why did you invite yourself again? That trip was just for me.”
Laurent has the audacity to roll his eyes at the question and raises Makoto’s blood pressure by 3 notches. He raises his hand flippantly and states, “Edamame, I said we’d hang out this entire trip! If you’d told me before you didn’t want to hang out at a certain point, you could have just told me. Granted, I would have been sad, especially since this IS a winery we are talking about, but I would have understood. But you kept it a secret from me. And-”
“And we both know how good you are at keeping secrets, right?” Edamura snaps back before shoving his hands in his pockets, all riled up again. A hand pressed against his back and he looks back up at the French man, whose face has once again become somber.
“And we know how bad you are at keeping secrets. I’m sorry, Edamura. You don’t have to forgive me just yet, but please know I really am sorry.”
Edamura scoffs at the pitiful apology and flicks his head away from the bastard. “Yeah, yeah, tell me that again when you are sorry for kissing me on the head in front of Estia. You sexual predator.”
“Oh, I’d never be sorry at the chance to kiss you, my little soybean.” Another kick to the legs and the French man was tumbling to his knees.
They meet up with Nambitha a few days later, another woman with rich black skin and greying hair that looks not a day over 50. She smirks when Edamura compliments her on this, replying simply that her other two lady friends did not fare well in their genetics when it came to looking ‘so good’. She begins taking them around the different fields, letting them try the grapes on the vines and popping open expensive wines for them to walk around with and sample, or in her case, fill a glass to the brim and gulp. This woman is apparently Xhosa, which allows Edamura to ask her on the tour what the driver had said to him a few days ago. Also apparent, this is not the right time for him to ask while under the generous influence of such fine wine, which hinders his emotional state and causes him to break down in tears in the middle of the grapevine.
“L-Laurent! Laurent!!! I swear I’m not Korean, please! Please ask Shi-Won, I swear I’m not!” The French man nearly spills his third glass of wine laughing at Edamura’s incessant sobbing, fat tears rolling down his eyes as the Chinese men back in Nice come back to haunt him. Nambitha is also tearing up with her own chuckles, not trying hard to see how this jumbled man could have scared poor Serena.
“Oh, but Edamame, Shi-Won told me she learned her kimchi recipe from you! It’s really good too!”
This just makes Edamura cry harder, taking one last gulp of his third glass of wine at the backhanded compliment that makes no sense but hit his feelings just the same. The blonde man decides to just pat the vulnerable soybean's back and whisper sweet nothings in his ear in an effort to soothe as they continue their taste testing.
It happens as they are walking along the dirt path, lagging behind the "much fitter than she seems" Nambitha. Just as they reach the apex of the tour, Laurent continues murmuring his honeyed words in his travel partner's ear when Edamura glares up at him, cheeks puffed out and eyes red from bawling. “Did you just call me brew-tiful?”
Blinking once, Laurent stares back a little perplexed and very happy at the cute person in front of him. He winks at the shorter man. "No, I called you beautiful,” he starts, “but I assure you I am not trying to make a pun out of you, silly soybean.”
Despite his subpar attempts to calm down the now offended drunk man, Edamura begins beating weakly on the French man’s chest thinking he is truly hurting him. Laurent knows better, however, as he likens the feeling more to a cat kneading biscuits on a couch. In Laurent's head, it's extremely hard to imagine this crying mess as the same person who pulled a real sword on him on a deserted island and threatened to slice him up for being such an untruthful asshole. Laurent grins goofily as the Japanese man simultaneously cries drunken tears and angrily mocks him. “No, you m-meant it as a coffee pun! Bastard Laurent! You’re silly! I can make fun of you too! Excusez-moi! Hon hon, o-oui! Merci beaucoup! S-Sacrebleu! ”
The combination of the soft site in front of him, what with the cute French-Japanese mashed accent Edamura was making and the feeble beating on his chest, and the fact that there is a heavier amount of liquor in his stomach due to Nambitha’s generosity is too much for Laurent's will to bear. He pulls Edamura close by the hips and ushers them toward a sheltered grapevine.
Laurent soaks in the sight of a whiny Edamura, fists still thumping and face red from alcohol consumption. His green polo shirt blends in with the lush leaves at his back, almost as if he truly was becoming an edamame bean. He’s still saying his words in a French accent, ridiculing his mother tongue more. He runs a hand through the Japanese man’s messy brown hair, pulling it a bit from the back to see his reaction. Edamura tightens his lips and shrilly whines, upping his kneading to pounding biscuits onto the taller man. Sighing in crushing defeat at the endearing scene, the French man trails his hand down the other's spine before swiftly covering the other’s mouth with his own.
He tastes like really good wine, is the first thought that pops in Laurent's head. He readjusts their mouths as the experienced man tries to achieve the perfect angle to slot himself against the drunken man. He nuzzles his nose into Edamura's soft cheek, smirking at the other man's squirming. Over and over, he detaches and attaches himself from Makoto's addictive lips in tender motions, relishing in the other’s company despite the younger one still attempting to complete the task of hurting his mortal foe.
Why did it feel like his knees were getting weaker? Edamura was sure he wasn’t a snake… or was he? Either way, his grip on balance was failing him the more alcohol entered his system as he nearly slithered to the dirt, barely avoiding it if it wasn’t for the tight grip on his waist and the fervent touches to his mouth. His eyes blearily open and he catches sight of his worst nightmare, two Laurents smiling down at him. Their sky-blue eyes gently gazing into his before reconnecting their lips in another open-mouthed kiss that tasted strongly of tangy berries. A exhale of relief leaves him at that action and he relaxes some more, his stomach buzzing with warmth. However, his arms keep swinging.
Laurent pauses a moment while their lips are connected, tongue waiting at slightly parted lips. He can still feel the soft beating on his chest almost like a second heart, persistent and unyielding in its effort to beat him up. He pulls once more on the brown tufts between his long fingers, massaging the man's scalp, and greedily swallows any pained whimpers that emit from Edamura. Something hot burns in his gut as it curls and growls in possession. Whatever it was, his body thought the sounds in front of him were his and his only. The blonde man’s manners crumble as his patient tongue swipes at the parted lips and occupies the space within.
Edamura, with his arms still striking Laurent, gets a good hit on the French man’s shoulder with the blonde bastard wincing in pain. Giggling with a sense of triumph, he relents his persistent attacks and the feral beast inside him settles once more. Now he can fully enjoy this moment. He hadn’t really minded the pleasant kisses pushing against his lips, especially this current one with a skillful tongue roaming about and currently pressing against the roof of his mouth. Smiling dazedly, he tries to kiss back but his mind and tongue just won’t cooperate under the addling influence of the wine. It's getting a bit hard to breathe too, maybe because his mouth is being covered completely by Laurent's. He breathes hard through his nose and whines for air, which Laurent immediately gifts to him.
A thin line of drool connects the two as they part ways. Edamura takes a gasp of the sweet earthy air and, by reaction, tries to follow up the kiss with his own, whining when he realizes that the other man is too far up. Waves of lustful passion crash over Laurent as he catches Makoto trying to follow his lips up. Grabbing his hips harder, he pulls the coffee critic back into a bruising kiss that has them both moaning loudly.
Frankly, it is only when Nambitha turns around and notices that they are indeed missing that she heeds the warning Estia had given her about these two "lovebirds", as her friend so candidly remarked. Retracing her steps, it is only at the sound of these very loud “noises” that she investigates an overgrown vine and sees them. A tipsy French man enthusiastically making out with the funny drunk Asian man and giving each other kisses just shy of being described as “searing” right on top of her grapes. Chuckling to herself, she rolls her shoulder back and smacks the unsuspecting white man right on the back of his head.
“Okay, little ones, I don’t need your shared spit ruining my harvest! Keep your hands to yourself or else no more wine.” Rubbing the back of his now throbbing head, Laurent gives her a charming smile, which does not look very effective seeing as how she looks over at the other dazed man who has rightly swollen lips and lightly mussed clothes, his tucked polo shirt popping out of his jeans. When they get back to the main house at the end of the tour, she gifts the two of them a large case of wine each and some bottles for Estia, to the drunken joy of Makoto and the pleasure of Laurent. It really was good wine.
Now it is time for them to go. They had both packed up from their stay at the hotel and get driven towards the airport with their concierge-driver from before. Edamura had still not gotten over being told ‘thank you’ in Korean but swallowed some pride and allowed the man to keep driving them. Sithembele, the name of the driver after they got back from the coffee shop that day, had taken up a buddy-buddy relationship with Edamura and proceeded to call him boetie all the way from then until they took the final drive up to the airport and unpacked their luggage.
“So, boetie, it was really a good time being your personal driver at Ubukumkani. I know you saved my number, so use it if you ever decide to come back to South Africa and need someone to take you to the local sights!”
Edamura smiles and reaches a hand up to shake his hand. “Of course, Sithembele! If you ever decide to come to Japan, I’ll bring you to all the local sights too!” The South African man looks at the hand for a moment, smiles impossibly wide at him, and goes in for a hug. Already on alert, Edamura feels around the tightening around his torso to see if it was with the intention to steal his wallet and found that no, it was a genuine hug. Feeling bad at his untrustworthy thoughts, he hugs Sithembele in return and pats him on the back.
The two foreigners enter the airport and look at the gates they would be taking. Separate flights. Edamura looked at Laurent with a narrowed gaze.
“Okay, I’m off to drink some coffee up north in Ethiopia. I’m guessing you’re going back to the States?” There was no way that Edamura could miss the flinch on Laurent at the country name, a simple reminder of the terrible past that was now just that: something that had passed.
“Yes, Edamame, I’ll be riding back to the United States as a diplomat. Have to put these nine languages to use in some other way than conniving others, right?” Laurent says easily, smirking seductively at the innocent young coffee adventurer.
Edamura rolls his eyes and smirks back. “All I’m happy about is you actually getting your life together and not fucking mine up like before. Go ahead and do your diplomacy while I go and get a great cup of joe.” Laurent nods and, just like before in the vines, grabs him by the hips and surges forward, connecting their lips in another deep kiss.
The kiss lasts only a few seconds before Edamura sputters backward, cheeks flushed red and eyes trying hard not to glaze over. He wipes his mouth hard sputtering and crosses his arms. Despite being drunk as hell in the winery, he sure as hell did not forget the kisses that Laurent had given him. Once they had gotten back to the hotel, he made sure to beat the blonde man’s ass thoroughly, this time not pawing his chest but actual punches and kicks that left the man wheezing with bruises and pain and laughter.
"Give me some warning next time so I can punch you again!"
“Maybe I will, maybe I won't. Invite me back just to be sure, Edamame.”
“Maybe I won't then, jackass. See you never.”
But then again, Edamura is terrible at lying. Over the next two and a half years, he’s able to make tremendous progress on his coffee adventure traveling all over the world. First Ethiopia, then Colombia, then off to Havana, back to Europe, then back to South America, then Asia, and so forth. Along the way, he’s able to find time to hang out with everyone in the crew.
First, he invites his favorite person from the team, Abigail, only a week after Africa on a trip down to South America where they try fresh Colombian grinds. It blows his mind how despite the coffee not being as strong as previous ones, the caramel and nutty flavors produced from the beans shines through the blend. While Makoto nerds out, Abby sits back, bored but intent on studying his entertaining facial expressions like a kid at a zoo. The only time she shows emotions is when they (and they swear by it) unintentionally con one of the biggest drug cartel leaders in the country out of a small 50 million after he kicked the back in of one of the bean picking kids. The look on his face as Abby drove one of his prized cars off the side of a cliff with the face of a crazed devil will forever be ingrained in Makoto’s head.
Then, he goes to London after a couple of months and meets with Cynthia, who takes him to the coffee spot he’s been dying to try ever since some owner in Peru told him that they perfected French press. Cynthia, skeptical since she did work in a cafe before but never tried the spot, accompanies Edamura to the place where they find the French press is just as the lady had described, the bold flavors making the Japanese man shudder in delight. He also gets to see Kawkn again, a pang of harsh guilt rushing through him at the thought of his past actions, and asks how he’s doing with his art.
Then it comes to Shi-Won and Kudo when he visits Korea a year later, which further breaks his spirit when the locals cannot even discern what nationality he is (Chinese? Korean? Once he hears Nepalese, he reaches for his trusty bottle of Sauvignon). Kudo hitches along again for Melbourne, Australia the week after where they drink coffee in the winter and Edamura finally gets a chance to speak in his native tongue again, which feels so much easier even though his English has gotten rather good. His father has yet to be invited due to his job and making better amends with society as well as his son.
And Laurent Thierry takes up most of the trips in between.
This insufferable bitch, this asshole, decides to keep up his job as a diplomat and travels extensively around the world the same as him, just not attached to the hip. But when he does save up a few days of vacation, it’s immediately to ask where Edamura is in the world. It doesn’t matter if he’s in the middle of sleep in Austria or just snacking on something in Canada, he’ll always call him and beg him to tell him where he is for hours on end so he can come and drink a cup with him.
And each time Edamura begrudgingly accepts his requests and meets up with him, without fail, the blonde man will find time to bring them away to his hotel room, cup his body close, and close the distance between their lips and take his breath away. The first few times, there was definitely a struggle and a bit of kicking and screaming. One instance had ended with Edamura losing a shoe out of his hotel window and shrieking as it fell into the water, startling the fisherman below. Punches were thrown and he even spent some time in England learning how to do a half-nelson if the man tried to approach him one more goddamn time. After some months though, the kicking stopped. The shouts of indignation become devoured sobs on the bedsheets. His punches turn into clenched fists as he fists the sheets underneath him or Laurent's prized Ermenegildo Zelga suits. The man above Edamura never disappoints when it comes to kissing.
Despite all this, the Japanese coffee expert will not fall in love with the man yet. Laurent had not yet crossed the threshold of kissing, which meant something was holding him back. Even though he had seen the man nude many times after South Africa (most by accident, some purely because the French man wanted to show off), despite getting teased and deep-kissed within an inch of his life, regardless of the fact that he had felt the man’s massive dick straining against his ass multiple times and rutting against him like a dog in heat, he never went past the point of clothed frottage. It helps cement the fact to Makoto that he was not going to be much more than the visage of an innocent boy to molest each time they saw each other and he was totally fine with that casualness.
Well, everything except the huge dick against his ass sometimes, but overall it wasn’t a big deal.
Until it was.
He didn’t know it, but it started right when he got another coffee recommendation after visiting Ho Chi Minh City, Vietnam. He was sipping the last of his Vietnamese coffee, the strong robust coffee fighting back against the heavy cream in the best flavor battle he'd had in a while. He shook his cup a few times, looking up at the man and his wife who served him. They were a rather happy and content couple, their earnings small but their love immense. Through their broken English and Edamura's butchered Vietnamese, they were extremely shocked but grateful to hear someone’s renowned coffee shop all the way in Norway recommended their small food store, which only sold coffee on the side. Edamura could see what the appeal was once the iced beverage is paired with a hot, delicious banh mi sandwich. Actual heaven.
“Where was the last good cup of coffee that you had?” The husband and wife both mull over their thoughts before the wife pops her head up, an answer brightly crossing her face.
“Oh my god, if not in Vietnam, you have to try this wonderful place in Taipei! I can give you the address!”
Edamura grins satisfied as he writes down the address and gets their phone number. Guess he was finally going to get to visit Taiwan.