Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

A ripple of camera flashes nearly blind Goro as he answers the reporter’s question. He bites back the growl rising in his throat and turns his attention toward the microphone, finishing his sentence as abruptly as respectability politics will allow. The second he finishes, he steps away from the woman and bows slightly to the crowd.

“Thank you all for coming. That is all the time I have for questions. Further inquiries can be directed to my assistant.” He moves to gesture to Hikari but stops himself upon remembering her resignation three days ago. Instead, he shoves his hands in his pockets and shoulders his way through the throng of people to get to the elevator. He smacks his keycard against the scanner and presses the button for the top floor.

The doors close, and for the first time in nearly two hours, he’s alone. “Fucking vultures.” The company demands a quarterly public question and answer session from their CEO, but Goro hates playing nice with journalists. All they want to do is pick him apart until he’s nothing but bones and contradictions. They salivate over the prospect of a day where he slips up and makes a mistake. Goro won’t give them the pleasure.

Elevator dinging, Goro draws in a long breath, huffing it out shortly before the doors open. His office is private, but the path there is anything but. Everyone in the office will want to know about the Q&A and how it went. All he wants to do is break into the stash of emergency booze in his mini fridge.

When he steps out, the floor is eerily quiet. Goro strides forward, eyes flicking back and forth as he watches his employees glance at him then quickly turn away. Something has them spooked, and that bodes ill for him. Undisturbed, Goro makes it to his office easily, but a movement in his peripheral makes his hand freeze, poised in front of his keycard scanner. He turns slowly, noticing a distinctively shorter man beside him — easily twenty centimeters less than him — with a mess of black curls atop the head of a fairly youthful face. Grey eyes peer up at him, and pink lips quickly press themselves into a line. Whoever this is, he seems nervous.

For good reason. Goro’s out of patience for the day.

He steps back, eyeing the young man carefully. He’s dressed in dark grey slacks and a off-white button down, paired with a navy blazer. His hands ball into fists at his sides, and he shifts his weight from foot to foot, hesitating. He clearly wants to say something but lacks the spine to speak up.

Goro breaks the wriggling silence. “Who the fuck are you?”

The young man pulls at his collar, a sweat breaking out over his forehead. “Akira Kurusu. Your last assistant hired me.” He wipes a palm on his pants and presents his hand. “Nice to meet you.”

Goro bites his cheek to keep from laughing. Hikari was a bitch through and through. She must have hired this squirming fledgling because she thought it would be funny to make Goro suffer after driving her to resign. He admires the attempt, but she won’t win that easily.

Ignoring the hand, Goro slaps his card against the scanner and tears the door open. “Get inside.”

He waits for the man to pass, pausing slightly to watch him walk into the office, absentmindedly admiring the view. It’s been a while since he’s had an assistant this attractive. Usually, that means they stay longer because he favors them ever so slightly and gives them a few more mercies than others. His longest running assistant to date lasted eleven months and three days — and he was the first assistant. Ever since then, they drop at random intervals, never quite making it to a year. Some don’t even last a month. Numerous times, Goro has caught wind of betting pools on his newest hires. He wonders how long this one will last.

Goro follows after and points to the seat across from his desk. He goes around and sits, leaning back in the leather executive chair and staring at the man. His nose is angular, sloped gently toward the end. Now that his lips aren’t being mashed together, they’re a soft pink and rather plush. He has a sharp jawline that most probably find attractive. Goro concurs, truth be told. His lashes are egregiously long, brushing along the tops of his cheeks with every blink. For some reason, it twists Goro’s insides. Makes it hard to look at him.

Instead, he clears his throat, ignoring the way he grows warm under the collar. “Your name again?”

The man sits, hands clasped tightly in his lap. “Kurusu. Akira Kurusu.”

“Kurusu-kun.” Goro despises the way it rolls off his tongue — much too fluid and natural. “Tell me about yourself. Why did my last assistant see fit to hire you?”

“Well, I have a degree in literature and finance. I worked in a coffee shop as a barista while I saved up enough money to go to college. I graduated a few months ago and-”

Goro holds a hand up, frowning. Kurusu doesn’t look that young. “How old are you?”

His cheeks tint a lovely rose hue, accenting his tanned skin nicely. “Twenty-seven.”

Only ten years his junior and just getting started. It’s damn near pathetic. “Nearly thirty and getting an entry level position.” Goro stops himself. “Well, not even that. You’re an assistant not a finance officer. Why this job instead of an office worker?”

“Your last assistant said she hated her job but got great benefits and excellent pay. Said that even if you worked her like a dog, you were easy to deal with because…” He trails off.

Goro loses his last thread of patience. “Spit it out.”

His blush deepens. “You were easy to look at.”

Goro’s brows lift, and he barks out a laugh. “Did she now?” He leans forward, hand curling underneath his chin. “And what do you think?”

Kurusu’s entire face flames. He wrings his hands and presses them to his stomach. “She didn’t exaggerate. You-you are stunning.”

Goro smiles, knowing it’s a sleazy thing. “We’ll see if you still feel that way once you’ve tasted my anger.”

Kurusu’s coy nerves evaporate, replaced by a blanched expression of fear.

Goro stands, moving to one of the bookshelves behind his desk. He peeks out the floor to ceiling windows, watching the cars and people move by in a hurry. After indulging in the view for long enough, he turns to the shelf and scans for a specific document. It takes a few minutes, but he finds what he’s searching for and pulls it from its home, carrying it to the desk. He drops the heavy binder in front of Akira.

“This contains all of the documents you need to read, learn, and understand to thrive in this position. If you have any questions, you’ll need to prove to me that you’ve thought them through before you ask.”

“How do I do that?”

Goro slaps his hand onto the binder. “I don’t have time to answer stupid questions. I don’t have time for mistakes. I don’t have time to teach you silly things you should be able to figure out on your own. Do you understand?”

Kurusu glances at the nameplate on his desk and nods. “Yes, Akechi-san.”

Something burns deep in Goro’s gut at his quick wit and the deference. He smiles, feeling a little too satisfied by the way Kurusu says his name. “Good boy.”

Kurusu’s cheeks brighten again, and he reaches for the binder. “When would you like this task done?”

“Now that’s a question I like.” Goro stands upright. “I’ll give you to the end of the week. But make no mistake, Kurusu-kun. I expect perfection from you.”

“Should I expect to be fired if I fail?”

Goro comes around the desk, landing a heavy hand on Kurusu’s shoulder. “I wouldn’t be so cruel to fire you at the sight of one mistake. No… If you fail me, you will be forced to learn your lesson, and you will be punished.”

“I assume the punishment fits the failure.”

Goro muses. He likes how smart this one is. Too bad he has no idea what he signed up for. “The punishment fits who failed me. My last assistant slavered after responsibility. If she failed me, she was relegated to copy and coffee runs. The one before that was a lazy lump who was sent on tasks around the city if he failed me.” He squeezes Kurusu’s shoulder. “We’ll see what kind of punishment you earn, Kurusu-kun.”

Shoulders tense beneath Goro’s hand as Kurusu bristles. “You expect that I’ll fail you.”

“I have astronomical expectations.” He lowers his head, whispering into Kurusu’s ear. “You will fail me.” He stands up, patting Kurusu’s shoulder cordially. Goro moves back to his seat and crosses his legs, smiling like he didn’t just insult his newest assistant. “And when you do, I’ll get the pleasure of teaching you a lesson you won’t soon forget.”

Chapter Text

Cheeky — that’s the best way Goro can describe the expression on Kurusu-kun’s face. The impish grin grates his nerves and fries his patience. He grips at Kurusu’s hair, yanking his head back and staring down into that annoyingly attractive face.

“Do you think this is funny?” Goro jabs his finger into the document. “If this went unchecked, you could cost people their jobs.”

It’s hard to miss the way Kurusu’s pupils have blown out — wide, black, and hungry.

Even two weeks in, Goro’s noticed the way his new assistant reacts to corporal punishment — with thinly veiled lust. It shouldn’t interest Goro in the slightest, but his own body stirs with arousal at the soft grunts Kurusu makes as he’s whipped back — at the ability to hurt him so obviously and see it responded to with enjoyment. Pleasure, even.

His whimpers go straight to Goro’s dick. “S-sorry, A-Akechi-san.”

For a moment, Goro considers snapping his neck and tossing him out the window. At least the temptation to bend Kurusu over his desk would be gone. The urge to do so has only grown more severe, plaguing Goro even when Kurusu is out running errands. Every time he returns, sweating and breathless, it rears its head and threatens to consume Goro.

It takes every ounce of Goro’s will and tact to keep his composure and properly think about the task that he gave his assistant — rather than the way he smells of stale vanilla lotion and the sharp bitterness of black coffee. Not to mention the fact that Kurusu is prone to back-talk. Mouthy little shit. Goro dreams of putting that tongue of his to work doing something else.

Goro’s finger strikes the paper again. “What did you do wrong here?”

“I got too distracted watching you pace. Your shoulders look extra broad in that shirt.” He tugs at Goro’s button down and smirks.

Goro’s face flames, and his grip tightens on instinct. Kurusu lets out a soft ‘ahh’ that nearly ruptures Goro’s blood cells. Instead, Goro reaches up and smacks Kurusu sharply on the cheek. “Watch it.”

Impossibly, Kurusu’s pupils seem to grow bigger. He licks his lips, leaving his mouth wet and glossy with a pout that seems to beg Goro to do it again. A shudder rolls through Goro’s body as he envisions sliding his cock between those perfect pink lips. His restraint hangs by a single strand.

He does what he must, and he lets go. The disappointment sits plainly on Kurusu’s face. He stares at the document with a sigh.

“I forgot to categorize the bonus pay checks. Without doing that, they might have gone to the wrong billing department and overcharged one of our accounts…” His voice fades with a wearisome sound.

Hesitating, Goro frowns. Does he think this is a game? To only respond once he’s no long under threat? “… Correct. Don’t make the error again.”

Kurusu nods passively. “Yes, Akechi-san.” He waits a moment before glancing at Goro. “May I go back to my tasks?”

“Yes.” Goro watches him go, a little perplexed at the deflated demeanor Kurusu leaves with. If he didn’t know better, Goro would think that Kurusu thinks of this as a game. That he gets joy out of getting a rise out of his boss. It’s… unfathomable.

When the door shuts, Goro slumps back to his seat. Suddenly, his work disagrees with him — unappealing without the presence of his resident pain in the ass. No other assistant has ever wormed under his skin like this. It concerns him.

The chittering of the office workers never fails to irritate Goro. He’s nearly done for the day, passing through the floor for one last task before he and everyone else leaves for the weekend. Only, he overhears the plans of one of his most flirtatious employees — Sachiko.

“Akira-kun, you must let us take you out to the bars tonight.”

Even from where he stands, Goro knows she’s laying it on thick. A glance confirms his assumption, with the way she grabs at Kurusu’s hand and tugs on it while jumping. Her flimsy low-cut blouse does everything she likely hopes it does.

Perhaps everything except for hook Kurusu. He laughs, rips his hand away, and steps back, scratching his head. “I don’t know, Sachi… I’m not much of a drinker.”

One of the newer, younger office managers steps up and plants a hand on Kurusu’s shoulder. Nagisa gives Kurusu a sickeningly sweet smile as he stares down at him. “Come with us. It will be fun. I promise.”

Goro’s vision turns red as Kurusu’s face does. He moves before he can think, crossing the floor of the offices and cutting in between the crowding workers and Kurusu. Goro easily flings Nagisa’s hand away, pushing Kurusu back toward his office.

“Kurusu, I hope you’re not planning on leaving.” Goro speaks, barely without any thought. “I have a task for you that’s crucial to finish before the weekend and curiously, you haven’t finished it.”

Kurusu stumbles backwards, offering a wave of apology. “Sorry. Have fun without me.”

Goro ignores the grumbles about his character and demanding nature. He cares not for their opinions, only for whether Kurusu is left untouched. Which is a dangerous, dangerous thought.

Behind the closed doors of his office, Goro’s skin crawls. Kurusu looks small, hands wrapped together as he shuffles to the center of the space. Small. Fragile. Tempting.

A fleeting thought crosses Goro’s mind — his office is sound proofed for private conversations. No one would ever know if he took Kurusu over his desk. Not even if they were standing right outside.

Goro grits his teeth and shakes his head, realizing Kurusu looks so awkward because he’s waiting for instruction. The task that Goro so crudely demanded he finish before departing. Fate has mercy on him as he remembers that an important donor will be visiting in less than a week. Goro marches over to a filing cabinet and pulls out a manila envelope filled with demands and requests of their most esteemed guest. He slaps it onto the table.

“We’ll be visited by a very important investor next week. Ogawa-san is an incredibly generous businessman who helps fund our company’s charities.” Goro slides the file forward. “He was also a personal friend of my father’s. I suggest you commit the contents of this document to memory and prepare for his visit. As you know, I expect nothing short of perfection.”

Kurusu lifts a brow before it dives down and furrows with the other. “What’s so important about a donor when we’re a business?”

“Charity work makes us all look better, Kurusu-kun.” He doesn’t miss the way Kurusu shudders at his name or how his cheeks tint pink. “You would be wise to respect the work that our company’s charities do. They provide ample opportunity for everyone here at the company to engage in the community and better the world around them.”

Kurusu’s nose wrinkles, and he crosses his arms. “Don’t give me the sales pitch, Akechi-san.” He says the honorific with hesitation, like it’s painful for him to do. “Why do we really have charities here?”

While Kurusu’s back-talk may drive him up a wall mostly, his thoughts and frankness are entirely too refreshing. Only too much, because it stokes a strange longing within Goro’s chest to spend more and more time with his assistant. To claim him and make him his own, regardless of consequences.

“Aesthetics, Kurusu-kun. You would be surprised what a handful of donations, charity events, and optimal press releases can do for a company’s image. We are a well-run, ethical, trustworthy, and choice company not because of what we do for our customers, but for how we appear to them and everyone else.”

“So nothing is what meets the eye?”

That nearly makes Goro laugh. He leans on his desk, staring at Kurusu where he’s seated himself. “Are many things?”

A shade of darkness passes over Kurusu’s expression for a moment, but he eventually gives a wry smile. “No, I suppose most things aren’t.” He pauses for a long moment before looking up with an artificial smile on his face. “Is that all you have for me, Akechi-… san?”

“It is. I trust you to know this man better than yourself, come Monday.”

“So, I have the entire weekend to learn.”

“Yes.”

Kurusu frowns. “Then why keep me from bar hopping with my colleagues?”

Goro’s jaw tightens. “Your colleagues are no good. They may be decent workers, but they are not good people. You would be wise to steer clear of them.”

“I don’t know…” Kurusu toys with one of the buttons on his shirt. “Nagisa seems pretty nice. I think he likes me.”

Goro clenches so harshly, he nearly shatters a tooth. “Nagisa is a playboy who doesn’t care for people’s feelings. Don’t end up on his list of conquests.”

The crooning that escapes Kurusu’s throat sets Goro on edge. He wants to simultaneously choke the sound from Kurusu and mute it with his cock in his throat. “Aww… Akechi, do you care for me that much?”

Goro’s stomach flips at Kurusu’s audacity to drop the honorific. He’s bolder than Goro ever initially took him for. Gutsy and keen. He wonders what Kurusu might do if it’s flipped back on him.

“Unfortunately, I do, Kurusu.” He lets the last syllable hang in the air, dangling precariously between them like a knife on a thread. Goro relishes in the way Kurusu’s breathing halts for a moment before picking up rapidly. “But I’ve kept you long enough.” He hates to do it, but they both need to get home. Goro wanders to his office door, opening it and nodding toward the exit. “Have a good weekend.”

Kurusu grabs the file and tucks it under his arm. He meanders out the door, turning on his heel as the walks backward toward the elevator. “Don’t work too hard, Akechi. You deserve to relax some too.”

“Perhaps one day, Kurusu. But not today nor tomorrow. I have far too much on my plate for relaxing.”

“And if you had someone to force you to relax?”

The question is asked in earnest, even if Kurusu’s tone is loaded with double meaning.”

“Well then, that might be different. I do always love playing with toys.”

Kurusu’s face blushes again, and he ducks his head. “W-well, goodnight.”

“Goodnight.”

Goro turns back to gather his belongings, chest curiously heavy at the thought of another long, empty weekend without seeing Kurusu.

Chapter Text

“You look exhausted.”

Akira blinks up at Ann, eyes heavy and head feeling even worse as he attempts to find the part of the binder that lists Akechi’s preferred way to take coffee. He really should memorize it. This week, he has a list of more complex tasks than the previous two — which saw him learning several executive’s coffee orders and how to operate various machinery in the office. Now he’s managing a slew of responsibilities. Copies for an upcoming board meeting. Dropping off and picking up dry cleaning. Coffee runs twice a day — before Akechi gets to the office and after lunch. He’ll also pick up lunch, file a mountain of paperwork, and answer emails on Akechi’s behalf. The worst task he has all week is navigating Akechi’s calendar. Akira figured a CEO would stay busy, but it took him an entire afternoon during the first week to parse out what everything meant. The sheer number of contacts that Akechi has every day makes Akira sweat through his button-down.

The job certainly frazzles Akira to a certain point. He’s screwed up a few times, but Akechi only yells at him and tells him to redo the task. Sometimes he grabs Akira’s hair or hits him. He doesn’t mention that to Ann, though. He knows how it looks. Even if he doesn’t necessarily mind it. At this point, it’s a long process to fix his errors because of Akechi’s foreboding presence watching him and chastening him. It often takes upwards of three hours to finish, but by the end, Akira fully understands what Akechi’s expectations are — and how to subvert them in the future.

Though, to be honest, Akira thinks that Akechi likes to see him squirm even beyond the corporal punishment — always putting his hand around the back of his neck and whispering into his ear. Even thinking about it makes Akira shiver involuntarily. Akira can’t say for certain whether it’s the touch or Akechi’s attractiveness that makes the mind games and abuse worth it and at times alluring. Probably both.

Drawn back to reality by Ann’s not so subtle cough, Akira shrugs. “I suppose I am.” He squints at the clock across the room. 6:27 am. He has to get Akechi’s coffee and be there by 7:15 am. “But I have to go.” Typically, Ann isn’t up this early, but she has a shoot across town at 8. He hoped they could walk together, but she’s too quizzical right now. He can’t risk her running into Akechi. He’s always in a mood this early. Not that Akira can blame him. He hops down from the kitchen island stool and presses a kiss to Ann’s cheek. “Love you.”

She rolls her eyes and waves goodbye. “Get a picture of your hot boss, would you?”

“No promises. He hates cameras.”

“Three weeks and you already know him so well.” She sighs dramatically. “Such a wonderful assistant.”

Akira shakes his head at her antics and grabs his wallet, keys, and satchel before slinking out the door. He hurries downstairs and to the station, keeping an eye on his watch as minutes tick by. Akechi’s calendar says something about a meeting at 7:30 am with a influential donor — Ogawa-san, if he recalls correctly. He remembers something said last week about this meeting needing to go perfectly. Akira hopes that it does, for all their sakes.

A few people from the front of the line at the coffee house, Akira gets a phone call.

“Kurusu-kun. I need you to pick up a drink for our donor as well.”

“Where from?”

“It’s a block from Ōokayama Station.”

Akira pales. That’s over a twenty minute ride from their office. Forty minutes round trip… and it’s 7:03 currently. He’ll barely make it to the meeting at all, let alone on time.

Akechi senses his hesitation. “I don’t care if my coffee is late. There has been a change of plans, and we will be signing a deal together. I would like a celebratory drink prepared for him and he doesn’t drink. Understand?”

“Yes, Akechi-san. Please send me his order. I will be there before the ink is dry.”

His boss practically purrs. “Good boy.”

Akira shivers at the praise. It goes straight through him and settles between his legs. He desperately shoves that thought away as he places Akechi’s order and hurries back to the station to head across town.

The tea house brews a kettle of oolong tea and seals it in a warming thermos, to Akira’s relief. While it sets him back a touch over 7,000 yen, at least he can present it to Akechi’s guest with full confidence. Akechi’s coffee on the other hand… at least there’s a microwave in the office.

On the train ride back, Akira bobs his leg up and down. Antsy. Stressed and antsy. Every stop closer gets his heart racing more. He knows he can’t run all the way to the office building, but he might try. When he steps off the platform and realizes it’s 7:51, he definitely tries.

Breathless, Akira wheezes as the elevator doors open on the top floor. He beelines to the microwave, gently heating Akechi’s coffee for fifty seconds before hurrying to his office. Akira gathers the drinks in one arm and presses his keycard against the scanner, opening the door slowly and entering carefully.

The conversation seems to be finished — which makes sense give that it’s only two ’til eight. Akira creeps up to the desk and uncaps the thermos, setting down the lid and pouring a steaming hot cup of tea for the gentleman signing. He puts his pen down, watching Akira carefully as he backs away, bowing.

“Fresh, for you, Ogawa-san.”

The man stares at him, apathetic as he reaches for the tea. He sips at it, nodding slowly. “This is excellent, thank you.”

“My pleasure, Ogawa-san.”

Akira turns away from the desk and straightens up. Glancing toward Akechi who presses a signatory stamp into the document and begins rolling it up. He tucks it into a security tube and seals it before setting it to the side and smiling thinly.

“Thank you, Ogawa. Your contributions to our charities will be known far and wide, and the public will laud you for your incredible generosity.” He nods at the door. “May I escort you out?”

The man polishes off his tea, caps the thermos, and picks up the bottle. He shakes his head. “No, thank you. Your assistant seems all too eager to present your coffee.”

Akira glances toward Akechi, who not so subtly rolls his eyes. “Of course. Kurusu-kun, what are you waiting for?”

Truthfully, Akira isn’t sure why he hesitated. Perhaps he wanted to wait to ensure that it was okay to leave their special guest’s side. Now that it is, he feels a little silly for standing around so obtusely.  “Sorry, Akechi-san. I-”

Taking a step forward, Akira’s heart lurches into his chest. His foot catches against something firm, covered in fabric. Something suspiciously leg-like. Akira gasps and tries to catch his fall, but it only makes him fumble worse as he careens into Akechi. He slams into his boss, full force, nearly knocking him over. The coffee bursts between them, lid popping off like a pressurized container finally let loose. The contents spill everywhere, dousing Akechi in hot liquid and decorating the carpet with a staining puddle of seeping brown.

Akira falls to his knees, immediately peeling off his cardigan and pressing it into the ground. It manages to soak up some of the excess liquid, but it does nothing for the color itself. Pale grey carpet never had a chance. He doesn’t quit, though. He uses every inch of his sweater to sop up the coffee, praying that it soaks up at least a percentage of the color. He sweats, tears up, and nearly cries while keeping his eyes on the floor. This cannot be happening… Akechi’s looming presence over him sends a full-body shiver down his spine, and he doesn’t want to think about the ire he’ll face any moment now. He’s screwed up processes before, but he’s never embarrassed Akechi.

Somewhere in the background of his panicking, Akira hears Ogawa-san laugh. “Quite the handful you have there, Akechi. Usually your assistants are better behaved. I’ll leave you to deal with this mess. Pleasure doing business with you, as always.”

The door creaks open and shuts with a heavy thud. Akira’s arms shake as he presses harder and harder into the carpet. He knows the coffee will stain. He knows this is a fruitless endeavor, but he can’t stop trying. He made mistakes before, but this — this — he can’t even fathom thinking about what Akechi is going to do.

Akira hears a soft beep and suddenly the brightness in the room gradually disappears, enveloped by the closing of automatic blackout curtains. They’re closed off from the world. Akira swallows and sits back on his haunches, ignoring the way that emotion rises in his throat. A pitiful voice creaks out. “I-I’m so sorry, Akechi-san. I didn’t mean to-”

Akechi-san lashes out, grabbing Akira by the jaw and squeezing — tight. “Didn’t mean to?” His tone mocks Akira, light and overly jovial. “You didn’t mean to. Oh, no. Of course you didn’t mean to completely make a fool of me.” His foot grinds into the stain on the floor. “You didn’t mean to ruin my carpet.” Akira watches as Akechi unbuttons his shirt and undoes his belt. “You didn’t mean to ruin my clothes.” Akechi’s lip twitches with disgust. “Tell me, Kurusu-kun. Do you think your intentions matter?” The venom in his voice sears through Akira, kicking his heartbeat into overdrive.

“I-I tripped. Ogawa-san-” The hand at his jaw tightens further.

“Are you accusing our most generous donor of intentionally causing problems?”

“N-No.” Tears prick at Akira’s eyes. He just wants to fix this, but it’s all going horribly wrong. “I would never! I just- I was distracted by his presence.”

Akechi sneers. “Then perhaps we should teach you to focus.” He unzips his trousers, letting them slide to his thighs, and pushes down his boxers.

Ice fills Akira’s stomach, and his eyes go wide at the size of Akechi’s cock. He swallows hard and peers up, flushing from head to toe at the look on Akechi’s face. He’s unmistakably angry, but there’s an undercurrent of pure lust in his expression. It sends a shockwave of anticipation through Akira’s body. He shouldn’t want this — he doesn’t want this. Yet, his cunt burns with arousal while his body shocks cold with fear.

“Be a good boy and don’t bite.”

That’s all the warning Akira gets before Akechi’s cock pushes past his lips. A heavy hand lands on top of Akira’s head, gripping at his roots and holding him at an angle as Akechi slides further and further into his mouth. He bumps the back of Akira’s throat, but he doesn’t stop. Akechi steps forward, towering over Akira as he forces his cock in even more. Akira’s throat convulses at the intrusion, clenching around the tip breaching his airway. He pinches his eyes shut, and the hand in his hair tightens.

“Keep your eyes open, Kurusu-kun. Remember, you’re learning to focus.”

The desire in Akechi’s tone is obvious, dripping from every word, curling around Akira’s name like a snake around prey. The sick fuck is enjoying this. But name calling makes Akira burn with shame. He knows how wet he is with Akechi’s cock buried in his throat. At the smell of him so close. At the sharp twinges of pain his hands dole out.

Akira is a hypocrite, nothing more, nothing less.

Right on cue, a groan unleashes from his chest as Akechi thrusts in and out earnestly, setting a rapid but fairly gentle pace. He carves out space for himself, testing Akira’s limits even as his own jaw tightens and he bites his lower lip. Akira watches him, tears pooling in his eyes at the burn of Akechi’s cock in his throat as he wills himself to relax and just take. Akechi’s expression of pleasure is almost enough to distract him from the pain it’s causing him. Almost. Not that it stops his own pleasure from building.

Akira’s core twists into fiery knots, pussy throbbing as Akechi uses him. He cries. He chokes. He breathes unsteadily, on the verge of collapse. But he’s so hard and so wet.

Especially looking at Akechi’s face. Despite his demand that Akira keep his eyes open and focused, Akechi-san’s are half-lidded, slipping shut as he fucks into Akira’s mouth. His chest rises and falls with puffs of exertion, but he drives on, burying himself in Akira’s throat with every push of his hips. Akechi’s face twists with pleasure, and his stomach tightens, visibly tensing before he cums. He spills into Akira’s mouth, coating his throat with semen as he struggles to mute his own sounds of pleasure. Wishful thinking convinces Akira he heard his name whispered.

Once finished, Akechi-san pulls out quickly and pushes Akira away. He moves across the office, not even sparing Akira a glance as he navigates to a decorative wall and punches a code into a discrete panel.

Akira leans back on his calves, lips parted in shock as he breathes heavily — finally able to catch his breath. Lingering tears stream down his cheeks, unrelenting and unmitigated by any thought or understanding of them. He sucks in a gasp of air, swallowing harshly as the salty tang of Akechi’s cum lingers in his mouth. Despite struggling to compose himself, Akira watches Akechi with rapt attention as he dresses in new clothes fetched from his hidden closet. He shivers as Akechi buttons up his shirt, eyes suddenly fixed on Akira.

His voice is calm when he speaks, too calm. “What have you learned today, Kurusu-kun?”

Akira’s jaw hurts. His throat hurts. His pride and his knees ache. His underwear is soaked, and he can’t seem to stop crying. What has he learned? His boss is a sadistic bastard, and his traitorous body likes it — that’s what he learned.

Instead, Akira croaks out a grating and weak response. “I must remain focused even in the presence of high ranking personnel.” He shudders through a wave of emotion. “Lest I be overwhelmed and become inefficient, ineffective, or completely incompetent.”

Akechi’s belt clinks softly as he locks it into place. He wanders back over to where Akira sits, and he presses a nearly gentle hand against his cheek. “Good boy. On your feet. You have the rest of the day to get the stain out of this carpet with proper tools, methods, and supplies. If I even see a ghost of a shape before I leave-” He stops himself. “Let’s just say this was merciful. I expect you to deliver results, Kurusu-kun. Don’t fail me.”

Rising to his feet, aching all the way, Akira bows and nearly topples over. “Yes, Akechi-san.”

Akira puts all of his anger into scrubbing the floor. It’s nearly five, and he can’t even see where the coffee stain originally was, but he doesn’t stop. His arms burn with the exertion as his mind rages — utterly disgusted by Akechi’s actions and his own unsettling interest in finding out what unmerciful looks like.

The office door clicks open, and Akira freezes, suddenly very aware of his precarious position on his hands and knees. He swallows, waiting. For what, he’s not entirely sure.

There’s amusement in Akechi’s voice when he finally speaks. “Why, Kurusu, you almost look natural down there.”

Akira shudders at the casual way his family name rolls off Akechi’s tongue. He wishes it didn’t have such an effect on him. He also wishes that his body didn’t react to Akechi demeaning him. Sitting up on his knees, Akira turns and stares at his boss, steely gaze pinning him. He ignores the comment and rises to his feet, shuffling away from where he’d been at work.

“Is this to your liking, Akechi-san?”

To his surprise, Akechi whips out his phone, turning on the flashlight and gazing at the spot that he’s been slaving over all day. A smile appears on his face as he switches it back off and approaches Akira. He sets a heavy hand on Akira’s shoulder, thumb pressing harshly against the tender spot beneath his clavicle.

“It looks like new, Kurusu-kun. Good job. It looks like your literature and finance degrees are paying off.”

There’s a subtle pinch and press against Akira’s shoulder as Akechi stares down at him with a smirk. For a split second, Akira wonders if he’s thinking about earlier — Akira certainly is. The recent memory is unwelcome, reminding him of his powerlessness at Akechi’s hands. At how he didn’t even think to object.

Instead of voicing any of his thoughts or rising to the bait of Akechi’s comment, Akira shoves his feelings down, deflating with the effort. “Am I free to leave, Akechi-san?”

Something flashes across Akechi’s face — an expression of confusion, concern, or disappointment, Akira’s not sure which. It perplexes him. Why would he feel anything for Akira after what he did.

Maybe he’s just dissatisfied Akira didn’t take the bait and give him a reason to punish him again.

Akechi removes his hand, gentler than when he placed it. His voice is calm, but Akira hears the dismal tone underneath. “Yes. You may go.” He steps back with a heavy, clipped sigh, like he didn't mean to let it out. His gaze follows Akira into the entryway as he gathers his belongings from his desk.

Before he sets off, Akira turns, face burning when he realizes Akechi is still watching him. He clears his throat and nods. “Good night, Akechi-san.” Akira bites his tongue to keep from spitting out ‘I hope you don’t sleep tonight’. It's a bitter, too honest thought. As he maneuvers to the elevator, Akira fears the truth is that he won’t get a wink with the knowledge of what Akechi looks and tastes like.

Chapter Text

The hesitation in Goro’s hands pisses him off. A consequence of his actions the week prior, surely. He snapped, used Kurusu like the whore he always dreamed of him being, and now he can’t even punish him normally without visions of Kurusu’s pink lips stretched wide around his cock. His watery eyes blinking up at him as he breathes erratically and swallows like a virgin.

His knees wobble at the thought.

Kurusu watches him with a blank stare, waiting for his directions. Goro can’t even remember why he asked him in here anymore. He stands from his desk, walking around to approach Kurusu. Goro places a hand on his shoulder, resisting the burning urge to cup Kurusu’s face instead. To run his thumb along Kurusu’s overly plush pink lower lip. To brush against his high cheekbone, to arc down the sharp angle of his jaw. To push back the curls gently resting against his forehead.

He shakes his head, to rattle the thoughts — keep them from congregating and controlling his actions.

“Kurusu-kun, you’ve been doing well lately.” He smiles, almost deceptively. “I think you’ve earned a break after redeeming yourself from last week.”

Kurusu stares up at him, lifting a brow. “This sounds like a trap.” He swallows, and Goro wants to sink his teeth into Kurusu’s throat as it bobs. “Why would you give me a break?”

“You’ve earned it. As I said.” He lifts his hand, brushing down the side of Kurusu’s shoulder and patting his arm. “Do you not want a break?”

“What kind of break?”

“One where you get a better glimpse into my job.” Goro says it without thinking, really. It’s a stupid move, inviting Kurusu deeper into his life. He’s never offered the same opportunity to any other assistant, even the one who stayed the longest. But maybe he’ll get another chance to teach Kurusu a lesson. He’s been too careful, lately. “You will come with me this afternoon to a meeting with our board members. A dozen individuals who give me feedback on how they think the company is doing. It’s a quarterly meeting. You should be honored you’re here for it.”

The color drains from Kurusu’s face. He sees it for the ploy it is. A test. A temptation. The wolf inviting the lamb into his domain with a smile full of sharp teeth. He can’t say no and risk offending Goro, but he knows accepting the offer is akin to agreeing to being punished. He will make a mistake. He knows it. It’s written all over his face.

It’s delightful to watch him squirm with the weight of the offer.

“Well?”

Kurusu’s breathing picks up, but he tries to mask it with a cough. “I-I’m not worthy of the privilege.”

“No, you’re not. But I think you could learn something by attending.”

Letting out a huff of air that sounds suspiciously like a whimper, Kurusu nods. “I’d… be honored.”

“Good. On your feet. The limo will be arriving momentarily.”

Downstairs, Kurusu gawps at the car. He hesitates, constantly looking back at Goro as he reaches for the handle. “You ride around in this all the time?”

“Just for official business. Like for transportation to these meetings and events of the like.” He smacks Kurusu’s hand away and opens the door, ushering him in. “Why?”

Quietly sliding to the far edge of the limousine, Kurusu squishes himself against the wall separating them from the driver. He pokes at the mini fridge located an arm’s length away. “It’s so fancy. I can’t say I’ve seen many people driving around in one of these.”

“Most executives prefer SUVs. I like the luxury of a limousine.” He extends his legs into the open area in front of him. “It’s more agreeable compared to the cramped back seat of an ordinary vehicle.”

Kurusu’s eyes traipse from the tip of Goro’s shiny patent leather shoes to his hips, where they linger for a moment before quickly zipping up to Goro’s face. “I suppose that makes sense for someone of your stature.”

Almost immediately after, Kurusu falls silent, gaze glued to the small square of carpeting between his feet. Goro allows it. He doesn’t want to stress his assistant out too much by needling him endlessly. Besides, a quiet car ride is one of the many reasons Goro enjoys the private travel for work.

Up on the seventh floor of a standard business building, Goro takes his seat at the head of an incredibly long table, filled with the twelve individuals who have the power to make Goro’s life wonderful or a living hell. It remains to be seen what this meeting will produce.

At his right, Kurusu takes a seat — prim, poised, and deathly silent. He barely seems to be breathing. When one of the board members begins speaking and mentions his presence, Kurusu pales. He glances at Goro expectantly.

With a sigh, Goro stands, gesturing to Kurusu to do the same. “Good morning, esteemed board members. Today, I have brought a guest with me. This is my assistant, Akira Kurusu. Do congratulate him on lasting a month in this position.”

A rumble of laughter goes out amongst the crowd, and Goro resumes speaking. He turns to Kurusu, pinning him with a steely gaze. “Please, introduce yourself.”

He nods curtly before turning to the audience of people. He bows, long and low before standing up and folding his hands in front of him. “It is an honor to be in the presence of such important and influential individuals. As Akechi-san said, my name is Akira Kurusu. I may be fairly new to this position, but I am aware of the incredible privilege I have of serving such an esteemed and hard working CEO as Akechi-san.”

Goro nearly rolls his eyes at the flattery. Kurusu lays it on thick, gaze flicking back for approval once he’s done speaking. Before Goro can wrap up their little introduction, a voice from the crowd cuts through, interrupting his plans.

An older gentleman, one of the more flamboyant of the bunch practically leers at Kurusu, greasy smile adorning his face. Goro has to look at his nameplate to identify him as a shipping magnate — Nakano.

“My, my Kurusu-kun. You certainly hold yourself to a high accord, so sharp and professional for an assistant. I should be so lucky to have a man like you work for me one day.”

Kurusu bows again. Voice a touch coquettish, he says, “Thank you, Nakano-san.”

The faint blush on Kurusu’s face lights a fire in Goro’s veins, causing him to snap at him under his breath. “Sit down.” Which Kurusu obeys immediately.

The rest of the meeting goes smoothly and is relatively uneventful. At least Goro walks away without any severe tasks to take on. Except for the matter of Kurusu’s apparent flirtation with one of the board members. That he will have to discuss with him. Preferably when they are alone in the limo.

As they approach the car, Goro marches ahead. He opens the door and waits for Kurusu to catch up. When he does, Goro presses a heavy hand against Kurusu's back to shove him in. As expected, he stumbles and lands on the floor of the car. When he tries to get up, Goro hisses at him.

"Don't you dare. Did you think I missed your little stunt in there?"

Kurusu looks up at him, doe eyed and confused. "I don't know what you mean. I only spoke when you introduced me."

Goro’s lips curl into a sneer at the memory of a board member's eyes lighting up at the sight of Kurusu and their over the top compliment of him. How wonderfully he presented himself for an assistant. Goro’s teeth grind together, and he shakes himself out of the memory. "Your behavior with Nakano-san was inappropriate." Goro slides into the car and slams the door, placing his foot against Kurusu’s thigh to keep him on the ground. "A simple thank you would have sufficed, but you saw fit to bat your lashes and moon at him."

Kurusu’s face reddens. "I-I did not! All I said was 'thank you, Nakano-san'."

"It was how you said it. But consider your backtalk noted as well." He reaches over to the array of buttons and presses one, waiting for the divider between them and the driver to raise. Beneath him, Kurusu squirms where he sits, breathing heavily as he looks between Goro's hand and his crotch.

What a good boy. Already knowing the punishment he'll receive.

As the divider slots into its locked position, Goro demands Kurusu’s wrists. "We're doing things a little differently today. Present your hands."

Goro doesn't miss the slight tremble in Kurusu’s arms as he lifts them. Goro loosens his tie, pulls it free from his collar, and winds it around Kurusu’s wrists. He knots the silken fabric tight, amused and intrigued by the way Kurusu’s cheeks tint with color. A full blush breaks out when Goro unbuckles his belt and unzips his fly.

Goro eyes the way Kurusu shifts beneath his foot, the tense way his legs press together. It's curious, to say the least.

Pushing down his trousers enough that his cock pops free, Goro grabs the excess fabric dangling from Kurusu’s wrists. He yanks him forward, pressing his face close to the tip. "You know what to do."

Kurusu hesitates, breathing erratic as he struggles to acclimate to his arms being held above his head. He glances up at Goro, eyes lidded and face flushed. Goro expects to see malice in those silver eyes, but all he sees is unfiltered need. It stirs something in him. Something he'll address later.

"Do you need encouragement?"

Goro shifts his foot from Kurusu’s thigh and hooks it over his shoulder, settling his calf against his back and forcing him closer. Kurusu grunts at the additional weight, but he tilts his head up, tongue peeking out to cautiously lick at the edge of Goro's frenulum.

It doesn't take Kurusu long to throw himself into it. Seconds later, his sweet pink lips part to capture the tip of Goro's cock. He sucks at it gently for a moment before going in for more. He chokes for his efforts, face reddening further.

"Take your time..." Goro knocks on the window to signal the driver to go, and the car lurches into motion. "No need to be greedy. It's a long trip."

Kurusu hums, sending vibrations through Goro's body. Goro bites his lower lip at the sensation. It magnifies as Kurusu tries again to take Goro deeper, soft whimpers coming from him as he forces his way down. Nose pressed against Goro's pelvis, Kurusu finally relaxes, eyes rolling back a little as he groans.

Goro tightens his grip on the tie and brushes his free hand through Kurusu's hair. "Such a good boy..."

Kurusu whimpers again, and tears form at the edges of his eyes. He pulls back slightly before pushing forward. The pace he sets is awkward, stilted, and reeks of inexperience. And it feels so fucking good.

As unrefined as Kurusu’s movements are, they more than suffice when paired with his eagerness. He picks up speed, cheeks hollowing on every draw back. Goro groans, low and loud when he does, pleasure sparking from his head to his toes. Kurusu proves to be sloppy, but efficient.

Goro should reward his efforts.

Shifting his leg forward, he slots it between Kurusu’s thighs. His overworked assistant doesn't miss a beat. He begins humping Goro's leg with a vigor only matched by the obscene sounds coming from his mouth as he attempts to satisfy his boss. Absentmindedly, Goro muses about the way Kurusu feels pressed against him. Smaller than he expected. Bonier, certainly. He starts to wonder why that is, but Kurusu hasn't let up. He sucks at Goro's cock like it's a lifeline, throat easing open to make room for him with every push and pull.

Kurusu might prove to be a natural after all.

Goro's head drops back for a moment as his stomach tightens and pleasure coils until it's too much. Not wanting to miss the show, he lifts his head. The sight of Kurusu’s pink lips and cheeks, wet and messy, sends him over the edge. He cums just as Kurusu pulls back.

The way Kurusu gasps makes Goro want to pin him down and mount him. Such a pathetic, vulnerable sound coming from someone who looks and smells like sex. He dangles helplessly, face dripping with the cum he couldn't swallow, as Goro keeps him trapped. Arms suspended in air while his back is stuck half bent. He looks miserable, but Goro notices a distinctly wet patch on his pale trousers. Situated lower than normal for a typical man. He muses about it for a moment until Kurusu lets out a whiny gasp. There's clarity in his eyes and the unmistakable shade of shame.

Goro decides he doesn't care what made Kurusu’s slacks wet. He'll bury his cock into whatever he can on this man.

"Had enough?"

Kurusu straightens up as Goro removes his leg. He blinks slowly, mouth partially open as he breathes heavily. After a moment, he looks Goro directly in the eye and licks his lower lip, swiping up the cum lingering there.

Goro nearly blows his load again. He swallows harshly, willing his dick to stay down. He has no more excuses to put Kurusu in predicaments like this — not even flimsy ones like today's. If he gets hard again, he'll be taking Kurusu for no other reason than he wants to. And that's a realization for another day.

Immediately, Goro drops Kurusu’s hands. He rips away his tie before zipping himself up and popping his collar to return the accessory to its proper home.

In front of him, Kurusu relaxes, leaning back against the seats and wiping his face with a napkin from the bar. He eventually rolls his head toward Goro, opening his mouth to say something, but he snaps it shut again and averts his gaze.

Pathetically, Goro wants to ask what Kurusu planned to say. He finds himself endlessly intrigued by the man, despite how much it grates him to admit it. This situation only exacerbates that feeling.

Instead of giving into to his whims, Goro hardens his voice and sits up. "It's disrespectful to not answer my questions."

"It's disrespectful to use your assistant like a sex toy." The words are sharp, but there is no bite to his tone.

Goro lets an inordinate amount of charm slip into his tone. He intends to bully Kurusu into submission with the facts. "Well, pardon me. But did you not hump my leg?" He points to the darkened spot on Kurusu’s trousers. "By the way you bucked and moaned, I imagine you got off too."

Kurusu’s face flushes a deep pink, and he squeezes his knees together. "So?" The anger in his voice speaks to embarrassment.

"Well then, we both enjoyed our time. Unless, you believe you deserve further satisfaction."

Kurusu hesitates, thinking on that for a moment. "N-no."

An air of unspoken words lingers, so Goro sighs. "Speak your mind."

Kurusu’s voice is quiet. "Is this the real reason the others quit?"

The question catches Goro off guard. It makes sense though, for him to wonder.

"No. I-I've never-" Words fail him. Lewded other assistants. Sexually harassed them. Raped them, even. The implications cause Goro to stutter, suddenly nervous about his career given the abnormal interest he's taken in getting Kurusu vulnerable and on his knees. About what he’s done to him already. The only thing that keeps his mind from spiraling down that rabbit hole is Kurusu’s gaze firmly fixed on him.

Finally, he admits, "You're the only one."

Kurusu’s head whips up, expression unguarded with genuine surprise. "I am?" To Goro's shock, he scoots closer, pulling himself up onto the seat and next to Goro. He breathes an all too vulnerable question. "Why?"

The very same question Goro himself has been avoiding. He swallows, uncertain about his answer and unsure if he can weasel his way out of speaking it. "Well, you see-"

The intercom crackles to life with a shrill squeal. The driver comes through the speaker a bit staticky and warbled. "We're arriving at our destination, Akechi-san. Please prepare yourself to depart."

Goro presses the response button to thank the man and turns back to Kurusu. A guardedness has returned to his fair features, and he's moved away.

As the car comes to a stop, Goro lets the topic drop, hating the way disappointment haunts Kurusu’s face for the rest of the day.

Chapter Text

Sitting off to the side at an office-wide meeting, Akira spaces out. Well, partially. He ends up staring at Akechi’s crotch during his entire presentation. Watching the way his sleek slacks pull taut over the swell of his ass and his generous bulge. Akira crosses and uncrosses his legs several times, thinking about the cock hiding beneath the few layers of fabric.

Realistically, he shouldn’t be. Akechi doesn’t care about him. He’s an asshole that likes to use him for his own pleasure. He’s sadistic and twisted and a complete bastard. Yet… Akira can’t help but think of the previous week’s car ride back to the office. The way Akechi said he’d never used any other assistant like he does Akira.

It’s silly — insane, even — to have his heart spark with wonder and hope at the idea that Akira’s boss might have a sincere interest in him. Especially given what he’s subjected him to. Honestly, he could be lying about not sleeping with other employees. Then again, his reaction seemed genuine. It’s that reaction Akira clings to.

“Kurusu.”

Akira’s heart flutters, and he stands up immediately. “Yes, Akechi-san?”

An annoyance at the honorific flits over Akechi’s face. He hates when Akira uses it but can’t seem to chasten him for it when the practice is customary in the office. “I’m leaving for my lunch meeting with Inoue-san. When I get back, please be sure the office is prepared for the conference with Ohtani-san.”

“Of course, Akechi-san. Will you be taking the meeting in your office or in the virtual conference room?”

“My office is fine.” He hesitates, steps slowing as he stares down at Akira. Akechi starts to say something but stops himself. Instead, he smiles knowingly. “I appreciate you attending the board meeting with me last week.”

They reach his office, and Akira tries to keep the furious blush off his face.

“I-I am grateful you took me.”

Smile widening, Akechi nods, eyes on the belongings he’s gathering. “Good. Your presence was… invigorating.”

He’s playing coy, but Akira decides to take a jab at him. “Is that what you would call-”

“Call what?”

Both turn to see Inoue-san standing in the doorway of Akechi’s office. He’s a hard worker but a horrendous gossip. Akira avoids him whenever he can. Irritated by the interruption, Akira turns, snapping Akechi’s planner shut.

“Nothing, Inoue-san.” Akira smiles thinly. “Enjoy your lunch.”

With little to do while Akechi’s away, Akira sets up for the virtual meeting with Ohtani-san and settles down in Akechi’s office to eat his lunch. He sits on the floor, staring down at the traffic below, wondering what in the world he did to deserve… any of this. The job, the privilege, the pay, and honestly — the pervert of a superior.

He should hate Akechi. Logically, Akira knows that’s what most would agree upon. Reality has a different take. Especially since the week prior. Akechi’s insistence that Akira alone has been subjected to this and the fact that Akira… sincerely was excited to blow his boss again are two irrefutable facts that are more than a little difficult to look in the eye.

Sometimes, Akira wonders if it wouldn’t be for the best to quit his job and start somewhere else. But that wouldn’t be fair to his career, let alone how badly he wants to see where this mess with Akechi takes them.

With a sigh, Akira finishes off his rice bowl, setting the empty container to the side. He remains there, watching traffic speed by, until he receives a reminder that the Ohtani meeting is about to start. With a frown, Akira scrambles to his feet. He dumps his trash in the the bin and snatches up Akechi’s planner, paging to the current week. Finger scanning along today's schedule, Akira freezes, blood turning to ice as he realizes the lunch won’t be finished for another thirty minutes. The same thirty minutes that this virtual meeting is supposed to be.

He curses under his breath and wracks his brain for a solution. Calling Akechi is out of the question. He'd have to not only leave his current meeting but would also be late to this one. Akira might be able to reschedule, but with three minutes until the meeting, that likely won't fly. Instead, he settles on the third and riskiest option.

Sitting down in Akechi’s seat, Akira logs onto the meeting and hits record. Whether it will prove to be his undoing or something for posterity when Akechi needs a better recap, time will tell.

Ohtani-san joins moments later. His immediate reaction is a frown as the computer states that the meeting is being recorded. "What is going on? Where is Akechi-san?"

Akira bows his head in apology. "I beg forgiveness for the situation, Ohtani-san, but Akechi-san had a sudden and urgent meeting come up. Because you are such a busy man yourself, I didn't want to waste your time with rescheduling and hoped to take notes of what your needs and expectations are of the collaboration with our company, so I can share with Akechi-san when he returns. I hope his absence is forgivable, as I was the one who took initiative to ensure the best use of both of your busy schedules after this sudden change."

The older gentleman peers at the screen with a steely gaze. His face twists into a surly expression. "You, a bottom tier employee, who is not even worthy to shine my shoes, thought you could decide what is best for me?"

Akira cows. "I only wished to avoid wasting your time, Ohtani-san. I mean no disrespect whatsoever."

The man scoffs, crossing his arms. "And yet here you are, wasting my time, forcing me to converse with a foolish little boy. I find it incredible to believe that Akechi-san would keep an assistant as inept as yourself. There must be some other explanation to why you’re still employed. Inadequate workers always have tricks up their sleeves. Do you whore yourself out to him to keep your job?"

Akira's face burns, turning bright red with embarrassment and anger. Admittedly, his temper flares. "Ohtani-san, I can withstand the senseless bullying of a man who thinks he is superior to me in every way possible, but I will not allow you to suggest that Akechi-san is either foolish or acting in a way that is anything but above moral standards. His talent, skill, and respect do not deserve to be tainted by someone who is thoughtless with their words, no matter who they are."

Ohtani-san snorts and rolls his eyes. "My relationship with Akechi-san goes back years. I'll have your job for such impudence."

Akira swallows the rising fear in his chest. "If he fires me, it will be for my miscalculation in showing you the respect I believed your time was worth." He draws in a shuddering breath. "Thank you for your time, Ohtani-san. If you do not wish to speak your thoughts about the collaboration, I suggested you leave the meeting."

The man doesn't utter another word. He exits the call, and Akira collapses into a fit of tears as he closes the program.

Time warps and bends as Akira attempts to collect himself. Eventually, he manages to keep his emotions bottled inside — just in time for Akechi to arrive from his previous meeting.

He offers Akira an easy smile as he walks into the office. "Enjoy your time alone, Kurusu?"

"Mostly."

Akechi stops just before sitting at his desk. He looks up, eyes narrowed and discerning. "What's wrong?"

Akira coughs, clearing his throat of the residual wobbliness that might give him away. "I might have run into an issue."

Akechi's voice grows cold. "What kind of issue?"

"Your meeting with Inoue-san. When I scheduled it, I anticipated it being 30 minutes, so I booked the conference call with Ohtani-san for right after."

Standing up straight, Akechi crosses his arms. "So did you reschedule with Ohtani?"

Akira swallows the lump in his throat, shaking his head lightly. "It took forever to book something with Ohtani-san. I thought it might be better to get preliminary notes from him so the collaboration could be moved along-"

Akechi's computer chimes with a notification of a new email. He peers down at it, humming to himself. "Speaking of Ohtani." Grabbing the mouse, Akechi navigates to his email and opens up the message. His eyes scan the screen, brows lifting as he reads. When he finally speaks, his voice is calm. Eerily calm. "Do you realize how much you pissed him off?"

Hanging his head, Akira nods. "He wants me fired."

"Yes. He does." Akechi pushes back the computer screen, creating space on the desk. "Close the door tightly, make sure it locks, and come here."

Trembling, Akira does as he's told. When he reaches Akechi's desk, he can barely croak out a question. "Will you fire me?"

Akechi shakes his head, eyes raking down Akira’s body. "No, but I will punish you."

At the word, Akira flushes, pussy growing hot with need. He squeezes his legs together, desperately trying to force his thoughts above the waist. It's a futile effort with Akechi mere inches away, smelling of bright citrus cologne and the faintest hints of his natural scent. The heat of his body so close makes Akira’s cunt drip with anticipation, despite the fact that it's never been touched by Akechi. Akira curses his skewed desires and presses against the desk.

His breathing picks up, and he wheezes out a question laced with unfettered fear and desire. "Where do you want me?"

Akechi's eyes slowly travel from Akira’s face to his hips. He reaches forward,  grabbing him around the waist, gaze unsettlingly focused on Akira's slacks. "Right here is just fine."

Akira stays still, waiting for Akechi to make any other move. Gradually, he does — hand sliding up Akira’s back to curl around his neck. He twists it to the front, squeezing the sides of Akira’s throat with firm fingers. Gasping, Akira instinctively claws at Akechi’s hand. Akechi leans in close with a loose smile, and only then does Akira smell the faint liquor on his breath.

“You look so lovely when you choke.” His gaze trickles down Akira’s body, and his free hand hooks two fingers at the front of Akira’s pants. “But I have a different plan for you today.”

Panic hits Akira full force as Akechi starts to undress him. “N-no-” Akira barely croaks out his protest, words scraping through his throat as they weasel past Akechi’s grip on his neck. “Please…”

His begging does nothing to slow Akechi down. He deftly unbuckles Akira’s belt and unbuttons his trousers. They slide to Akira’s knees, hanging there like an omen of what’s to come. He can’t let Akechi find out. Not like this. Akira’s breathing quickens as Akechi toys with the waistband of his boxers. Fear crawls over his skin, setting him ablaze with panic.

“Please don’t.”

Akechi stops and looks up, lifting a brow. “Who said you get to decide what happens here?” His hand squeezes harder, and Akira’s entire body traitorously responds with a twitch and a shudder of pleasure. “The last I checked, you worked for me. And is this not your punishment for double booking my calendar?”

Akira nods, trembling. At this point, he’s not sure what’s more powerful, his horrifying interest in what Akechi wants to force onto him or the fear that Akechi will reject him the moment he discovers Akira is a bit different than the other men in the office.

Cold air hits Akira’s groin, chilling the wetness between his legs as Akechi swiftly pulls his boxers down. He hesitates, and Akira’s rapid breaths rattle out of his lungs.

A rough palm presses against him, rubbing aggressively. Akira grinds his teeth. It feels incredible and awful all at the same time. Akechi’s musing is much the same. “Such a tiny cock.” He laughs. “About the size of my thumb. Is this why you cry when you take my cock? You never imagined something as large as me?”

Akira stays silent — struck dumb by his shock.

Akechi’s fingers slide down his cunt, curling into his hole easily. “Oh…” Akechi stares at him, straight in the eye. “You’re wet.” His lips curl into a sinister smile. “All of your protesting, Kurusu-kun… and your body is just begging for my cock.” He licks his lips and glances down at his hand, thrusting in a few times before pulling out shining fingers, dripping with Akira’s slick. “I suppose it wouldn’t be much of a punishment to give you what you want, would it?”

Akira attempts to croak out a protest. His body remains on fire, even more so for Akechi’s touch and his interest. To end things now would be miserable. Torturous.

Exactly the kind of thing Akechi would relish in.

Akechi stares at him, rocking his wrist back and forth so his fingers glide over Akira's cock then barely tease into his hole. "What to do…”

Akira bites down on his lower lip, desperate to keep himself quiet as the sweetest hints of pleasure crash into his body. His breathing picks up as Akechi wraps his fingers around Akira's cock and begins to stroke in earnest. A wicked smile forms on his lips as Akira's body reacts by pushing into his hand.

"Needy…” Akechi licks his lips, thumb playing with the tip of Akira’s cock. Gravely, his voice scrapes free. "The things I want to do to you…” His jaw tenses, and he lets out a frustrated groan, fingers sliding down to spread Akira's folds. Akechi licks his lips again, face flushing as his own breathing picks up. "If your pussy is half as good as your throat, it might kill me."

Shock gets the better of Akira, and he blurts out, "Y-you want me?"

The haze in Goro’s eyes clears a bit, and he finally lowers the hand clasped around Akira throat.

“I want an assistant who behaves."

Grabbing Akira's shoulder, Akechi spins him around and slams his upper body against the desk. The unmistakable clink of his belt signals what's to come, and Akira twitches when he feels Akechi's cock press between his thighs.

Akechi leans over him, his weight and voice menacing as he pins Akira by his neck. "Keep your legs pressed together. You don't want to find out what happens when you fail to satisfy me."

A pathetic whine escapes Akira. He squeezes his thighs, and a burn strikes through his core at the tension in his muscles.

Above him, Akechi purrs. "Good boy." He roughly presses his fingers into Akira's pussy, scraping his insides as he collects what slick he can gather. "You may as well be useful for something."

He pulls away for a moment and returns wet and slippery as he pushes between Akira’s thighs.

Akira's face heats at the implication, and suddenly he's grateful that Akechi cannot see his expression. Particularly, the one that forms as he gasps at the way Akechi's huge cock brushes against his folds. It's the faintest pleasure, just a drop of satisfaction as Akechi thrusts between his legs. He makes no effort to be gentle, forcing himself into a space that can barely accommodate him. Akira’s cunt drips at the thought of Akechi’s cock pushing into his hole instead. Of splitting him open and burying so deep he can taste it.

The fantasy stirs a painful longing in Akira's chest. Whining, he shifts a little, body twitching when the tip of Akechi’s cock catches the edge of his hole.

Akechi’s growls above him, fingers digging into Akira's throat. "Naughty. I thought I told you to behave."

Panting, Akira barely keeps control over his voice. He sounds pitchy and desperately needy. "You said you wanted me to behave. Not that I should."

Akira jumps as a sharp smack stings the side of his ass.

"Fucking brat."

Akechi slaps him again and resumes his rushed pace, holding down the small of Akira's back so he can't squirm.

The barest hints of satisfaction are nauseating. Akira whimpers as Akechi's cock thrusts between his thighs, pressing against his pussy so temptingly. Every few snaps of his hips, Akechi rocks into Akira's cock, sending a shockwave of pleasure rippling down his body. He nearly cries at how delicious it feels. At how he could feel more.

Akechi doesn't care. He continues roughly until a soft moan falls from his mouth. Cum paints the insides of Akira's thighs, and Akira pouts at the waste, wishing Akechi broke and fucked him like he wanted.

When Akechi pulls away, Akira stays still, waiting with more than a little anticipation of what will come next.

"Turn around."

Akira obeys and nearly jumps at how Akechi forces him to sit on the desk. He wipes a cloth over his legs, wadding it up and tossing it when Akira is clean.

Akira watches cautiously, waiting for the next command. Something feels different about Akechi’s behavior, but he can't quite figure out why.

After a moment of quietness, he speaks, "When is my next meeting?"

Akira reaches behind him, grabbing the planner. "Umm, 3. But you have open office hours in 30 minutes."

Akechi nods, tilting his head to the side as if deliberating something. "Good. Thank you." Immediately, he lowers himself to his knees and drags Akira to the edge of the desk.

Akira gasps as Akechi dives tongue first into his pussy, licking along the sides and sliding into his hole. He grunts, a low sound of satisfaction as he eagerly fucks Akira with his tongue. Akira, for his feeble attempts to restrain himself, breaks immediately. His hands fly to Akechi's hair, tugging on it and pressing him closer as his boss licks obsessively over his cunt. Even if he wanted to, he cannot stay quiet. It feels too damn good. Two rough fingers press in, rubbing harshly at Akira's walls while Akechi slips north, mouth closing around Akira’s cock and sucking gently.

A sob tears from Akira's chest. Pleasure surges up and consumes him, tying a noose around his neck and growing taut as Akechi fingers him while laving over his cock. Akira's breathing grows erratic. His pussy throbs. It's too much, and Akira half hopes it's the end of him. To go out, drowned in bliss like this would be a dream.

His knees snap together as Akechi suckles at his cock and adds a third finger. Head dropping back, Akira stops breathing for a moment as every pinprick of desire stabs into him at once and he cums. Akira shakes through his orgasm, whimpering as Akechi continues to stroke and suck at him.

It becomes too much almost instantly. Tears line his eyes as he tugs at Akechi's hair.

"Please…. stop."

Akechi pointedly ignores him and stuffs in a fourth finger. It slides in easily. Akira's drenched, after all. His pussy practically sucks him in.

Akechi thrusts his hand in and out. A smile forms on his lips at the squelching, but he doesn't pull away from Akira’s cock except to kiss the tip and chide him.

"Maybe you'll think twice about backtalk." His lips close around Akira’s cock again, and he sucks hard.

Akira shouts at the zip of pain wrapped in delight. It digs its claws into his brain, tipping toward agony as his cunt convulses with another orgasm. It's too much, and Akechi knows it. His eyes sparkle as he stares up at Akira and curls his fingers against the tender flesh of Akira's g-spot. He rubs against it with his knuckles, amused at the way Akira whimpers, gasps, and cums again.

Pulling off Akira's cock, Akechi gives it a gentle lick and smirks. "Had enough?"

His fingers stretch to their full length, and he thrusts his hand in and out, hitting Akira's cervix with every motion.

Akira grimaces, lip caught between his teeth as he struggles to breath — stuck between pain and pleasure. He wants it to end, but it hurts so good.

Without stopping, Akechi leans back and palms himself. "I'll tell you what. Cum one more time for me, and the next time you impress me, I'll fuck your pussy with my cock."

Shamelessly needy, Akira croaks out, "You swear?"

Akechi practically laughs, clearly amused by Akira's desperation.

"I swear." He leans forward, tongue once again covering Akira's cock. "All you need to do is cum for me."

Face twisting, Akira focuses on Akechi's hands, the incredible sensations they wrought. His breathing picks up, and as Akechi nibbles at the soft, fragile skin beside Akira's cock, his release hits him hard. He screams, shaking as Akechi's hand moves faster, hastening Akira to his end.

After what feels like ages, Akechi removes his fingers from Akira and stands. He grabs his cock and puts a hand on Akira's chest. It only takes a few pulls before he cums, spilling over Akira's stomach and pussy.

He lifts his head, eyes a little glossy. “I’m… I'm going to clean up." Akechi's gaze lingers a little long on Akira's lips.

"I suggest you do the same."

The rest of the day, Akira hates himself. He lost all sense of self respect just because Akechi-san's cock is huge and his fingers are long and his tongue is talented. Fair reasons, honestly, but he should have at least tried to withstand more. He caved like a desperate whore. Little wonder Akechi laughed at him when Akira made him swear to dick him down. Just because the man changed tactics with his 'punishments', doesn't mean he's sincerely interested in Akira beyond using him for whatever he finds pleasurable.

Akira really is pathetic.

"Kurusu-kun?"

Akira's heart skips a beat, and he immediately curses himself for it. He stands, grimacing a little at the ache in his cunt as he shuffles to the entrance to Akechi's office.

"Yes, Akechi-san?"

"Come in. Close the door. We need to speak."

With anxiety thrumming in his veins, Akira does as he's told. When finished, he walks up to Akechi's desk.

"What do you need me for?"

Akechi stands, sighing heavily. "I was going to write back to Ohtani-san to explain that you had been adequately punished for your error with the scheduling. While he demanded you be fired, I don't agree your error was that severe. He’s… a temperamental and egotistical man, prone to flexing his power with cruelty. While I was typing my email, the meeting recording finished downloading. So, I took a look."

Akira blanches. "I-I’m sorry. I can explain the whole thing. I know I got a little too confrontational, but-"

"Akira."

Shock slams into the back of Akira’s head at hearing his given name on Akechi's tongue. He stands there, silent with disbelief at the shift.

"I mean to thank you."

Akira blinks. "What?"

Akechi's voice grows soft as he sighs. "Ohtani-san made a particularly nasty accusation. One that isn't entirely far from the truth. Though, the truth is… worse." He swallows, seeming pensive. "You didn't hesitate to defend my name, my honor. To defend me. I’m…” His eyes shimmer with emotion, but he sucks in a sharp breath to clear it. "I'm grateful. Beyond words. I know I don't deserve your loyalty and faithfulness, given how I've treated you, but-"

"It's fine." Akira says it so quickly, he's not sure Akechi hears it.

He does.

"It's really not. I told you I punish based on the person, but you… you're the first to intentionally get into trouble and perhaps it was a failing on my part for reading into your behavior, but I thought…” He trails off, cheeks turning pink.

"You thought right." Akira feels his face heat in tandem. "I was flirting."

Akechi's eyes widen. He opens his mouth, clearly struggling for word. "Akira…”

Akira shivers at his name. 'Goro' weighs heavy on his tongue, begging to be spoken in reciprocation.

A sudden, urgent knocking on the door steals the opportunity.

Akechi grumbles beneath his breath, looking resigned. "Please open the door."

After Akira presses against the handle, Sachiko shoves the door open and sticks her head in. "Sorry to interrupt!"

Barely audible, Akechi groans.

She turns to Akira. "We're all going out to celebrate Nagisa's first anniversary with the company! I wanted to see if you were interested, Akira-kun."

To Akira’s surprise, Akechi speaks. "You should go, Kurusu-kun. Enjoy your evening."

Turning back to him, Akira protests, perhaps a little too much. "A-Akechi-san… our business isn't finished. And- and you're leaving tomorrow morning for the conference in Sapporo." Desperation crawls up Akira’s spine. "I won't see- We-we won't be able to finish speaking until next week."

Akechi sits at his desk, face highlighted in the harsh blues of the computer's glow. He looks tired. Weary.

"We'll have our conversation." He hesitates a moment, struggling for the words. "The status of my… project won't change in five days, if that's what worries you." A strained smile graces his lips. "Just be sure you're on time Thursday morning to speak."

Akira nods, pointedly ignoring the expanding pit in his chest. "Of course, Akechi-san." He bows, biting back the regret that manifests in his thoughts. "Have a great trip."

Chapter Text

“Damn it, Kurusu.” Goro grits his teeth, covering his eyes with his arm as he strokes himself roughly. Each night of the trip seems to end like this. Lonely. Plagued with visions of his assistant spread out on the desk, pussy dripping as Goro presses his tongue into his hole. Goro shudders, pleasure cresting as he imagines Kurusu’s face twisted with agony and bliss as he cums. “Ah-ah- Akira…”

With one more stroke, he finishes all over himself, feeling less satisfied and more angry about his inability to keep Kurusu out of his thoughts. In any ordinary circumstances, Goro would be happy to have a week away from the office. As he cleans himself up in an overly large, luxury hotel bathroom, the pangs of loneliness return. It never really occurred to him how much Kurusu’s presence staved off the ever looming despondency that frequents Goro’s time. His tendencies toward the solitary have all but been disrupted by Kurusu and the way he cares for Goro beyond the workplace.

Now, four days separated from him, Goro fears his interest in Kurusu grows less carnal by the hour.

“Good morning, Akechi-san! How was your trip?”

Goro tries his best to put on a friendly face for Sachiko. He really does. But the expression he ends up giving her is more of a grimace than anything. “It was fine. Thank you for asking.”

“Glad to hear it. Akechi-san, may I submit a proposal?”

Stopping in the middle of the office floor, Goro turns to look at her fully. “And what would that be?”

“Last week, Akira-kun went out with us. He’s… really smart. Like, probably smarter than Nagisa. But you didn’t hear that from me.”

Groaning internally, Goro finds himself agreeing. Of course Akira is smarter than that ego bloated oaf.

“Anyway. I know there aren’t any available positions right now, but since you’re in charge, maybe you could make one?”

Goro outright frowns. “Make a position for what?”

“Akira-kun! He’d make a great-”

“You are asking for me to create a new position so you can poach my assistant? Am I hearing you correctly?”

Sachiko shrinks. “Well, when you put it that way… it sounds a little-”

“No. We do not need another worker, and I do not wish to find another assistant.”

“Of-of course, Akechi-san. I understand.”

As she walks away, Goro groans out loud. He scans his keycard, throws the door open, steps into his office, and slams the door behind him. He sighs heavily and drops his bag on the nearest chair. “Stupid bitch.”

“What did I do?”

Goro’s head whips up, heart stammering at the sound of Kurusu’s voice. He blinks at the casual way that Kurusu sits in his office chair, feet crossed and propped up on his desk. Despite the blatant disrespect in Kurusu’s positioning, and the teasing lilt to his voice, Goro completely passes it by in his flustered state. “Y-you’re early.”

Kurusu lifts an eyebrow, rolling his head to one shoulder to look at the digital clock on the far right wall. “You’re actually late, Akechi.” He leans forward and pushes a cup of coffee to the edge of the desk. “I’ve been waiting for over fifteen minutes.”

Glancing at his watch, Goro realizes Kurusu isn’t lying. It’s well past 7:30 am. He snatches up the coffee, swigging the now lukewarm beverage without flinching. “You seem eager for work. Did you get through the list of tasks I gave you?”

“Everything is done.” He stands, traipsing across the office to Goro’s hidden closet panel. Kurusu punches in the code and wheels out the rack of suits, shirts, trousers, and ties. “I even had time to finish your ‘bonus’ task of fetching your orders, dry cleaning them, and-” Wiggling his fingers, Kurusu gestures to the clothes. “Arranged them by color.”

“Impressive.” Sipping his room temperature coffee, Goro watches as Kurusu puts the closet back in order. He half wonders when he became so confident and comfortable at the job. Something stirs in Goro’s chest at the realization that he’s never been so at ease with an assistant. Never gotten along so well. Most were lazy and entitled. Kurusu… he works hard. He’s sincere.

His ass looks great in those slacks.

Kurusu spins on his heel, sauntering back toward Goro. He stops at the desk, draping himself over the chair and folding his hand under his head. “Would you like to check my other work?”

“Why? Did you leave a surprise for me so you could be punished?”

An impish smile appears on Kurusu’s face. “Not a chance. You did promise to fuck me properly if I did good.”

“I said if you impress me. Completing tasks as I’ve requested is hardly impressive.”

His brow furrows, and he pouts playfully. “Didn’t you just call my work impressive?”

Goro freezes, coffee cup pressed to his mouth as he processes the trap he sprung on himself. Or… the opportunity he has. Kurusu know he has him. Goro could easily weasel out of this. It would just take an excuse or two. Then again, he’s been dreaming of getting Kurusu in his bed for the last several days.

Taking a long sip from the cup, Goro sets it down on the desk. “So I did.” Kurusu stands up straight, tension in his body evident, but he’s clearly eager. “I’ll make good on that promise today if you can find me a spare hour in my calendar that I can fill with filling you.”

If he’s not mistaken, Kurusu shudders. He scrambles a little, fumbling for Goro’s planner. He flips it open, eyes scanning the book intensely. Silence reigns for a few minutes, and the hope in Kurusu’s eyes wanes. A new kind of pout graces his face.

“Something the matter, Kurusu-kun?”

Kurusu bites his lower lip, letting it pop out from between his teeth as he sighs. “You have back to back meetings today starting at eight. You even have a long meeting with several executives starting at 4:30 pm that will take until around three hours. I believe that one is off site, over dinner.”

Goro feigns a devastated sigh. As much as he wants to bend Kurusu over his desk, there is an equal, if not stronger pull in his chest to take him home. Spread him out on his bed for their first time together. It’s an absolutely insane thought, considering their relationship. Considering every other place they've had sex. Yet, it’s a thought Goro can’t shake. Sentimentality wins over unfettered desire.

“Another time, then.”

“That’s not fair. Tomorrow, we’re working at home, and you’re busy all next week too.” If Goro isn’t mistaken, Kurusu sounds upset. Genuinely.

“I am aware, Kurusu-kun.”

Kurusu crosses his arms over his chest, head down as he objects, sounding like a petulant child. “Stop calling me that.”

“I might, if you-”

“Earn it?” He sounds genuinely angry now. “Earn, earn, earn.” He marches up to Goro, staring up at him intensely. “I’ve done everything you’ve asked. Conquered every challenged. Redeemed every mistake. I’ve even taken every punishment with grace. Haven’t I earned your respect enough?”

Goro’s lips automatically curl into a smile at the sour expression on Kurusu’s face. He’s upset. Sincerely. And all Goro can think about is kissing him stupid. Instead, he goes for the knees. Or maybe the heart. “I was going to say, before I was rudely interrupted, I might if you call me Goro.”

Kurusu’s eyes grow wide, cheeks filling with redness at his apparent chagrin. He tries to duck his head, but Goro grabs his jaw, forcing him to maintain eye contact. “I- um…” He swallows, face darkening with embarrassment.

“Come on, Kurusu… You’ve had my cock in your mouth. Is my name really so difficult?”

The skin touching Goro’s hand heats, and Kurusu squirms where he stands. His chest heaves, and he bites his lip. “G-Goro…” He breathes. “Goro.”

Meetings be damned. Goro needs him spread out on the desk after all. Swallowing the rising need in his throat, Goro manages to brush off some of his oppressive desire in order to smile lightly. “That’s my good boy.”

Akira whimpers, “Say my name…?”

Goro brushes a gentle hand through Akira’s hair, amused how his eyes flutter shut and he leans into the touch. “Akira…” He strokes his fingers down Akira’s cheek, following the sharp angles of his jaw and down his throat. Half wondering, Goro considers if he should admit how much he missed seeing Akira during the last week. He doesn’t get the chance. A knock at the door interrupts their momentary reverie.

With a heavy sigh, Akira steps away, smoothing his hair. “I’ll get that.”

As Akira walks to the entrance, Goro settles into his chair, quietly watching as the door is opened and Goro’s first contact of the day walks in carrying a disordered array of papers. He barely manages to keep them contained as he sits in front of Goro’s desk, greeting him politely as he shuffles his files.

With a proper bow, Akira lifts his head to stare at Goro. A heaviness lingers in his gaze. At last he smiles, a faint, knowing thing. “If you need anything from me, I’ll be at my desk outside, Akechi-san.”

Emotion stirs in Goro’s chest — a swell of attraction and the dangerous bite of secrecy hidden in plain sight. “Thank you, Kurusu-kun.”

~~~

Every glimpse of Goro makes Akira’s heart race. Even thinking about him as ‘Goro’ instead of ‘Akechi-san’ threatens to send Akira into a fit of giggles like a teenage girl with her first crush. He feels lighter than air. Ethereal. Perhaps Goro gave Akira permission to use his name purely to spite him for getting upset about earning things, but he gave permission nonetheless. It makes Akira giddy.

Unfortunately, the most contact Akira gets with him throughout the day is in passing. Introducing the next person he has a meeting with. Walking him to a conference room. Setting up his virtual meetings. Bringing his lunch so he can wolf it down in two seconds before the phone rings with a request for sponsorship.

By the time Goro’s largest meeting for the day rolls around, the pallor of his face concerns Akira. He seems drained from the day. Still, he glances at Akira like he’s the sweetest thing to grace a bakery’s display case. A smile hides on his lips, barely masked by a professional facade. Akira wants nothing more than five minutes alone with him. To tug on his tie and kiss those lips like he’s dreamt of for the last few weeks.

There’s only so much yearning a man can do.

Standing at the elevator with Goro, Akira continues to yearn. He offers a flimsy smile, and an even flimsier farewell. “Have a nice dinner. I’ll see you on Monday.”

Someone passes, and Goro laughs, perhaps a bit too loudly. “You don’t have to pretend you’re sad to see me go early, Kurusu-kun.” He waves his hand, shooing Akira away. “If I’m not mistaken, you have a bit of filing left to do. Better to do it without being pinned under my gaze, hmm?”

Akira blushes at the phrasing, and Goro smiles earnestly, clearly pleased by his reaction. “Right…” He steps back, bowing slightly as the elevator dings. “Next week then, Akechi-san.”

Goro lowers his voice to a whisper. “Goodnight, Akira.”

As the elevators close, Akira scrubs his palms over his face. Frustrated — agonized — by his ever increasing attraction to Goro. Haunted by it, even.

He trudges back to Goro’s office, picking up where he left off earlier. With only a few files left to sort, Akira starts back on his task. Before he makes much more progress, something about the current document in his hand makes him pause. He scans it, blanching as he realizes it belongs in a different cabinet, organized under a completely different filing system.

Concerned, Akira digs out the previous file. His stomach flips when he realizes it’s the same type. He really must have been distracted throughout the day, without Goro to watch over his progress and rib him for not doing it faster. With a heavy sigh, Akira grabs the list of documents to organize and begins plucking them from the files he placed them in.

After an hour, Akira locates them all, turning to the actual cabinet they belong in. He glances at the clock. 5:43 pm. With any luck, this will be done in only a few hours.

Akira weighs the pros and cons of staying even later. Cons — he’ll be staying late. Will probably have to skip dinner and just head to bed. Pros — Goro never finds out about the blunder. Not even being forced to his knees for this mistake could soften the blow of an error this stupid.

Staring at the pile of documents, Akira suddenly feels heavy from the long day. He groans and picks up the first quarter of the pile. Better to finish now and never have to worry about them again.

8:08 pm.

Akira blinks at the clock, eyes unfocused. Almost finished… He shoves the last file in with its compatriots and slams the drawer shut. Not even a job well done is satisfying enough to dent his exhaustion. With an overdramatic groan, Akira struggles to his feet, stomping a little to get full sensation back in his legs. He scans the office, realizing it’s in a bit of a disarray from the day. Not wanting Goro to come back to such a mess on Monday, Akira tidies up. He stacks papers into neat piles, takes the trash out, shuts down the computer, cleans the keyboard and entire desktop, and straightens out all the furniture while wiping down what he can.

The office smells of lemon cleaner and sparkles in the various lighting that Goro has. Akira makes one more trip around the space, turning off said lights before flipping the final overhead switch off. He shuffles back to his desk, putty arms slowly packing his work bag up with his belongings. At the sight of his empty lunch containers, his stomach growls. Akira pats his belly by way of apology and sighs, feeling heavier by the minute.

Before he can string his satchel across his chest, he hears something crash in the distance. Swearing follows it up, coming from somewhere near the cubicles. Akira hesitates. It’s already late. He should really go home.

Putting his hand on his bag, Akira pauses, cursing himself for being so curious. He paces over to the cubicles, peering around the corner to where he thinks he heard the noise. Sure enough, he sees Nagisa picking up fragments of glass from a crystalline frame. He rises to his feet, tottering a little with his handful of shards. They go jingling into the closest trash can, and he removes the photo from what remains of the frame, tossing the base too.

All seems well, so Akira turns to go, hoping to disappear before Nagisa notices him. The man is infamous for frequenting the bar after work. The last thing Akira needs is to get trapped in a conversation with a drunk colleague he barely knows or likes.

“Hey!”

Akira flinches. The greeting is loud enough — unmistakable in its ability to be heard, let alone his reaction. He turns, waving. “Oh hi, Nagisa. I heard a crash, but it looks like you have it handled. I’ll be going now.”

Quickly, Akira jaunts back to his bag. He grabs it and beelines for the elevator. From his right, Nagisa steps out of the cubicles, cutting off his path. Akira wheels back, almost falling on his ass from trying to get away.

“Where you going so soon? It’s serendipity that we’re both here!”

Akira laughs uncomfortably. “I don’t think so… I was just working late, and you…” Akira frowns. “Why are you here?”

Nagisa looks down at himself, patting his pants as if searching for something. “I left my house key here.” He plucks a plain, silver key from his pocket. “But I found something way more interesting.”

Shifting around Nagisa and closer to the elevator, Akira again laughs awkwardly. “Oh really. How fascinating.”

A hand strikes out, grabbing Akira around the arm and yanking him back to where Nagisa stands. “Yeah. I didn’t think I’d see you.” He smiles, but the expression only comes across as an affect of inebriation. “Been wanting to get you alone for a while…”

Unease stirs in Akira’s chest. Fear bubbles up from his stomach. Hesitantly, Akira steps back, heart picking up pace when Nagisa immediately closes the distance.

“Umm… Why would you want that?”

He laughs boisterously. “Why wouldn’t I? You’re hot. I mean, so is our boss, but he’s off limits. But you?” Nagisa grips Akira’s satchel, hoisting it up and pulling it off of Akira. He drops it on the ground and steps closer, crowding Akira against the nearby reception desk. “You’re right here for me.”

Anger burns through Akira’s chest. “I’m not yours, Nagisa.”

“You could be for a few minutes.” His hand lashes out, grabbing Akira’s collar and popping the first few buttons open.

Akira ducks underneath his arms. “Not on your life. I’m not interested.”

He laughs again, but the sound has lost some of its mirth. It seems haughty. “You think I care?” Nagisa lunges at Akira, pushing him against the wall that divides the reception hall from the row of executive offices. Fingers acting hastily, he pulls loose Akira’s belt and tears at his fly. “The boss hates you. He’d never believe you over me anyway.”

The words sting, striking Akira with anxiety. He shakes it off, thinking about what happened between him and Goro today. Nagisa has no idea what he’s talking about. He shoves against the man’s chest, but for his wavering drunkenness, Nagisa stays as stationary as stone. Akira instead goes for his hands, twisting one of Nagisa’s fingers as he yanks his trousers open.

He shouts in pain and snatches back his hand. With relief, Akira side steps him to scoop up his bag and make a run for the stairs. He doesn’t get that far. Nagisa collars him, whipping him around. In his daze from the sudden movement, Akira misses the wind up. Suddenly, stars burst across his vision as Nagisa’s fist collides with his nose. Akira’s head jerks to the side with the hit, and he gasps as a warm rivulets of blood trickle down his chin. An ache sets in quickly, and Akira’s ears ring with the shock of the pain. He staggers sideways, equilibrium lost in the blow, but a strong arm wraps around his ribs, pulling his shirt up.

Suddenly, Nagisa’s lips are pressed against Akira’s cheek. His breath reeks of booze, and the smell of it makes Akira’s stomach churn. Nagisa’s voice is oily, demeaning and arrogant as if he’s already won. “Did you think you could get away?” He shuffles forward, pushing Akira along and into the closest table. “Make this easy. Don’t struggle.”

As if Akira would ever do that. “Fuck you.” He slides his foot along, locating Nagisa’s, and stomps as hard as he can. Unfortunately, it amounts to nothing. Nagisa just curses and slams Akira’s head into the table.

“Fine. I’ll make it hurt.”

“Make what hurt, Tomoe?”

Akira’s heart leaps into his throat. His chest threatens to explode with relief, even if he’s still pinned to the work table.

Slowly, Nagisa’s hands recede from where they touch Akira. The man’s presence departs, his fumbling footsteps clacking away. “N-nothing, Akechi-san.” Nagisa squawks, “It’s not what it looks like. Kurusu came onto me!”

Akira peels himself from the table, turning and leaning against it as he tries to button up his shirt, sighing heavily as he realizes a few are missing. If he focuses on this problem, he might manage to keep his emotions in check. Goro looks at him, eyes scanning him from head to toe. An unmistakeable ire passes through his gaze, and his sharp stare lands on Nagisa.

“Came onto you… Is that why his nose is bleeding and his clothing appears clawed apart? You look perfectly fine, Tomoe. Care to explain that? Or should I just have Niijima-san go to the security room to see what really happened?”

Nagisa pales. “I-”

“I don’t want your excuses, Tomoe.” Goro’s voice is sharp, incensed, and a touch cruel. “You may think you are an invaluable asset to our company, but you’ve assaulted my assistant and attempted to pin the blame on him. Do yourself a favor and frequent less bars after clocking out of your next job. Effective immediately, you are terminated.”

“But-”

“You heard Akechi-san.”

Akira glances up to look at the woman talking. She must be shorter than Akira — she doesn’t quite reach Goro’s shoulder — but her form suggests authority. Cropped hair, neatly dressed, and poised with an affect as cold as her voice.

“You have been dismissed. I suggest you gather your things — quickly — before we call security.” She glances at her watch. “Five minutes.” Softer, she addresses Goro. “See that your assistant gets home. I’ll make sure he leaves.”

“Thank you, Haru.” Goro doesn’t spare any more words for her. Instead, he picks up Akira’s bag and puts a gentle hand against his back, leading him toward the elevators.

When the doors close, Akira expects outrage. What he gets is silence. Goro lifts his head, staring at the floor number as it counts down gradually. He covers the bottom half of his face with his hand, scratching at his nose strangely. As he does, quietly — almost inaudibly — he says, “There are cameras. We’ll talk in the car.”

Akira keeps his head down. He doesn’t want to think about how disappointed Goro must be in him. To end up trapped between a table and Nagisa of all people. A niggling sense of fear settles in his chest at the thought that Goro might assume he actually was interested in Nagisa.

The car Goro ushers him into isn’t unlike the one they used for the board meeting a few weeks ago. Akira slides in, silent as he settles against the seats. The second the door is shut, the driver shifts into gear and departs. Akira doesn’t question anything; he just hangs his head in shame.

~~~

All the life seems to have drained from Akira. Goro’s fingers itch with the desire to reach out. To touch him. To comfort him. To do something to make him feel better.

But he can’t. Not yet.

When the car stops, Goro thanks the driver and steps outside, waiting for Akira. He scoots to the edge of the seats, staring out at the high rise apartments in front of them.

“This… This isn’t my building.”

“I know.” He offers his hand. “It’s mine.”

“Why?”

Goro sighs, growing impatient. He reaches down, slinging an arm around Akira’s torso and pulling him from the car. “Let’s go.”

The trek from the lobby to Goro’s apartment is long and filled with a dour silence. Akira grasps his bag like it’s a lifeline, curled in on himself as if he doesn’t want to take up any more space. Goro can’t imagine what Nagisa did to make him feel like that. More than a little of Goro wishes he could do something worse to the man than fire him. At the very least, he can probably get him black balled from several companies.

The elevator brings them to the tenth floor balcony, and Goro ushers an increasingly confused Akira toward his front door.

“Where are the other units?”

“This whole floor is mine.” Goro unlocks the door and twists the knob, scooting Akira inside the threshold.

“You make that much money?”

While Akira’s questions are needling, Goro holds back his irritation. It’s the first sign of interest and personality Goro has seen in the last thirty minutes.

“Yes. I do.” He opens the shoes closet and waits for Akira to shuck his loafers off. Picking them up, Goro deposits them in an empty slot alongside his own dress shoes. “Go sit on the couch.”

He pads along the hall, eyes flicking across the space, focusing on the stairs and the massive kitchen to the right of the living room. “How much per month?”

“I don’t owe you that.”

“Do you own it?”

“Yes.”

Akira brushes his fingertips across the fireplace, eyes wide with surprise. He marvels at the stark white, sparkling quartz tile, mouth slightly open as he stares at everything. Goro crowds him, nudging Akira toward the couch.

“Sit.” The command is harsher than he means for it to be.

Akira obeys. Brushing his palm across the cushion, he sounds disoriented. “Is this velvet?”

Goro ignores the question, slipping down the hall toward his bedroom and the first bathroom. He picks through supplies and realizes nothing will help Akira much at this point. Instead, he chooses a clean wash cloth, rinsing it with warm water before wringing it out. Hurrying back to Akira, Goro sits beside him, grabbing his jaw to keep him steady.

Carefully, he wipes at the dried blood that crystallized across Akira’s lips and chin. He rubs at the skin until it turns pink and it’s free of residue. Without the presence of blackened blood marring his face, Akira looks a bit better. Except for the bruising beneath his eyes.

Goro lifts his hand, fingers gently ghosting across Akira’s pallid skin — marbled with deep purples and pink hues. The sight sends a stabbing pain through Goro’s chest. For whatever reason, he wishes he could have prevented this — even if he knows he stopped something worse.

Something he’s not entirely sure about.

“What happened?”

Akira glances up at him before dropping his head again, staring at his hands as his voice quivers. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“I was working late. Messed up the filing and wanted to finish it so you wouldn’t know.”

Goro tries to make light of it. “Didn’t want to be punished?”

It’s the wrong question. Akira wraps his arms around himself and shakes his head, sounding on the verge of tears. “It was a stupid mistake. I didn’t want you to be ashamed of me.”

A strangeness blossoms in Goro’s chest. He’s not entirely sure why, but the fact that Akira wants to do good for him fills him with an equal blend of pride and grief. Perhaps because Goro knows it backfired for Akira.

Akira sniffs, continuing. “I was getting ready to leave when I heard something break. I went to look and saw Nagisa. He- he saw me before I could sneak away.”

“He was drunk.” It’s less of a question and more of a fact. Nagisa makes it abundantly aware to all that his interests lie in drinking as a pastime and little else.

“Of course.”

The incredulity in Akira’s voice almost makes Goro laugh. The severity in Akira’s expression keeps him from doing so.

“He thought it was fate that we were both there. Tried to use the opportunity to proposition me. I didn’t want it, and he didn’t like that. He became aggressive.” Akira’s fingers lift to touch the bruising. He sighs heavily. “If you hadn’t interceded…” Akira shudders.

Goro takes the wash cloth from him, stands, and leans over to press a kiss to Akira’s forehead. Unmistakably, a few tears drop to where Akira’s hands are folded in his lap.

“I’m sorry.”

“Stop apologizing.” He offers his hand. “Let me set you up in a guest room.”

Akira peers up at him, grey eyes suffused with tears. His miserable expression squeezes at Goro’s heart. With a shuddering breath, Akira takes Goro’s hand and rises to his feet. He treads quietly behind him, wordlessly trekking up the stairs as Goro guides him to the empty room beside his home office.

“You can sleep here for the night.”

“Why?”

There’s no clear answer to that. None that wouldn’t come across as needlessly possessive. In truth, Goro just wants Akira close. In his space. He can’t stand the idea of him going home alone. Not in this vulnerable state.

“Do I need a reason?”

“Wouldn’t it just be easier to send me home?”

Goro sighs, closing the distance between them. He hooks his fingers into the gaps of Akira’s shirt and thumbs over the strands of string missing their buttons. “You look defenseless — vulnerable — like this. I’d prefer you here. Where I know you’re safe.”

Some of the light returns to Akira’s eyes as he blushes. He turns his face down, trying to hide it. “That sounds awfully protective, Akechi-san…” Gathering his hands together behind his back, Akira twists his foot against the carpet, glancing up at Goro teasingly. “Be careful, or I might think you actually care for me.”

“Sorry to give you that impression.” Goro takes a risk and grabs each side of the shirt, tearing it open so that more buttons fly. Akira gasps, staggering back and hitting the edge of the bed. “I meant to say safe from other people. Not from me.”

A wave of attraction crosses Akira’s expression. He shudders, whining softly as Goro once again invades his personal space. Slotting a knee between his thighs, Goro dares again.

“Show me what you wouldn’t give him.”

Akira flushes, hips rutting up against Goro’s leg. He grinds down, eyes fluttering as he earnestly humps Goro. It entertains Goro to watch him self-pleasure so intently. Especially using Goro like this. Unfortunately, Goro wants more.

“Take your clothes off.”

Without hesitation, Akira gingerly pulls off his shirt and drops it to the side. He unbuckles his belt and slides it through the loops, letting it fall to the floor before unzipping his fly. Before Akira can push his trousers down, Goro catches his wrist, holding on perhaps a bit tighter than he should.

Akira winces, and his voice shakes. “Did- did I do something wrong?”

Goro barely hears the question, gaze stuck to the constellation of bruises littering Akira’s ribs and hips. They travel from his right hip in a vertical line, ascending like a dark tower up to just beneath his armpit. The softest parts of him, battered without thought or care. A snarl builds in his chest. Fury at the situation. At Nagisa. He won’t ever find work in Tokyo again. Goro will make sure of it.

“Goro?” Quiet, almost inaudibly, Akira whispers his name. He watches Goro cautiously. The hint of fear in his eyes hits Goro like a corkscrew, tunneling into his brain as he considers his own selfishness in this situation.

In their entire relationship.

A sobering thought crosses Goro’s mind. Nagisa acted no differently than I.

“Says who?”

Goro looks down, surprised to see Akira’s expression suddenly twisted by indignation. He must have breathed his thought into existence. And clearly, it’s a disagreeable one. But it’s not incorrect.

“I once held your hair and forced my cock down your throat. He would have done the same. He would have held you against that table and-” Goro can’t voice it. It brings bile to his mouth. Gritting his teeth, Goro stares at the ceiling, knowing a sharp pair of grey eyes are waiting to pierce him if he looks down.

Expecting a cutting refutation, Goro’s heart jolts when Akira’s soft voice reaches his ears. “You’re forgetting the one, key difference.”

With a heavy sigh, Goro meets the gaze he knows is waiting for him. “What difference?”

“I never said I didn’t want you.” He reaches out, twisting his fingers through Goro’s belt loops and dragging him closer until they’re pressed against each other. Winding his arms around Goro’s waist, Akira closes his eyes and rests his head against Goro’s chest.

“I never really gave you the chance.”

Akira groans. “Shut up, please. Don’t compare yourself to him.”

“Why defend me?” The moment Goro utters the question, he wants to take it back. It’s too vulnerable, and he doesn’t want to know the answer.

After a long pause, it seems Akira doesn’t even have an answer. Goro sighs, deflated. He plucks Akira’s arms off of him and steps away, heading toward the door.

“Goodnight, Akira. Sleep well.”

As he turns to leave, he hears a mousy declaration.

“Because I like you.”

It weighs on him as he hesitates. Goro could acknowledge it. Or he could crush any and all of that hope right now. Swift, easy, and final. After a long pause, he turns back. Akira stares at him, waiting breathlessly. His expression speaks of the same emotions Goro currently wrestles: the pain of wanting to be known and the agony of being known.

Goro nods. In affirmation or confirmation that he heard, he’s not sure. But his heart thumps wildly in his chest as he thinks about the implications of Akira’s admission.

Without much else to say, Goro nods again. “We’ll talk in the morning.”