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Title: Privacy
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Kiri/Wanko (Deka Wanko, Tegoshi's character/Tabe's)
Warnings: PWP, public make-out
Summary: Wanko's keen sense of smell makes things hard for Kiri.
Notes: Originally for the JActress Anonmeme here. I haven't finished watching the second SP so I don't know if it's AU to that.

“He went that way!” Wanko declares in a whisper that’s halfway to being a shout.

She’s hiding behind the corner of a building and peeking around to sniff for a trail, and in the process her fluffy black and white skirt is flouncing up to show more of her thighs. Kiri does his best not to look, focusing instead on chastising her for being obvious. If Tamura finds out they’ve been following him after work he’ll never trust them again, regardless of their good intentions.

Or Wanko’s, anyway. Kirishima knows when to respect a man’s privacy. In a flash of irritation over being dragged into Wanko’s latest scheme, he brushes past her to hurry down the road, so that they can catch up enough to follow the guy with their eyes, instead of relying on Wanko sniffing awkwardly in public.

But instead of dashing off down the street, he finds himself tumbling to the ground, with his puppy-like coworker landing on top of him.

“What the hell?” he grumbles, not realizing until he tries to pull away that one of the frilly white ribbons that go down the side of her skirt like the ribbons on corsets has somehow become entangled with his own belt. He tugs at it to see where it gives to try to get it out.

Belatedly spotting the problem, Wanko shouts, “Oh no!” and plunges her own hands in to try to get it out while going off on one of what Kiri has dubbed a Wankologue. He doesn’t bother trying to listen, distracted by her flustered little hands tugging around his belt, his mind supplying unhelpful imagery of those delicate fingers, complete with a manicure of various national flags, wrapping around his cock, which decides to rise to half mast for the occasion.

Fuck. If she keeps going, she’s bound to notice, he thinks, and quickly, desperately gives the ribbon a yank. It comes free with an awful ripping sound, and Kiri finds himself staring at the thighs he’d so valiantly not been looking at earlier, only to discover that her stockings are held up by frilly bands around her soft, pale thighs that Kiri has learned from the Internet are called garters.

She shrieks and pulls the tattered skirt over her now-exposed panties, but her words have nothing to do with modesty. “Kiri-san, this skirt was expensive! I expect you to buy me a new one!”

“If you didn’t wear stupid frilly shit like that, this wouldn’t have happened to begin with,” Kirishima grumbles back.

People are staring, so he helps a ranting Wanko to her feet and tries to figure out how to get her skirt to at least not gape out to show the whole world her underwear. But the eyelets that had held the ribbons have ripped completely free of the skirt. He tries to wrap the ribbons around the entire skirt, but Wanko wails that it looks awful and she can’t be seen like this and it’s Kiri-san’s fault anyway so he should carry her.
At this rate, the people on the street seem ready to have him arrested for molestation, and they’ve seen far more of Wanko’s pretty thighs than he thinks anybody should ever get to see, so he picks her up bridal style, with the rip turned toward his body, and carries her off down the least-populated route he can find to her house while she tucks the teared edges firmly against his side and wraps her arms around his neck, whining the whole while.

Despite the effort it takes to carry her like this, a small part of Kiri’s mind is still excited over the sight of Wanko’s thighs, and his stupid erection won’t go away. Wanko’s ranting is almost a relief, he thinks, because so far she hasn’t noticed anything amiss.

But then she pauses for breath, and sniffs. Looks confused, sniffs again. Sniff sniff sniff.

“Hey, Kiri-san, why did your smell change?” She looks at him quizzically.

“It changed?” He stalls for time. He’s sure he knows what she’s smelling—if she can smell a lie, there’s no way she could miss arousal. Anyone can smell sex after the fact.

“Yes,” she nods seriously. “It’s a smell all guys have, but sometimes it gets stronger. And it just did, on you.”

Is she pulling his leg? “You can’t really not know what that is, can you?”

Wanko gives him a glare worthy of a puppy whose toy has just been stolen. “Are you making fun of me? Since when is your nose so strong?”

Sighing, he looks around and ducks into an empty alleyway, because he’s not having this conversation in public and he knows Wanko will badger him about it the rest of the way home. While they’re at it, his arms need a break so he sets her down. She looks at him, with irritation and confusion warring for control of her facial expression.

“What are you doing?”

He’s at a loss for words, so he figures he’ll just demonstrate and leans in to plant a hard kiss on her lips. She gasps and stiffens, and for a moment he’s certain she’ll pull away and slap him, but instead her arms wrap around his shoulders and she kisses back tentatively.

Walking her back until her back is against the wall of the building, he deepens the kiss and earns a soft little moan in response. Her lip gloss is sticky against his lips, and he knows it’s getting on his own face, but he’s too excited over not being rejected to care. He kisses down her neck, careful not to leave a mark where the guys at work can see, and her arms tighten even as she tips her head back to let him.

When one of her legs comes to wrap around his to pull him closer, he takes it as an invitation to run his hand up her thigh, dipping his fingers under the elastic of a garter. Wanko gasps again, whimpers, but he’s not surprised when she pulls away, because if she doesn’t recognize the smell of arousal she must be a virgin.

“Kiri-san, we’re the police,” she says in her serious policewoman voice. “We can’t go committing public indecency.”

The thought of being the laughing stock of the police department is nearly enough to kill Kirishima’s erection completely. He picks her up again with a groan, noticing in the process that she looks a little dejected. But then she pauses and sniffs the air thoughtfully.

“I smell a love hotel.”

That’s all the invitation he needs, and so they go rushing down the street, Wanko sniffing and pointing in utter seriousness until they tumble into a love hotel, Kiri swearing that one day he’ll navigate with a smartphone like a normal person.

He lets her pick the room, something with more pink and lace than any man could admit to liking, but it seems appropriate for the situation. On the way to the elevator, he notices with relief that there’s a vending machine with some plain but serviceable dresses.

With a lot of effort, he sets her gently on the bed, and if she notices his shaking arms she doesn’t say. She sits up to take off her shoes, one thigh exposed by the ripped skirt as she does, then scoots back on the bed with her stockinged feet until her head hits the pillows, and gives Kiri a come-hither look.

So he does, toeing off his shoes and crawling over her, and then he’s kissing her again, taking a moment to enjoy her lips before returning to where he’d left off with her neck. Her hands tangle in his hair when he starts to unbutton her blouse, just down to where it meets her vest. Bodice? He’s really not sure what it’s called, and he’d rather kiss the top of her breast than think about it.

She squirms underneath him, legs coming up to wrap around him again, and before she can get bored, he slides down to kiss the skin of her thigh, just above the garter. He bites the lace, pulls it away from her skin with his teeth, not far enough for it to hurt when he lets it snap back but enough to make her gasp. The fingers in his hair arch and cling as he kisses slowly up her thigh to nose at her panties.

Wanko jolts at the contact. “Kiri-san,” she whimpers as he traces his fingers over her panties, and he likes how it sounds so he presses his thumb down a little more firmly and is rewarded by another squirm.

He slips his hands to the sides of her panties and tugs, and she lifts her hips to let him pull them off, and he gets the ruined skirt out of the way in the process. Then he settles back down to lick between her thighs and she jumps and moans loudly. A corner of his mind grumbles that he’s never going to be able to fuck her anywhere other than a hotel, if she’s going to be this loud about it, even as he feels flattered by her blatant appreciation.

Sucking lightly over her clit, he runs a finger between her labia lightly before pushing it in, pinning her hips down with his other hand when it becomes apparent that she can’t keep still. He pushes the finger in and out and licks around it, then laps carefully back up to her clit. Soft little moans start to fall in rapid succession from her mouth and make it hard for him not to hold back from fucking her, but he’s determined to make her come and not stupid enough to be sure his cock can do that, so he keeps licking and thrusting with his finger until she falls silent and tenses around his hand and pulls his hair.

He does his best not to smirk as he sits back, satisfied enough with himself that he doesn’t mind the thought that he might have to leave without getting off. Wanko lies bonelessly on the bed and gives Kiri a happy smile for a moment, but then she glances at his crotch and frowns.

One hand grabs his belt and tugs until he’s lying on the bed next to her, and then she’s pulling it open and fumbling his pants out of the way. Her hand wraps inexpertly around his cock and pulls, and she clearly doesn’t know what she’s doing but she does well enough. He doesn’t last long at all, pulling away as he comes so that he doesn’t get any on any part of her outfit that he hasn’t already ruined.

She frowns at the plain dress he buys her from the vending machine, but grins when he promises to take her shopping for a proper replacement for her skirt tomorrow.




Standing in a store full of more lace and pastels than he can handle the next day, he begins to think that dating a girl who can tell by smell when he’s turned on is a problem.

She’s modeling another fluffy skirt that shows peeks of thigh when she twirls, and he’s trying not to think about it, but then she pauses and sniffs and smirks, and he knows he’s been caught.

But nothing compares to the day after that, when she nearly has a nervous breakdown at the police department, because she suddenly knows exactly when any of her coworkers is thinking a little too hard about sex. Kiri ends up taking a traumatized Wanko home early, and ends up traumatized himself when she starts telling him what she thinks turns on each of their coworkers.