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"There’s the target,” mutters Haru into his pager, “We probably won’t need backup, but stand by just in case.”

“Got it, go get ‘em Katou-san!” 


Haru clicks off the line, takes a deep breath, and steps into the ballroom. He spots the perp immediately - tall, dark hair, with a single gold tooth and an eyebrow piercing; he looks exactly how the guys back at HQ described him. 

Akira Eiichi, thirty-eight, a prominent figure in the drug smuggling business and about to get twenty kilograms of cocaine across the border if Haru doesn’t get this guy into interrogation by the end of this ball. His party, rather tacky as Daisuke puts it, is in the fanciest skyscraper Haru’s ever seen, and he lingers at the edges of the ballroom while making his report.

Daisuke’s standing in the center of the party, and he entertains all the higher profile guests with a sharp smile and a wave of one elegant, Patek Philippe adorned arm. It’s almost second nature to him, and Haru spares him one slightly impressed look before turning to the target sitting at the bar with a cocktail.

He’s even more impressive up close, all broad shoulders and silver barbell in his eyebrow, and now that Haru’s only a couple feet away he can see that there’s a silver glint on his tongue, and Haru feels a shiver run up his spine.

The plan, as per usual, is Daisuke’s doing; getting Haru to do all the dirty work while sitting back and relaxing with a glass of champagne.


“I’m going to distract the partygoers while you slip this,” Daisuke had thrown a small bag of white powder into his face with a sharp flick of his wrist, “Into his drink. Then when he drops, you haul him to the elevator and meet me there.”

“Why do we have to slip it into his drink?” Haru had asked, frowning at the bag of powder, “Couldn’t we just shoot him with the tranquilizer gun?”

Daisuke had rolled his eyes, somehow making the simple movement seem elegant. “We can’t raise suspicion, this is a sensitive operation, and I doubt you’d want to jeopardize the mission by shooting him in the middle of the ballroom.”


“Just warning you, Akira Eiichi is widely known as a playboy. He may be flirting with other people, and while he’s distracted, that’s your chance to get the sedative into his drink.”

“What if he starts flirting with me?”

Daisuke had the audacity to laugh, and Haru felt red creeping up to the tips of his ears. “That won’t be very likely, don’t worry about that - you probably wouldn't be able to flirt back, anyway.”

Haru looked hard at the picture of the target, grimacing at the way he leered at the camera and throwing it back on the table with a disgusted huff.

“Oh, and Haru?” Haru had turned around, ready to tell the asshole off for using his first name again, but Daisuke had just quirked his eyebrow and smiled teasingly at him. “Don’t lose your temper.”


Haru straightens his green tie and smooths the wrinkles out of his dark suit that Daisuke dropped on his desk the day before, and slides into the seat next to the target and waves the bartender over with a polite smile.

Before he can say anything, the hulking beast of a man slides a couple of coins to the bartender and says, “Get me the strongest thing ya have, and one fer the pretty boy.”

Nodding, the bartender accepts the payment and moves away to make the drinks. 

“The name’s Akira Eiichi, what’s yer name, sweetheart?”

The pet name makes him do a double take, and then he curses Daisuke out in his head. Not likely to hit on me my ass.

But this is his one chance to prove the multibillionaire wrong, so … 

Haru feels nothing but repulsion for this simpering, black haired man, but he’s got a job to do, so he stares impassively into those murky blue eyes and gives a demure smile.

“I’m Karu Hajime,” he puts a flirty little spin on his words, “There’s no need to buy me a drink, I can handle myself ..”

“It’s my treat,” The guy grins and leans closer, and Haru fights all of his instincts that scream get the fuck away! to sit still and meet the man’s gaze.

“Thank you, Eiichi-san.” Haru decides not to mention that his colleague could buy out the entire wine business and also call it a treat. 

Eiichi leans in closer, his face inches away from Haru’s, and looks him up and down with a lecherous gaze. “I definitely would’ve known if I invited someone like ya to my party, yer real .. easy on the eyes.”

Haru blinks - there’s a lovely lady on the other side of the target, pouting and shaking her curly blonde hair and thrusting her .. endowments in front of him shamelessly, yet the target is throwing depraved glances at him .

He laughs, hoping it doesn’t sound too forced, and responds with “Sorry, I saw the lights of a party and couldn’t resist popping in for a drink, is that a problem?”

“Not at all,” and ugh, that lewd look is back again, “Provided ya come with me to my bedroom, we could have a little fun, Karu …”

Haru inwardly gags, and he composes his expression into a slightly confused smile. “Eiichi-san, I’m sure you have plenty of other choices -”

“Do ya think I’m blind?” Eiichi slips a muscled arm around his shoulder, and Haru forces his hackles to settle back down. “Yer one of a kind, baby, I’ll get ya into my bed sooner or later. Name yer price.”

All you have to do is slip this powder into his drink. Hold out until then, Haru.

“You’re a funny man,” he says, tracing a pattern into the varnished bartop, “I’m flattered, but -”

“I can get ya anything ya want, baby,” the target leers at him and bares his teeth in what he probably thinks is a sexy smirk, “Money? Drugs? The best sex of yer life? Name it, and I’ll give it to ya.”

How ironic.

Haru sneaks a glance at where Daisuke’s standing, now with a girl draped over each arm, and he feels a brief spike of jealousy in his gut - for Daisuke, definitely, not the girls that are breathing in his fancy cologne and cigar smoke -

The bartender drops off two burgundy drinks that are slightly fizzing, and Eiichi pushes one towards him with a flick of one muscly arm. “Take a shot, Karu.”

Haru’s never been great at holding his alcohol, so he pretends to knock back the drink but instead pours it over his shoulder, silently apologizing to the janitor that’s gonna have to clean it up later. He readies the powder in one hand, and when he puts his glass back onto the table, he sprinkles the white powder into the other’s drink.

Eiichi picks up his own glass and drinks it, and Haru feels momentary relief before he remembers that for a man of Eiichi’s stature, it’ll take a couple minutes before the sedative kicks in.

“Now then ..” Eiichi looks at him with a nasty grin. “Let’s go to my room, baby.”

The way he purrs the name, Haru knows instinctively that the target probably slipped something in his drink and expects him to be affected any moment now. To avoid raising any suspicion, he leans on Eiichi’s shoulder heavily, feeling disgust at every inch of skin that rests against the other man.

“Karu, yer exquisite ..” Eiichi pushes him against the bar and begins sucking a hickey into his neck, and Haru’s this close to punching his lights out, but he refrains for the sake of the mission.

“Tell me more,” he replies instead, batting his eyelashes and baring his neck so that he can have better access, and Eiichi’s eyes light up like a kid in a candy store.

The target’s laugh vibrates through Haru’s entire body, and he discretely looks around the ballroom through half-lidded eyes; Daisuke’s still entertaining his guests, but there’s a rigid set to his posture that wasn’t there before, and Haru’s about to signal to him that the perp’s been drugged successfully when Eiichi abruptly stops laving attention onto his collarbones and pulls him up.

Haru’s pulled through the crowd of party-goers and into an elevator, and to Haru’s relief, the perp seems sluggish - the sedative must be kicking in.

Once the elevator doors finish closing, the target slams him against the wall, and ouch , Haru can feel his brain rattle around in his skull.

“Hey, what’re you -”

Eiichi forces him into a kiss, one hand snaking downwards and squeezing his ass, and once the sedative kicks in Haru is going to cut this guy’s dick off . He tastes like sour mangoes and bitter cigarette smoke, and his tongue roves around in Haru’s mouth with too much force - Haru represses the urge to gag and stays limp in the target’s grasp.

He assesses his situation - the perp’s got both of Haru’s hands pinned against the wall, which isn’t the best, but if worst comes to worst he’s got a knife in his pant pocket; there’s a tranq up his sleeve, so he’ll use that if necessary, and -

“You’ve got the sexiest ass I’ve ever seen, Karu.”

The target shoves a knee in between his legs, and Haru is going to murder this creep.

“Thank you, Eiichi-san.” He tries to keep his voice light and airy, but then the perp pinches at his thigh and Haru can’t help but feel a little turned on - it’s been ages since he’s last had a fling - but he sees the perp’s ugly leer and all arousal vanishes in an instant.

Haru notices a camera in the top corner of the elevator, and he sighs in relief; HEUSC will probably keep an eye on them, and Daisuke will no doubt intervene when it gets too hot and heavy.

The elevator abruptly grinds to a halt, and Eiichi mutters a muffled "what -?" before the door slides open and a perfectly shined dress shoe makes contact with his head.

The target slumps to the ground, a shiny red welt growing on his forehead, and Haru stares at Daisuke, with his leg still outstretched and glaring at the man on the floor, incredulously. “What the fu - did you run here?”

Daisuke lowers his leg and kicks the target again, making sure that he’s actually unconscious. “HEUSC stopped the elevator.”

“But - we were still moving before - never mind,” Haru sighs, wiping the spit off of the hickeys blooming in his neck with a frown.

“Why didn’t you give me the signal?”

"I had it handled," Haru grumbles, joining in kicking the man on the floor with a pout. 

Daisuke raises one perfect eyebrow and tilts his chin upwards with a single finger. "He had you pinned against the wall, I don't think that's called handling it."

Haru studies the body on the floor with a sigh. "I could've broken free at any time - should we take his body down the stairs, or should we risk the elevator?"

"Elevator, HEUSC cleared the lobby. Why were you indulging that man?"

The elevator hums back to life, and the pair begin the slow descent down from the 63rd floor. The body on the floor twitches, and Haru immediately kicks his head as hard as he can - just to make sure he's really KO'd - and the elevator shakes with the force of his movement. "What do you mean?"

"You let him touch you." 

"Yeah, I couldn't arouse suspicion and we were in the middle of a crowded party, what're you upset about?"

Daisuke's foot is tapping against the metal of the elevator floor, and the sound is loud against the jazzy elevator music that's playing in the background - a saxophone solo is tinny coming out of the speaker. 

"Your method of taking down the perp was sloppy."

Haru bristles, and he folds his arms in front of his rumpled suit and turns to face Daisuke fully, scowling. "What the fuck do you mean, sloppy?!"

"You were pinned to the wall," Daisuke enunciates his syllables as though he's speaking to a small child, "That's not an ideal situation to be in."

"Yeah, but I could've knocked him out at any time -"

"Then why didn't you?"

Haru hesitates, watching the floor number steadily decreasing. "I. Uh. I thought he'd pass out on the elevator, but I miscalculated ..?"


He doesn't have anything to say to that because it's true - he hadn't expected the guy to last that long against the sedative, and he'd fucked up - but he wasn't ever in real danger, and he could've stuck the tranquilizer dart into him if Haru had really felt threatened.

Haru absentmindedly tugs at his collar, exposing the purple marks on his neck, and he hears a sharp inhalation of breath. He turns, and Daisuke is staring at the bites on his skin.

The floor numbers keep going down.

54 … 53 … 52 … 

"What're you looking at?" he snaps, pulling the fabric back up to cover the marks - Daisuke's gaze feels like it's burning holes through his body and he shivers. 

"Did he leave marks on you?"

".. yeah? He really liked my neck, apparently." Haru adds that last bit as an afterthought - come to think of it, the man had spent a disproportionate amount of time sucking marks into his skin; the guy probably had a fetish for marking people up -

Daisuke cuts his thoughts off by stepping closer and gently maneuvering both of Haru's wrists into one perfectly manicured hand.

"Hey, what -"

Unlike the unconscious person on the floor, Daisuke's grip is incredibly loose, allowing him to break free if he really wanted to - Haru freezes up, because there's an incredibly sexy man holding him in place.

Haru stares into impossibly blue eyes and his mind goes blank.

43 … 42 … 41 … 

"Haru," Daisuke's voice is deep and almost a growl, "That man kissed you."


"That man," and Daisuke's free hand is thumbing at the sensitive marks on his neck, "Made marks on you."

Haru shivers from the light touch on his skin. ".. yeah."

"That man," Daisuke leans forward and ghosts a breath over Haru's ear, eyes never leaving him the entire time, "Was going to have his way with you."

37 … 36 … 35 … 

"It's not like I couldn't stop him," Haru says petulantly, refusing to admit defeat. “I was gonna knock him out in the elevator -”

“But you didn’t.”

“I was assessing the situation!”

Haru can feel an embarrassed blush rising to his face, and he looks away from Daisuke’s searching gaze. “A-Anyway, you told me he wouldn’t flirt with me, but he did, so I think I actually did okay regarding the situation - ‘s not my fault he’s a perv.”

“I underestimated him.” Daisuke’s grip tightens momentarily on his wrist, before relaxing slightly. “I had expected him to go after the blonde at the bar, I didn’t think his tastes would be so refined -”

“What the fuck do you mean, refined?”

24 … 23 … 22 … 

“Exactly what I meant.”

Haru breaks out of the pretentious asshole’s grip with a sigh, and then squats down and pulls his tie off. It’s unlikely that the perp’ll wake up before they get him to the district, but just in case, they should tie him up.

As he reaches out to pull the tie around the target’s limp wrists, Daisuke suddenly bats his arms away and snatches the tie from him, with a curt “I’ll get it.”

 A little confused at why Daisuke, normally too good for any kind of manual labor, is volunteering to get his hands dirty for once, Haru leans back and watches Daisuke loops the strip of fabric around the wrists with almost inhuman efficiency.

There’s a tense silence.

8 … 7 … 6 …

Haru checks his watch - they have a couple hours before the extraction team will be by to pick up the unconscious crime lord, maybe I could pick up some food on the way back to the hotel room - and he straightens up with a sigh. 

His mouth still tastes like the man on the floor, and he pulls out a strawberry candy he swiped from the complimentary candy dish at the bar and pops it into his mouth, washing away the sour mangoes and acrid smoke.

3 … 2 … 1 … 

The instant the door slides open, Daisuke drags the target out into the wide lobby and out the glass front doors, shoving the target’s unconscious body into the trunk of a police car waiting outside. As soon as the trunk door slams shut, the car drives off, kicking up a cloud of dust in its wake.

Haru sighs, rubbing at the tender spots on his neck with one hand and checking his phone in the other. The closest convenience store is only a few blocks away from the hotel, so if he runs, he could probably make it there and back before curfew.

He turns to Daisuke and says, “I think I’m gonna go pick up some -”

“You’re not going anywhere.”

Daisuke cuts him off, eyes steely and mouth set in a hard line, “Whatever you need, room service will take care of.”

There’s something dangerous about his expression, shadows covering the majority of his face, and for once Haru doesn’t argue - there’s a pressure in the small of his back, and he glances back to see Daisuke’s hand guiding him towards his fancy-ass car parked right in front of the building.

It’s kinda weird, given how Daisuke doesn’t normally touch him even on a good day, but Haru’s not complaining. 

The silence inside the car is a little strained, Haru not knowing what to say and Daisuke’s demeanor still ice cold, but they get there without any complications - as soon as they step out of the car, Daisuke’s hand returns to the dip in his back, and Haru’s steered into the hotel elevator.

Daisuke apparently booked a five star hotel, and Haru’s too tired to fight him about needless money spending, so they spill into the spacious room without any complaint. Daisuke throws a towel at him and snaps, “Go take a shower, you smell like cigarette smoke.”

Haru bites back a retort about how Daisuke’s always smoking those stupid cigars and just walks to the bathroom and stands under the spray of the shower for ten minutes, leaning against the polished tile wall and reveling in the scalding hot water trickling down his calves.

He towels himself off and brushes his teeth - he’d normally brush his teeth first, but he forgot and he’s so fucking exhausted - and then walks back into the actual hotel room with a towel neatly wrapped around his waist.

Haru sits down on one of the velvet beds in the corner of the room and just lies on the bed for a second - it’s soft, and he’s so tired, and it’s been an exhausting couple of hours - and when he opens his eyes, Daisuke’s hovering over him with a curious gaze.

His first instinct is to punch him in the face, which he barely restrains himself from doing (he can’t fucking pay for a hotel room with five stars, his salary hardly gives him enough freedom to choose between convenience store meals) and his second instinct is to freeze up and just stare into those cobalt eyes.

They stare at each other for a few charged seconds, before Haru regains the ability to speak.

“What are you doing ..?”

With one finger, Daisuke traces the line of marks on his neck and tugs at the healing skin. Against his will, Haru arches up into the touch and squeezes his eyes shut against the starburst of pain and pleasure mixing to create a blend of sensation - before remembering exactly who’s doing it and his eyes snap open.

“Ka - Dai - bastard, wha -”

“If you say stop, I’ll stop. I’m not an animal,” Daisuke says in response, tugging more harshly on the purple-blue marks on Haru’s neck, and Haru bites his lip hard to stifle a keening moan.

Haru doesn’t feel tired anymore.

He has a faint idea of what this is, but he doesn’t want to be presumptuous - Haru’s suddenly hyper aware of the fact that there’s only a white towel separating his modesty and the (still fully-clothed) bastard pinning him to the sheets - and he swallows, watching Daisuke’s eyes follow the smooth movement of his throat.

“Can’t you just buy a prostitute with your money?” The protest is weak, even to his own ears. Haru shifts in his position, resolutely looking away from the other and raising a hand to cover his blushing face.

Daisuke grabs both of his wrists with one hand and leans down to suck harshly on the bruises adorning his neck. “I could, but I don’t want to.”

Haru arches up, eyes flying wide open and a surprised moan stuttering its way out of his throat at the intense pressure on the still-healing skin, and then he bites his tongue to keep any more embarrassing sounds from leaving his mouth.

It’s impossible to stop the noises from leaking out when Daisuke does that with his mouth - his tongue swirls around the sensitive skin, teeth scraping across apparently every single nerve ending on his neck, and the fucking suction - and he writhes around on the sheets, tossing his head from side to side and trying in vain to stop himself from moaning.

Daisuke lifts up from his skin, a roguish smirk dancing on his handsome features and Haru doesn’t want to punch him as badly as he did before, now knowing how fucking good he is with his mouth.

“There,” Daisuke touches the inflamed skin and observes his handiwork with a proud smile, "I think I covered them all, what do you think?"

"Covered?" Haru repeats, unintelligently and clumsy with pleasure clouding his higher brain functions. He glances down, and what does he mean by covered -


There are hickeys stretching from Haru's jawline to his collarbone in a purple-blue smattering of stars - Haru's not going to be wearing anything but turtlenecks any time soon - and it's suddenly very clear what Daisuke had meant, the original marks are lost in the sea of new bites.

"Bastard, how am I gonna cover this up at work?" 

As soon as the words leave his lips, Daisuke pushes him into the blankets and grinds their hips together with a sharp movement of his lower body.

"What if I don't want you to cover it up?" Daisuke, the absolute bitch, slots a thigh between Haru's own and pushes it against his rapidly hardening dick. "What if I want the entire office to see who you belong to?"

"As if they'd think you're the one who put them there," and that's the wrong thing to say.

Daisuke's eyes darken with something akin to hunger, and Haru has two seconds to think uh oh before the other man begins his onslaught.

His mouth finds its home on Haru's nipple, pulling and biting at the flesh until he's arching into the pleasure-pain with a choked moan; Daisuke repeats the process with the other bud and then moves lower.

Daisuke bypasses his cock and goes straight to his thighs, and how did he know he was sensitive there? Haru bucks up, trying to deter Daisuke from nibbling at the sensitive inner thigh, but failing miserably.

"When I was watching the elevator monitor, the only time you seemed into the target was when he did this," and Daisuke pinches at his thigh and soothes the sting with slow circles around the flesh.

Haru whimpers, then immediately turns his head and bites into the bedsheets, because he is not going to make that noise in front of Daisuke Kambe, thank you very much.

"Didn't think you'd be embarrassed," Daisuke says smugly, and Haru opens his mouth, letting the fabric slip past his lips, to respond.

It's a mistake - as soon as his mouth opens Daisuke bites down hard , ripping a moan out of Haru's lips - and then he gently laps at the mark left behind with almost apologetic movements. Haru gives him the harshest glare he can muster, but then those elegant fingers are moving up and lightly ghosting over his ass.

Daisuke pulls the towel off of Haru's waist and tosses it carelessly somewhere off to the right. A finger slowly circles his sensitive entrance, pushing slightly against the ring of muscle, but ultimately just teasing his rim.

"I'm going to make you scream," Daisuke rumbles in a low and husky tenor, and as appealing as that sounds, Haru's not about to lose the little bit of dignity he has left.

"I'd like to see you try," he snarks instead, and he has the pleasure of watching Daisuke Kambe's expression darken and become absolutely predatory, a sight that some people would pay their weight in gold to see.

Daisuke pulls a bottle of lube from his pocket ("Why the fuck do you have lube in your pocket -") and drizzles it over his fingers, and then rubs his fingers to get it warmer, which is a surprisingly sweet gesture for Daisuke, anyway.

The smell of vanilla permeates the room, syrupy and sweet, and then Daisuke slides a finger into Haru's tight heat.

Haru takes deep breaths, relaxing his muscles and releasing the tension in his shoulders. It's been so long since he's done this, but his muscles still go through the motions of loosening around Daisuke's finger.

Another finger begins pumping alongside the first, and then Daisuke curls his fingers just so and Haru sees fucking stars. Daisuke's grip on his wrists has loosened, so he pulls one of his arms free and bites down on a fist, muffling his humiliating moans.

"I want to hear you," Daisuke pulls Haru's arm out of the way and kisses him, adding another finger so that three fingers are pistoning in and out of his heat.

Daisuke Kambe tastes like cigar smoke, somehow sweeter and heavier than bitter cigarettes; he tastes like petrichor, and the cloying sugar of artificial lemonade.

Haru barely has enough brainpower to taste, as Daisuke strikes that spot inside of him with pinpoint accuracy - his moans are swallowed by Daisuke's hungry lips, and Haru loses himself to the feeling.

He tugs at Daisuke's suit with a distressed moan, aching to see the skin underneath, but Daisuke just chuckles and nips at his bottom lip. "Patience, darling."

Haru can feel his peak rapidly approaching, and he breaks away from the kiss to choke out a "w-wait, 'm gonna come soon -" only for Daisuke to increase his pace and ram his fingers into Haru's prostate, forcing a scream out of his throat.

He brings a hand up to Daisuke's forehead and pushes him away, not wanting the other to look at him while he embarrasses himself and oh, Daisuke does not like that.

His gaze, if predatory before, goes downright carnivorous , and Haru prays for his own survival.

Daisuke rubs tight circles around the nub inside of him, and Haru can't control the way he arches up and squeezes his eyes shut; there's molten lightning shooting up his spine, and how the fuck is he so good with his fingers what the fuck -

Haru tips over the edge and comes onto his stomach, trying to raise a fist to stifle his sounds but Daisuke clamps his hand down on his wrists so his moans echo loudly in the spacious room - he stills, eyes screwed shut, on the carmine bedsheets until he comes down from his high.

He blinks wearily, the devilishly handsome man above him still wearing a rakish smirk, and groans when the three fingers in his entrance begin moving again.

Already he can feel the shivery overstimulation sending shocks of too-much and too-little coursing through his veins, and he squirms in Daisuke’s grip. 

“H-hey, I just -”

“You’re going to experience another world of sensation, Haru,” Daisuke fucking growls , and Haru can feel his bitchass dick stir, interested in the low undertones of you are absolutely going to get wrecked, Haru .

“If you want something, you’ll have to go and get it.” Daisuke sits back on his heels and waits for Haru to get the message, and it takes him a couple of seconds but Haru finally gets it and fucking leaps at him.

Haru starts undoing the suit buttons, cursing under his breath (“why the fuck are there so many buttons, I can’t even do this fast ‘cause this is probably worth more than my fucking apartment -”) and once he gets the suit jacket off, Haru turns around, planting his thighs on either side of Daisuke’s chest and facing the other’s Louis Vuitton crocodile belt or something.

As he flicks the belt buckle up, strong hands suddenly grab his hips and Daisuke begins biting at the soft flesh around his entrance - it’s distracting, sure, but Haru’s got a job to do, and he pushes the dress slacks down the other’s ankles and starts work on Daisuke’s boxers.

Once those are off too, Haru leans down and licks a stripe up the heavy weight in his hands, suckling at the tip and taking the head into his mouth and watching Daisuke’s face all the while. 

Daisuke pulls him off his dick roughly, fisting a hand through his hair, and shoves his face into the bedsheets and, judging by the noises behind him, rolls a condom onto his length. Then he presses the tip of his cock to Haru’s entrance - Haru rocks back, trying to get it deeper - but Daisuke just pulls back, tsk -ing and licking his lips.

“What do you say?”

“Shut up  -”

The slick slide of Daisuke’s dick against Haru’s rim is absolutely divine , and he squirms against it, trying to get more friction - but the bastard keeps it out of reach, and he swallows back a sob.

“I want you to say it, Haru.”


Daisuke begins to pull away, and he panics. “.. fuck me. Please,” he adds as an afterthought, twisting his head over his shoulder and fixing Daisuke with a fierce glare.

As soon as he lifts his head up into Daisuke’s view, the hard length circling his entrance pushes in without any warning, and he can feel his eyes roll up into his head in pure bliss as the head jabs directly into his prostate - it’s not fair to be this good at sex, he’s already close to his second orgasm of the night - and he opens his eyes to see Daisuke smirking at him, his tongue darting out to wet his lips.

“Bastard, stop staring at me -”


“‘Cause it’s embarrassing, stop looking -”

“You make the most gorgeous faces,” and Haru blushes from the tips of his ears to the nape of his neck and tries to bury his face into his arms. Of course, Daisuke refuses to let him, setting a faster and faster  pace with his hips every single time his head dips below his shoulder.

“Stop hiding, darling,” Daisuke suddenly flips him, so that Haru stares up at the multibillionaire, “You’re exquisite, and you’re mine .”

“I’m not fucking yours , bastard -”

“But you could be,” and the pace slows to something almost like gentle lovemaking and somehow this is so much worse than the punishing pace from before, because as he stares up at Daisuke’s reverent face, he can almost believe that he could be part of his life - his rich, trashy lifestyle with stacks of cash in the bank, private jets and cruise ships, hushed scandals and Gucci clothes - but then he remembers, he’s Katou Haru.

“It wouldn’t work,” he sighs, casting his gaze off to the left, “We’re too different, and your people probably have someone they want you to marry -”

“You’re giving up before giving it a try.” Daisuke’s pace slows even more, so that it’s just him rocking sweetly into Haru’s heat, “That’s completely unlike you.”

Haru frowns, and bucks his hips down to make him go faster. “When we break up, inevitably, we’re still gonna be working together and that could -”

“You’re looking for an excuse.”

“I’m not!”

“The truth is, you’re just scared.”

Haru pushes himself up onto his elbows, and he glares at Daisuke with as much vitriol he can muster. “What the fuck did you just say?”

“I said you’re scared,” Daisuke accentuates each word with a short, sharp thrust, but Haru bites his lip and forces himself to stay still and listen, against his better judgement.

“I’m not fucking scared,” he spits, “I’m looking out for the good of the force -”

Daisuke leans down and laves a tongue over the inflamed skin on Haru’s neck, “If you’re not scared, then date me.”

“Wh -”

“I won’t let anybody else lay a single finger on you. Doesn’t that sound nice?”

The rhythm of their hips is increasing in tempo, and Haru struggles to get out the words he needs to say. “I - I don’t - you -”

Daisuke’s stupid mouth moves upwards, and he nips at his earlobe with one corner of his mouth quirked upward. “Lost for words?”

There’s a certain irony in Daisuke mocking him for being quiet, and Haru meets Daisuke’s fiery gaze with one of his own. He can feel his resolve weakening, and he wracks his brain to find any more reasons why he shouldn't fuck up his life by dating a rich asshole.

"You're rich. I count out exact change to buy drinks from the vending machine."

"And if you date me, you could have a vending machine. A couple dozen. In your house."

"I have an apartment - and hey, I don't fucking care about the money, dipshit!"

Daisuke frowns, and stills in his movements with a sigh. "Look, Haru, I don't care what your economic status is. Just date me, I'll make it worth your while."

He can tell the exact moment when his willpower just crumbles - Daisuke slowly slides his cock across the fucking spot that makes him see stars, and his face is disgustingly earnest in a way that makes Haru's heart liquefy into a goopy mess, and he has been kinder lately; not to mention how he took down that perp for him, that was kinda hot -

“Fine,” he breathes, “I’ll date you, Daisuke Kambe, but if it doesn’t go well, you’re transferring to another division and don't you dare go back on your word.”

Those dazzling blue eyes crinkle up at the corners, and a slow smile overtakes his regal features; Daisuke deftly maneuvers both of Haru’s arms into one hand again and pins them above his head, and even though it’s the same movement, it’s somehow infinitely more comfortable than when that nasty target did it an hour ago.

Daisuke slams into him, his free hand reaching down and cupping his face with a tender smile, and Haru melts under his affectionate touch.

It doesn’t last forever - Haru can feel his pleasure crescendoing up to his second peak, and he twists in Daisuke’s grip, trying to stop himself from coming too soon - and Daisuke moves his hand from his face to his collarbones, kneading the bite-marked skin, and Haru can’t fucking last if he’s doing shit like that.

The cadence of Daisuke's hips finally falters, falling into a slightly uneven rhythm, but he slams deep into Haru’s prostate and he’s forcefully shoved off his peak with that single thrust.

“Daisuke -!”

He clenches tightly around Daisuke’s cock, desperate moans leaving his lips, and rides out his second orgasm with trembling thighs - he knows his face is probably screwed up in ecstasy, but he can’t find it in him to care - and faintly he can feel Daisuke shuddering and spilling into the condom with a choked moan.

Time stretches, or it passes too fast, and he takes a moment to recover; waiting for his breathing to even out and relishing in the warmth of another human being for the first time in months.  When he opens his eyes, Daisuke is staring at him with something like awe splashed across his face, and it's a look Haru's never actually seen on him before.


"Nothing," and Daisuke turns away with a soft smile, "I was just thinking about how nice my name sounds while you're moaning it."

He can feel a brilliant blush rising to his face, and he shoves Daisuke away from him with a flustered "shut the fuck up!"



(“Now I have to take another shower, bastard.”

“Don’t you want to use my name?”


"That's not what you said ten minutes ago -"

"Stop it!"

Daisuke laughs, a rich, honeyed sound, and just sweeps off to the bathroom, where he holds the door open. “Are you coming?”

Haru’s never run so fast in his life.)