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As soon as the door to Kokonoi's apartment clicks shut, dark eyes meet green ones, and they both understand what the other means without words being spoken. It lasts for a moment before their routine kicks in—Kokonoi launches into his usual rant, and Inui, ever-faithful Inui, indulges his companion’s tirade.
“When will they ever get serious? We got raided and they were bickering about fried rice!” the disgruntled gentleman groans as they both shuffle off their coats. “And fucking Takemichi! That asshole, he looked clueless as ever today. On a regular day, he’s just an annoying prick, but today?” Kokonoi pauses as he toes out of his shoes and continues, “Today he looked like a wide-eyed virgin, like he didn’t know what was going on. Anyway," Koko arranges his shoes at the threshold. "At least we backed our shit up on our end, right?”
The blond silently nods and heads to the bar to pour both of them a drink. Yamazaki 12—not too fancy, he thinks, but at least better than their usual to pair well with his partner’s prickly appraisal of their earlier meeting. Koko stands in front of the counter, scrolling through his phone and tutting at the messages he finds there. His focus only wavers when a glass of liquor clinks against the dark polished wood in front of him.
“Most of the old Toman is unreliable these days, even Mikey with his whole disappearing act.”
Inui clicks his teeth, “Koko,” he says, sternly chiding the other before taking the first sip of the whiskey. Toman execs talking shit about each other is more than normal. They know any words exchanged are safe between the two of them, but Inui would rather Koko not get too used to speaking on their missing leader, lest it fell on the wrong ears. He would not have harm come to Koko, so he nips it in the bud with a swift but sharp quirk of his brow.
“Right, yeah.” The dark-haired man brings his own drink up for a sip, not once removing his eyes from the screen. Floral notes reach his nose as the bitterness subsides, and for a brief moment, he's removed from his sour mood. All too quickly though, that distraction fades. “Takemichi, he's an unreliable ass, half the time he’s zoned out but,” He pauses for a beat, “do you think he might be the mole? Is that why Kisaki called him in?”
Large hands belonging to someone grown weary of the mostly one-sided conversation rest on Koko’s shoulders. The warmth of the body behind him permeates the fine silk of his outfit. “Nah, he’s… okay.” Inui’s voice in his ear is smoother than the whiskey they're sharing.
Koko bristles. “Okay isn’t good enough. You know as well as I do that just okay can get you killed in this business.” Inui feels the muscles tense under his palms, so he gives them a gentle squeeze. Koko relents, leaning into the touches now traveling; one hand to his waist and the other higher up, brushing the exposed part of his neck above his high collar. He sets his phone on the counter and leans back, head falling onto Inui’s shoulder. “Sometimes I wish they were more like you. You’re reliable.”
Inui scoffs softly, “Reliable? Like a dog?” The other doesn’t respond, choosing instead to take another sip of whiskey. Inui watches from over Koko's shoulder as the apple of his throat bobs, swallowing down the liquor before he speaks.
“Well, you barked at the oldies this evening, didn’t you?” he chuckles darkly.
“You’re an asshole, Koko.”
Koko cranes his neck to look up at him with humor playing in his eyes. The scent of whiskey drips heavy off his breath, just a little closer and Inui could have a taste for himself.
“So are you, Inupi, but you don’t see me complaining about it.” He breaks away from Inui’s grasp and starts to walk off, but stops abruptly after a few steps, throwing a glance over his shoulder. “Besides, I’m your favorite asshole.” He taunts him by sticking his tongue out before rounding the corner, bounding down a hallway that Inui is much too familiar with.
Inui tongues his cheek as he stares at the place Kokonoi disappeared before downing the rest of his drink. Without any hesitation, he follows after the raven-haired moneymaker.
After all, Kokonoi isn't wrong.
🐾🐾
They don’t acknowledge it; they don’t say anything. Not about how this started, nor why they continue to do it. If they don’t talk about it, it doesn’t exist. If it doesn’t exist, it isn’t wrong.
In the bedroom dimly lit by a bedside lamp, Kokonoi’s breathing stutters, his vocabulary reduced to whispered expletives as he sits on his bed with the blond kneeling between his legs. He sometimes wishes Inui hadn’t cut his hair so short—then he would have an excuse to touch his face, if only to push back strands of his perfect locks. It’s not an intimate act, he'd say to himself, it's just being considerate so he does it better. So he makes me feel better. Plausible deniability. Everything in pursuit of pleasure and selfish desire.
Inui’s eyes open and he shoots Koko a look from under light-colored lashes. The debauched sight hits the latter like a bolt of lightning, and he swears he could finish right then and there. He has to stop his own eyes from rolling back at the sight of this beautiful man on his knees in front of him. He will never understand why Inui would debase himself like this, for him of all people. Not that he wouldn’t return the favor, he would, and he has several times before.
The green of Inui's eyes begs Kokonoi for something he cannot give, it asks a question that he does not want to answer.
Either man knows they cannot breathe life into reality by putting into words how they feel—far deeper than camaraderie, farther still than the lust and dull throb that now clouds their senses.
Inui lets go and leans back to slide his shirt off. The other man cannot tear his eyes away from how flushed the blond is, how swollen his lips are, wet with spit down to his chin, glinting as it catches the dim light. Koko’s hands dig into the sheets, he wants to feel those lips on his own but holds back. He doesn't want to seem too eager, instead, he closes his eyes.
The blond doesn't care for apprehension and takes his lips. The threshold now breached, Koko wastes no time in deepening it, the kiss evolving into something hungry, burning, carnal. He slides back on the bed, and Inui follows closely, never disengaging. The 4-armed beast writhing on the mattress does its best to explore itself; hands, rough and smooth alike, skim planes of flesh.
Inui’s fingers grip Koko's waist, dimpling the flesh there. Koko's fingers delicately wrap around Inui's cock, feeling it harden with every stroke. His hunger for pleasure flares and he takes his own stiff length in that same hand, stroking them both simultaneously. Their joint pleasure pulls a gasp out of Inui, who then wraps his own hand around his companion's fingers, further covering them in warmth and setting the pace, drawing moans muffled by the other's mouth.
Koko dares not look into the green eyes above him, not when he's in such a compromised position. He believes it would be an admission. An admission that he is subordinate to the man looming over him. But Inui's eyes are glued to the lewd sight of their cockheads bumping on each upstroke, so Koko hazards a glance. He thinks to himself that the blond is pretty. Too pretty. He imagines that's the only reason he finds himself in this situation over and over again. Despite his rough demeanor, Inupi is pretty, and he wants something pretty to make him feel good.
Inupi's eyes meet black irises staring up at him, only for them to flit away after just a second. Not a minute later, he finds himself being pushed away.
Koko can't—he won't look Inupi in the eyes like this, so he makes room to move, turning his back to the scarred man, hands and knees sinking into silk sheets.
Inui waits and watches. He's acted in this wordless play enough times to know the beats to each scene.
He knows Act 1 is closing when Koko reaches for his bedside drawer, opening it to retrieve something.
They had talked about it once. To outsiders, their discussion might seem like regular locker room talk. “I feel like a girl would appreciate me being prepared,” the words fall from the moneymaker’s lips. The girl, in this case, being entirely hypothetical. Not to say she didn't ever exist, she did, for a single evening after much goading and teasing from their colleagues during a night of drinking.
Inupi is acutely aware of the event, but has not once addressed it; otherwise, he might be reminded of the pang of cold anger he felt that evening, the searing pain in his veins, as he watched his boss leave with the girl.
That hypothetical girl never made a reappearance, nor did Koko want her to, in any iteration. The item, though, kept its home in his drawer and has been summoned more times than either of them cares to count. It’s not even the same bottle anymore.
“I’ll do it for you.” He takes the bottle from Koko's hands, and with practiced dexterity covers his length with the lube. He pumps himself slowly with one hand as the other spreads Koko open. Inupi levels his face to Koko’s ass, the hole puckering as soon as it makes contact with the wet muscle. Inupi buries it further in, negotiating the tight ring of muscle with ease. Koko sighs as the blond explores him and shudders when a line of spit races down his balls.
Koko grows impatient but remains silent, not daring to look back lest he meet green eyes. Instead, he presses his face into the pillow in front of him and shudders a breath out. Inupi pulls away and Koko hears the click of the bottle cap before a slick finger enters him. He focuses on loosening up, not fighting the sensations. A second finger, then a third joins the fray, and it isn’t long until Inui deems him ready.
One of Inupi’s warm hands glides along Koko’s waist before settling on his hip. The other hand guides his tip to the tight hole where it puckers up on contact. The hand on Koko's hip rubs circles into his skin, a wordless command to relax which he heeds.
The blond moves, pushing forward until he breaches the ring of muscle. No matter how much the man underneath tries to remain silent, a moan never fails to rip from his throat, heralding the intrusion as Inupi sheathes himself fully.
And now, Act 2 truly begins.
No matter how many times this happens, the first moment inside never loses its sublime quality—unlike a drug, whose highest peak becomes unattainable after the first hit. Just like a drug, though, this feeling is addictive.
“Fuck,” is the only thing the blond can say.
He remains still until Koko props himself up on his hands and presses further, signaling to the other to start moving. And so he does, pulling his hips back, taking all the air out of Koko’s lungs with him. He thrusts back slowly into the tight, wet heat, pushing a moan out of the other’s lips. The tempo he starts is unhurried, measured, allowing the other to relax around his length. The way it clings to him as he recedes is absolutely divine.
Koko’s low whines spur him to quicken his pace, plush ass hitting pelvis in a lascivious rhythm. Slick sounds fill the room and, after a particularly harsh thrust, a pornographic moan leaves Koko’s throat. Inui finds himself making much the same noises.
Inui changes the angle of his thrust and Koko buckles forward, collapsing, his wailing muffled into the mattress as Inupi’s warm hand travels from his hip, crawling up his spine to rest on his nape.
The blond pulls him up, supporting him up so his back is flush against Inui who then targets his prostate over and over and over again.
Koko hooks an arm around Inupi’s neck, twisting himself far back to kiss Inupi who is ceaseless in his pace. Inupi swallows down Koko’s cries of pleasure, snaking his hand down Koko’s side until his fingers wrap around the other man’s cock. Koko pulls away from the kiss, he’s drowning in pleasure, it's almost too much for him. Inupi drinks it all up, burying his nose in the crook of the other's shoulder. Watching Koko fall apart in his hands only drives him to rut even harder.
The raven-haired man falls slack. Inui lets him drop down on the mattress, hand moving from his cock to grasp Koko’s hips, fucking himself deeper into him. Koko buries his face in the sheets, worried he just might tell Seishu how good he’s making him feel. Truthfully, there is no danger of that with how dumb the pleasure is making him feel, spit dripping from the corner of his mouth and onto the fingers clutching at fabric, darkening the silk.
Inupi too wants to tell Hajime how good he makes him feel as he gets close, but he knows Koko doesn’t want to hear it. Instead, he lets himself topple over Koko, busying his mouth by biting into Koko's shoulder. The sharp pain makes him keen and squeeze down on Inui.
Koko hears Inupi’s labored breathing punctuated by grunts, he feels Inupi’s hot breath on shoulder, and it all pushes him closer and closer to the edge. An incessant tugging begins in his lower abdomen, a tension building without restraint. There’s no mistaking what is about to happen and there is no stopping it now.
Koko lets out a strangled moan as he bursts, spurts of cum staining the sheets below him. His whole body contracts, tightening up and causing Inupi to spill inside him. Inupi allows himself to be milked dry by Koko’s spasming walls.
The air in the room stills, the atmosphere cooling down. Inupi is careful not to rest his whole weight on Koko as he stays atop him for a few moments. They remain that way, waiting for the space between their breaths to even out.
He kisses Koko at the crook of his neck and Koko responds by turning back into him. Inupi brings his face close, their foreheads slick with sweat, meeting. Hot breaths mingle in that space and neither will admit to being the one who leans in, but they find each other’s lips nonetheless. The kiss is deep and languid, but lasts a bare moment. They pull back, foreheads touching once more.
Inupi places a hand on Koko's hip and Koko knows it’s a warning; they both hiss as Inupi pulls his softened cock from Koko’s cum-filled hole. Inui watches white seeping out as the stretched entrance winks at him before he gets up off the bed.
Cue Act 3.
Inui heads to the bathroom.
Koko just lays there, his heaving chest sticky with sweat and his own release. He feels both full and hollow at the same time.
Inupi returns and his hand, cold from just having washed up, squeezes Koko’s bicep; a reminder. Koko despises waking up to the dried mess activities like this leave, and his companion is well-aware of that.
Inui doesn’t help him up, he’s tried to before. He knows not to anymore. Koko waddles awkwardly to the bathroom to wash up. When he returns, the bed has been cleaned up and stripped of the soiled sheets, a naked Inui has them bundled up in his arms. Koko ungracefully plops onto the bed, burying his face in the pillow before he notices he doesn't hear Inupi moving.
He turns around and black meets green. Inui has his clothes in hand. Kokonoi readjusts so that he’s laying on his side, back facing away from Inui.
It's one of those nights.
Without looking, Koko reaches a hand back and splays his fingers, smoothing the sheet behind him, before retracting his hand to his chest.
He hears the faint rustle of cloth, feels the bed dip behind him and a warmth roll into the skin of his back. Inui’s arm reaches over and Koko turns to face him, chin tucked into his chest so he doesn’t have to see Inupi’s eyes that ask the question he so desperately wants to avoid hearing.
Koko’s cheek rests on Inupi’s shoulder as Inupi’s chin nestles into dark curls.
They don’t talk about why the blond has his arms wrapped around the raven-haired man, nor why the moneymaker leans into his subordinate’s warmth. Both men lay vulnerably naked as the day they were born and they silently wonder how different things could be like in another life.
Darkness engulfs the room as the lamp is shut off.
Exhaustion settles in their bones and their breathing shallows. With nothing more than heart beats and an exchange of heat, one tells the other, as the other tells the one, this is where I belong. That is the earnest truth this moment conveys so eloquently, even without words.
🐾🐾