Archive of Our Own

Keito had known about Rei’s other relationship since the first day they met. Rei had been incredibly open about Madara from the first date he and Keito had gone on.

“We’re not exclusive,” Rei had begun to explain, tracing the rim of his cocktail glass. “Sex-wise, he’s allowed to do it with anyone he pleases. But submission,” Rei said, plucking the cherry out of his drink, “He’s only allowed to submit to me.”

Keito watches Rei suck on the berry, chewing it for a second before he fishes the clean stem out from between his teeth. “Then why are you seeing me?” he’d asked, partially out of self-doubt that he would be able to please Rei and partially out of curiosity.

Rei looked away as he spoke. “His romantic tendencies are zero-to-none. He’s less of a partner and more of a dog. Speaking of, have you ever heard of puppyplay?”

Keito had come to learn that Rei was versatile in the bedroom— or correctly said, a ‘switch’. Keito’s knowledge of the sadomasochistic bedroom arts was as inept as Madara’s romantic side, he supposes, always having an interest in it but never having the courage to put himself out there, seeking a partner. Rei seemed to be seeped in it, however, further explaining what his relationship was with his sub to Keito from across him at a sitting izakaya table.

“I’m his owner, and he’s my puppy. Even when not in a scene it permeates our relationship; I tell him to do things, and he asks for permission to do plenty. He asks me for permission to use the restroom fairly often,” Rei said, leaning in and shielding his mouth so only Keito would hear his following words, “I tell him ‘no’ sometimes,” and when Keito had balked back at Rei, he said “What’s the worst he’s gonna do? Piss himself at the gym if I say so?” He smiled, his lips stretching from ear-to-ear as he grinned.

Keito had also learned that Rei was not looking for this with him. “He understands that I have needs,” Rei explained while they smoked in the alleyway outside the bar. The dim lighting of the street sign illuminated his features into something softer, bathed in an orange glow. “And that I like to have options for who pleases me. I don’t mind being under someone else from time-to-time, if you’re willing to keep seeing me, of course.”

And Keito surely was willing. He’d give his left leg to spend a night with Rei in bed— He was beautiful, no matter the lighting, with waves of curls that touched his shoulders and bounced off them like spools of silk. He was angled, terribly skinny in a way that almost made Keito want their next date to be cooking for him, just to make sure he’d eat, and sillily Keito wondered if he’d even be able to dish out a proper punishment on the twigs that made his arms. But it wasn’t necessarily about punishment, Keito knows; It was about total submission, built on trust, and whatever was between their hearts.

And, it was about sex. “Oh, yes, we have sex,” Rei clarified after Keito had asked him about it. Keito, that night having accepted Rei’s offer to end their date at a love hotel, had stripped Rei in the too-plush bed and noticed the lack of any identifying marks. He had no hickeys, or love bites, and it had almost made Keito think Rei was pulling his leg the entire evening about this other man he was seeing. “He’s not allowed to leave any marks,” Rei explained while Keito kissed down his naked spine. “If he does, well… he gets put in time out.”

“Like a dog,” Keito said, his words muffled against the smooth slope of Rei’s skin.

“Like a dog. You, however,” Rei spoke into the feather down of his pillow, “Can mark me up as much as you wish.”

So Keito did: He bit down on the tender flesh of Rei’s lower back, sucked several bruises into Rei’s spine, his neck, with the care to keep them low enough the sweater he was wearing before Keito stripped him could cover it. He left indents in his thighs and hips by the pinching of his nails, too, pulling and squeezing at the malleable, soft skin that made the man in his borrowed bed. He’d give Madara or whatever his name was something to remember Keito by, and when Rei asked if he was jealous, Keito clicked his tongue and looked away to answer with a single “No.”

____

Keito wasn’t quite sure what he was expecting from the club Rei had invited him to. He’s never been anywhere… seedy, per se, but the club’s exterior made it very well known by its stylized signage and exterior what it was for and who the kind of people that it was for were. Keito felt a little out of place, even across the street in an alleyway smoking a cigarette, as if he were stalling for time before he had to go inside.

He didn’t have to go, certainly. He could fib and tell Rei he had a headache, or a sore stomach, or deadlines at work— which he did, he solemnly remembered— anything which would prevent him from being able to go and see Rei do what he loves to do.

But Rei had invited him, called him up on his phone when he was taking his lunch break, and even offered to pay back the entry fee. I want you to meet my puppy, Rei had said, so why not come and see him doing what he does best?

And of course, Keito said yes— not because he was thrilled to meet the man he was competing with, far from it— but because he was simply curious about the kind of things which went on in these sorts of establishments. He’d always been fascinated by BDSM as a whole, and the assortment and niches of fetish he had heard of in passing, but his work commitments leave him feeling worn out like a paintbrush with its bristles bent out of shape. The idea had always sounded cliquey, as well: Surely these establishments, similar to bars, would have their regulars, and who was he to upend their status quo on a random Tuesday night?

But Rei had asked him, and he sounded terribly sincere, and he sounded so, so excited, almost as if he could cry in joy when Keito said he’d swing by. Every night in the week that had passed since Rei had asked him to come, he’d texted Are you still coming, Hasumi-kun??? >.> as a reminder to keep his promise, and Keito had replied yes to every single one of those messages.

Eventually, Keito makes his way in. He puts up his coat on the rack, pays his fare, and makes his way down to where the action happens. There’s a good crowd tonight, he notices, mingling about without a care in the world for Keito who is one of the men in the room who is shockingly gone without gear. A thicket of people stand in the center of the spacious room where a circle of couches lie, watching someone and listening to a very familiar voice speak:

“Good boy!” Rei says, and some of the spectactors clap, “Roll over. You remember roll over, right?”

When a couple sees Keito try and spectate what’s going on, they allow him to push past the wall that’s been made around Rei and whom Keito assumes to be Madara: a hulking, muscular man who is on a leash, rolling over onto his back and shaking his rear end in what looks like an attempt to wag his imaginary tail. He has a hood on, so Keito can’t see his face, but the puppy-like pants he lets out says enough about how much he’s enjoying the attention.

Rei bends down and rubs Madara’s bare belly. “Good boy,” he sings. Rei unveils something from his closed palm, holding it up in the air above his partner’s head. “Does the good boy want a treat?” He asks, and Madara ceases all movement before he rolls back on on his belly, in a kneeling position. His paws are in front of him on the floor, his head looking up and noses at what looks to be some sort of snack which is meant to pose as a dog treat. “Looks like someone already knows how to sit,” Rei coos, before lifting up part of his hood so Madara can eat the treat.

The crowd claps, and Madara seemingly does more tricks. Keito wouldn’t know, as he makes his way to the bar and orders himself a beer. It’s poured terribly, with far too much foam, and Keito almost regrets paying for it but it does the job. It’s a while before someone comes and sits next to him, a man wearing a hood and collar who happens to be—

“Madara,” he says, voice far too loud even in the din of the club. “Madara Mikejima,” he greets, holding out his hand, or his paw, Keito supposes. Keito takes it and shakes on it. “You’re… Ha…?”

“Hasumi-kun. That’s what Sakuma calls me, at least.”

Madara nods. “Okay, Hasumi-san.”

“You can call me Keito.”

“Okay, Keito-san.” Madara says as he takes off the leather hood, setting it down to rest on the bar counter. It bothers Keito how handsome he really is; He’s got tanned skin, a full upper lip, and green eyes not that all different from his own. His auburn hair comes undone from the ponytail he had it in, and it tumbles down over his ears, his sweaty bangs framing his flushed face. He smiles, and Keito does not smile back.

Madara’s got a full water bottle, and as soon as he unscrews the cap he’s chugging half of it in one go. “It’s hot,” he explains, though Keito didn’t question him at all, “Under the hood, you know? Rei-san bought it for me. And the collar, too.” Madara tugs at the little loop on the collar which holds a dog tag, presumably with Rei’s name and address on it as if Madara was a real dog.

“I see,” Keito muses. His beer is warm when he drinks it.

“How’d you meet Rei-san?” Madara asks.

Keito shrugs. “Through a mutual friend.”

“That’s cool!” Madara exclaims. “I met him online. I messaged him…” Madara trails off, waving his hands in front of his face vaguely, “…on a certain forum, and we met in person a few days later. I actually paid him to meet me at first, and every meeting after that for a good while. It wasn’t cheap!” Madara seems addicted to overexplaining himself. “But after a few months passed, and I started seeing Rei weekly, he stopped charging me.” He should be addicted to shutting up.

Keito traces the rim of his beer glass. “I didn’t know Rei did that type of work,” he admits. Rei’s life seems cushy enough that he doesn’t need another job on top of his music tutoring. Perhaps the sex work pays for his… extravagant tastes.

Madara laughs at that: full, booming from the chest, loud enough that a few other patrons of the club turn and look at him. “Oh, he doesn’t! It was my idea.” Keito didn’t know Rei was into that type of dominance either. He’s learning a lot today.

Keito doesn’t know what else to say to this man. He doesn’t necessarily want to, either, so he downs the rest of his beer while Madara drinks his water. As soon as he’s about to call over a bartender, Rei comes to his rescue, walking towards the two of them with a leash in hand.

“Oh, Hasumi-kun!,” Rei greets, his smile reaching from fang-to-fang, “I see you’ve met Mikejima-kun.”

Keito nods. “Yeah,” Madara answers for him, “He has.”

Like this, sitting down, Rei is taller than Madara momentarily. He leans over to kiss the massive man on the top of his head, whispering in his ear. Madara looks at Keito, then at Rei, and nods. With that, Rei tousles Madara’s hair and clips the leash back onto his collar. Wordlessly, Madara drops to his knees, sitting on his heels at Rei’s feet.

“I told him to sit still while I was gone,” Rei says, but he doesn’t sound upset that Madara wandered off at all. “I sure hope Mama didn’t bother you.”

Keito shakes his head. “No, not at all. He’s… quite well-trained.”

Rei smiles again at that. He looks genuinely happy with the praise. “Well, thank you. He was terrible to train at first, but we made it work. Did you see us showing off his tricks earlier?”

“Most of it,” Keito says. “I arrived at the tail-end of your performance.”

“Well, how about we show you what you missed?” Rei offers, and Keito shrugs.

Rei reaches into his pocket, pulling out a small plastic bag. He reaches into the bag, and hands Keito what appears to be… a fruit gummy.

“Tell him something, like— Up!” Rei says, and Madara launches up to all fours. He’s shaking his rear again, and it’s now that Keito realizes he has a furry tail clipped to his belt. “Your turn, Hasumi-kun.”

Keito stares down at Madara, who looks up at him with wet, eager green eyes. It’s almost endearing. “Sit?” Keito says, lilted at the end as if it’s a question.

But, even with his wavering voice, Madara drops back to sitting on his heels, wagging his tail and spinning around. He’s eyeing the gummy candy in Keito’s hand expectantly, so Keito looks at Rei who nods, giving him permission to give Madara the treat.

Madara licks his palm, scooping up the fruit gummy with his tongue as Keito holds his palm out. “Oh,” Keito wipes his hand on his shirt. “How adorable.”

“He’s a very good boy, aren’t you Mama?” Rei says, and Madara looks at him and barks. “He even knows how to speak. Here, have another T-R-E-A-T,” Rei hands him the bag of gummy candies. “Show Hasumi-kun another trick, Mama.” Instead, Madara lunges towards Keito’s legs, jumping up and pawing at his knees. He barks, shaking his ear as if he’s shaking out wet fur, and noses at the bag of gummies. “Oh, down, boy!” Rei commands, and Madara whines as he lays on his belly on the ground in a show of submission. “Oh, I promise he’s much more well behaved than this.”

“It’s okay,” Keito gulps. He bends down, getting a fruit snack out of the bag and holding it out in front of Madara’s face. He follows it intently as Keito moves it left, then right, up and down. He’s eager to take it when Keito lays his palm flat, letting Madara lick up the gummy. He makes a sound when he’s finished, less of a bark and more of an excited, hyperactive puppy yip. Keito smiles, “Good boy,” he says, petting Madara on the head and tousling his hair like Rei did, “You’re a very good boy,” he coos, ignoring the hare-heady beating of his very own heart.

____

Rei and Keito have sex. Often, he might add, at least once every night after their dates— or during— whether it be in their beds, one borrowed from a hotel, or the bathroom of the bar they decided to meet at. Keito gets very well acquainted with Rei’s body and its lack of curves, and Rei learns to please Keito as well.

Keito fucks Rei as if he has something to prove. Sure, Madara may be taller, and stronger, and arguably more attractive, but does he have a job that works Keito until he feels like breaking? Does he have the kind of willpower it takes to share a lover with another man? Yes, and… yes are the answers to both of those questions— “He for some contractor company,” Rei had explained— And Keito knows far too well that Madara’s into whatever… Rei would call this type of cuckoldry.

But at least when Rei is in Keito’s bed (or wherever they copulate), Keito knows Rei is his; whether Rei has Keito in his mouth, or between his legs, Rei belongs to him, and him only, and Keito will not share this man even with the memory of another in his head.

The feeling Keito got when knelt down to call Madara a ‘Good boy’ still makes him sick. He’s unsure still if it was excitement, or fear, or maybe even something clicking as if they had come to an understanding somehow; Still, Keito tries to find what made his stomach flip wherever he can, whether it be in pornography (which makes him feel sick, so overproduced and soulless) or even reading what other newcomers to these arts have said on forums. Nothing sticks the same way he wishes it would.

And apparently, Rei’s noticed it too. “Something's on your mind,” he accuses, pulling on Keito’s tie. He had to stay late after work, meaning he didn’t have time to change into something more comfortable before Rei arrived at his apartment. “What’s wrong?”

Keito focuses less on the weight of Rei’s words and more of the weight of him sitting on his lap. He’s naked already, having stripped down in front of Keito as a show. “Nothing,” Keito lies.

Rei frowns when he hears that. He almost looks apologetic when he’s upset. “Did something happen at work?”

“No.”

“At home, with your brother or parents?”

“No, not at all.”

Rei sighs. “Is it me?” He asks.

Keito could almost vomit with how guilty the question makes him feel. “Why would you think that?”

Rei looks away as he speaks next. “You’ve been… antsy, ever since you and Mikejima-kun met,” Rei says, and Keito’s shoulders sag to the floor as he takes his glasses off to pinch the bridge of his nose. “Listen to me, Hasumi-kun. You wouldn’t be the first man to be upset over his partner being in an open relationship—“

“How did you know?” Keito cuts him off, and Rei stares right through him. “That you liked doing what you do,” he clarifies. “How did you know you liked being… dominant, in the bedroom.”

Rei looks much more relieved now. “I don’t necessarily like it,” he says, and Keito raises his eyebrows. “I like pleasing my partner, and if being their dominant is what makes them happy, then I will do it. If me being submissive strokes them the right way, then I will do that too. As long as I’m not topping,” Rei says, chuckling low, “I’m quite adaptable. It gives me purpose to make my partner happy.”

“But how did you know,” Keito groans. “I need to know.”

Rei hums. His finger traces the run of skin underneath Keito’s jaw. “I tried it out,” he says, so soft it might as well be a whisper, “And I liked it. Would you like to try it out?” He suggests. Rei doesn’t wait for an answer before he’s untying Keito’s tie, unlooping it from where it sits around his work-weary neck.

“What’re you planning?” Keito asks. Rei puts the tie in his open hands.

Rei smiles, and it’s something devious written about his face. “Well,” he says, licking his lips, “tie me up.”

Keito blinks. “What?”

“Tie me up with your tie, Hasumi-kun. Either my hands, or my ankles, Hell— you could even gag me with it. Just to see if you like it,” Rei offers himself.

Keito ends up tying Rei’s hands together at the front of his body, sloppily tying them at the wrist with a knot that will surely cause kinks and creases in his favorite work tie. Oh well, he thinks, he could always iron it out later. Such is a price to pay to be able to lord over Rei like this; Tied up, Rei almost looks helpless, as if Keito can do anything he wants to him.

And, anything he wants— It is exactly what he does. Keito brings Rei to the edge once, twice, maybe even three times with his fingers, pushing and pulling them out of his cunt as if he’s trying to fuck him with his hand. He ignores touching Rei’s clit because he knows that if he does, it’ll only bring Rei closer to the edge, and less time with Rei in his bed is exactly the opposite of what Keito wants. Rei thrashes, even when Keito holds him down at the belly with the hand that isn’t pleasuring him, and it’s when Rei nearly screams in pleasure when he’s finally allowed to finish that Keito takes Rei’s discarded underwear and stuff them down into Rei’s mouth to gag him.

“I’m not done with you,” Keito says as he unbuckles his belt. “It’s my turn to feel good now.”

Keito ends up fucking Rei bent over in his bed, his ass up in the air while he holds his head into a pillow to silence him. He uses his belt to buckle Rei’s ankles together as soon as he flips him over, Rei fully naked and Keito still in his work suit, only pushing down his pants far enough to pull out his cock. When he comes, he holds a fistful of Rei’s hair. He tugs on it hard enough he fears he may pull pieces of it out from the roots. Rei doesn’t scream, or cry, but only moans as well as he can while he’s gagged.

Afterwards, Keito flips him onto his back, after he’s through with watching his cum leak out of Rei’s lax hole. He unties Rei at the wrists first, since those have been bound the longest, helping him shake and shimmy out his wrists before he moves to his ankles, massaging the joints gently.

“Good God,” Rei curses. “I didn’t know you had that in you.”

Keito blushes. “I didn’t know I did either.”

Rei reaches out to grab a hold of one of Keito’s empty belt loops, pulling him down to lay with him on the mattress. “Did you have fun?” He pants. “Did you like it?”

Keito liked it a lot. He liked having Rei under him. He liked knowing that Rei was at his mercy, and that for as long as he was bound and being fucked by him that he belonged to Keito. He liked knowing that Madara couldn’t ever fuck Rei like that, as submissive as he is, and he liked knowing that Rei will remember the feeling of being taken by Keito like this for the first time forever.

“I did,” he settles on, refusing to elaborate, “I liked it a lot.”

____

When Keito comes into the office, he’s told they’re welcoming a temporary member of his team for outreach, or something like that. Whatever it is, they need someone who travels, who speaks english, and isn’t afraid of older, more experienced balding at the crown of their heads businessmen. So they borrowed an employee from a business that’s more equipped to deal with these kinds of affairs Keito isn’t listening, fully, and he’s more preoccupied with getting to his desk without anything more to worry about rather than whomever he’s about to have to herd and corral around for… the next whatever days, it seems. It’s times like this when he’s grateful he’s restricted to whatever is given him to work on daily instead of external affairs.

It’s when he hears an all too familiar booming voice that he perks up, looking up from his desk to see—

“Hello!” He greets, holding out his hand, “You can call me Mikejima!” Madara greets, loud enough that the colleagues behind him turn their heads to look away as if they’re embarrassed to be associated with him. Keito doesn’t take his hand, so Madara wags it in front of him again, forcing Keito to reach up and give him a firm handshake, one where his nails dig into the thin skin that covers the back of the other man’s hands.

Keito thinks Madara looks nice when he isn’t dressed in leather and gym shorts. His hair is tied up, back against his head, and his bangs frame his face and fall against his ears perfectly. It almost pisses him off.

Madara is corralled into the bullpen that is a meeting room for the next few hours. It’s not until Keito is shutting down his computer that Madara makes his way out of the room, almost barrelling towards Keito’s desk.

“I’m going on my lunch break,” Keito says, grabbing his wallet out of his bag. He wasn’t planning on leaving the building today— he has a stash of instant noodles in his file cabinet attached to his desk— But the presence of Madara forces him out of the building, as if the office floor isn’t built to handle the two of them. “I’ll come to you with what I’ve prepared for you to look over. Within the next hour, likely.”

Madara blocks Keito’s way out of his office. “Well, Keito-san—” he says, before coughing into his closed fist when he remembers this is the office, not a pup club, “—Hasumi-san. Allow me to take you to lunch!” He even takes out his wallet and wags his credit card out in front of his face. “So we can discuss… business, I suppose. If you have the time to, of course. I don’t want to keep you from your thirty minutes of free time.”

“Business,” Keito echoes. “I’m salaried.”

Madara winks. “So am I.”

So Madara whisks him away from the office, and they end up at a very nice, very upscale restaurant which seems the type that begs for reservations. Madara talks with the hostess in hushed whispers, smiling and winking as she giggles and covers her smiling mouth with the menus she’s holding before she takes them to a seat by a window.

It’s midday, which means the sun is shining directly onto their seats, making the tablecloth warm to the touch. Madara orders a steak, and Keito resigns himself to a plate of grilled salmon. The sun casts rays on the small bottle of wine Madara orders, illuminating the white tablecloth in shades of pink, purple and red, like stained glass shining on a wedding dress. If the lights were dimmed, and maybe they were illuminated by candles instead of the sun, it would almost be romantic.

“Do you always eat so… extravagantly?” Keito asks, picking apart the flakes of fish in his meal with his fork.

Madara cuts a sizable portion of his steak and chews it like a dog eating a treat before it’s about to be put down. “I’m using the company’s card,” he says, with his mouth slightly full. “Even if I wasn’t, I have a copy of Rei-san’s credit card. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind paying for such a meal if he knew you were enjoying it with me.”

“I see,” Keito decides not to press further beyond that. There’s a sprig of rosemary that sits on his bottom lip. It remains even after Madara drinks some of his wine. “Mikejima,” he says, licking his thumb and motioning for Madara to come closer. Madara leans in, almost entirely across the table, before Keito reaches over and wipes away the stray herb from his bottom lip. He wipes it away on his cloth napkin, and goes back to eating his meal as if nothing happened, ignoring the flush that spreads across Madara’s cheeks.

____

“That’s interesting,” Rei comments when Keito tells Rei of how he met Madara in the workplace, “Very peculiar.”

Above all, Keito wishes to interrogate him. Did you know? bubbles up like bile in his throat. Did you have any idea he did work like this? Keito questions Rei’s knowledge of Madara’s personal life if he finds this ‘peculiar’. He swallows it down however, with a gulp of wine so forceful that it hurts his throat.

“I hope you treat him well,” Rei says as they sit in the back of the train car they’ve found themselves in. “You know he likes being… forced around. I’m sure you can treat him like a good subordinate and put him in his place.” Rei muses as he takes off his coat. The collar of the shirt he’s wearing catches on the zipper of his coat, briefly exposing pale, moonlight-kissed skin.

Keito’s running red hot at Rei’s words. “Why are you stripping?” He asks. “It’s awfully cold outside.”

Rei shrugs. “But it’s a bit hot in here, don’t you think?” He says. Rei leans in looming enough that Keito can smell the cinnamon of the perfume he’s applied to the pulsepoints on his neck. He even tips his head as if to make sure Keito can smell it, watching his muscles stretch and extend over the skin of Rei’s spine. One hand is bracing himself against Keito’s thigh. It’s a pathetic attempt at him being a temptation.

Keito thinks nothing when he leans in to kiss Rei, not because he loves him— which he surely does— but because if he’s going to be such a tease, he might as well be put in his place. Maybe he’s emboldened by Rei’s words: putting someone in his place, he thinks, could be as simple as giving into Rei’s teasing. If he wants to make a show of himself in the back of a train car, then he’ll be kissed like the show pony he is, his hair being tangled by a fistful of Keito’s fingers. When Rei dares to break the kiss to breathe, Keito reaches up and grabs him by the neck—

Someone coughs, and it isn’t Rei. Keito looks up, and sees an older man at the front of the car staring at them. Rei turns after Keito lets his lips go, and waves at the passenger. He doesn’t wave back. “Apologies,” Rei calls out to him, and he spends the rest of the ride to their destination holding Keito’s hand.

____

“Gooood moooorning, Keito-san!” Madara’s voice booms throughout the entire office as he barrels his way towards his target. Keito’s already seated, drinking the last of his green tea latte he has bought on his way to work, turning on his monitor. Madara has been temporarily seated across from him at his desk, which in equal parts pisses Keito off and soothes him; It’s nice to have company, he guesses, even if said company is testing his patience already.

Keito looks up to greet him and nearly balks. Madara has a colored button down on, one that's peony- pink with fuchsia pin-stripes, and his pants… Well, if Keito were to put it lightly: they show off his assets wonderfully as he bends over to pick up the pen he just dropped. He doesn’t even have a tie on. His shirt is slightly unbuttoned, showing off the sunspots that are scattered against his collarbone.

It’s ridiculous. Keito almost feels underdressed for whatever occasion Madara must be celebrating in his white button down and black suit that he owns multiple copies of. “What are you wearing?” He asks instead of shaking Madara’s hand.

Madara stares blankly at Keito. “Clothes?”

“Do you think you’re dressed appropriately for the office?” Keito asks. He can feel a scowl begin to settle on his face.

“Well,” Madara begins. He sets his things down on his desk and smoothes out his shirt. “I’m not naked,” he says, winking at Keito, “So I think I’m dressed pretty alright!”

It takes actual effort for Keito to not roll his eyes. “Go home and change.” He says as soon as Madara sits down.

Madara’s fingertips tap on the table. “Pardon?”

“You heard me,” Keito says. “Go home and change before you come back into the office.”

“Why?”

Keito clicks his tongue. “Because—“ He begins, leaning in to look Madara in the eyes, “—Because you’re a distraction,” he emphasizes the word, spitting it out as if it was made of venom, “Look at how everyone else is dressed. Do you really believe that I’d let you come in here dressed like you want attention? This reflects on me just as much as it reflects on you,” he explains. Other people in the office are beginning to stare. “Don’t make me make an example out of you.”

At that outburst, Madara smiles. It’s almost unnerving how he has such an ability to keep eye contact, even when he’s being chewed out. It’s less of a devious grin, and more because it seems his facial muscles just don’t know what else to do. “Well,” he says, running his hands through his bangs, “My boss doesn’t say anything about it when I dress like this, usually. I didn’t think it would be a problem.”

“It’s not a problem,” Keito hisses. “It’s my rules, when you’re my subordinate. As long as you belong to me, you do what I say. Understood?”

Surprisingly, Madara nods. “As long as I belong to you, huh,” he says. He’s grinning now, from ear-to-ear as he gets his coat and gets back up. “I see how it is.”

Keito’s flustered. He didn’t— “I didn’t mean—“ he starts, but by the time he can finish, Madara’s back is turned and he is out the door.

____

Rei lives in a nice neighborhood, Keito thinks. It took some time to get here, and he already feels out of place by the looks of the buildings around him. Even the liquor he picked up for the evening makes him feel like he’s disgustingly cheap, even though he spent what is to him a pretty penny on it, if only to attempt to impress Rei.

He knows he doesn’t need to impress Rei. He isn’t being taught to do tricks like a dog, and he doesn’t need to be rewarded with treats in the form of gummy goldfish for his best behavior. He doesn’t need to do anything that makes him not him, and he knows this. But something about Madara makes his skin crawl, like he’s got larvae eating him alive. Something about that man makes Keito feel the incessant need to do something to set him apart from him.

Maybe it’s the muscles. Or maybe it’s how he seemingly doesn’t care, how he tiptoes the rules for attention less like a sheepdog with a steel collar and more like a purse pet, or maybe—

—Maybe, it’s Rei, opening the door, wiping his mouth with his sleeve after Keito knocks three times. “Hello, Hasumi-kun,” he greets, ushering the other man inside. Keito kicks off his shoes, and as he steps into the apartment he sees:

Madara, on the couch, his belt unbuckled as he stuffs something back down his pants. He looks annoyed, if also slightly surprised to see Keito, not even bothering to wave as he stares right through him. There’s a dog bed at the corner of the couch, Keito notices, but no toys are spread throughout the floor, as if the leash hanging up on the coat rack wasn’t damning enough.

“I hope I didn’t interrupt anything.” He flatly comments, setting the liquor down on the coffee table. There’s an open can of beer on the table already.

“Oh, no,” Rei swallows, readjusting his hair. “Not at all! We just got… carried away, I think,” he sheepishly says, “Waiting for you.”

Keito tries to make eye contact with Madara, who turns away and rests his head against the back of the couch, staring up at the ceiling as if he was praying for someone up there to strike him down.

“I see.” Keito says. “I, well, I didn’t know—“

“I didn’t either,” Madara comments, finally saying something. “I wasn’t expecting… you.” He emphasizes the final part of his sentence, sucking his teeth and digging his heels into the floor.

They both glance at Rei, then, who wrings his hands together in an act that seems so unbefitting of him, as if someone is using his skin as a suit to walk the Earth on, like he’s a puppet, almost, making a mimicry of nervousness. “Well,” Rei whispers, “I thought it’d be a nice surprise, having both of you together out of the workplace like this. I’m sure you can entertain each other,” Rei says, pausing to gesture to each of them. Madara almost looks annoyed that Rei gestures towards Keito first, rolling his eyes as he goes back to staring at the ceiling. “In a neutral environment, yes. And you two get to spend time with me, which I don’t think either of you will object to.”

Ah. So that’s what this is, Keito realizes: He’s a dog, too, being let to sniff his new friend through a closed door. Just like Madara, he’s one of Rei’s pets, being let out of the pen into the field to chase after his new playmate, or partner, rather— both in business, and in Rei’s sense of pleasure— Off leash for the first time. That’s what this is about.

“I see,” Keito says. He watches Rei run to the couch, patting the empty seat beside him at the far end of the seat furniture Rei sits in the middle of the cushions.

“I guess,” Madara pipes up.

“Won’t you take a seat, Hasumi-kun? We were only deciding on what to watch.”

“Sure,” Keito says, sitting down opposite Rei. Madara takes the throw blanket that was tossed to the floor and bunches it up in his lap. “Okay.”

They end up watching a movie about horses. Rei insists on it, because he likes this film, and Keito didn’t know exactly what he was in the mood for but it certainly wasn’t talking animals. It’s a nice film, he thinks, about the hardships of working animals, but also how easy it is to fall from high standing and find yourself once a beautiful pasture pet now a taxi-pulling workanimal. Something aches in Keito that there are animals treated like this. He hopes he won’t be tossed to the streets like an unwanted kitten anytime soon by Rei.

Around what Keito assumes is halfway through, when the horses are sold again and soon separated, Rei wipes away a single tear. He sniffles, reaching for the blanket Madara is now draped under, and dries his eyes. Keito takes the chance to usher his head to his shoulder, and he shudders when Rei’s curls brush against the sensitive skin of his neck. He wraps his arm around Rei’s shoulder, squeezing him as tightly as he can for comfort.

It must work, supposedly, as Rei’s sniffles and shakes seem to shimmy out of his body, his weight fully bearing against Keito’s side. Soon enough, one of Rei’s hands snakes out from under the blanket to reach for Madara’s own.

Keito is too absorbed in what's happening on the T.V. screen to feel the trickling teasing of lips against his neck at first. He almost thinks he has a bug crawling on him, before Rei gives him a sloppy, open-mouthed kiss against his pulse-point, his lips smacking as they gently suck on the skin of Keito’s neck.

“Sakuma,” Keito whispers, as if he’s afraid of Madara hearing, “What are you doing?”

Rei continues to kiss Keito's neck without answer. “Having fun,” he eventually offers. “You’re a guest in my home, which means,” he says, pausing to nibble on Keito’s ear, “I get to do what I want to you. I’m sure the dog won’t mind.”

And what Rei wants is evident: The hand not enveloped in Madara’s reaches down over his thigh to pinch and pull at the flesh underneath his slacks, creeping up, and up, closer, until eventually Keito can’t take the teasing. He grabs Rei’s hand, reaches around his shoulders to wrench his hand in his hair to hold him still. Rei whines, his sound escaping his throat turning into a pitiful little gasp. He catches a glimpse of Madara staring daggers into his skin. Look, Keito thinks, at what your master can be reduced to.

Rei whimpers when Keito tugs on his hair, pulling him in to bring him into a sloppy kiss, one that leaves the two of them drooling. Keito’s tongue makes quick work trying to force its way past Rei’s lips, tasting his canines, the back of his front teeth, and maybe even his molars.

It’s soon enough that they break the kiss and Rei then lets go of Madara’s hand to take off his shirt; Madara helps, however, reaching around Rei’s waist to peel the sweater off of Rei from his hips. While he and Keito kiss, Madara undoes Rei’s belt, soon after sticking a hand down Rei’s pants. Rei gasps when Keito can see Madara’s hand moving in a steady motion, and Keito kisses him again to swallow the sound.

It’s when Keito touches Madara to correct his rhythm that Madara stops what he’s doing. As soon as Keito’s fingertips touch the thin skin that covers Madara’s knuckles, he stops, wringing his hand free of Rei’s underwear. It’s almost as if he was burned, wounded, tarred and feathered even with how quickly he pushes off the plush blanket and gets up off the couch.

Rei sounds terribly upset at Madara’s reluctance. “Mikejima-kun,” he says, after he pushes Keito off of him. “Is something wrong?”

Madara says nothing. He wipes his hand on the couch, before getting up and turning tail towards the hallway to which Rei assumes leads to the bathroom. Keito hears a door slam, and he’s nearly pushed off by Rei as he gets up off of the couch to comfort Madara.

He hears arguing— Not yelling, but nearly so— And he feels as if he’s a child witnessing his parents’ lovers spat over his punishment. It makes him feel oh so incredibly small, like a bug under the shadow of a shoe, and it takes actual effort for him to get his rear end up off of the couch to step outside onto the balcony. The night air does wonders to cool what’s flushing Red upon his face, but it nearly extinguishes the flame of his lighter as he tries to ignite the end of the cigarette bit between his teeth.

____

“I have had it up to here,” Keito stresses, holding his hand as high above Madara’s head as he can, “With you.”

Cornered in the bathroom, Madara almost looks like a frightened dog. His eyes are wide, and hands are on his belt buckle, considering he was about to “Piss,” he says, flat as a log that fell over with no one to hear it, “Can’t a guy piss first, before you start lecturing him?”

Keito starts lecturing Madara anyway. Madara unbuckles his belt and gets to work anyway. “You make me look like a fool,” he says, “being so unprepared. I give you copies of all my work, I practically tell you what to do every step of the way, and you make me look like a fool. We could have lost our contract because of you. Do you know how that reflects on me,” Keito points to the center of his chest. Madara pisses as if there isn’t another guy in the room chewing him out. “That you perform so badly on what you were prepped to do, that our contractor reaches out to me to ask what the hell was wrong with you?”

Madara shrugs. “Maybe you didn’t prepare me as well as you thought.” He wipes himself off and tosses the tissue into the trashcan. “I did my best, Keito-san. Maybe he was just an asshole and I gave him what he gave me.”

“It doesn’t matter if someone’s an asshole!” Keito hisses. “What matters is that you do your job, and you do it right. Fucking an entire leg of a company over because you have some… problem…” Keito clicks his tongue once he realizes that he’s understating it, “With me reflects more on you as a person than you think.”

Madara smiles. “You really piss me off, Keito-san.”

Keito glares back. “If you’re trying to get a rise out of me—“ He’s cut off as soon as Madara steps forward. He grabs a handful of Keito’s dressshirt and pushes him against the wall opposite to the urinals. Grabbing his shirt like that means he had to push past his tie, as if he was digging in someone’s ribcage for their heart. Keito grunts when he makes contact with the wall, breathing in to replace the wind which was knocked out of him, only to be suffocated by Madara’s lips on his own.

They’re chapped, Keito realizes, his tongue darting out of his mouth to wet them. Madara had a fistful of Keito’s shirt in one hand, and his arm bracing the wall behind him in the other. He lets Keito lick his lips, he lets Keito slip his tongue into Madara’s mouth, tasting the cigarette he smoked and the break-room coffee he had to wash it down against the back of his teeth.

It’s disgusting. Madara is drooling. They can be caught, but— “Your stupid glasses,” Madara says, huffing hotly enough that it fogs the lenses of what he’s complaining about up—“Are in the way.”

“Fine”. So Keito's hand pushes past Madara’s fist and slides them off his face, blinking to wet his eyes as they adjust to his new field of vision. He sets them in his jacket pocket, with his pen, and goes squarely back to kissing Madara. This way, they can get into it; This way, Madara is nothing more than the other lump of meat that wants Rei just as much as Keito does.

They kiss until they’re out of breath. They kiss until the fear of someone walking in makes their hearts skip far too many beats. They kiss until Keito feels sick, and they kiss until Keito pries open Madara’s mouth so he can spit in it. He grabs a handful of Madara’s shoulders and pushes the man off of him, hard enough that it even surprises himself at how forceful it is. He puts his glasses back on, taking time to view the flushed, peach-pit-red color on Madara’s cheeks, before exiting the bathroom with a slam on the door.

____

Keito doesn’t speak to Rei. He tries, but either he gathers no reply, or he can tell Rei would rather not talk to him as Keito idly asks Rei about his day and gets barely a response, so he cuts the conversation short and considers throwing his phone across the room and watching it shatter against the wall into a hundred little pieces he’d have to clean up. At least he’d have something to do, then.

Keito considers going back to the club Rei had invited him to weeks ago. Maybe there, he’d find someone to calm his heartache; maybe there he’d have to pay a premium to enter as a single man. He could ask Madara to go with him, he supposes— the two have begun to amicably get along at work— but he’s not Madara’s master, and he’s not allowed to hold the leash that fits so perfectly in Rei’s hands.

But as Madara’s time at Keito’s place of employment comes to a close, something feels as if it’s missing. Maybe it’s literally missing— Madara’s begun to clean up his desk, after all— or maybe it’s a missing piece of the puzzle that’s someone's heart, or something sappy like that. Madara goes on a smoke break before the usual time that Keito takes his fifteen minutes, as if he’s purposely trying to avoid him. Keito gets the idea and forgoes his own smoke breaks, and by the time he leaves the office his hands are shaking and his head hurts. Maybe he should go on the patch, after all.

It’s a Friday night now, as Keito lays on the floor of his apartment next with his phone on the low table, waiting for it to ring from Rei. It won’t, he knows, but he’s always been a stubborn man, and surely if he wills it, it will come to him. Those are the sort of things such a happy-go-lucky man like Madara thinks, surely. Keito wonders what he thought about the meeting they were stuck in earlier, seated on opposite sides of the room. Keito kept sneaking glances at Madara as if he could gather his attention, or perhaps catch him in the act of staring at him, too. It was horrible enough that his colleague asked him what was wrong after the meeting was done, after Madara was beaming and booming with his own like-minded corporate souls still in the meeting room after Keito left to sulk at his desk, mindlessly scrolling the same pages over and over again, as if something would suddenly change. Madara didn’t even say goodbye to Keito after he left the office today.

It’s when Keito finally closes his eyes that he hears it, that he hears the low rumble of something against hardwood, and he lifts himself up off of the floor so quickly that his head begins to hurt. He reaches for his phone, which vibrates again in his hand, to see a string of messages coming not from Rei, but from an unknown number.

>> Do you want to meet me at a bar

>> It’s Mikejima

>> Rei-san gave me your number lol actually I got it from your office’s front desk they really should tell the lady working it that she shouldn’t give out personal information but I pretended to be a relative trying to reach you when I called on my lunch break so I don’t blame her

>> lol

After Keito pinches the bridge of his nose, he replies.

<< Would that be why she told me my brother was trying to reach me?

>> Yeah I think so lol

>> Anyway wanna grab a drink or something

Keito doesn’t want to know what “or something” means. He doesn’t reply, but he gets sent an address seconds later as he gets up to put proper clothes on. As he gets on the train, the sun is setting, and he watches the dusk bleed hues of purple, yellow and pink across the sky. It almost reminds Keito of watercolors, except these colors don’t turn an abhorrent shade of brown when mixed, or maybe the plumage of a tropical bird, feathers fanned to attract a mate. He realizes too as he gets off at his destination that he doesn’t get to see the sunset like this very often. His heart hurts when he realizes maybe he should thank Madara for making him come out so late.

The bar Madara sent him to is tucked inside an alleyway, sandwiched between a restaurant and a corner store. Keito walks past it twice while trying to find it, looking at the address on his phone and the street signs guiding him there. He wouldn’t have even known this establishment existed unless Madara brought him to it. Clearly, he’s not using the company card to treat him right now.

When Keito enters, it’s surprisingly empty. There’s only a couple other men idly chatting as they watch the late-night news on the television perched on the wall behind the bar counter, besides the bartender opening bottles for the both of them. Keito almost doesn’t see Madara sitting in a booth all alone, watching the T.V. as well, a half-empty pint in front of him. He doesn’t even notice Keito approaching him, and it’s only when Keito seats himself across from Madara that he pays him any attention.

“I actually have a brother, you should know,” Keito greets, flagging down the bartender. “I messaged him asking what he needed to tell me. I was scared something might have happened to my parents.”

Madara pouts, almost apologetic. He looks like a scolded puppy. “Sorry about that,” he says, tapping his fingers on the table. “I had to get your number somehow.”

“Why didn’t you just ask Sakuma?” Keito questions. He asks the bartender for whatever he has dry.

Madara looks away from the T.V. and glances down at his drink. “I haven’t spoken to him in a while.” He admits. “Since— yeah. You know,” he says, gesturing vaguely as he takes a sip of his draft. “Yeah.”

The bartender brings Keito a cold can of beer. He even opens it for him. At least the customer service is good. “You’re dressed nicely,” Keito says, because Madara is; He’s got a tight-fitting t-shirt on, something that shows off the meat of his pectorals, something that hugs his upper arms. There’s a leather jacket with fur trim folded up on the seat next to him, and Keito desperately wishes to see it on him. The wristwatch he wears to work still sits on his wrist, and he’s even put a gold ring in one of his earlobes. Keito didn’t even realize he had his ears pierced.

Madara shrugs. “I was hoping you’d show up,” he says, “So I dressed up. For you. Is it strange seeing me out of work clothes, now?”

“I’ve seen you in pup gear,” Keito says, his voice hushed as if to make sure the men at the bar counter can’t hear him. “This looks just as good on you as that, I think.” Keito drinks half of his beer in one gulp. The aluminum of the can is freezing cold against his palm.

“Thank you, Keito-san,” Madara says, and he smiles as he says it, even if he doesn’t make eye contact. “I, uh,” he begins, stumbling on his words before he takes a swig of his own beer, “I just… I wanted to talk.”

“Uh-huh.”

“About… you know,” Madara manages. “I, well… just wanted to explain myself. If you wanted to hear me out. Or you could forget about it, too. We can just do that, too.”

“I’ll hear you out.”

So, Madara starts talking. “I didn’t… I didn’t like seeing you with Rei-san. He’s always been mine, to a degree, before you. Our relationship has been open, sure, but he never really messed around with other people— I didn’t either, maybe that’s why he wasn’t— but then you entered the picture, and I started to feel like something was being taken from me. It’s just—“ Madara pauses, pinching the bridge of his nose, “—I’d never seen Rei-san submit to someone else like he did with you. He’s always been my master. And here comes someone else with the same power he has over me using it against him. It didn’t feel like the Rei-san I knew. So it was… scary, I think. Something like that.”

Keito almost feels remorse. “I see,” he says, tracing the rim of the can of beer in his hands. “I see.”

“So, when the… you know, happened, I just… I think I felt something I haven’t felt in a while. I’ve been Rei-san’s pet for so long that I don’t remember what it’s like to be under anyone else. And I think I realized what I wanted to be feeling was whatever he was feeling with you. I wanted that kind of love in my life— It’s love, isn’t it? You’re his boyfriend, right?”

“I don’t know what I am to him right now,” Keito sighs. “We haven’t talked about it.”

“But you love him, don’t you,” Madara says flatly, like a statement, like it’s a sword set in stone, “You love Rei-san, and I’m sure he loves you, too. He wouldn’t be the way he is around you if he didn’t love you.” In between breaths, Madara finishes the rest of his foam-flat beer, grimacing at the taste. “I always say I’m some sort of dumb dog, because I am, but I can tell you two have something special. Anyone with eyes can tell that. You’ve got him wrapped around your finger,” Madara sighs, “And I think— Just a hunch— That I want to be where he is, too.”

Keito doesn’t know what to say, so he takes the easy way out and says nothing at all. Madara flags the bartender down and asks for whatever Keito’s having. When he receives it, he winces, licking his lips and coughing.

“Is something wrong?” Keito asks, finally.

Madara nods. “Your taste in beer is shit,” he says, and then he laughs— loud, booming, but the men at the counter don’t turn to look at him. “They’re used to it,” he says, pointing with his thumb towards them, “I’m in here all the time.”

They spend the rest of their somewhat-date in silence, watching the television, which has been changed to a nature channel. What’s on is a special about Japanese pufferfish, currently showing their elaborate mating ritual. Keito learns that for more than a week straight, a male creates a geometric shape in the sand, flapping his fins against the seafloor to sculpt the sand, then decorating the shape with coral and empty shells to entice a female. If she chooses him, then she lays his eggs in the center, which are guarded by the male until they hatch.

“I think that’s interesting,” Madara says, gesturing towards the screen, “That the male takes care of the eggs.”

“Are you saying it sounds like a female’s job?” Keito asks.

Prompted like that, Madara shrugs. “Female octopuses will starve themselves to death to protect their eggs,” he says, readjusting his watch on his wrist. “Learned about that on a late-night special here, too.”

Keito ends up paying for their tab. It’s only the most gentlemanly thing to do— After all, Madara did buy him dinner. Outside, at the curb, Madara takes out his cigarettes and offers one to Keito.

“No thank you,” Keito says. When Keito takes out his own pack in his back pocket, Madara raises an eyebrow. “Those short-sticks are mostly tar,” Keito explains. “Have you ever considered something nicer? Surely, you make enough money to splurge.”

Madara shrugs, sticking one of his shitty cigarettes between his teeth and lighting it with the help of Keito cupping his hands around the lighter to protect it from the wind. “I’ve been smoking these since I was stealing pocket change from my parents,” he says. “Don’t they call that habit? Madara asks to no one in particular, speaking his words to the as he stares at whatever clouds are hidden amongst the sprawling expanse of the night sky.

“I’d argue it’s more sentimentality,” Keito says. When he exhales his cigarette exhaust, he does it downwind of Madara, not to let their respective smoke halos mingle. “Or something like that.”

Madara shrugs. “Keito-san,” he says, after a minute or two of nothing but the sound of Keito’s heart beating in his ears and cars brushing by on the street opposite towards them, “Did you know there’s a love hotel around here?”

Keito shakes his head. “No,” he says, “I didn’t.”

“Yeah. It’s right around the corner. You probably passed it on your way here. It’s nothing fancy, nothing themed. I’m sure plenty of tourists would mistake it for a normal hotel, if not for the name.”

“I see.”

Madara snaps his fingers, something which Keito will surely punish him for later. When Keito looks towards him, Madara stares him dead on, like an animal in the headlights, as if he’s the one that got his attention called instead of Keito. “You, uh,” he begins, “Wanna go check it out? Or something…”

It’s a pathetic attempt at courting. “Sure,” Keito says anyway, “Lead the way.”

_____

If they were a couple, perhaps Keito would have held Madara’s hand as they walked to the love hotel. He holds Rei’s hands all the time when they walk, or they either have their arms looped around each other in a knot. But when he and Madara walk together, Keito keeps his hands at his sides and Madara has his own held in his jacket pockets. They might as well be strangers, he thinks, just two unrelated individuals walking at the same leisurely pace to a common destination.

After they’ve paid, and after they’re in the sprawling hallway of the hotel, on the staircase Madara turns around and holds his hand out, in a gesture of asking for Keito to take it. He does, reaching out in front of him to put their palms together, even linking their fingers in a series of knots, like a rootbound plant. They only end up letting go as they get to their assigned room, and it’s Madara that unlocks and opens the door. What a gentleman. Maybe this is why Rei likes him so much.

As soon as Keito steps into the room, Madara’s hands are on him. He reaches for Keito’s belt to pull him in, in which Keito’s reflexes allow for him to slap the hands away. “Bad dog,” he scolds, pointing to the bed laid before them. “You’re an eager pup, aren’t you? Go sit,” and when Madara instead deigns to take his jacket off, “I said, sit.” So, Madara sits. He rests on the edge of the bed, his hands folded in his lap like he’s supposed to. “Good boy,” Keito offers, and Madara smiles. It’s almost sickeningly charming how natural the look of his upper lips curling upwards looks on him.

Keito stands in front of Madara with his hands on his hips. “You’re taking orders from someone that isn’t your Master, Mikejima,” he says, “Won’t Sakuma be upset when he hears about this?”

Madara almost looks scared. “He doesn’t have to know.”

At that, Keito chuckles. “So you’re going to lie to him?” He asks. “Surely, someone should punish you for that.”

“Can you?” Madara offers. “I mean, can you punish me? I’m sure Rei-san won’t mind from your side of things. I’ve been a bad dog, and I deserve it.”

Keito sits next to Madara on the bed. “I think I know what you deserve, Mikejima,” he says, smelling the beer still on Madara’s short exhales of breath.

“Oh, yeah?” Madara challenges. “Go ahead and show me, Keito-san.”

And Keito does; He leans in, using one hand to brace himself on the bed, and using the other to pull Madara in by his chin into a kiss. It’s chaste, merely nothing more than letting their lips touch each other, but still Madara moans into the kiss.

Kissing seated like this is fine, but soon enough after Keito slips his tongue into Madara’s mouth, Madara leans back and sends the both of them tumbling, scrambling while locked lip-to-lip to touch each other. Madara breaks the kiss just enough to slide his hand up under Keito’s tucked in shirt, feeling him up. Keito almost wishes to tell him it's no use— he’s got no muscles, nothing like the physique that Madara so proudly boasts— But Madara is content with petting Keito’s treasure trail, it seems.

Keito breaks the kiss. Madara settles on kissing down the curve of Keito’s jaw, to the shell of his ear, his forehead, anywhere he can place his lips that aren’t the other man’s mouth as Keito speaks. “I ought to punish you,” he says, clicking his tongue.

“Uh-huh?” Madara questions.

“For being so eager,” Keito explains, letting his hands roam down to Madara’s belt buckle. “Hasn’t Sakuma taught you anything about humility, about patience? Perhaps I could train you,” Keito says as he unbuckles Madara’s belt, pulling down his jeans and boxers as best as he can. “Clicker training, maybe? Something that would reinforce good behaviors in an unruly mutt like you. Wouldn’t that be lovely?”

“Please, please,” Keito’s learning a lot about Madara today, “Let me touch you too, Keito-san. I’ll be good, I promise.” Madara begs. “Come on, please, I wanna, I wanna be good for you. I’m not a bad boy, I swear.”

“You’re lucky you’re cute,” Keito comments as he undoes his own belt. “You’re lucky I'm giving in to you.” When Madara reaches out to help Keito, he swats his hand away again. “Patience, pup,” he says, “Not yet.”

Madara whines as if he’s been kicked. “Yes, Keito-san,” he says. He whines again when Keito pulls his half-hard cock out of his underwear, stroking him gently to fullness. He’s a decent handful, he notices, pulling back his foreskin to rub circles on his rosy-red head. “Ah,” he breathes, one hand gripping the wrist that works him, not to guide but simply to feel more of Keito’s skin.

“You’re a good boy,” Keito praises. “I think you are, Mikejima. For letting me know how you felt, for being honest with me— That’s good. It takes courage to do that. Thank you,” Keito says, all the while tugging Madara’s cock, “You’re a very good boy. I think you deserve an award.”

“Yeah?” Madara breathes, sucking in air through his teeth. “Do you really think so?”

Keito nods. “I do,” he says, letting go of Madara to pull down his own underwear. He shimmies himself on the sheets to get a little closer, settling himself knee-to-knee with Madara on the mattress. “Come here,” Keito says, tapping the bed. Madara scoots as close as he can towards Keito. “Good boy.” Like this, Keito can feel Madara’s body heat emanating off of him, and the saliva from when he was kissing all over Keito’s face like a dog cooling against his flushed skin.

Keito’s hard himself, almost there to fullness, uncomfortable in his underwear but now free as he pulls himself fully out. He takes Madara’s cock in his hand as well, pushing the two of them together, something they both hiss at. Madara keeps his hands to himself, if only for a moment; as soon as Keito starts stroking them, his fingers fly to the sides of Keito’s hips, holding him as if he’s about to take a fall off of a ledge. “Keito-san,” he breathes, biting his bottom lip as he tries to ignore the moan that spills from his mouth only a moment later, “I— ah, you’re bigger than me. I’m thicker, but you’re bigger.”

“Am I?” Keito asks, genuinely curious. He looks down, and sees what Madara means: He’s right, even if it’s barely noticeable. Madara has a nice handful of girth to him, but as Keito strokes the two of them together, his cock seems to have just a hair of height on Madara’s. How quaint. “I am,” he says, almost shocked, “I am.”

“Yeah,” Madara exhales. Up close like this, Keito can see the shadow of Madara’s stubble, and a little scar on his chin presumably from shaving himself. “Do you think Rei-san’s ever noticed that?” He asks. His hands have trailed from Keito’s hips to his chest now, rubbing up and down his collarbone, his pectorals, settling firm in the center where his heart rests beneath layers of flesh. “Ah, he probably hasn’t,” he says, clicking his tongue, “He’d say something to me if he did. He likes making me feel— small, yeah. Oh, Keito-san, Keito-san,” he begins to beg, bucking his hips. “Let me do this,” he says, and Keito doesn’t stop him. Good pups deserve an award, and chasing his own pleasure should be his.

It’s cute how desperate he is, Keito thinks. He’s charmed by every little short sigh that escapes Madara’s mouth, the bobbing of his Adam’s apple as he swallows more words; He even bites his lip so hard the flesh springs back a peach-pit pink, swollen and flush like a soaked sponge. It’s so absurd to see from another man that Keito almost considers it performative— if he can do dog tricks for a crowd of other people, who’s saying he can’t perform practiced and perfect in the bedroom?— but the bucking of his hips, the way he throbs in Keito’s hands against his own sex, that all Keito can tell is real, as genuine as the day his parents made him.

“Keito-san,” Madara says not before long, “Keito-san, please let me come,” he begs, reaching to the back of Keito’s head and knocking their foreheads together so hard it hurts. Like this, they’re forced to make eye contact, green to green, deep dyed jade to a growing sea of stalks. Madara’s eyelashes brush against Keito’s skin as he shuts them while he continues to beg, “Please, tell me I can come? Please, please, I’ve been good, I promise, I deserve it.”

Keito licks his lips. “Do you really think you’ve been good?” He asks, twisting himself and Madara just so, just to see Madara wince and hear him whine.

“Yes, please, please, I’ll do anything, I swear it—! I just want to come,” Madara cries. His eyes are shut so tightly Keito can see tears form at the corners of them. “Please, let me. I won’t until you tell me I can.” He’s serious. The bucking of his hips even stops.

Keito clicks his tongue. He’s close, too, feeling that familiar tightness in his belly, like a string strung too tightly, as if he can snap at any moment. “I think you deserve your award,” he says, and Madara’s eyes flutter open, his eyebrows knit together and drooping, pouting. Keito guesses he wasn’t clear enough, so he says “You can come, Mikejima,” and at that Madara warbles something unintelligible out of his mouth. Keito wonders: Is he like this in bed with Rei? Is this act, this total submission, the act of handing over his pleasure into Keito’s palms just for him? How privy are other men to Madara’s moans, his whines, the way his eyes flutter between open and closed while his cock is worked as if he can’t make up his mind if he wants to see himself debauched or not?

It’s only a few strokes before he finishes. A few breaths exchanged, shallow and short; Keito’s free hand flies to Madara’s chest to feel his heart racing like a bounding hare. He fears it may burst from his skin and bloody them both with how his own quickens when Madara reaches up to hold his hand. Soon enough, Madara is coming, streaking soft white over Keito’s knuckles, all the while groaning, grunting, panting like a proper pup. Keito keeps working them both mostly out of his own pleasure until Madara pushes his hand off of his cock. He falls flat on the bed then, staring at the ceiling, his chest rising and falling not unlike a gentle wave hitting the sandbed.

“Fuck,” Madara curses after a moment. “Wow,” he says, looking over to Keito similarly sitting on the mattress. “Thank you, Keito-san. Was I good?” he asks, looking down at Keito’s still sticky hand. “Did you enjoy it?”

“Well,” Keito says, looking down at where he’s begun to go soft. “I didn’t finish.”

Madara blinks. “Oh!” he gasps, shoving himself back into his pants. “Well… Do you want me to take care of it?” He offers. He points at Keito’s hand, poised up in the air since he can’t decide if he wishes to wipe it on the sheets or not. “I can still be good for you, you know.”

Keito shrugs. “Sure,” he says, because either he ends the night in an orgasm or not, and he still has enough foresight to realize that one option clearly sounds better than the other. “Why not.”

Madara springs immediately into action. He leaps up, sliding off the bed and down to his knees in front of the mattress. He grabs Keito by his pants leg and pulls him down with the kind of strength he’s been hiding, reaching out for his semen-slick hand as soon as he has the other man pinned into place. Keito holds it out in front of Madara’s face, using his other hand to brace himself against the bed. He shivers when Madara’s warm tongue makes contact with his cooling skin, lapping and licking up his mess. It must be gross by now, Keito supposes, because as soon as Madara gets a taste of his own cum he grimaces, shuddering and shaking his head. Still, he cleans up Keito’s hand dutifully, almost as if it’s an apology.

It’s sooner than not that Madara takes Keito’s cock into his mouth. He takes it in his hand first, stroking him back to fullness, paying no verbal mind to the fact he’s gone soft in the sweet seconds between their frotting and now. Keito’s glad, even more so when Madara’s tongue traces the slit in his head. He’s not making eye contact with Keito, instead choosing to focus on what’s in front of him. It’s Keito’s turn to breathe shallowly now, his lungs lurching when Madara ends up taking more of his shaft into his mouth, sinking down as far as he can with what he can’t swallow gripped in his paw. Madara’s mouth is wet and warm, soft and sticky with saliva, swallowing him down until his tip touches the back of his throat.

It’s embarrassing how little it takes to work Keito up. Madara hollows his cheeks, and Keito groans, his now-cleaned hand flying to grip the back of his head. His hair’s messed up from writhing on the bedsheets, his braid about to come undone, yet the little ponytail on the back of his head is enough to grip and tug on. Keito wrenched his fingers underneath the tight hair tie which holds it back and yanks on it, moaning when it elicits a low hum from Madara that he can feel on his cock. It’s only a handful of moments before Keito is bucking his hips up to meet Madara’s mouth in time with the bobbing of Madara’s head as if he’s the untrained dog humping a pillow instead of the perfect pup who’s so generously blowing him.

“Mikejima,” Keito moans, “Ah, Mikejima, I’m close,” he breathes. That same tautness returns to his belly, aching as he tries his best to stay calm as Madara works him with his mouth and hand. Madara looks up at him, once, making eye contact with Keito as he stops what he’s doing just to sink his mouth down as far as he can on his cock, taking him from tip to base, simply to show off that he can do it. Keito wonders what he looks like from Madara’s point of view: his softened chin from looking down, the flush of arousal painting his cheeks peony-petal pink, his mouth slightly parted as he shallowly breathes in and out. He must look amazing, because even Madara moans when Keito tugs on his hair to pull him off, finally reaching his peak. Madara keeps stroking him through the throes of his orgasm, allowing him to finish on his face, his come falling on his full lips. As soon as Madara decides Keito’s done shooting, he leans away to lick his lips, opening his mouth to show Keito his cum on his tongue before he swallows it. He shows him his bare tongue as well, smiling, the type of joy on his face apparent as he chuckles afterwards.

“You’re welcome, Keito-san,” Madara says, helping Keito tuck himself back into his underwear.

Keito clicks his tongue. “Thank you,” he replies, patting Madara on the top of his head. “You did good.” Keito sits up fully, patting his lap to call Madara forward. “Come here, pup,” he says as he snaps his fingers. “Lay down.” Instead of climbing on the bed to lay down like Keito expects, Madara simply leans up as best as he can to rest his chin on Keito’s knees, looking up at him with wide eyes. If he had a tail, it’d be wagging. “Good boy.”

Keito’s petting behind Madara’s ears when the other man speaks. “Was that really good, Keito-san?”

Keito nods. “Well,” he says, “I finished, at least. So I’d say you did well in that regard.” The both of them laugh at that. Madara’s chuckles suit him; short and low, from the throat. “But really, it was good. Do you want me to call you a good boy again? Are you asking for praise? You can directly ask me for things like that, you know.”

Madara smiles. He almost looks embarrassed. “It’s been… a while since I gave head. To anyone that isn’t Rei-san,” he admits, his eyes darting to the left and right before settling back to meet Keito’s gaze. “So I didn’t know if I still had the magic touch, you know? Maybe that’s silly to say.”

“It’s not silly at all,” Keito shrugs. “You did a good job, Mikejima,” he praises, even if Madara didn’t directly ask for it. Still, Madara leans into Keito’s touch, his cheek cupped by Keito’s palm, like the good boy he is leaning into a master’s touch. “I didn’t expect something so nice from you.”

Madara chortles at that, and the reverb can be felt against Keito’s lap. “Keito-san,” he says, softly, almost uncharacteristically shy, “Can you call me a good boy again? I like when you say it. It’s nice.”

Keito doesn’t hesitate to give Madara what he wants. Perhaps that’s poor ownership of his actions, giving into his pet so easily— but Madara isn’t his pet, he belongs to Rei. Madara is only a borrowed wolfhound from another man, reduced to the same puppylike pet in his lap, cradled by the soft skin of Keito’s palms. “You’re a good boy,” he whispers, leaning down so Madara can hear it. “You’re a good boy, not just for me, but for others; you’re an honest man, and you do honest work. I’m sure everyone in the workplace appreciates that as much as I do, and I’m sure Sakuma knows how much of a good boy you are as well.”

Madara doesn’t say anything back. Maybe he doesn’t need to; the feeling of his cheek contorting to fit a smile is an answer enough to Keito.

____

It’s drizzling outside while Keito smokes. The balcony of his apartment provides little space to fit a chair, only a little flowerpot which holds a dead plant he received as a housewarming gift from his brother which he uses as an ashtray now, so Keito leans against the cold steel railing and smokes in the oncoming rain. His neighbors have windchimes hanging up, and the slight breeze allows him to have ample background music as he finishes his second cigarette of the night down to the filter.

It’s been a week since he and Madara left the love hotel together. It’s been around two weeks since he last heard from Rei. Yesterday was Madara’s last day in the office, and today was Keito’s first day without him across the table from him. It was… quieter, he realized an hour into his day. He could hear the sound of him typing, his breathing, even his own thoughts— something he had missed in the booming presence of Madara— which suddenly started to make him feel sick. Keito found himself looking past his monitor multiple times to hopefully catch a glimpse of a man that didn’t work there anymore, feeling his heart stop every time as if when he looked next, suddenly he’d appear. He made uncomfortable eye contact with the colleague across the room a few times, and apologized for it in the breakroom when they crossed paths there. Madara even took the box of green tea bags he kept in the breakroom with him when he left, Keito realized, so he drank a cup of lukewarm tap water instead of mooching off the man he used to.

Keito’s almost smoked through an entire pack today; most in the morning and afternoon at work, then a handful of cigarettes in the evening where he rests now, idly watching the minutes move past him as he exhales, the stormy breeze carrying his woes to the east as he lets go of a smooth, herbal drag, unlike the tar-dipped short sticks that Madara prefers.

His brother called him today, too, after he got home. He told him about how he was thinking of getting his daughters a puppy, something to keep them busy, and even asked for his opinion on breeds— The only breed of dog Keito knows is a man kneeling on the floor asking to be called a good boy— So Keito said nothing of the sort, of course, even when his sibling asked if he had ever considered getting a pet himself. You know, he said, to keep you busy, too, because it was better than calling his baby brother a lonely loser who had no partner.

But Keito has a partner— partners, plural— now: he has Rei, who’s turned tail over the past couple of weeks, who may as well be a fading memory by now. And then there’s Madara: Rei’s good boy, his good boy, too, a man he regretfully wishes was still in his life. He helped Madara pack up his things the day before he left. He even color coded his files with highlighters and printed out proof of the successful business agreement he helped provide for his own records. Madara only laughed and said they’d be going directly to his superior— and the real proof would be in his paycheck, instead.

His phone is ringing in his back pocket. He doesn’t care, not right now, because the feeling of something filling the empty space in his lungs is more important than whatever work he’s being asked to do off of the clock. It’s when the familiar ringing of phone calls turns into the clipped buzz of a text message that he finally snubs out his cigarette in the houseplant and he finally checks his phone to be greeted with a handful of missed calls and a slew of text messages from— “Rei?” Keito questions out loud, shocked at the onslaught of attempted contact after such a sudden distance set between them by the aforementioned man.

Rei’s only sent one text message. It’s a simple,

>> Hello.

sent after a few phone calls Keito feels guilty for ignoring now. While Keito tries to formulate a response, his phone buzzes once again as another message from Rei shows on the screen:

>> I want to meet you.

Maybe Rei can read minds, giving him such the generous gift of giving Keito something to reply with.

<< Where?

____

Rei’s dressed nicely across the table from Keito; He’s wearing a black, satin or silk blouse with a red bow that ties it together at the collar, something that makes him look shockingly demure, almost like a desk secretary instead of a man sitting across from him in a dimly-lit bar. Maybe they should have gone to a nicer establishment, or perhaps Keito should have dressed nicer to match Rei, only hurriedly putting on a button-up and slacks when Rei had told him where to meet him. They walked here together, after exchanging greetings at the train station, as silent as snowfall while they meandered through the streets trying to find somewhere to drink.

“You know,” Rei says, stirring the bubbling cauldron of his drink with his cocktail straw, “We had our first date here, Hasumi-kun.”

“Did we?” Keito says, knowing full-well they did. Allow him to play the part of none-the-wiser for Rei’s benefit.

Rei chuckles at that. “Did you really forget so soon?” He asks. It’s not the kind of question that expects an answer, so Keito silently sips his drink and waits for Rei to keep speaking. “We barely knew each other then,” he says, "Much like we do, now. But I know what you’ve been up to.”

Keito’s heart skips a beat. “Really?” He questions. For a second his mind defaults to what he’s been doing at work instead of—

“Mikejimakun,” Rei begins. He pauses to take a long sip of his drink, the ice block in his drink clinking against the glass as he tips it to meet his lips. “Has been very honest with me. Much more than I expect from a mutt like him, truly,” he says, staring Keito dead-on into his eyes. “And I expect you to be honest with me as well.”

Keito swallows. His mouth has gone bone-dry, and no saliva soothes his suddenly sore throat. “I—“ he says, looking around to see who may be in earshot of their conversation, “—Can explain, Sakuma. I meant to cross no boundaries between you two, I swear.

Rei sits back in his chair then. “He’s already explained well enough what happened to me. Multiple times. Honestly? I got tired of hearing his apologies.” Keito has no idea where any of this is going. “How was it?”

“…Pardon?”

“I asked,” Rei says, and Keito waves his hands in front of his face, cutting Rei off.

“I heard what you asked,” Keito says. “What do you mean, How was it?”

It’s Rei’s turn to stare at Keito, saucer-eyed. “How was it? Did you have fun? I’m not sure what may be confusing you.”

Keito would rather prefer to talk of this elsewhere. Keito would rather have the chance to consider his own feelings: How was it? It was good, truly, far beyond anything he expected from both himself and the other man. The feeling of lording over an individual who could easily crush his head between his thighs keeps him up at night the same way he stayed up into the witching hours of the evening as a teenager after finding his way into the restricted age floor of the bookstore: feverish, full of sin, further from the calm, collected man he tries to come across off. Did he have fun? Yes, he did, enough fun he almost felt heartbroken watching Madara walk his way to another train platform after they parted ways for the night; he watched him walk away until he almost missed his own ride home, forcing himself to move away from the last skin-to-skin contact he had with another man when they shook hands as if they were making a business deal instead of going home after having an approximation of sex in a love hotel. Could Keito call that fun? It’s… funny, instead of fun, he thinks, how pathetic he is over this man, how much he misses him, how he’s even started drinking the same brand of green tea he kept in the breakroom at work. It’s shit tea, far from the fresh leaves Keito’s enjoyed at teahouses, but it leaves a familiar taste on his tongue. It’s funny, how the first time he drank with Rei they found themselves in a love hotel afterwards, the same way he did with Madara. It’s funny, how pathetically similar he is with these men, how funny it is that they could be further apart from each other from looks to personality yet they still make Keito’s heart ache the same way, like a branch bending under the weight of ice, like a goldfish in a tank too small for its growing body, like a pathetic man in love.

It’s funny, so Keito laughs instead of answering Rei. Rei raises his eyebrows at that, too, before he begins to laugh as well; a low, little chortle escapes his mouth, before he meets Keito’s growing laughter. A group of men in black suits drinking together, fresh from the office, turn to look at them, and all it does is make Keito laugh more— look at these two lovesick fools, booming and beaming at similarly nothing— they’ll blame it on the alcohol, though both men are still nursing their first drinks of the evening, and if Keito’s math is done right, they’ll blame the tryst that will occur after they leave the establishment on that too.

Eventually, the laughter dies down, and Rei is left looking at Keito so softly, so fondly, you would have thought they met through a matchmaker instead of on an app online. It makes Keito’s heart hurt, as if he believes he doesn’t deserve that kind of gaze, as if somehow Rei is smiling at something behind him. But his red eyes meet Keito’s green, almost uncomfortably so, and Keito can’t bring himself to look away, as a man who knows he deserves it.