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He never should have let this get started in the first place; it's disrespectful to his wife's memory, and it's an abuse of his authority to do something like this with one of his subordinates. If Dojima had any self-control, he would call this off.
Of course, if he had any self-control, he wouldn't have let anything happen in the first place, but his self-control has a habit of taking the night off once he's had a few beers, and Adachi is always there, always friendly, always a little too close. It was easy to blame the alcohol the first few times, after the first murder, until it got to be enough of a habit that the sex was what helped him stop thinking as much as the liquor was.
Adachi made it so damn easy, stupid friendly kid that he was. His mouth was sloppy and soft, his limbs an easy, pliable sprawl, and it turns out that's still true even when they start doing this sober. He takes it in stride, however Dojima wants to do things—in Adachi's spartan little bachelor apartment, in Dojima's car at night before heading home, in the office at the end of long days when guys with clearer consciences than Dojima's have already left. He starts things himself, sometimes, once Dojima's taken the lead enough times to demonstrate that something is fair game.
It's a Thursday night and Dojima's trying to convince himself to pack up and go home, because he's not likely to get anything useful done tonight if he's honest with himself. It's just that feels so much like defeat.
Adachi appears in his office doorway, rumpled and unprofessional and hopeful. "Another cup of coffee, sir?"
Dojima rubs his eyes. It's tempting. He shakes his head. "I should call it a night pretty soon."
"Okay," Adachi says. He shifts his weight from one foot to the other. "...Anything else I can do for you?"
This is a terrible habit and Dojima should stop encouraging it. "Everyone else has gone home?" he asks.
Adachi nods. "You work longer hours than anyone else in the department, sir."
"Believe me, I know," Dojima says. Only lately Adachi's been working a lot of them with him, hasn't he? "If you've got something in mind, then come here," Dojima says.
Adachi pushes off the door frame and ambles over, loosening his tie and pulling it off. Dojima raises an eyebrow, because stripping at the office seems like an unnecessary risk—but Adachi doesn't take off anything else, just slides into the space between Dojima's chair and the desk, then drops to his knees with a crooked smile. "Maybe you could use a little help relaxing, huh, sir?"
"Maybe," Dojima agrees. He isn't going to stop it this time, either, it's clear enough.
Instead of going straight for his belt, like Dojima expects, Adachi leans in to kiss him. Kissing sober still feels strange, but it would be shitty to stop him. Adachi's mouth is soft and wet, so damn easy and welcoming. He puts a lot of enthusiasm into it, sloppy with tongue, and somehow he's still fidgeting at the same time, his hands moving, like he's—
"Adachi, what the hell are you doing?" Dojima asks when he feels the tug at his right wrist. He looks down; Adachi has bound Dojima's wrist to the arm of the chair with his tie.
"Sorry," Adachi says, flinching back like he expects Dojima to hit him left-handed. "Is that not okay?" He looks ridiculously sheepish. "I've heard it can be really relaxing, for somebody who has to be in charge all the time. A chance to let go, right?"
Dojima frowns. "You should ask first," he says. "You know better than that. Didn't they teach you anything at the academy about escalating situations with threatening behavior?"
Adachi's eyes go wide. "You find me threatening, sir?"
It sounds ridiculous when he says it; he sounds like he can't believe it himself. And, well. Honestly. This is Adachi they're talking about, who barely manages to make coffee competently. Who was soundly defeated last week by a filing cabinet. Threatening? Hardly.
"Go ahead," Dojima says. "Do what you want to do. Just remember next time that you should ask before you spring something like that on a guy."
"Yes, sir," Adachi says, looking relieved. "I'll remember that."
Dojima has his doubts, but they'll see.
Adachi reaches for Dojima's tie next, fumbling the knot undone and sliding it free. He watches Dojima with nervous puppy eyes, and Dojima nods for him to go on. He ties Dojima's left wrist down to match the right, and the knots look pretty bad but Dojima doesn't say so.
"Well, now that you have me here, what do you plan to do with me?" Dojima asks. He's honestly curious; Adachi has let him take the lead so much before now, it seems strange to be passive.
"Now? I'm going to take care of you, sir," Adachi says. He runs his hands up Dojima's thighs and cups Dojima's cock through his pants, rubbing and kneading slowly. He licks his lips as Dojima hardens under his touch. "Just let me do all the work."
He unbuttons Dojima's shirt, pushing it back and dragging his hands down Dojima's chest and stomach. His palms feel warm through the thin cotton of Dojima's undershirt. Dojima's belt goes next, and then Adachi is unzipping his pants, unbuttoning the fly of his boxers, and drawing his cock out with careful hands.
"Adachi," Dojima says, as close as he can make himself get to asking for more. His body has gotten used to Adachi 'taking care of him,' he realizes. He wants this.
"Don't worry about a thing, sir," Adachi says with a smile. He leans down and licks the head of Dojima's cock, and Dojima groans. Maybe this won't fix anything, but it does make him feel a lot better.
Adachi laps at Dojima's cock slowly, getting it thoroughly wet before he actually takes it in his mouth. Dojima shudders, gripping the arms of his chair and trying not to push deeper than Adachi wants to take him—it feels good, slick and hot, the softness of Adachi's tongue against the underside of his cock. And Adachi is setting a maddeningly slow pace, teasing him with sloppy, unhurried strokes.
"More," Dojima says hoarsely. "Damnit, Adachi, don't tease."
Adachi makes a noise in his throat that Dojima can't quite read, and his next stroke slides lower, taking almost the whole length of Dojima's cock down his throat. It's still too slow, but the clutch of his throat as he swallows makes Dojima moan. Having to just sit still and wait for it, having to let Adachi drive, is much harder than it sounded like, when his cock is so hard and he just wants to push into the heat of Adachi's mouth.
He tries, since Adachi apparently won't move faster without instruction, but after the first thrust of his hips—and the the wet choking sound that follows it—Adachi braces a forearm across his lap to keep him from doing that again. Dojima growls, and Adachi makes an apologetic little whine in his throat but doesn't let go. Fine. Let him do this how he wants to.
And he does want to, it looks like. He keeps one arm pressed across Dojima's lap, but he's reaching down with the other, and Dojima can hear the jingle of his belt opening, the sound of his zipper coming down. Jerking himself off while he blows Dojima, and that idea is hot enough to send another little shiver of pleasure down Dojima's spine. In another minute it won't matter how slowly he's going, because there's tension gathering at the base of Dojima's cock, his balls drawing tight.
"Close," he says, and Adachi moans, head bobbing in his lap for just a few more strokes before he pulls back and takes Dojima's spit-slick cock in his hand to finish him, and Dojima curses breathlessly, coming all over his face.
Adachi moans, looking up at Dojima with helpless puppy eyes, his lips flushed and shining and his face dripping with come. "Please, sir," he says, rising up off the floor and crawling into Dojima's lap. He's jerking off fast, hard, like he's trying to finish in a hurry, like—
When he comes it bends him nearly double, curled in on himself in Dojima's lap, shaking and whimpering as his come splatters Dojima's undershirt.
"Damnit," Dojima says—the mess on his clothes is going to be a pain to take care of, and Adachi should know better. He yanks against the tie on his right wrist, and his hand slips free almost immediately.
Adachi flinches, looking up at him with a miserable, frightened-puppy expression. "Sorry!" he says.
The anger evaporates. He might be a little careless sometimes, but Adachi's a good kid who was trying to do something nice. Dojima sighs. "Your knots are terrible," he says, shaking his head.
"Yeah, I guess so," Adachi says sheepishly. He rubs the back of his head. "I guess handcuffs would have been more secure. Maybe next time...?"
There really shouldn't be a next time, even if Dojima's cock likes the idea. "Go wash your face," he says. "I'll give you a lift home."
Adachi brightens. "Yes, sir," he says. It's so easy to make him happy. "Thanks."