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Tohru would’ve liked to say it all started off innocent. But jerking oneself off in their office while thinking of their partner detective was anything but.
Made it weirder that it didn’t even start there. It actually started that morning when he accompanied said partner detective, Ryotaro Dojima, on a short business trip to Okina. They were only there to pick up some paperwork from their sister office, so their time in the city didn’t last very long. However, they did stop into Chagall’s for a very well-earned coffee break.
When Tohru visited a coffee shop, he liked to get something intricate. Something he couldn’t get anywhere else. The triple shot espresso mocha did the trick. Dojima, on the other hand, ordered a single black coffee. House, when prompted on the specific grind. Just seemed like a waste of a coffee shop.
As an intense focus knitted his brow, Dojima’s lips settled on the rim of the cup. He inhaled pensively, then tilted the cup slightly into a short sip. He placed the cup down without shaking once. Caffeine didn’t so much affect him as it just flowed through his veins with the same viscosity as blood.
Dojima exhaled. “Not as good as yours.”
Tohru nearly choked on his mocha. He feigned a dumb smile. “As mine?” he repeated, caught off guard by the connotation.
“As yours,” Dojima confirmed.
“It’s only office coffee. That’s like getting water from the tap,” Tohru chuckled.
“And it’s better. Free, for one thing,” Dojima grumbled, “and I like that thing you say every time.”
Taking a tentative sip of his mocha, Tohru tried to swallow down a smile. Wasn’t like it was anything profound. Just a short ‘Coffee time!’ It was meant to be more annoying than anything. He didn’t want to be the cute fresh face. He wanted to be the guy nobody wanted anything to do with. He wanted to slink into the shadows, be free to scorn the world and have it scorn him back.
Despite the scorn Dojima seemed to have for his house blend, he took it down in just a couple gulps. Tohru took a more methodical approach— drinking his brew, and then, perhaps unintentionally, drinking in Dojima’s appearance. It was just hard not to when Dojima had such a commanding presence. He practically demanded all eyes on him. Tohru could barely stand to look away.
Finished with his cup, Dojima stood and grabbed his jacket off the back of his chair. He shoved his arms through the sleeves and did the bare minimum to adjust it around his broad torso. He glared down at Tohru expectantly.
“Are you coming?” he asked.
Tohru blinked in confusion, first at Dojima and then down at his only half-empty cup. “I— I’m not done,” he said, emphasizing it with a slight chuckle.
“Clock’s ticking. We need to get back.”
“But, Dojima—“
“Adachi.” It was firm and unyielding.
There was nothing Tohru could do about it. The cold cut to his tone held no secret warmth beneath it either. It was what it was. And what it was, was borderline cruel at times.
Honestly. Tohru paid for the drink with his own money. Shouldn’t he have gotten to finish it? Get his money’s worth?
Whatever. No use fighting. He wouldn’t win. Physically or verbally. Dojima had a deep bite to his voice that even made their superiors squirm in their seats. How Tohru had gotten stuck with Dojima as his detective partner, Tohru would never quite understand. One would think Dojima deserved a teammate who could actually quip back and not be afraid to get their heads chewed off. Why sacrifice the rookie to such a wrathful hierophant?
Nevertheless, Tohru slipped his jacket back on and trailed Dojima’s heels out of the coffee shop and back to the car.
And it just didn’t hit Tohru until they got buckled in and Dojima’s hand came down upon the gear shift. Wasn’t until Tohru really scrutinized the way his fingers settled over the head of the mechanism. Couldn’t get through the walls of denial until Dojima threw the gear shift back and the car thrummed into drive.
It appealed to him. On some strange level, it all appealed to Tohru.
Dojima’s roughness, his commandeer… it always drove a heat up Tohru’s neck whenever he got scolded. Rebellion surged in his veins, but he didn’t quite feel like breaking the mold. It was those odds that made his stomach twist all up in knots when Dojima ordered him around.
But even with said game of chance, Tohru just wondered what it might be like to get the upper hand for once.
He looked Dojima up and down. Chiseled chin. Stubble and five-o-clock shadow. Sharp haircut and pointed brows. Dark grey eyes and a stormy frown. Bulk around the chest, mostly, but the biceps weren’t anything to sneeze at. Rough, calloused hands that gripped the steering wheel pretty hard. Like he had it in a chokehold. Tohru rubbed a hand behind his neck, thoughts aimlessly wandering about.
Yeah. It would be a long shot. But if Tohru could be king for a day… oh man. Tohru’d make Dojima get at least five cups of coffee for him. Not only that, he’d make Dojima run all his papers down to the Secretary. He’d get to drive his own car! And to top it all off, he might even ask for a blowie beneath the desk.
Heat suddenly pooled in Tohru’s groin as he twitched. Fuck fuck fuck! This was not appropriate and this was not going to slide in a small sedan.
This couldn’t have been happening. No fucking way this was happening. Not over a man. Not over Dojima of all people.
It was the idea of subjugation. That’s all. Just like he’d picture with any girl. Being on top. As it was meant to be. He always liked the idea. The image was so clear in his head of himself, over someone fragile, someone breakable, someone always on the precipice of coming undone. Unraveling underneath the other. He wondered what it felt like to have control wrested from one’s grip right as they thought they had it all. Thought they were the winner. Only for the one on top to remind them exactly how they’d gotten there in the first place.
Did it feel good to get roughed up? Did it feel animalistic? Or routine? And why was it easier, Tohru wondered now of all times, to slot himself in the position of the girl rather than his own body?
Well, whatever. Nevermind. That was a crapshoot. Tohru crossed his legs, hoping he might hide the minor bit of tenting there. He’d have to really fix himself later. Let the steam out at home.
But nothing seemed to do the trick.
Tohru paced around his office in a huff. He could feel it twitching at each and every solitary thought. No matter what he did, it wasn’t going away. No matter what he thought about, he couldn’t stop its creeping ascent. That, however, was probably because he couldn’t stop thinking about Dojima.
Why today of all days? he wondered. What set him on this particular path?
When he rubbed his forefinger and thumb against his chin, he lost himself in a deeper thought, forgetting exactly how many times he’d walked the length of his desk and back.
If he really thought hard about it, he supposed it went back further than just this afternoon. After all, they’d been partners for three months now. There simply was no way that the heat had just suddenly roared to life. At some point, it had to simmer. Tohru only hoped it didn’t begin to boil under his watch.
A spare memory of Dojima grabbing him by the hair at the nape of his neck to throw him out of his office flashed into Tohru’s mind. Tohru’s fingertips traced the bare skin there now. He snipped off his mullet, thinking Dojima would lose the chokehold he had on Tohru’s pride. But now… now Tohru wondered if he might like to grow it back out. Just to feel that pull again.
This didn’t make sense. He wasn't making sense. He didn’t even like men. He could remember meandering around Shinjuku with his sister and gawking at the night life around them, but never really taking an interest in it. Could remember college and the hazing he went through. Pressure never really did anything for him, he supposed. Even still, when he gave a classmate a blowie for a thesis, that didn’t do anything for him either except get him a sweet ass A+. So… maybe Dojima was the exception.
Yeah. Dojima was the exception.
Something about that idea both satisfied his psyche and made his dick spring up, fully awake now as opposed to the sleepwalk it had been performing earlier. Tohru let out a silent curse and immediately went to his desk chair.
At this point, he couldn’t go home to blow off steam as hard as he was. This had to be taken care of right now.
Frantically, he searched his desk for a rag or paper of some kind. Surely he had one laying around here somewhere. He couldn’t waddle into the break room or the bathroom to get paper towels. They were both too far from his office (which sat at the very back hall of the compound, thanks, Inaba), and someone was bound to see him and his… penile predicament.
He found a rag, finally, wrapped around his pistol. It was once used to polish a weapon, but now it would be used to clean up a scene. He snatched it with a quickness and shoved the drawer shut.
Then… he opened it again, tentatively, slowly, curiously, and with the curious question of why the thought had even come into his mind. Maybe it would get him off quicker. Or… maybe it would put all his quandaries to rest.
His hand slipped over the hilt of the pistol as if it were the stem of a freshly picked rose, and he had to be careful to avoid all the thorns. He gave it a spin, once, twice, and then he checked the magazine and barrel. Both empty. He never used this one. He’d kept it from his job in Shibuya, unbeknownst to his superiors who gave so little of a shit about him that they didn’t even bother to ask him to turn his gun in. Or maybe they thought Inaba was too backwater to give him a weapon to defend himself with. Either way.
Here it was. In his hand. His thumb brushed the junction between the hilt and the frame. He flipped it around so that the barrel pointed at himself.
His breath hitched. His dick leaped with excitement, especially when he pictured this gun belonging to the hand of another man. To finally put an end to this mindless reverie, Tohru slipped his hand down his slacks around the erection pressing against his boxers— a slight tease for himself before the main event.
“So it’s come to this, huh,” he muttered, half at himself and half at the Dojima-shaped figment of his imagination.
Parted lips closed around the muzzle of the gun, tongue flicking at the slit and laving over the front sight. His eyes shut with a flutter, an involuntary moan leaving his throat as he gripped himself tighter, still with that barrier of his boxers.
Deeper the barrel went until his tongue hit the trigger. He gripped himself harder still, throwing himself forward at the throbbing desire to relieve the boiling pressure. If the gun wasn’t muffling him, he might have given a louder moan as opposed to the high-pitched whine that did manage to escape his throat.
The only thing that would make it better, he thought, would be Dojima’s hand in his hair, guiding him further up the barrel, perhaps even past the trigger. Tohru wondered what Dojima would think of such a sight.
As it stood, he pictured Dojima to be the one holding the gun in the first place, finally fed up with Tohru’s charade and the face he paraded around the office. When that shit-eating grin at last surfaced— that’s when Dojima made his last stand. But what he didn’t expect… was that Tohru was into it.
Tohru pulled back and wearily eyed his blinded office window. Did he really want Dojima to hate him? No… no he didn’t. He wanted him to hate how much he wanted to fuck him.
He wanted Dojima to watch Tohru take his pistol— watch him deepthroat it— wanted to see that look of momentary confusion before he finally understood exactly how fucked up and twisted this all was. How fucked up and twisted it was that Dojima might have been into it too. Tohru wanted to watch as Dojima hesitantly slipped his hand down his own pants, guiltily getting off to the sight of his gun in his partner’s mouth.
Such a stoic look… Tohru wanted to see him come undone.
That was it. That was the final straw. Tohru shoved the gun as far back as it could go and thrust his hand down his boxers. He grabbed his shaft with a quickness and started jerking as fast as he could go.
One hand twisted the gun so that Tohru could really taste all of it, all the coppery metal, all the salty sweat of his own palm, all the smoke of gunpowder. He chased it— chased the buzzing in his own ears as he became numb to the world and all he could focus on was how much it hurt and he wanted to cry. The other hand worked hard to relieve the tension between the pain and the pleasure, hoping they could come to some sort of agreement by the end of all this.
Bubbling laughter fell from his lips as he clenched his eyes shut, picturing Dojima’s naturally furrowed brow upturning in some disturbed mirth as he came (before Tohru did, of course, because that’s how fucked up this was) and he absolutely fell apart, still rubbing out what remained and calling Tohru’s name all the while.
Tohru was close now. It’d only take a couple more pumps to send him over the edge. He sucked dutifully at the muzzle, swirling his tongue over it before taking it back in and
The door creaked.
His eyes shot open. He was frozen. Like a deer in headlights. He didn’t dare to turn his head, but his eyes found their way to the interloper anyway.
Tohru spat the gun out, and it clattered to the floor, spinning away from him. “D— Dojima!” he spluttered, unable now to look him in the eye after making that first contact. He hunched over himself, desperately trying to hold everything in. Thankfully, the desk sort of hid his other hand which worked overtime to muzzle the trembling head of his dick.
“I’ve been knocking on this door for the past five goddamn minutes!” Dojima roared. He squinted at the wet gun in the corner. “I hope that wasn’t loaded,” Dojima admonished him.
“No sir. It— it wasn’t,” Tohru affirmed.
“Then what were you—“ Dojima cut himself off before he could even ask the question.
Out of the corner of his eye, Tohru looked Dojima up and down. Crimson crept up Dojima’s face, and now of all times, Tohru certainly had to wonder if it was his usual red hot anger or if this was something new.
He didn’t have to wonder for long, though, when his eyes trailed down to Dojima’s pants, where an impression had been made in the fabric.
As the realization swept over him, Dojima covered his mouth, brow knitted, and he quickly stepped out.
“You might want to lock this next time!” Dojima chastised him before slamming the door so hard that it even managed to rock Tohru’s desk.
And that was well enough to send Tohru spilling over the edge.
For the rest of the week, Dojima deftly avoided Tohru, and Tohru, in turn, did the same. Really was a godsend that they didn’t have any cases going on. Not that they ever really did. They mostly kept to their own offices and did paperwork in sweet, sweet silence. It was only that one odd occasion where they had to cram themselves into Dojima's sedan and drive around for hours in that hot, cramped space with a broken air conditioner, a rumbling frame, and nothing else to focus on because nothing good ever came on the radio.
So what if Dojima caught Tohru with a gun in his mouth and his dick in his hand? What difference did it make? They weren’t close. This shouldn’t have been that much of a game changer.
Sometimes, Tohru wondered if this might be the thing to get him fired. Finally sent away from this small town hell.
Then again, it was Dojima who walked in on him. In his own private office. If he told anyone… well, wouldn’t he just be the peeping Tom of the town?
And the more he ruminated on it, the more he thought back to that idea of subjugation. Who really ruled who in this office space? Sure, the staff in Inaba would turn a blind eye to Dojima’s roughness— they knew him, they knew how he was, and Tohru was even loathe to admit that he liked it. But…
Still, it begged the question. What did Tohru have to be afraid of? He could really just gallivant around the station as if nothing had changed. No real need to skulk about as he had been. If anyone asked… if anyone even had an idea… well, Tohru could just leave it to Dojima to explain, couldn’t he?
So back to his morning routine he went. He strode into the station, set his things on his desk, and then made a beeline for the break room. He said his morning hello’s to the stragglers there, grabbed a cup of coffee, and turned heel to traipse right into Dojima’s office.
New day. Nothing ever happened. Nothing at all.
“Knock knock!” Tohru announced at the already cracked door. He slipped in and shut it behind him.
Dojima glared up from the papers on his desk. Tohru couldn’t believe how much he missed the storm behind his eyes and the scowl that curled around his stubble.
But he knew, too, that this strained silence wasn’t their normal.
“Coffee time?” Tohru offered weakly.
Heaving a large sigh, Dojima sat back in his chair. His eyes were down turned, and his brow furrowed. It was as if he were deep in thought about something. Tohru stepped closer, curious. Usually, by now, Dojima would be barking orders at him— “set the coffee down and get out!” “get those forms in by five!” “take this to the copier!”
None of that today. He was stark silent. Tohru smiled small, a winning feeling tugging at his chest. He was quite lucky to have stumbled into it.
Deftly, Tohru placed the styrofoam cup on a part of the desk that still showed some mahogany under all that paper. He lingered for a moment, staring down at the steaming drink, letting the heat hit his face as Dojima’s eyes practically burned a hole in the side of his head. He swallowed keenly.
“Is something wrong, Dojima-san?” Tohru managed, and gulped afterward, swallowing down any guesses he might have had as to the answer.
Without any word on the matter, Dojima opened his office window, took the cup of coffee, gave the liquid contents a good heave, and finally tossed the now empty cup into the trash can behind the desk.
Tohru could only blink in response. Breath finally came to him after what felt like the longest period of suffocation. He dug his fingernails into his palms, staring out of the window whose shades had been brought down once again. Sunlight slipped through, but it wasn’t much comfort.
It hit him now, as it had a week ago, that beloved idea of subjugation and how easy it was to see himself beneath Dojima’s commanding presence.
And it hit him harder now with his new revelation added to the mix. They were partners, equals. One held just as much power over the other. Because, for as much as Dojima might have liked to make Tohru squirm, Tohru knew now that he could do the same in return.
Maybe they both knew that. Maybe that was why Dojima was so silent today. Why he could barely look Tohru in the eye.
“Lock the door.”
“Is everything alright, Dojima-san?” Tohru asked over his shoulder as he did what he was told.
“Come around the desk,” came the next order.
A smirk spread across Tohru’s lips. If there was any time to let the mask fall, now was certainly the time.
The lock clicked, and Tohru lingered there for just a moment, pressing his twitching dick against the hardwood. He couldn’t just spring an erection already. Not when he had yet to see what Dojima was packing.
“Well, well, well, Dojima-san. Is this headed where I think it is?” Tohru prodded as he stepped toward him and around the desk, left hand tracing the hard edges of the desk and right hand lightly tracing up the outline of his forming erection.
“Shut up,” Dojima grumbled.
“You really did get an eyeful in my office didn’t you?” Tohru placed his index and middle finger on his bottom lip, poking into the soft skin. A temptation.
Dojima grumbled something unintelligible under his breath.
“What could you possibly want from me, sir?” Tohru drawled, coming so close to Dojima that their shins brushed against one another. Tohru leaned down slightly, thumbing the knot of his tie. “You bought me this, so it’s technically yours. Don’tcha just wanna grab it? Unravel it?” he crooned.
Still, Dojima refused to make a move. He just sat there and squinted at Tohru, thoughts impenetrable. Tohru tongued his lip, trying to think of how to make him crack— how to put the ball back in his court. Tohru couldn’t do all the work, could he?
No, because then all that would prove is that this was all his fantasy. His desire. His aching need to please Dojima for whatever reason. But he saw it— he saw Dojima’s cock struggling against his slacks. He saw it with his own goddamn eyes. So why couldn’t Dojima play fair and just
“Get over here.”
Before Tohru knew it, he was choking from the grip on his tie, and his lips were very solidly pressing against Dojima’s. Dojima didn’t waste any time shoving his tongue into Tohru’s mouth, pushing himself inside with a force that would’ve knocked Tohru backwards if it weren’t for the strong hold Dojima had around his tie which curled around his fist like a leash.
Tohru did well to return the favor, opening enough for Dojima to get a good taste and sucking idly at Dojima’s tongue as they parted and reconvened. Like a train wreck in motion, they collided, pulled apart, and finally Tohru fell atop Dojima, who was thankfully strong enough to support him.
It was quite dumb on his part, but he hadn’t known what to do with his hands, having kept them on his thighs. A plucky thought overcame him, and he positioned one hand on Dojima’s thigh and used the other to cup the growing bulge in his slacks. He rubbed up and down the outline of his shaft, giggling against Dojima’s chin as he lost himself in the excitement of touching him and getting away with it outside of his own fantasies.
“D'you like that, Dojima-san?” he whispered, overly pleased with himself.
By the low moans that fell from Dojima’s lips, Tohru could guess that he was pleased with this too, especially with the way he was now angling his pelvis to make more contact with Tohru’s hand.
Tohru nipped along Dojima’s neck, a breathless chuckle escaping his lips every time he came away from that flushed, hot skin. He practically buried his face in Dojima’s neck, sucking at the tender flesh and palming his cock all the while.
His revelry ended with Dojima pulling him away by the back of his hair. For a moment, Tohru froze, terrified that the jig was up. That this was all in his head. That none of this meant anything. That it was some way to catch him in the act. Like Dojima wasn’t enjoying it too.
Then, Dojima commanded him roughly, “Get on your knees.”
“So forward,” Tohru quipped with a shit-eating grin.
He didn’t really get a chance to kneel so much as Dojima pushed him down to that position. He braced himself on Dojima’s thighs and looked up at him with a smarmy expression. So this was exactly where he wanted him, huh? The hierophant and his fool.
Dojima slid forward such that Tohru could slip his slacks down to the floor, and… there it was. The bounty. Tohru swallowed, having realized he was practically salivating. Already so hard. So massive. So magnificent. He wanted to slip a hand down his own pants, but that could be handled later. He probably wouldn’t get a second chance at this. If he was lucky, Dojima would call it a day once he came and they’d never speak of any of this again.
Tohru took the still clothed cock between his lips, gently teasing with teeth and tongue to get Dojima riled up. Clearly it was working as Dojima hissed, and he inadvertently pressed his legs together, locking Tohru there for the moment.
“Goddamnit, just get to it, wouldya?” Dojima growled.
“So impatient,” Tohru remarked as he nuzzled Dojima’s bulge.
Fine, he supposed. Might as well enjoy it while it lasted.
Tohru slipped Dojima’s boxers off and chuckled to himself as Dojima’s proverbial pistol showed itself. Already, he could see precum leaking from the slit at the head. Just how wound up about this was Dojima anyway? Tohru figured it must have been even worse than himself if this was anything to go by.
So Tohru didn’t want to keep him waiting. He closed his eyes and took Dojima in nearly to the hilt on the first go, just to test his limits. He could feel Dojima shudder around him, and the clearly pent-up moan that left Dojima’s chest was oh so gratifying. Tohru pulled back to the head, suckling at the precum there and swallowing graciously.
Curious as to Dojima’s expression, Tohru peered up at Dojima, brows upturned in absolute mirth and rapture. Dojima was similar in that he looked as if he were swimming in some soft peace, eyes fluttering shut and breath stuttering every so often. Tohru could say with certainty that he’d never seen Dojima so at peace.
They locked eyes for but a moment, but in that moment, it was clear to the both of them that this wouldn’t be the last time they saw each other in this— their lackadaisical retreat from the stiff collars and office coffee.
Getting a good rhythm down, Tohru slid his mouth over Dojima’s shaft as much as he could take despite choking. It was all in the breathing, despite the tears at the edge of his eyes. He wanted— no, needed— to taste all of him. A low whine left his lips when he pulled back as if he were depriving himself of that wonderful heat.
“Don’t stop, Adachi,” Dojima groaned, bucking into Tohru’s mouth.
At this, Tohru gripped Dojima’s thighs hard, thumbs digging into his muscle just to suppress the feeling of his own tightening length. If Dojima said his name one more time, he might just burst right here and now.
Dojima must have read his mind. “Touch yourself,” he commanded at the tail end of a particularly affected growl.
A whimper escaped Tohru’s lips as he opened his mouth around Dojima’s cock. He gingerly slid a hand beneath his clothes, took hold of his dick, and tried his best to keep his head bobbing along Dojima’s cock as he stroked himself. Now, he couldn’t help but moan around Dojima’s cock as flushed pleasure crawled up his neck and heat pooled in his stomach.
“I can tell you’ve done this before,” Dojima said.
Tohru groaned out an affirmative, feeling himself slicken with precum. As true as that statement was, he’d never felt like this with anyone else. A blowie for an assignment was just that— a blowie for an assignment. This… this was something Tohru didn’t know he’d been longing for since he’d first laid eyes on Dojima and wondered just how rough those hands of his really were.
As if Tohru had made the correct response, Dojima rewarded him with a hand at the back of his head, fingers tangling in his hair. A second hand joined that one with Dojima’s calloused palm running along the side of Tohru’s face to anchor itself in the right side of his hair. These were guiding hands, yet, Tohru felt as if he had just as much freedom as before.
“You're doing so good. Just keep that up. I’m so close, Adachi. Adachi, I—“ Dojima struggled to speak around his own unraveling moans. “Adachi, I’m about to come,” he finally rasped, arching his back with a particularly loud moan. "Adachi!"
Yes! Yes! Yes! Tohru doubled— no, tripled his speed, chasing his name. Oh how good it sounded in Dojima’s low timbre. Tohru forgot himself and threw his hands up Dojima’s thighs once more, holding fast to strong muscle as he swallowed and sucked Dojima’s cock, dragging his tongue up his shaft, ravishing his head, and tasting the slit that dripped hot precum into his mouth like a replenishing saltwater. He felt ravenous, starved to death, and like this was his last meal before some untimely end. He’d savor it for years to come.
“Adachi!”
Yes!
“Adachi!”
It was more sudden and less dignified than Tohru had expected, but Tohru swallowed dutifully for Dojima nevertheless. He steadied his hands against Dojima’s spasming hips and maintained his position on Dojima’s jerking cock with pride. He made the rookie mistake, however, in assuming Dojima was done too early, and for the fruits of his efforts, come splattered across his face as he moved away from Dojima’s cock.
Tohru sat back on his heels and drug his palm over his face. He lapped up the last remaining strings of come, making sure to give Dojima a hooded stare as he sucked every individual finger.
By his more than satisfied expression— all parted lips and fucked out eyes— it seemed Dojima was thoroughly spent. This was to be expected. He was a weary, middle-aged detective. Tohru didn’t really need a round two anyway.
So it thoroughly shocked Tohru when Dojima stood and lifted him up under his arms and set him down on the desk. Tohru knew he had to be blushing something awful, especially when Dojima pantsed him, taking his boxers too in one fell swoop.
Tohru wasn’t exactly proud to see his dick flopping out after having sucked Dojima’s cock to completion.
He swallowed before speaking, nervously driving his nails into his palms. “Dojima-san, didn’t I do a good job?” he asked, forced back into his good-natured idiot routine already.
“Shut up. I’m just returning the favor since you apparently can’t walk and chew gum at the same time,” Dojima growled.
“W— Whaddya mea—“
A full body shiver overtook Tohru as Dojima slotted his hand over Tohru’s dick, starting a slow pump from the hilt to the head. Tohru leaned forward, whimpering into the touch.
“Dojima-san, you don’t have to—“
“Dumbass. I know I don’t have to.” Dojima increased his speed as Tohru pressed himself against his chest, throwing his arms around his neck. “But next time, I want to fuck you. Is that understood?”
“Yes, sir,” Tohru whined. He grasped Dojima’s shirt with one hand and with the other, held tight to the wrist Dojima was working him with.
Without any warning, Dojima pulled Tohru’s head back and practically shoved his tongue down his throat again, laving around as if he were lapping up each and every whimper that spilled from Tohru’s lips.
Muffled as they were, Tohru’s whines became sharper and sharper the closer he got, and he struggled to keep it in, wanting this to last longer, maybe even past closing time if they could manage it but, unfortunately, it seemed all good things came to an end.
Tohru spilled all over their hands, crying out as Dojima gnashed his teeth against his lips, his chin, his neck, and goddamn even undid his tie and shirt button in such a ferocious heat, clambering to get his teeth on his clavicles, his chest, his nipples— anywhere Dojima could mark and claim this orgasm all for himself. He pushed Tohru down, even as he still came in white hot spurts, spasming and jerking on his back quite like a beetle who’d been knocked over by the wind.
But Dojima didn’t care. Tohru could feel his half-hard cock, coming down from the high, rut against him as he grinded his mouth against Tohru’s, demanding he open up and bear him entrance. With his clean hand, Tohru dragged his hand through Dojima’s hair, grasping a fistful of it and pulling him down into his own biting, scraping kiss that crashed against Dojima’s with just as much of an appetite— maybe even more of one.
Tohru growled something guttural into Dojima’s mouth as he writhed beneath him and threw a leg around Dojima’s back, holding him there. If he kept this up, he’d probably override his refractory period and get this next shot all over Dojima’s good shirt. In fact, he sincerely hoped he would.
When Dojima finally came up for air, he panted, staring hungrily down at Tohru like a predator who played with their prey, not done with them just yet. For this moment, and this moment only, Tohru could say he felt some sort of fear paralyze him. And it felt good. It felt really good.
But just like that, Dojima took it away. The musky fog of whatever cheap cologne Dojima had on finally lifted. The heat remained as Tohru pulled himself back up into a seated position, huffing, trying to regain himself.
Was that all? Was that it? He shouldn’t have even expected that finale from the old man, but he wanted more. He wanted so much more.
Dojima pulled his pants up and buttoned them without any fanfare. Without looking at Tohru, even. This made Tohru squirm more than anything. The neediness crawling under his skin. The cold shoulder Dojima gave him. It was so unbearable.
But the least he could do was ask. “How long?”
Dojima piqued a brow. “‘How long’ what?”
“How long have you wanted to…” (what started as a sharp question fell into something of a soft whisper) “…to fuck me, Dojima-san?”
A chuckle escaped Dojima as he shook his head. He fiddled around in his desk drawers, probably looking for something for Tohru to clean up with.
“I told myself it wouldn’t happen again. That I wouldn’t get attached to another one. But when you constantly share such a small space… all that heat… you start to think about things.”
“Huh?”
“She was a detective too, y’know.” Dojima cleared his throat. “But I’m stopping it here.”
“Wait, Dojima-san!” Tohru protested, hopping off the desk.
Dojima held up a hand. “Don’t misunderstand me. Next time, I’ll have you bent over this desk. You won't be able to walk for a week. So, let me be more clear. I’m stopping it at this little… partners-with-benefits thing. We won’t be anything more. I’d hope for nothing less, but I won't argue if that's how you feel. Obviously, no one in the office can know. For that matter, no one outside of the office can know. You understand?”
Well, that was pretty much music to his ears. Fucking with no strings attached? What could be better?
“I read you loud and clear, Dojima-san.”
“Great.” Dojima finally found a spare shirt in a lower drawer and tossed it up to Tohru. “Let’s go for drinks Friday,” he said, flashing a toothy smile.
Tohru smirked down at him, eyes half-lidded.
“You got it, Dojima-san.”