Chapter Text
Shy, nerve-ridden Makoto was truly Byakuya's favorite kind.
Byakuya wasn't even all that upset at him, and this whole thing had started over something so minor and unimportant, but...
What can he say? He liked being apologized to.
It wasn’t admirable, or by any means healthy, but then again…what exciting things were?
Right now, it was just the two of them in the cafeteria. Makoto hadn't worked up the guts to say anything yet, but it was just so blatantly obvious that Byakuya had to hold back a smirk. The way his hands fidgeted, how his eyes slid over to Byakuya before shifting away nervously.
Makoto was so bad at subtlety that it could nearly be called endearing, if Byakuya was ever nice enough to say such a thing.
“U-um, Byakuya?”
Bingo. All it took was 3 and a half minutes, too. Makoto really was a weakling.
Byakuya merely turned to look at him, albeit for the first time since he’s shown up. He took pride in his ability to give a good, soul-crushing unimpressed expression, and Makoto’s kicked puppy eyes tell him that he succeeded.
“What?” It comes out cold, and he follows the snapped retort up with a sigh. Makoto flinches, shoulders tense.
“About earlier…” He drags out, and then his voice gets whisper-quiet. “Are you mad?”
“I’m not angry.” Byakuya states calmly, watching Makoto’s expression turn hopeful. “I’m just disappointed that you’d knowingly do something that would upset me.”
Disappointment implied that Byakuya had hope in Makoto before, and he knew that the other boy would pick up on that. It was textbook, really. Make him feel lower than low, and get him looking nice and pitiful with just a few venomous words.
Makoto looks crushed, and that’s exactly what he’d been aiming for. Call him cruel if you wish. It wasn’t like he was going to leave the little runt like that.
He truly never changed, and that predictability is exactly what Byakuya liked about him. He knew what was coming, in about 3, 2, 1...
“I’m sorry.” Makoto mumbles. When Byakuya finally looks at him, he sees that his head is bowed. “Please don’t be upset.”
“I’ll feel what I please.”
“What...what can I do to earn your forgiveness?” Makoto swallows, and when he meets Byakuya’s gaze, he looks so sincere that it actually manages to catch him off guard.
“Hm,” Byakuya keeps his poker face; picks at his nails carelessly. “I can think of a good start. Get on your hands and knees.”
“Huh?” There’s the wide-eyed, stupid look he so dearly cherished.
“I don’t like repeating myself.” His eyes narrow. “You heard me.”
Makoto looks at him, and then looks at the floor, and then looks back up at him again. His face flushes, whether it be from nerves or something else.
“But...the others…” He takes a brief look toward the door, where any student could pop in. At any moment. “What if they…?”
“Well, if you don’t want them getting in on the show…” Byakuya grinned, and it held nothing but dried, festering maliciousness. “I’d say you should hurry up.”
Makoto’s flush deepens. He’s slow to drop to his knees, but once he does, Byakuya leans forward in his seat.
Not being subtle about the amount he was paying attention, and letting Makoto know that. Letting him bask in the attention, because they both knew that he ate it up. Whether he admitted it or not.
An idea comes to him, and he raises a hand, signaling for Makoto to cease moving. “Ah-ah! I want you to take your jacket off before you continue.”
“What?”
“Both of them.” Byakuya sends an unimpressed look at Makoto’s poor, stuffy fashion choices. “It’s a little hot in here, don’t you think? You certainly look as if you’re feeling the heat. Your face is so red, after all. I’m doing you a favor, aren’t I?”
It’s silent for a bit. Byakuya doesn’t let up, and stares at the boy with raised eyebrows. There was no if he was going to obey, here. Just when.
Finally, Makoto exhales. It comes out shaky. His hands trail toward his unbuttoned gakuran top.
The sound of fabric hitting the floor was overwhelmingly satisfying. His fingers stay glued to that horrendous coat he likes to wear, and he looks back up at Byakuya, eyebrows drawn.
Byakuya merely tilted his head. Get on with it, will you?
Finally, Makoto does. Ziiiiiip. Slow and pausing. Not even halfway down yet.
What a tease.
“You’re looking less overheated by the minute.” Byakuya observes, knowing damn well the school thermostat was at the lukewarm, slightly-chilly setting it’s always been at. “Thanks to me.”
“Uh-Huh.” Makoto sounds obedient. If not somewhat overwhelmed. When he pauses in his task and looks back up at Byakuya, his eyes are lidded. “Thank you, Byakuya.”
Ziiiiiiiiiiiiiip.
His ears suddenly go hot, and he swallows back the butterflies piling in his stomach. Good Christ.
Makoto’s other coat hits the floor as well, leaving him in a thin, wrinkled undershirt. Without all the bulk of unnecessary clothing, he looked even more petite than he already did.
He could probably lift the little runt with one arm. Maybe dangle him upside down, listen to his annoying whining, and watch him flail helplessly.
If only Byakuya could indulge in such childish things. Perhaps another day, when he wasn’t already completely preoccupied with a different kind of teasing Makoto.
“Good.” Byakuya finally says, smirking when Makoto perked up, eyes wide and hopeful. Such a dog. “Now, you know what to do.”
That he did, and he didn’t waste time. He crawled toward Byakuya, delicate knees and hands against the dirtied cafeteria floor.
With his position, the shirt droops toward the floor enough to give Byakuya a good, long look at the narrow chest hidden beneath.
He entertains the idea of what’d it feel like to snake a hand in that oversized shirt, feeling whatever he could reach, and delighting in Makoto’s flustered gasp.
Once again, perhaps another day.
Makoto is in front of Byakuya’s dress shoes before he knows it, and he wastes no time bowing his head. Byakuya stares at the delicate curve of his spine, at the way his hips flared out slightly.
He wonders, just for a moment, if Makoto would have obeyed, had Byakuya demanded that last shirt come off as well.
“I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.” It’s loud and overly-apologetic, because Makoto wasn’t a saint either. He knew just what to say, and how to act, in order to gain favor. “I promise you, I won’t do it again. Can you forgive me?”
“Hm…” Byakuya pretends to think about it, finger tapping against his chin. “I’ll have to see if you’re sincere. Look at me.”
Just like that, Makoto does. He’s flushed, heavily so, and breathing heavily. Byakuya couldn’t say he was likely in a better state, but what can he say?
“What a face.”
When Byakuya holds out his hand, Makoto is quick to grab it in his, placing a lingering, moist-hot kiss against the back of it. Byakuya exhales slow, licking his lips. He crosses his legs, swallowing at the tightening pressure down south.
He just really like being apologized to, alright.