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In Front Of My Salad??

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Thursday night, after hours, nothing out of the ordinary:

Mob barely manages to wait, watching Reigen turn out his pockets for the key, fumbling, fruitless.

"I swear I... I just had it..."

Mob takes hold of his hips, comes in close. "Hurry up," he says in his ear, feeling him shiver.

"Th-that's distracting," Reigen hisses. Mob can feel his knees going a bit weak but that's okay. He's a lot bigger than him these days. He can hold him up.

"Yeah," Mob agrees. He tightens his grip, kisses him just beneath his ear, and Reigen bends his neck for him, exposes the delicate skin under his jawline. Mob feels the pound of his pulse as he kisses his way down, comes to his collar. He smells of hours-ago aftershave, deeply familiar.

"...That's distracting, too," Reigen hisses, still weakly searching his pockets. His heart isn't really in it, too eager to fold himself into Mob, give in completely.

"Yeah," Mob agrees; and kisses him. All these years later and he's still not much of a conversationalist, really. Reigen talks too much but Mob's pretty good at shutting him up, plenty of practice. He pushes him up against the office door and Reigen gives up, pulling his hands free of his own clothing and catching them up in Mob's instead. He's got big hands and they can hold a lot, gripping tight, twisting. Their suits are the same brand, same price, too big in the shoulders, easy to crease. He opens his suit jacket, gets his hands around his slender back, presses his knee between his legs, feels him arch, gasp into the kiss. Truth be told, Mob could just fuck him right here, up against the door, but he knows Reigen will fuss. He complains about his back even though he's not even forty yet.

The desk, then.

Mob unlocks the office door with his powers and Reigen falls backwards; and Mob keeps hold of him and they stumble into the office, still kissing. The smell of jasmine oil and incense from this afternoon still hangs heavy like a velvet curtain; Mob behind the desk with clenched fingers, watching Reigen put those clever hands on someone else. He hasn't lost his looks, hasn't lost his touch. He still ties Mob in knots just by being.

Mob, who's been half-hard since three-thirty this afternoon. He'd thought he could wait until they got home after dinner but Reigen is a devil for reading moods and he's been teasing him ever since he noticed. There's only one way to deal with him when he's like this and Mob is still very much a one-solution kind of guy. Why overthink it when he can just pound him into jelly?

He backs him across the office, still kissing him, pulling off their jackets as he goes, letting them drop. He uses his powers to lock the door, turn on the lamp, clear the desk – all in the five stammering paces it takes them to get there. He doesn't know what it's like to have sex with anyone other than Reigen but he's glad he's with someone so used to his powers that his only complaint is a grumbled 'Watch my files, they're alphabetised'.

"Sorry," Mob mumbles breathlessly, kissing his throat. He really couldn't give a fuck about Reigen's files right now. The only thing he cares about is getting a fuck. He's not usually this horny, it's almost alarming, but Reigen doesn't seem to mind too much, enjoying the attention. Mob feels pretty insatiable, really, like he could eat him right up.

They attack each others' clothing, sliding at knots, yanking at buttons, fumbling with belt buckles. They're not going to get undressed, there's no point and this will be so much quicker; they just undo what they need to, shuck and slide until they can get at each other. Mob is so achingly hard, burning for him. He wants so badly to be inside him, his powers wound tight like a spring. Reigen finds his mouth again, kisses him long and hard, tasting of smoke – that teasing cigarette on the walk back, almost enough to send Mob over the edge.

Mob takes him under the thighs and lifts him onto the desk, kissing him, breaking it to ask without breath where the... the...

"D-desk drawer," Reigen pants.

"Y-you shouldn't... keep that sort of thing in there." Mob opens it with his powers, pulls the tube out, catches it deftly.

"What, and let... you use all my massage oil?" Reigen pinches his nose. "That stuff's expensive."

Mob shakes his head free, trying to concentrate. It's quicker to use his powers to prepare them, he can do more things at once.

"Y-you should... jacket pocket..."

"Right – I'd probably lose that, too. Besides–" Reigen arches, hisses. "A-ahh...! You'd... you'd oh god only u-use that as an excuse to... to...!"

Mob holds his thighs, drags him up close. "Fuck you anywhere?"

"Y-yeah..." Reigen lies back, opens his legs wider to accommodate Mob, whose big frame takes up all the space between them.

Mob knows this is permission, his signal that he's ready, and he doesn't hesitate any longer. He pushes into him, getting all the way inside in one hot tight surge, only stopping when his hips hit Reigen's ass and there's nowhere else for him to go. He thinks he hears him moan but he's too wrapped up in him, trembling at how it feels. No matter how many times they do this, it never gets old, never feels anything less than incredible. Reigen really is the perfect fit for him.

Mob leans down over him, exhaling deeply, his throat jumping, and Reigen puts his arms around his neck and crosses his ankles behind him and they kiss deeply and begin to move. It's fast and breathless, a little uncomfortable because their clothes pull and twist, the seams tightening, but right now he doesn't want it any other way. Usually they'll take the time to strip each other down to skin, make love slowly, savour every second, but Mob hasn't been this urgent in ages, hasn't needed him so hungrily, wholly. He doubts either of them will last more than two minutes at this rate so it's better to just hang on and enjoy the ride while he can. Reigen reflects this, holding him tight, urging him harder and faster with his knees – unusual, really, because for all his talk he's actually pretty placid now Mob is confident and experienced enough to take the lead. Mob can feel the heels of his neat shoes in the small of his back, a pressure that bubbles in him. This is their office, they're adults, they can do what they like – but still it has something of a gasoline thrill, we shouldn't be doing this. It's the same office. He knows these walls like he knows Reigen's body; the smell, taste, touch. Reigen is thirty-nine and a half and still wears pink ties and Mob loves him more and more with every year that passes. He presses his face to his damp throat, breathes him in, the same aftershave he's used forever, that Mob smelt on him the day they first met. Same desk, same door, same key.

Reigen tightens his grip on him, panting his name in his ear, and Mob knows he's going to come and kisses him hard, swallows the sounds he makes. He want to keep them for himself, not have them bounce around like echoes where clients have sat, where he's usually so composed. Mob remembers wondering what he would sound like, how he would look when he comes. Now he knows.

His belly is sticky. Reigen gasps on the comedown, still holding tight, moving with him, and Mob is so close, so close, so so so–

Reigen puts a hand on the back of his head, long fingers spread over his skull, so gentle, and he whispers close to his ear. "Good boy, come on, y-you're almost there, almost–"

Just hearing his voice, hoarse from moaning, from saying his name, is all the encouragement Mob needs. He buries his face against his damp shirt collar as he comes, rutting crazily, the desk shuddering beneath them. Reigen holds him close until it passes, until he's chased the last of the high into him, until they're gently oozing together, catching their breath. Mob feels his ankles unlock and his legs drop, dangling over the edge of the desk. He knows he heard it whining beneath their weight. They really have to stop traumatising the poor thing.

"Are you two done?"

Reigen stiffens beneath him in alarm but Mob knows that gravelly voice anywhere, looking up to glare at Dimple floating in the corner of the office.

"Yes," he says coolly. "Are you?"

Dimple sniffs. "I was here first, minding my own business."

Reigen cranes his neck to look at him. "And why the hell are you in my office at this time of night?" he demands.

"I come here to get away from you two," Dimple says. "I don't think there's a single surface of that apartment that you haven't had sex on."

"What do you care about surfaces?" Reigen asks. "You're a ghost."

"Evil spirit, you fraud."

"I'll melt him," Mob says heartlessly, raising a finger.

Dimple bristles. "Jeez, I'll go, I'll go. Honestly, Shigeo, you get laid once..."

He zips off through the wall. Mob was joking about exorcising him but he supposes it's hard to tell and Dimple doesn't want to risk it.

"You didn't need to scare him like that," Reigen says in a voice that means he doesn't actually care. "He calls me a fake all the time."

"There was nothing fake about your moaning," Mob replies, staring at him.

Reigen's face colours a bit and he starts to fuss, trying to defend himself. Mob smiles. He loves making him flustered because he's about the only person who can manage it.

"We should go home," he says calmly, interrupting him.

Reigen grins tiredly beneath him. "Eager?"

"Well, Dimple is wrong," Mob replies. "...I can think of a few surfaces we haven't tried."