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The thing Kojiro loves most about owning a popular restaurant in this part of town isn't the good business, well-paying clientele, or general publicity it affords Sia la luce. He'd have that no matter where he posted up, because his cooking's good enough to gain a reputation wherever he goes. 

No, the best thing about this area is its proximity to a certain calligrapher's studio, and how often rich, stuffy old patrons decide to treat their newly commissioned artist to a meal to celebrate their blossoming working relationship. 

The thing is, everyone always assumes Sakurayashiki-san won't have set foot in the place before. After all, he is highly traditional, famously picky, and rarely leaves his studio to boot. But rich people goddamn love to feel they've broadened the horizons of the poor fools they pay to cater to them, and Sia la luce is undeniably the place to be, so every once in a while, Kojiro will poke his head out of the kitchen and spot a familiar rosy head of hair seated at a booth or at the counter, hear a familiar low voice conversing pleasantly with some well-dressed elder. 

Each time, Kojiro saunters over to them, smiles as he's introduced, asks them if they're finding everything to their liking.

Each time, Kaoru stares at him with so much heat in those molten gold eyes, he has to wonder how anyone could even be remotely unaware that they've never met before. 

He really has to wonder how it's not abundantly obvious that he knows every last silken strand of Kaoru, every thread to pick at to make him fall messily apart, every inch of skin beneath that neatly fitted yukata. He's mapped it with his teeth and tongue enough times that the memory of all the ways he's made Kaoru shudder and sob in desperation are etched into his brain. 

Somehow, nobody ever seems to suspect. So he smiles down at Kaoru and asks, "What will you be having today?" even though they both know damn well. 

Kaoru doesn't rise to the bait, at least not in front of a client. He smiles back, and then deliberately turns his back to Kojiro. "What would you suggest, Watanabe-san?" 

Kojiro is willing to bet he's the only one who catches the slight wrinkle-twitch of Kaoru's eyebrow, the only sign that he's annoyed. He looks so demure and respectable when he smiles like that, all good grace. The older gentleman he's with is all too happy to order for him. Kaoru's got him eating out of his hand, completely taken in by the facade. 

Kojiro wants to wreck him, wants to break the illusion into bits and pieces until none of it remains. If anyone asked him why, he'd say it's because it's funny to antagonize Kaoru, who, honestly, does deserve it. But the real reason, the reason he won't admit, is because it's only him who can make Kaoru lose all that flawlessly kept composure. 

And if he had to guess, he'd say Kaoru would say the same damn thing about him. 

"Excuse me," he says, after having brought out the appetizer course, "but I was wondering if Sakurayashiki-sama might like to see the kitchens? We can only allow one person at a time or it becomes crowded…"

The look Kaoru shoots him could kill, but the client is delighted at Kojiro's attempt to go above and beyond in order to impress. That personal touch, the special attention, makes it all the more memorable, after all. 

"Thank you," Kaoru says, "but I can't leave Watanabe-san alone—"

"You'll make me sound senile," his client chuckles. "Thank you for this gracious offer, Nanjo-san."

Beaten at his own game, Kaoru pushes his chair back a little too abruptly. The feet scrape against the floor and he looks down at it like it's personally offended him. Kojiro offers his arm.

"I'm quite fine," Kaoru tells him. He's barely managing not to snap. 

"Of course," Kojiro says, but he places a hand at the small of Kaoru's back anyway, low down where it slopes gracefully, just above the curve of his ass. 

If he dips his touch just that tiny bit lower, he can slide his middle finger into the dip between Kaoru's ass cheeks, squeeze them a little with his hand. He feels more than hears Kaoru suck in a breath. Standing the way they are, nobody else can see, but the thin yukata leaves nothing to the imagination; he has to wonder what Kaoru is wearing under there, because it doesn't feel like much.

"I'll take good care of him," Kojiro tells the client. "We won't be long."

As soon as they clear the doorway into the kitchen in back, Kaoru is on him. 

He's far stronger than he looks—Kojiro is actually a little dazed at the force with which he finds himself slammed up against the wall. But then Kaoru's mouth is on his, hot and very, very filthy, and he knows what to do with that in his sleep. He slips his arms around Kaoru's waist to pull him closer, grabbing handfuls of his ass this time, and Kaoru licks into his mouth with an aggression bordering on rage—his lips are just that tiniest bit sticky from the sheer gloss he always wears to keep them soft and perfect, like he's expected to be at all times. Now Kojiro can feel it smearing against his own mouth and he bites reflexively, trying his best to ruin it. Kaoru growls at him.

"You're a bastard," he hisses, coarse and deep enough to make Kojiro's toes curl. 

"What are you talking about?" Kojiro asks, with a smirk that is calculated to infuriate. Their lips are just a hair's breadth away from each other, his smile against Kaoru's snarl. Both of them showing their teeth. "I was just trying to give you a tour—"

Kaoru shoves him back again, full body, arm braced against Kojiro's chest and hips grinding forward to meet him. "Fuck," he says decisively, "you."

Kojiro shrugs. "If that's what you want."

He picks Kaoru up in one easy hoist and revels in the way Kaoru has to stifle his own yelp of surprise. Kaoru is strong, true, but it's good to remind him frequently that Kojiro is still stronger. 

It's only when he deposits Kaoru on one of the stainless steel counters and starts to drag the bottom half of his yukata open that Kaoru finally looks around the kitchen and realizes a crucial detail.

"Where's the staff?"

"You only just noticed?" Kojiro shoots him a look. "Didn't think twice about sticking your tongue down my throat before you made sure? That's unusual of you." It's not false—Kaoru is notoriously paranoid about impropriety. 

Kaoru grits his teeth. "You're the one who dragged me back here in the first place." 

"And I already told you, that was with the best of innocent intentions," Kojiro reminds him. He's only got about two to three other workers, anyway—he prefers to do most of the work himself and run a tight ship. "I told them to take fifteen." 

Which is as good an admission of guilt as any, but Kaoru fortunately doesn't notice.

"Are you an imbecile?" He starts to yank his clothes closed again, moving to get off the counter. "Someone's going to see us!"

Kojiro slams his hands down on the metal surface, trapping Kaoru between his arms. Kaoru looks up at him in disbelief, so he leans in, all calm and reassuring.

"Oh, sweetheart," he murmurs, pressing his lips right up against Kaoru's ear when he says it, because he knows how much Kaoru hates pet names, "we both know you're not gonna last that long."

"You—" Kaoru starts to hurl out some predictable insult, but Kojiro grips his chin with one hand to claim his mouth again, and this proves very effective at making him quiet down.

It's not that Kaoru lacks stamina—exactly the opposite, actually. Kaoru can and has held out on Kojiro in bed for hours, kept him on the edge for entire nights, blue balled him for literal days, for no reason other than because he's a bastard who gets off on tormenting Kojiro. But right now is when Kojiro can get in under his defenses, which are always weakest when he's spent too long with clients, all trussed up and pretty and practically begging for release.

Kaoru does absolutely nothing to stop him when he finally slides his hand beneath the silky folds of the yukata, running up the warm, equally silky skin of Kaoru's inner thigh. For all that he knows Kaoru is rough and abrasive, Kojiro has to admit his body is not—he is as lovely as the image he presents to everyone, the Cherry Blossom his clients and legions of adoring fans at S all want to see. The lines of him are bold and beautiful as the strokes he draws on clean unblemished paper, as pliant and graceful as ink brushed with an artist's hand across a blank canvas. Kojiro doesn't have a tenth of his skill, but when he touches Kaoru, sometimes he likes to imagine he's painting, just like that.

When Kaoru pulls back for a moment—more like shoves Kojiro away to take a breath, even though a second before he'd been clinging, one hand fisted in Kojiro's hair hard enough to hurt—Kojiro thinks that this right here, the way Kaoru looks right now, is why he can't stop hunting this high. It's a little like skating; you might get hurt but the moments before the crash are the purest and sweetest adrenaline he's ever known.

"Are you planning on doing anything?" Kaoru demands. "Because as much as you like to believe in your prowess, I assure you, making out hasn't done anything for me since high school."

This is a blatant lie. He's glaring at Kojiro like he's just furious about the whole situation, but the bright flush in his cheeks says otherwise, spreading all the way up to the tips of both ears. His hair, once neatly tucked, is starting to get wild, pulling messily out of the yellow tie. His glasses have slipped down to the tip of his nose so those honey-gold eyes, clouded with arousal, peer over the rims. He's still beautiful, but Kojiro prefers him like this, volatile and needy.

"My apologies," Kojiro says, before grabbing him to bodily flip him over, ignoring his indignant squawk of protest. 

"Wait, you idiot—"

"First you insult me for moving too slow," Kojiro growls, sliding that damn yukata up and out of the way, "then it's for going too fast—"

His voice trails off as he pushes the yukata all the way up over Kaoru's hips and sees why he's being difficult. 

"Hot damn," he murmurs. 

He was right; Kaoru wasn't wearing much under his clothes—he wasn't wearing anything at all. He's not being stubborn, he's probably just embarrassed over acting so openly wanton. Kojiro drags his hand slowly up the back of Kaoru's thigh before smacking just a little on the side of uncomfortably hard against his bare ass. The sound echoes off all the many steel surfaces in the kitchen. Kaoru doesn't bitch at him this time; he lets out a soft moan, nearly a whimper. His head hangs low, hair like a curtain around him. 

Kojiro kneads his ass in one hand, pulling his cheeks apart to reveal the sleek, jet-black plug that's been nestled there, all along, keeping him ready and waiting. 

He's going to drive Kojiro out of his fucking mind.

Kojiro bends low, pressing against Kaoru's back, trails his lips over the shell of his ear. "Are you serious?" 

Kaoru bucks back against him, but it's only desperation, heat. His yukata has slipped entirely off one shoulder, exposing it pink and inviting to Kojiro's hungry gaze. "You think I don't come here expecting your degenerate urges?" he hisses.

"Expecting?" Kojiro asks, and helps himself, pressing his mouth to the slope of Kaoru's elegant neck. He knows Kaoru can feel him grinning. "Or hoping for?"

If he wasn't ready to go by now, the way Kaoru gasps, high and shivery, when he bites down on that sensitive, soft skin would have gotten him there. He discards his apron and undoes the fly on his work slacks, bringing himself to hardness with a few strokes. He can't resist smacking Kaoru's ass with his cock, earning himself an exasperated groan, tinged with longing. He's got a big dick; he knows it, Kaoru definitely knows it.

"You better not be thinking of doing anything without a condom, you insatiable whore," Kaoru grates out. 

"You know," Kojiro says, "you act all high and mighty, but aren't you just repressed?" He reaches down and slowly, agonizingly, slides the plug out of Kaoru's body. It slips free easily, wet and shiny with lube. He runs his thumb around the outer edge of Kaoru's hole—pink and slick and waiting. Kaoru lets out a shaking breath. "In my opinion, the one who came here all opened up and ready to go should think ahead enough to provide supplies."

"Bastard," Kaoru grinds through his teeth.

"Asshole," Kojiro shoots back, but he digs around in his pants pocket to find the condom he dutifully has on him and tears it open, rolling it on. 

He grabs Kaoru's hip and lines up to push inside him, steady and slow. It's still tight, one little plug is no match for him, but that's kind of how they both like it—too much friction, pushing against each other, seeing who'll be the first to give in. Neither of them ever does. Kaoru is panting hard, bent over and forearms braced on the counter, and when Kojiro gathers his hair in a long rope, pulling it back to see more of his face, the countertop below him is steamed from his breath. Kojiro rolls his hips again and Kaoru moans. 

"Like that?" Kojiro murmurs to him. "You been waiting for this all day?" 

"I—" Kaoru sucks in a breath like it'll help smooth out the tremble in his normally velvet voice. "You were just—convenient."

"Convenient, huh?" Kojiro asks, low and teasing, even while there's a storm of pure heat building low in his belly. "Real convenient you wound up here for lunch." He pulls out, a torturous tease, he can see Kaoru's knuckles going white where he's balled his hands into fists. "Did you conveniently think of me as you worked yourself open? You're still so wet—how long did you fuck yourself, wishing it was me—"

"Fuck, fuck you—" Kaoru gasps, "give me your cock like you fucking mean it—"

Kojiro rams back into him so fast they both moan with how good it feels. God dammit, that's all Kaoru has to do, ever—incredible how he can be the most self-righteous asshole on the planet and still never just say what he fucking wants. He's so tight around Kojiro's dick it's hard to breathe, like the air is getting squeezed out of his lungs, out of his fucking brain, his only focal point that well of heat sucking him in. He drives into Kaoru over and over, and Kaoru finally shuts the hell up and takes it.

Well, mostly shuts up. The few things he does say, Kojiro can work with. 


Kojiro pulls him off the counter mostly by his hair, dragging him upright until his back is pressed to Kojiro's chest. The difference in their sizes is obvious this way, something Kojiro has always enjoyed lording over Kaoru. He keeps one of his hands bruisingly tight on Kaoru's waist, and lets the other drag up his chest, his throat, before he clamps it around the bottom half of his face, sealing off his mouth and stifling the noises that keep falling from him. 

He can fuck right up into him now, so rough and punishing it brings Kaoru onto his toes, makes him cry out every time whether he wants to or not. It's a good thing he's stifled a bit by Kojiro's hand—the kitchen is fairly soundproof but Kaoru's voice is nearer to a sob than anything else now. 

"This is what you fuckin' wanted," Kojiro pants into his ear. "Coming to me like this—fuck. You wanted to be so fuckin' full of me, didn't you? Kaoru."

Kaoru hates pet names, but he hates Kojiro using his first name more. 

He chokes out a soft, helpless whine and shudders violently, striping the countertop with cum. Gets good and fucking tight, too, squeezing Kojiro's dick so hard that he has to muffle his groan by biting down into Kaoru's exposed shoulder. He spills not long after, rocking unevenly against Kaoru's ass as wave after sweeping wave of pleasure rolls over him.

Fuck, it's so good like this, so good to let go only after he's pushed Kaoru to his limit, eked out one more stupid little victory against him. It's the only time he's allowed this—Kaoru loose and boneless in his arms, leaning back into him and relying on Kojiro to keep him upright.

"You're a brat," Kojiro announces, after a brief silence. 

"Who said you could speak?" Kaoru snaps. 

Naturally, he pushes Kojiro off him after that. Kojiro groans at the loss of warmth around his cock, but accepts his fate. After all, they're coming up on the fifteen minute mark. 

"So," he says, while they shuffle clothes back into place and he hurriedly cleans up any leftover evidence, "still hungry?" 

Kaoru smooths down his yukata. He looks perfectly put together again, not a hair out of place. "Considering the delay, I would hope you can manage to whip up something satisfactory for my client and I in the next few minutes."

Shit. That's true—he might've gotten a bit carried away and forgotten about the orders… or everything else really.

Outwardly, he just winks. "Oh, you can count on me to satisfy you."

"Mmm." Kaoru pauses at the door to the kitchens. "Just try not to keep him waiting as long as you kept me." 

And with that he's gone. Ungrateful as ever. Kojiro can feel a vein twitching in his temple. 

He's going to put so many peppers in that bastard's food.