His direct line to Q, which is usually safeguarded by the Q Branch as best they could, gets cut off at approximately 2356 hours, a few hours shy of the time on which 001 is expected to finish this mission. By then, he understands the gravity of the situation — their headpiece is usually the most important part of tech they own, so if it fails, he may very well expect that the rest of his stuff is rendered useless.
If he is lucky, his Quartermaster would have easily rooted out the issue, unless the jam is deliberate and made with new special intelligence tech. Q could very quickly reverse engineer the tech, if he has the machine in hand. For now, he can only try to detect it from where he is and try to troubleshoot from there; there is not much Kurosawa can do but wait for instructions, which will come eventually. He has absolute trust in his Q.
He is not to leave the establishment, of course. He has been tailed three locations before; leaving without a proper contingency plan is practically a deathwish.
His cover is a buyer of the leaked special intelligence information stemming from a hack from Singapore; the encrypted data holds all the current active special agents based in Asia, which is double the count in Europe to begin with. With how covert espionage is in Japan, he can see the allure to the data: 001 is only one of the highly trained agents in the country, and he himself has no idea how far the 00 system goes. Last he’s heard, they have reached 48.
It is the largest breach of intel under M’s watch, and as much as he knew how 001 hated honeypot missions, he was not given a choice. 001 is given the number for multitudes of reasons, but simply put: he’s the best in the field.
The target is the seller’s should-be anonymous secretary, but Q easily finds her through her digital footprint scattered across the city. She’s a civilian, definitely. The pay has been attractive, and she needs money for designer shoes.
“There are two copies,” she breathes out through 001’s neck as he keeps her thigh steady, already insistent in keeping the friction a bit higher up. 001 outwardly smirks but dreads the rest of it; she’s half on his lap already, and judging from the damp spot on his pants, she’s not far off. “It’s encrypted with the same program from that Japanese hacker from years before; he’s good, and ah— m-my boss worships his work. Too bad he retired.”
“God, you’re gorgeous,” 001 lies, faking a growl and holding her closer. Her bosom presses intently on his chest and he lures her into a kiss, making sure to make a show out of it. In this bar, he is just a horny bastard who’s trying to get laid. She presses her mound against his crotch and he tsks internally. “Eager for a quick fuck? Here?”
“I’d let you fuck me anywhere, really,” She says, leading his hand back to her ass. “The CIA and KGB are bidding, you know.”
He gives it a squeeze, fingers reaching in. “All wet for me?” Annoyingly so.
“Fuuuck,” She moans. “More, please, you—”
He presses further. A part of him is glad that his feed is cut; at least Q doesn’t have to see this. He tries to imagine it as him, then. “They’re sending someone to decrypt on site as soon as one outbids the othe—”
He bites into her neck, licking the marks he leaves. “Where?” His fingers are damper now.
In the steady beat of annoying Top 40 hits, she whispers the location as a moan, and cums all over his fingers.
As he washes his hands the third time, he thinks of ways to kill the time before he gets the next instructions on how to relay the location of the bidding, until a group of men enters the bathroom with nothing but dirty things to say over some twink by the bar.
“Have you seen him? Jesus, he’s so fucking cute. I’d ruin him for anyone else—”
“Bambi eyes, yeah? And those lips. God, I’m hard just thinking about it.”
001 blinks. This sounds vaguely familiar.
“In heels, too. For fuck’s sake.”
“His ass in that latex… Should I say more? God, I wanna tear that—”
He runs out the bathroom and wonders if there’s a way that he has manifested this, somehow.
Sometimes, 001 forgets that everyone in the agency has had to go through the same training as he does — that includes deception through the masterful art of seduction, regardless of how often honeypot missions come and go. Still, to find his Quartermaster, the venerable head of the Q branch (who he has always seen in sweaters, vests, and fucking Converse, of all things) in a long sleeve crop top, latex pants, point toe booties proves to be far too much for him to handle… mostly because he sticks out like a sore thumb trying to down a pint of beer all too cutely by the bar, and he has to save him from perverts who're trying to grope his ass.
Not that he was staring. Definitely not.
One man tries to touch him a little lower than he would have wanted, and 001 steps in just in time, almost breaking the man’s wrist in the process. Q looks up at him, relieved.
The man slinks away, and the rest of the guys crowding Q follow suit.
“Kurosawa,” His Quartermaster breathes out, which means they’re better off using their real names. Any hint of the code name or organization would send everyone into a frenzy, and without his gear, there is less of what Kurosawa can do. “Desperate times; apologies for the get-up.”
“I… was not expecting you of all people to be in the field,” Kurosawa says truthfully. He leads them to a more secluded area in the bar, where he can pretend to move on from his previous target to the next — a cute little twink with a great ass. Not that he knows that for sure; he’s been trying to look respectfully.
He barely notices that his hand is on Q’s wrist the entire time.
Upon reaching a more private spot, Q steps closer into his personal space, hands on his chest, and stands on tiptoes, trying to reach his ears. It is a ruse, of course; he has to play a part, but Kurosawa is well too aware of Adachi’s lips against his earlobe, a ticklish sensation as he whispers, “Fujisaki-san helped last minute, but this is the best we can do on short notice. They’ve been eye-ing you for awhile; probably best to get rid of the suspicion from you.” He laughs slightly, strained. “Definitely trained for this, but I feel silly being here all the same.”
He half expected Moneypenny to be involved in this plan, but this is ridiculous. Q and Moneypenny have always been close, so Q has top information from the very secretary of M himself. He imagines that this circumstance has been a trap of sorts, and that Kurosawa has never meant to bring the intel out of this bar.
Q is saving him, as always. “I can send the intel. We just have to clear the suspicion on you while you tell me.”
He has to play a part too, it seems. “Tell me your name? I keep on calling you something else in my head.”
Q pales. Kurosawa understands completely. He steps away slightly, as if bracing himself from revealing way too much in his already elusive life, and mumbles, “Adachi.”
Kurosawa falls a little more in love, now. He pulls Q— Adachi in a gentle embrace, as if assuring his Quartermaster that the little truth about him is safe in his hands.
Then, the play starts.
“Baby,” he smirks, hands reaching for places he could never dare touch — the gentle curve of his back, trailing his spine with the slowest drag of fingers; the delicious curve of his ass, accentuated by that tight latex. Kurosawa lets him go briefly to give him a go signal; Adachi looks into his eyes, unsure of his tone, but he settles into his touch nicely, movements deliberately languid. “Shall I take you somewhere more private?”
(He discovered Adachi seven years ago in the middle of the biggest data leak in Japan. By then, he was using the handle Cherry, and was scared shitless when the agency picked him up in his apartment complex in Tokyo. Kurosawa thinks nothing of him then; hackers are a dime a dozen breed, and one of these days, they’ll end up grabbing someone better than him.
Until they passed by the Q branch and he took one look at one of the open screens and said, “Oh no.” Kurosawa looked at him then and asked what was wrong. He startled easily, then fiddled with the hem of his shirt and said, “You’re also compromised by the data leak.”
A cold chill washed over the Q branch and Kurosawa immediately called for M. The division scrambled into a panic and their current Q spent the next five minutes screaming orders to the rest of the staff. They all echoed the same concern: encrypted data by an unknown script.
In the middle of all the commotion, Moneypenny — still Fujisaki then, walked to Adachi’s side and asked, “You can fix it, right?”
“Like magic, yeah,” Adachi nodded. “No one will ever decrypt it without me.” Fujisaki lets out a small gasp of disbelief and claps her hands. “A-Ah, no, technically it is a crime. I should fix it. It will take a bit without my set-up, but I can do it.”
Kurosawa was tasked to look over the man as he fixed the breach, and the man did it wordlessly for twelve hours straight, without any breaks. The agent almost felt bad for him.
As soon as he executed the script, he pushed the keyboard away and said, “Kurosawa Yuichi…-san, right?”
“You should work on your lies,” the man said, eyes fluttering close. “You have a tell.”
Kurosawa blinked. “You found this out through…?”
“Ah, well, you had lots of footage. I watched a few. They really like giving you honeypot missions, huh?”
Kurosawa felt a little irked that a stranger with no training experience is pointing out his insecurities. “Well, I’m their best bet for it.”
“No,” the man mumbled. “Not really. You’re better at tactical missions. You don’t lie very well, so you’re a liability to data extraction, even if you have a pretty face.” He relaxed in his seat and tried to rub his eyes raw. “Ow, my eyes—”
“Quit rubbing it, jeez,” Kurosawa said, pulling the man’s wrist down. The hacker blinked his teary Bambi eyes and nodded, settling on closing them to rest.
“They’re sending you to Istanbul,” He said finally, after a long bout of silence.
“It’s a bad idea for you to dig yourself into deeper trouble, you know. You’re not supposed to know all this,” Kurosawa laughed.
“Ah, right,” the hacker said, covering his mouth. “Anyway, I just wanted to wish you luck, but I know you’ll do your best.”
“What do you mean?”
He blinked at Kurosawa and cocked his head. “You’re the only agent who reads their mission files. I’ve seen your time log; those are long hours.” He suddenly sat up properly. “I’m ready to go to jail now.”
It was the first time Kurosawa laughed that much. The very same day, the agency hired the hacker into their Q branch. He started as Z, and Kurosawa never knew his real name. He figured he’d discover eventually, but Z became Q after six months, and he never quite found out, due to his secretive nature.
Not that it mattered; he fell in love anyway.)
With his arm wrapped around Adachi’s waist, he easily conceals his hand to tap on to his bare skin in Morse, knowing full well that it might be impossible to stop anyone from reviewing footage in the place and lipread their conversation.
The Quartermaster is obviously not used to field work, and it would help if he looked a little less suspicious about his cautious nature, so Kurosawa presses his lips against Adachi’s hair and says, “You’re being too obvious.”
Adachi’s hand finds his way inside his coat, and he starts tapping onto his back. I’m sorry. I’ll follow your lead.
They make their way onto the VIP section, where a bouncer looks at both of them menacingly. Kurosawa flashes one of his signature smiles, and the bouncer raises an eyebrow.
“You might wanna review your names, bud,” Kurosawa tells the muscled man and points inside the VIP section, where an A-list celebrity is waving at them. “Be right there.”
The celebrity makes his way over to the velvet rope and asks the bouncer, “What seems to be the problem?”
“Ah, Rokkaku-san, I didn’t know he was—”
“He practically owns half the place, dude,” the guy Rokkaku says, and the bouncer blanches. He quickly sets the velvet rope aside and lets Kurosawa and Adachi in. “Private room?”
“Definitely,” Kurosawa says with a smirk. He winks down at Adachi, who looks as flustered as ever. “Gotta break him in, somehow.”
“Second one tonight?” Rokkaku raises his brows, sounding incredulous at the idea.
“Well…” He absolutely hates doing this, he thinks to himself when his hand finds its way on Adachi’s ass, squeezing the mound. Adachi practically jumps out of his skin, growing more uncomfortable by the second. Kurosawa recalls that the Quartermaster hated field work, and honeypot missions have never been his strength. “Just look at him.”
Rokkaku nods, laughing. He points at the door at the end of the room. “Well, all yours!”
Kurosawa tries to ignore the guilt settling in his gut when he trudges forward, smiling at the people in the VIP with a knowing nod. In their eyes, it’s a normal day: a quick fuck with a whore who’s asking for it, with some added extras in the mix, whatever they might thing: alcohol, drugs, or a lethal mix of both.
First thing Adachi does upon entering is locate the camera and make Kurosawa’s back face it.
“I swept the entire place for cameras, this room has no mic,” Adachi mouths, and Kurosawa nods in understanding. “But we have to be careful; it might be bugged.”
Kurosawa tsks audibly, patience wearing thin. He doesn’t want to keep Adachi in this place for too long, and the hurdles to get the intel out just keeps on coming. To his surprise however, Adachi pushes him down the couch and climbs his lap, settling nicely between his legs. He yanks his collar down and bares his neck.
“Kiss for dot, lick for dash?” Adachi proposes.
Kurosawa has been to more perilous missions than this. Hell, this is child’s play compared to anything else. But this — knowing Adachi’s name finally, the guy he’s been pining for for seven years, then having him in this outfit, looking extra hot for him, sitting on his lap and baring his neck for him to devour?
This is straight up murder.
After everything, Adachi shyly smiles at him like he trusts him with his life. Before leaning in, he whispers a soft apology, forehead resting on the Quartermaster’s neck. When he looks up, Adachi is peering down at him, concerned.
“I have to mix a bit of dirty talk to throw them off, just in case the room’s bugged,” Kurosawa mouths.
Adachi nods, responding by tapping at his nape — I got it. I’ll try to keep up.
Kurosawa breathes out shakily, closing his eyes to get into the character. When his eyes open, the persona comes to life. His hold at Adachi’s thighs are tighter now, pulling their crotches close as Kurosawa grinds up for any friction. Adachi bites his lip to stop the whimper in his mouth, but Kurosawa easily coaxes it out. “Fuck, look at you. You really expected me to see you and not do anything to get you?” Focus, he reminds himself, in the midst of it all. Your lies need to be convincing.
He wishes he had half the mind to remind himself that this barely constitutes a lie.
The few statements are test runs, just to see if the system works. Adachi moans a soft “yes”, and he considers that an approval. He starts slow; peppering kisses and kitten licks on his slender neck, easily bruising at the gentlest of bites.
“You bruise like a peach, baby,” Kurosawa grunts. He wishes he isn’t so hard in these trousers, getting tighter by the minute. “Fuck, you’re a goddamned dream come true, huh? Should I fuck you here with my fingers, get you loose for later?”
“Don’t tease…” Adachi mumbles out. He taps at Kurosawa’s nape: Faster. I have to get this to HQ in 15 minutes or they’ll send out reinforcements.
Kurosawa kicks himself internally for indulging too much on a mission, so he focuses on the task at hand. He tries not to catalogue the small noises Adachi makes at every lick, especially when he presses the tip of the tongue on his Adam’s apple.
They manage to finish up within the Quartermaster’s timeframe, but before Kurosawa lets him go, he sucks at his collarbone greedily and licks from there to his chin, finishing with the softest kiss to seal the deal. He knows that the place where he held on to Adachi will bruise; he has forgotten about his own strength and only noticed when Adachi winces in pain in the middle of it all, meeting his hands with his and rubbing his thumb at his wrist to calm him down.
Adachi slinks off of him quickly, as if the whole ministration has been dawning on him quickly. He can’t meet Kurosawa’s eyes, as expected; with how intense things got, he can’t blame him.
Kurosawa is still panting over the adrenaline, but manages to say, “Go.”
Adachi nods at him and runs out.
As soon as the door closes, he unzips and recalls Adachi’s warmth against him, radiating from those illegally tight pants. If he lets himself indulge a bit more for a job well done, he can cum at the very thought of Adachi’s lips, ghosting at his earlobe and whispering the nastiest things: Kurosawa, faster, more, please, on me—
It doesn’t take too long, really. He pumps his cock just enough to get himself going and spills all over the carpeting, thick against the velvet material. He stares down at his hands, cum dripping down his fingers and palm, and he thinks, I’m fucked.
Adachi takes the street by the stride, taking huge steps in these chunky heels to reach the hotel faster. His head is trying to repeat the intel from 001 as much as he could so he can ignore the rest of what happened — CIA. KGB. Bidders, to decrypt on site. Antipodes — Australia, New Zealand. Geologically sound; hack happened in Singapore. Script by Cherry, the old one. On the 20th, at 2200 hours. You can easily find them, Q.
(Kurosawa never called him by his name.)
It’s not as if Adachi expected more from Kurosawa’s intel; it already said much of what he needed, starting with the organization and locations where the bid will take place. It will be easier to find them by tracing backwards — with Antipodes, he can narrow down the cities. It’s all a matter of sweeping the area’s digital footprint. The hacker will be messy, he knows this for sure — if they’re confident enough to use Cherry’s old script, they will be cocky. They will miss out on a detail, and Adachi will be going through everything with a fine-tooth comb.
(Kurosawa never called him by his name.)
Fujisaki is waiting for him by the door of the hotel, arms crossed at her chest. She has a brow raised, as if she’s expecting for a good reason for whatever transpired.
“Your feed was working fine, Q,” She says. “Why oh why is his feed not working, then?”
“He was using old tech,” Adachi mumbles, kicking off the heels with much gusto. “His last mission before this lasted for two months; M pushed him in this without breaks.”
“You could have just given him your earpiece,” Fujisaki says, and Adachi wishes he didn’t have to explain every detail like this when it’s all reasoned out in his head. “You didn’t need to be there, Q!”
“But I did!” Adachi says, exasperated. “This was on me, Moneypenny. If something goes wrong in a mission just because I got careless—”
“This is hardly your fault,” Fujisaki assures, pulling him in the hotel room so they can sit by the bed, but Adachi pulls his arm away, insisting that he has to send the intel to M directly so he can assign the mission as soon as possible. “You won’t let anyone have this mission.”
“The breach used my old script,” Adachi says sadly. “I don’t know what you’re thinking, Fujisaki-san, but this is really on me. I had to be there… had to make sure that he’s safe.”
“Oh, Quartermasters and their protective tendencies! You’re as bad as the old Q!” Fujisaki sighs. She pulls out a laptop and presses a button, connecting them to a direct line with M. “This is Moneypenny with Q, M.”
“How was he?” M asks.
“Fine. Safe,” Adachi says, mostly in relief. “I got the intel. We have some Cherry copycat in Singapore. I’ll find them, M.”
“You can pass this job on, Q. 001 is not the only agent you hold; you are the head of the Q Division. No favoritism allowed.”
“I-It’s… not that,” Adachi says. In his head, a couple of scenarios run that always ends with Kurosawa getting hurt, which is something he can never afford. “I was careless with turnover; he was assigned to R for the mission in Cairo. He was supposed to have new gear.” He sighs. “Besides, it’s my code. I’m the only one who knows the ins and outs of it. If anyone can detect the breach, it’s me.”
M sighs on screen. “Fine. Report first thing tomorrow, Q. I need you back here in Japan.”
“Yes sir,” He replies, and waits for the screen to go dark before sighing to himself.
“Okay, but Adachi-kun?” Fujisaki says, smiling sweetly, which sometimes means that bad things are bound to happen. “We did a remote sweep of the building. There were no bugs in that room.”
Adachi blushes and sputters at the thought. “I had to make sure!”
Fujisaki narrows her eyes, but in the end shrugs in defeat. “Whatever you say, then.”
“Fujisaki-san!” Adachi whines, making Fujisaki laugh at the notion.
“What! I believe you!” Fujisaki says in between chuckles. Adachi doesn’t quite believe her, but instead of defending his thought process, he goes straight to the shower to get rid of whatever lingering touches is left from Kurosawa’s tight grip.
(Kurosawa never called him by his name — he figures that’s the end of that pursuit, as he knows it.)
He wakes in the middle of the night to the voice of Kurosawa calling out to him.
“Yeah…?” Adachi mumbles in response, careful as to not to wake Fujisaki.
“I never quite got to thank you,” Kurosawa says, sounding as he was before — kind, calm, thoughtful. Unlikely traits for someone who has a license to kill, yet here we are. Sometimes Adachi thinks that this world has never been for Kurosawa, yet he never falters, never fails. “You saved me yet again, Q.”
“You’re off duty, 001,” Adachi says sleepily. “There is no need for this, you know. Still, I’ll need your report by tomorrow.”
“Ruthless as always,” Kurosawa laughs. Adachi feels it down to his stomach. “Shall we discuss it over breakfast?”
Adachi blinks. “I have a meeting with M the first thing.”
“Oh,” Kurosawa says. “That’s too bad, then.”
“I’m…!” Adachi says hastily, afraid that the agent would cut off the line. “I’m available for brunch, if you are.”
“Brunch then,” Kurosawa mumbles, and Adachi quite knows that he is smiling. It is not hard to picture him, all handsome and blinding. “I’ll see you then, Adachi.”
“Ah,” Adachi gasps, suddenly breathless at the sound of his name on Kurosawa’s lips. “Yes, I’ll see you then, Kurosawa.”
“Good night?” Kurosawa says, as if a question.
“Good night,” Adachi says, as if in response.
He takes his earpiece off and lays it by the bedside table. If he is listening intently, he can hear the very way Fujisaki smiles to herself knowingly, having been able to predict this from so long before, but he reminisces on the very gentle way Kurosawa has said his name instead, and keeps it in his head into the night, until the very echo of it lulls him to sleep.