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It starts, like many of their misadventures do, in an elevator.

 

8:30 in the morning never looks as good as it does when Adachi meanders into the lobby, one strand of hair sticking up at the back of his head and his tie slightly askew.  Kurosawa’s fingers itch to touch his bedhead, to tighten his tie.  It’s torment, and he’s starting to think Adachi does it on purpose.

 

“Good morning, sleepyhead,” he chooses to tease, setting his face in a cheery smile as Adachi stops next to him.  A little closer than coworkers typically stand.  They take these greedy moments wherever they can.

 

“‘M not sleepy,” Adachi murmurs, rubbing at his eyes.

 

“Sure you aren't.”

 

“Well, someone did keep me up last night,” Adachi concedes, accusatory.  Kurosawa bites the inside of his cheek to keep his smile from turning obnoxious.

 

It was just a phone call.  A long phone call, most of which Kurosawa spent cocooned in his bedsheets feeling the physical distance between them like an ocean.  If Adachi asked him to, Kurosawa would have done everything he could to arrive at Adachi’s doorstep at one in the morning, ready to do whatever Adachi wanted him to do.  Ready to do a hell of a lot more than just talking, that’s for sure.

 

But he doesn’t say that, because those aren’t the kind of thoughts for 8:30am in public.  Instead, he pitches his voice low, mindful of the other employees starting to mill around waiting for the elevator, and says, “Maybe you should stay over more often, if the late phone calls are a problem.”

 

Adachi snorts.  “I don’t think I’d be going to bed any sooner if I did.”

 

“I don’t know,” Kurosawa looks back to the elevator and tries to keep his smile placid and innocent.  “I think I know how to tire you out.”

 

Adachi regards him with a knowing look, somewhere between stern and fond.  “Maybe tonight.”

 

Kurosawa can’t help the way he rocks on his heels in barely contained glee.  Coming from Adachi that’s basically a yes, and it’s long overdue.  Between work, an overnight business trip, a few mentally draining obligatory drinks with their coworkers, that weekend Adachi had to cat-sit for his friend, Kurosawa’s sister roping him into dinner one night so she could vent to the only ears willing to listen… 

 

God.  It’s been three weeks since Adachi last stayed over.  That’s practically a month.  How have they survived?  Adachi needs to just move in at once.

 

“Kurosawa-san,” one of their coworkers greets him, “You look happy this morning.”

 

“Yes, well,” Kurosawa nods, a smile still stretching across his face, “I have a good feeling today will be a productive one.”

 

Beside him, Adachi snorts.

 

There’s a sizable crowd by the time the elevator finally crawls back down to the ground floor.  Kurosawa holds the doors open and Adachi lingers back, motioning for everyone else to get on before him.  Little rituals.  Adachi squeezes himself into the front corner and Kurosawa finds space next to him, trying to coach his expression into something neutral when their arms press together.

 

They only rise three floors before things get a little weird.

 

The doors fall open and there isn’t so much as an excuse me uttered before an older man from the back is pushing forward, knocking someone into Kurosawa.  He shuffles to the side and braces a hand against the wall, feeling a pang of worry for squishing poor Adachi in the process.  It’s hard to stay worried, though, when Adachi pushes back against him so hard that his ass is flush against Kurosawa’s...

 

He presses his fingers into the wall so hard his nails turn white as he quietly mutters a confused, “Adachi?”

 

Adachi only glances up over his shoulder with wide, innocent eyes, and shifts his weight in a way that feels suspiciously like grinding.

 

Kurosawa’s shy angel is gone.  This is clearly a demon.

 

He drops his hand from the wall and instinctively grips Adachi’s hip like the little dial in his brain has switched from polite to horny, but he pulls away a second later when his wits catch up to him and he realizes what that must look like.  A glance around the elevator is enough to tell that everyone else is oblivious to what is going on in their bored, half asleep states.  Kurosawa feels like he’s dreaming when he lifts his hand, the one close to the wall, hiding out of sight, and splays it back across Adachi’s hip under his suit jacket.

 

It feels illicit when Adachi reaches up and gently trails his fingertips across Kurosawa’s hand.  This is insane.  Kurosawa’s heart is fluttering.  They may as well be fucking in the elevator.

 

The spell is broken when the elevator thins out around the sixth floor and they no longer have a reason to be glued to each other.  By the time they reach the tenth floor, Kurosawa mostly has his head back on straight.  He just has to wait out the next handful of hours and Adachi will be all his again.

 

Kurosawa works on autopilot most of the day as his brain blares pure static in between memories of Adachi’s warmth pressing against him.  It’s been too long since he’s felt that skin against his own, or kissed bruises into the slopes of Adachi’s shoulders – he loves it when there are pretty little red marks hiding just under his collar all day at work.   Kurosawa flexes his own shoulders and thinks about the last time he had Adachi under him, the way Adachi dragged his fingernails down Kurosawa’s back until there were red lines that lingered for days and burned red hot when he showered or leaned back against his office chair –

 

Kurosawa exhales.

 

This is bad.

 

He feels like he’s going insane by the time a 3pm meeting rolls around.  His responses and input sound canned to his own ears as he tries his hardest to keep from staring at where Adachi is sitting a few seats away from him.  He’s twirling his red pen in his fingers, fidgeting with it in a way that probably looks awkward and nervous to everyone else at the table.  But to Kurosawa, the way he trails his fingers up and down the barrel, or fondles the tip of the cap, or squeezes it in his soft, small hands… 

 

Kurosawa glances at the clock.  3:49.  Two more hours.  He's going to lose it.

 

When they finally wrap  up the meeting, Kurosawa gets held up discussing something with one of the sales directors.  So it’s a surprise when he leaves the room to find Adachi milling about in the hallway.

 

“Ah – Kurosawa,” he greets stiffly.  His eyes are glued to the floor.

 

“Adachi?”

 

“I need to get some files out of the archive,” Adachi says.  “But I can’t remember where they’re sorted.  Could you help me find them?”

 

Kurosawa’s pupils practically dilate.  “Yes – yes!  Let’s go!”

 

The archive is a dusty little supply closet of a room, with rows of metal shelves leaving barely any room to maneuver.  It doesn’t get much use since so many of the files they need are backed up digitally.  That’s why Kurosawa doesn’t believe for a second that Adachi actually needs something in here.  The light switch is flipped, the door swings shut, and Kurosawa has Adachi cornered against a shelf in record time, kissing him breathless.

 

“You ruined it,” Adachi pouts, panting a little as he pushes back on Kurosawa’s chest.  “I was going to pretend to need something on a high shelf so you’d have an excuse to press up against me to reach it for me.”

 

“Unfortunately, life isn’t a romance manga,” Kurosawa kisses the pout away, “And we still have work to get done today.”

 

“Good point,” Adachi reaches down between their bodies and almost clumsily grasps Kurosawa’s cock.  “Then – then we’d better hurry up.”

 

Kurosawa presses their foreheads together and tries not to groan.  “What’s gotten into you today?”

 

“Same thing that’s gotten into you,” Adachi says in a small voice.  His hand is rough – still a bit unpracticed and unsure, but so good.  He’s got that look in his half-lidded eyes like he’s never learned how to school his expression as he zeroes in on Kurosawa’s mouth.  That’s perfectly fine, Kurosawa thinks.  There’s an addicting kind of honesty in the way Adachi gets when he wants something so bad that desire overrides his embarrassment.

 

So Kurosawa learns forward and gives him a kiss, dirtier and deeper than the previous ones.  Adachi meets him halfway, biting and licking in that kittenish way that always makes Kurosawa’s brain turn into fog.  He returns the favor with something that drives Adachi just as crazy.

 

He lifts his hand and splays it wide across Adachi’s throat, pressing just the smallest bit.  As expected, Adachi breaks off with a moan and reaches up to grab Kurosawa’s wrist.

 

“I want,” Adachi starts, “Can I…”

 

Kurosawa kisses him once, softly.  “You can do anything.”

 

Adachi doesn’t say anything after that, just looks up with eyes that are far too innocent for the way he quickly drops to his knees.

 

Oh.

 

Kurosawa isn’t sure what he expected from their little supply closet rendezvous, but going this far wasn’t it.

 

As expected, Adachi hesitates for a second before rattling out a determined breath and reaching for Kurosawa’s belt buckle.  Kurosawa wants to help, but Adachi seems to have things under control as he works Kurosawa’s pants open and drags them down just enough to get an eyeful of his cock.

 

Okay, so they’re really doing this.

 

Adachi, still a little new at this, doesn’t waste any time on gentle exploration.  Or maybe he’s just in a hurry.  They’re still on the clock, after all.  Either way, it startles a gasp out of Kurosawa when Adachi swallows him down halfway without warning, trailing his fingers up and down what he can’t fit in his mouth.  This might be one of the most surprising things about Adachi – he likes sucking cock to the point of an oral fixation.  Kurosawa can’t find it in him to mind.  Not when Adachi bobs his head so attentively, wrapping Kurosawa up in warm heat and slowly working up to taking more and more of him.

 

By the time Adachi’s nose is brushing the hair above Kurosawa’s cock, he can’t help himself.  He thinks about Adachi’s throat, about the way Adachi likes it when he touches it.  About how good it would feel to bury his cock deep and feel Adachi swallow.  He thrusts forward before he can think better of it.

 

Adachi jerks back, coughing wetly and trailing his fingers across his neck.  Kurosawa finds the strength to push away his desire long enough to cup Adachi’s face and ask, “Are you okay?”

 

“Uh-huh,” Adachi grunts.  “Do that again.”

 

Kurosawa’s brain does a hard reset.

 

“Do you… You mean… Are you sure?”

 

Adachi licks his lips and nods.  His hair is a mess, falling over his wide eyes as he reaches back up to stroke Kurosawa’s cock.  He presses a kiss to the tip and lets it rest against his mouth, precum smearing a mess across his already wet lips.

 

“Please, Yuichi…”

 

Cheating.  He’s cheating and Kurosawa never stood a chance.

 

Adachi moans the second a hand threads through his hair, still sensitive to certain unexpected touches.  It leaves his mouth wide open, so Kurosawa takes the invitation to carefully press back between his lips and give an experimental rocking of his hips.

 

As expected, Adachi gags slightly again.

 

“Relax,” Kurosawa murmurs, stroking Adachi’s hair in a way he hopes is comforting.

 

It takes them a moment, but eventually they find a comfortable push-and-pull.  Adachi’s eyes have fallen closed, clumped up lashes fanning against his scarlet cheeks as he adjusts his body to receive Kurosawa as well as he can.  He’s so pretty like this, Kurosawa thinks.  And a fast learner.

 

Adachi curls his tongue along that thick vein along the underside of Kurosawa's cock and Kurosawa nearly chokes.  Yep – a fast learner indeed.

 

Kurosawa feels a sudden pressure under his hand, so he reluctantly halts his movement and lets Adachi pull back to suck in a few lungs full of air.  Kurosawa could do this all day, just stand with Adachi at his feet, panting wetly as Kurosawa rakes his fingers through his hair, work be damned.

 

But then Adachi looks up at him with wide glassy eyes and blurts out, “Be rougher!”

 

Kurosawa blinks.  “Eh?”

 

“P-please,” Adachi adds, being the good boy that he is.

 

Kurosawa’s eyebrows jump in surprise.  He cups Adachi’s face in his hand and bends low so their noses are nearly brushing.  “You’re sure?”

 

“Mm,” Adachi nods, and strains up to press a wet kiss to Kurosawa’s lips.  His mouth is a mess of spit and precum.  Kurosawa wants to make it worse.  “I want it.  I really really want  it.”

 

His voice is quiet and brittle, and Kurosawa has no idea how they’re supposed to face the rest of the office after this.  But that’s a problem for Future Kurosawa, because right now all he cares about is giving Adachi what he needs.

 

He straightens back up and doesn’t waste any time pressing into Adachi’s mouth, hand already holding his head still.  Adachi’s lips were made for this, he thinks, so pretty in the way they wrap around him.  He starts slow and shallow, but that’s not what Adachi wants, is it?  So he jerks his hips hard, deeper, once and then twice.  Adachi gags and recovers, eyebrows knitting as he moans.  

 

When a tear finally slips free of his ashes and skids down his cheek like a shooting star, Kurosawa thinks he’s gone to heaven.

 

Adachi’s arms are hanging docile at his sides.  His entire body nearly feels limp and used up, held in place by the hand in his hair.  Kurosawa tries to keep his rhythm predictable, tries not to be too mean or too greedy, but it’s hard to ignore the way Adachi groans like he loves it when Kurosawa’s cock brushes the back of his throat.  If someone with particularly good hearing were to walk by outside, they’d surely hear it.

 

That’s when Kurosawa remembers – the door an arm’s length away from them is unlocked.

 

The thought curls his toes.  Anyone could walk in right now and see Adachi drooling and whining around the cock sitting pretty in his throat.  Then there would never be any doubt about who’s he is, everyone would know that Kurosawa has him in every way a man possibly can.

 

He smacks his head back against the metal scaffolding of the shelf and thinks maybe it’ll wake him up from this wonderful dream.  But nope, he’s awake, and his head kinda hurts now, but he can’t really begin to give a damn because Adachi has noticed his hips have stopped rocking for a nanosecond and taken things into his own hands.

 

Kurosawa reaches back to grip the shelf and tightens his fist in Adachi’s hand for good measure, but it doesn’t deter Adachi in the least.   He bobs his head messy and fast like he needs it, like the only thing that matters to him right now is the drag of Kurosawa’s hard cock along his tongue.  It’s sloppy and rough and Kurosawa suddenly realizes that this has nothing to do with him anymore – this is Adachi taking what he wants.

 

And of course, that’s what tips him over.

 

He lets himself be selfish for a moment as he tightens his grip on Adachi’s hair and yanks him backwards, startling out a cry that sends a shock up his spine.  Adachi’s eyes look unfocused and confused, until Kurosawa presses the head just past his lips and starts filling his mouth.  

 

Both of Adachi’s hands jump up under his chin like he’s trying to catch the worst of the mess, but it might be a little too late for that.  There’s already spit dripping to the floor as he frantically swallows, but he can’t stop the way some of Kurosawa’s cum finds its way to the corners of his mouth, sluggishly rolling past his lips.

 

Maybe he can’t cover Adachi’s face with it right now, but he can do this.

 

He pulls back once he’s finished, feeling oversensitive and high-strung as Adachi continues to lick and suck at the head of his cock.  It takes a moment to blink away the stars behind his eyelids and get the feeling back in his legs.  When he finally glances back down at Adachi, he can barely believe what he sees:  Adachi’s eyes squeezed shut tight and face tracked with drying tears as he jerks himself off with his cock barely out of his pants, two fingers shoved down his throat.

 

“Oh,” Kurosawa sighs, totally vacant of higher thought.  “Poor thing.”

 

He tucks himself back in his pants, fully aware he’s not going to be able to go back to working after this, and kneels down so he’s level with Adachi.

 

“Did you like it that much?” he murmurs into Adachi’s ear, wrapping one hand around Adachi’s throat.  He presses a kiss to the corner of Adachi’s eye where there are drying tears and adds, “You did so well for me.”

 

Adachi groans out a guttural noise and Kurosawa decides to take pity on him.  He bats away Adachi’s hand and replaces it with his own, pumping him hard and fast.  It’s the same kind of rough treatment he just gave his throat, and it makes Adachi fall apart in his hands in a matter of moments, cumming all over the tile floor of the archive room with a whine.

 

Unfortunately, it only takes Kurosawa's blissed out brain about forty-five seconds to realize that they’re kind of sort of completely fucked.  There’s a mess all over the floor and a suspicious wet mark on the knee of Adachi’s navy pants that could be spit or semen.  Doesn’t really matter, Kurosawa supposes.  They've been gone for god knows how long, and now they’re supposed to head on back to work as if Adachi isn’t covered in spit and tears and cum.

 

All they had to do was wait two more hours to clock out, dammit.

 

He’s only able to stop panicking for a moment when Adachi rolls his head on Kurosawa’s shoulder and looks up at him with soft, sleepy eyes.

 

“Thank you.”

 

Kurosawa melts a little, and immediately starts laughing.

 

“What?” Adachi lifts his head and frowns.

 

“We’re a mess,” Kurosawa says.  “We can’t go back to work like this.”

 

Horror slowly spreads across Adachi’s face.  “Oh, no.  I didn’t think we would… Get that carried away.”

 

“Don’t worry about it,” Kurosawa assures him, brushing his bangs out of his eyes.  Adachi really is the prettiest with his hair tousled.  “We’re going to clean up as much as we can, and then I’m going to tell the chief you’ve been sick in the toilets for the last half hour, and then I’m going to take you home early and fuck you in my bed.”

 

After everything they just did, Adachi still manages to look scandalized.

 

“Is that okay with you?” Kurosawa asks, teasing just a little.

 

“U-uh, yeah,” Adachi nods.  “Yeah, that’s.  Yeah.”

 

“Good,” Kurosawa kisses Adachi’s forehead, and then the tip of his nose, and then finally the cute arc of his upper lip.  Adachi giggles against his mouth, and then bites down on Kurosawa’s bottom lip like a promise.

 

They have three whole weeks of celibacy to make up for, after all.