Shō's hands shook as he clutched the thin folder against his chest. The clock on the bookstore wall read 8:17 PM—seventeen minutes past closing. Everyone else had gone home. Lights in the main floor were dimmed, only the back hallway still glowing.
He was late.
Again.
The monthly display report was due by end-of-shift today. Kenji had reminded the whole team in last week's email: "No excuses. Submit directly to my office if I'm on-site."
And Kenji was on-site. Had been all afternoon, locked in the manager's office upstairs with calls and spreadsheets.
Shō had meant to finish it earlier, but a rush of last-minute customers hit the register, then a kid spilled juice on the kids' section, then… excuses. Truth was, he'd been distracted all day. Every time Kenji walked through the floor—tall, suit perfect, eyes scanning—he felt those sharp eyes land on him. Lingering.
Now the report was done, but late. And Shō had to deliver it personally.
He climbed the narrow stairs to the upper floor, heart thumping louder with every step. The office door was cracked open, warm light spilling out.
Shō knocked softly. "Mr. Aikawa? It's… Matsuda."
Silence. Then a low, "Come in."
He pushed the door open.
Kenji sat behind the wide desk, jacket off, sleeves rolled up to his elbows. Tie loosened just enough to show the strong line of his throat. Laptop open, papers neat. The room smelled like coffee and that woody cologne that made Shō dizzy.
Kenji didn't look up right away. He finished typing something, then leaned back in the chair, dark eyes lifting.
"You're late."
Shō flinched. "I'm sorry, sir. Customers—"
"Seventeen minutes," Kenji cut in, voice calm but firm. "Report?"
Shō stepped forward and held out the folder. His fingers trembled a little.
Kenji took it, but didn't let go right away. Their hands brushed—deliberate this time. Shō's breath caught.
Kenji flipped the folder open, scanning the pages. "Numbers look fine. Layout suggestions are good." He closed it. Set it aside.
Then those eyes pinned Shō again. "But you know I don't tolerate delays."
Shō swallowed hard. "It won't happen again."
Kenji stood. Slow. Rounded the desk until he was right in front of Shō—close enough that Shō had to tilt his head back.
"Words are cheap," Kenji murmured. "I need to know you understand."
Shō's pulse raced. "I—I do, sir."
Kenji's hand lifted. Thumb and fingers gripped Shō's chin—gentler than the dream, but firm enough to hold him still.
"Look at me."
Shō's eyes met his. Wide. Nervous. Already heating.
"Good," Kenji said quietly. "You stay still when I touch you. That's… useful."
Shō's cheeks burned. His body reacted instantly—warmth spreading low, knees weak.
Kenji's other hand settled on Shō's waist, pulling him a step closer. "You were distracted today."
Shō tried to speak. "I—"
"Every time I walked past, your eyes followed me." Kenji's grip tightened on his waist. "Then you hid behind shelves like a scared kitten."
Shō's mouth went dry. He couldn't deny it.
Kenji leaned down, breath warm against Shō's ear. "Tell me why."
"I… don't know," Shō whispered. Lie. He knew exactly why.
Kenji pulled back just enough to search his face. "Liar."
Then he moved—fast. One arm hooked around Shō's lower back, the other still on his jaw. He walked Shō backward until Shō's hips hit the edge of the desk.
Shō gasped. Papers rustled under him.
Kenji didn't stop. He pressed forward, slotting himself between Shō's legs, pinning him against the solid wood.
"Since you're late," Kenji said, voice rougher now, "you'll make it up to me."
Shō's heart slammed. "H-How?"
Kenji's hand slid from jaw to the side of Shō's neck, thumb stroking the frantic pulse. "By being honest. And obedient."
Shō's lips parted. No words came out.
Kenji's gaze dropped to his mouth. "You've been thinking about yesterday, haven't you? When I almost kissed you."
Shō nodded before he could stop himself. Tiny movement.
Kenji's eyes darkened. "Me too."
Then he closed the distance.
The kiss wasn't soft. It was hungry—lips firm, demanding. Kenji angled Shō's head exactly how he wanted, tongue sliding in without asking. Claiming.
Shō moaned into it—small, helpless sound. His hands flew up to grip Kenji's shirt, knuckles white.
Kenji growled low in his throat. One hand gripped Shō's waist harder, fingers digging in just enough to mark. The other tangled in Shō's messy hair, tugging lightly to deepen the angle.
Shō melted. Completely. His body went soft and pliant, letting Kenji control every second.
When Kenji finally pulled back, they were both breathing hard. Shō's lips were swollen, eyes glassy.
Kenji didn't let go. He rested his forehead against Shō's, voice gravel.
"You taste better than I imagined."
Shō whimpered.
Kenji's hand on his waist slipped lower—just a fraction—thumb brushing the skin where sweater met pants. "You're so damn responsive. Every touch, you tremble."
"I can't help it," Shō whispered, voice shaky.
"I know." Kenji's lips curved—almost a smile. "And I like it. Too much."
He kissed Shō again—slower this time, but deeper. Tongue teasing, drawing out soft noises that made Kenji's grip tighten.
Shō's hips shifted without permission, seeking more contact. Kenji pressed him harder against the desk, letting him feel exactly how affected he was.
Shō broke the kiss with a gasp. "Sir—!"
Kenji swallowed the sound with another kiss, hand sliding up under the sweater—finally skin on skin. Palm flat against Shō's warm back, tracing spine.
Shō arched into it, head falling back.
Kenji mouthed down his jaw, to his neck—sucking lightly at the sensitive spot below the ear.
Shō's fingers dug into Kenji's shoulders. "Please…"
"Please what?" Kenji murmured against his skin.
"I don't—ah—I don't know."
Kenji pulled back just enough to look at him. Eyes intense. Possessive.
"You're mine to touch now," he said quietly. "When I want. How I want. Understand?"
Shō's brain was mush. But he nodded. Fast.
Kenji's thumb brushed Shō's lower lip. "Good boy."
The praise hit Shō like a drug. He shivered hard.
Kenji kissed him once more—short, firm—then stepped back. Hands dropping.
Shō sagged against the desk, legs barely holding him.
Kenji adjusted his tie, breathing still uneven. "Go home. Before I forget we're at work."
Shō nodded numbly, grabbing his bag with shaky hands.
At the door, Kenji spoke again. "Tomorrow. Same time. Report on my desk—early."
Shō glanced back. Kenji was watching him, eyes dark.
"Yes, sir," Shō whispered.
He fled down the stairs, face burning, lips tingling, body on fire.
In the empty store, he touched his mouth.
He was so, so screwed.
But god, he wanted more.