Work Text:
Ainosuke’s request came at 7:45 PM, while Tadashi was finalizing the minutes from Ainosuke’s afternoon meeting with a local NGO. By this time in the evening, even Ainosuke’s most exuberant staffers had gone home for the night, leaving Tadashi and Ainosuke alone in the Okinawa campaign office.
“Tadashi?” Ainosuke shut his laptop, swiveling in his desk chair to look at Tadashi.
Tadashi paused his typing, fingers hovering over the keyboard. “Yes, sir?”
“Our schedule is clear for the rest of the night, isn’t it?”
“Yes sir, you have no further meetings scheduled for today,” Tadashi replied immediately. Only after he had spoken did he notice Ainosuke’s unusual phrasing, but he kept his expression carefully blank. ‘Our.’ A word that had become increasingly common in Ainosuke’s vocabulary in recent weeks.
“Then that’s enough work for today. I think it’s time for dinner.”
“Of course, sir. Today, the kitchen staff has prepared—”
“No,” Ainosuke interrupted. “I want to go out.”
Ainosuke had been taught to appear steadfast and confident at all times, to never reveal to his constituents when there was something he did not understand or did not know, but in his minute pause, in the sharp inhale through his nostrils, Tadashi recognized the slight tell that Ainosuke was stalling to think, just for a moment. Tadashi was not sure why a dinner arrangement would be something Ainosuke would need to stall for, but he was poised to suggest one of Ainosuke’s favorite restaurants in an attempt to ease Ainosuke’s decision-making. However, before he could open his mouth, Ainosuke continued.
“I want to take you out. Let’s have dinner together, Tadashi.”
Tadashi’s eyes widened, momentarily speechless.
Ainosuke arched an elegant eyebrow as his crimson eyes scrutinized Tadashi’s expression. “Well, what do you say…?”
Warmth flooded Tadashi’s chest as the weight of the invitation settled upon him. When was the last time Mr. Ainosuke and I ate together? Not since we were children, surely… and even then…
...Had there ever been a time when they had truly shared a meal?
He fought the urge to look at the floor, forcing himself instead to meet Ainosuke’s gaze. He nodded once, deliberately, one corner of his mouth creeping upward into a shy smile, an expression that he was almost sure had atrophied years ago, but somehow, his face still remembered what to do.
“I would like that very much, sir.”
“Good,” Ainosuke’s voice was a purr, rumbling in the air between them. “That’s my good boy.”
Tadashi flushed. “Mr. Ainosuke—”
Ainosuke pursed his lips. “What? Don’t tell me you miss being a ‘useless mutt’ after all?”
“No, I—”
Ainosuke didn’t wait for Tadashi’s flustered explanation, dropping another bombshell before he could recover from the reverberations of the first. “Where do you want to eat?”
“I don’t have an opinion,” Tadashi answered automatically. “Wherever you prefer.”
“Tadashi.” There it was, a flash of the old familiar malice, the glint of sharp incisors, until Ainosuke seemed to forcibly soften his expression into a sigh. “I’m taking you to dinner. There must be something you want to eat.”
“…Seafood,” Tadashi offered. Given their proximity to the ocean, there were several nearby restaurants with high quality seafood dishes, and it was a broad enough category so as to allow Ainosuke freedom of interpretation.
“Seafood? How about that oyster bar where we met with that aquaculture start-up a few months ago? I bet that view would be lovely this time of night.”
Tadashi remembered the lunch Ainosuke was referring to. The businessman and his secretary had seemed a bit oily, making outlandish claims about the mussel farm they wanted to develop if only certain regulations could be eased. Ainosuke left convinced the man was more interested in lining his own pockets than establishing sustainable food sources, and Tadashi had privately agreed. But the venue had been memorable: quiet, comfortable, on an upper floor overlooking the city. And the oysters had been excellent.
Ainosuke peered at him, as if trying to read his thoughts. “You do still like oysters, don’t you?”
“I—yes, how did you know?”
A confident smile settled across Ainosuke’s features. “As if I’d let my dog’s likes and dislikes escape my notice.”
Tadashi felt his face heat up again. These recent changes in Ainosuke’s demeanor still caught him off-guard. The combined victory and defeat of the Nagahama Dam scandal and the race against Langa had caused a seismic shift in his employer’s outlook. It wasn’t that the old Ainosuke was back. Tadashi knew that regaining his childhood friend was impossible, wasn’t what he wanted for either of them. But the Ainosuke of today carried himself with a bit more softness, the alternating armors of rage and drama and deference beginning to melt away to reveal a new, self-determined humanity beneath.
Tadashi couldn’t deny it was a good look on him.
Ainosuke packed his laptop away into his briefcase. “That settles it then, the oyster bar. I trust you can get us there?”
Tadashi nodded. “You can count on me, Mr. Ainosuke.”
---
Tadashi was grateful for the opportunity the short walk to the car provided to pull his thoughts together.
Ainosuke had asked him to dinner. Not as an afterthought or as a matter of convenience, an airport meal here or a business lunch there, but with intention.
“I want to take you out.” It wasn’t a phrase meant for Ainosuke and Tadashi’s relationship, for the master and his loyal dog. Taking out a dog meant something wholly different, a dirty and inconvenient chore, a necessary evil in the service of a lesser being’s physiological need. But Ainosuke had spoken instead to Tadashi’s humanity, offered him choices, as if he were an equal.
“I want to take you out.” As if Tadashi were worth displaying. Worth treating.
Part of him could not help but fear that this was some strange, cruel joke on Ainosuke’s part, that as soon as he brought the car around, this odd spell of solicitude would break and they would fall once more to old patterns, Tadashi to service and Ainosuke to lordship. There was comfort in such familiarity, a beauty in pruning back the errant shoots of risk-taking and desire to maintain a tried-and-true, conventional shape. But another part of Tadashi, a part he rarely acknowledged or indulged, wanted to let the whole thing grow wild, to see what might bloom from it if it were allowed to choose its own form.
A shrink would have a field day with the both of us, Tadashi thought bitterly as he climbed into the driver’s seat and clipped his seatbelt into the buckle.
When he parked in front of the office again, Ainosuke was waiting, briefcase in hand. With practiced efficiency, Tadashi came around the side of the car to hold the rear door open for Ainosuke and retrieve his briefcase, storing it out of sight in the trunk before heading to the driver’s side again.
Ainosuke was quiet on the ride to the restaurant, subdued as he often was at the end of a long day of work when there was no S match to follow, and Tadashi fought the urge to search his face in the rearview mirror for any signs of what the man might be thinking. Instead, he poured is attention into driving, effortlessly navigating the familiar streets of the city center until he brought them to their destination. “I can let you off here, Mr. Ainosuke?”
Ainosuke waved a hand. “No need, go ahead and park and I’ll walk in with you."
Another unusual request. Once again, Tadashi forced himself not to question it. “As you wish, sir.”
In the parking garage, he took the ramp up a couple of levels until he found a spot with no other cars surrounding it and backed the sleek black sedan into the space.
“Do you always park so far?” Ainosuke groused.
“Best way to prevent against dings and scratches,” Tadashi told him. You’re the one who turned down the offer to be dropped off at the front.
“Suit yourself.” Ainosuke unfolded his long legs from the back seat before Tadashi had the chance to hold the door open for him. “Come on, maybe if we start walking now we’ll make it before they stop serving dinner.” He strode off down the slope of the parking garage.
Tadashi sighed. That was the Ainosuke he was used to. Willful and dramatic. “Sir, it’s five minutes’ walk to the elevator, this way.” He pointed towards the concrete wall, perpendicular to the direction Ainosuke was attempting to walk.
Ainosuke spun on his heel in the direction Tadashi pointed, and together they walked past the lines of parked cars to the elevator. “See, you could have parked closer,” Ainosuke snipped when they passed a patch of empty spaces.
“I’ll take that under advisement, sir,” Tadashi replied dryly. He punched the “up” button on the elevator. When the elevator arrived, its doors sliding open with a “ding,” Tadashi allowed Ainosuke to step into the elevator first, and then followed quietly after him.
---
Eyes were on them as soon as they stepped off the elevator into the restaurant.
Or rather, eyes were on Ainosuke.
“Representative Shindō! Welcome back, it’s lovely to have you here again.”
The portly middle-aged man who greeted them at the entrance was, Tadashi remembered, the owner of the establishment, but he couldn’t recall his name. His eyes landed on a name badge on the man’s breast pocket. Uehara.
“Mr. Uehara!” Ainosuke replied warmly, evidently having performed the same split-second deduction as Tadashi. “Happy to be back, it’s been a while. I meant to visit again sooner, but you know how it is, back and forth between Tokyo and Naha. My secretary couldn’t get enough of your oysters the last time we were here.”
Tadashi colored slightly at the attention, offering a polite bow in response. “Thank you for the excellent food and service.”
“Oh it’s nothing, happy to feed the best and brightest representing us in the Diet! Is it the two of you tonight?”
“Yes, just us two,” Ainsouke replied. “And do you have a back table, perhaps? Somewhere low-traffic with a bit of privacy?”
“Of course, of course, important government business to discuss, is that right?”
Ainsouke smiled at Tadashi, and if there was a bit of a leer to it, Tadashi pretended not to notice and hoped Mr. Uehara was doing the same. “Exactly, thank you so much for understanding.”
“Of course, like I said, anything we can do to be of service, Representative Shindō. I’ll take care of your table myself, right this way.” The owner picked up two menus and beckoned Ainosuke and Tadashi to follow him.
The table he lead them to was secluded as promised: a set of high-backed sofas arranged around a low table, situated in a corner so that the line of sight from the main floor was slightly obstructed by a structural pillar. Rather than feel cramped or forgotten, though, the space felt intimate and, if Tadashi were to hazard a word wholly inappropriate for their situation, romantic. A candle flickered in a glass jar at the center of the table next to a petite floral arrangement, and the restaurant’s floor-to-ceiling windows lined the outer wall of the space, dazzling with the lights of the city below.
“Is this to your liking?” Mr. Uehara asked.
“Yes, this is splendid, thank you,” Ainosuke slid into one of the sofas and gave a nod to Tadashi, who stiffly followed suit. Mr. Uehara placed a menu in front of each of them and a wine list in front of Ainosuke.
“Can I start you off with something to drink?”
Ainosuke’s eyes skimmed over the extensive wine list, ordering a bottle with a long name in French. Tadashi caught the words “blanc de blanc,” “brut,” and “grand cru”—a champagne. Something had Ainosuke in a celebratory mood, but what, he couldn’t say.
“Excellent choice, sir,” Mr. Uehara put in. “Anything else?”
“Mineral water,” Tadashi added, a necessity if Ainosuke was going to drink a bottle of champagne.
“Of course, I’ll bring a carafe for the table.”
“Oh, and we’ll start with some oysters,” Ainosuke chimed in. He eyed Tadashi, an appraising expression on his face. “A dozen, would you say?”
Tadashi realized that Ainosuke was waiting for his response. “…whatever you think is best, sir.”
“A dozen oysters on the half shelf. Bring us a couple of varieties, won’t you?”
“Certainly. I’ll be right back with your drinks, sirs.” With a bow, Mr. Uehara retreated from view around the pillar, leaving Tadashi and Ainosuke alone.
“Mr. Ainosuke—”
“Tadashi. Just ‘Ainosuke.’ At least until the end of dinner, can you do that for me?”
“Yes sir.” Ainosuke exhaled sharply, and Tadashi recognized his mistake. “Um, yes. Okay. Ainosuke.” The well-worn syllables felt impossibly intimate on his tongue without their dressing of formality, like letting a robe fall to the floor to reveal nakedness underneath.
“Thank you,” Ainosuke replied, and that was more than Tadashi could take. He could count on one hand the number of times in their adult lives Ainosuke had ever thanked him for anything, and still come up with fingers to spare. It was unheard of.
“Ainosuke.” Tadashi rubbed the bridge of his nose with two fingers. “What is all this?”
“What do you mean? I said I was taking you out to dinner, so I’m taking you out to dinner.”
“But why?” An odd look passed across Ainosuke’s features and Tadashi added, “Sir, I know it’s not my place to question you, but—“
“Do I need a reason to want to take you out?”
Yes, Tadashi wanted to say. He settled for a pointed look across the table at Ainosuke instead. He lowered his voice. “Are you planning something for S?” Tadashi would already be aware of any new development in Ainosuke’s career, but perhaps he was considering another tournament, or there had been some positive overture from Snow. That might warrant champagne in Ainosuke’s eyes.
“If I was, you’d be the first to know,” Ainosuke replied. “You did such an excellent job planning the last tournament, after all. I couldn’t have done it without you.”
Tadashi flushed and looked away. Ainosuke was the one who reacted so strongly to praise. Tadashi rarely received it, never asked for it. His work was the kind that was most successful when it was invisible. He was meant to be nothing more than an extension of Ainosuke, his invisible right hand. He did not require or deserve praise, just like Ainosuke’s limbs did not deserve praise for following orders from his mind. So why was Ainosuke suddenly offering it up now?
Before he could question Ainosuke further, Mr. Uehara returned with the bottle of champagne and two fluted glasses. Clearly a misunderstanding; Tadashi wasn’t drinking. He eyed Ainosuke, deferring to his employer to correct the mishap.
The restaurant owner placed a champagne flute in front of each of them and presented the bottle for Ainosuke’s confirmation. After a nod from Ainosuke, Mr. Uehara cut the foil on the champagne bottle’s neck and removed the muselet and cork with practiced care, the bottle opening with a dignified sigh of carbonation. He moved first to Tadashi’s glass, and when Ainosuke did not say anything to stop him, Tadashi realized he needed to remedy the misunderstanding himself. “No thank you, I’m driving,” he interrupted softly.
Mr. Uehara lifted the bottle away from Tadashi’s glass and turned to Ainosuke, whose lower lip was puckered outward in a pout.
“Come on, Tadashi, live a little. You can have a glass with dinner, we’ll stay long enough. And if we need to call a cab we can get the car in the morning.”
Three “we’s” in a short statement. Well above average. As if Ainosuke would be the one to pick up the car after a night of overindulging. As if there wouldn’t be hell to pay for the both of them in such a scenario—Ainosuke for behaving without decorum, and Tadashi for allowing it to happen.
Mr. Uehara looked a bit at sea, glancing between the two of them, champagne bottle poised in his arm, and again it fell to Tadashi to alleviate the social tension. Tadashi sighed. “I suppose a glass won’t hurt.”
“Of course, sir,” Mr. Uehara poured a measure of champagne into the delicate fluted glass, then repeated the gesture with Ainosuke’s glass and nestled the bottle into an ice bucket he placed on the table. “I’ll be back with your oysters and your mineral water momentarily.” He backed away again with a bow.
Ainosuke picked up his flute, raising it between the two of them for a toast. “To us.”
Tadashi stared back at him. His hand did not move to his glass.
“What?” Ainosuke demanded. “What could you possibly be upset about?”
“Ainosuke.” Tadashi’s voice was firm. The tiny golden bubbles floating to the surface of his glass matched the the treacherous lightness of his own heart, the optimistic creature within him that in spite of everything, he couldn’t manage to kill. “Tell me what this is.”
Ainosuke frowned, that twisted, childish pout, the inner corners of his eyebrows tilting downward. “Puppy, why are you being such a spoilsport? Won’t you enjoy a drink with me?”
“Not until you tell me why. What are we doing here?”
Ainosuke bared his teeth. “Isn’t it obvious? Why do you have to be so deliberately obtuse?”
Tadashi continued to glare. If Ainosuke wanted to be stubborn, well, two could play that game. Ainosuke’s innate need to talk, to hold court and explain himself, would wear down his resolve eventually.
Ainosuke took a sip from his champagne flute, fixing Tadashi with a pointed stare while he did so. “It’s really quite excellent,” he said once he had returned the flute to the table. “You’ll like it, I’m sure.”
That’s not the issue, Tadashi wanted to say. That’s never been the issue.
“I thought you said you wanted to have dinner with me.” Ainosuke toyed with his champagne flute, peering at the bubbles as he held it up to the light. “If that’s not true, you can leave at any time, you know. I’m not holding you here against your will.”
“…I know that.” Nothing I’ve done for you has ever been against my will. Tadashi had decided a long time ago that any personal sacrifice was worth enduring to stay by Ainosuke’s side. He had always known what that meant, what Ainosuke wanted from him, and more importantly, what Ainosuke did not want. Tadashi had trimmed off the excesses from himself, folded up the raw and tender emotions he had felt for Ainosuke as a child and locked them away, reshaped his being into something spare and functional, a creature designed only to be of service.
If Tadashi was a dog, as Ainosuke so often said he was, then he was a lithe and snarling guard dog, and today, it seemed, his master wanted to unchain him, bring him into the home and make a lapdog of him. While such an effort might feel momentarily rewarding, it was a disaster of misplaced role that would only end in tragedy for the both of them. It would be better if such dangerous missteps were avoided altogether.
Such thoughts swirled in Tadashi’s mind as he hazarded a drink of the champagne, only because it would be rude to their host to let it get warm and go to waste.
Ainosuke’s eyes glimmered as he watched Tadashi bring the glass to his lips. “Good, isn’t it?”
“It is,” Tadashi agreed, and he wanted badly to break his resolve, to let the slightly sweet effervescence buoy him into dropping his defenses, to allow himself to take Ainosuke at face value. But unlike Ainosuke, Tadashi had never cared for or trusted himself with taking risks.
The arrival of the oysters came as a momentary reprieve to their stalemate—a mix of roundish and teardrop-shaped shells nestled into a plate of crushed ice punctuated with lemon wedges, with a petite bowl of mignonette sauce at the center.
Ainosuke clapped his hands delightedly as Mr. Uehara placed the plate on the low table between them. “Look, Tadashi, your favorite!” he trilled.
Tadashi kept his expression carefully blank, even as he listened with interest to the restaurant owner’s explanation of the origins of each of the three oyster varieties in front of them. When they were left alone again, Ainosuke gestured expansively at the plate before them, tipping his champagne flute in Tadashi’s direction again. “Well puppy, what are you waiting for? Bon appétit!”
Under normal circumstances, Tadashi would wait for Ainosuke to take the first bite, but clearly tonight’s circumstances were far from normal. Tadashi selected an elegantly-fluted pacific oyster from the plate and used his cocktail fork to separate the meat from the shell, taking care not to spill any of the oyster’s precious liquor. He lifted the shell to his lips, and tipped the oyster, juices and all, into his mouth. The taste of ocean minerals and creamy-sweet shellfish burst on his tongue as he took a careful bite. For the barest instant, he felt like he could forget where he was, forget his questions for Ainosuke, forget himself in the ecstasy of his tastebuds.
He was jolted back to reality by the sensation of Ainosuke’s eyes on him. His employer leaned one elbow on the arm of the sofa, head resting against his hand. Ainosuke’s gaze was heated as he followed the movement of Tadashi’s throat. “I love getting to see you enjoy yourself like this,” Ainosuke told him.
Tadashi’s brow furrowed. In all of their adult lives together, Ainosuke had never shown even the slightest interest in Tadashi’s enjoyment. From the moment he was old enough to understand the power differential between them, from the moment of Tadashi’s betrayal, Ainosuke had freely taken pleasure whenever it suited him, at Tadashi’s expense. Not that Tadashi would have denied him anything he asked for, but Ainosuke’s chief concern had never been Tadashi’s feelings on the matter. So why start caring now?
“I know I haven’t always been the most… empathetic,” Ainosuke began, picking up his own oyster and topping it with a small spoonful of mignonette. Tadashi frowned inwardly; it was a disrespect to the oyster to not taste it “naked” first, so as to fully appreciate its flavor profile, but it wasn’t his place to criticize Ainosuke’s eating habits. Ainosuke tipped the oyster into his mouth, and this time it was Tadashi’s turn to look away from the expression on Ainosuke’s face. “Ooh, yummy,” he chirped. “I do love a good oyster. Although I think you love them even more than I do. Go on, help yourself. We can order as many as you want.”
“Ainosuke.”
“What? I put out all these treats for you and you still aren’t happy. Not even the tiniest little tail wag…”
“Ainosuke.” Tadashi took a deep breath and lined up his words firmly and carefully. “Thank you for the oysters. You’re right, I like them very much. It’s very considerate of you to think of my preferences. Now please, tell me what we’re doing here.”
“We’re having dinner together. As I’ve said several times. Because I wanted to take you out.”
Tadashi’s heart thudded against his ribcage. “And I need you to tell me why. You know as well as I do that this,” he gestured at the spread of oysters between them, “isn’t something that we do. That,” he gestured at the bottle of champagne in the ice bucket, “isn’t a campaign expense. We’ve never had a drink together; it would be improper. So why start now?” What changed?
Ainosuke set down his cocktail fork, placing both hands on his knees. Tadashi watched his hands, checking for the barely perceptible tenseness that sometimes crept into those fingers when Ainosuke was under stress, for the way he let his own fingernails bite into the flesh of his thigh, at once punishing and stabilizing. But Ainosuke was either calm or feigning it well—his fingers appeared relaxed. “Tadashi, I told you something a couple of weeks ago, after we met with Detective Matsumura. Do you remember?”
Tadashi felt his face coloring again at the memory of Ainosuke’s sunlit expression, relief and hope bubbling up anew within him. “‘You’re mine for the rest of our lives,’” he repeated.
“And if you’re going to be mine for the rest of our lives, what kind of master would I be if I didn’t let you enjoy yourself a little? If I didn’t take you out every now and again?”
“So this…” Tadashi began cautiously, gesturing again to the oysters and the champagne, “…is part of my benefits package? For being Shindō Ainosuke’s secretary?”
“Tadashi.” Ainosuke sounded exasperated. “You’re so much more than just my secretary.”
Tadashi’s heart pounded in his throat. He dared not speak further until Ainosuke explained the intentions behind that statement; his treacherous, greedy mind would leap to too many impossible conclusions otherwise. He focused instead on breathing, on not allowing the emotions swirling within him to gain words and become thoughts. It would be safer, easier for both of them that way.
“Tadashi.” Ainosuke moved one hand from his knee to the surface of the table, palm facing upward. “Hand.” He beckoned slightly with his fingers, speaking in the firm tone a master would use to command his dog.
Tentatively, Tadashi placed his hand, palm down, atop Ainosuke’s.
“Good,” Ainosuke told him, eyes glittering, as he smiled across the table at Tadashi. His thumb caressed a gentle line over Tadashi’s knuckles, and Tadashi was sure that despite his best efforts to maintain a blank expression, his cheeks were flushed pink. “Tadashi, I meant what I said. I don’t want to give you up for anyone, or anything. You’re mine, pup. To have and to hold. For as long as we both shall live.”
“…Ainosuke,” Tadashi’s throat was dry. He wet his lips with his tongue. “…Those are wedding vows.”
Ainosuke laughed, but it was soft, devoid of bitterness. “You’re right, we’re far from marriage material. But do you think we can work up to it? It’s only our first date, after all.”
Tadashi felt dizzy, the emotions he was trying so hard not to acknowledge spinning out of control inside him. It felt like bailing out of a trick, flying through the air, his skateboard no longer under him, his brain running desperate damage control in the split second before his impact with the ground.
Except there was no impact, no mental inventory of bruises and possible broken bones. Just Ainosuke across from him, covering another oyster with mignonette and lemon juice, smirking at him.
It’s only our first date.
It was so typical of Ainosuke to deliver a proclamation like that without ever asking Tadashi how he felt, without discussion of any kind. Ainosuke always preferred to drag him along by the collar and force him to learn how to heel, simply because he had no other choice.
As if Tadashi could even think of saying no, even if the choice had been given to him. As if there was anything else for Tadashi but Ainosuke.
Ainosuke swallowed his oyster and hummed a laugh. “What’s the matter, Tadashi? Cat got your tongue?”
“…I’ve… never been on a date,” Tadashi admitted.
Ainosuke’s eyebrows shot up to meet his hair. “Never? Really? Not even once?”
“Never.”
“No teenage puppy love? No secret midnight rendezvous in the rose garden? No clumsy college party hookups? Not even an awkward coffee?”
When Tadashi shook his head, Ainosuke continued, “I thought for sure when I was in America you were having the time of your life, finally being rid of me. You had your own money, a prestigious job, your striking good looks. I was certain the boys were lining up to take you home.”
Tadashi wanted to roll his eyes. What “striking good looks?” And the beginning of his career was not nearly so impressive, especially not compared to Ainosuke himself. “I was a politician’s secretary with a two-year degree. When I wasn’t driving to meetings and waiting in the car, I was taking phone messages and collating mail. My work schedule didn’t allow a lot of time for… meeting people.”
Ainosuke pursed his lips, fluttering his eyelashes coquettishly as he took another sip of champagne. “There weren’t any backroom meetings of saucy secretaries back in those days? No star-crossed lovers within our esteemed houses of government?”
Tadashi fixed Ainosuke with a level glare and reached for his own champagne. The two drank in silence for a moment while Tadashi resolved to speak the words that were at the forefront of his mind.
“Ainosuke… there’s never been anyone but you.”
Across the table, Ainosuke’s eyes widened.
In a moment of uncharacteristic boldness, Tadashi turned his hand in Ainosuke’s so that he could interlace their fingers. He gave Ainosuke’s hand a light squeeze. “You were my first… everything. ...Didn’t you know?"
Ainosuke squeezed Tadashi’s hand in return, his strong fingers surprisingly gentle, tentative. A different sensation entirely from his usual rough, domineering touch. “Oh Tadashi,” he sighed, and Tadashi wanted both to shrink away from and lean into the way Ainosuke exhaled his name. He sounded awestruck, enraptured, as if Tadashi’s name was a holy word that could only be uttered with utmost reverence. Reverence Tadashi could never hope to deserve. “You’re mine.” Ainosuke repeated the words like a prayer, like a promise. “Mine and mine alone.”
“I’m yours,” Tadashi agreed, a soft, shy smile creeping onto his face as he breathed in Ainosuke’s words like oxygen, in and out, exhaling the basest parts of himself and inhaling Ainosuke’s ownership, his desire, his possession, atoms of Ainosuke filling every vein and artery, every muscle and sinew, consecrating his very being in the service of this singular, brilliantly flawed man who gave meaning to Tadashi’s existence.
Ainosuke lifted their joined hands to press a kiss to the back of Tadashi’s hand, then carefully separated. Tadashi stifled a frown at the loss of connection between them and Ainosuke winked at him. “There will be plenty more where that came from, sweet pup. But we’ve got a table full of your favorite treat to enjoy. It would be a shame to let such good food go to waste, wouldn’t it?”
This time Tadashi did allow himself to smile fully, the warmth of Ainosuke’s gaze spreading outward from his chest all the way to the tips of his fingers and toes. “Right.” He reached for an oyster, this time without doubt or hesitation. He squeezed lemon over it and then brought the shell to his lips, tipping the oyster into his mouth and letting the citrus mingle with the flavor of ocean minerals on his tongue. He couldn’t remember a time that something as simple as eating had given him such joy, as if the reassurance of Ainosuke’s favor had brought his body to new heights of sensation. Tadashi thought, in that moment, that any meal set before him would bring him ecstasy as long as Ainosuke’s warm crimson gaze never left him.
---
Later, when the oysters and entrees were finished and the champagne bottle abandoned less than half drunk, Tadashi drove them both home.
Again, Ainosuke insisted on going with him to park the car, on walking in with him through the garage. He walked beside Tadashi in comfortable silence, only pausing when they came to the door of Tadashi’s bedroom. Tadashi had intended to keep walking, to accompany Ainosuke to his own room and ensure his employer had everything he needed for the night, but Ainosuke stopped him, turning to face him in the hallway.
“Tadashi. Thank you for a lovely evening. The first of many to come, I hope.”
“…How often should I pencil ‘date night’ into your calendar, sir?” Tadashi asked, letting his deadpan tone serve as plausible deniability should Ainosuke not take kindly to his attempt at humor.
“Cheeky dog,” Ainosuke told him, reaching out to ruffle his hair fondly. “…How often is customary?” He wondered aloud. “Once a week? …More?” His fingers trailed downward to cup the side of Tadashi’s face. “I want to court you properly, after all.”
Tadashi was afraid to let himself meet Ainosuke’s eyes. “…You don’t need to.” My love for you is a foregone conclusion.
Ainosuke smiled knowingly. “I know, but I want to. So let me have this much?” He tilted Tadashi’s chin upward and pressed their lips together, quick and gentle. Ainosuke had kissed him before, but never like this, never with this kindness that made Tadashi want to melt into an unworthy puddle at his master’s feet. “Goodnight, Tadashi,” he whispered. “Think about what you want to do for our second date, okay?”
“…’kay!” Tadashi nodded, too choked up with years of emotion to get out even a single word. He cleared his throat, forced himself to meet his beloved master’s eyes. “…Sleep well, Mr. Ainosuke,” he told him, because abandoning honorifics in the halls of this house was still too challenging of a prospect. But maybe, like Ainosuke had said, they could work up to it. They had many more dates in their future, after all. “I’m looking forward to our second date.”
“Me too, puppy,” Ainosuke replied, a soft smile gracing his handsome features. “Me too. Sleep well,” he added, before heading down the hallway in the direction of his own room.