Work Text:
Even before the communicator vibrates, she’s already standing up and marching away from her desk.
She wouldn’t normally be this quick to react to this kind of situation, especially since she already has an inkling of what kind of nonsense to expect. But she’s already cleared up the pile of paperwork all the way to three days from now. Things have also been quite peaceful recently, which is good for business but not so great for her desire to not be stuck sitting in place.
There’s only so much training she can do, after all—a real-time battle is still the best way to keep her skills sharp.
So, with those justifications in mind, she strides out of her office. She tightens her high ponytail as she walks, before letting it fall down to the middle of her back, swinging like a pendulum counting down on someone’s death.
She doesn’t encounter anyone in the hallway.
That isn’t so surprising. The top floor is reserved for two offices on opposite ends. One for the Boss and one for the second-in-command, who’s also not-so-privately called “the bossiest chibi who bosses me around” by said Boss of the Port Mafia.
For the sake of everyone’s sanity and safety, there’s very little personnel who’s authorized to enter this floor. A lot of times, both office doors are kept open so that the two occupants could scream insults at each other over the long hallway.
An even greater amount of time, there are screams that are of a decidedly unsafe nature—unsafe for work, because Dazai is a petty, jealous asshole who’d sign an extermination order if she thinks that someone else has laid their eyes on her partner.
In-between those times, there are occasional screams from people who aren’t the two of them.
Just like today.
Chuuya kicks open the door to Dazai’s office without bothering to knock or announce herself. There are two dozen men in military camouflage, systematic and cautious in their approach of the idiot who’s sleeping on her desk.
Her eyebrows twitch as she smells something annoying in the air.
“You guys should be smarter,” she tells the group of enemies that have somehow made their way undetected into the office of the Boss of the number one underground organization. “Quit while you’re ahead, cherish your lives more and don’t go around associating with this dipshit over here.”
It’s a familiar set of words. She’s been saying something to that effect ever since she’s had the misfortune of being allocated to the same class as this shitty, bratty Alpha. Top-class female Alphas are too rare that the list of names on historical books could be counted off easily.
Dazai’s alpha-hormone levels are amongst the highest ever-recorded—coupled with her annoying personality, she’s managed to string along a queue of people who simultaneously want to beat her up and want to try their hand at ‘owning’ and ‘taming’ her, whatever the fuck that means.
On the other hand, Chuuya just wants to beat her up. She doesn’t want anything to do with ‘owning’ or ‘taming’ this nuisance.
…However, that doesn’t mean that she’s just going to allow others into encroaching upon her territory. After all, one of the main hallmarks of having increased levels of alpha-hormones is the uncontrollable possessiveness. All top-tier alphas possess that almost-senseless need to possess the things and the people that they consider theirs. It’s especially powerful when towards their mates.
It's the same for Dazai. And as someone whose bloodstream circulates the highest-ever alpha-hormone level recorded, Chuuya isn’t immune to this animalistic urge too.
Only her self-control and her refusal to be saddled with the massive cleaning bill are keeping her urges in check. When the men divert their attention to her mechanically, without panicking and wetting their pants in terror, it clicks.
“Oh, you’re new to the city.” She’s wondered how there are still idiots who deliver their necks to her, given how they’re a pair steeped in infamy. Nowadays, none of the locals even dare to entertain the idea of crossing ‘soukoku’, the pair of female alphas that have claimed each other as mates. She cracks her knuckles as she prepares to clean them up. “Let me give you a proper welcome to Yokohama then.”
A single step forward, and then she’s whipping through the air like a heated knife slicing through butter. Two dozen means nothing to her, all of them crumbling under her punches and kicks. She hits them hard enough to give them concussed unconsciousness. She doesn’t outright kill them—otherwise, how can they crawl back to their base while spreading tales of their horror and humiliation? Plus, Dazai would probably want to extract some more information from them and dead men aren’t very chatty.
The five-minute mark isn’t even touched by the time she finishes the last of them with a knuckle to the Adam’s apple and a knee to the solar plexus. Not a hair out of place, her ponytail still nice and tight.
“It isn’t even enough of a warm-up,” she complains as she stomps all over the second makeshift carpet made of fallen bodies. They can’t even groan from pain. She approaches the desk with the ‘sleeping beauty’ still slumped over it, face using a pillow of paperwork that should have been completed hours ago. She pokes the other woman’s ear. “Oi, how long are you gonna pretend to be asleep?”
From the very beginning, she could sense the smell of bullshit.
On top of that, she could also smell—
Dazai finally lifts her face from the table. Her face is flushed, and not just from the prolonged contact against something solid. There’s sweat dotting her forehead and the curve of her cheeks. Eyes nearly a dark red, as they sparkle at her with a wicked light.
“Were you extra savage to them because you were jealous?” It isn’t either of their ruts, so any pheromones are kept under control. And yet, the expression on her face speaks of frenzied, animalistic desire that’s usually reserved for ruts and heats. “Jealous that they were here at all?” Slowly, incisively. “Jealous that I’m having a lot of fun when you aren’t?”
“They were too weak,” she affirms with a roll of her eyes.
Dazai rolls her hips forward, unfurling like a serpent about to catch its prey. Anyone else probably wouldn’t have noticed it. Wouldn’t have heard the whirr of it, wouldn’t have smelled the scent of it. Now that it’s just the two of them conscious for this, Dazai leans all the way back to her chair, and spreads her legs, bunching up her miniskirt high enough that it’s almost a belt.
“Do you like it?”
Chuuya feels her knees go weak—from disbelief, anger, and arousal. Mouth dry, “You’re not wearing any panties? What the fuck?”
“I wanted to be ready for you,” smirking. “Since you still have lots of pent-up energy from the very short fight, ne?” A flutter of her eyelashes as she reaches down to part her lower lips, exposing the faintly whirring vibrator still lodged in her. The chair’s cushion has a dark spot in it, and her thighs are already shiny with fluid. “Aren’t I very considerate?”
“Have you considered that you’re insane,” she asks flatly, even though her interest spikes as she erases the distance between them. A movement full of familiarity, she slides her finger in alongside the thrumming toy, curling up so she could press against that spot without any preamble.
“You love me anyway,” Dazai declares with confidence as her body curves sinuously, her hips delivering herself to Chuuya’s mercy. Her back arches against the chair as she comes, furthermore staining the cushion under her. She’s generous with her reactions, opening up her mouth as she loudly moans.
It's a ruckus that could probably wake someone from a coffin, so Chuuya has no choice but to kiss her into silence, licking all noises out of her and swallowing them into her insides. An alpha’s greed when it comes to making sure that she owns everything that her mate releases—regardless of its tangibility.
Her hand is wet with her mate’s release and her chin is wet from their combined spit. Everything is sticky and perfect. She moves so that she’s straddling Dazai more securely, the hum of that still-moving vibrator tickling their skins. It’s not hitting her directly, but that’s alright—Dazai’s fingers are long and dexterous, unzipping her pants and sneaking inside with practiced grace.
A laugh against her mouth. “How’s that for a warm-up?”
“I’d have preferred your warm-up to be something like finishing off your paperwork.” It’s impossible though. This mackerel’s laziness is written into her bones, much like how being an alpha is wired into her system.
“It’s not my fault that you’re too strong, dear alpha,” is uttered with part-mockery, part-airy jest. “I’ve done my best to trick some hapless group to attack our headquarters, but they just aren’t up to par.”
There’s no way this shithead would agree, but she still says, “I’d forgive you if you let me beat you up ten times.”
“Can’t you change the wording to ‘ravishing me’ instead?”
“No, because that’s an entirely different matter, you idiot.”
In-between their words, they suck bruises into each other’s neck, bracketing their teeth over each other’s glands. Marking each other in all the ways that matter. They have enough experience in multitasking between bickering and rendering each other breathless.
Soft, blissful familiarity is probably not something that anyone would guess the relationship between two infamous alphas to be like. It’s also not something Chuuya would have guessed after their first meeting—since it had ended up with her genuinely trying to strike this bastard dead. But, it’s what they currently have and it’s not something that she’d like for anyone to even think about threatening to take away.
“…If you want to pit me against another group again,” she says with a sigh as Dazai squeezes her, greedy for more. “Don’t do it like this anymore.”
Dazai mirrors her sigh, a soft sound that’s immediately followed by a savage bite to her glands, deep enough that droplets of blood spill out. “You were jealous, huh.” A satisfied hum as she licks the mess she’s just made. “I would never let anyone else see me in that state, Chuuya.” Because she’s not someone who can stay well-behaved for any period of time, she adds, “If you want, you can lock me up to make sure?”
Her heartbeat quickens. She covers it up by harrumphing, “What, and let you skive off work? No fucking way.”
“Ah, I understand. You can’t bear to go to work without me around.”
“I really shouldn’t be going to work without you around, Boss,” she says snidely.
Dazai perks up, “Want to try calling me ‘master’ next?”
“Want to try getting really beaten up?” A flippant gesture with her other hand—the one that’s not kept wedged tight between this mackerel’s thighs—towards the carpet of their still-unconscious enemies.
“Ah, spoken like a barbarian alpha.”
“Ah, a shitty perverted alpha is breathing on me,” she counters.
“You truly have no sense of romance, huh?” This would have been so much gentler and convincing if Dazai actually pauses in fingering her while she talks. But no, Dazai even takes out the vibrator and transfers it to her, thoroughly mixing up their body fluids. She’s really lazy and perverted enough to multitask in fucking her and fucking with her.
She shifts so that the angle hits her better, knowing that Dazai wants her to move herself. A thoroughly-involved participants instead of someone simply going along with the flow, no matter how pleasurable. She raises an eyebrow, panting against that smirking mouth. “Your sense of romance is sending a bunch of useless idiots my way so I could beat them up.”
“Mm, but that’s because I’m the only one who should be making you sweat or tired, chibikko.”
“With how much you’re slacking off with your hands right now, I’m very far from sweating, but I’m already so tired of you, asshole.”
A sigh, followed by another lick to his neck, as if to tell her that Dazai could taste the sweat there anyway. She huffs, but allows the other to mark her up even more, tilting her head to the side to give her mate easier access.
A grin of triumph, but Chuuya generously ignores that and continues to enjoy the rest of today’s exercise at work.
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end