Work Text:
It’s a disgustingly hot summer day. Akira is walking directly in the sun, no protection from it except for his light shirt and shorts that feel more like a curse right now with how sweaty they already feel. At least there’s not many people around to see him like this, all of the usually busy Shibuya streets laughably deserted today, not many people daring to go out in the heat. Akira would appreciate it if he wasn’t so preoccupied with how thoroughly roasted he feels.
For a moment, he regrets coming here. Then he remembers the reason why he has agreed to work through his summer vacation in the first place, and suddenly, the summer weather seems laughable in the face of the burning heat inside him.
He forces himself to calm down. It’s a workday like any other, after all.
Turning into the familiar alleyway has him sigh in relief, the high buildings providing him the shade he so desperately needs. Untouchable’s door is wide open, and when he enters, the cool wave that hits him is refreshing enough to have made the walk here worth it. Akira is grateful like never before for the AC Iwai invested in to keep his wares in good condition.
His boss looks cool as ever behind the counter, legs kicked up while he’s concentrated on working on some modifications. A rifle, Akira recognises. Iwai is deeply engrossed in what he’s doing, eyebrows furrowed in thought, biting the stick of his lollipop. Akira doesn’t want to interrupt him—he likes seeing him this passionate. Nevertheless, he can’t keep standing there like a creep. He clears his throat, making Iwai look up in surprise.
“Huh. Didn’t expect you today, kid.”
Akira grins. “Thought you knew me better than that by now.”
They exchange a bit of banter, then Akira gets ready for his shift while Iwai stays in the front. He brings the new shipments in, unpacks what’s needed, cleans the counter, brings out the trash. All the usual preparations—the true nature of his job is looking after customers, getting stuff from the storage, helping with assembly, if needed.
It doesn’t take him long after finishing his tasks to realise that not a single customer has come in since he’s entered Untouchable. Akira stands around awkwardly for a moment, then busies himself by wiping down the glass cases that are already spotless. Anything to seem busy while he waits for customers.
“Slow business today,” he remarks after a while.
Iwai scoffs. “Didya really think people come out here to look at guns on the hottest day of the year?”
“Maybe they just overslept.”
Not a single customer comes in for the next few hours. Whenever Akira looks out of the window, it’s almost as if time is standing still. No breeze rustles the blinds, no noise is heard from the streets.
It’s kinda boring.
Akira is bored, and for a boy busy juggling half the world’s problems and his own at all times, that’s something rare. He needs something better to do with his time. Needs his brain to work, do anything to keep himself from going crazy.
His eyes stray to Iwai, who’d look as composed as always, if not for how he’s pulling at his collar, clearly feeling the heat too, even with the generous AC whirring in the background. His skin is glistening, and he sometimes wipes his palms on his pants while working on the gun before him.
There’s a bead of sweat trickling down his throat agonisingly slowly. Akira wants to lick it up, then do even unholier things to that man.
Blame the summer heat for frying his brain.
“It’s way too hot today,” Akira sighs and tries to act as if he hadn’t just eaten up his boss whole with his eyes and left nothing behind.
Iwai gives a low hum of acknowledgement, not looking up from where he’s modifying the rifle. Akira’s eyes fixate on him again, on the way his arms flex with each movement. Bare today, muscles on display for Akira only. Seeing Iwai in a tank top is a rare occasion, and Akira vows to cherish the sight by burning it into his retinas forever.
His stupid little crush on his boss is probably so obvious, but Iwai has always kept him at an arm’s length no matter what. Entertaining him with teases that always bordered on something more, but never enough for Akira to assume he gets the special treatment.
It’s frustrating, in a way. Iwai is never rejecting him enough for Akira to give up hope, which is precisely why he finds himself returning to the airsoft store time and time again when he could be doing so much more with his free time.
Even in the blistering heat, his legs keep carrying him to Untouchable almost on their own, and it’s neither the money nor the inventory he’s so interested in.
Iwai must think his staring means waiting for an answer, given how he looks up and meets Akira’s eyes directly. His gaze is intense and searching, making the boy look away quickly with heat in his face.
“You’re free to go home if you can’t stand it. Doubt anyone’s comin’ in, anyway.”
“No,” Akira shoots out, perhaps a bit too quickly, given how Iwai’s eyebrows raise. “I mean, I’ve got nothing better to do anyway. At least you’ve got an AC in here.”
Iwai grins at that. “Nothin’ better to do in your summer holidays? Thought you’re a busy kid.”
I make time for you, Akira wants to say.
“Never too busy,” comes out instead.
“Saving up for somethin’? Don’t mind me then.” Iwai’s expression softens, even with how he’s still having a grin on his face that makes Akira go crazy. “You’re free to come in whenever you wanna, in that case.”
“Thanks.”
This is where Iwai’s care really shows: appreciating Akira’s presence even when there’s absolutely nothing to do around the shop except entertain each other. Akira knows by now it’s not about having additional hands around the shop, but more about helping him out with money and maybe having a little bit of company too.
He thinks about Iwai. How he’s been trying to get closer to the man for months, how they would sometimes be in the back together, Iwai pulling him close and telling him that he appreciates him around the shop. His tone gentle and almost intimate, as if telling a secret. Always lingering. As if wanting to say more, do more, but never quite crossing that line.
Akira has no idea if he’s imagining the looks and heaviness behind the older man’s words. Maybe he’s reading too much into it. Even so, he wants to make sure that Iwai knows just how much he wants his lines to be crossed. That he couldn’t stop thinking of him ever since setting foot into the shop for the first time.
Maybe he should try to convey his intentions a bit better.
He looks over at his boss just to appreciate the sight of him lounging back in his chair in a tank top again, this time not even trying to hide it. His eyes immediately get drawn to Iwai’s hands, though. Rough palms that are easily twice the size of his own rub up and down the stock of a rifle, cleaning it with a rag. Tender and yet firm, the strokes downright obscene.
Akira really can’t stop his mind from wandering, licking his lips as he imagines Iwai jerking himself off while he’s watching. His eyes stray lower, down to the slight bulge in Iwai’s pants, and he can almost imagine his cock in his hands, one of those fingers he spent so long fantasising about beckoning him closer as Iwai holds it up for him like an invitation, no, a dare to lower himself onto it and ride him like there’s no tomorrow—
“See somethin’ interesting?”
His eyes shoot up to meet Iwai’s, and the teasing smirk on the older man’s lips makes Akira feel hot for an entirely different reason.
Did he notice? Or is he just entirely unaware of the looks Akira’s been giving him and thinks his head has been in the clouds instead?
“Sorry. Zoned out,” Akira mutters, even more ashamed this time.
“Hah.” Iwai puts the rifle away and crosses his arms, leaning back in his chair. “If you’re that bored, you can grab a mop and clean the storage. Sort the inventory a bit. Don’t slack.”
Akira grits his teeth. Reap what you sow. He got too distracted, and is now paying the price. He really only has himself to blame—that will not stop him, though.
It hardly ever has.
“Yes, boss.”
He makes sure to brush Iwai as he walks past him to the storage room. It earns him a pat on the shoulder that feels so friendly that he regrets ever having provoked it.
It’s less cool in the backrooms, and Akira is already feeling too hot from just preparing what he needs to clean the dusty place. But as much as he yearns to sit in front and lust after his boss all afternoon long, he also wants Iwai to get his money’s worth. Show him that he’s a diligent worker, and definitely worth keeping around. Maybe in more ways than just as an employee.
Akira always liked to think that he would make a great househusband.
So he works diligently, ignoring how his shirt sticks to his skin as he speeds through his work. The storage is cluttered with boxes and trash, and while he and Iwai usually ignore it out of laziness when they have to grab something, Akira decides that there’s no time like the present to get rid of old habits.
By the time he’s done, it’s already break time for him. Akira wipes his brow, feeling gross and sweaty and entirely unattractive. Nothing Iwai has ever minded, but he wishes he could at least take a shower before having to walk back in front of his boss, panting for breath and wiping the sweat off his face every few seconds.
The shorts help a bit, even with how he can feel the sweat trickle down his bare legs uncomfortably. He walks back to the front, and before he can even say anything, Iwai already tells him to take his break, caring as ever despite his serious tone.
Akira nods, and turns around to pack up his stuff.
He almost misses how Iwai’s eyes glance down at his legs, but the speed with which he averts them is too telling.
“Buy yourself somethin’ nice,” Iwai mumbles and pulls out a thousand-yen bill. Akira takes it with his mouth dry, and his legs feeling as if on fire from just a single glance.
“Thanks. Want anything too?”
“All set, kid.”
Only when Akira is already a few steps away from Untouchable does it hit him what just happened.
Iwai’s looks always have a certain intensity behind them. His teasing is deliberate, and his cool demeanour is just one of the many things that attracts Akira to him like a moth to a flame. But it’s hard to really know when he means it, with how composed he always is.
The look he gave him just now was none of these things. It was curious, and then downright ashamed. As if he didn’t quite allow himself to look at Akira as anything more than an employee, and probably a teenager too, even if Akira had grown out of that and into a young adult by now.
Maybe it’s the heat that fried his brain, or maybe he’s just so tired of jerking off at night to someone shoving a lollipop into his mouth while crowding him against glass cabinets full of expensive airsoft guns. Akira nevertheless feels different today. Enabled, in a way, enabled by Iwai’s glances alone to risk both his job and a person who he’s come to cherish a bit too much, given their relationship and how it had started out.
Their contract. Akira remembers it as clear as day. Iwai had pulled him into the backrooms, crowded him against the wall, then told him to help him if he wanted help in return. Back then, better equipment for the team had been all that was on Akira’s mind when he agreed to the offer, but now it’s different.
Maybe he should be the one to demand a favour for once. He wonders—would Iwai indulge him?
Only one way to find out.
Akira spends his break loitering around the street vendors, not quite feeling something hot to eat in this heat. Everything looks unappealing, but the banknote burns a hole into his pocket. Iwai would be disappointed if he didn’t get anything more than water. Akira hopes it’s more than just the father in him coming out.
He stops at an ice cream vendor, figuring it to be the only appropriate snack in this heat. Akira browses the menu quickly before his eyes fall on something specific that gives him an idea so stupid and dangerous that he just has to go through with it now.
Anything to test the waters with Iwai. To finally take a step forward and force the man to really look at him, no matter the consequences.
Akira feels thoroughly slutty when he returns to Untouchable sucking on a popsicle.
It’s almost disappointing when Iwai’s eyes immediately turn back to what he was working on and he only mutters that Akira will be toast if he gets it on the wares. Almost. A drop of melted vanilla ice cream makes it past Akira’s lips and chin, and Iwai’s eyes snap to him with an aggression that betrays just how affected he really is when it immediately softens to confusion, and then, once again, shame.
“Be more careful,” Iwai hisses.
Akira smirks. “Or what?”
“Or I’m gonna make ya clean the counter with your tongue, boy.”
Akira can just barely hold back from moaning at that, knowing what he will get off to tonight. Both to shut himself up and fluster Iwai even harder, he shoves the popsicle into his mouth, immediately regretting it as brain freeze sets in sharply.
Being a slut apparently has its price, but he’s willing to pay that if it gets him out of this limbo and finally into the searing flames of hell.
It’s more awkward than he counted on from then on. He has no idea how hard he has to suck on the treat to get Iwai to look at him again, what he has to do to toe the line between innocent and deliberate in a way that doesn’t get him fired but laid. Akira doesn’t want to overdo it, of course, but when even the small, pleased sigh he lets out doesn’t get him any reaction, it becomes much harder to not just shove all care aside and deepthroat the popsicle.
He decides to change tactics a few minutes in, standing up, walking around the counter, and leaning over it much too suggestively, his ass in the air like an offering, even if it's turned towards the door instead of Iwai. Akira can feel his shorts riding up, and, thankfully, Iwai’s head snaps up then, stormy grey eyes locking on him. It’s predictable, in a way; Akira is not sure any person would be able to look away from him in this position.
Maybe he’s overdoing it. The excitement he feels is worth it, though.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Iwai then says, voice stern, a frown on his face.
“Watching you work.” Akira grins and licks up a drop at the bottom that was about to fall, then lets his tongue travel up the entire length of the popsicle.
Iwai looks about ready to kill him.
He thinks for a moment that his boss will call him out on his bullshit, given how his eyes darken, but the moment is gone so soon it might as well have been his imagination.
“You’re slacking,” Iwai mumbles. “Finish that quickly. Be glad I’m nice to you today.”
“You’re always nice to me,” Akira grins. “Maybe you just like me.”
The tension between them is so thick it threatens to explode, and Akira’s heart beats in his throat, ice cream long forgotten in favour of leaning more over the counter, closer to Iwai, who looks more embarrassed and speechless than ever, truly like a deer caught in headlights.
If Akira is right, this is all the confirmation he will ever need.
He opens his mouth to deliver the final blow, but the door chimes in that moment and both turn out of reflex to see a customer enter the shop.
Akira has never felt more disappointed in his life. He curses slow summer days, he curses people who wanna buy airsoft guns, he curses his own ego for having gotten too big for the little space Untouchable offers him and Iwai.
The man is in business attire, probably coming straight from work, the few hairs on his head slicked back. Thick-rimmed glasses hide eyes that seem confused at the scene before him.
Akira knows this customer, and not in a good way. Back before he got into the hang of his many part-time jobs, he was not aware just how many older men will lust after a young, male teenager, given the chance.
Honestly, seeing the way the guy hesitates in the doorway, mouth agape as his eyes flick between Akira’s behind and the way he’s holding onto the popsicle...
Akira has always been a bit weak to attention. He’s even weaker to jealousy, and from the way Iwai’s entire demeanour grows downright threatening all of a sudden, he thinks he might be in luck, if he interpreted everything so far correctly.
If. Maybe Akira is living through a very wild, heat-induced hallucination right now.
“Welcome to Untouchable,” Akira purrs. Just to be an asshole, he licks a long stripe up his popsicle.
All look, no touch.
It works like a charm as the guy sucks in a sharp breath at the same time as Iwai puts the gun on the table, clearly done with dedicating his concentration somewhere else. Akira risks a glance to see his boss’s eyes focused intently on the guy, jaw set tight, fingers gripping the counter.
Finally, Akira receives a nod from the customer, and he comes in properly, mumbling something about checking out the wares while he fans his sweaty face.
Akira is not above wiggling his ass slightly to really show off the goods. As gross as he feels, something about being the centre of attention is utterly intoxicating to him. Especially with how Iwai barely hides his disapproval, hawk eyes burning a hole through Akira. He simply throws the man an innocent smile, pretending to be unaware.
Iwai is not doing anything to intervene, though. Nothing except turning away and watching the guy again, not even hiding his scowl. Akira supposes Iwai would hardly call him a slut in front of a customer, would hardly ever do something like that in the first place, but his passiveness still counts as a challenge to do better to him.
Akira does not even try to hide his intent as he shoves half the popsicle into his mouth, sucking on it with a drawn-out, pleased moan.
Two pairs of eyes immediately snap to him, and it takes all that Akira has to force his growing erection down. The counter is his only ally, hiding his crotch completely with how he’s pressed up against it.
Akira feels the hairs on the back of his neck stand up, and he doesn’t know if it’s from being leered at by a gross man three times his age, or from how Iwai looks two seconds away from kicking his ass, since it’s already on display anyway.
He’s taking the lollipop out. Akira knows this means business.
“That’s enough.”
Iwai’s voice is thundering in the small space of the shop, the words seeping under his skin and making Akira shiver beautifully. He peers at his boss from behind the popsicle, playfully tilting his head, but Iwai’s attention is not directed at Akira.
“If you’re done loitering you can get lost.”
It’s so effective that the guy immediately flinches and stammers out an apology, hurrying out at the speed of light. Not sparing Akira’s behind another glance.
The silence after the door chimes is searing.
“Wasn’t that one of the better-paying customers?” Akira asks innocently, just for the sake of saying something, given that Iwai obviously prefers to glare daggers at him until he speaks first.
The lollipop goes back into his mouth. Akira’s eye is drawn to it.
“Don’t want the money of assholes who got nothin’ better to do than loiter.”
“He’s barely been in here for five minutes.”
“Five minutes too long.”
Akira hums and pointedly licks at the popsicle again. “It’s like you don’t even want customers. Who knows if someone else will come in today?” He swirls his tongue around what’s left of the ice cream, then sucks at it, using his weapon of choice for as long as he can.
He only realises just how hard he got into the act when Iwai doesn’t react immediately, eyes fixated on Akira’s lips, brows furrowed in thought.
“You’re doin’ this on purpose,” Iwai states, eyes narrowing.
Akira’s heart beats so loudly it threatens to jump out of his chest.
“So what if I am?” He wiggles his hips as he says the words, biting the popsicle stick playfully. There’s nothing left of the ice cream anymore now, but that doesn’t mean he’s out of weapons.
It’s in fact so effective that Akira can see the exact moment Iwai snaps.
“Come here. Now.”
Iwai points to the space before him, and Akira feels like he just spiritually came. Or something. He’s too busy obeying the command to think straight, legs wobbly as they carry him around the counter, stopping right in front of Iwai. Resisting the urge to fall to his knees.
Akira is fairly sure that he’s out of secrets by now—all of them bare on display for Iwai only, the ones he didn’t yet spill laid out in the open by his erection he’s not even trying to hide.
He feels too hot and horny to care.
Iwai is leaning back in his chair with his legs spread apart as he stares up at him with a face too neutral and emotions Akira can’t quite put his finger on. The position is anything but relaxed, though—Akira sees the tension in his muscles, the way he looks seconds away from doing something he shivers imagining.
“So what’s your goal here, kid?” Iwai asks him then. Jaw set.
It’s not the words Akira expected. If anything, it’s stalling. Figuring Akira out, if he’s serious. If it’s not just a grave, terrifying misunderstanding, despite all. Testing the waters first to know when to retreat.
Akira knows this game, and he’s kinda sick of playing by now.
He steps forward and sinks into Iwai’s lap, ignoring how the other’s eyes widen at it. The chair pushes back a bit and hits the counter. Akira takes the clean lollipop stick out of Iwai’s mouth, licking at it teasingly before discarding it on the counter.
“I think you know already,” he breathes, using his most seductive voice as he finally puts his hands on those arms he’s been thirsting over all day, fingers tracing the muscles. They are so close now that he feels dizzy from it.
One of Iwai’s hands comes up, fingers splaying against Akira’s bare thigh. The touch feels like it’s burning the skin underneath. Leaving marks on him forever.
Iwai does nothing to push him off, and it’s all the affirmation Akira needs to know he’s doing the right thing, moving this somewhere both have been wanting this to go for longer than just today.
“Should have never come in wearin’ those shorts,” Iwai mumbles, raking his eyes down Akira’s body unabashedly. “It’s distracting the customers.”
Akira’s pulse thrums. “And the employees?”
“Maybe those too.”
Iwai smirks. Akira is close enough to kiss it off, but he exercises restraint. For now.
So instead, he drapes his hands around his neck, leaning in and taking yet another risk. “No one else is gonna come in. Might as well entertain ourselves.”
Iwai hums, and Akira holds his breath as the other leans in. His lips travel down his throat, and he noses along Akira’s neck. A shiver goes through Akira as his stubble scratches him, and he squeezes his eyes shut with a whimper when a hot tongue swipes up and over his ear next.
“You’re moving awfully fast,” Iwai whispers.
“Please,” Akira breathes as he presses himself close, and the shiver that goes through Iwai is downright gorgeous. “Munehisa.” He will move as fast as it takes to reach what he wants.
Iwai presses his lips behind his ear. “Akira.” His fingers stroke up and down his thigh. “Since when?”
“Since you first looked at me.”
“That so?”
Iwai moves away at that. Slowly enough so Akira can blink out of his trance. The hand on his thigh moves up to cup his waist, and suddenly, Iwai looks deep in thought. His lips are pressed together.
"Maybe once you're a few years older."
Akira surges in and mashes their lips together before he can say more.
Iwai doesn’t reciprocate immediately, and for a moment, Akira thinks he will push him away. Will tell him to cut it out. That he’s too young, too inexperienced, too immature for someone like Iwai.
Then arms wind around his midsection to pull him in, and Iwai tilts his head to kiss him deeper.
It’s wild and messy at first. Akira has wanted this for too long and is not quite sure it won’t be ripped away from him in an instant, and Iwai is still holding back. Their lips meet again and again, no space between their bodies as Akira pushes himself as close as he can. Only when Iwai tangles a hand in his hair and forces him still does Akira give up the lead, letting Iwai’s tongue swipe over his lips, push inside, utterly claim him.
He sighs into the kiss, grinds forward, suddenly feeling the hardness in the other man’s pants. A noise akin to a plea leaves him as he holds onto Iwai’s shoulders, nails digging into the bare skin, and Akira grinds steadily against that spot.
The groan that leaves Iwai is better than any of his fantasies could have ever been. Akira wants more, more, more, and he separates them only briefly to vocalise that.
“Fuck me,” he whispers. “Please. I need you. Please.”
Iwai pulls him back in to press kisses to his neck, hiding how he’s clearly affected. “We can’t.”
“Then close up shop.”
“That’s not it,” Iwai mumbles against his skin. “I don’t got the stuff here for that, and you’re...” He doesn’t finish the sentence. Akira knows what he was trying to say. That he's too young, that he's his employee, that they shouldn't do this.
He wants him too. That’s all that sticks out to him. All that matters.
“I do.” Teeth scrape against his jugular, making Akira shiver. “It’s in— in my bag.”
Iwai pulls back, giving him an incredulous look. “Came prepared?”
“Always.”
Akira presses a kiss to his lips that lingers, then regrettably gets off his lap to grab what he needs. He feels about ready to explode in his pants, and the idea that the man he’s been lusting over for what feels like forever will be inside him soon…
When he turns back around with lube and condoms, he feels like bursting from the anticipation. Yet instead of sitting and waiting, Iwai is standing now, arms crossed, leaning back against the counter. Expression hard-set again. He would look intimidating, if not for the blush Akira knows he was the one to paint on his face.
“I don’t think we should be doin’ this, kid.”
The way he still calls him that does nothing to deter Akira from his goals. If anything, it’s even hotter.
Akira walks closer. Too close. He puts his arms on Iwai’s chest, marvelling at the fact that he can do that now. “Got cold feet?” he teases him with a grin. “I’m not leaving without having gotten your cock in my ass.”
Iwai swallows hard at that. “You’ve got some goals.”
“You want me too.”
“Shop’s still open.”
“Makes it hotter.”
“And what do you expect to happen after this?”
Akira yanks him down by the collar of his tank top, brushing their lips together.
“We will fuck even more. And maybe you’ll let me take you out on a date.”
It’s this that finally changes something in Iwai’s expression. He looks equal parts relieved and frustrated as he removes Akira’s hand with strength that makes him feel weak in the knees.
“I’m taking you out, if anything.”
Akira grins, giddy with joy at the other’s words. “You can do whatever you want after you finally rail me over the counter like I’ve been dreaming of for months.”
Iwai groans. “Fine. Anyone ever tell you you got a mouth ten times your size?”
“Wonder what could fit in there,” Akira grins, wiggling his eyebrows just to be even more infuriating. It works like a charm as Iwai’s expression darkens.
“Ya little brat,” he hisses, guiding Akira back towards the counter. “You’re lucky you’re cute. Turn around.”
Every cell in Akira’s body screams in joy, and he obeys immediately, eagerly turning around, putting the lube and condoms aside and supporting himself on the counter. He expects Iwai to push him down, get rid of his pants, treat him as blunt as his words were.
Akira is startled when instead a hand pulls his head back by the chin and hot lips attach to his neck, while another hand feels down his chest, getting lower and lower. A shaky moan escapes him as it slips into his pants and long fingers rub his cock in smooth circles. Iwai’s hand feels so big on him, and it’s all he can do to not buck into it like an animal in heat.
There’s pressure against his hips and the distinct sensation of something hard shoving against him, pressing him against the counter. Akira inhales sharply and tries grinding back, but he doesn’t have much leverage in his position. Iwai’s fingers stroke him tighter. It’s already too much.
“Please,” Akira gasps out, not sure if he wants him to stop or do even more.
Iwai leans over him, nuzzling his neck. Crowding him against the counter. “Please what, baby?”
He almost cums in his pants right there and then, squeezing his eyes shut as he tries to think of anything but the way that nickname rolled off Iwai’s tongue. “More.”
“Not so vocal anymore, huh?”
He’s indeed so close to the edge already it’s hard to speak, so he just lets out a groan in response, clinging more to the counter. He should tell Iwai to stop, should say he’s close, that he doesn’t wanna come yet—
Iwai bites down on his neck, and it throws Akira over the edge harshly, crying out as he thrusts into his hand and hides his face in his arms so he doesn’t let all of Shibuya hear how hard he’s coming. Iwai strokes him through it without mercy.
“Such pretty shorts, yet you got them so dirty,” he taunts him as Akira comes down from it, pulling out his hand. Akira can hear the rustling of tissues, but he doesn’t have the energy to look. He’s busy gathering himself back together, because that might just have been one of the best orgasms he’s ever had, and Iwai did nothing except tease him to achieve that.
He’s so down bad for this man.
The glass is foggy under his mouth. Akira hopes he has the strength to speak. “I’m not gonna move from here until you’ve fucked me,” he announces to the room.
A delighted little chuckle is his response. “Thought that wouldn’t be enough to satisfy you.”
There’s a presence at his back, then skilful fingers return to work on the button of his shorts, pulling them down together with his underwear. The next thing he knows, Akira is butt-naked in the front of Untouchable, spent cock pressed against the cool glass displays of the counter, the owner slipping his hands under his shirt and feeling him up as if he was the most priceless thing of them all in here.
The shirt goes next, then Akira hears the clinking of a belt. It all serves to make him even more impatient, his orgasm having done nothing to get rid of the burning need inside him. And as lewd as he feels, bent over the store counter while anyone could come inside, it doesn’t even allow for the satisfying view of Iwai finally pulling his cock out.
He reaches for the lube to at least speed things up, but Iwai snatches it up before he can. “Good boys bend over and take it,” he murmurs. Akira feels about ready to come again just from those words.
“Have I ever been good?”
“I’ll train you to be.”
The implications of that make Akira’s mind run so wild that he almost doesn’t notice the finger at his rim, gasping out when it pushes inside. There’s little resistance, luckily—Iwai didn’t save on the lube, and Akira feels more at ease having the security that he knows what he’s doing, clearly having experience.
Iwai is almost too gentle with it. He takes his time establishing a slow rhythm, all the while adding more lube and pressing kisses to Akira’s nape that have him flush more than anything else has so far. Akira pants against the counter, wondering how just one finger is getting him worked up again so quickly. His cock is half-hard already, and he hopes he’s staining the glass case plenty with how it’s pressing against it. Leaving evidence this happened. That Akira Kurusu got railed over the shop counter by his hot boss.
To think that all it took was a popsicle and a bit of insistence on his part.
Iwai slides a second finger in, and the stretch is more sudden than Akira had counted on. He knew the man had big hands, but he didn’t expect two fingers to feel like a dildo already. For a moment, he dreads what will come after this, but another kiss to his neck and a quiet question if this feels good brings him back to reality and reminds him that Iwai is sweeter about this than Akira expected him to be.
And suddenly, he can’t wait to speed this up anymore.
“I can take it.” He tries to shove back on his fingers. “C’mon, give me more. Please. I won’t break that easily.” Maybe he is a bit more impatient about it than he needs to be.
The fingers stilling inside him are punishment enough, and Akira whines, trying to move his hips for friction.
Iwai chuckles, apparently amused at his impatience. “Needy. You better learn to follow my pace, or you get nothin’ at all.”
“Had to wait long enough,” Akira groans, inhaling sharply as Iwai moves again, curling his fingers and changing the angle. “There, do that again. Please.”
“At least you know how to beg.”
He doesn’t humour his request. If anything, Iwai does his best to be infuriating about it, stretching his fingers out, never quite brushing that bundle of nerves inside him again.
It works, though. Akira gets more used to the penetrating digits, relaxes around them. He wants more. He needs more, after some time, so he pleads again. Quietly, more serious, almost a prayer with how he breathes the request.
A low hum, and Iwai pulls out almost completely to add more lube. Then a third finger. Akira is surprised how easily it joins the other two, the stretch not that uncomfortable anymore.
It’s almost enough to still the craving inside him, and when Iwai finally pulls out and wipes his fingers, Akira’s hole aches to be filled again.
“You feelin’ good?” Iwai asks.
“No.” Akira inhales, shivering. “Fuck me so it gets better.”
Laughter bubbles out of Iwai. “Feisty. I like it.”
Hearing the condom packet rip open does nothing to help his growing need, and every second Iwai spends away from Akira is pure torture. He yearns to turn around. Look at Iwai’s face, the expression he’s making in this moment, the way he slides on the condom and puts on lube all in preparation to fuck Akira.
He feels overcome with arousal. His cock is achingly hard against the glass display.
Akira pushes his ass up more in anticipation, but a hand presses him down again.
“Stay still.”
He holds his breath as he feels a blunt pressure against his rim. It increases slowly, but never quite breaches him, and Akira realises with startling clarity just how big Iwai really is. When the head slips in, it makes Akira’s mouth fall open in a silent exclamation.
Iwai slowly pushes in further, filling Akira more and more as he can’t do more than hold onto the counter until his knuckles whiten. When he’s almost in the entire way, he grabs his hips and pulls Akira back on his cock completely, thrusting forward at the same time. Fully sheathing himself inside.
It knocks the breath out of Akira. Distantly, he feels tears prick the corners of his eyes, not paying them much mind.
Nothing matters as much as the cock inside him. Nothing.
“Shit,” Iwai curses under his breath. “You alright? Sorry.”
“Fuck me.”
Akira trembles underneath him, feeling speared open like never before. He feels as if he will die if Iwai doesn’t start moving soon.
“Now.”
He hears Iwai take a shuddering breath.
“You’re gonna be the death of me, kid.”
And then he’s pulling out almost to the hilt, only to slam back in, punching a high-pitched moan out of Akira. Iwai stays still for an agonisingly slow moment, pulls back even slower, then repeats the procedure. Thrusting into him so harshly, yet with a slowness that is almost torture. Akira feels each drag of his length inside him throughout his whole body, every nerve ending alight with too many feelings he can’t handle.
It’s overwhelming, to be filled this much. Used for Iwai’s pleasure, the pace at which he thrusts into him feeling like it’s specifically to drive Akira so crazy he can’t think about anything else but getting fucked anymore.
He doesn’t have the capacity to beg. Is not sure his voice would even cooperate. Akira whines into his arms, and raises his ass to entice him to go faster. Deeper. Fuck him so hard it breaks him and builds him anew.
The grip on his hips tightens, and he’s pulled back so suddenly it makes him cry out from the sensations. Iwai groans, hot and deep, and the sound seeps under Akira’s skin and shakes him completely.
“You’re a tight fit,” Iwai mumbles. “Havin’ fun? Don’t think I’ll go easy on ya.”
Akira can’t do much more than nod quickly and moan in pleasure.
His head is suddenly turned back by the chin, and then warm lips land on his. Iwai’s tongue licks into his mouth at the same time as he speeds up his thrusts. Akira feels utterly ravaged. Unable to do anything but take it.
He feels both overstimulated and as if nothing will ever be quite enough to satisfy the burning need inside him.
Iwai kisses his cheek, then swipes another stray tear away with his thumb. His cheeks are flushed, and in his eyes is heat. “Good boy. You take me so well.”
Akira cries out when the next thrust goes deeper, brushes his prostate when he pulls back. “Mune,” he whines quietly.
“Do ya like the idea of anyone being able to come in, seeing you on my cock?”
Akira moans in response, loud and overwhelmed.
Iwai releases him with a playful bite to his lips, and once both of his hands return to Akira’s hips, he finally takes him the way Akira yearned to. Quick and hard, not giving him a chance to breathe as he hammers into him, his groans getting more desperate, drenched with desire.
The angle changes, and Akira’s eyes roll to the back of his head as each stroke against his inner walls from then on makes him moan shamelessly, voice tight, keening with want. The only mercy Iwai shows is a soothing hand brushing up his back, the tenderness such a stark contrast that it only adds to the overwhelming feelings.
Akira doesn’t know how much time has passed with him bent over the counter like that, when he feels himself getting closer to release. His shivering and the tone of his voice must have changed to betray it, because next thing he knows, Iwai’s hand wraps around his cock, and when he tells him to be good and come for him, Akira is immediately thrown over the edge.
His orgasm feels never-ending, wave after wave of ecstasy shaking him, clinging tightly to the counter as he’s getting fucked within an inch of his life. Only when Iwai stills in him does he come down from it, and Akira faintly recognises that the other came too.
“Fuck,” Iwai mumbles, collapsing down on Akira. “Fuck.” His breath ghosts over Akira’s neck, and he shudders weakly from the sensation.
“Yeah,” Akira agrees, grinning.
A few seconds in which they lie together, sticky and spent, then Iwai pulls out of him. Akira mourns that he can’t feel his cum dripping out of him, and vows to change that the next time.
“You okay, kid?” A hand strokes through his hair, a bit rough. Akira closes his eyes and enjoys it, humming.
“Yeah. Gimme a second.”
It feels like his soul has to return to his body first. Besides—he doesn’t want to give up the afterglow just yet, enjoying the warmth spreading through him, the way his body still twitches post-orgasm.
Technically, he’s still on the clock, even if he believes that Iwai can be convinced to make better use of Akira’s time here.
He pushes himself back up slowly, legs still shaky. Iwai helps him get dressed properly again, then cleans up Akira’s mess, not remarking on it once. He presses a kiss to his temple in passing, and Akira feels like he lucked out.
Soon enough, Untouchable looks as if nothing had ever happened, and the only evidence is the rosy glow on Akira’s face, and the way he can still feel the phantom sensation of a cock inside him.
Iwai looks equal parts pleased and embarrassed as he slumps back into his seat at the counter.
“That was stupid,” he groans. “What if Kaoru had come in? Damnit.”
Akira grins and winds his hands around his neck from behind. “But you had fun, right?” He knows he had. He just wants to hear him admit it.
Iwai catches his hand, then pulls him to be on eye level with him. He takes Akira’s chin between his fingers. “We’re not done here,” he whispers, hot breath hitting Akira’s lips. “I’m takin’ you out on that date tomorrow. Ya better not get any stupid ideas before that.”
“What if I beg really nicely?” Akira brushes their lips together with a smirk.
He doesn’t hear the answer to that, because Untouchable’s door chimes at that moment. They separate too quickly, exchanging a last look before Akira turns to the door.
“Welcome to Untouchable,” he greets the customer. It would almost feel the same as always, if not for the hand sneaking up the back of his leg possessively. Hidden from sight, yet enough of a statement.
Akira is his.
There’s still enough time left before the shop closes, and Akira can’t wait to see how long it takes him to get Iwai to throw care to the wind again. How much more often he can take advantage of the slowness of a summer day and finally indulge in what he has only dared to dream about until today.
He’s sure he just has to beg prettily enough, and he will get what he wants.