Chapter Text
All things considered, Furuya did like being a beta.
It gave him an edge in this line of business where being able to blend into the background just like that was a superpower, and being as unidentifiable as possible was a remarkable feat. The others would never get a taste of this: the satisfaction of the unaffected, of someone who can stand in a cloud of things better left unsaid and reign above it.
Furuya liked being a beta. He liked feeling in control, so when Akai walked up to his desk without a care in the world and asked, “Can you take a week off?” his alarm bells started blaring.
Akai Shuichi was never good news.
He loomed and he prowled and stalked around the office like a barely domesticated animal with the self-assuredness of someone who thought he owned the place, if fixing the problem that wasn’t his to fix and nobody asked him to make him entitle to it.
Kazami once asked him, does he always do this? And Furuya was only one second away from snarling. That FBI has always been an entitled piece of shit, he imagined saying that―imagined he would’ve felt vindicated saying it, though he swallowed it in because Furuya was nothing if not in control.
Even now, after it was all said and done, Akai was bad news.
They were not as comfortable as they had been with each other as Rye and Bourbon. Neither were they as hostile as they(Furuya) were during the years after that. Stilted. That was how he would describe the current state of their relationship or lack thereof. The same way he described the conversation they had right after the fall of the organization. Stilted, awkward, an overly cautious attempt at walking through the shattered glass floor of whatever they had.
“Which week?”
Akai paused, “I’ll let you know.” His body language and his tone might not have given anything away, but something in his scent did.
Furuya couldn’t explain how he knew. He couldn’t give a precise description, how the pine in his scent turned into rotten mushroom or whatever. He simply knew like a bird before an earthquake would. He took one look at Akai who gave nothing away, and still knew that Akai was surprised.
“I’m not saying yes.”
“Of course,” Akai agreed way too easily.
Furuya tried not to snap, “I’m asking because I don’t know whether I can take a week of or not if you don’t tell me which week you’re talking about.”
“But you would be amenable to if you’re able?”
“Akai,” Furuya counted his breath, reined the curdling frustration in because he did, in fact, like being in control, “I am not saying yes.”
“Say no, then.”
Akai was looking right at him. Eyes to eyes. The bastard wasn’t smiling but he seemed absolutely smug.
“Why are you asking, anyway?” he questioned because letting Akai have the last world would feel like losing.
“I don’t think we should discuss that here.”
“You were the one who started this conversation,” most of his subordinates in the office might not be close enough to hear them, but the ones who were within earshot were definitely listening in. Furuya clicked his tongue, meeting Akai’s gaze with as much contempt as he can manage, “finish it here, or I am not considering this at all."
There was another long pause. Akai tilted his head, and the light streaming in from an open window lit one of his green eyes up, leaving the other in the shadow.
Furuya knew he was bad news.
“Spend my rut with me,” It could’ve sound like a question, a request, even. But Akai said it like a simple statement. I can shoot a gun. You’re good at acting. The sky is blue. Spend my rut with me. He didn’t demand it as much as he was just saying it. Furuya watched him, mirrored the tilt of his head, the raise of his brow. He could feel the scent cloying in the air, sticky on his cold skin. He knew because everybody else was squirming in their seats, but it meant nothing to him; just a language he could never understand, a silly message better left unread.
Akai relented, “please.”
“that’s more like it,” Furuya smiled, “sure.”
“Pardon?”
It’s petty, but he wouldn’t let Akai have the last word. “You heard me,” Furuya insisted, and that was it.
0
He ended up sort of forgetting about it until Akai texted him the exact date of his rut, then got so busy with a case he forgot about it again until Akai walked up to his desk the same way he did all those days ago.
“Akai,” he said in lieu of a greeting. A question was hidden in there somewhere, perhaps. Furuya did not give his curiosity a voice, but he reckoned Akai heard it just fine.
“Furuya-kun,” the agent nodded, “coffee?”
Because it would’ve been rude to reject the offer, Furuya took a sip from the offered mug only to spit it out, “Vile fucking taste, Akai.”
Those green eyes glinted. Furuya saw it for what it was: a smile.
“You always hate what I like,” Akai huffed out a breath, “so, tomorrow.”
Kazami was trying his best to be subtle, but Furuya was too good at his job to not realize his subordinate was eavesdropping. He let it slide, though. It was interesting to see how someone who understood the language of scent react to whatever Akai was saying, foreign .
“Tomorrow?”
“you did put in the leave, right?”
“What leave?” Furuya flipped through his calendar, and saw a week crossed out with a neat little business with Akai written on it, “oh,” he shrugged, “yeah, I did.”
From his peripherals, he saw Kazami blushed. But Furuya kept his eyes on Akai; the relaxed slope of his shoulder, the too-bright sheen in his eyes, the bob of his throat when he swallowed.
“See you, then.”
There was something, Furuya thought, his skin prickled under Akai’s gaze. There was something about his voice.
0
Furuya was a liar, but even he wouldn’t lie about this.
So, when Akai opened the door and said, “I thought you wouldn’t show up,” he was offended.
“I said I would, didn’t I?”
“You could’ve changed your mind.”
Furuya brushed pass Akai into the apartment, something was sizzling beneath his skin like drops of water on a hot pan. The steam was trapped under the lid, stuck inside with no where to go, pressure rising, rising, rising.
He reined it in.
“I can still change my mind,” he said, “I can always change my mind.”
The apartment was clean. Too clean for someone in, or approaching a rut. Furuya didn’t comment on it. He didn’t turn to look at Akai either. He listened to the door close, heard the lock click shut, then he listened for Akai’s steady breath, searching blindly for a crack, a break, a warp in the surface for reasons he didn’t know.
“How bad is it?” Furuya asked, “Must be pretty bad for you to ask me”
“Or maybe I just wanted to ask you.”
“Akai.”
“Furuya-kun,” Akai’s voice was even lower then usual, strained. There was something there, something, Furuya was not going name it, “I really can’t do this right now.”
“Do what?”
“Argue.”
“You call that an argument, Akai?” Furuya sneered, and Akai didn’t react, “you must be getting soft.”
Akai barked out a laugh, “Oh, trust me. I’m anything but that.”
“Gross.”
Underneath the dimmed light of the apartment, Akai did look bad. His hair was matted to his forehead, his face flushed, his pupil so blown there was only a thin ring of green around the irises. “I’m serious, though, let’s not get hostile with me now.”
“Can’t handle it?”
Akai didn’t smile, he bared his teeth, “can’t handle you.”
His hands were trembling minutely, and Furuya wondered how great his aim would be now. The almighty Akai Shuichi, brought down by simple biology.
Furuya fucking loved being a beta.
“I should’ve put on Bourbon,” Furuya thought of the alpha scent he used as the Black Organization’s member, fantasized about how badly that would’ve driven Akai up the wall, “might be pretty interesting.”
Akai groaned, “you just want to see how I would react.”
“I do love science.”
“Furuya-kun, spare me.”
“Aren’t you curious?”
“No, not at all,” his voice cracked, and Furuya watched Akai unravel, fascinated, “Furuya-kun, you said you would help―”
It probably said something about him that the desperation was what did it for Furuya, that it made him tick.
“I said I would spend your rut with you,” he replied, smug, “I promised nothing about helping.”
It probably said a lot about Akai’s self-control, the way he just took a deep breath and held still, “If you’re going to leave, the door is there,” he pinched his nose, “but if you’re going to stay, can you at least not antagonize me?”
“Do you want me to?”
“What?”
“Leave, I mean.”
“Furuya-kun,” Akai sighed, “I asked you, specifically, for a reason.”
“Is that a yes or no?”
“No, I don’t want you to leave,” Akai snapped, and that was new. That was a crack in the perfect Akai he can’t help but want to pry open even more, “how nose blind are you?”
Furuya didn’t dignify that with an answer, “fine,” he conceded, “what kind of help do you need?”
Maybe it was relief, maybe it was something else, but Akai staggered with it, “for now?” he asked, and Furuya nodded, “just stay.”
0
Furuya knew enough about the others. He didn’t know that alphas also nested.
“It’s a preference thing,” Akai explained, so quietly that his voice rumbled into his bones. He didn’t ask Furuya to take his suit off when he pulled him in, “I like having it, so I got good at making it. End of the story.”
Furuya wasn’t familiar with nests, but he remembered the puppy pile he used to be a part of. Matsuda had sat outside because he felt like he was above getting in one, but Jinpei dragged him in kicking and screaming anyway. He remembered the way Hiromitsu laughed and yelled for another blanket. It was nice. Nice in the way an echo in a hollow room sounded nice. It had been a long time, but he understood what Akai meant by it’s a preference thing. A gauze in an open scar.
“I’m not saying it’s weird.” What’s weird was the way Akai was rubbing a hand down the sides of his body and nosing the back of his head. In theory, Furuya knew what he was doing. In theory, he even understood why, but that didn’t make it any less bizarre.
“Do you want to get it over with?” Furuya asked because he could literally feel Akai’s hardness pressing against his back, heat bleeding through his crumpled three-piece suit.
“You have to be more specific.”
“I’m asking if you want me to jerk you off.”
Akai buried his head in the curve of Furuya’s neck and groaned, “that’s going to make it worse.”
“So, no?”
“Fucking hell,” Akai swore, “yes, it’s going to be so god awful after this, but yes.”
He wanted to ask him why, but he didn’t. Maybe it’s because he was too good at controlling himself, maybe it’s because he didn’t want to hear the answer.
Akai wasn’t wearing much to begin with, but he stepped out of his clothes in what must have been record time, moving with the sort of reckless desperation that seemed foreign in his body. Furuya waited for him to get comfortable in the pile of soft blankets and pillows again before he put his hand on him. He took a glance at it and felt his face burning. Not that this was his first his rodeo, just that it was Akai. Akai who grunted and let out a long sigh the moment his fingers touched his cock, “your hand’s cold,” he complained, and Furuya rolled his eyes at him. “It’s fucking December, my hands are always cold in December.” You ungrateful bastard went unspoken because he didn’t feel like being mean when Akai was this pathetic. He usually wasn’t. It actually was quite captivating to witness.
Akai was thick and burning in his palm. The size was probably normal for an alpha. Furuya didn’t have any particular opinion on it other than the fact that he couldn’t quite figure out the grip. He thumbed at the head, dug his finger in a little, and Akai gave an aborted little thrust, beads of precome leaking out until his cock was slick with it. So wet, so goddamn dirty.
“I should wear a glove,” Furuya noted, and Akai groaned.
Now that’s interesting.
“You would like that, wouldn’t you?” Furuya pushed, because he had been in this line of work so long he had lost any sense of self-preservation, “A glove like the one Bourbon always wore.”
He didn’t have to understand the language of scent to see desire for what it is, and Akai didn’t really bother to hide it. He wondered if Akai had fantasized about Bourbon in his bed. Bourbon, an alpha with the scent of steel and copper so intense even Furuya can smell it when he was putting it on. Pleasant, but hostile Bourbon. Had Akai fantasized about a fight for dominance with Bourbon? Blood and steel. Broken trust and something bad enough to feel real.
“What I would like,” Akai made a noise in the back of his throat, something between a growl and a moan, “is for you to take your bloody suit off.”
“Nope,” Furuya grinned with all the viciousness thrumming in his bones, “I’m not going to do that.”
Akai did look good naked, chest heaving like this was not the nth hand job of his life. Furuya began stroking him in earnest, and Akai kept leaking all over him and his office attire. He shuddered when the edge of Furuya’s sleeve caressed his cockhead, and that made Furuya shake with a different sort of hunger. The sort of hunger he was awfully familiar with.
“Is it always this messy?” he asked when Akai started thrusting into his fist. Scorching eyes raking over his body like he was undressing him in his mind. Furuya didn’t need to understand scent to see the raw, open need in the gape of his wet mouth.
“No,” Akai shook his head once and bent Furuya down for a kiss. The first press was chaste, gentle. Akai pulled back and looked at him for a long time. Furuya didn’t quite know what he saw, but Akai gave him a little rueful smile before diving back in again. This second kiss matched the dirtiness of what they were doing, Akai fucking his tongue in his mouth, fucking his cock in his hand. Messy with saliva, sweat and everything else.
Akai was loud when he came.
“You want me to help with that?” Akai eventually asked, gesturing vaguely at the bulge in Furuya’s grey slacks, “I can make it good for you,” he smirked, mean and completely satisfied, “you probably have to take your suit off, though.”
“You like my suit.”
“That I do, Furuya-kun,” Akai’s eyes lingered at the wet stain on the fabric, “that I do.”