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“One… two… three…”
“Cheers.” It’s a bit unenthused. The rowdiness of a crowd after a long shift unable to be replicated in the dry voices of the two men.
But expensive sake tastes good no matter how quiet the cheers are.
They drink in somber silence, taking the first few glasses in an aphonic, mutual agreement that they deserve to loosen up a bit before going back to discussing work— even if it is all good things.
They each lie in wait, eyes peeking over their glasses to take glances at the other, analyzing for the perfect moment to speak. It’s when Kuroiwa’s round cheeks hue pink and Soma’s eyelids keep magnetizing shut, that Kuroiwa finally opens his mouth.
“You know I must say…” He takes slow, careful sips– old habits from his time pacing himself at bars full of rowdy officers present in his refined posture. “Drinking is much better with successful company.”
Soma chuckles, keeping his upright physique— though his is less of a facade, more an instinct. “I would have to agree,” A slight smirk on his face, “But I’m surprised you don’t miss the big holiday company drinking parties.”
“Oh god,” Kuroiwa huffs, his perfect face creasing in annoyance, “Don’t remind me.”
“What?” Soma smirks behind his glass, “You don’t treasure those times?” Picking at Kuroiwa’s indifference is incredibly satisfying, like uncovering some long forgotten artifact deep within an Egyptian tomb, or chipping the remains of a sticker off a ripe fruit to reveal the first sign of rot. Kuroiwa works to keep his true nature concealed– unless being honest is proven advantageous– and Soma’s recently found great pride in being the one Kuroiwa sheds his skin for. In some ways, it’s like Kuroiwa is wearing his heart on his sleeve near him, even if it’s a heart as black and dangerous as his namesake. “Did Sudo-san’s praise not make your night?”
“How I miss it,” Kuroiwa spits out, swirling his glass, “Probably not as much as you miss that parasite tipping his drinks on you though,” his smirk growing at his partner's soured expression.
“Oh yes.” Soma grits his teeth with the tension of a pre-snapped rubber band, “What a joy Tanimura was to be forced into the proximity of.”
“It can't have been worse than being in a drunk Date-sans grabbing range.” Kuroiwa remarks, lifting an eyelid in an almost fond annoyance.
Soma scoffs, “It’s a brief grab, when it’s over I’m sure you forget it even happened. The stains on my suit stayed with me the entire walk home.”
“Oh you’d hate it more I’m sure.”
“You’re presumptive.”
“I’m honest.” Kuroiwa smiles, a cold conniving grin, “You’d crumble under the attention.” He exaggerates his syllables, eyeing up Soma’s reaction with a curious glint.
“Attention, huh?” Soma chooses to ignore the chide itself, letting Kuroiwa’s word choice supply a perfect opening, “You think Date-san had a liking to you, hm?” He crosses his arms a bit, pride decorating the sharp points of his face.
Kuroiwa just laughs, an honest to god chuckle, as he sidles over to Soma’s side, “I mean the odds can’t be that low,” he brushes his arm against Soma’s checkered one, “Have you seen me?”
“Yes I have,” Soma answers as nonchalantly as he can muster, his tinting cheeks dull enough to be parsed as an alcoholic glow, “But perhaps the legendary detective even felt you were too unrealistic of a catch.”
Kuroiwa snickers again, that unfiltered malice peeking out the corners of his smile, his black heart glowing on the sleeve he slides over Soma’s neck.
“Are you implying this was all he could do to get close to me?” He whispers into Soma’s ear, hot breath catching on his pierced lobe.
Soma’s surprised exhale comes out a bit shakier than he’d hoped, but there are far more pressing matters, such as the hand pressing his jacket to the side.
“Is this what he’d do to you?”
“Absolutely not,” Kuroiwa scoffs, “But surely he must’ve thought it.” He smiles against the crease of Soma’s neck, taking soft nibbles of smooth skin, testing how much force for the epidermal to break. “Considering from this angle; it's very easy to slip in and feel,” He pushes Soma’s now unbuttoned undershirt (Kuroiwa's finesse is not to be underestimated) off his shoulder, “And I don’t know if you’ve seen me but…” he pinches the now exposed bud, “I’m quite well endowed.”
His fingers work to further roll and pinch Soma’s chest, his nipples already getting hard from the cold, making for easy access.
“ Nnh…” the noises muffle through his clenched teeth, Kuroiwa rewarding him with a nibble to his neck and clavicle every time his sounds travel long enough to reach the detective's ears.
“Hm, sensitive.” Kuroiwa notes, slowly pushing Soma down till his back is against the floor. “I assume I'm the only one on the force who’s heard that?”
The sentence should infuriate him, humiliate him, or bring about some degree of displeasure. But as Soma feels the brush of Kuroiwa’s nimble fingers against his chest, he gets it… he understands it.
“Besides Tanimura-san, of course.”
Kuroiwa pauses for a second, hands stalling as he looks at Soma’s unchanged face. Time stills, the distant sound of ignorant cars outside interludes, and…
“… Ha, haha… hahaha!” Kuroiwa laughs, it’s an unnatural thing, sparse and sinister but undeniably genuine.
Soma stifles his own chuckles, internally blaming the alcohol for his childish behavior. Losing himself in the sweet aria of Kuroiwa’s laugh as his belt clicks undone, his pants are brought down, and a rip is made in the small packet of lube from Kuroiwa’s pocket.
“Did you plan this?” Soma asks, the alcohol bringing an honest octave out of his voice.
“Not particularly,” Kuroiwa smiles, “but I thought if the opportunity presented itself, it would be a fine way to cap off our successes.”
“How interest— ahh…” Kuroiwa wastes little time in inserting his index finger, watching with hooded eyes at Soma’s heaving chest.
“I believe we’ve earned ourselves a bit of fun ,” Kuroiwa punctuates with inserting another, his digits fiending to find Soma’s prostate each time they move. “Don’t you agree?”
Soma heaves out another gasp as Kuroiwa’s fingers find their target, waves of fire lit pleasure shooting down his spine and leaving the hitman gasping for air like a dying asthmatic. Much to the delight of the man inside him.
Soma knows he should respond, the words string themselves together in his butterfly-filled stomach, but they burn in the acid as quickly as they form.
“You seem pleased.”
“J—just reveling in our victory.”
Kuroiwa chuckles again, sticking a third finger in as Soma hisses in conjunction with the rattle of Kuroiwa’s belt unbuckling.
“We’ll have more than enough time to revel in our future victories,” Kuroiwa scissors his fingers wide, his belt clattering to the ground as he adjusts himself in between Soma’s legs, “Why don’t you focus on this for now, hm?”
Soma despises being told what to do, nothing aggravates him more than insults passed as guidance… but perhaps it’s the alcohol or the odd incline of Kuroiwa’s voice that makes Soma relax his muscles and let his eyes glaze over at the sight of Kuroiwa’s cock lining up to his entrance.
It teases, prods and pokes a few times, but it doesn’t insert yet— just familiarizes.
“Our victories…” A more sober Soma would flush red with embarrassment at the sound of his own voice.
“Get used to saying it, Soma-san.” And Kuroiwa breaches, his cock sliding into Soma’s hole with slicked up ease. Kuroiwa inches closer, minding Soma’s nails digging into his shoulders or the way both their breaths have sped up.
When Kuroiwa bottoms out, Soma feels his eyes water. Interestingly though, it isn’t just from the deep seated hedonistic pleasure he’s feeling— though that certainly is causing the choked out moans to leave his mouth— but rather how perfect this is. Kuroiwa fits inside him with ease, like they’re two puzzle pieces clicked together to finish an extravagant picture. Soma’s no exhibitionist, but God, he wishes the department could see them like this, perfectly conjoined— in both body and mind.
Or maybe that’s the alcohol talking. The lines have all blurred into a pleasurable haze he can see fogging up his vision.
“You seem distant,” Kuroiwa smirks a bit, Soma wants to brutally wipe that look off his face, “Need a wake up call?” He tilts his head, moving back to make his first thrust.
The moment his hips snap back forward, sending jolts of euphoria down Soma’s spine— his body moves, and with reflexive strength— he pulls Kuroiwa down, and kisses him.
It’s nothing romantic per say, certainly not worthy of any dramatic music. It’s a bit clumsy, the two stealing air from one another with each moan that reverberates into their shared space. Kuroiwa pulls away before long, letting a line of spit connect them briefly— before he starts rocking his hips back and forth. Keeping a steady, rising speed to pound into Soma.
The room is silent, filled only by the sounds of flushed skin on skin contact and Soma’s muffled moans that can’t stop echoing. Kuroiwa grips his hips for easier access as his dick drags across Soma’s inner walls with resounding speed. The assassins gaze focused solely on observing his own cock slipping into Soma’s winking hole, and his face scrunched in what can only be orgasmic preparation. The image alone of a composed Kuroiwa ready to spill his seed inside without a second thought would save Soma during many future horny excursions alone in his bed.
“F— fuck,” Kuroiwa leans forward, focusing his strength into thrusting as deep as he can, stealing the warmth of Soma’s internal body heat. Every groan from Soma encouraging him to pick up his pace even as the booze in his system wobbles his legs— it wasn’t long before Kuroiwa tempered down, dragging his length back and forth before shoving himself in as far as he could breach, and cumming with a muffled squeak.
Soma couldn’t even muster a comment on the rather embarrassing sound, he just let out a gasp as his own spill soiled his stomach.
The two lie drenched in sweat and cum for a brief moment, before Kuroiwa hums and pulls out as quick as he entered. The man taking a moment to wipe Soma’s mucus off his crinkled button up. Soma attempts to compose himself next, no doubt his hair has become a mess… and not to mention how humiliating his perfect complexion must be when red hot and flushed, but Kuroiwa slides him over another shot…
Raising his own, “one… two… three…”
“Cheers.” A bit more enthusiasm, if Soma chooses to ignore the shared fatigue.
“I’m not sure why we’re celebrating, I feel gross.”
Kuroiwa snickers, “Is it a good kind of gross?”
“No such thing.”
“Hmm,” He smirks a bit as his eyes gloss over Soma’s disheveled form, leaning his head on his own knee, “I beg to differ.”
He must be some kind of temptress, maybe some sort of succubi sent to torment Soma— that had to be it, that had to explain it— that had to be why his lips look so kissable… even right now.
“Maybe you’ll have to prove it to me more often, Kuroiwa-san.”
“I’ll see what I can do.”