Work Text:
Kunigami Rensuke never considered himself a man of the arts.
At six years old he was persuaded he’d grow up to be a superhero ; when he realized superpowers weren’t actually real, he decided he’d be a soccer player instead, because to him they looked superhuman, running at the speed of light and achieving impossible things in front of an admiring crowd.
At eighteen he realized soccer probably wasn’t in his destiny either. It was a thing to be the hero of a small town, and to be fed glory and success because you are young and strong and the best around - but when you move to the big city and you realize that the guy who scouted you with a bright smile shook hands with a hundred, if not more young promising town heroes, it becomes difficult to believe that you have the making of a champion. They sort of come a dime a dozen.
At twenty he decided to value his mental health and he quit - and now he’s thirty-two, stuck in an ill-fitting suit and running on about three hours of sleep, in dire need of an haircut, gazing at a painting of ink strokes and beige dots haphazardly sprawled all over a giant canvas. The label on the wall says it’s a metaphor for war.
He’s still very much not a man of the arts.
” Bloc C is clear, ‘cap. “
Kunigami winces when Raichi’s voice processes through the static of his walkie-talkie ; there isn’t much noise around, so the slight feedback bounces around the vast walls of the gallery in haunting echoes.
” Honorifics, lieutenant, “ Kunigami grunts back at the receptor, slightly annoyed. “ Use complete honorifics. “
Raichi Jingo was the most efficient agent under him - hence why he made it to lieutenant. The only thing preventing him from joining Kunigami in the higher ranks was his absolute disregard for authority and protocol, which was a little bit of a hindrance when you worked for the Public Security Intelligence Agency.
” The bastard’s nowhere to be seen, captain, “ Raichi slurs back in defiance, and Kunigami abdicates - he knows that some battles are to be fought in vain.
(He’d force Raichi to buy him some rounds of sake in exchange for letting his insubordination fly ; at the end of the day Raichi made his life in the forces a lot easier as long as he promised to behave in front of the Agency’s main directors.)
“ All agents are to keep making rounds in the designated areas, “ Kunigami instructs through their general communication channel. “ Those of you stationed at the entrances will remain on call. Report your status every fifteen minutes. Don’t let the target slip in or out at any cost. “
He secures his walkie-talkie on his belt and resumes wandering into the vast, empty halls of the Tokyo National Museum. It’s a little past midnight ; there’s no one in sight, as it should be, and Kunigami would like to keep it that way. He’s absentmindedly toying with a piece of paper - a thick calling card with a red panther watermark embossed on a beautiful natural linen paper.
This inconspicuous thing was the source of all of his current misery.
They had received an anonymous correspondence two weeks ago accompanied by the card - the fourth letter in a series of high caliber larcenies committed by a criminal who called himself the Red Panther.
Kunigami had almost spit his coffee in the face of his direct superior when he was made aware a lunatic was planning to commit grand theft at a private exposition ran by the heir of the Mikage Corporation - especially since he sent them a kind letter and a calling card, as if he was a gentleman burglar who had escaped from a cheeky detective story.
He wasn’t laughing so much when the case fell on his plate and he was offered very limited resources - his superiors seemed to think it was all but an elaborate prank, but the Mikage influence ran deep within the Agency, so they had to at least consider this a minor threat.
His bosses stopped laughing too when the Red Panther successfully robbed the Mikages of their familial ancestral urn, and the Agency faced immense scrutiny for failing to recognize a legitimate risk to the safety of the Japanese people - the fact Mrs Mikage was sent to the hospital with a minor concussion when she fainted at the sight of her ancestors’ ashes being snatched away in the middle of their grand party also caused Kunigami some trouble.
So this became sort of personal to him - because not once, but thrice now the Red Panther had eluded them, and everytime he was one step behind trying to catch up and grasping at strands of red hair flying in an ethereal trail as the cat burglar jumped into the night, bright burning eyes a glimmer behind his mask and a coy smile slipping from his taunting lips.
Kunigami had deduced two things from his scuffles with the Panther : he was, for one, extremely capable. And for two, he happened to be drop dead gorgeous.
(He kept the second observation to himself.)
So the whole Agency was in a pickle of sorts, because this was the fourth letter, and someone had leaked it to the press three days prior. His bosses were furious, threats of being fired loomed over the heads of his entire team, and Kunigami would die before he let himself be the scapegoat of federal incompetence.
Tonight, he was catching himself a Red Panther.
__
It’s a little past two o’ clock in the morning ; Kunigami is on his fourth round through his section of the museum, and on his fifth coffee of the day. He chugs the remnants of the now lukewarm liquid and disposes of the empty cup in the nearest garbage bin stationed at the entrance of the halls. In front of him, the horrible painting with the ink strokes and the beige blots stares at him in a mocking way - he kind of starts to understand the whole war thing.
Kunigami ponders if this is all a farce - that the Red Panther lured them away at a decoy destination so he’s free to steal whatever rich person he decided to target. But something about that concept rings false ; so far, the cat burglar had stuck to his words, and he possessed a strange integrity about his larcenies, as if it was the pleasure of the chase he seeked, rather than the riches, and a part of Kunigami respected that.
(What a ridiculous notion. He brushes the thought aside.)
He almost doesn’t notice - he’s roamed through these exact walls more times than he can count, and his vision blurs slightly in front of him, on the count of the lack of sleep and the fever-inducing nightmare of contemporary art.
On his right, a door is slightly ajar, the creak but a fine line opening into obscurity. The door was closed the last time Kunigami walked past it - he grabs his walkie-talkie and presses on the button, but only static answers him as he says nothing.
This feels deliberate. Like a personal invitation.
So Kunigami walks into the office.
The space is surprisingly vast - a beautiful room, walls full of elegant bookshelves filled to the brim with ancient baubles and encyclopedias on art, a huge desk of mahogany wood reigning supreme over the ancient floorboards. The moonlight is spilling from the open window with a direct view of the inside gardens, shimmering over the pond and painting the office in intricate shades of blue.
There’s a heavy bronze nameplate lazing on the pristine desk - on it is inscribed the name of Tokyo’s National Museum of Arts’ Director, and it explains the lavish environment. If you’re in charge of maintaining the prestige of Japanese arts and culture, you probably have the necessary funds to garnish your office with ostentatious furniture.
Kunigami stops by the window and lays over the still to look right first, then left ; the office is situated on the fourth floor, and there’s no sign of actual trespassing except for the window itself. He starts to believe the Red Panther is probably some sort of magician, on top of being a thief.
The muffled sound of a record player being turned on resonates in the silent room, and soon enough the guitar strings of classical tango music engulfs him whole.
Kunigami is quick to turn around, eyes now accustomed to the dark, and sure enough a silhouette is waiting for him on the other side of the room, curves embraced by a tight leather suit and striking red hair cascading over the pale expanse of a graceful neck.
One, two.
“ Took you a while to figure it out, special agent, “ The Red Panther’s voice is light as a breeze, eyes a glimmer under his signature mask. “ You’d still be roaming these halls in chase of imaginary shadows if I didn’t give you a hint. “
He walks slowly in the direction of the desk, hips swaying with confidence and steps full of complacency as the heels of his leather boots hit the wood in a succession of dry clacks.
Three, four.
Kunigami is tense as he follows the lead of the criminal, eyes switching between his target and the window - fuck, he should have closed it immediately instead of falling for such an amateur trick. At least the Panther would be trapped inside, with him (he tries not to rejoice too much at that prospect).
” Spare me the pleasantries, and cut right to the chase, “ he grunts, as they slowly start circling around the massive desk. “ I don’t usually have a chat with petty burglars. “
His eyes slip for a second to the round buttocks of his opponent, as he nimbly turns the corner to maintain a safe distance from the federal agent. Kunigami feels the blush creep over his neck to his cheeks, and lunges forward in an attempt to bring this to a swift end, before he lets himself be distracted by unhelpful details.
Five, six.
The Red Panther rolls over in a graceful roulade, effortlessly landing on his feet as Kunigami splatters himself over the desk and sends the pencil pot flying away on the ground.
” So cranky, “ he pouts, cupping Kunigami’s chin and forcing the agent to meet his hypnotizing gaze. “ Having some trouble sleeping, hot stud ? “ He’s looking at Kunigami’s ever expanding eye bags, and frowns slightly ; as if concerned for the agent.
His hands are gentle when they brush away Kunigami’s bangs - they linger over his cheeks, the soft silk of his gloves grazing over the flushed skin in tantalizing strokes.
” Any chance you’ve dreamed of me ? “ There's a flash of a pointy canine when the panther smiles.
Seven, eight.
Kunigami huffs ; if he’d been temporarily struck by the odd familiarity of the criminal, he’s still on the job and he has some apprehending to do.
He propels himself with his strong thighs over the desk, trying to bring the Red Panther down with an oafish blow - he was a big bulky guy, and finesse wasn’t in his repertoire. His strength was exactly that : brute force.
“ I dream of cuffing you to a post, yeah, “ Kunigami growls when the cat burglar evades him still, but he’s relentless in his pursuit.
He gets back on his feet in an instant, and chases the slender man into a corner.
Nine, ten.
“ Kinky, “ the criminal huffs as Kunigami rams into him and breathes into his neck, holding his left arm in a strong hold against his back. “ Buy me dinner first, at the very least. “
He wouldn’t be a successful cat burglar if he wasn’t nimble, and resourceful ; the Red Panther contorts himself out of the special agent’s grip, wrist slippery as an eel, and he pushes the agent against the bookshelf with a swift kick.
” Or, better, “ he whispers in Kunigami’s ear, the warmth of his flesh a sear against his cold lips. “ Dance with me. “
Eleven, Twelve.
The tempo quickens as Kunigami turns around to lounge at his opponent, and it ends with one of his arms wrapped around the slender waist of the criminal, and the panther reaching for his left hand to intertwine their fingers together, assuming the traditional position of tango dancing.
Thirteen, fourteen.
The Red Panther twirls them around and Kunigami follows, leading with a feverish grace as he drags the agent into the proper steps, hand casually resting over his strong shoulder.
Kunigami seamlessly falls into the dance despite knowing nothing about tango, entranced by the gleeful smile and the piercing red eyes of the mysterious robber who seemed to be having the time of his life.
Fifteen, sixteen.
The violins lament their forbidden song as the guitar’s erotic strumming plunges them into complete madness ; they keep dancing, the moonlight painting secrets in stripes over their silhouettes as they sweep into darkness, then light, then darkness again.
The Red Panther swiftly pushes Kunigami’s foot away from his gravity center, and he falls face first into the criminal’s plunging neckline, hand gripped furiously over the expanse of his back, lips grazing the flesh of his chest with obscenity. He considers licking it, leaving a trail of saliva right up to his neck. The thought disturbs him.
Seventeen, eighteen.
It doesn’t last ; the cat burglar is quick to have him fall back into steps and he drags him away, not letting him escape even for an instant. Kunigami doubts he would be able to, the panther having cast his spell long ago, perhaps the first time he ever laid eyes on the fiery braid and the searing smile of this master criminal.
The song finishes with Kunigami’s back to the window and the Red Panther’s leg slid right in between his, grazing at his crotch ; they’re standing impossibly close, chest to chest, his hand dangerously close to the curve of his leather-clad ass, and the burglar’s breath is mingling with his.
” That was a good dance, “ the Red Panther murmurs on his lips, and his gaze fathers, dropping down as if he’s considering rewarding him with a kiss - Kunigami finds that it would be hard to resist. “ Why don’t we start right where we left off, next time ? “
It takes about a second and a half for Kunigami to process the words ; the panther is already slipping away, and the special agent tries to propel himself forward to prevent him from leaving, only to be stopped by his left arm being tied down to a ramp right behind him.
When he looks down, the confusion is quickly replaced with anger ; the burglar has restrained him to the wall with his own set of cuffs.
The panther chuckles as Kunigami literally growls at him, feeling utterly betrayed - which is an absurd sentiment to have in the first place. He’s looking around the drawers of the mahogany desk, throwing some of its content away on the ground with aloofness. He whistles when he extirpates an ancient looking statuette made from solid gold from a hidden drawer, and pockets it quickly in his utility belt.
” Did you know that the National Museum’s director deals in contraband ? “ The panther chirps, now back in front of Kunigami, a mocking smile plastered on his face as Kunigami claws the air in vain.
He slips a finger through the special agent’s tie and loosens it, reveling in the furious look Kunigami shoots his way ; his hand lingers for a second too long, and traces the middle of his chest down to his abs in a straight line, Kunigami feeling the warmth of his touch right through the silk glove and the cotton shirt.
” The Mikage family as well. Crazy, how many of these elite types are involved in illicit deeds. “ The panther then winks at Kunigami, and starts climbing the ramp up to the open window frame. “ So you can’t really call me a thief if these are already stolen goods. “
Kunigami’s neck twists and he helplessly watches the Red Panther attach a grappling hook to the stool, securing the other end to his belt.
” You’re not going to stop, aren’t you ? “ He sounds defeated ; he already gave up wrestling against his cuffs, figuring the waste of energy was useless.
” Nope, “ The Red Panther replies, putting an emphasis on the ‘p’. “ And if you’re smart, you’re gonna use the information I just gave you to save yourself from this mess. “
The criminal expertly flings the key to Kunigami’s cuffs right out of his grasp - it falls in a delicate chime on the wooden floor, the moonlight reflecting against the metal in a taunting gleam. He settles himself into the perfect position to vault into the darkness ; with a final smile, and a silent promise to see each other again, the Red Panther is gone, like a ghost that never even existed.
Kunigami sighs ; he’s giving himself a good ten minutes to process the evening and calm down the erection in his pants before he starts swinging his foot around in an attempt to reach for the key.
Hopefully he’s still gonna have a job when morning comes.