Chapter Text
The scent was the first thing Akihiro noticed upon waking.
Not the lingering bite of alcohol that sometimes clung to him after nights that stretched too far, but something warmer, subtler. Familiar.
The pillow beside him still carried traces of it — orange blossom and apricot nectar, soft, almost unreal, yet dense enough to cling to the air like a whisper of longing. Threaded through that sweetness was a spark of citrus, fresh and fleeting, like bergamot peel breaking open beneath the press of a thumb — bright, immediate, impossible to ignore.
Akihiro’s hand brushed over the empty space at his side, and when he found it cold, he let out a muted sigh. He wasn’t surprised. He had expected Jun to be gone, as before, slipping out with some excuse murmured in the cracks of dawn — “I work early,” “I’ve got a delivery,” “I don’t want to disturb you.” There was always something, as if Jun insisted on belonging nowhere.
But something felt different this time.
The scent wasn’t just in the sheets. It drifted in the air, seeping from the half-open door like a warm breeze. A moment later, the muffled clatter of a pan reached him, carried with the faint hiss of something frying. Akihiro frowned, confused, and sat up.
In nothing but his briefs, hair tousled and still creased from the pillow, he followed the aromatic trail to the kitchen — a room that, despite its elegant design, rarely knew use. His meals usually arrived from restaurants or discreet deliveries that required no more effort than opening the door.
But there he was.
Jun, his back turned, moved before the stove with careful ease, as though stepping into sacred, borrowed ground. A pale apron covered his lean frame in a way that felt almost provocative, though there was nothing deliberate in it. His blond hair was tied into a loose knot, rebellious strands escaping to frame his nape and face with a kind of careless charm.
He turned at the sound of footsteps. His eyes widened briefly, then softened into a quiet smile.
“Good morning,” he said, barely above a whisper, as if the hour demanded reverence.
Akihiro leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, gaze unhurried as it traveled over him.
“That’s an interesting way to show up in my kitchen,” he remarked, one eyebrow arched. “Just an apron?”
Jun glanced away, a faint flush coloring his cheeks.
“My clothes got dirty last night,” he admitted with a candor that was almost comical. “They were... well... unsuitable. So I put them to wash. Better this than walking around naked, right?”
The answer drew a low, genuine laugh from Akihiro — rare for a morning. He stepped closer, noting the neat arrangement on the counter, the plates in progress, the pale light filtering shyly through the window.
“And you cooking... I didn’t think anyone would ever dare to invade this kitchen,” he said, not sarcastic, just surprised.
Jun bit his lower lip, stirring a pan with careful focus. There was something absurdly beautiful about him in that moment — not only the visual, but the ease with which he inhabited the space. The ordinary gesture carried a weight of intimacy never explicitly offered, yet undeniably present.
“I... used what you had. I hope you don’t mind. I ordered a few ingredients, since the cupboards were nearly empty,” he said cautiously. “And of course, I’ll clean up after.”
Akihiro shook his head, the corner of his mouth lifting.
“You’re the first person to use this kitchen in... centuries.”
“I noticed,” Jun replied, letting out a brief laugh. “The only edible thing I found was instant noodles.”
“I barely eat at home. I just keep those around in case of emergencies,” Akihiro murmured, scratching his jaw. “Like when I forget the stomach’s supposed to function.”
Jun plated the food with an almost formal precision, setting chopsticks neatly at the side, then waited for Akihiro to sit. He didn’t touch his own plate until he saw him take a bite.
Akihiro lifted the first mouthful with tempered expectation, but the flavor surprised him. It was good — better than good. Something homemade, comforting, without being plain. His gaze found Jun’s, watching him quietly.
“You cook well,” he said after a pause.
A small, almost childlike smile slipped onto Jun’s lips.
“Thank you, I'm glad you liked it.”
They finished the meal in a gentle silence, broken only by small, occasional comments. Jun cleared the plates and brought them to the sink. The way he washed — quiet, meticulous — was almost hypnotic. There was barely any mess, yet he worked as though it mattered deeply.
Akihiro, still seated at the table, watched him. A part of him tried to dismiss the thought forming in his mind.
‘What a cliché,’ — he thought. A stereotype. A beautiful omega, polite, who cooks well, gentle even in the way he collected the chopsticks — of course it would stir that impression.
But there was something more. Something that didn’t fit with what he knew about Jun.
Why would someone like him — who seemed to embody the very image of domesticity, an omega meant to be cherished, cared for, loved — end up in a luxury club, selling his body and his time? How many masks had he worn until that became his life?
Akihiro didn’t know. But as he watched Jun carefully dry the last bowl, he realized he wanted to find out.
Not yet, perhaps. He wasn’t sure what he would even do with that knowledge.
But he wanted it.
-----
Days later.
The savory perfume of sizzling oil, simmering broth, and soy sauce lingered in the air, mingling with the muffled buzz of conversations and the clatter of chopsticks against porcelain. It was early afternoon, and the restaurant still pulsed with the rush of lunchtime.
Jun wove between the tables with the ease of someone born to this rhythm. Sunlight filtered through the tall windows, gilding his bronze skin and highlighting the faint scatter of freckles across his nose and cheekbones. He offered polite smiles, gathered empty plates with a graceful tilt of his wrist, bent down to catch orders — each motion part of a choreography long rehearsed.
He had just served an elderly couple when the door opened.
It wasn’t the sound that drew his attention but the presence that stepped across the threshold.
Akihiro.
Impossible to overlook him, even in a crowded room. His imposing height, the broad line of his shoulders beneath a crisp white shirt that clung to his frame, the unruly blond strands tucked half-heartedly behind his ears as if they refused any attempt at order. He lingered at the entrance, scanning the room until his gaze found Jun. The air between them seemed to contract, charged with a weight sharp enough to redraw the space around them.
Jun hesitated — not from shyness, but with the kind of pause where time itself rearranges its priorities. He set his tray down on the counter and crossed the room at an unhurried pace, like a man walking across a bridge too narrow to risk running.
“Akihiro,” he greeted, his polite smile betraying only the faintest trace of surprise. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”
“Maybe I came because I missed being served by you.” The words curved across his lips — not quite a smile, but something that carried the tension of both flirtation and challenge.
Jun, long accustomed to bold customers, recognized this as something else entirely. That kind of audacity came from someone who knew him beyond the surface — and dared to press past it with veiled words.
“I’m on duty, unfortunately,” he replied, his gaze flicking briefly toward the kitchen, where another round of orders was being plated. “But my break is coming up soon, if you’re willing to wait.”
Akihiro leaned slightly forward, arms crossed, as though the decision had already been made.
“I’ll wait. We could eat somewhere else if you’d rather. But if you want to convince me to stay here, I’m open to suggestions.”
Jun held back a laugh — more at the boldness than the words themselves. The air between them was stretched taut, like a string drawn to its limit, vibrating with every subtle pull yet never breaking.
“The katsudon here is excellent,” he said at last. “If you don’t mind the... modest setting.”
“I’ve eaten in far worse places,” Akihiro answered, already moving toward an empty table. “No reason to complain.”
Jun watched him settle in before returning to his tasks, blood humming quicker beneath his skin.
The next several minutes blurred into the familiar rush of lunch service, yet something had shifted. Every step, every gesture carried a heightened awareness — a presence that watched from across the room, steady as a promise left unspoken. When his order was called from the counter, Jun recognized it instantly without checking: katsudon with rice, miso soup, and a small dish of house-made pickles.
For himself, he chose something lighter — a donburi of grilled chicken with vegetables and a citrus glaze.
Balancing the tray, he carried both meals to the table. He set Akihiro’s dish down with quiet precision, but didn’t hold his gaze; still, he could feel the weight of those eyes trace upward, warm as an invisible touch.
“Thank you for waiting,” he said, slipping out of his apron and folding it neatly before sitting across from him.
Akihiro had already picked up his chopsticks but hadn’t yet taken a bite. His attention remained fixed on Jun.
Beneath the apron, Jun wore simple clothes — loose dark trousers and a pale shirt with a wide collar that revealed the line of his collarbone. His hair, tied into a messy knot high on his head, was half-covered by a navy bandana, with a few rebellious strands falling forward to frame his face in careless charm.
Akihiro finally split the chopsticks with a sharp snap, broke off a piece of the golden pork cutlet, and raised it to his mouth. He chewed slowly, savoring more than just the flavor — as if committing every detail of the moment to memory. Steam curled lazily from the bowl. Jun began to eat his donburi in turn, his movements calm, his focus pulled between his meal and the unshakable presence across from him.
The silence that settled was dense but not uncomfortable — the depth of a lake, hiding more than it revealed.
After a while, Akihiro drew his phone from the inside pocket of his jacket, the screen glowing with the ease of a familiar gesture.
“This is actually very good,” he murmured at last, his voice low.
Jun’s smile was fleeting, almost shy, but his eyes shone brighter.
“I’m glad you like it.” His voice emerged softer than he intended.
The alpha didn’t answer immediately. He simply rested his chopsticks on the rim of his bowl, as if that small act was enough to make clear he hadn’t come here by chance.
Then he tilted his phone slightly toward the table, his tone shifting, lighter now — almost playful.
“Hm... This photo of yours... it’s well done. Is that filter real, or just editing?”
Jun blinked at him, puzzled for a second.
“What?” He leaned forward slightly, frowning. “What are you talking about?”
Akihiro turned the phone toward him. On the screen was one of the pictures from Jun’s dating profile — also doubling as his work page as an escort. In it, Jun wore a half-open shirt and a carefully rehearsed smile, the kind designed to draw attention without tipping into vulgarity.
Jun’s eyes went wide.
“You—” He stretched his arm across the table, trying to snatch the phone. “How did you even find that?”
“I’ve always known,” Akihiro replied, easily shifting the phone out of reach, the way one holds something just out of a child’s grasp. “I just never bothered to look before.”
Jun, still reaching, ended up pressed forward with his forearms flat against the table. His flushed face buried between them was the very image of shame and disbelief.
“You shouldn’t be looking at that,” he muttered into his sleeves, his voice muffled, almost desperate. “What kind of psychopath scrolls through someone’s profile in the middle of lunch?”
Akihiro laughed. Actually laughed — deep, rough, unguarded. A rare sound. He set the phone down beside his bowl, the screen still glowing, and studied Jun as if watching something fragile struggle to keep its composure.
“You put it on the internet. It’s not exactly a state secret. There are even reviews.” He flicked his thumb across the screen. “Let’s see... ‘Attentive, handsome, and easy to talk to.’ Five stars. Oh, and here’s one from someone called ‘Shun88’: ‘Better at massage than a licensed therapist. Incredible hands. Listens like no one else. Spent the night and woke up wanting more.’” He read another, his tone almost idle. “‘Not just the touch, but the way he looks at you... like he already knows you.’ Honestly? That’s nearly poetic.”
Jun let out a strangled sound, somewhere between a groan and a helpless laugh, burying his face deeper in his arms. For a moment he looked as though he wanted to vanish entirely.
“People lie on the internet,” he protested weakly against his sleeve. “Half of those stories never even happened.”
Akihiro raised a brow, eyes still on the screen.
“And yet you leave them up?” His tone was more curious than critical.
Jun sighed and lifted his head just enough to glance sideways at him.
“Some get deleted automatically for being too explicit. Others I take down if they cross a line. But I don’t erase everything. Engagement draws attention... even if it’s built on lies.”
A pause settled between them, filled only by the soft whir of the ceiling fan overhead.
“You’ve got more reviews than my favorite restaurant,” Akihiro remarked at last, casual as if reading a menu — but with a thread of irony running just beneath, mild and almost affectionate.
Jun finally managed to compose himself enough to pick up his chopsticks again, though half his face was still shielded by his hand. His eyes, damp with laughter and embarrassment, flicked toward Akihiro in a mix of indignation and surrender.
“Relax,” Akihiro said. “If I had a problem with it, I wouldn’t be sitting here. Truth is, I even thought about hiring you once. Just didn’t want to look desperate.” He popped another bite into his mouth, chewing with mock innocence.
“Now you worry about looking desperate?” Jun muttered, feigning offense, though a laugh slipped through his words. “And what if I delete the profile right now?”
“Then I’ll improvise,” Akihiro replied, his eyes locking onto Jun’s with sudden seriousness. “Maybe I’d prefer it that way. Less competition.”
Jun was the first to look away, fiddling with his chopsticks, searching for some light remark to defuse the moment. But his heartbeat was quicker than before.
Akihiro dabbed at the corner of his mouth with a napkin, set his chopsticks neatly atop his empty bowl — a gesture almost ceremonial — and leaned back in his chair, one arm draped across the backrest. It was the kind of posture that expanded into the room, or perhaps one that hinted the space between them was already too small.
“How much longer is your break?” he asked.
Jun lifted his gaze, expression wavering between caution and suspicion.
“About forty minutes,” he answered, trying for casual.
Akihiro nodded, eyes half-lidded, the suggestion of a smile playing at his mouth.
“That’s enough,” he said, his voice dropping to a near-whisper that seemed to glide across the table like a secret set aflame. “Not enough for another lunch... but enough.”
Jun frowned as though he hadn’t immediately understood — though he had. His eyes betrayed him before any words did, widening for an instant before darting to the nearest distraction: a stack of bowls at the counter, the shadow of the fan turning overhead, anything but the crooked smile Akihiro now wore with deliberate mischief.
“Have you lost your mind?”
“I’m just saying we could use the break a little more... creatively.” Akihiro leaned forward, closing the distance between them. His face hovered above the table with an easy, almost indolent confidence. “My car’s parked around the corner. No one would see a thing. Just you and me. Quiet. Like two adults solving a minor logistical problem.”
Jun covered his face again, but not only out of embarrassment. This time it was also to smother the treacherous smile tugging at the corners of his lips. A smile that meant this is ridiculous, but also this is exactly the sort of thing you’d say.
“You have no shame,” he muttered at last, meeting Akihiro’s gaze — steady now, though still bright with disbelief.
“Not a bit,” Akihiro replied with the precision of someone who’d never once intended to have any. “But if you’d prefer something more conventional, I could swing by after your shift. Pick you up. Take you somewhere with a real bed. Maybe even a mirror on the ceiling.”
“A mirror on the ceiling? How romantic.”
“I have my moments,” Akihiro said, leaning even closer until his elbow rested against the table and his chin almost brushed his hand. “And you, you’ve got forty-five minutes... How are you going to spend them?”
There was something curious in the offer — not only its absurdity, but the way, coming from Akihiro, it didn’t sound like a taunt so much as a genuine invitation. As if sex were only one layer, a means rather than an end. A way of being present, of closing the distance in a world where words often failed.
But in that moment, Jun smiled. Fully, without defenses. He pressed his palms to the table as if preparing to rise — just as Akihiro’s phone buzzed against his empty bowl, severing the moment like a thread abruptly pulled taut. The screen lit up with a name Akihiro couldn’t ignore.
He glanced at it, frowned, and let out a heavy sigh.
“Shit.” He snatched up the phone and answered, his expression shifting in an instant like a curtain ripped aside.
Jun stayed silent, watching as Akihiro spoke in a low, clipped tone that belonged to another world entirely — serious, rigid, his eyes fixed on problems far removed from their bubble. The call lasted no more than two minutes, yet it was long enough to scatter every trace of ease between them.
Akihiro hung up and rubbed his face, as though to erase the lines newly carved into his brow.
“I have to go. Now,” he said, forcing a practical tone that couldn’t disguise his frustration.
Jun only nodded in understanding, sliding his chair back. They rose almost in unison. At the counter, Akihiro paid without protest, and together they stepped out into the sunlight.
The air outside was hotter than before, the city noise strangely distant beneath the hush that clung to them. Akihiro stopped at the car, hand on the door, when Jun called softly after him.
“Akihiro...” His voice was low, almost hesitant. “If you... want to stop by after work, like you said... I’ll be here.”
Akihiro’s gaze lit instantly, a slow, curved smile spreading across his face as though savoring the moment. He stepped closer.
“Are you sure?” His voice, deep and edged with mischief, vibrated in the space between them. “If you feed the monster, it’ll come for you.”
Jun’s eyes darted away, his cheeks burning.
“I’m sure,” he said, quiet but steady. “Consider this your chance to be romantic.”
Akihiro blinked, then laughed low in his throat — a husky sound tinged with disbelief and delight.
“Romantic...” he repeated, as if testing the word on his tongue. “You really think you can tease me like that and walk away unscathed?”
“It’s not a tease. You’re the one who said you have your moments.”
Akihiro’s eyes narrowed, his smile sharpening as he bit down lightly on his lip. Something raw sparked in his expression, a sudden determination that made him loom larger still.
“Then you’d better be ready for me...” His finger traced a slow path up Jun’s belly. “You can moan, you can shake, you can beg — but once I’m here...” He stopped, lingering at a point that sent an involuntary shiver through Jun. “I won’t let you go.”
It was in that instant Jun realized what he had unleashed. Heat rushed to his face, shame tangled with desire, and he averted his gaze, retreating into silence.
“I’ll be waiting...” he murmured, breathless.
For a moment, Akihiro only looked at him. The stare was long, heavy, dense with a meaning that required no words. And then — like a scene obeying its own private logic — he simply wasn’t there anymore.
Jun blinked, searching instinctively, but the sidewalk was empty. No shadow remained, only sunlit pavement and the city’s distant murmur. He stood frozen, heart racing, wondering if it had been real at all — or just another one of Akihiro’s tricks.
At last, he stepped back inside, a smile still caught on his lips, carrying with him the uncanny certainty that waiting would soon become inevitable.
-----
Jun’s shift ended amid the lingering scent of food and the muffled clatter of dishes being put away. He slipped a light overcoat over his work clothes, the collar turned up against the cold wind that swept through the quiet streets. His hair, tied back without much care, left the nape of his neck exposed, still faintly damp.
Before leaving, he pulled out his phone and typed a message:
Jun: Just got off work.
The reply came almost instantly:
Akihiro: I’m around the corner, waiting for you.
When Jun turned onto the side street, his steps slowed. The black car was there, parked, with Akihiro leaning casually against it — his presence alone enough to make the world fall into a slower rhythm.
A cigarette smoldered between Akihiro’s fingers, though the ember was nearly gone. He dropped it to the ground and crushed it underfoot, unhurried, as soon as he saw Jun. His gaze lingered, sweeping over the slim frame beneath the coat, before he moved with steady, deliberate steps to open the car door for him.
No words were exchanged. The silence between them carried a strange peace, and neither seemed in any rush to break it.
Only once the car was in motion, the city sliding past in drowsy fragments of light and shadow, did Akihiro finally speak.
“Rough day?” he asked, his eyes fixed on the road.
“Not really,” Jun murmured, his voice low, colored by fatigue. “Just... long.”
The ride was quiet after that. It wasn’t until they pulled into the building’s garage that Akihiro reached into the back seat and, with a gesture that seemed almost careless, drew out a small bouquet wrapped in brown craft paper. Warm hues of yellow, orange, and deep burnt red spilled together in the arrangement, carrying a subtle fragrance — soft, like a fine cologne, discreet yet lingering. Gerberas, tinted lavender sprigs, and golden stalks of everlasting flowers were tied together with a satin ribbon, crimson as wine.
“Here.” He extended the bouquet toward Jun, who blinked slowly, almost as if he hadn’t understood.
“What...?”
“I said I’d make it up to you.” His voice was rough, but his eyes held no trace of mockery.
Jun took the bouquet gently, only to realize the flowers weren’t real. Their texture had a faint rigidity — not lifeless, but carefully crafted to endure. Paper, perhaps. Or fabric. Or both.
“They’re not real?” he asked, more surprised than disappointed.
“No.” Akihiro shook his head. “When I went looking, I thought you might like something cliché like flowers. But then I imagined the next morning, when they’d already be wilted. So I found this place instead. They make handmade arrangements that last.” He shrugged lightly. “This way, you can keep them as long as you want.”
Jun stared at the bouquet for a moment. It could have felt impersonal — even calculated — but it didn’t. There was intention in it, a quiet care that caught him off guard.
“They’re beautiful. Thank you,” he said at last, his voice soft, almost absentminded.
Akihiro lifted his phone and snapped a picture. The flash captured Jun’s gentle expression, the bouquet pressed half against his chest, and the glimmer in his eyes that he likely wouldn’t notice until he saw the image himself.
“And now, if anyone accuses me of not knowing how to be romantic,” Akihiro said, sliding the phone back into his pocket with a crooked smile, “I’ve got proof.”
“Hey—” Jun reached out as though he could undo it. “You should’ve warned me.”
“If I had, you’d have hidden behind the flowers,” Akihiro countered, his smile tugging a little wider.
The elevator carried them upstairs in silence.
Inside the apartment, Akihiro opened the door and stepped aside, letting Jun enter first. His gestures carried no urgency, no hungry impatience — only a muted kind of attentiveness. Jun walked into the living room, pausing by the sofa before setting the flowers carefully on the kitchen counter. Akihiro stayed a few paces back, watching as though weighing how much space he was still allowed to cross that night.
“Do you want a shower?” he asked at last, leaning against the hallway wall.
“Yes. I still smell like work.” Jun turned slightly, his fingers brushing the ribbon tied around the bouquet.
“If you curl up with those instead of me, I’ll be pissed.” Akihiro folded his arms, the edge of his earlier teasing dulled now.
Jun smothered a laugh with his fingertips, casting him a sidelong glance.
“You don’t even know what you’re doing anymore, do you?”
“No,” Akihiro admitted, without irony. “But for now... I’m doing better than I thought I would.”
Jun looked away, though the faint smile still lingered on his lips.
-----
Hot water streamed down Jun’s shoulders, sliding across his skin in a continuous ribbon of warmth that bordered on intoxicating. Steam fogged the bathroom mirror, softening the edges of the world, cloaking the room in intimacy where the faint household noises dissolved into nothing.
Akihiro’s hands had moved over him with deliberate gentleness, washing him as though each touch were a silent gesture of affection meant to linger. Soon after, the alpha stepped out of the shower, draped in a robe still damp in places. The scent of soap hung in the mist, fresh and warm, blending with the heat that filled the air.
Jun lingered under the water for a moment longer — perhaps to steady his thoughts, perhaps because he knew what awaited him beyond the door: Akihiro’s gaze, always insistent, always unsettling in its intensity. With a soft sigh, he turned off the shower, towelled his damp hair, and reluctantly made his way to the bedroom.
As expected, Akihiro was sprawled across the bed, at ease as if he owned the space. The sheets were rumpled around his waist, the robe hanging loose and open, baring a chest still glistening faintly from the shower. His eyes, half-lidded in calculated laziness, lit up when Jun stepped inside.
“At last,” he murmured, voice thick with languid satisfaction. “I thought you’d fallen asleep under the water.”
Jun frowned, deliberately avoiding his gaze.
“You left first. I assumed you weren’t waiting.”
“Of course I waited. I had something in mind.” Akihiro’s brow arched with quiet amusement.
Jun hesitated, suspicion flickering across his features.
“Something in mind?”
A slow smile spread across Akihiro’s face, wicked and unhurried. He propped himself on his elbows, leaning forward just slightly.
“That comment on your profile... the one about how you give better massages than a licensed therapist? I’m curious.”
Jun froze mid-motion, towel slipping down to rest on his shoulders. He stared, caught between disbelief and embarrassment.
“You again... Haven’t you invaded my profile enough? Must you keep repeating that?”
Akihiro’s low chuckle filled the room, insolent and oddly innocent all at once.
“Not my fault you don’t know how to hide your talents.”
Jun turned his face away, clutching the towel with restless fingers. His pulse quickened — not so much because of the teasing itself, but because Akihiro always managed to pry at the one place where his defenses were thinnest.
Finally, he exhaled in resignation.
“Fine. Lie down... and lose the robe.”
Akihiro’s grin deepened in quiet victory. He untied the belt and let the robe slide off onto the sheets before stretching out on his stomach. The soft light spilling through the half-closed curtains traced the broad lines of his back, defined and solid.
Jun climbed onto the bed, straddling him, pausing with hands hovering just above his skin. When he finally touched him, his breath caught. The contact was too intimate, almost like crossing a threshold he hadn’t realized he feared.
He began slowly, pressing the heels of his hands into Akihiro’s shoulders, working in firm, steady strokes. Akihiro let out a long, contented sigh, his muscles softening beneath the touch.
Jun swallowed hard, his chest tightening. Physical closeness had always unsettled him, but this — this felt different. Akihiro wasn’t merely receiving the massage; even with his eyes closed, he was watching, attuned to every flicker of reaction as though that, too, was part of the game.
“Mmm... so it wasn’t an exaggeration,” he murmured, his voice muffled against the pillow.
Jun pressed his lips together, ignoring the heat creeping into his cheeks.
“Stop talking. You only asked for this to embarrass me.”
“No,” Akihiro countered, his smile audible in the tone. “I asked because I like the thought of you touching me. And if it happened to come with a good massage, all the better.”
The words lingered, heavy in the air. Jun kept working, letting his hands roam down Akihiro’s back, pressing along the spine, easing knots of tension one by one. The more he pressed, the more Akihiro melted beneath him, as though his whole body surrendered to the rhythm of Jun’s touch.
Jun increased the pressure, maybe as a distraction, maybe to quiet his racing mind. The silence stretched, filled only by their breathing and the steady glide of his hands. Little by little, he lost himself to the motion, falling into a natural cadence.
Akihiro’s body lay loose beneath him, dark hair in disarray across the pale sheets, face turned to the side in serene abandon. His skin warmed beneath Jun’s palms, reacting in subtle shifts — tensing, yielding, releasing — until Jun could almost believe each press was unlocking something deeper.
No matter how he tried, he couldn’t ignore the wave of intimacy creeping in. There was something confessional in the act, a silent surrender carried through touch.
“Turn over,” Jun whispered, his voice low but steady.
Akihiro cracked his eyes open, hazy from the languor of touch. Without argument, he obeyed, rolling onto his back. His chest rose and fell slowly, exposed and unguarded, and the look he gave Jun was one of unshaken trust — as though Jun was the only one capable of stripping him bare in this way.
Jun settled over him, placing his palms flat against his sternum before gliding downward, tracing ribs, abdomen, shoulders — sometimes firm, sometimes feather-light, as though memorizing him.
Akihiro’s eyes slipped closed again, a sigh slipping free from his lips, more surrender than sound. Heat spread through Jun’s body at the sight. He liked seeing him like this: vulnerable, unshackled, at ease. Rare — and therefore all the more precious.
Akihiro’s hands lifted, resting on Jun’s thighs before sliding beneath the towel at his waist. His fingers traced slow circles against bare skin, insistent even in their gentleness, marking presence in a silence already charged with too much.
Jun let his fingers trace the line of Akihiro’s collarbone, drifting down the curve of his chest until they rested lightly on the firm plane of his abdomen. The gesture suggested more than it claimed. When his palm slid lower, he felt the unmistakable hardness beneath the sheet.
Heat rushed to his face, and Jun pulled his hand back as if he’d touched fire.
“Are you serious...?” he murmured, unable to finish the thought.
The alpha’s eyes opened slowly, heavy with languor but gleaming with mischief. The corner of his mouth curved into a slow smile — predatory in its calm.
“What is it?” he teased, his deep voice scraping against the silence. “Did you discover something?”
Jun turned his gaze away, biting his tongue to keep from stumbling over words.
“You’re such a pervert...” he muttered, though the way he shifted against Akihiro’s body betrayed him completely.
A low laugh rumbled from Akihiro’s chest beneath Jun’s hands.
“You’ve been kneading me so earnestly, and now you act surprised?” His voice was thick with provocation. “Take off that towel, and let’s see who the real pervert is.”
Jun’s eyes widened, scandalized.
“That’s you! I have nothing to hide.”
Akihiro arched a brow, amused.
“Of course... because you’re a saint,” he drawled, biting his lower lip just to watch Jun’s blush deepen.
Jun tried to compose himself, but Akihiro’s muffled laughter only fed his embarrassment. Yet beneath the teasing there was heat — something that made him feel seen, wanted, not mocked.
Akihiro’s hand slid to his waist, drawing him closer, while his other hand found Jun’s fingers and coaxed them open against his palm. Their lips met in a kiss that was messy, urgent, almost frantic. Jun’s soft moan vibrated between their mouths, muffled but unmistakably needy.
The alpha’s hands roamed lower, tracing the curve of Jun’s waist until they cupped the firm roundness of his ass. He squeezed, shameless and possessive, the towel loosening until it slipped aside and exposed Jun’s growing arousal.
“Look at you...” Akihiro’s voice was husky, threaded with a growl. “Still pretending you’re not turned on?”
Jun flushed, lips parting in protest. “That’s only because you wouldn’t stop touching me in the shower...”
“Oh, of course. Always my fault.” Akihiro smiled against his lips, skepticism effortless, dangerous in its charm.
Jun shifted deliberately, grinding back against the alpha’s rigid length. The friction drew a tremor through his body, their pre-come smearing and mingling as they rubbed in a desperate, uneven rhythm.
“Who would’ve guessed your little massage would come with such... a happy ending,” Akihiro murmured, half-lidded eyes heavy with pleasure.
Jun’s breath caught in shallow bursts as he moved against him, hands mapping the planes of Akihiro’s chest, the hard ridges of muscle and the inked lines carved into warm skin.
With one swift movement, Akihiro rolled him beneath him, pinning Jun to the mattress. He sank into the pillows, body arching in a tense half-curve that was neither surrender nor defiance.
“You know...” Akihiro’s voice dropped, softer now, almost sincere. “That massage really did bring me back to life. Don’t be surprised if I ask for more next time.”
Jun turned his face away, heat staining his cheeks, the curve of his mouth betraying a reluctant smile.
“I wouldn’t mind...” he whispered, barely audible. Then, hesitantly, lips curling in a small pout, “But I thought you were going to... compensate me.”
Akihiro tilted his head, laughter rumbling low. His eyes gleamed with a mischief sharpened by something more tender. His fingers traced the line of Jun’s jaw, a touch so intimate it burned hotter than any blatant caress.
“So that’s it... You want me to be romantic. You want your compensation done properly.”
Jun shivered — not at the touch itself, but at the echo in the words. Clients had said similar things before, when they craved tenderness, or submission, or some convincing shadow of love.
Before he could answer, Akihiro pulled him by the nape into a demanding kiss. It began firm, almost claiming, then unraveled into something slower, reverent. A contradiction, captivating in its duality: hunger and care, lust and devotion, fused in the urgent patience of mouths that couldn’t quite let go.
Jun knew how to play roles, how to become whatever others asked of him. But here — here Akihiro was playing too, though it felt as if he wanted to prove something. Was it another mask? Or did he truly mean it? The line blurred until Jun no longer knew where the act ended.
He sighed into the alpha’s mouth, surrendering to the moment. His body yielded instinctively, but his mind clung to the weight of what it might mean. This wasn’t just the release of a long-interrupted desire. Each teasing word seemed to carry the seed of something deeper, nameless and dangerous.
Maybe that was why he felt so exposed: unable to decide whether Akihiro was faking or if there was truth in the glimmer of his eyes. Romance, for Jun, had always been transactional, a role rehearsed to satisfy others’ fantasies. But with him, the intensity skirted the impossible, as though Akihiro wanted to convince him — or himself — that they could really exist as lovers.
Jun accepted the game, not knowing if it would end in pleasure or another layer of confusion.
Akihiro’s hands laced with his, drawing him closer until not even breath separated them. Heat tangled between their bodies; the bed felt too small for the tension that swelled.
“Romantic enough for you?” Akihiro whispered against his lips, the words edged with a smile.
Jun bit back a laugh, his reply colored with defiance and invitation. “Maybe.”
The alpha kissed his neck, his jaw, each brush slow, deliberate, a patience that only sharpened the ache.
His breath ghosted across Jun’s skin, the words muffled into a near-whisper: “If I’m making up for it, I’ll do it right.”
A shiver coursed through Jun, unhidden, unresisted. He let himself feel the vulnerability, sensing that behind the provocation lay more promise than threat.
Akihiro’s hand slid down, cupping him again, spreading his thighs with easy command.
“I’m going to make you feel so good,” he murmured, “just like I promised.”
Jun’s eyes fluttered shut as the alpha’s fingers teased between his legs, brushing over the sensitive entrance. His breath broke into a gasp, hips arching for more. Akihiro didn’t tease long — two fingers pressed inside, the tight heat clenching around him.
A moan tore from Jun’s throat, his back bowing against the sheets, hands twisting in the fabric as his body betrayed him completely.
Akihiro leaned into him, dragging his breath across Jun’s chest before catching a nipple between his lips. He teased with slow licks, then bit down lightly, just enough to make Jun flinch and arch beneath him.
“You like that?” he murmured, though he already knew the answer from the way Jun’s body shivered against his mouth.
His fingers curled inside, searching with practiced patience until they pressed against that hidden place. Jun gasped — loud, raw — his whole body convulsing in helpless surrender. Akihiro’s low chuckle carried a streak of mischief, his fingers relentless as he worked that spot until Jun was trembling, undone.
“Promise me you’ll fall apart like this when I’m inside you,” he whispered, stealing Jun’s mouth in a hungry, bruising kiss.
Jun kissed him back with desperation, tugging at his hair, clinging as if to anchor himself. When Akihiro finally slid his fingers free, the sound that tore from Jun’s throat was half a moan, half a plea.
They only broke the kiss when Akihiro reached for the drawer beside the bed, tore open a condom, and slid it on. He settled between Jun’s thighs, the thick head of his cock nudging insistently at his entrance.
“Ready?” His voice was gravel, thick with restraint.
Jun’s nod came quick, his eyes locked on him, wide and unguarded.
Akihiro pushed forward in one long, deliberate thrust. Jun’s mouth fell open, a broken cry escaping as his eyes rolled back, body tightening around the intrusion. The alpha stilled, letting him breathe, letting him adjust, then drew back almost to the tip before sinking in again — measured, intentional.
Jun’s nails raked down his back as the rhythm deepened, every thrust aimed unerringly at the spot that made him lose his breath. Words tumbled from his lips in fragmented gasps, his head thrown back against the pillows.
“You like it like this?” Akihiro murmured, voice stretching into a low growl, keeping the pace slow, teasing, achingly tender.
Jun’s reply came ragged, his restraint gone.
“Y-yes... I like it, so deep...” The admission slipped out before he could hold it back, and the heat rushing over his face only widened Akihiro’s grin against his mouth.
The alpha drove in deeper, grinding his hips with deliberate precision until Jun’s body buckled beneath him.
“I must be brushing your womb already,” he whispered into his ear, words dark, edged with hunger. “You’re clenching around me like you want to keep me here. You feel that, don’t you?”
Jun’s moan cracked into a stifled cry, his body arching, betraying him even as he tried to protest.
“D-don’t say that... I fell like you’re kissing my womb...”
Akihiro’s laughter rumbled low against his throat, wicked and intimate. He caught Jun’s hand, kissed along his trembling fingers, and laced them with his own.
“Look at you,” he rasped. “You had your chance to run. I told you — I’m not letting go.”
Jun’s nails dug deep into his skin, eyes glazed with unfiltered pleasure as he finally surrendered — vulnerable, bare, no longer hiding behind control.
“I... I don’t want you to stop... please.”
That plea undid him. Akihiro’s pace shifted, hips snapping harder, faster, the sound of their bodies colliding filling the room with a primal rhythm.
“Can you feel that, baby?” he growled into his ear. “That’s me fucking you exactly where you need it.”
Jun wrapped his legs tighter around him, dragging him closer, desperate for every inch, for no space at all between them.
“K-kiss me... please...”
Akihiro’s lips crashed down without hesitation, though the urgency of the request lit something hotter in him. The kiss was claiming, devouring — tongue and teeth and moans swallowed whole. His grip locked around Jun’s hip, driving in with merciless accuracy until his body trembled with the edge of release.
A guttural sound ripped from Akihiro’s chest as he thrust one last time, burying himself to the hilt. His body shuddered as he spilled deep inside the condom, heat pulsing against the tight grip of Jun’s body. The rush dragged Jun under with him, his climax breaking in waves that shook his whole frame, sticky warmth spreading between them as he clung to the alpha, their fingers knotted tight.
For a moment, the world stilled. They stayed pressed together, breathless, drenched in each other’s heat. When Akihiro finally pulled out, Jun whimpered, the emptiness sharp, unfair.
The condom slipped free with a wet snap, but Akihiro’s gaze lingered on him — on the way his entrance still fluttered, hungry, aching.
“You don’t look satisfied,” he murmured, sliding two fingers back inside before Jun could speak.
Jun’s cry was immediate, his body yielding instinctively.
“That’s it...” Akihiro smiled, curling his fingers until Jun’s breath hitched. “We’ve got all night. You’re okay with that, aren’t you, Jun?”
Jun looked up at him through heavy lids, lips parted, his voice shaky but sure.
“Yes... I’m fine.”
Akihiro’s smile curved slow, dangerous, yet softened with something warmer — savoring both the answer and the surrender it carried.
-----
The night outside lay heavy and still, as if the entire world had surrendered to sleep. Inside the room, however, Jun remained awake, seated at the edge of the bed with his feet hovering just above the cold floor. The sheet slipped loosely around his waist, exposing faint traces on his skin — subtle reminders of a night when he had given himself over as never before.
He trembled, though not from cold. His heart still beat in a fevered rhythm, echoing the cadence of movements that had alternated between urgency and unhurried tenderness only hours ago. His hands rested on his bent knees, fingers pressing tightly together as though grasping for an anchor.
Behind him, Akihiro slept deeply. The alpha’s body was half exposed, broad chest rising and falling in steady intervals, his breath heavy like a man who carried too much — and who, for some rare reason, had finally laid that burden down. His face bore a serenity unusual for him, the expression of someone who seldom allowed himself the luxury of rest.
Jun averted his eyes, unable to hold the sight for long. The scent was everywhere.
Not merely the smell of the room, nor the sweat of the night — it was Akihiro’s pheromones, saturating his skin, the sheets, the very air that seemed denser with every breath. Deep, mineral and resinous, with hints of cardamom and myrrh, cedar and heated iron. There was something primal in that fragrance, as if every particle sought to claim him, to mark him invisibly. Jun knew that even days from now, long after showers and after work resumed, he might still carry that trace.
The problem wasn’t the scent itself — it was what it summoned.
Every detail of the night had been woven with an unexpected tenderness, each gesture executed not to conquer, but to persuade.
And Jun, against every instinct of self-preservation, had believed it.
Hours earlier, he had rested his head against Akihiro’s chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart until sleep threatened to take him — but only for Akihiro. For himself, sleep had proved impossible. Not after this.
The tears came without warning, hot against the cool skin of his face. He leaned forward, pressing his lips to his clenched fingers to stifle the sound. His body didn’t ache; on the contrary, he felt light, coursing with a strange vitality, as if every nerve had been woken all at once. And that was precisely what tormented him.
“It won’t happen again,” he told himself, like a mantra he needed to believe. “It wasn’t real.”
The words echoed harder each time. It had all begun with a childish dare — that Akihiro could never manage to be romantic. And the alpha, driven by his relentless competitiveness, had taken the challenge. He had delivered. Delivered so well that Jun could no longer distinguish where performance ended and truth began.
Perhaps that was all it was: a role, just another act. Jun knew too well how to embody the desires of others, to slip into costumes of fantasy and give clients the illusion they paid for. Perhaps Akihiro was no different.
But what if he was?
The thought pierced through him like glass, sharp and fleeting, yet enough to fracture his certainty. Akihiro, the same man who scorned the idea of bonds, who mocked romance as a weakness, had managed to create something so convincing that Jun had almost believed he wasn’t alone in his feelings.
Fresh tears blurred his vision. He brushed them away quickly, as if he could conceal his weakness even from himself, but his heart still raced, desperate and too full, unwilling to submit to the cold logic he tried to force upon it.
Jun drew in a deep breath, closed his eyes, and allowed himself a few more seconds of disorder before straightening his posture. He didn’t want to wake him. He didn’t want Akihiro to see how deeply this had unsettled him. The alpha slept peacefully, and at least that much Jun refused to steal.
Yet, when he glanced back once more — at the steady rise of his chest beneath the sheet, at that rare, serene expression — a question cut through him, cruel and intoxicating all at once:
What if it hadn’t been an act?