Work Text:
Yashiki had taken the habit to stop by Mashita's office at times. Mostly when he was called first, which now that he thought about it the man seemed to do quite often, to handle spirit-related cases. Yasuoka seemed to still refer people to Mashita's private investigation services despite his many protests, and when asked about it she would say "I'm doing the both of you a favor.", which only angered the detective more. It was but a passing frustration, however. Yashiki would come by, a chair already readied for him, and they would pour over files together, discuss case details and the sort. Sometimes Yashiki would tidy the place up, and sometimes just stay there, providing company.
It was a summer afternoon and the crickets reverberated outside, something the both of them found rather annoying, but shutting the windows and making the air inside even stuffier seemed like the worst possible idea, and the general bothersome nature of the weather was starting to wear them down. Mashita slumped on his office chair, staring at papers and feeling the letters slide off his eyes. His mind wandered over familiar things, over hot days like these and his rookie days. The office, even in this unbearable state, was something of a second home. It is said part of who you are is made by where you are, for place is one determining factor over how one acts. When the office was empty, which it often was, the air was often personal and small. It was in a way, the extension of the mind of Satoru Mashita. His desk, his files, his rudimentary computer, it was cluttered but sharp, configured in a way not many appreciated but that was uniquely his.
And now Yashiki was occupying that space, too.
The man in question was leaning at the window, clearly exhausted by the heat. He had a way of staring off in the distance quietly, and for Mashita it was very easy to tell if his mind was on one of two things: nothing, or something really terrible. Thankfully, it seemed to be the former this time. The tells were simple, the way his brows were relaxed and his eyes were vacant in a way that seemed nobody was home, rather than that they were filled with darkness, his lower lip hung just slightly open, rather than it shut tight in a frown. These seemed like pronounced differences to the detective, but the truth was that most people would probably not notice any of it. Yashiki was remarkably inexpressive in most cases, like the muscles of his face responded to fear and nothing else. Mashita was regardless remarkable at reading him, making educated guesses of the man's thoughts with uncanny accuracy. Yashiki brushed this off as him being so good at his profession and this was only partially true.
"Hm, is something wrong?"
Mashita's train of thought crashed completely upon the older man's interjection and he realized he had been staring at him for longer than it was acceptable to, and he turned away immediately.
"Nothing at all."
He flushed and felt irritated. The stuffy weather had left him with lower defenses than usual. Yashiki simply silently nodded in confusion and sat back on the chair next to Mashita. This was unspoken between them, but Yashiki felt really endeared for having his own seat in the office, as it was clearly not there before. He turned to gaze at the detective blankly but warmly, his eyes coloured in gratitude. He was happy to be let in, even if he didn't truly grasp the full weight of it.
Mashita stared at his files in an attempt to seem busy but he was completely unable to focus. He could see Yashiki's eyes from the corners of his own.
"It's really hot out today..." Yashiki said absentmindedly, leaning back in his chair. "I don't think we're going to get a lot of work done."
"Not with that attitude you won't." Mashita scoffed. "You're not helping me focus either."
"Am I distracting you?" Yashiki leaned closer to lean his chin on the desk, giving him a small smile, feeling like the heat was getting to his head a little.
Mashita gave him a dumbfounded look of embarrassment for a quick moment before snapping into a smug smirk to hide it. "I don't recall inviting you so you can just laze around."
"It didn't really sound like an invitation so much as you were demanding it, though."
"I-" Mashita hesitated a moment too long. His chair was pulled closer to Yashiki's, their legs having no room but to be in contact with each other, and he felt the man lean his head on his shoulder and brush legs with his softly. Mashita looked and felt like he had swallowed a bug, reddening more and more by the second. Ordinarily, Yashiki would not be this forward, but he truly felt too exhausted to filter himself with the anxiety and fear of the detective's rejection and disinterest. If anyone would push him away and let him know when he wasn't wanted, that would be this man, and his absurd honesty for things of that sort made him feel really safe. He just wanted to be close, and thus he closed the space between them further.
Mashita felt like a burning star. He stared at Yashiki's resting face on his shoulder rather unsure of what to do, of what he wanted to do, or what he should do. But mostly, seeing him this up close and personal always caught him off guard. Yashiki's features always looked so gentle, like he was seeing him for the first time. His eyes stared off distantly, tired and beautiful eyes, and his lips always seemed even softer than Mashita's mental image of them. That wasn't even beginning to cover the feeling of the contact of their legs, as he felt blood rushing all over his body in response.
Yashiki looked up to see a quite red Mashita and was somehow a little taken aback at first, like he hadn't expected so much of a reaction, but followed it with a soft chuckle.
"Something funny?"
"Not really. I just love the way you look."
That did not make things any less embarrassing at all, Mashita felt like yelling but gulped it down nervously.
"Can I kiss you, Satoru?"
Mashita felt a tinge of electricity shoot from up his spine, and his whole body was starting to get softer in the places Yashiki was in contact with. It was like he had gently signaled to him where he wanted to go, and asking for permission to follow through.
"... Please, Kazuo." It came out shakier than he wanted to.
He felt Kazuo's hands run up his torso gently, getting warmer wherever he touched, before this palms reached his cheeks and carefully held his face in place. His lips were warm, it was a slow, loving kiss, pressed together over and over with utmost appreciation. Satoru felt himself melt in his hands and lips, leaning into them, not taking long to wrap his arms over Kazuo's shoulders, silently begging to be taken away. He felt hands run down his ribs to the sides of his stomach before gripping his hips firmly and he made a small noise in his throat by accident, making himself more embarrassed. Kazuo smiled into Satoru's lips and parted them with his tongue, the ever growing hunger to feel what he tastes like again, to eliminate all the borders between them. Satoru felt the man leaning his body into his own, kissing him more and more hungrily and pulling them closer together, and he held him back tightly, breathing short in the few moments their lips part.
The chair he was on started to creak slightly, and Kazuo took notice of it where Satoru didnt.
Before he could process it, Satoru felt his body lifted from the waist and placed to sit on the desk.
"If— you make— a mess, I swear-" He pushed the words out in the gaps of air he had, but still felt more and more warm, like his whole body was catching fire. Kazuo held his chin and stopped kissing him for a moment.
"Making a mess is the point. I'll clean up for you."
Satoru's face had something of a mix of shock, embarrassment and sheer excitement. The words had barely meant anything from his end, Kazuo could do just about anything to him right now, but that shifted the dynamic even further. He couldn't help but cover his face with his forearm and smile, and the other man laughed gently and heartily, their foreheads, the tips of their noises, their lips and their bodies all touching one another, closer and closer until there were no lines dividing them, like Kazuo and Satoru just had always belonged together, just meant to be occupying the same space.
"Do your worst, then."