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"Do you know why I became a cop?" Adachi asks, turning his gun over in his hands. Two mismatched chairs let them sit facing each other, knees nearly touching, in the dark and quiet of Adachi's apartment. There's a small TV against the wall, a couch with a broken leg in front of it, and not much else. The bedroom, Dojima knows, is just as bare.
To feel important, he thinks about saying, even though it's not a question that expects a response. To save people. To be respected.
"To—"
"Wrong," Adachi interrupts, and lifts his eyes to smile at him. His hands don’t still on the gun, one thumb sliding down the length of it in a slow, repetitious motion Dojima's too familiar with. "It's so I could carry a gun."
It's late. Dojima thinks that he should have gone straight home but the chance has passed.
The gun's presented to him grip first without a word, just a tired, slightly amused smile that Dojima's seen too often lately and doesn't like. He stares at the weapon. It's standard issue, identical to the one holstered on him now, and…
"Loaded?" he asks.
"Can't remember," Adachi says.
Dojima takes it from him anyway.
Adachi always reacts the same way when Dojima puts the barrel under his chin and forces his head back, but Dojima watches the change like it’s the first time. The tension leaks out of his body and he slumps in his chair, eyes slightly unfocused as they gaze at the ceiling.
Dojima wants to ask what he's thinking about but he knows better than to pry, not when Adachi's never asked him.
Adachi probably already knows, though.
"I'm in charge," he says.
"Yes, sir." Adachi's hands curl into tight fists on his lap, but there's something like relief in his voice.
He trails the gun along Adachi's jaw and stops it behind his ear. Facts run through his head, unbidden, of how much damage a wound here would do. He's been a cop too long for the information not to come to mind. "You shouldn't give your weapon to someone like this, Adachi. It leaves you vulnerable. That's a rookie mistake."
"Sorry, sir."
"Not—"
"Dojima-san," Adachi corrects. "Sorry, forgot."
Yes, sir is for when Adachi's got the gun turned on him.
He brings it from behind the ear to the cheek, pressing hard until Adachi's head is forced down enough to look at him and he can feel the metal hitting his teeth. Adachi's eyes refocus, fix on him steadily, a more intense look to him than Dojima's used to seeing, and that makes his cock harden even as he feels strangely sad. Adachi's got secrets, a side to him Dojima doesn't know, thoughts he only dwells on when his partner's got a gun under his chin, and Dojima feels the thinness of that word, of partner, and wonders how he's supposed to make it stronger.
But, no, he'll dwell on that later. Now, Adachi's pulse is already racing in his throat, his cock tenting his pants, and over his shoulder Dojima catches sight of the time. Too late for this.
"Can't take it slow tonight," he says. "Family's waiting."
"Ah." The disappointment's clear on Adachi's face, in his voice, and Dojima hesitates a moment before acting, knowing how to make up for the rush and hating it.
He brings his hand up to grip Adachi's hair and touches the barrel of the gun to his lips. "Open."
This is worse than dangerous, worse than stupid, a line Dojima won't normally cross, but he's got a family waiting at home, a daughter who will be tucked in by now and a nephew who will peek down the stairs to make sure someone isn't breaking into the house, and all Adachi has is a refrigerator in need of restocking. The least he can do is indulge him.
It's not a bad sight, Adachi's tongue wrapping around the barrel, his mouth opening to accommodate its size as Dojima slides it in and out, a little deeper each time, and that's one of the reasons it's so dangerous. Easy to get caught up in this, to focus on the shine of spit covering the barrel and not on what he's doing, where his fingers are and how forceful he's being, so he has to be a step removed, can't let himself get too excited.
Frustration makes his voice rough. "Touch yourself."
Adachi loosens his pants just enough that he can shove a hand down them, fingers groping a cock Dojima can't quite see. His pants tighten in response and his breath comes harder, catches when the gun slides out and Adachi pants his name.
"I could make you do anything right now," he says. "What do you think about that?"
Adachi moans, his mouth full, hand jumping.
"Putting yourself in someone's hand like this, letting them have this much control… Dangerous shit. One wrong move, one moment of anger, and I could…"
He doesn't have to finish and he doesn't like the look that comes into Adachi's eyes as the unspoken words hang between them. He slides the gun in deeper and holds it there. "Suck."
Adachi's got his mouth full – that's what makes him come. His hand's moving so fast he's going to sprain his wrist – that's what makes him come. Dojima makes himself believe that, and loosens the hand in his hair, removes the gun, as Adachi catches his breath. He runs a thumb over his cheek, and Adachi tries to shy away, but Dojima holds him in place and he returns the kiss, wet and soft and short.
"You okay?" he asks quietly.
"I'm fine," Adachi says, not meeting his eyes.
He wipes spit off of Adachi's chin. "Clean your weapon. You come in tomorrow with it like this…"
Adachi swallows hard and lets out a short laugh. "That'll get me some odd looks. But, uh, about you…"
"Don't worry about me." He'll pull over to the side of the road and let it fade.
"You don't want me to?"
"It's fine."
Adachi pulls one corner of his mouth up into something that doesn't manage to look like a smile and holds his hand out. Dojima starts to return the gun, pauses as a thought comes to him, and checks the magazine.
It's loaded.
"Must have…" Adachi looks down. "It just slipped my mind, Dojima-san."
Dojima's not in the mood to argue and part of the blame is his for not checking. "Don’t let it slip again."
"Yes, sir, won't happen again, promise." His hand is still out, wavering in the air.
Dojima hands the gun back and gathers his things, his coat from where he threw it over the back of the chair and his shoes from near the door. He glances back with one hand on the doorknob. Adachi's still in his chair, clutching the gun hard, with his head bowed.
"Adachi." When he looks up, he continues, "Keep Saturday night open, will you?"
"…Yeah." Adachi's smile is small but it's there and it's genuine. "Yeah, okay."
"I'm serious, you make plans with someone else—"
"It's yours, Dojima-san."
Dojima nods and leaves. Outside, he leans against door, wills his hands to stop shaking, and wonders at the feeling of relief that comes with that one promise.