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Really, were Marukawa Shoten employees that oblivious to the existence of security cameras in elevators? Apparently so. Well, at least those involved in office romance. But especially if they worked with "Emerald" where everyone was under the influence of shoujo manga stories.
And, well, if they thought about it, just who did these amorous drones think was reviewing elevator footage? It was not some lonesome, loathsome otaku with a distorted sense of fan service. No, it was the company president himself, Isaka Ryuuichirou, steadfast in keeping machine eyes on whether said office romance would disrupt profit because money first.
Hell, there were hours and hours of Takano and Onodera sucking face in a frenzy, sometimes with it escalating into fingerbanging (which Isaka had caught them doing in the bathroom more than a few times, too). Yokozawa the Sales Bear became a newborn kitten whenever cool, calculating Kirishima touched him. Every time egomaniac Usami was alone with jailbait-esque Chibi-tan he groped the youth with his vast hands (which was sometimes too creepy for even Isaka to watch). And, now, there was hanky-panky between Ijuuin and Yanase, the latter hopefully replacing Chibi-tan in the affections of the best-selling mangaka.
Then there was Aikawa, editor extraordinaire. Poor, pitiful Aikawa. She had dated men and women from all departments of the company, but, alas, all distanced themselves when she was at the end of an editing cycle with deadline deadbeat Usami. She was more fearsome and frightening (and sometime zombielike) than Takano and Yokozawa were when they screamed like banshees at monthly meetings over circulation.
Of course, Mr. President himself did not deign to kiss his companion Asahina before any cameras on the property. Why should he when they could lock their office door and disport themselves atop a granite-topped desk if they could not repress their urges. But Asahina, that sadist, would much rather make his longtime lover wait until they could indulge in rougher pleasures at home. That poker face he wore flickered self-satisfied smirks whenever he observed Isaka strive to repress a hard-on.
Isaka was enjoying the lustful travails of Takano and Onodera when Asahina rematerialized. His tie and jacket had changed color and pattern so that meant they were dining out somewhere (he made the plans since he deemed his lover "unreliable" on this matter). Tonight they would be alone, a long drawn out meal meant to be foreplay when it was torture for Isaka. Asahina chewed so seductively that he deserved to be ravished there and then before dessert was scheduled at home.
Takano was groping Onodera from behind when the screen became shielded by a briefcase. “Ryuuichirou-sama,” Asahina growled, “you fucking voyeur.” His suitcase dropped and he yanked Isaka by the lapels from his desk chair so their eyes became level. “You shithead, why watch fumbling boys when you have a skilled man?” His profane mouth pummeled Isaka on his, tongue gliding in, slithering around, depriving the kissed one of breath.
Too soon, Asahina let his lover go, coughing, but aroused. “Damn it, Kaoru,” Isaka gasped,. “Why the fuck do you always have to do that?”
“The answer remains unchanged: because I can,” he replied, unflustered by his antics, his ties incapable of going astray during a typhoon. “Now get yourself together or I’ll never towel your sorry ass again.”
“Oh, so threatening.”
“How about I won’t fuck you senseless unless you give up elevator porn?”
“What would others think if they heard such profanity from you?”
“I’d hope they wouldn’t get as titillated as you do,” Asahina shook his head, furrows barely visible on his brow. “I give you side-eye and you melt into a gooey hot mess like someone in Usami-sensei’s manga.”
Isaka grinned as he logged off his company account, “Aren’t his Ryou and Kazuo pairing inspirational?”
“No,” Asahina replied, stoic and statue-esque, colder than the coldest fish in the Arctic Ocean. “Don’t ever get drunk with him again or I’ll divorce you.”
“But it’s so profitable.”
“You and money.” Asahina grabbed his briefcase and whacked Isaka on the ass with it. “I don’t like my character being summoned by ‘oh, my sweet Sebastian, please serve me your dick on a silver platter.’”
“Hey, that hurt!” Isaka rubbed his backside. “I’m not responsible for Akihiko’s artistic license.”
“No, you’re responsible for everything in the company, Mr. President.” A sinister ghost of a smile materialized for a nanosecond. “I do all the work but you receive all the blame.”
“What blame?” Isaka grinned. “My charm can avert any crisis.”
"Oh, really?" Asahina was not amused. “So what happens when Usami-sensei reveals his lover to the world?”
“We sell even more copies of his work!” Isaka adjusted his somber tie. “So, Kaoru, where do we dine tonight?”
“Udon-topia.”
“Sounds like the name of that onsen in Kyushu we visited, the one with the excellent katsudon.”
“The one where you fell asleep in the onsen and almost drowned.”
“I did not almost drown!” Isaka protested. “I was just a little delirious from all the sake.”
“If you say so.” Asahina kissed Isaka on the forehead as if Mr. President was a sulky child at bedtime. “Now, it’s time to go eat, darling.” Asahina strolled from the office, leaving Isaka red-faced. That sadist, was he going to tease him like this all night? No, Isaka would not allow that!
Isaka rushed to the nearest elevator where Asahina held the doors. Damn him, it was like he was psychic, knowing the exact second his lover would arrive. Isaka leapt aboard, panting, tie hanging flaccid as he bent over, heart thrumming in his head. As they descended downward, his breathing did not ebb as Asahina stood close behind him as if he were about to thrust his--ah, shit, his dick was being kindled.
“Don’t stand there like that!” Cheek-flushed Isaka barked as he stood up straight, turning to face his taller lover. “Do you want me to cum in my pants?”
“Not particularly.” Asahina looked at his old-fashioned watch (an expensive gift from the former president). “We have yet to make love in an elevator.” He leaned toward Isaka, lips twisted as if to gloat. “So shall we have another first?”
“No! I don’t want you to--”
“Are you saying you don’t want me?”
“Fuck you!” Isaka yanked Asahina toward him, by the shoulders, until wet mouths met. His tongue jabbed inside the other, jostling with its counterpart before caressing floor and roof unopposed. His lips pressed down, harder and harder, as his left hand slid lower and lower. The hand was obstructed from its course by stronger, stealthier hands, hands that pulled them apart. “There, are you satisfied?”
“Not quite.” Asahina flashed a diabolical smile. “You’ll have to finish later.” His sparkling eyes skated toward the sliding doors--doors open to the eyes of onlookers! Oh, shit, there they stood, Takano and Onodera, expressions painted with shock, the latter with the pallor of illness (hopefully not from reverting to an unhealthy lifestyle again). “Good evening,” the executive secretary greeted them as he stepped out, perfect and unperturbed. “Come along, Ryuuichirou-sama.”
Neither replied as Isaka was led away by the arm, helpless to the situation, wondering whether Asahina, that sadist, had planned this mishap for him in revenge for inspiring Usami-sensei to create Ishida Ryou and Asagiri Kazuo, master and servant for eternity.