Work Text:
Satomi's been pretending to study for the last hour.
Kyouji doesn't appear to have noticed—just keeps working on his phone like he has been all evening. Over the last thirty minutes, Satomi has moved from sending him pointed, withering glances that go unnoticed to clearing his throat and turning the pages of his textbook as noisily as possible.
Finally, when he can't take it anymore, he sets the textbook aside with a thump on his dining table, and feels a little flash of vindication when Kyouji looks up at him.
"All done studying, Satomi-kun?" he asks with a lopsided smile that only makes Satomi's blood boil hotter. Kyouji looks ridiculous sitting in Satomi's tiny apartment—immaculate in his suit and tie, hair only just starting to soften beneath the hold of the gel slicking it back.
"Yes," he says shortly. "Are you done?"
Kyouji gives a lazy stretch where he's sitting on Satomi's futon. "I've been done for a while," he says simply. "Was just taking care of some extra business while you finished up.
Extra business. Satomi doesn't ask, and he knows he probably doesn't want to. He knows enough. It's never extra business for himself—it's always for Kumicho. It's always for the family.
Anger flares in his belly, red hot, or maybe ice cold. Both at once. Satomi can barely see through it for a moment as it threatens to consume him whole. He doesn't even know why he's angry. He's the one who kept waiting for Kyouji to say something—to announce that he was done working. To ask how much longer Satomi was planning to study.
To ask when Satomi would have time for him, instead of just waiting for whatever scraps Satomi wanted to give him. Just like he does for Kumicho. Just like he always does, like a dog waiting to be called to heel.
Satomi curls his fingers around the edges of the textbook, hard enough to hurt.
Cocking his head a little, Kyouji looks at him expectantly. "Satomi-kun?"
Satomi shoves himself away from the table and the textbook and stands up. "Kyouji-san," he says. "Come here."
Kyouji doesn't even hesitate, just stands and tucks his phone into his pocket.
"No," Satomi says, and there's something in his throat that feels like it might choke him. It isn't anger; that had faded as quickly as it had risen. "Leave the phone."
With a small huff of laughter, Kyouji obeys, pulling his phone back out and tossing it onto the futon. Satomi feels something flare in him—something hot and satisfied. It only grows when Kyouji takes several slow strides towards him, his hands in his pockets and his head tilted to watch Satomi as he nears.
When Kyouji comes to a stop in front of him, Satomi reaches up. He tangles his hand in the collar of Kyouji's shirt, then slides it around to grip his tie.
He lets the silky fabric run through his fingers until he reaches the end.
Then, with a quick turn of his wrist, Satomi wraps the end around his fingers once, twice, pulling it tight until the loop of the tie around Kyouji's neck is straining. It looks a little like a leash, he thinks, as he tugs Kyouji back towards the futon.
"What are you up to, Satomi-kun?" Kyouji asks, even as he takes one willing step and then another following Satomi's lead.
"Shut up," Satomi tells him. "Just—just do what I tell you to, Kyouji-san."
Kyouji closes his mouth, and when Satomi comes to a stop, Kyouji does to, waiting expectantly for what Satomi decides to do next.
Good, Satomi thinks, because if Kyouji really wants to act like a loyal dog, then Satomi will make sure he knows exactly who he belongs to right now.