Work Text:
Aoki’s office was clean, fresh, modern, with floor-to-ceiling windows that allowed him to look out on his kingdom of Tokyo. Daigo walked over to the windows, gazing down on the city. It was easy to believe yourself above everyone when you were literally elevated in a ziggurat such as this.
The door opened, and Daigo turned as the governor himself walked in. Their eyes met, and Aoki paused before he walked into the space, the door falling closed behind him. Daigo saw the recognition flash in his eyes before he passed under a light fixture and his glasses reflected the light, obscuring them.
Daigo had watched Aoki’s press conferences on television, but seeing him in person was another matter entirely. Despite the confidence in his step, the plastic surgery, the glasses, he was unmistakable. Or maybe it just felt that way because Daigo had known Masato Arakawa so intimately.
“Thank you for waiting,” Aoki said politely, his voice carrying that same gravely tone Daigo recognized from their shared youth. He hid it when he spoke publicly. The fact that it was coming out told Daigo everything he needed to know.
He was suddenly twenty-four, drunk and hard, pressing himself into a Masato who could hardly keep his eyes open. Among the Tojo, Daigo had never met anyone who shared his taste in fashion. Spotting this black-clad, shaggy-haired, wet-looking man in a bar somewhere in the armpit of Kamurocho had intrigued Daigo immediately.
They’d passed six hot and heavy months together, often drunk, usually fucking or fighting or both. Daigo had not yet hit rock bottom, but he was free falling towards it by that point, and Masato only made things worse. Daigo’s prison stint put an end to them; when Daigo got out, Masato Arakawa had passed away under mysterious circumstances.
Daigo knew it was bullshit.
Aoki joined Daigo at the windows, gazing out, his hands clasped behind his back. The way he filled out his teal suit told Daigo he was much stronger these days. Daigo could only imagine the extent it took for Masato to transform himself into the machine standing next to him.
“You must know I have no intention of negotiating with you,” Aoki said, his words slick, a smirk in them despite his neutral expression. “I don’t see much point in this meeting, frankly.”
Daigo watched his face. “Yet you accepted it.”
“I recall how stubborn you can be,” Aoki said, turning to him now. He held himself with such confidence. “I thought I might see you beg.”
Daigo leaned back on his heels. A bubble of laughter escaped his throat. Aoki’s expression grew dark. “You think I’d beg anything from you?”
“Remember who holds the power here,” Aoki hissed.
“I do,” Daigo responded, and he stepped closer to Aoki. Aoki’s expression faltered, and he stepped back, but Daigo pursued and seized him by the shoulders. He slammed Aoki into the window, holding him there by the shoulders, and Aoki glared.
“Get off me!” he demanded, raising a hand which Daigo grabbed by the wrist. “Don’t touch me!”
“Haven’t changed a bit, have you?” Daigo asked. Daigo pressed his body into Aoki’s, their hips grinding together, their bodies fitting a little differently than they did nearly two decades ago. Color flooded Aoki’s face.
“Fuck you,” he spat.
Still, Daigo remembered a spot on Aoki’s neck that would always make him shiver and moan, and Daigo’s fingers deftly loosened Aoki’s tie.
“Wh-what are you–” But Aoki could not speak after Daigo nearly ripped the collar of his shirt to expose his neck. He ran a rough thumb over that place at the base of Aoki’s neck, and Aoki’s sharp inhale told Daigo he was just as sensitive as he used to be.
He planted his mouth on that spot, running his teeth over it, and Aoki fought a losing war against his own body. The tremble which started in his hands traveled to his arms and shoulders, and small, high sounds escaped his throat despite his best efforts. Daigo could feel his own arousal grow at these sounds, made all the more delicious by Aoki’s struggle to keep them smothered.
Then Daigo simply let him go. Dropped Aoki’s hands, backed away from him. Daigo swept his gaze over the flustered governor, his face deeply flushed, glasses askew, his tie pulled loose, his collar a mess. Daigo’s saliva shined on his neck.
For a moment, Aoki looked like a marionette whose strings had been cut. He leaned against the window, motionless except for the heaving of his chest. Daigo bowed his head and said, “Have a good night, Governor.” He turned to leave, very nearly made it to the door, when Aoki’s voice stopped him.
“One moment.” His voice was deceptively calm. Daigo looked over his shoulder. Aoki stood straighter, had fixed his glasses, but there was still a tremble in his hands. “Perhaps we can negotiate.”
Daigo looked back at the door to hide his smirk. “Is there room for negotiation at this point?”
He didn’t dare look back, even when the silence stretched endlessly. Finally, in a voice hardly above a whisper, Aoki said, “Please.”
“What was that?” Daigo asked. “My hearing isn’t so good.”
“Fuck you,” Aoki hissed. Daigo shrugged and put a hand on the doorknob. Aoki groaned and said, almost too loudly, “Please.”
Daigo smiled and returned to Aoki. Aoki watched him warily, his dark eyes burning, although Daigo could not tell his passion from his hatred. Aoki stepped forward, reaching to place a hand on Daigo’s chest, but Daigo seized him, spun him around, and pinned him against the window again, this time facing out toward the city he looked down on. His glasses fell to the floor.
“Wh-what,” Aoki breathed, the glass fogging near his hot mouth. No further words came, however, when Daigo reached his other hand down, undid Aoki’s belt, and found his way into Aoki’s pants.
He was swollen and dripping already. Daigo felt his labia, earning another reluctant moan from the governor. He recalled a night where they’d done this very thing in a dirty alleyway behind a bar, where Daigo had fingered him until he was breathless to the tune of muffled and off-key karaoke.
But Daigo only teased him now, running a calloused finger over his clit while his other thumb pressed down on that spot on his neck. Aoki shivered, hands trying to grip flat glass. Daigo took in his scent, his expensive cologne and the chemical smell of his suit along with the scent of his musk and sweat which was building up on his skin. His hair smelled of strawberry. Daigo’s favorite.
Pulling his hand out, Daigo deftly undid his own belt and felt brief relief of pressure as he released his dick from his pants. He then pushed Aoki’s down, pressed their hips together, and Aoki fucking squeaked when Daigo entered him.
Daigo enjoyed the first push, savoring the feeling of Aoki around his cock. He breathed heavily in Aoki’s ear, pressing their bodies together. Then Daigo thrust into him, holding his hips, gazing out into the Tokyo skyline and wondering if anyone were looking up into the single lit office in the building at that moment.
Daigo felt Aoki orgasm, the walls of his cunt constricting Daigo, slowing his thrusting and sending waves of pleasure through his spine. Daigo saw Aoki’s sweat and spittle mar the window, obscuring the view.
With little care, Daigo forced Aoki’s suit open, then his shirt, buttons popping from the force. Aoki groaned, this one sounding like a protest, and he squirmed a little but the fight went out of him when he came again. He moaned against the glass, entirely unable to fight it now. Daigo felt Aoki’s slender waist, the scars under his pecks, the scars over his sternum. The evidence of the surgeries that it took to create the man Daigo had complete control of now.
Daigo grunted, feeling himself close to climax, and he pulled out of Aoki, shivering as they parted. Aoki’s legs could not hold him up, and Daigo let him sink to the floor, panting, trembling, the skin along his chest and belly prickling. Daigo watched him take long, deliberate breaths, waited until Aoki looked up at him again.
Aoki’s eyes fell to Daigo’s cock, wet with his own juices, then back up to Daigo's eyes. Daigo only smiled and pressed forward. He expected more protest, but Aoki put up none. He simply fit his mouth around Daigo, shuddering as he fit him all in, Daigo gripped Aoki’s hair as Aoki worked him to completion.
Daigo put his hands against the glass now, his palms sweaty, leaving more marks, more evidence. He moaned deeply, freely, as he came, and Aoki took it all, not spilling a drop. Then Aoki removed himself from Daigo, wiping his mouth on the sleeve of his ruined suit.
Daigo grinned down at Aoki. “How’s that for negotiation?” he asked.
Aoki simply glared up at him. “Get the fuck out of my office.”