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He didn't get him in bed for a long while. Combat was constant, paperwork was immortal, and Yuuta was Deckerd’s first priority: always .
So it was an indulgent day they probably shouldn't have had off. Yuuta was away, at school or with his family, the build team had a community project, and Shadowmaru was supposed to be in Austria.
Deckerd had Gunmax on his desk chair. It was a slow stream of playful jabs that grew up into more significant touching. Teasing kisses that went down and up, to lick the buttons of his uniform blazer, swipe his tongue over the parts where Deckerd’s skin wasn't covered.
The detective had to rip Gunmax’s jacket off to do the same, collar set high for the reasons of a windbreaker. He withheld a complaint, since it didn't go on the floor.
Teeth biting at each other's lips, gloved hands frantically tugging at Gunmax’ fly, Deckerd could finally sink down on the man.
Gunmax shuddered at the heat of Deckerd’s insides, the ribbing of the tight flesh around him. It was only soft rocking, but the gloves that had migrated to the nape of his neck conveyed just how needy he was with every shallow pass.
He didn't dare move him, clinging to the sides of the chair and focusing on the legs around him, the blue clothed torso laying over him. He let the officer stumble on his own, hiccups in his ear. Gunmax wanted to touch, but there was a fear he would go too far.
It was safest to leave the penetration up to the one who prepared himself knowing it'd take him so much longer to get wet, even if desire was burning through his veins like magma.
His body just lags behind. Gunmax tentatively places his hands on Deckerd’s hips, and goes to kiss him again and again. The way his cock is gradually enveloped has him moaning into Deckerd’s mouth.
It gets easier once he takes that step, Deckerd possessively pressing down on him. He briefly entertains the idea of simply being used for Deckerd’s satisfaction, and something in the back of his mind pings.
Notably selfish on his own, however, Gunmax still relishes the hand at his nape and the haphazard mess he's made of Deckerd. The detective has his uniform rumbled just enough to take Gunmax, and in any other scenario, seeing him with his pants off while he's otherwise fully dressed would be funny.
His iconic hat was tossed off to his desk, but his gloves remained alongside his formal blazer. The collar of his shirt was held up by his tie, even while there was a vain attempt to access more of Deckerd’s skin to introduce to Gunmax's mouth.
Gunmax honestly didn't have much room to speak for himself, because there was probably going to be cum stains on his pants if he wasn't careful. His own uniform, too, stuck stubbornly in place.
..they'd see each other in street clothes one of these days. He's s ure. It was better in this one scenario, probably, to make their clothes easier to shuck on quickly if it came down to it. The team was out , but that didn't guarantee someone wouldn't show up in spite of that.
It wasn't much worth thinking of, with a gorgeous detective kissing him and straddling his lap. If he could purr, he probably would've.
He didn't hate fucking Deckerd in his uniform, anyways. The man cut a stern figure when you weren't under the Brave Police's rose tinted glasses, and it would've been impractical but hot to keep his cap on.
His hands, too, were iconic in Gunmax’s head. His sleeves fell perfectly tailored above his wrists and immediately gave way to those black gloves. They made him look professional, almost impersonal in an oddly thrilling manner. The gloves didn't feel bad either.
Clutching at his nape, pulling at his shoulders. Tearing at his belt, if Gunmax hadn't beat him to it.
Gunmax couldn't do much but sit there and grip Deckerd’s waist, detective pressing firm kisses to Gunmax’s jaw while he rocked further down on him. He had leverage with the back of the chair or Gunmax himself, and it gave him the flexibility to grasp the other side of his face. He turned it towards his affections, grip tight as if threatening him not to slip away.
He probably wasn't going to last much longer like this. Fumbling, half in embarrassment for ignoring him, the other half in that jolt of realization, Gunmax freed a hand to delve between their bodies.
Deckerd didn't object to the hand on his clit, at least. He just kept rocking, controlling the pace, nipping him unapologetically and pressing kisses in insincere condolences. The blush of Gunmax’s face was embarrassingly red.
He was sincerely grateful in that moment for loving Deckerd, who had no public intention of blackmailing anyone, unlike some other people he could name.