astrangerenters (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
astrangestorm) wrote2016-01-09 12:54 pm
astrangestorm) wrote2016-01-09 12:54 pm
The One Where It's A Spy AU, 1/3
Title: The One Where It’s A Spy AU
Rating: NC-17
Characters/Pairings: Aiba/Nino, Aiba/Ohno, Aiba/Sho, Aiba/Jun
Summary: WARNING—MISSION CLASSIFIED (or the life and times and incredibly active sex life of Aiba Masaki, Junior Operations Officer with the Intel Japan Unit)
Notes/Warnings: For![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
aibaexchange. Featuring lots of sex (including light BDSM, voyeurism), not a lot of actual spying.
The One Where We Meet Our Protagonist
As he strolled into the hot, sweaty, bass-thumping confines of the club, there was only one thought crossing the mind of Aiba Masaki.
God damn these pants are tight.
Studio 55 was “Tokyo’s Number One Disco Revival Destination!” and it was essential to dress the part. Aiba usually put up with the strange costumes his job required, if only because once in a while he was able to dress up in a tuxedo and order a martini shaken, not stirred. He’d sent his mom a selfie the last time he’d been able to pull a Tux-Essential mission, and she’d been so proud of him. She was, after all, the only person from his family that really knew the full extent of his job. His dad just assumed he was some underling at a company that required a lot of international travel.
To be fair, he kind of was an underling at a company that required a lot of international travel. For ten years now, since he’d been recruited out of college, Aiba Masaki had been a Junior Operations Officer with the IJU, the Intel Japan Unit. Funded separately from other Japanese intelligence-gathering organizations, the IJU’s mission was one that Aiba agreed with. They covertly gathered information and took down bad guys, but they were not authorized to torture or kill anyone.
Other “spy” agencies looked down on the IJU for being “wimps,” but Aiba would be a wimp any day over a murderer. Because they didn’t do any of the nasty stuff, Aiba’s career had mostly consisted of sitting around listening to a wiretap, communicating with assets in the field, and doing paperwork for his senior officers. He was trained the same as anyone at a higher pay grade (and he was damn good at firing his tranquilizer gun), but it was rare that he was called upon to do anything particularly “Bond, James Bond”-like. He’d never leapt off a moving train or stolen a jet pack, but he had hotwired a car before, and he was still kind of proud of pulling that off on the fly.
Tonight he was in the field, though, where he preferred to be. His mission was fairly classified, and even he didn’t quite know who he was supposed to be meeting. During his briefing earlier that day at headquarters, he’d been told that he would be the handler for a new asset and would be entirely responsible for managing that asset and ensuring the person’s safety. Handling an asset completely on his own, that was a task usually given to a Senior Operations Officer, not one still at the Junior level, but it seemed like his superiors were pleased with his work and trusted him. There was nothing that made Aiba happier at work than knowing he was trusted to do a good job.
The meet-up point was at Studio 55, and Aiba did his best to blend in with his surroundings. It was pretty easy to do given the costume Nino had arranged for him. Ninomiya Kazunari, the IJU’s Supply Chief, preferred to work with gadgets, with stun darts and watches that doubled as two-way radios. When it came to costumes, he always delivered but not when it came to comfort. That night Nino, with his usual smartass grin, had presented Aiba with a colorful pink shirt, insanely tight purple bellbottom trousers, and white platform shoes. He’d told Nino to keep the gold chains, please and thank you.
It was currently taking everything he had not to try adjusting himself. Nino had smiled, referring to the purple monstrosity as a “pair of nut-huggers” and Aiba couldn’t exactly fault him for describing them as such. The slacks clung to him from waistband to knee, where they tapered out into the characteristic bell shape. When he’d come out of the changing room, waiting for Nino to hand over his comm device, Nino had nearly fallen to the floor laughing at him. Then he’d come up to Aiba, grinning from ear to ear. “If I didn’t already know you weren’t circumcised, Aiba-shi, I’d know for sure now.”
Aiba needed to stop having casual sex with his Supply Chief.
He made it to the bar, somehow managing to wriggle out a bill from his pocket and buying himself a Singapore Sling that had a light-up disco ball ice cube glowing at the bottom of his Collins glass. He thanked the bartender and shuffled off, having a sip.
“Drinking on the job, are we?” said the voice in his head.
He grinned, taking a noisy slurp as some song from Donna Summer echoed through the club. “Shut up.”
“I won’t report you,” Becky’s teasing voice continued. “But you should know how jealous I am.”
“Sorry,” he mumbled, weaving through some other bellbottomed patrons and heading for a staircase toward the rear of the club, hoping his pants wouldn’t split as he climbed.
He and Becky had worked together for years. She was an audio tech, not cleared for field duty, but she managed communications for many Junior Operations Officers in the field. If something went wrong, Aiba could always count on Becky’s voice in his ear, reassuring him or helping to find him an exit. But on nights like tonight where all Aiba had to do was initiate contact with a new asset, Becky’s voice was mostly there to bother him. She couldn’t even see what he was wearing, since they were only linked through the comm device in his ear, but she’d had her own comments about his pants, mostly jokes about him being “full of surprises,” whatever that meant.
“Arriving at the second floor,” he said, stepping out of the way as a young woman with really high platform shoes of her own nearly toppled into the wall.
“Okay,” Becky said, “according to the case file, your new asset was instructed to wait for you in a booth. Apparently a booth that has a large framed poster of ABBA hanging over it.”
“What does ABBA look like?” he asked quietly.
While the main, ground floor of Studio 55 was all dance floor aside from the bar, the upper level mainly consisted of booths tucked back against the wall. As he walked by, drink in hand, he saw plenty of people using the booths as places to down colorful things in shot glasses or sneak a kiss. Each booth had some sort of poster hanging over it, though he could have sworn he’d seen the movie poster for Saturday Night Fever three times already.
“I dunno,” Becky said, “probably four Scandinavian-looking folks?”
“Helpful,” he replied, snickering.
But then he reached a booth on the opposite end of the club from the staircase and didn’t even have to look at the poster hanging over it (four Scandinavians, indeed) to know that the person sitting there was the asset he was looking for.
“Ah, you know, I don’t think the comms are working, I’ll catch up with you when I’m done,” Aiba told Becky, tugging the thing from his ear and dumping it in his glass. It sunk to the bottom by the glowing disco ball. Nino was going to be so mad.
The person in the booth looked him up and down, running his finger along the rim of his own glass and unapologetically licking his lips. “Aiba-chan. Long time no see.”
Aiba hurriedly sat down, scooting his purple polyestered butt along the booth until he was side by side with his new asset. “You?” he whispered in excitement. It had been two, nearly three years! “I’m supposed to meet with you?”
The asset leaned back against the booth, smiling cheerfully. He was in an outfit reminiscent of the Saturday Night Fever posters Aiba had passed. A white suit with matching white pants and a vest. Under the vest he wore a black shirt with a huge pointed collar, the shirt unbuttoned halfway down his chest to reveal a gold necklace with a hideous fish medallion against his sun-kissed skin.
“You’re supposed to meet with me,” Ohno Satoshi said, winking.
“I could kiss you!”
“I wish you could,” Ohno lamented in his usual calm and collected voice. “Unfortunately I’m here for business and not for pleasure, Aiba-chan. And even though you pulled Becky out of your ear, this is still a serious meeting and we have to be professional.”
Aiba raised an eyebrow.
“Although you look really great in those pants. It’s like I can see your pubes, man!” Ohno complained, poking Aiba in the arm in frustration.
Ah, but it really had been too long! When Aiba had been in his first months of training at the IJU, one of the Operations Officers training him had been Ohno Satoshi, an agent two years his senior. Unlike a lot of people who worked at IJU, Ohno was kind of on the short side, not the flashy type who was super gung ho about taking down bad guys. He was laid-back and relaxed and if he had his way, he’d sleep in every day or indulge in his favorite hobby, deep sea fishing.
But Ohno wasn’t someone to be underestimated. Where some agents were brought on board for their looks, Ohno had been brought in for the sheer amount of skills he possessed. Nobody could pick a lock or crack a safe like Ohno Satoshi could, but he was always so humble about his accomplishments. Of all the people who’d trained him, Aiba felt he’d learned the most from Ohno. Simply get in, do the job, get out. Lessons that still kept Aiba focused all these years later.
Then again, it had been really difficult to stay focused so many years back when he and Ohno had first started sleeping together. It was against the rules for a superior officer to enter a relationship with a junior, but Ohno had never been one for following every rule in the IJU handbook. It was so easy to be with Ohno. He didn’t talk much, but he was kind. He was always patient with Aiba, who could sometimes be a bit clumsy or unprepared when it came to learning something new. And being such a master with picking locks, he was exceptionally skilled with his hands.
But in their line of work, they’d always kept things casual. They traveled a lot, undertook missions that took them into dangerous territory. Getting too attached could be a real problem. Then a few years back Ohno had been given a deep cover mission to infiltrate some smuggling ring in Brazil. Aiba honestly hadn’t heard from him since, but Ohno had always been difficult to reach, never remembering to tell people he’d changed his phone number. Aiba never held it against him.
“How was Brazil?”
Ohno had a sip from his drink. “Just got back a month ago. The Caipirinha Gang is no more.”
“What?” Aiba cried, remembering then to keep his voice down. This was still a secret meeting, even though it was with a long-time friend. “But their organization was huge!”
“Not now,” Ohno said with a small smile, his usual tactic for deflecting attention away from his extraordinary accomplishments.
Aiba punched Ohno in the arm. “Well congratulations. Thanks for all your hard work.”
“I’m sorry I couldn’t call you. Since I’ve been back, they’ve roped me in for another deep cover mission so I’ve been stuck doing preparations for it. And that’s actually why you’re here.”
Aiba perked up, seeing that Ohno was ready to get down to business. “So whatever this deep cover mission is, they’ve assigned me as your handler.”
“Yep,” Ohno replied. “I asked for you specifically.”
“Oh?” Aiba asked, feeling suddenly that this assignment was way more important than he’d envisioned. It also explained why a junior officer had been given a task above his pay grade, since Ohno had a lot of pull at the IJU.
Ohno leaned closer, speaking softer, even though the music was mostly drowning out his voice. “It’s EVIL Inc. They want me to do things just like Brazil. Get in, turn enough of them to bring it down from inside.”
Aiba couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Ever since the IJU’s inception, EVIL Inc. had been their main enemy. A Japanese yakuza group, they were officially the Shimmering Lotus Clan, but at the IJU they’d had their corny nickname for years. Agent Daigo, one of the other trainees from when Aiba had joined up, had come up with the English acronym to fit.
EVIL Inc. was short for Essentially Vile, Intellectually Lacking, since they tended to hire some of the dumbest people imaginable at the lower ends of their organization. The getaway drivers, the petty crooks. For years, slowly but surely, the IJU had been whittling away at EVIL Inc., but for every dummy they managed to tail, corner, and properly arrest, another two seemed to get hired on. The organization had deep pockets and had been a nuisance in the homeland for decades with their rackets in mail fraud, loan sharking, and extortion.
“You really think you can do it? All on your own?”
Ohno shrugged. “I just have to turn the right people. I’ve made some contacts, and I know they’re already following me, to make sure I’m not some IJU agent. I’ve got a whole cover identity set-up, I’m a thief, specializing in art theft. What I need you to do is meet with me, and whatever info I find out, you pass along to the higher-ups. Straight to the top.” He pressed his hand to Aiba’s thigh, his hand warm and firm as he remembered. “Can I trust you?”
“I won’t let you down,” Aiba assured him, not really minding that Ohno wasn’t moving his hand away yet. “But how can we meet if they’re already tailing you?” He looked around, scanning the club for anyone that might give himself away as an EVIL Inc. thug.
“I’ve got a safe house near Roppongi Hills. When I need you to meet me, you’ll get a call from a burner phone. It’ll be Gary Grouper singing. Then you’ll know to come by that evening.”
Aiba could barely keep it together, wanting to crack up laughing. Gary Grouper was a gift he had given to Ohno for his birthday shortly after they’d met. It was one of those obnoxious singing fish you hung on the wall. Gary Grouper “sang” the chorus of the Japanese version of YMCA. It was a pretty good plan though, especially one between handler and asset. The song held a different meaning for Aiba and Ohno than it might have for anyone else listening in on the call.
“Sounds like a plan,” he agreed, trying to act nonchalant as he draped his hand on top of Ohno’s.
Ohno winked at him once, giving his thigh a squeeze before sliding out of the booth and adjusting the lapels of his blindingly white leisure suit jacket. “I’ll be in touch with more details. It’ll be a pleasure to work with you again, Aiba-chan.”
Ohno waved goodbye, disappearing easily into the crowd. Aiba stayed in the booth a few minutes longer, nervous about the mission and having a sip of his drink.
“Blecccchhhh!” he complained, sticking out his tongue and holding the glass away from himself, finally remembering that he’d dumped his comm device in it. It had given the alcohol a nasty, metallic taste. Nino’s revenge, even before Nino found out what he’d done to one of his precious gadgets.
Well, hopefully he’d be more on the ball when it came to his new mission: keeping his asset (and all of his fine assets) safe.
The One Where We Meet His Rival
“There’s powdered sugar in your hair,” Aiba teased as he got his own tray arranged on the table in the main briefing room.
“Be quiet,” Becky complained. “I was working late last night, so I didn’t even have time to shower after I baked them.”
“Ah, so that’s what that smell is.”
Becky punched him in the arm, and he tried not to let her see how much it hurt. She had never really learned the difference between when a situation required a fake punch and a real one. He’d have a bruise for sure later.
The glamorous spy world wasn’t really all that glamorous most of the time. Today was the IJU holiday party, and as he had for the last several years, Aiba was participating in the Best Brownie contest. He’d won a few years back with a recipe he’d gotten from his mom, but the last few years nobody had really been on board for some of the concoctions he’d presented. His mabo tofu brownies had made a few people sick (ones with weak stomachs, obviously) and his natto with brownie chunk topping had nearly gotten him banned from the contest. Punishment for innovation, he always thought bitterly.
Like most years, he was assigned to a table with Becky since they were from the same unit. She had come in third place last year, a few places ahead of Aiba. But really, adding pink and blue sprinkles to the brownie batter didn’t make them taste that much better. She only won because they were cute. But Aiba could let these things slide. Becky was his friend, and he never stayed annoyed with her for long.
The briefing room, usually home to important meetings, was transformed today. Thanks to a helping hand from the IT department, the main view screen was not showing the world map, but a winter scene of falling snow on a continuous loop. The chairs had all been cleared out so the brownie display tables could be arranged in a horseshoe pattern. The walls were adorned with colorful garland and twinkling lights.
It was a beautiful scene, a perfect day for a Best Brownie contest, but then he had to show up.
Becky elbowed Aiba in the side when the door opened, and the man with broad shoulders and that unforgettable face came marching in like he was the king of the world. Or at least the Best Brownie contest. Even though it was pretty obvious that he had not just come from a kitchen, he was wearing a matching pair of purple oven mitts as he carried in his own tray of brownies, heading for the table just beside Aiba and Becky.
The space at his table had already been cleared by some of the trainees because heaven forbid Agent Matsumoto Jun’s place in the Best Brownie horseshoe be a mess. He set down his tray and removed his oven mitts, shooting Aiba a menacing glare. And because Agent Matsumoto had the face that he had (thick eyebrows, sharp cheekbones, sensual lips), even his menacing glares were handsome as hell.
“Morning, Jun-kun,” Aiba said, offering him a friendly wave.
Matsumoto ignored him, reaching in the back pocket of his perfectly form-fitting suit slacks for his stainless steel brownie spatula. He proceeded to neatly cut up his brownies, arranging them on a plate that he then started to delicately sprinkle with powdered sugar one of his underlings had left there for him.
Aiba sighed, rolling his eyes at the usual snub. He was older than Matsumoto by about half a year, but they’d joined IJU at the same time. Matsumoto was one of the agency “elites,” having achieved some of the highest scores on both his written and physical aptitude tests. In addition to his many skills, he was also quite suave and attractive, often pulling mission assignments that required him to seduce information out of his targets both male and female.
The only problem, it seemed, was that Aiba had scored higher than him in a few areas and even after a decade of attempts, Matsumoto still couldn’t beat him. Matsumoto had never beaten Aiba’s mile run time. Matsumoto had lost to Aiba again and again at the Annual IJU Arm Wrestling Friendly Exhibition Match. And most embarrassing, apparently, was the time they’d both been assigned to infiltrate a surfing club and poor Jun-kun had wiped out while attempting to ride a higher wave than Aiba had.
For all these reasons, Aiba really liked Matsumoto Jun. Aiba was always impressed by Jun’s diligence and commitment to the IJU’s mission. He admired how hard Jun worked to bring down villainous thugs and their bosses. He also thought Jun made some really good brownies. But none of that mattered because Matsumoto Jun considered Aiba his “ultimate rival” and was never very nice to him. Aiba didn’t quite understand why, since they were on the same side. They were both good guys, so did it really matter who could run faster?
Well, in Matsumoto Jun’s mind, yeah it did.
Becky leaned past Aiba, getting some of the powdered sugar in her hair onto Aiba’s shirt. “Hey Matsumoto-kun, I’m taking you out this year!”
Matsumoto narrowed his eyes and raised his spatula, gesturing at Becky in a ‘throat slicing’ manner that Aiba thought was a bit tasteless. But Becky only laughed, repeating the gesture with her own spatula. Aiba finished arranging his fairly tame brownies (topped with cinnamon sugar) on his serving plate.
“It’s not that big a deal, is it?” Aiba whispered so only Becky could hear him. “We all get to enjoy the sugar rush.”
“You’re just mad because he never lets you have one,” she teased.
Even though he was entitled to try everyone’s brownies, Matsumoto always excluded Aiba from sampling one of his. “This one’s for my friend,” Jun would say or “The corner piece is for Director Kimura, you can’t have that one. Or the ones around it.” Usually Becky or Nino had to break him off a piece from their own so he could see what all the fuss was about. He’d even tried to compliment Jun’s baking prowess in hopes of mending their one-sided, neverending battle, but Aiba’s praises fell on deaf ears.
The contest got underway, leaving Aiba little time to worry about Jun’s negativity. Nino found him, looping an arm through his as they strolled around to sample the others. Nino never participated in the contest because he preferred to just take the free food and leave. He was kind of a cheapskate. “Maruyama-kun drew Pokemon on each of this brownies this year.”
“Oh?” Aiba said. “Are they good?”
Nino shook his head, his lips unapologetically covered in chocolate and crumbs. “Nope, terrible as always.”
Aiba tried not to smile. Like his mother always said, it was the foundation of the house that mattered, not the color of the roof. They bypassed the cheerful Agent Maruyama’s tray of brownies in favor of sampling some from Agent Tabe beside him.
“And our Jun-kun came to win again, didn’t he?” Nino asked, observing from across the room where Jun was still placing the finishing touches on his, sprinkling bits of gold leaf onto each perfectly sliced brownie.
“I really don’t get him,” Aiba said. Things had been especially frosty between them the last few weeks, once Jun had discovered that Aiba was assigned to be Ohno’s handler all by himself. Jun, despite his incredible ability to suss out information from targets, had never been given such a high profile job.
Nino stopped them, yanking a napkin from one of the tables and dabbing at his mouth. “He’s in love with you, dumbass.”
“What?!” Aiba hollered, earning him annoyed stares from several brownie enthusiasts walking the room. “You always say that. There’s no way.”
“Aiba-shi,” Nino continued, shoving his dirtied napkin into Aiba’s hand for him to throw away, which he did because he put up with Nino too easily. “I’m not joking around. You should see the way he looks at you sometimes.”
Aiba shook his head. “He looks like he wants to poison me and throw me in the gutter. He hates me, he always has! Just because I’m better at surfing, that’s so petty! He’s a great agent in his own right, I don’t know why he treats everything like a competition and…”
Nino grabbed Aiba’s face, gripping his chin and turning him so he was looking across the room. Matsumoto Jun let out a little “eek” noise of fright before schooling his face back into his more permanent “I hate you, Aiba!” scowl, turning back to chomping down on one of Becky’s brownies.
“He doesn’t like me,” Aiba mumbled, his mouth squished by Nino’s tight grip.
“He was staring at you.”
Aiba felt himself blushing a bit. “So? Maybe he tried my brownies and was thinking ‘damn it, these brownies are fantastic, Aiba Masaki has done it again!’”
“You’re just not seeing it,” Nino said, voice full of disappointment. “He just tells himself over and over that he hates you when really, all he wants to do is hook up with you. I don’t know if it’s because you’re better than him at so many things and he thinks that by fucking you he’ll absorb your abilities and…”
Aiba pulled away from Nino roughly. “Oh, stop already!” He lowered his voice, a bit embarrassed because after all, Matsumoto Jun was smoking hot. “Don’t get my hopes up.”
“Aiba-shi, you’re like the world’s nicest person,” Nino continued anyway, trailing behind him as they sampled some treats from Director Kimura’s table. He usually just brought in some from a bakery, tending to get awarded second place because nobody wanted to piss him off and lose their job.
“I’m not…”
“No, you are, which is why you can’t grasp the allure of hate sex. Because you don’t hate anybody.”
“Not true,” Aiba countered. “I hate criminals. I hate people who hurt children and animals and…”
Nino shoved one of Director Kimura’s store-bought brownies into his mouth, shutting him up. “Matsumoto Jun respects you because you’re better than him. But at the same time, he hates you because you’re better than him. He’s a complicated guy, or at least he thinks he is. And I swear, he probably won’t get over it until you two hook up. That by fucking his rival he’ll be the real winner in the end.”
“Ahh hmmpffff hmmm arry tmmmm!”
“Yes,” Nino acknowledged, “I know you’d hump him any time if he offered, but I don’t think he’s ready yet to make the offer.”
Aiba swallowed down the brownie, looking across the room and for the first time, being a bit disappointed that Matsumoto Jun wasn’t angrily staring back. “So you really think that’s what he wants?”
“Just look at a tightly wound guy like him,” Nino teased, wrapping an arm around Aiba’s back. “Every time you crush him at the arm wrestling tournament, he probably goes home and masturbates about it.”
“Nino…”
“If you want it as badly as he does, you’re going to have to provoke him back. Thus far, you’ve managed to piss him off by beating him in all that athletic stuff, but if you really want him to come after you, you need to start rubbing it in his face. Be just as much of an asshole to him as he is to you, and I just know it’ll turn him on. He’s got that tough face, but you know he’s a secret masochist,” Nino said.
Aiba wasn’t quite sure why Nino was so invested in this, but Aiba presumed Nino had installed a hidden camera somewhere in Aiba’s apartment and was hoping for the opportunity to record and enjoy an Aiba and Matsumoto sex tape.
“But I don’t want to be mean to him,” Aiba pointed out. “I like him.”
“And that just annoys him all the more. He thinks you don’t care.”
“But I don’t. I’m not in a competition with him…”
“Then continue to be brownie snubbed,” Nino said. “I’m trying to help you.”
He caught sight of Jun once again. He was in the midst of shoving Aiba’s own brownies into his mouth with alarming speed, looking around in paranoia. Wow. Maybe Jun really did like him.
“He’s got two and a half brownies in his mouth right now,” Nino announced. “That’s an incredible capacity. He has to be amazing at deep throating bigger…”
“This is a work event,” Becky interrupted, wrapping her own arm around Aiba’s back so that Aiba was in the middle of a friend sandwich. “Why are you polluting it with your sex talk?”
Nino grinned at Becky. “It’s the holidays, Becky-chan, and it’s obvious to everyone in our department that Matsumoto Jun wants to wake up and find Masaki here in his stocking.”
“Judging is in twenty minutes,” Becky declared. “If you manage to tear yourselves away from your neverending plans to seduce your co-workers, be sure and clap when I’m announced as the winner!”
She went off in a huff, earning a chuckle from Nino.
“Let’s finish our rounds,” Aiba said, his voice barely above a whisper now that he had fallen into a dangerous trap, a trap where he was reminding himself over and over just how much super spy Matsumoto Jun could put in his mouth at one time.
They returned to their tables in time for judging, Nino sitting back behind him and Becky, indifferently playing a game on his phone while Aiba kept sneaking peeks at Matsumoto Jun beside him. All these years, it had seemed rather straightforward. They were both really great agents, but Matsumoto had been angry and jealous that he wasn’t the best at everything. And so Matsumoto, kind of childish for his age, had treated him like an enemy.
Matsumoto caught him looking. “Your brownies were gross,” Jun said, holding his nose in the air. For the very first time, Aiba really listened. Jun wasn’t really insulting him. Jun was daring him to fight back.
It felt a little odd, but Aiba put his nose in the air in a fairly exact imitation. “Well yours were practically inedible.” He felt horrible immediately after saying so, since he’d tried a piece that Becky had snuck for him and they were great as always.
Peeking from the corner of his eye, he thought he saw the slightest smile on Jun’s face, but he hid it again quickly. Senior Operations Officer Nagase, the lead judge for this year’s contest, tapped on the microphone.
“It’s time to announce the grand prize winner,” Agent Nagase said, the corners of his mouth smeared with chocolate, as though he’d only just stopped eating. “Congratulations to Junior Operations Officer Matsumoto Jun with his Stay Gold brownies!”
“Yes!” Jun shouted, pumping his fist while everyone applauded. Once Nagase went on to announce the second and third place winners, Jun leaned over, resting his hand on Aiba’s shoulder and whispering in his ear. “Practically inedible, huh?”
He turned his head quickly, surprising Jun when their lips almost touched. He lowered his voice, entering what Nino had long praised as his ‘deep and sexy’ vocal range. “I’m coming for you, Matsumoto. Just you wait.”
Jun backed away with a look of pure shock on his face, bumping into his table and knocking his purple oven mitts to the floor. The guy was practically shaking when Director Kimura came by to congratulate him, and Aiba felt a stirring in his gut. He’d pretty much just declared war on his own colleague - so why did it feel so damn good?
The One Where Nino Has Ulterior Motives
It had been a crazy long and crazy stressful day. It was rare that Aiba spent a lot of time in the offices of IJU Director Kimura. Still fairly low on the totem pole despite his many years of service, Aiba usually reported to a Senior Operations Officer, who took his intel and fashioned it into a proper report or briefing. But with Ohno’s new undercover mission to infiltrate EVIL Inc., Aiba was expected to meet with Kimura and other upper management on a weekly basis now.
It meant scrupulously going over the notes he’d taken during and after any of his meet-ups with Ohno. His handwriting had never been the best, so he was starting to lose sleep over whether he’d meant to include this character or that. And then when he presented his findings to Director Kimura, Vice-Director Sakamoto, and all the other senior officers with kind of scary looking, always serious faces, he had to be just as serious as them. That meant no funny notes at the bottom of his PowerPoint presentations and certainly no drawing dicks with the laser pointer when directing attention at the screen.
It left him feeling pretty darn important and essential but also more exhausted than he’d ever been in his career. And that included the mission where he’d gone undercover in a men’s cheerleading troupe for a month. Ohno was still in the process of immersing himself in the criminal world, but already he’d been able to start supplying Aiba with names of current, mid-level EVIL Inc. henchmen. It was mainly Aiba’s job to cross-reference these names against IJU and Interpol databases, to summarize the findings for Kimura.
They had questions for almost every point he made during meetings, and they kept him on his toes. So after another crazy meeting, something scheduled for thirty minutes that had turned into a two-hour pseudo-interrogation by his own superiors, Aiba just wanted to indulge in some comfort food and maybe a cuddle.
Instead, he arrived in the Supply Lab to find an unsympathetic Nino waiting for him. “Here,” Nino said as soon as the sliding doors closed behind Aiba. “Eat this.”
Aiba approached warily, holding out his palm. Nino placed a jelly bean-sized capsule in his hand and strolled back to his workstation. “This isn’t a cyanide pill, is it? Because I’m not in the mood for jokes like that today.”
“Eat it,” Nino said, not confirming or denying Aiba’s question, now perched on top of his stool, his short legs dangling and his white lab coat sleeves pushed up to his elbows.
Aiba did as ordered because technically Nino did outrank him as the chief of his division. “Do I swallow it or chew it first?”
“Chew.”
He chomped down on the thing, raising his eyebrows when a rather refreshing pineapple flavor coated his tongue. “Hey, this isn’t bad,” he remarked, watching Nino scribble some notes. “What is it?”
“Laxative.”
“What?” Aiba screeched, nearly gagging.
Nino giggled. “Just kidding. There’s a tracker in it. I want to see if it still works if you chew on it.” Nino gestured to the screen at his workstation. “Come here, have a look. It’s harmless for your digestive tract.”
Aiba came over, still tasting pineapple. He rested his hand on Nino’s shoulder and watched the screen. There was a vaguely human-looking green outline on the screen labeled “Aiba M.” Where the sorta-green sorta-Aiba’s throat was, he could see a blinking red light. The light was already descending down into his esophagus.
“So what’s the conclusion?”
“You biting into it didn’t destroy it,” Nino declared, tapping his desk in a rhythmic fashion. “That was from my newest jar of prototypes. What did you have?”
“Pineapple.”
“Pineapple has tested really well with everyone,” Nino noted, writing more in his notebook. “The brass is looking for some off the wall tracking solutions. In case comms ever go down or the bad guys have some sort of deactivating zapper, what have you. Based on regular digestion, it should dissolve by the time it reaches your intestines. Stomach acid should get most of it. Right now, we’ve got it on a three hour tracking schedule, but ideally we’re aiming for something that could last a full day.”
“I’m not going to poop out something that blinks or beeps, am I?” Nino had fed him worse things in all the years they’d known each other.
“Nah, not this time. And thanks.”
“You know, you could tell me what you’re doing first and then force me to eat something.”
Nino shrugged.
Aiba sighed, leaning heavily against Nino’s workstation. “Come on, I wanna get out of here. They were biting my head off and you know I spend the whole time trying not to cry. My head’s killing me.”
Nino chuckled. “How tired are you anyway?”
“The tiredest.”
“Does that mean you can’t do me a favor?” Nino asked, his eyes wide and his face full of his usual childlike impishness.
“I already ate your pineapple tracker.”
“That’s a work favor,” Nino pointed out. “I need a personal favor. I’ve got something else you can do for me. I’ll make it worth your while.”
“I’m listening.”
Despite how tired Aiba was both mentally and physically, an hour later he found himself in Nino’s living room pulling particle board pieces out of an IKEA box. From the picture on the box it was supposed to be a massive entertainment center with shelves upon completion. Nino, an avid gamer who’d survived for years by stacking his various systems and his TV on top of milk crates, had finally decided to invest in some actual furniture, even if it was from IKEA.
Aiba paged through the instruction manual, sighing. Here he was, one of Japan’s best trained covert operatives, and he was stuck putting together the “Klapthropp” entertainment center. “This is going to take forever,” he whined. He looked over his shoulder, finding Nino curled up in his chair, the only other piece of furniture currently in his living room. He was engrossed in one of his GameBoy games. “Oi, you over there!”
Nino didn’t even look up. “You can do it. I believe in you.”
“Ugh, really?”
Even though it was really rude of Nino to have him come all the way to his apartment and then put his furniture together all by himself, Aiba was not the type of person to let a friend down. Even if he was kind of ready to pass out and fall asleep on top of the IKEA box.
While Nino’s game pinged and beeped and boomed, Aiba methodically got to work setting up the base of the entertainment center, turning screws and tightening bolts. Nino only got up once to use the bathroom, returning and simply patting Aiba on the head in thanks before getting back to his game. “Coulda paid the IKEA people to put it together for you,” Aiba grumbled under his breath, fumbling around for Side H to connect to Junction 3.
“Costs too much,” Nino replied, letting out a little cheer of victory as his character apparently advanced to a new level.
By the time midnight rolled around, Aiba was having trouble keeping his eyes open. He flopped onto his back, sighing. He’d probably gotten a third of the way done with the Klapthropp.
“Nino, I need to go home.”
“Stay over. I’m not paying for you to take a cab.”
“Wasn’t I supposed to be rewarded for my efforts?”
Finally Aiba heard Nino shut off his game. “Alright.” He came over, nudging Aiba with his foot. “You’re not done though.”
“I worked really hard!”
“You did. Well, I guess you’ll have to finish it tomorrow. For now, you better get up.”
Somehow Nino was able to pull him to his feet, and he got Aiba into the bathroom. He took a quick bath, colder than he preferred just so he didn’t fall asleep in the tub and drown himself. When he got out Nino was waiting for him, hands on his pajama-clad hips. “Alright,” Nino said, “I did say I’d make this worth your while. On your back.”
Finally, after his long day. Nino always messed around, took advantage of Aiba’s kindness, but he really did care. Aiba lay back, putting his arms back and resting his head against his hands. “Massage?”
“Better,” Nino said, quickly managing to tug Aiba’s boxers off. Ah, definitely better than a massage.
Though Aiba was tired, Nino was always a miracle worker with his hands and mouth. After a few teasing kisses along the sensitive insides of his thighs, Nino got a hand around his cock and started to stroke him. Aiba let out a groan of happiness. Nino, cheapo that he was, never offered monetary rewards for all the favors Aiba had done for him in the past. But Nino was good in bed, and that was a reward in itself.
He bit his lip once Nino added his mouth to the mix, continuing his methodical strokes as he dragged his tongue over the sensitive head of Aiba’s increasingly hard cock. “So good,” Aiba couldn’t help moaning, hardly able to keep himself from thrusting his hips up to fuck Nino’s hot mouth.
Nino may have been a slack off in areas that weren’t games or gadgets, but he gave his full attention to blowjobs without fail. Aiba groaned, putting a hand on Nino’s head, grasping his hair as Nino took him deeper, sucked him harder. Aiba was just about to offer a friendly warning, to let Nino know he was close to coming, but then Nino stopped with such sudden abruptness that Aiba let out a strangled little noise of surprise.
“Oi!” he muttered, feeling dreadfully exposed, lying on his back in his t-shirt and socks, his hard and needy cock so thoughtlessly abandoned. “Oi!”
Nino laughed, crawling up to lie at Aiba’s side, pulling his blanket up and over them. “You didn’t finish putting it together,” Nino said rudely, twisting Aiba’s nipple through his shirt. “When you finish, so will I.”
Annoyed, Aiba moved his hand to grab his cock and finish the job himself, but Nino’s grip on him was suddenly tight.
“Come on. Surely you can wait another day?” Nino teased, leaning over to kiss him.
“But…but…”
“All you have to do is finish the Klapthropp, Aiba-shi. Then you’ll get the full reward.”
Aiba had to admit that this was kind of a fun challenge, even though he was kind of pissed at the same time. He turned his back to Nino, pretending to be grumpy about it as Nino eagerly took up the role of big spoon.
But the next night he was back in Nino’s apartment, diligently working on Operation: Finish the Klapthropp. It had been difficult to get through the workday, Nino coming by his desk while he was working on transcribing a wiretap. “If you want,” Nino had said, massaging his shoulders, “I can do some ball stuff. If you want ball stuff.”
As unsexy as Nino could make things sound, it didn’t really matter later when Aiba came back from a short Klapthropp break only to be pushed against the wall to receive a very demanding kiss. Before too long, Nino was sliding down, getting on his knees and tugging the zipper of Aiba’s jeans down. Soon they were at his knees along with his boxers.
“I’m not done with the Klapthropp, Nino,” Aiba moaned as Nino started stroking him yet again, this time teasing with little flicks of his tongue against his sack. “Oi, I’m not done…”
Nino ignored him, and Aiba just gave in to it, thumping his head back against the wall as Nino took his sweet time with his hands and mouth. Soon he was gently cupping and squeezing with his hand in time with each devastating suck. It had been a while since Aiba had received such thorough attention, but as he expected, he was just on the edge of coming when Nino stopped what he was doing and backed away.
Aiba, allowed to get away with things that most lovers wouldn’t tolerate, let his heavy, neglected cock smack against Nino’s chin in irritation. “This is mean, you know.”
“Maybe tomorrow,” Nino joked, getting to his feet and then onto his tiptoes to kiss Aiba’s cheek. “Now put your pants back on, you can probably get another shelf done tonight, right?”
Despite the need for release, Aiba endured for one more day, even when Nino came walking by before Aiba’s meeting with Director Kimura, sucking on a lollipop and reminding Aiba that there was still work to be done. To retaliate, after Aiba finished his meeting he waited for Nino to take a bathroom break and then stole his spare apartment key from the drawer he kept it in at his workstation.
By the time Nino came home, none the wiser about Aiba’s theft, the stupid entertainment center was not only put together perfectly, but Aiba had hooked up Nino’s TV and was in the midst of playing Mario Kart.
He was also not wearing pants.
“For all my pain and suffering,” Aiba said, gesturing down to his dick, “you better swallow.”
Nino, not at all surprised to find a half-naked colleague in his living room, simply dropped his bag in the genkan and unlaced his sneakers. His voice was almost indifferent. “Don’t I always though?”
It didn’t take long, Aiba sitting in Nino’s favorite gaming chair with his legs spread and an obedient Nino on his knees before him, taking his cock to the back of his throat without complaint.
“I swear,” Aiba said, “if you stop this time, I’m going to jack off all over your PlayStation.”
Nino slipped Aiba’s cock from his mouth with a filthy, wet pop. “Well, I certainly wouldn’t want that.”
For the last three days he’d been just another one of Nino’s experiments. But instead of a pineapple tracker down his gullet, he’d been waiting and waiting and waiting for Nino to get him off. It had been really crazy difficult, with the teasing and with Matsumoto Jun’s cute butt a few cubicles away, offering a scowl that meant more to Aiba than it ever had before.
But oh, it was triple the reward, or at least it felt like that when he was no longer able to form words, knowing only the tight warmth of Nino’s mouth and the prickling tease of Nino’s fingertips along his thighs. Nino gave Aiba’s knee a squeeze, and he looked down to see the adoration and teasing love in his friend’s eyes. Nino winked and that was all it took. He gasped, shaking so hard he thought he was going to slide off of the stupid chair and onto the floor. But he held steady, laughing in relief as Nino swallowed down three long days of desperation in one impressive go.
He wiped his mouth and stared up at Aiba with a grin. “I should tell you this now while you’re in such a good mood. I’ve just ordered a new dresser for my bedroom. How would you like to put it together for me?”
Part Two
Rating: NC-17
Characters/Pairings: Aiba/Nino, Aiba/Ohno, Aiba/Sho, Aiba/Jun
Summary: WARNING—MISSION CLASSIFIED (or the life and times and incredibly active sex life of Aiba Masaki, Junior Operations Officer with the Intel Japan Unit)
Notes/Warnings: For
aibaexchange. Featuring lots of sex (including light BDSM, voyeurism), not a lot of actual spying.The One Where We Meet Our Protagonist
As he strolled into the hot, sweaty, bass-thumping confines of the club, there was only one thought crossing the mind of Aiba Masaki.
God damn these pants are tight.
Studio 55 was “Tokyo’s Number One Disco Revival Destination!” and it was essential to dress the part. Aiba usually put up with the strange costumes his job required, if only because once in a while he was able to dress up in a tuxedo and order a martini shaken, not stirred. He’d sent his mom a selfie the last time he’d been able to pull a Tux-Essential mission, and she’d been so proud of him. She was, after all, the only person from his family that really knew the full extent of his job. His dad just assumed he was some underling at a company that required a lot of international travel.
To be fair, he kind of was an underling at a company that required a lot of international travel. For ten years now, since he’d been recruited out of college, Aiba Masaki had been a Junior Operations Officer with the IJU, the Intel Japan Unit. Funded separately from other Japanese intelligence-gathering organizations, the IJU’s mission was one that Aiba agreed with. They covertly gathered information and took down bad guys, but they were not authorized to torture or kill anyone.
Other “spy” agencies looked down on the IJU for being “wimps,” but Aiba would be a wimp any day over a murderer. Because they didn’t do any of the nasty stuff, Aiba’s career had mostly consisted of sitting around listening to a wiretap, communicating with assets in the field, and doing paperwork for his senior officers. He was trained the same as anyone at a higher pay grade (and he was damn good at firing his tranquilizer gun), but it was rare that he was called upon to do anything particularly “Bond, James Bond”-like. He’d never leapt off a moving train or stolen a jet pack, but he had hotwired a car before, and he was still kind of proud of pulling that off on the fly.
Tonight he was in the field, though, where he preferred to be. His mission was fairly classified, and even he didn’t quite know who he was supposed to be meeting. During his briefing earlier that day at headquarters, he’d been told that he would be the handler for a new asset and would be entirely responsible for managing that asset and ensuring the person’s safety. Handling an asset completely on his own, that was a task usually given to a Senior Operations Officer, not one still at the Junior level, but it seemed like his superiors were pleased with his work and trusted him. There was nothing that made Aiba happier at work than knowing he was trusted to do a good job.
The meet-up point was at Studio 55, and Aiba did his best to blend in with his surroundings. It was pretty easy to do given the costume Nino had arranged for him. Ninomiya Kazunari, the IJU’s Supply Chief, preferred to work with gadgets, with stun darts and watches that doubled as two-way radios. When it came to costumes, he always delivered but not when it came to comfort. That night Nino, with his usual smartass grin, had presented Aiba with a colorful pink shirt, insanely tight purple bellbottom trousers, and white platform shoes. He’d told Nino to keep the gold chains, please and thank you.
It was currently taking everything he had not to try adjusting himself. Nino had smiled, referring to the purple monstrosity as a “pair of nut-huggers” and Aiba couldn’t exactly fault him for describing them as such. The slacks clung to him from waistband to knee, where they tapered out into the characteristic bell shape. When he’d come out of the changing room, waiting for Nino to hand over his comm device, Nino had nearly fallen to the floor laughing at him. Then he’d come up to Aiba, grinning from ear to ear. “If I didn’t already know you weren’t circumcised, Aiba-shi, I’d know for sure now.”
Aiba needed to stop having casual sex with his Supply Chief.
He made it to the bar, somehow managing to wriggle out a bill from his pocket and buying himself a Singapore Sling that had a light-up disco ball ice cube glowing at the bottom of his Collins glass. He thanked the bartender and shuffled off, having a sip.
“Drinking on the job, are we?” said the voice in his head.
He grinned, taking a noisy slurp as some song from Donna Summer echoed through the club. “Shut up.”
“I won’t report you,” Becky’s teasing voice continued. “But you should know how jealous I am.”
“Sorry,” he mumbled, weaving through some other bellbottomed patrons and heading for a staircase toward the rear of the club, hoping his pants wouldn’t split as he climbed.
He and Becky had worked together for years. She was an audio tech, not cleared for field duty, but she managed communications for many Junior Operations Officers in the field. If something went wrong, Aiba could always count on Becky’s voice in his ear, reassuring him or helping to find him an exit. But on nights like tonight where all Aiba had to do was initiate contact with a new asset, Becky’s voice was mostly there to bother him. She couldn’t even see what he was wearing, since they were only linked through the comm device in his ear, but she’d had her own comments about his pants, mostly jokes about him being “full of surprises,” whatever that meant.
“Arriving at the second floor,” he said, stepping out of the way as a young woman with really high platform shoes of her own nearly toppled into the wall.
“Okay,” Becky said, “according to the case file, your new asset was instructed to wait for you in a booth. Apparently a booth that has a large framed poster of ABBA hanging over it.”
“What does ABBA look like?” he asked quietly.
While the main, ground floor of Studio 55 was all dance floor aside from the bar, the upper level mainly consisted of booths tucked back against the wall. As he walked by, drink in hand, he saw plenty of people using the booths as places to down colorful things in shot glasses or sneak a kiss. Each booth had some sort of poster hanging over it, though he could have sworn he’d seen the movie poster for Saturday Night Fever three times already.
“I dunno,” Becky said, “probably four Scandinavian-looking folks?”
“Helpful,” he replied, snickering.
But then he reached a booth on the opposite end of the club from the staircase and didn’t even have to look at the poster hanging over it (four Scandinavians, indeed) to know that the person sitting there was the asset he was looking for.
“Ah, you know, I don’t think the comms are working, I’ll catch up with you when I’m done,” Aiba told Becky, tugging the thing from his ear and dumping it in his glass. It sunk to the bottom by the glowing disco ball. Nino was going to be so mad.
The person in the booth looked him up and down, running his finger along the rim of his own glass and unapologetically licking his lips. “Aiba-chan. Long time no see.”
Aiba hurriedly sat down, scooting his purple polyestered butt along the booth until he was side by side with his new asset. “You?” he whispered in excitement. It had been two, nearly three years! “I’m supposed to meet with you?”
The asset leaned back against the booth, smiling cheerfully. He was in an outfit reminiscent of the Saturday Night Fever posters Aiba had passed. A white suit with matching white pants and a vest. Under the vest he wore a black shirt with a huge pointed collar, the shirt unbuttoned halfway down his chest to reveal a gold necklace with a hideous fish medallion against his sun-kissed skin.
“You’re supposed to meet with me,” Ohno Satoshi said, winking.
“I could kiss you!”
“I wish you could,” Ohno lamented in his usual calm and collected voice. “Unfortunately I’m here for business and not for pleasure, Aiba-chan. And even though you pulled Becky out of your ear, this is still a serious meeting and we have to be professional.”
Aiba raised an eyebrow.
“Although you look really great in those pants. It’s like I can see your pubes, man!” Ohno complained, poking Aiba in the arm in frustration.
Ah, but it really had been too long! When Aiba had been in his first months of training at the IJU, one of the Operations Officers training him had been Ohno Satoshi, an agent two years his senior. Unlike a lot of people who worked at IJU, Ohno was kind of on the short side, not the flashy type who was super gung ho about taking down bad guys. He was laid-back and relaxed and if he had his way, he’d sleep in every day or indulge in his favorite hobby, deep sea fishing.
But Ohno wasn’t someone to be underestimated. Where some agents were brought on board for their looks, Ohno had been brought in for the sheer amount of skills he possessed. Nobody could pick a lock or crack a safe like Ohno Satoshi could, but he was always so humble about his accomplishments. Of all the people who’d trained him, Aiba felt he’d learned the most from Ohno. Simply get in, do the job, get out. Lessons that still kept Aiba focused all these years later.
Then again, it had been really difficult to stay focused so many years back when he and Ohno had first started sleeping together. It was against the rules for a superior officer to enter a relationship with a junior, but Ohno had never been one for following every rule in the IJU handbook. It was so easy to be with Ohno. He didn’t talk much, but he was kind. He was always patient with Aiba, who could sometimes be a bit clumsy or unprepared when it came to learning something new. And being such a master with picking locks, he was exceptionally skilled with his hands.
But in their line of work, they’d always kept things casual. They traveled a lot, undertook missions that took them into dangerous territory. Getting too attached could be a real problem. Then a few years back Ohno had been given a deep cover mission to infiltrate some smuggling ring in Brazil. Aiba honestly hadn’t heard from him since, but Ohno had always been difficult to reach, never remembering to tell people he’d changed his phone number. Aiba never held it against him.
“How was Brazil?”
Ohno had a sip from his drink. “Just got back a month ago. The Caipirinha Gang is no more.”
“What?” Aiba cried, remembering then to keep his voice down. This was still a secret meeting, even though it was with a long-time friend. “But their organization was huge!”
“Not now,” Ohno said with a small smile, his usual tactic for deflecting attention away from his extraordinary accomplishments.
Aiba punched Ohno in the arm. “Well congratulations. Thanks for all your hard work.”
“I’m sorry I couldn’t call you. Since I’ve been back, they’ve roped me in for another deep cover mission so I’ve been stuck doing preparations for it. And that’s actually why you’re here.”
Aiba perked up, seeing that Ohno was ready to get down to business. “So whatever this deep cover mission is, they’ve assigned me as your handler.”
“Yep,” Ohno replied. “I asked for you specifically.”
“Oh?” Aiba asked, feeling suddenly that this assignment was way more important than he’d envisioned. It also explained why a junior officer had been given a task above his pay grade, since Ohno had a lot of pull at the IJU.
Ohno leaned closer, speaking softer, even though the music was mostly drowning out his voice. “It’s EVIL Inc. They want me to do things just like Brazil. Get in, turn enough of them to bring it down from inside.”
Aiba couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Ever since the IJU’s inception, EVIL Inc. had been their main enemy. A Japanese yakuza group, they were officially the Shimmering Lotus Clan, but at the IJU they’d had their corny nickname for years. Agent Daigo, one of the other trainees from when Aiba had joined up, had come up with the English acronym to fit.
EVIL Inc. was short for Essentially Vile, Intellectually Lacking, since they tended to hire some of the dumbest people imaginable at the lower ends of their organization. The getaway drivers, the petty crooks. For years, slowly but surely, the IJU had been whittling away at EVIL Inc., but for every dummy they managed to tail, corner, and properly arrest, another two seemed to get hired on. The organization had deep pockets and had been a nuisance in the homeland for decades with their rackets in mail fraud, loan sharking, and extortion.
“You really think you can do it? All on your own?”
Ohno shrugged. “I just have to turn the right people. I’ve made some contacts, and I know they’re already following me, to make sure I’m not some IJU agent. I’ve got a whole cover identity set-up, I’m a thief, specializing in art theft. What I need you to do is meet with me, and whatever info I find out, you pass along to the higher-ups. Straight to the top.” He pressed his hand to Aiba’s thigh, his hand warm and firm as he remembered. “Can I trust you?”
“I won’t let you down,” Aiba assured him, not really minding that Ohno wasn’t moving his hand away yet. “But how can we meet if they’re already tailing you?” He looked around, scanning the club for anyone that might give himself away as an EVIL Inc. thug.
“I’ve got a safe house near Roppongi Hills. When I need you to meet me, you’ll get a call from a burner phone. It’ll be Gary Grouper singing. Then you’ll know to come by that evening.”
Aiba could barely keep it together, wanting to crack up laughing. Gary Grouper was a gift he had given to Ohno for his birthday shortly after they’d met. It was one of those obnoxious singing fish you hung on the wall. Gary Grouper “sang” the chorus of the Japanese version of YMCA. It was a pretty good plan though, especially one between handler and asset. The song held a different meaning for Aiba and Ohno than it might have for anyone else listening in on the call.
“Sounds like a plan,” he agreed, trying to act nonchalant as he draped his hand on top of Ohno’s.
Ohno winked at him once, giving his thigh a squeeze before sliding out of the booth and adjusting the lapels of his blindingly white leisure suit jacket. “I’ll be in touch with more details. It’ll be a pleasure to work with you again, Aiba-chan.”
Ohno waved goodbye, disappearing easily into the crowd. Aiba stayed in the booth a few minutes longer, nervous about the mission and having a sip of his drink.
“Blecccchhhh!” he complained, sticking out his tongue and holding the glass away from himself, finally remembering that he’d dumped his comm device in it. It had given the alcohol a nasty, metallic taste. Nino’s revenge, even before Nino found out what he’d done to one of his precious gadgets.
Well, hopefully he’d be more on the ball when it came to his new mission: keeping his asset (and all of his fine assets) safe.
The One Where We Meet His Rival
“There’s powdered sugar in your hair,” Aiba teased as he got his own tray arranged on the table in the main briefing room.
“Be quiet,” Becky complained. “I was working late last night, so I didn’t even have time to shower after I baked them.”
“Ah, so that’s what that smell is.”
Becky punched him in the arm, and he tried not to let her see how much it hurt. She had never really learned the difference between when a situation required a fake punch and a real one. He’d have a bruise for sure later.
The glamorous spy world wasn’t really all that glamorous most of the time. Today was the IJU holiday party, and as he had for the last several years, Aiba was participating in the Best Brownie contest. He’d won a few years back with a recipe he’d gotten from his mom, but the last few years nobody had really been on board for some of the concoctions he’d presented. His mabo tofu brownies had made a few people sick (ones with weak stomachs, obviously) and his natto with brownie chunk topping had nearly gotten him banned from the contest. Punishment for innovation, he always thought bitterly.
Like most years, he was assigned to a table with Becky since they were from the same unit. She had come in third place last year, a few places ahead of Aiba. But really, adding pink and blue sprinkles to the brownie batter didn’t make them taste that much better. She only won because they were cute. But Aiba could let these things slide. Becky was his friend, and he never stayed annoyed with her for long.
The briefing room, usually home to important meetings, was transformed today. Thanks to a helping hand from the IT department, the main view screen was not showing the world map, but a winter scene of falling snow on a continuous loop. The chairs had all been cleared out so the brownie display tables could be arranged in a horseshoe pattern. The walls were adorned with colorful garland and twinkling lights.
It was a beautiful scene, a perfect day for a Best Brownie contest, but then he had to show up.
Becky elbowed Aiba in the side when the door opened, and the man with broad shoulders and that unforgettable face came marching in like he was the king of the world. Or at least the Best Brownie contest. Even though it was pretty obvious that he had not just come from a kitchen, he was wearing a matching pair of purple oven mitts as he carried in his own tray of brownies, heading for the table just beside Aiba and Becky.
The space at his table had already been cleared by some of the trainees because heaven forbid Agent Matsumoto Jun’s place in the Best Brownie horseshoe be a mess. He set down his tray and removed his oven mitts, shooting Aiba a menacing glare. And because Agent Matsumoto had the face that he had (thick eyebrows, sharp cheekbones, sensual lips), even his menacing glares were handsome as hell.
“Morning, Jun-kun,” Aiba said, offering him a friendly wave.
Matsumoto ignored him, reaching in the back pocket of his perfectly form-fitting suit slacks for his stainless steel brownie spatula. He proceeded to neatly cut up his brownies, arranging them on a plate that he then started to delicately sprinkle with powdered sugar one of his underlings had left there for him.
Aiba sighed, rolling his eyes at the usual snub. He was older than Matsumoto by about half a year, but they’d joined IJU at the same time. Matsumoto was one of the agency “elites,” having achieved some of the highest scores on both his written and physical aptitude tests. In addition to his many skills, he was also quite suave and attractive, often pulling mission assignments that required him to seduce information out of his targets both male and female.
The only problem, it seemed, was that Aiba had scored higher than him in a few areas and even after a decade of attempts, Matsumoto still couldn’t beat him. Matsumoto had never beaten Aiba’s mile run time. Matsumoto had lost to Aiba again and again at the Annual IJU Arm Wrestling Friendly Exhibition Match. And most embarrassing, apparently, was the time they’d both been assigned to infiltrate a surfing club and poor Jun-kun had wiped out while attempting to ride a higher wave than Aiba had.
For all these reasons, Aiba really liked Matsumoto Jun. Aiba was always impressed by Jun’s diligence and commitment to the IJU’s mission. He admired how hard Jun worked to bring down villainous thugs and their bosses. He also thought Jun made some really good brownies. But none of that mattered because Matsumoto Jun considered Aiba his “ultimate rival” and was never very nice to him. Aiba didn’t quite understand why, since they were on the same side. They were both good guys, so did it really matter who could run faster?
Well, in Matsumoto Jun’s mind, yeah it did.
Becky leaned past Aiba, getting some of the powdered sugar in her hair onto Aiba’s shirt. “Hey Matsumoto-kun, I’m taking you out this year!”
Matsumoto narrowed his eyes and raised his spatula, gesturing at Becky in a ‘throat slicing’ manner that Aiba thought was a bit tasteless. But Becky only laughed, repeating the gesture with her own spatula. Aiba finished arranging his fairly tame brownies (topped with cinnamon sugar) on his serving plate.
“It’s not that big a deal, is it?” Aiba whispered so only Becky could hear him. “We all get to enjoy the sugar rush.”
“You’re just mad because he never lets you have one,” she teased.
Even though he was entitled to try everyone’s brownies, Matsumoto always excluded Aiba from sampling one of his. “This one’s for my friend,” Jun would say or “The corner piece is for Director Kimura, you can’t have that one. Or the ones around it.” Usually Becky or Nino had to break him off a piece from their own so he could see what all the fuss was about. He’d even tried to compliment Jun’s baking prowess in hopes of mending their one-sided, neverending battle, but Aiba’s praises fell on deaf ears.
The contest got underway, leaving Aiba little time to worry about Jun’s negativity. Nino found him, looping an arm through his as they strolled around to sample the others. Nino never participated in the contest because he preferred to just take the free food and leave. He was kind of a cheapskate. “Maruyama-kun drew Pokemon on each of this brownies this year.”
“Oh?” Aiba said. “Are they good?”
Nino shook his head, his lips unapologetically covered in chocolate and crumbs. “Nope, terrible as always.”
Aiba tried not to smile. Like his mother always said, it was the foundation of the house that mattered, not the color of the roof. They bypassed the cheerful Agent Maruyama’s tray of brownies in favor of sampling some from Agent Tabe beside him.
“And our Jun-kun came to win again, didn’t he?” Nino asked, observing from across the room where Jun was still placing the finishing touches on his, sprinkling bits of gold leaf onto each perfectly sliced brownie.
“I really don’t get him,” Aiba said. Things had been especially frosty between them the last few weeks, once Jun had discovered that Aiba was assigned to be Ohno’s handler all by himself. Jun, despite his incredible ability to suss out information from targets, had never been given such a high profile job.
Nino stopped them, yanking a napkin from one of the tables and dabbing at his mouth. “He’s in love with you, dumbass.”
“What?!” Aiba hollered, earning him annoyed stares from several brownie enthusiasts walking the room. “You always say that. There’s no way.”
“Aiba-shi,” Nino continued, shoving his dirtied napkin into Aiba’s hand for him to throw away, which he did because he put up with Nino too easily. “I’m not joking around. You should see the way he looks at you sometimes.”
Aiba shook his head. “He looks like he wants to poison me and throw me in the gutter. He hates me, he always has! Just because I’m better at surfing, that’s so petty! He’s a great agent in his own right, I don’t know why he treats everything like a competition and…”
Nino grabbed Aiba’s face, gripping his chin and turning him so he was looking across the room. Matsumoto Jun let out a little “eek” noise of fright before schooling his face back into his more permanent “I hate you, Aiba!” scowl, turning back to chomping down on one of Becky’s brownies.
“He doesn’t like me,” Aiba mumbled, his mouth squished by Nino’s tight grip.
“He was staring at you.”
Aiba felt himself blushing a bit. “So? Maybe he tried my brownies and was thinking ‘damn it, these brownies are fantastic, Aiba Masaki has done it again!’”
“You’re just not seeing it,” Nino said, voice full of disappointment. “He just tells himself over and over that he hates you when really, all he wants to do is hook up with you. I don’t know if it’s because you’re better than him at so many things and he thinks that by fucking you he’ll absorb your abilities and…”
Aiba pulled away from Nino roughly. “Oh, stop already!” He lowered his voice, a bit embarrassed because after all, Matsumoto Jun was smoking hot. “Don’t get my hopes up.”
“Aiba-shi, you’re like the world’s nicest person,” Nino continued anyway, trailing behind him as they sampled some treats from Director Kimura’s table. He usually just brought in some from a bakery, tending to get awarded second place because nobody wanted to piss him off and lose their job.
“I’m not…”
“No, you are, which is why you can’t grasp the allure of hate sex. Because you don’t hate anybody.”
“Not true,” Aiba countered. “I hate criminals. I hate people who hurt children and animals and…”
Nino shoved one of Director Kimura’s store-bought brownies into his mouth, shutting him up. “Matsumoto Jun respects you because you’re better than him. But at the same time, he hates you because you’re better than him. He’s a complicated guy, or at least he thinks he is. And I swear, he probably won’t get over it until you two hook up. That by fucking his rival he’ll be the real winner in the end.”
“Ahh hmmpffff hmmm arry tmmmm!”
“Yes,” Nino acknowledged, “I know you’d hump him any time if he offered, but I don’t think he’s ready yet to make the offer.”
Aiba swallowed down the brownie, looking across the room and for the first time, being a bit disappointed that Matsumoto Jun wasn’t angrily staring back. “So you really think that’s what he wants?”
“Just look at a tightly wound guy like him,” Nino teased, wrapping an arm around Aiba’s back. “Every time you crush him at the arm wrestling tournament, he probably goes home and masturbates about it.”
“Nino…”
“If you want it as badly as he does, you’re going to have to provoke him back. Thus far, you’ve managed to piss him off by beating him in all that athletic stuff, but if you really want him to come after you, you need to start rubbing it in his face. Be just as much of an asshole to him as he is to you, and I just know it’ll turn him on. He’s got that tough face, but you know he’s a secret masochist,” Nino said.
Aiba wasn’t quite sure why Nino was so invested in this, but Aiba presumed Nino had installed a hidden camera somewhere in Aiba’s apartment and was hoping for the opportunity to record and enjoy an Aiba and Matsumoto sex tape.
“But I don’t want to be mean to him,” Aiba pointed out. “I like him.”
“And that just annoys him all the more. He thinks you don’t care.”
“But I don’t. I’m not in a competition with him…”
“Then continue to be brownie snubbed,” Nino said. “I’m trying to help you.”
He caught sight of Jun once again. He was in the midst of shoving Aiba’s own brownies into his mouth with alarming speed, looking around in paranoia. Wow. Maybe Jun really did like him.
“He’s got two and a half brownies in his mouth right now,” Nino announced. “That’s an incredible capacity. He has to be amazing at deep throating bigger…”
“This is a work event,” Becky interrupted, wrapping her own arm around Aiba’s back so that Aiba was in the middle of a friend sandwich. “Why are you polluting it with your sex talk?”
Nino grinned at Becky. “It’s the holidays, Becky-chan, and it’s obvious to everyone in our department that Matsumoto Jun wants to wake up and find Masaki here in his stocking.”
“Judging is in twenty minutes,” Becky declared. “If you manage to tear yourselves away from your neverending plans to seduce your co-workers, be sure and clap when I’m announced as the winner!”
She went off in a huff, earning a chuckle from Nino.
“Let’s finish our rounds,” Aiba said, his voice barely above a whisper now that he had fallen into a dangerous trap, a trap where he was reminding himself over and over just how much super spy Matsumoto Jun could put in his mouth at one time.
They returned to their tables in time for judging, Nino sitting back behind him and Becky, indifferently playing a game on his phone while Aiba kept sneaking peeks at Matsumoto Jun beside him. All these years, it had seemed rather straightforward. They were both really great agents, but Matsumoto had been angry and jealous that he wasn’t the best at everything. And so Matsumoto, kind of childish for his age, had treated him like an enemy.
Matsumoto caught him looking. “Your brownies were gross,” Jun said, holding his nose in the air. For the very first time, Aiba really listened. Jun wasn’t really insulting him. Jun was daring him to fight back.
It felt a little odd, but Aiba put his nose in the air in a fairly exact imitation. “Well yours were practically inedible.” He felt horrible immediately after saying so, since he’d tried a piece that Becky had snuck for him and they were great as always.
Peeking from the corner of his eye, he thought he saw the slightest smile on Jun’s face, but he hid it again quickly. Senior Operations Officer Nagase, the lead judge for this year’s contest, tapped on the microphone.
“It’s time to announce the grand prize winner,” Agent Nagase said, the corners of his mouth smeared with chocolate, as though he’d only just stopped eating. “Congratulations to Junior Operations Officer Matsumoto Jun with his Stay Gold brownies!”
“Yes!” Jun shouted, pumping his fist while everyone applauded. Once Nagase went on to announce the second and third place winners, Jun leaned over, resting his hand on Aiba’s shoulder and whispering in his ear. “Practically inedible, huh?”
He turned his head quickly, surprising Jun when their lips almost touched. He lowered his voice, entering what Nino had long praised as his ‘deep and sexy’ vocal range. “I’m coming for you, Matsumoto. Just you wait.”
Jun backed away with a look of pure shock on his face, bumping into his table and knocking his purple oven mitts to the floor. The guy was practically shaking when Director Kimura came by to congratulate him, and Aiba felt a stirring in his gut. He’d pretty much just declared war on his own colleague - so why did it feel so damn good?
The One Where Nino Has Ulterior Motives
It had been a crazy long and crazy stressful day. It was rare that Aiba spent a lot of time in the offices of IJU Director Kimura. Still fairly low on the totem pole despite his many years of service, Aiba usually reported to a Senior Operations Officer, who took his intel and fashioned it into a proper report or briefing. But with Ohno’s new undercover mission to infiltrate EVIL Inc., Aiba was expected to meet with Kimura and other upper management on a weekly basis now.
It meant scrupulously going over the notes he’d taken during and after any of his meet-ups with Ohno. His handwriting had never been the best, so he was starting to lose sleep over whether he’d meant to include this character or that. And then when he presented his findings to Director Kimura, Vice-Director Sakamoto, and all the other senior officers with kind of scary looking, always serious faces, he had to be just as serious as them. That meant no funny notes at the bottom of his PowerPoint presentations and certainly no drawing dicks with the laser pointer when directing attention at the screen.
It left him feeling pretty darn important and essential but also more exhausted than he’d ever been in his career. And that included the mission where he’d gone undercover in a men’s cheerleading troupe for a month. Ohno was still in the process of immersing himself in the criminal world, but already he’d been able to start supplying Aiba with names of current, mid-level EVIL Inc. henchmen. It was mainly Aiba’s job to cross-reference these names against IJU and Interpol databases, to summarize the findings for Kimura.
They had questions for almost every point he made during meetings, and they kept him on his toes. So after another crazy meeting, something scheduled for thirty minutes that had turned into a two-hour pseudo-interrogation by his own superiors, Aiba just wanted to indulge in some comfort food and maybe a cuddle.
Instead, he arrived in the Supply Lab to find an unsympathetic Nino waiting for him. “Here,” Nino said as soon as the sliding doors closed behind Aiba. “Eat this.”
Aiba approached warily, holding out his palm. Nino placed a jelly bean-sized capsule in his hand and strolled back to his workstation. “This isn’t a cyanide pill, is it? Because I’m not in the mood for jokes like that today.”
“Eat it,” Nino said, not confirming or denying Aiba’s question, now perched on top of his stool, his short legs dangling and his white lab coat sleeves pushed up to his elbows.
Aiba did as ordered because technically Nino did outrank him as the chief of his division. “Do I swallow it or chew it first?”
“Chew.”
He chomped down on the thing, raising his eyebrows when a rather refreshing pineapple flavor coated his tongue. “Hey, this isn’t bad,” he remarked, watching Nino scribble some notes. “What is it?”
“Laxative.”
“What?” Aiba screeched, nearly gagging.
Nino giggled. “Just kidding. There’s a tracker in it. I want to see if it still works if you chew on it.” Nino gestured to the screen at his workstation. “Come here, have a look. It’s harmless for your digestive tract.”
Aiba came over, still tasting pineapple. He rested his hand on Nino’s shoulder and watched the screen. There was a vaguely human-looking green outline on the screen labeled “Aiba M.” Where the sorta-green sorta-Aiba’s throat was, he could see a blinking red light. The light was already descending down into his esophagus.
“So what’s the conclusion?”
“You biting into it didn’t destroy it,” Nino declared, tapping his desk in a rhythmic fashion. “That was from my newest jar of prototypes. What did you have?”
“Pineapple.”
“Pineapple has tested really well with everyone,” Nino noted, writing more in his notebook. “The brass is looking for some off the wall tracking solutions. In case comms ever go down or the bad guys have some sort of deactivating zapper, what have you. Based on regular digestion, it should dissolve by the time it reaches your intestines. Stomach acid should get most of it. Right now, we’ve got it on a three hour tracking schedule, but ideally we’re aiming for something that could last a full day.”
“I’m not going to poop out something that blinks or beeps, am I?” Nino had fed him worse things in all the years they’d known each other.
“Nah, not this time. And thanks.”
“You know, you could tell me what you’re doing first and then force me to eat something.”
Nino shrugged.
Aiba sighed, leaning heavily against Nino’s workstation. “Come on, I wanna get out of here. They were biting my head off and you know I spend the whole time trying not to cry. My head’s killing me.”
Nino chuckled. “How tired are you anyway?”
“The tiredest.”
“Does that mean you can’t do me a favor?” Nino asked, his eyes wide and his face full of his usual childlike impishness.
“I already ate your pineapple tracker.”
“That’s a work favor,” Nino pointed out. “I need a personal favor. I’ve got something else you can do for me. I’ll make it worth your while.”
“I’m listening.”
Despite how tired Aiba was both mentally and physically, an hour later he found himself in Nino’s living room pulling particle board pieces out of an IKEA box. From the picture on the box it was supposed to be a massive entertainment center with shelves upon completion. Nino, an avid gamer who’d survived for years by stacking his various systems and his TV on top of milk crates, had finally decided to invest in some actual furniture, even if it was from IKEA.
Aiba paged through the instruction manual, sighing. Here he was, one of Japan’s best trained covert operatives, and he was stuck putting together the “Klapthropp” entertainment center. “This is going to take forever,” he whined. He looked over his shoulder, finding Nino curled up in his chair, the only other piece of furniture currently in his living room. He was engrossed in one of his GameBoy games. “Oi, you over there!”
Nino didn’t even look up. “You can do it. I believe in you.”
“Ugh, really?”
Even though it was really rude of Nino to have him come all the way to his apartment and then put his furniture together all by himself, Aiba was not the type of person to let a friend down. Even if he was kind of ready to pass out and fall asleep on top of the IKEA box.
While Nino’s game pinged and beeped and boomed, Aiba methodically got to work setting up the base of the entertainment center, turning screws and tightening bolts. Nino only got up once to use the bathroom, returning and simply patting Aiba on the head in thanks before getting back to his game. “Coulda paid the IKEA people to put it together for you,” Aiba grumbled under his breath, fumbling around for Side H to connect to Junction 3.
“Costs too much,” Nino replied, letting out a little cheer of victory as his character apparently advanced to a new level.
By the time midnight rolled around, Aiba was having trouble keeping his eyes open. He flopped onto his back, sighing. He’d probably gotten a third of the way done with the Klapthropp.
“Nino, I need to go home.”
“Stay over. I’m not paying for you to take a cab.”
“Wasn’t I supposed to be rewarded for my efforts?”
Finally Aiba heard Nino shut off his game. “Alright.” He came over, nudging Aiba with his foot. “You’re not done though.”
“I worked really hard!”
“You did. Well, I guess you’ll have to finish it tomorrow. For now, you better get up.”
Somehow Nino was able to pull him to his feet, and he got Aiba into the bathroom. He took a quick bath, colder than he preferred just so he didn’t fall asleep in the tub and drown himself. When he got out Nino was waiting for him, hands on his pajama-clad hips. “Alright,” Nino said, “I did say I’d make this worth your while. On your back.”
Finally, after his long day. Nino always messed around, took advantage of Aiba’s kindness, but he really did care. Aiba lay back, putting his arms back and resting his head against his hands. “Massage?”
“Better,” Nino said, quickly managing to tug Aiba’s boxers off. Ah, definitely better than a massage.
Though Aiba was tired, Nino was always a miracle worker with his hands and mouth. After a few teasing kisses along the sensitive insides of his thighs, Nino got a hand around his cock and started to stroke him. Aiba let out a groan of happiness. Nino, cheapo that he was, never offered monetary rewards for all the favors Aiba had done for him in the past. But Nino was good in bed, and that was a reward in itself.
He bit his lip once Nino added his mouth to the mix, continuing his methodical strokes as he dragged his tongue over the sensitive head of Aiba’s increasingly hard cock. “So good,” Aiba couldn’t help moaning, hardly able to keep himself from thrusting his hips up to fuck Nino’s hot mouth.
Nino may have been a slack off in areas that weren’t games or gadgets, but he gave his full attention to blowjobs without fail. Aiba groaned, putting a hand on Nino’s head, grasping his hair as Nino took him deeper, sucked him harder. Aiba was just about to offer a friendly warning, to let Nino know he was close to coming, but then Nino stopped with such sudden abruptness that Aiba let out a strangled little noise of surprise.
“Oi!” he muttered, feeling dreadfully exposed, lying on his back in his t-shirt and socks, his hard and needy cock so thoughtlessly abandoned. “Oi!”
Nino laughed, crawling up to lie at Aiba’s side, pulling his blanket up and over them. “You didn’t finish putting it together,” Nino said rudely, twisting Aiba’s nipple through his shirt. “When you finish, so will I.”
Annoyed, Aiba moved his hand to grab his cock and finish the job himself, but Nino’s grip on him was suddenly tight.
“Come on. Surely you can wait another day?” Nino teased, leaning over to kiss him.
“But…but…”
“All you have to do is finish the Klapthropp, Aiba-shi. Then you’ll get the full reward.”
Aiba had to admit that this was kind of a fun challenge, even though he was kind of pissed at the same time. He turned his back to Nino, pretending to be grumpy about it as Nino eagerly took up the role of big spoon.
But the next night he was back in Nino’s apartment, diligently working on Operation: Finish the Klapthropp. It had been difficult to get through the workday, Nino coming by his desk while he was working on transcribing a wiretap. “If you want,” Nino had said, massaging his shoulders, “I can do some ball stuff. If you want ball stuff.”
As unsexy as Nino could make things sound, it didn’t really matter later when Aiba came back from a short Klapthropp break only to be pushed against the wall to receive a very demanding kiss. Before too long, Nino was sliding down, getting on his knees and tugging the zipper of Aiba’s jeans down. Soon they were at his knees along with his boxers.
“I’m not done with the Klapthropp, Nino,” Aiba moaned as Nino started stroking him yet again, this time teasing with little flicks of his tongue against his sack. “Oi, I’m not done…”
Nino ignored him, and Aiba just gave in to it, thumping his head back against the wall as Nino took his sweet time with his hands and mouth. Soon he was gently cupping and squeezing with his hand in time with each devastating suck. It had been a while since Aiba had received such thorough attention, but as he expected, he was just on the edge of coming when Nino stopped what he was doing and backed away.
Aiba, allowed to get away with things that most lovers wouldn’t tolerate, let his heavy, neglected cock smack against Nino’s chin in irritation. “This is mean, you know.”
“Maybe tomorrow,” Nino joked, getting to his feet and then onto his tiptoes to kiss Aiba’s cheek. “Now put your pants back on, you can probably get another shelf done tonight, right?”
Despite the need for release, Aiba endured for one more day, even when Nino came walking by before Aiba’s meeting with Director Kimura, sucking on a lollipop and reminding Aiba that there was still work to be done. To retaliate, after Aiba finished his meeting he waited for Nino to take a bathroom break and then stole his spare apartment key from the drawer he kept it in at his workstation.
By the time Nino came home, none the wiser about Aiba’s theft, the stupid entertainment center was not only put together perfectly, but Aiba had hooked up Nino’s TV and was in the midst of playing Mario Kart.
He was also not wearing pants.
“For all my pain and suffering,” Aiba said, gesturing down to his dick, “you better swallow.”
Nino, not at all surprised to find a half-naked colleague in his living room, simply dropped his bag in the genkan and unlaced his sneakers. His voice was almost indifferent. “Don’t I always though?”
It didn’t take long, Aiba sitting in Nino’s favorite gaming chair with his legs spread and an obedient Nino on his knees before him, taking his cock to the back of his throat without complaint.
“I swear,” Aiba said, “if you stop this time, I’m going to jack off all over your PlayStation.”
Nino slipped Aiba’s cock from his mouth with a filthy, wet pop. “Well, I certainly wouldn’t want that.”
For the last three days he’d been just another one of Nino’s experiments. But instead of a pineapple tracker down his gullet, he’d been waiting and waiting and waiting for Nino to get him off. It had been really crazy difficult, with the teasing and with Matsumoto Jun’s cute butt a few cubicles away, offering a scowl that meant more to Aiba than it ever had before.
But oh, it was triple the reward, or at least it felt like that when he was no longer able to form words, knowing only the tight warmth of Nino’s mouth and the prickling tease of Nino’s fingertips along his thighs. Nino gave Aiba’s knee a squeeze, and he looked down to see the adoration and teasing love in his friend’s eyes. Nino winked and that was all it took. He gasped, shaking so hard he thought he was going to slide off of the stupid chair and onto the floor. But he held steady, laughing in relief as Nino swallowed down three long days of desperation in one impressive go.
He wiped his mouth and stared up at Aiba with a grin. “I should tell you this now while you’re in such a good mood. I’ve just ordered a new dresser for my bedroom. How would you like to put it together for me?”
Part Two
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