The elevator ride to Kenji's penthouse felt like forever. Shō stood beside him, hands stuffed in his pockets to hide the trembling. The mirrored walls reflected them—Kenji tall and composed in his suit, Shō smaller, sweater rumpled, bangs messy. Their eyes met in the reflection, and heat zapped through Shō like lightning.
Kenji didn't touch him. Not yet. But the air crackled with promise.
The doors dinged open straight into the living room. Shō's jaw dropped.
The place was massive—floor-to-ceiling windows showing the glittering city skyline, sleek black furniture, a huge flat-screen on one wall. Minimalist, like Kenji: clean lines, no clutter. A kitchen island gleamed with marble, and a spiral staircase led up to what looked like a loft bedroom.
"Wow," Shō breathed. "This is... so fancy."
Kenji shrugged off his jacket, hanging it neatly. "Make yourself comfortable."
Shō kicked off his shoes and padded to the window, pressing a hand against the cool glass. Lights twinkled below like stars. "You live here alone?"
"Yeah." Kenji's voice came from behind, closer than expected. "Always have."
Shō turned. Kenji held two glasses of water—no alcohol, as promised. He handed one over, fingers brushing Shō's on purpose this time.
They sat on the leather couch, knees almost touching. Silence hung heavy, loaded.
Kenji cleared his throat first. "About last night... I meant what I said. The want is real. But I need to know you're okay with this. With me."
Shō stared into his glass, cheeks heating. "I am. It's just... new. Scary, kinda."
Kenji's hand covered his knee—warm, steady. "Me too."
Shō looked up, surprised. "You? But you're always so... in control."
Kenji's laugh was low, bitter. "Not with you. You make me lose it."
The words hung there. Shō set his glass down, heart racing. "Then don't hold back."
Kenji's eyes darkened. He leaned in slow, giving Shō time to pull away.
He didn't.
The kiss started soft—like in the office—but built fast. Kenji's hand cupped Shō's neck, tilting him back against the couch. Shō gasped, and Kenji took the opening, tongue sliding in deep and sure.
Shō's hands fisted in Kenji's shirt, pulling him closer. Heat pooled low, body reacting like always—too fast, too much.
Kenji broke the kiss, breathing hard. "Upstairs."
He stood, offering a hand. Shō took it, legs wobbly.
The loft bedroom was dim, lit by city glow through huge windows. King bed with black sheets, a dresser, not much else.
Kenji backed Shō against the wall, kissing him harder now. Hands roamed—under Shō's sweater, tracing ribs, thumb circling a nipple until Shō arched with a whimper.
"You're so sensitive," Kenji murmured against his neck, sucking lightly. "Love that about you."
Shō's head fell back. "Kenji—"
"Shirt off."
Shō obeyed, pulling the sweater over his head. Cool air hit his skin, but Kenji's hands warmed him fast—palms flat on his chest, pushing him toward the bed.
They tumbled down, Kenji on top. Weight perfect, pinning Shō without crushing. Kisses trailed lower—collarbone, chest, tongue flicking over sensitive spots.
Shō's fingers dug into Kenji's hair. "Please..."
Kenji unbuttoned his own shirt, shrugging it off. Shō's eyes widened at the sight—broad shoulders, lean muscles, and...
Tattoos.
Intricate ink covered Kenji's back and arms—dragons twisting with cherry blossoms, symbols Shō recognized from movies and manga.
Yakuza tattoos.
Shō froze. "Kenji... what are those?"
Kenji paused, lips on Shō's stomach. He lifted his head, expression shifting—guarded now.
"Family tradition." He sat back on his heels, shirt hanging open. The tattoos gleamed under the low light—full sleeves, back piece sprawling like a story.
Shō sat up too, heart pounding for a different reason. "Yakuza? You're... part of that?"
Kenji sighed, rubbing his neck. "Not anymore. My grandfather ran a syndicate. Dad inherited, tried to go legit with the bookstores as a front. But old ties die hard."
Shō's mind reeled. "So you're... what? A mob boss pretending to be CEO?"
Kenji's eyes flashed. "No. I cut ties after Dad died. Turned the chain fully legal. But the ink... it's permanent. A reminder."
Shō reached out, hesitant, fingers tracing a dragon's scale on Kenji's arm. The skin was smooth, warm. "Does it hurt? Getting them?"
"Like hell." Kenji caught his hand, kissing the palm. "But it's who I was. Not who I am."
Shō swallowed. This changed things. Kenji wasn't just a strict boss—he had a dangerous past. Shadows lurking.
"Are you safe?" Shō whispered. "From them?"
Kenji pulled him close, arms wrapping tight. "I am. But yeah, sometimes old enemies sniff around. That's why I keep things controlled. No close ties. No weaknesses."
Shō's chest ached. "Am I a weakness?"
Kenji's grip tightened. "The best kind."
He kissed Shō again—fiercer, like proving a point. Hands undid Shō's pants, sliding them down with boxers in one go.
Shō gasped at the exposure, but Kenji's mouth followed—kissing thighs, inner knees, working up slow.
"You're beautiful," Kenji murmured, voice rough. "So damn obedient for me."
Shō's body arched as Kenji's hand wrapped around him—firm strokes, thumb circling the tip.
"Ah—Kenji!"
Kenji watched his face, eyes intense. "Let go. I got you."
Shō did—hips bucking, moans spilling free. Pressure built fast, too fast.
Kenji leaned over him, free hand pinning Shō's wrist above his head. "Come for me."
Shō shattered—body tensing, release hot and messy across his stomach.
Kenji kissed him through it, swallowing the cries.
When Shō floated back, panting, Kenji stripped fully. Tattoos everywhere—chest, thighs. Intimidating. Sexy.
"Your turn," Shō whispered, bold for once. He pushed Kenji onto his back, straddling him.
Kenji's eyes widened. "Shō—"
Shō kissed down his chest, tongue tracing ink lines. Hands explored—stroking Kenji slow, learning what made him groan.
Kenji's fingers tangled in Shō's hair. "Fuck... you're killing me."
Shō took him in his mouth—tentative at first, then deeper. Kenji's hips jerked, control slipping.
"Enough," Kenji growled, pulling Shō up. Flipped them so Shō was under again.
Lube from the nightstand—cold at first, then warming as Kenji prepped him careful, fingers curling just right.
Shō whimpered, clutching sheets. "Now. Please."
Kenji positioned himself, eyes locked. "You sure?"
"Yes."
He pushed in slow—stretch burning, then full, perfect.
They moved together—rhythm building, Kenji's hands gripping Shō's waist, possessive.
"You're mine," Kenji rasped, thrusts deeper. "No one else touches you."
Shō nodded frantically. "Yours."
Climax hit them hard—Shō first, clenching tight; Kenji following with a guttural moan.
They collapsed, tangled, sweaty.
Kenji pulled Shō close, kissing his forehead. "Stay the night."
Shō nodded, but his mind whirled. Yakuza past. Danger. But in Kenji's arms, he felt safe.
For now.