Work Text:
For what seems to be the hundredth time, Ranpo groans to himself, head hanging off Poe’s office couch. He is bored, that much Poe sees abundantly clear. But as much as he’d love to help his lover—more so for Poe’s own peace of mind—he finally got into a groove with his writing. He isn’t willing to give it up just yet.
Returning pen to paper, Poe finishes his previous thought, continuing onto the next line. His editor has been eager for some pages, for any progress on his novel. It’s been slow, which is why this sudden bout of inspiration was taken with marvelous excitement. He is nearing the finish line, he just knows it.
From his place on the sofa, Ranpo huffs out a breath, snatching up his Switch from the coffee table, rebooting his Animal Crossing game. The volume remains muted, for Poe—Ranpo rather enjoys the music and sounds.
It goes on peacefully for a good five minutes…then Ranpo promptly throws down his handheld console. Turning over, he places his arms on the couch’s arm, laying his head overtop. With a pout, he whines, “Ed, you know I’m trying to get your attention. Why are you ignoring me?”
Yet scribbling away, Poe absently utters, “Ranpo, you know the answer to that.”
He does, and he is the first to cheer his rival and lover on. Yet, he can’t help himself. He wants every morsel of Poe’s affection and attention. A burning beneath his skin yearns and begs for it, and he feels a bit of remorse over it, but the sensation is fierce.
“Well, I’m bored! And as my designated partner, aren’t you supposed to alleviate my problem?” Ranpo says, quite matter-of-factly. Is he wrong? Well, he wouldn’t be on any other day. But as it stands…
Poe sighs, placing his pen down. He’s unable to complete his sentence, not with his attention divided. “As my partner, shouldn’t you respect my time for work? This is important, Ranpo.”
It is. Ranpo continues to remind himself that this is important. It’s Poe’s passion, his livelihood. But somehow, that does not dissuade him. His expression is utterly sour, unhappy with the conversation’s dead-end direction. He attempts to set the course to where he’d like— No, needs it to go. “As your lover—”
Narrowing his eyes, Poe interrupts, “You should know what I want?”
Face aghast, Ranpo exclaims, “What about what I want?!”
Poe raises a brow, crossing one leg over the other beneath his desk. “What do I want, Ranpo? Go on. Deduce the answer. And no using Ultra Deduction,” he challenges, a visible lilac eye sharp…and beautifully striking.
Ranpo can’t help finding every fiber of Poe’s essence being anything but worth reverence at the moment.
He settles back, irritated with the request. To deduce the answer like some hair-brained, run-of-the-mill detective? Beneath him, honestly! Yet there’s that little voice, small and irritating all at once, reminding him he should be a better partner to Poe, that searing be damned.
Grumbling, Ranpo turns his head away, brows furrowed in displeasure, “To finish writing.”
Closing his eyes, Poe claps once, his smile bright. “So you do know what I want. You’re ever intelligent, love.”
Ranpo’s jaw dramatically drops open. “The praise doesn’t count if it’s backhanded!” The other merely chuckles, and Ranpo distinctly chooses not to give it mind—honestly, wanting his other half this terribly is quite a lot. Instead, he fires back, “Why don’t you do some deduction, huh? What do I want, Ed?”
He knows perfectly well his partner never backs down from a challenge—one could say it’s his folly, but Ranpo finds it to be captivating. His grayish hues gleam brighter, a manic shine in his sight Ranpo is tragically allured by. A siren’s call with just a look.
Poe opens his eyes, gaze calculated as it roves over the other. “You’re not hungry, as you just ate. Playing your game isn’t enough stimulation. You’re feeling—” he blinks, eyes wide.
He’d found his answer, so it seemed.
Slowly, a glimmering smile colors his expression. “Ah, I see.”
Ranpo huffs, “Well?” There is no game if his opponent doesn’t openly express his victory—and the two are wont to do as much.
Pushing away from his desk, Poe wordlessly beckons the younger over. Exhaling through his mouth, a sigh of relief intertwined within the same breath, Ranpo leaves his place on the couch. He strides over to the other, his hands in the pockets of his comfy sweatpants. Poe expectantly holds out his hand. Receiving the message, Ranpo places his own into the awaiting palm, soft and balming as the tips of his fingers meet skin. Gently, Poe pulls him closer, and Ranpo is in no position to refuse. Straddling the older’s lap, Ranpo places his hands along Poe’s shoulders, mutedly eyeing him.
Poe softly laughs, “Why didn’t you just say you were starved?”
Ranpo pauses, face confusedly contorted. “I’m not. You said it first, I just ate. What do you mean?”
Shaking his head, Poe slowly kisses along Ranpo’s jaw, Ranpo deeply swallowing as he trails further. “Starved for affection, you attention seeker.”
Ranpo clicks his tongue, his hand involuntarily brushing through dark locks. “Shouldn’t you just know?” he remarks. He silently preens with the attention being handed to him, his other hand wandering along Poe’s back, feeling him shiver beneath him. Ranpo’s breath hitches, fingers digging in more fervidly as Poe kisses a particularly sensitive spot, the heat underneath his skin sparking higher.
Poe pulls back, Ranpo’s hands moving to cup his cheeks. The two rush forward, their lips sliding together as if they were always meant to—one beautifully made for the other. Ranpo’s fingers muss up feathery soft tresses, relishing the feel, the rush of flushing warmth. Hands move down and dig into his thighs, guiding his body closer, Ranpo grinding forward, contently humming at the groan it elicits from the other. Poe takes Ranpo’s bottom lip into his own, sucking until Ranpo keens into his mouth. Taking the opening, Poe gently licks into him, Ranpo eagerly welcoming him.
Ranpo traces the edges of his lover’s face, sweetly devouring him, man and spirit. He belongs solely to Ranpo, after all, and Ranpo his, alone. Beauty is etched even into the unseen crevices of Poe’s existence, and Ranpo intends to find every last interstice. Slowly and tenderly take him apart, as Poe often does to him—that vulnerability writhes with difficulty, yet Poe found it, treasuring its honesty and temper.
Their tongues brush and lavish together, the breathing heat traveling down Ranpo’s body until the clothes on his skin begin to feel unbearable.
Ranpo has missed his Edgar dearly, his hands wishing to feel the softness of his skin, his lips aching for the other’s. The past week has been filled with passing pecks and rushed farewells, and Ranpo’s been terribly deprived of his beloved—Poe’s favored term to use, and as cheesy as Ranpo finds it, he catches himself saying it.
He lives with his partner now, shouldn’t they have all the time in the world?
Instead, their work has taken priority. Ranpo’s cases have been piling up, and Poe’s writing has been falling behind. He’s been picking up the pace to make up for lost time, leaving Ranpo to arrive home to Karl whilst Poe remained in his study.
Not that he doesn’t adore the raccoon—who is practically a son to him—but he has craved time with his partner.
Poe languidly pulls away, Ranpo’s toes curling as he chases after him. “Ed—” he breathily murmurs.
“I adore our time together, dear, but I would still like to finish this last paragraph.” Poe sheepishly smiles, his hands tenderly rubbing Ranpo’s sides, attempting to lessen the blow after that session Ranpo feels was still not enough. His face blanks out, his hands pausing in their instinctive ministrations. “But, you can stay here,” Poe continues, Ranpo slightly perking back up.
Ranpo tilts his head. “In your lap?”
Poe nods once. “In my lap.”
A smile instantly returns to Ranpo’s reddened lips, pleased with these results. After this, he could already see where the night would take them—he can be patient with the unspoken promise. He throws his arms around the older, nuzzling his face into Poe’s neck. He mumbles, “Well, if you insist. You are the comfiest chair, Ed.”
Snatching up his pen, one arm softly rubbing Ranpo’s back, Poe starts up his writing once again. “Being compared to a chair isn’t the most poetically romantic line, but I expect nothing less, love.” Ranpo snorts, snuggling ever closer.
Well, Poe simply cannot be upset—he quite enjoys the warmth only Ranpo has ever graced him with. He is one of the fodders to his writing, after all.
⇺⇻
He was usually the second to enter the office, right after Kunikida. Many believe him to lounge around and pass off his work to his newer coworkers, but the greatest detective was often in high demand. Besides, the cases he passed off were easy and downright insulting to his name. Of course he’d turn them down!
Ranpo expected today to be a slow, petty-crime filled workday, his entertainment and drive of high-risk and high-reward cases absent for the time being. And he wasn’t mistaken, but he wasn’t too fond of the expectant air withholding the office’s atmosphere.
The rest of his coworkers settled into their work, with Dazai lagging far behind as per usual (Ranpo was aware the drive from their partner’s penthouse was longer than the trip from the dorms, but they juiced that excuse too often, and they extended that time far past its limit).
And Ranpo was left unsettled and, admittedly, confused with each new member that walked in.
First, it was Yosano. The second she stepped foot into the office, she took one glance at Ranpo (who’d been busy with his island’s neighbors on his Switch) and instantly backed out of the room, a hand covering her mouth. Ranpo had merely quirked a brow, returning to his game and whisking the thought away.
They’d speak later, he was certain.
Then it was Atsushi. Ranpo had been cleaning off some paperwork he’d been putting off (what kind of fantastical detective lowered themself to paperwork? It should be done for them!) when Atsushi arrived. He greeted everyone as was his norm, and when he got to Ranpo, his usual smile had wavered. Ranpo’s own welcoming lift of his lips tapered off.
“Atsushi-kun? Is something wrong?” Ranpo had asked, impatient with the silence facing him.
Almost imperceptibly, imperceptible to anyone who wasn’t as inhumanly keen as Ranpo, Atsushi’s gaze wandered away from Ranpo’s for half of a second then immediately was brought back up. He cautiously shook his head. “Nothing, Ranpo-san! Good morning!” Atsushi widely, too widely, smiled, announcing his hellos before taking off to his seat.
Ranpo felt his brow furrow, yet he mentally waved it off and attempted to focus on his work—it was such a bore, he could hardly keep his eyes on it.
Lastly, and most boisterously, it was Dazai. He floundered flourishly into the office, stopping by Kunikida’s desk to boop his nose (Kunikida merely fixing his glasses and continuing with his typing), wandering over to Atsushi’s desk to lightly ruffle his hair (Atsushi smiling brightly at his mentor, warming them with a welcome), and ending their tour at Ranpo’s desk.
And here, Ranpo’s unfounded mystery is solved.
“Ranpo-san, how are you this fine morning?” Dazai beams, hands tucked away in their coat’s pockets, intentions stowed along with them.
Ranpo bites into a Pocky stick—today’s flavor is almond crush, but that’s unimportant, he supposes. “It’s past twelve in the afternoon, Dazai.”
Dazai waves a hand. “Technicalities. … Say, Ranpo-san,” Dazai suddenly grins.
A gleam of sadism enters his eyes, a dangerous and probing stick poking into Ranpo’s core, uncovering something Ranpo hasn’t discovered all day—he’s immediately on edge. He’s been missing a crucial facet in his day, and damn if it’s been bugging him. But he can’t remember what it is, or maybe he hadn’t noticed it to begin with.
He missed a detail, and Ranpo has never missed any, even unnoticeable, clue—except for one. He had skipped over one accidentally, and he’d only found it when said detail came forward and demonstrated itself.
To be fair, emotions are complicated to his mind, and Poe knows that.
Poe…
Dazai leans in, respectable space between them yet enough for their conversation to be private—if private lost all meaning suddenly, considering the detectives they were surrounded by. “You didn’t happen to participate in a night of debauchery, did you?”
Ranpo’s face falls, his eyes flying open. Not a whisper of a response lays on his tongue, nothing to save himself face in front of the person few are able to abscond from. Ranpo could usually find his way out of Dazai’s entrapments, but he has to accept this one was all his own doing.
He’d missed something in the mirror, he can finally see.
Yosano, who Ranpo swears appeared from the air itself, throws her head back, slapping her knee as she cries in laughter. Kunikida ceases his typing, slowly lowering his head, a sigh leaving his lips—he’s accepted today’s gone to waste. Atsushi, with a curious Kyouka now beside him, curls into himself. Perhaps out of respect for his senior, he keeps his eyes on his work, choosing to ignore his environment.
Ranpo clicks his tongue, sinking into his chair. “Why do you become a poet from the Meiji Period when you announce my private life?” he almost yells out. He contains himself, even as the energy within his being flusters.
Dazai brings a finger to his chin, head tilted up to the ceiling. “You have no compunctions with finding out about mine. This is an equal give and take, no Ranpo-san?” they chuckle.
Yosano sidles up beside Ranpo’s chair, calmly patting his head. “Accept defeat, Ranpo-san. Dazai won this round.”
Ranpo groans, slumping more into his chair. A gloved hand slides into view, a scarf wrapped around it. “Here. You might want to cover up what looks like a leech mauled you,” Yosano offers, a smile eerily matching Dazai’s upon her.
Snatching it, Ranpo messily secures it around his neck—uselessly since everyone’s already seen his business, but to occupy his hands, he does so. “You’re overexaggerating now! It’s not that bad!”
Dazai snickers into his hand. “I beg to differ. Has the president seen you yet?”
Ranpo keens, his right eye twitching. “What does he have to do with this?!” He is an adult in an adult relationship. If he has sex with his partner, it shouldn’t be this big of a deal!
… But yes, he prefers his father figure does not find the office in this situation with him at the center. He’d rather the president continue to approve of his boyfriend.
Tanizaki, from across the room, pipes in, “He isn’t in at the moment. He’s been called to an important meeting.” He promptly turns back around, not wanting any part in this conversation.
Relief causes Ranpo to sag, only for a glare to crease his brow. “Fine, fine. Dazai, you win this time,” he sneers. All those moments he’s called Dazai out for his rendezvouses with his short mafioso are coming back to bite him in the ass. He doesn’t tend to regret his decisions, but he wishes he’d looked in the mirror for even a second!
What had distracted him?!
Placing his toothbrush back in the cabinet, Ranpo reaches for his face washing soap, only to pause. Gentle and nimble fingers trail across his bare waist, pulling him close, an exposed chest enveloping his skin—Ranpo can feel the fluffy robe blanketing those broad shoulders. Kisses tickle his neck, Ranpo smiling as he leans in for more. He’s a glutton for every millimeter of Edgar’s attention, after all.
He brings a hand up, musing through wispy waves. “Eddy, you’re cold.”
“I’m sorry, dear.” Edgar kisses his apology.
Turning in the other’s arms, Ranpo grins up at his lover. “More reason to warm you up.” Edgar smiles as their lips meet, one tasting sugary and addictive on Ranpo’s tongue.
Right.
He’d been thoroughly distracted.
Riddled with disappointment in himself—not for the turn of his morning, but for his err in deduction, of course—Ranpo places his head on his desk, feeling yet another pat on his head. He tastes a half apology in this one. If he were Dazai, he wouldn’t be sorry either. All’s fair, in the end.
It is certainly a give and take, so Dazai is awaiting Ranpo’s retaliation, Ranpo is sure. They should be, anyway. He isn’t forgiving this one—ignoring Dazai hadn’t truly done anything other than point out what everyone had already seen, but there is a sense of betrayal in it!
Yosano suddenly whispers into his ear, “Whatever plan you’ve got, let me in on it. Pay me back in expensive wine.”
Ranpo speaks into his desk, voice muffled, “You’ve got Chuuya for that!”
“Hey, your Guild boyfriend owns a mansion,” she quietly laughs.
Leeches, every last one of them.
⇺⇻
Ranpo continues to bury himself into Poe’s stomach, thankful for the softer than clouds sweater cushioning his head. Poe merely laughs to himself at the action, threading through messy strands.
Poe had finished his manuscript, having sent it to his editor and freeing up his evening. Before he could even ask Ranpo how his day had gone, excited for the time they’d have together, Ranpo yanked him from the entrance and headed up the stairs, then allowed Poe to lead them to their bedroom.
There, he’d plopped Poe down by the pillows, promptly throwing himself onto his lap, Poe’s thighs cradling his head.
“No,” Ranpo began, “my day doesn’t warrant asking that,” he finished, Poe unable to even voice his question.
Poe had merely hummed inquisitively, and there Ranpo filled him in.
Now, as much as Poe is filled with embarrassment at having their business spread out, he is simply enjoying Ranpo’s own pink cheeks and frustrated cadence.
“Eddy, stop enjoying this! Dazai won against me, and it’s all my fault! When does that happen?!” Ranpo exclaims, the continuous movements of his head tickling Poe, worsening his amusement.
“I’m sorry, darling,” Poe chuckles. “I can’t help it. You hardly get this way, and there is no helping it now. Until, of course—”
“I get my payback, I know,” Ranpo bemoans. “Comfort me anyway, the two people who are practically like my siblings just caught us fucking.”
Poe chokes. “Edo, what an exaggeration!” he admonishes.
“In some sense, I’m right,” Ranpo mutters.
Sighing, Poe continues scratching softly at Ranpo’s scalp, reducing him to a content puddle. “Well, you’ll find your ammunition soon enough. In the meantime—”
“We should fuck again?” Ranpo idly proposes.
“Ranpo!”
“That wasn’t a no,” Ranpo snickers, only to nestle further into his spot on Poe’s legs. Karl soon finds them, joining in on Poe’s tender hands and his scratches. They don’t end up having sex, but instead they catch up on their much needed time to ramble on about everything and anything.
Ranpo prefers this to anything in the world.