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The meeting's boring. They always are.
They agreed to meet after school today. No matter how long he keeps Satomi out his parents don't complain. Or if they do, he certainly doesn't hear about it. Satomi's the type to nod and take the scolding, not mention it the next day. He's not that stupid, he knows Satomi's using him as a distraction from whatever's going on at school. Must be difficult. Kyouji doesn't remember a lot of middle school, but he remembers it not being pretty. Too old to be called cute, too young to have any real responsibility. But Kyouji thinks Satomi's cute. How could he not? And the last thing he wants to do is make him wait.
Two weeks ago, Satomi told him he couldn't see him anymore. He'd gone back on it a day later. Kyouji didn't want to admit how much that'd made him smile. Finding Satomi waiting in the lobby of the karaoke place, looking down at the ground, like he was ashamed of himself for telling him no. Kyouji knows he wasn't. Satomi's smart. Smarter than Kyouji's been as a kid. He still took the time to savour the sight a bit before walking up to him.
"Money from Suzuki-san come in this month? He was late last."
"No, aniki. He told me his place is closing. For real this time."
"Him too?"
It makes him happy, how much Satomi trusts him. He doesn't actually know how much, but, well, he gets in Kyouji's car. He gets in the karaoke booth with him time after time. He ignores the way the employees delivering their food look at the two of them. Thinking any number of things. Blink if you need help, kid. Haha.
He's stopped shying away so much when Kyouji sits back down from a particularly soulful round of karaoke and their thighs touch. Knows Satomi can smell his sweat and his passion. Likes the fruity-smelling body wash Satomi must use. Maybe it's his mom's.
Satomi watches him when he sings. Even when he says next to nothing between songs, Kyouji knows he keeps his eyes on him even though he only ever turns back around to queue a song or ask him how he'd done that time. During breaks Kyouji makes meaningless conversation with him just to watch the way he eats, tells him to order more, which Satomi will almost always do. Tortures his heart with a peek of tongue, lips closing around the parfait spoon, the way his throat bobs.
Yeah, he thinks about it, of course he thinks about it, who can fucking blame him? Satomi's sweet and innocent and comes back for more. Kyouji gives him nothing and he comes back for more. Every time he's called. And Kyouji would never—well, he does dream of it, but in actuality—hurt him. Not even to see the way Satomi'd look if Kyouji touched him, really touched him, like how he sometimes thinks of doing. He can't, the tradeoff would be too great. Even his most harmless fantasies—yanking Satomi up by his thin wrist in the karaoke booth, making him dance with him to one of the cheerier songs he'd put on that playlist for him—end in Satomi never texting him back again.
"The reservations for the boss's trip up to Kyoto are done. Make sure not to fuck anything up while he's out of town."
"Is the family dinner postponed for the end of the month instead, then?"
Occasionally, if he's really bored, he'll think about getting him in the back seat of his Toyota. On his back. Opening up Satomi's shirt button by button.
Kyouji-san, we can't, please don't.
He shifts in the leathery chair.
Yeah, he feels bad about it, getting hard off the idea of this kid who trusts him completely. But that part isn't his fault, the trust bit. He would really never make a move. But the way he sees it, what Satomi doesn't know, he means.
The second night after he'd dropped him off home, he'd had a dream about it. No matter how long he drove, the familiar sight of the neighborhood had never come. The only sound the beating of Satomi's heart, loud enough to fill the whole car. Kyouji'd looked over and found him hard in his pants, looking out the window. Remembered Satomi telling him it hurt when he leaned over the seat to palm at him. You're too rough, stop it, I hate you—complaining, and complaining, and complaining until the very moment Satomi twitched out an orgasm, and he sung in the sweetest little voice that he refused to let Kyouji hear in song. Sending him back home that night with Kyouji's jacket tied around his waist.
He feels bad about it. He does.
The last time he'd thought about it it'd involved him asking Satomi to choose between singing a song and sitting on Kyouji's lap for the remainder of their karaoke session. Then he'd made him sing anyway. Voice shaking as Kyouji massaged his shoulders from behind, rested his chin in the crook of his neck. Grinding against his ass so he could be sure what his voice was doing to Kyouji's nerves. Hand shaking as he gripped the mic, voice faltering into moans through the chorus. Turning around to face Kyouji after he's forced him through, tears spilling out, looking mad as anything, taking Kyouji's cock out and giving him the roughest handjob of his life. Queued up songs playing with no vocals in the back.
"Alright, that's all for tonight. Get outta here."
Kyouji choruses a thank you as he brings his phone out of his inner coat pocket and switches the ringer back on. Satomi had texted him seven minutes ago.
I will be a little late. Sorry.
No worries! I'm gonna stop at home then head over.
Are you at school? Want me to pick you up?
Okay.
Thank you.
[You sent a stamp]
See you then.