Warnings: Smexing, how I imagine the adult characters—sly-get-what-i-want-Ryoma and fed up with being repressed Tezuka/ OOC, AU, gayness, most stilted sex scene ever, but come on, it's in Tezuka's POV, of course it's gonna be more instructional than scintillating.
Notes: Someday I will write a TezuRyo with the subtlety it deserves, until then here's some porn(?). Inspired by this idea I couldn't get out of my head of Tezuka as Don Draper. And somehow Ryoma became Joan Holloway. Maybe I'll write a sequel, because Seigaku Office= lols for days. Obviously, PoT is not mine.
The Prince of Paperwork
"Your schedule, boss," a flat voice tells him as soon as he gets in the office. At the sound of that bored tone, Tezuka stiffens, tension already crystallizing between his eyes. Striding closer, Echizen looks perfect in his own subversive way as he places a pile of papers (fastened with a blue clip for Monday) neatly next to the ordered piles on Tezuka's desk. "The portfolio for the upcoming Fujifilm meeting is there, as well."
He flips through the neat schedule and impeccably ordered papers and it's evident why he has the faith in Echizen that he does. He is competent, which Tezuka can respect. He can more than respect that, in fact, to the extent that Echizen's duties extend far beyond his station. Looking at the perfectly cited documents, the beautifully spaced headers, and neat and economical descriptions of his day to come, Tezuka wonders why Ryoma isn't more ambitious. Sure, he doesn't have all the requisite education, but with the level of work he is capable of, he should at least be able to replace his copyeditor Eiji who mistook erroneous for erogenous in a draft for their most recent ad campaign.
"Boss?" Ryoma asks. Him and that odd sounding nick-name. A nickname that deferential would imply he actually recognized his place in the office or something. But Tezuka doesn't mind, he appreciates having someone who isn't totally imposing and unafraid of him for once under his services.
Tezuka quickly looks up from the documents at the alert. He then clears his throat and adjusts his lavender tie as though he expects it to be out of order (it never is, Tezuka has grooming down to a science) before responding to Echizen.
"Ah, yes, I was just checking if everything was in order. Thank you, Echizen," Tezuka intones expressionlessly. How he can sound the same regardless of the circumstances every time is a great mystery to him, but Tezuka isn't going to look down upon a boon. Still, Ryoma reacts imperceptibly, eyes narrowing slightly in skepticsm. He can hear Echizen echo in his mind like he sees right through that lie, "Of course everything is in order. You're the one who isn't in order."
"Do you have any reason to believe it isn't?" Ryoma asks in his cocky way, pursing his lips slightly. Any other man would've taken it as an affront, but the bland tone in his voice and blinking eyelashes express it all. It's a purely factual question, no petulance, just confidence.
Tezuka nods, still on guard. "Everything appears to be in order. I will notify you if it is not the case."
"Right, I'll be on my way then," Ryoma says after the long pause. It isn't until he watches those wicked hips slip out the door that he finally allows himself to relax.
Tezuka drank coffee as a habit in the same way people smoked. Although he couldn't get buzzed anymore because the frequency in which he drank, he did it habitually, relishing the taste and heat. It's just a harmless vice.
He only does it during smoke breaks to make sure he's being fair. He isn't a smoker, but the office (to his malcontent) is particularly permissive to those who are, so he lets himself take a break with the rest sometimes. Even though he's creative director, he wants to seem human to them, even if sometimes he feels like he isn't. He didn't want to admit it, but when he heard his subordinates clandestinely refer to him as a "dehumanizing monster" in response to the amounts of paperwork he assigned over the weekend, and somewhere, it hurt.
He supposes he should take the coffee to his office, so that he can review the newest portfolio and drink at the same time, but he waits. He feels awkward being leisurely, like he doesn't know what to do when he isn't reviewing for the future or ordering someone around or contemplating, but he made the long walk to get to the watercooler, so he may as well stay at least as long as it took him to walk there.
"A break, I don't recall putting this in the schedule," a familiar voice tells him, amusement adding an odd inflection to that otherwise flat voice. He looks nonchalant as always, sipping his grape soda. Tezuka's always found soda to sweet for him, but maybe if he tasted it from a secondary source, he would grow to like it.
"The Atobe meeting ended early," Tezuka says, feeling like he's making excuses.
Ryoma winces in sympathy. "Sorry, I couldn't schedule THAT out. Did the Monkey King hang up the phone when he realized you weren't going to put a billboard of him on every bus, train, cab, plane, boat, and bassinet in Tokyo? I mean, the bassinet makes sense, but he seems mistaken in thinking anyone wants to see his ugly face." On the mark. Ryoma really is more talented than his position as office manager required---that type of clairvoyance was impressive.
"I don't like to speak ill of clients," Tezuka tells him, avoiding the truth.
Echizen smirks, knowing he's exactly right.
"You know," Ryoma sips on his soda. "I never thought you would drink coffee from a cup."
"What did you expect, a goblet?" Tezuka arches a single eyebrow. Was he really viewed as too irregular for basic items like cups?
Ryoma laughs a little, a charming little sound reverberating through the air, and it's so low that he almost doesn't think it comes from him. So, this is what he sounds like when he isn't so utterly bored.
"Okay, a Styrofoam cup," he amends, pursing his lips.
"It is a bit…graceless, I suppose," Tezuka replies dryly, looking at the flimsy cup to appraise it. He hadn't felt it necessary to put his name on it like others did sometimes, but it did seem a bit hasty now that Echizen pointed it out. And a rather careless use of resources for the sake of convenience. He would get a mug next time.
"Reminds me of a frat party," Ryoma smirks before moving closer, looking at him sideways. "Did you ever go to those?" Usually, he would've been a bit offended, mocked even, but the sly look on Ryoma's face makes Tezuka obliged to play along.
Ryoma sips his soda and Tezuka doesn't miss a beat.
"Yeah, they invented a special beer hat with glasses compartments just for me," he deadpans. The closest he got to a frat party was the time a brigade of frat boys stormed the library. Fortunately, his stern disapproval dismissed them before they were able to cause a serious disruption.
In a way completely unrelated to libraries (and therefore unrelated to his college experience), Tezuka kind of wishes he were back in college, where alcohol was the great facilitator (for others, of course), and he could be saved from the awkwardness of flirting. He blames it on the Echizen's youth when images of bright lights and pounding music and sweaty Echizen come unbidden to his head.
"You were born with glasses, weren't you?" Ryoma says, looking at him again, as if he were seriously contemplating the plausibility of that assertion. He has an oddly speculative look on his face, but Tezuka isn't really paying that much attention to his expression, because he's realizing just how close Ryoma managed to move into his personal space.
"Yes, and with this same serious face," Tezuka says, extra blankly. He's on a roll.
"You're funny…" Ryoma trails off, in his breathy voice.
Tezuka blinks and doesn't know whether or not to say thank you. In 25 years of living, no one has ever dreamed of calling him funny before. Maybe Oishi would've said, "it's funny how Tezuka never laughs," or something kind of motherly like that, but otherwise no way.
Neither of them say anything else after that, having reached their respective word limit for the day. They're fine with that as they sip their drinks. Tezuka's cup is empty long before the clock tells them break is over, but he stays, pantomiming the motion of drinking and hoping Echizen doesn't notice.
At the tic of the clock, Echizen doesn't start to move and Tezuka doesn't want to be impolite and leave without saying anything, so he clears his throat.
Ryoma trails his hands down his sides before they rest on his hips in a way that is more sensual than it should be. "Well, I suppose I should get back to the floor. I think I can hear Kawamura burning down the office, you know how he gets when he has a phone in his hand."
Tezuka nods in understanding. Kawamura has one of the few conditions, which can't be solved through paperwork.
He walks out, his hands still on his hips in a way that should be ridiculous, but is oddly alluring in a way that seems to say, "watch this space." Tezuka does watch that space, and kind of regrets it, even though he doesn't really know why.
Everything good happens in threes, he thinks when he sees Echizen for the last time in the day.
He looks impeccable to the naked eye, but Tezuka's had time to think about how he's changed throughout the day. His hair is still perfectly in place, each button neat, dark pants and white shirt, still crisp. Small white hairs dust the polished leather of his shoes, but they are so fine that nobody would notice. It's his tie, he thinks. His tie is slightly askew. Immediately, Tezuka's anal fingers itch to fix it.
He places a neat bundle of papers with a blue clip on his desk, but doesn't say a word. Echizen just waits, looking up at him with golden eyes, letting him stare at the pale neck right in front of him. Ivory and gold, what a marvelous combination, Tezuka thinks.
"Yes?" Tezuka asks without looking up, realizing he sounds just like Ryoma did 7 hours earlier.
"Yes," Ryoma confirms and leans over the desk. Tezuka sees the mirror, desire singing out in little tendrils in the corners of his eyes and into his very expression. Taking sight of Ryoma's face, Tezuka wonders distantly and distractedly how something can be so nauseatingly, dizzyingly beautiful.
It's a bit awkward for Ryoma, being so short and with the desk being so large, and he is considerate as he props himself on his elbows to avoid musing the papers on Tezuka's desk. Such neat piles, Tezuka thinks. Color coded and dated and at 90 degree angles to reflect his meticulous nature; that's about to change.
"It's fine," Tezuka tells him, hauling him over the desk, spreading papers in the process.
Ryoma's eyes widen in surprise, but he adjusts quickly when he presses his lips to the long column of Tezuka's neck. His legs dangle from the desk awkwardly, so he kicks them forward and scrambles onto the desk, letting his long legs hang on either side of Tezuka, assuming that's okay, too.
Ryoma's taller in this position and he loves it; Tezuka can tell by the mischief reigning in his eyes. His kisses are hot and heavy, with an unexpected addition of teeth. Helpless, Tezuka responds in kind, but Ryoma dances away, deciding he'd rather tease. Tapered fingers, the same ones that type his perfect schedule every day, crush Tezuka's starched collar, bunching it in the shape of a fist. Emboldened by Tezuka's lack of response, they rake themselves into Tezuka's impeccable hair, tossing it around carelessly until it looks properly mused.
Tezuka sees his vision blur as his glasses are twisted askew, leaving him with only the sound and feel of Ryoma's breath dusting his eyelashes. He closes his eyes and lets the world spin. He should tell him to stop, shouldn't he? His grandfather occupied this office not so many years ago. His father would crucify him if he got caught. His mother would cry in shame if she knew he probably wasn't going to honestly bear her children. But honestly, how did he get on the subject of children already? Just because he's been infatuated with Ryoma ever since the day he's stepped in his office doesn't mean that--
"Mada mada da ne."
Returning to earth is surprisingly kind.
He hears the faint echo of giggling, in that soft breathy voice. It sounds small in that large room, but so sweet. He can't but help but quirk his lips a little at the other's amusement. Ryoma was a man who seemed to have no interests, no desires, despite clear proficiency in everything he pursued and THIS was what amused him?
"I just wanted to mess you up," Ryoma tells him without the shame to be embarrassed. "I've been wanting to. Don't know why."
Tezuka almost replies, wants to tell him about how he messed him up from the beginning, but he would never find the words, even in his extensive vocabulary. He's saved by surprisingly forceful hands pull him over by the tie and soft lips distract him all over again before he gets the chance.
"What are you hoping to get out of this?" Tezuka asks, taking slender wrists into his hands.
Ryoma should look more trapped, anchored on his lap and hanging in the air with his wrists pinned to the desk, but his flickering eyes convey otherwise. They look challenging and awake for the first time, his lips already composed in a dangerous smirk.
"Right now, you in me." He watches that smirk spread over his face, reminding him of a cat catching his prey. He kisses it away quickly, unable to stand the sight of it or be idle around this man.
He pushes Ryoma onto the desk for the second time in the day, quickly divesting him of his trousers as he leans his full weight on him, striving just to make contact. At first his hands don't know what to do, having had been trapped by their master so long, they just want to rove. He feels sharp hipbones under soft skin, hardened nipples under heated flesh, anything he can get his hands on. Unbuttoning the white dress shirt, he kisses his way down to the flesh he's been dreaming of, watches it arch towards him, tastes its fresh sent, and hears its breathy demands.
"I always knew that deferential thing was an act," Tezuka says as his reverential hands fancy the soft plane of his hard stomach.
Ryoma pushes Tezuka back lightly, but still keeps his legs loosely wrapped around Tezuka's back when he tells him, "Get in your chair, boss, I want to do you in the chair."
"Since when do I take orders from an office manager?" Tezuka arches his eyebrows.
Seeing Tezuka wasn't moving, he shoves him back into the chair with his knees, and shrugs off his underwear. Tezuka, feeling helpful, aids their descent down his perfect, slender legs. Since you let yourself be so easily distracted, Tezuka tells himself traitorously.
"Since he decided to blow your brains out." Another smirk. Ryoma drops to the floor, naked except for his partially unbuttoned dress shirt. Tezuka's glad he keeps his floor as clean as he does, otherwise he would've felt rather irresponsible about this later.
"Foreplay isn't really your thing, is it?" Tezuka tells him dryly. Ryoma unbuttons Tezuka's trousers in one fluid motion.
"Wasn't every day enough foreplay for you?" Ryoma asks. Underwear and trousers pooled around his knees.
"Touché," he gasps when he feels the first contact of that warm heat on his already hard cock. He starts slowly and lingeringly, just soft brushes of a wet tongue to the tip, with aim to tease, before setting a brutalizing fast pace. He's so deft and nuanced that Tezuka has no choice but to ride it out and give in.
His eyes slam shut, it's too much, the whole thing, the mounting pleasure, the relentless speed, the visual, it's too much, he's close. His malfunctioning throat makes a half-hearted gesture to say something, but before he can, Ryoma stops.
Shaking with the loss of heat, Tezuka's whole body crashes back into the chair, ebbing with tension.
"This is your office, isn't it? We really shouldn't get careless," Ryoma says with a wink in his eyes. Tezuka immediately regrets using the phrase to so many of his under qualified interns and assistants.
"Are you going to let me cum?" Tezuka asks bluntly, feeling impolite and still quivering a little.
"Yeah, when you fuck me." Ryoma rises to his feet—hard with red marks on his knees—and kisses him fully and wetly, letting him taste his own precum. Tezuka palms the green hair, hands lingeringly soft as an apology for the way they tore through the rough strands before. When Ryoma straddles him, Tezuka hisses a little as his already sensitive cock makes contact with the too-soft skin of Ryoma's backside. Ryoma squirms experimentally, insanely unaffected, as if he didn't just bring him to the precipice of orgasm to bring him back down. Brat.
"Well, get on with it," Tezuka says, sounding more frustrated than he should, but he can feel his eyebrows lift a little, so he hopes he doesn't sound too gruff or like he's ordering paperwork or something. Ryoma just smirks and slips his fingers past the tight line of Tezuka's lips to wet his fingers before reaching behind to finger himself.
Transfixed, Tezuka watches in fascination: he doesn't look nervous at all. He doesn't grimace at the sensation or anything. He just does it effortlessly.
"Amazing," Ryoma drawls with less air than usual. He leans forward, mocking, like he didn't have 2 fingers knuckle deep in his own ass, "Who would've thought you would let yourself do something like this?"
"You said it yourself, you've been teasing me," Tezuka says as he trails his lips to the shell of Ryoma's ear. Feeling a little vicious for the way Ryoma teased him before, he likes the way his glasses clip the side of Ryoma's ear when he takes a slender lobe between his teeth. Tezuka shivers in what could only be delight at the sound it elicits.
It's almost too impossible to fathom, the visual, the realness, so he closes his eyes. He closes his eyes and lets himself pretend it's just another one of the fantasies he's tried to prevent himself from seeing. One of the vivid ones, that no matter how tight his eyes were closed, he couldn't help but see. Still able to feel Ryoma's thighs brush against him when he moves up and down and hear that breathy voice ringing through the air, despite it's softness, he knows it's real.
This is life, he thinks. Letting yourself have what you always wanted. It's life. In his office, in his tie, with Ryoma on his chair, he can't think of a better place to learn that he's old enough to let things happen as they will and young enough to stop thinking about responsibility for a brief moment.
Feeling more like a spectator than participant, he trails his own fingers in the space Ryoma's have accommodated for him. Tezuka expects Ryoma to seize at the intrusion, but he only takes himself faster. Ryoma's fingers scrape against his, as they move recklessly against the slow rise of his. When Tezuka or Ryoma, who knows, hits the right spot, Ryoma's lips form a caricature of an "o" and Ryoma stretches his limbs out, seized with pleasure. Impatiently, Ryoma withdraws his fingers and tries to bat Tezuka's away, but Tezuka only adds another, wanting to see that face again.
"Touché." Ryoma grounds out as he lets himself be impaled by long fingers, before he sinks down into his lap, directing him inside.
While Tezuka stiffens at the first contact, seized by the fact that this is actually happening, Ryoma moves in short, succinct movements. Tezuka wants to laugh a little. Ryoma looks motivated for once.
"Hey, you wanna help? I don't have much room to move," Ryoma says. Tezuka flushes hotly before he gets the picture.
"Like this?" he asks, thrusting his hips up in rough staccato movements. He pushes extra hard at one thrust, liking the sight of Ryoma caught off-guard and bobbling on his lap.
Ryoma hums in contentment and meets him down when he can, "Yes, that will do."
"This really was easier than I thought it would be," Ryoma says as he dresses himself. He starts by wiping himself off, in short cursory strokes, before buttoning his shirt and pants. His fingers move so deftly on the buttons that Tezuka can't help but be a little turned on again. He would look picture perfect, if not for the way his shirt sticks a little to his body and the stubbornly askew tie.
"Easy? What do you mean?" Tezuka asks, trying to be nonchalant as he does his own pants and tries to straighten his tie. Ugh, there's no hope there. It's bent and it won't fold neatly underneath his ruffled collar. Obviously done on purpose.
Almost as though he were capable of being contrite, Ryoma's fingers carefully undo the knot, before deftly restoring the knot in place as a means of apology. Impressed, Tezuka nods in approval. Perfectly executing his rather demanding standard of knots just by looking at it is no easy feet.
As he redoes his own tie (finally!), Ryoma tells him bluntly: "Well, if seemed obvious you wanted me, but I figured your inhibitions were stopping you, but I thought I had a chance when I saw you didn't take yourself as seriously as I thought."
Tezuka couldn't help but be stricken by the situation. Here he is, creative director of a company that bears his name, in a state of some sort of post-coital bliss with the unspoken object of his affection. He should feel guilty, he should feel dirty, he should at the very least feel a little mortified that he just had unprotected sex with someone whose sexual history is a complete question mark, but instead, he's just content. He's wanted this for so long, and apparently there was no use trying to hide it, because he was going to get found out. He can be serious later. Right now, he just wants something to eat to top off a good day at the office.
"Yeah, I guess you're right. Want to get dinner? I know a great Belgian place down the street."
Ryoma only gives him a small, secretive smile in response.