Seal It With a Kiss ⨳ Kishibe
"You want me to do this for you? Then tell me exactly what it is that you want."
notes: I came up with this idea for @akiniku back in like september when i was just beginning to sniff around the csm fandom for a favorite. Dom told me all about him and i fell in love and came up with this plot and *then* I read csm lol. 6+ months later, here we are T-T thanks to @cyancherub for reading through his characterization for me and for my past and future beta readers<3 (i know some of you havent gotten the chance i was just too excited) Idon’t know if i will ever be able to put as much love into a Kishibe fic ever again so lets try to appreciate this
warnings: female reader, longer than a drabble, alcohol, virginity loss + inexperienced reader, creampie, emotional manipulation, coercion but there's consent, age gap (like 30 years between them, fight me), trainee/mentor relationship, twisted savior complex, canonverse, piss (more about control than it is the kink)
Rules/BYF/DNI
Kishibe sighs. “That’s it for today.”
“Already?” You puff, sweat dripping down your temples, your blade lowering until the tip is pointing to the ground. “I could keep going.”
He sighs again, resisting the urge to rub the approaching headache from his temple. Kishibe will never understand the PSDH’s insistence of sending him all of their potentials. Their screening is usually decent enough to keep this type of student from beneath his weathered wings, but every now and then one will slip through. One like you. Earnest, hopeful, and far too willing to do the job. This ain’t the place for you, never will be. They set you loose on the streets and you’ll be some Devil’s next meal.
But it’s not his place to care. Not supposed to be at least. Makima won’t even tell him which Devils you have contracts with—but again, he doesn't care.
Kishibe ignores your mumbled complaints about cutting your training short, sighing under his breath. “Gonna need’a drink after this.”
He’s unprepared for you to pop up at his side, tilting your head as you ask if you can come with him.
“Why?”
The question seems to put you off. “Isn’t it good manners to take your juniors out after a hard day?”
Kishibe huffs at your coy tone, certain you’re just after a free meal. “That’s for juniors who’ve proven they earned it.”
That seems to put you off even more. “You don’t think I’ve earned it?”
“No.” His answer is short, clipped. Dark eyes watch intently as you deflate a little, that perpetually cheerful expression drooping into something he ultimately decides is an unsettling expression on a face like yours. He doesn’t care for it, unable to decide why.
“How’s this?” He grunts, pulling a cigarette from his pack and lighting up. “I’ll give ya a week.”
“A week for what? You're not supposed to smoke inside, you know.” A sulky tone meets Kishibe’s ears, your eyes tracking his lips and the flare of the cherry as he inhales.
He ignores the snipe. “You get close enough to me to take one of these away—” a twitch of his fingers has flaky ash fluttering to the linoleum, “—and I’ll take you out for drinks. That’s how you earn it.”
The sparkle is back in your eyes in an instant. Your sword tips back into its sheath, coming up on his left to give him a smile. "You got it, sir! You'll never smoke again. Just watch."
Kishibe rolls a shoulder, suppressing a groan at your chipper attitude. I'm getting too old for this shit. "We'll see about that, sweetheart."
He's ignorant to the way the words make you pause, moving for the door, ready to get in his car and drive to his regular dive bar. He needs the silence of the drive before he drowns himself for the night. Well, not so much silence as the rattling heating unit, the rush of passing cars, and music so quiet one might question why it’s even on. It’s simply the beginning step of the ritual he’s come to find most comforting, or numbing, on this job.
"See you tomorrow, sir?"
“Yeah.” He doesn’t even bother glancing back as the door closes behind him.
The autumn air clears his head a little as he finally escapes the hallways of the office. A cold breeze whips at his hair, bringing old scars and memories to mind as it bites at his skin. Kishibe takes a final drag of his cigarette and lets it fall to the pavement. He doesn’t stub it out, pulling out the collar of his jacket to fight the chill as he disappears into the evening crowd.
“That is not how this works.”
“There’s no way this doesn’t count!”
“Give them back.”
“I said you’d never smoke again, didn’t I? I didn’t think you of all people would want me to go back on my word.”
Kishibe takes a careful inhale through his nose, closing his eyes for a beat and convincing himself he won’t kill any of his trainees. He’s sent you to infirmiry more times than he cares to count with these training sessions, to bring home the apparently wavering point on your young dumb invicibility complex, but he knows where the line is. So when he opens them, Kishibe fixes you with the same intent stare that usually gets his subordinates to straighten up, or clingy women out of his apartment. Dark, unimpressed, unwavering.
You are painfully undeterred.
“I had to get close enough to take them from you. That’s what you said.” You stand in front of him, at a regrettably smart distance, looking mighty proud of yourself as you clutch the worn white box carefully in your fist. After five straight days of utter and total defeat, you’d made your move on the car ride over this morning instead.
“I said one, not the pack,” Kishibe drawls. “And you know damn well that ain’t the point here. Nickin' them from the car is not the same.”
You shrug, a familiar petulance beginning to saturate your tone. “Not my fault you weren’t paying attention. You said that kills people.”
Unprepared for the—still a smartass answer but—wisdom of your words, some of the intensity dissolves from his eyes. As if he really needed that reminder. He still has his doubts.
“No arguing that,” Kishibe sighs, scratching his neck. “Guess you get what you wanted. Drinks on me tonight.”
A triumphant smile brightens your face, but it doesn’t last. The barest moment later you find yourself flat on your back on the training facility’s floor, groaning at the impact.
Kishibe flicks his lighter, sparking his cigarette and taking a grateful inhale of sweet nicotine as he stands over you, impassive.
“But I’m still gonna make you earn it, sweetheart. Getting overconfident and lettin’ down your guard also kills people. Get up and block me next time.”
“Yes, sir."
He might have been harsher on you today than entirely warranted as he watches you wince and shift, trying to get comfortable in the weathered booth of his usual bar. But really, to go any easier on you would do you a disservice if you really are this hellbent on working in public safety. Part of Kishibe is hoping one training session—and soon—he’ll find your limit and you’ll realize you aren’t making the cut. At the very least he’d like you to settle for the civilian sector. Hell, Kishibe despises paperwork but he'd write your damn recommendation.
You’re peering around the dimly lit space. It's hazy with smoke, with a scent to match. He probably could have taken you somewhere nicer, but he really didn’t want to stray too far from his own comfort zone, so what the hell. This was your own idea anyways.
“Are you even old enough to be in here?” Kishibe asks suddenly, catching the eye of the bartender and tipping his head.
“I came of age a couple months ago.”
Kishibe cringes inwardly at your prideful tone. Fucking great. He eyes you as the bartender begins to edge out from behind the counter, watching as you glance around a little frantically for a menu. Shoddy place like this doesn’t really have one.
Kishibe gestures between the two of you before the man has to cross the bar completely. “My usual. Double for me.”
"What's your usual?" You ask curiously.
"Whiskey. Nothing fancy, just cheap and strong."
"Oh."
The glasses are placed in front of you and you give what Kishibe sees as an awkward smile at the bartender as your fingers wrap around the glass. He takes a grateful gulp, unable to help but notice you haven't made a move with your own.
"Not to your taste?"
"I don't know," you answer plainly, tilting the short glass and letting the amber liquid catch the light. "Never had it."
"Never had whiskey?" Kishibe hums, bored, taking another drink. The double is going fast. The familiar warmth has already settled in his chest, an old comfort.
"Never had alcohol."
Sucker punched with that information, Kishibe pauses and swallows the last of his glass before setting it down and signaling for a refill. He's far too practised to waste a drop of a drink he's paying for.
"Why are we here?" It's a shrewd question, a shrewd tone. "If you've never had alcohol, why were you so insistent on going out for drinks? Isn't that something you do with your friends?"
Your fingers tighten on the glass, a small pout forming on your lips. "Didn’t wanna do this with friends. Wanted my first drink to be with you, s-sir." Embarrassment coats your features as your words stumble off at the end, and you return to examining your still untouched drink.
Kishibe's refill arrives, another heaven sent double. He's getting the faint inkling that something else is happening here and he's far too tired to pick the answers out of you.
"Lemme get this straight," he drawls, leaning forward and jabbing a finger at you over the rim of his glass before bringing it to his lips. "You wanted your first drink out with a tired old man instead of your friends?"
"You're not tired!"
Your tone is scandalized, pitch rising high enough that it catches the attention of some other men seated nearby. The last thing he needs.
Kishibe scoffs, scar twitching as he fights a sardonic smirk. "Beg to differ sweetheart."
"You're not, you…you're—" your volume is back to normal, seemingly struggling with your words, and it's amusing if not slightly endearing.
"Lemme know when you think of something, I'll be here," Kishibe mumbles, drinking again, content to watch you squirm. "You gonna take that first drink? You got me here, like you wanted. Might as well."
That small smirk finally fights its way onto his lips as you give him the barest of glares. He usually doesn't see that look on you until you've gone an entire session without landing a single hit. It's cute.
"You're you. Don't gotta 'splain myself to you," you grumble, timidly lifting the glass to your lips.
"No, you don't," Kishibe rumbles in agreement, watching as you take your first swallow.
To your merit you don't splutter or cough, but a grimace splinters across your expression as you swallow and stare down at the glass in mild disbelief.
"This sucks," you announce firmly.
Kishibe barks out a short laugh and finishes his second drink. "I'll order ya something else."
He's reaching for your glass when you snatch it away from him.
"No, I'll finish it. This is what you usually get?"
"Yeah. But take it easy, that's a—" Kishibe stares, a little defeated as you down the glass. "Tha'sa sippin' whiskey."
"What's that mean?" You croak out, your face scrunching up despite your efforts.
"It means you're getting a glass of water before I get you anythin' else."
"Why?"
You'll thank me in the morning, Kishibe thinks grimly, not deigning to answer. Along with the next few rounds and the rounds after that, he also orders your water and some food, feeling abnormally generous. Maybe he just doesn’t want to deal with your grumbling tomorrow at training.
He can’t stop thinking how strange this is. It’s strange. You’re here in his usual booth, humming an odd tune while drinking his usual whiskey, when he’s here each night, usually alone. Kishibe feels the deep disturbance all the way to his roots, gnarled and twisted as they are.
Watching your face twist up at the taste again, Kishibe decides to slow down with some soju instead. Your eyes are getting blurry and your hands have settled into some kind of nervous habit, picking at the edge of the table as you try not to look at him. He doesn't understand your insistence here. Here at the bar, or anything else.
"Why are you doin' this?" He asks again, quiet.
You glance at him, blinking slowly as your gaze struggles to focus. Then you force a smile, sweet and pure as a Devil's heart. It's damn near chilling to see.
"'Cause I want to, sir."
"Bullshit." He's looked into you. Your family is alive, financially stable. You're not like most rookies joining up for the pay or the revenge. And from being around you he figures you aren't the type to do this for status. So it doesn't make sense.
Your smile fades. "What do you mean?"
"Exactly what I said. You're not cut out for this shit, kiddo. An' I think ya know it, too."
"It's my first night out drinking, how can you tell?"
"Don't play coy with me."
You stand sharply, unsteady, a look crossing your face that Kishibe can't read. Before he can speak again, you're sliding into the booth on his side.
"Then ask me directly, sir." You whisper, trying valiantly to meet his harsh stare, before eventually losing your nerve and fixing your gaze on the table.
Like Kishibe has any problem being direct. Fine then. He sets his glass down and turns his body to face you. "Why're ya training so damn hard to become a Devil Hunter when it's just gonna get you killed?"
Cheeks warming, you don't look at him again. "Every Hunter has their reason, or else they wouldn't be here. We don't gotta share them unless we want to."
Your words are halting, and slurred. Kishibe pushes your drink out of reach. A fifth of whiskey and bottle of soju between you both for your first night out was an oversight on his part, even if he had more than you.
"And you're not goin' to tell me?"
Head dropping into your palm, eyelashes fluttering, you peek up at him. "Not unless you can tell me why you care."
Kishibe pauses. He's got plenty of reasons, but he's not uncouth enough to say them to you. 'Cause he doesn't want to be wasting his time prepping meat for the chopping block. 'Cause booze is expensive and sleep is precious. He doesn't get enough as it is and he's sick at the idea of losing more. 'Cause every time one of his trainees dies, it feels like a new scar cracks its way across the already trampled fragments of his soul.
There's plenty of reasons he drinks himself nearly dead every night.
Your fuzzy eyes peer into his darkened ones and seemingly run into the wall that you know he's put up. "Then it's better you don't ask, sir. It’s important to me, that’s all you need’ta know."
So much for direct.
There's a silence at the table after Kishibe gruffly orders another drink, his mood for the night officially ruined. This is why he doesn't socialize with coworkers. Save people by day, check out at night. He lives for one fleeting peace; he'd rather be drowning in booze and laid up in the arms of whatever woman will put up with him.
And all he has right now is booze. He flags the barkeep. "Bottle for the road."
You shift to look at him. "Are we leaving already?"
"Yeah. You've had plenty."
There's no complaint, but there's no mistaking the look of disappointment on your face as he takes your arm and helps haul you to your wobbly feet.
"What's that look for?"
"I was having fun, sir."
"Stop calling me sir."
"Why?"
"Cause we're at a fucking bar. Sir is for work."
"Then what am I supposed to call you?"
"Just Kishibe."
He finally looks at you again and you're smiling and this time there's nothing to be unsettled about. "No honorific? You'll let me call you by name?"
"It's sir at work," Kishibe reminds, deadpan.
“And master in front of other hunters, I know,” you parrot cheekily, and Kishibe merely curls his lips in a temporary smirk.
“Damn right.”
"But not at work?" You prod, leaning into his frame heavily as the cold night air washes away the warmth of the bar.
"Then yeah, drop the honorific."
"Kishibe." His name leaves your lips as a wonder-filled giggle. The corner of his lip tugs further upward unwittingly in dry amusement. At least someone can salvage the mood for the night.
You poke at the bottle held loosely in his grip. "Can I have some of that?"
He passes it to you. "You don't even like the stuff."
An impressive amount of the amber liquid disappears down your throat before you groan in disgust and pass it back to him. "Sometimes we do stuff we don't like 'cause we get something out of it."
Kishibe hums at that. "And what do you get out of it?"
"'S a secret."
"A secret, huh? You seem to have a lot of those." He drawls, keeping you upright when you almost fall again. Yeah, he needs to find you a taxi or something. Neither of you are driving tonight. It's a little annoying, he meant to stop at the convenience store to get another pack of cigs before going home tonight. The crumpled empty pack is still in his pocket—he hasn't had one since this morning and Kishibe can feel the irritation in his nerves.
"What's your address kid?" He nudges you as the taxi pulls up, but your weight against his hip suddenly feels dead. "Are you—of course you are."
Kishibe's whole chest fills with his next sigh, and he quietly works to get you into the cab. The driver asks him where they're going and he actually has to think about it for a moment. He'd much rather prefer going back to his cozy little hideout, but it's a mess and much too small. Not to mention he absolutely does not want you knowing where it is.
Closing his eyes, Kishibe reluctantly mumbles out an address, and sinks even deeper into his bottle before the cab drops them off at the requested location.
He eyes you over as the elevator quietly ascends, one arm around your waist with yours around his shoulder to bear your weight. It's really no wonder you passed out, the scent of whiskey is just about crawling out of your pores. Between the two of you, Kishibe bets the elevator smells like a distillery.
The doors open into his “apartment”.
He doesn't like sleeping here. The place is too big, ceilings too high, furniture too fancy. All those high windows and modern grays and whites. It's perfectly clean and perfectly lifeless, set up for him by the PSDH. He's sure some bright-eyed big shot hunter in it for the money and high living would get a kick out of the place, but for a man like him the space is just obnoxious. But since his studio isn't an option, and Kishibe can't be bothered with taking you to a hotel, he figures you'd rather prefer one of his guest rooms instead.
Kishibe flinches and grumbles under his breath as the now empty bottle slips from his hand and clatters to the hardwood. You make a rather undignified snort as you startle to awareness. If one could call it that.
“Wha—” Your fingers cling to the sleeve of his jacket as you blink through the blur of your eyesight, struggling to find your footing. “Where’re we now?”
“My place.”
“You live here?”
“Technically.”
He hauls you towards the kitchen, somewhat a struggle with your uninhibited desire to swivel your head and scan the place as thoroughly as you were presently capable of doing.
“Not what I pictured.” You wobble and right yourself, slumping against the marble countertop. Kishibe pauses, making sure you’re gonna make a dive for his floor before he turns to pull open the fridge.
“Yeah well, me neither.”
“It’s so clean.” That earns you a grunt. “And modern.”
“You tryin’ to say something, sweetheart?” He sends you a look that sends a hot wave of embarrassment across your face.
“No! ‘M just sayin’...”
“Yeah, whatever. Here.”
You take the water bottle he pushes into your hands and open it, halfheartedly taking a few sips to ease the simmer in your cheeks.
Kishibe snorts when you put it down. “Nuh uh, finish that.”
You take another sip, trying to placate him. “‘M not thirsty though.”
Your eyes widen as he grumbles and steps closer, dark eyes narrowed. It’s impossible to muffle the noise of complaint on your lips as he tips the water bottle back, keeping your chin up with an uncompromising strength. "Tough. I said all of it."
The rough pads of his thumbs feel like fire on your jaw and he seems to have no idea how his proximity is setting you ablaze. You quickly swallow before you choke, or worse spill down your chin like a child. He doesn’t let go until you’ve finished the bottle—it’s impossible not to gasp for air as if you’ve breached the surface of a pool for the first time in minutes.
“Pretty good lungs.”
“I almost died—!” You wheeze, unappreciative of the joke, wiping your face with your arm.
“You were gonna be dead in the morning if you didn’t. Might as well get it over with.” Kishibe sets the empty bottle on the counter, unflappable.
“Hmph.”
You watch curiously as he grabs himself some water, noticing with a scowl that he doesn’t drink nearly as much as he forced on you. He reaches for a small bottle, rattling as he shakes a couple into his palm. “You’re not supposed to take those with alcohol.”
Kishibe gives you a dry look and pops the painkillers into his mouth. He can feel his head pounding already, his routine thoroughly interrupted. He can’t mentally check out with you still here, especially in this state. You look a little more solid now compared to your unconscious slump, but you’re still visibly swaying, blurred eyes drifting in and out of focus. Last thing he needs is for you to do something to yourself when he’s around. The paperwork for that would be the death of him.
He shrugs and nods for you to follow. “C’mon, sweetheart.”
You suddenly look nervous. “C’mon where?”
“Night’s over. Time for bed.”
You produce a shaky laugh. “What?”
Sweet fuck.
“You want a bed or the couch?” Kishibe takes applaudable effort to keep the exhaustion out of his tone. Honestly, you'd probably be better off with the couch, grateful for your mumbled little ‘doesn’t matter to me’. He's not sure of the state of any of the rooms, considering he's trashed them before. Whoever set the place up for him might have a cleaning service but he's never bothered to ask about it since he’s never here. “There’s blankets around here somewhere.”
Stepping into the living room he sees he’s right, a couple of soft looking throws draped over the back of a plush black sectional. You’re trailing close behind him, like you’ll get lost if you lose sight of him.
“Sit.” Kishibe says tiredly as you circle around the edge of the sectional, looking around curiously.
You listen and he grabs the other blanket off the far arm of the couch, tossing it and one of the pillows towards where you’re sitting. The pillow lands at your side, the blanket haphazardly in your lap, are you’re just staring at him as he settles on the other side, shrugging out of his suit jacket and letting that fall to the floor.
“Get comfortable, go to sleep,” Kishibe grunts, closing his eyes.
“You’re staying in here?”
He doesn’t read into the tone of your voice, keeping his eyes shut. “Someone’s gotta make sure you don’t choke on your own puke in your sleep.”
“‘M not gonna puke,” you grumble under your breath.
Kishibe wills in a sigh, listening to the rustle of blankets and what he assumes is you settling down. Only to tense as the cushion near him dips under weight. He opens his eyes to see you sitting you next to him and his eyes sharpen.
You cut him off, seeming to sense whatever biting remark is coming. “I’m not tired. Not good at sleeping in new spaces.”
“Well you need’ta try.”
“Can we just talk for a bit?”
He sighs, but he doesn’t refute you, opening his eyes to give you a quiet stare. “Fine. What do you want to talk about?”
Relying heavily on the lingering alcohol in your veins to gather the nerve, you scooch closer to his position on the couch, dragging the blanket with you. “You’ve really never had anyone over here? But Himeno says you never spend your nights alone.”
Kishibe eyes you warily as you enter what he considers his field of personal space, your knees barely brushing against his thighs. “I don’t normally spend my nights here. And you can tell Himeno she’s got better things t’do than gossip about my personal life.”
“So you spend the night at their place then?”
“Sometimes.”
“Are you really the womanizer everyone says you are?”
Kishibe glances up to see you even closer and shifts a little to give you a measured look, eyelids drooping in suspicion. “You really want the truth of that?”
“Yeah, ‘m hoping to hear something,” you murmur, heart racing as you place a hand on his abdomen. It stiffens under your touch, but he makes no move to stop you, so you toy with the button of his shirt.
“And what’s that exactly?” Shock receding, his mind catches up and he grabs your hand, keeping it from tracing its upward path.
“There’s something I’m hoping you can help me with, sir.”
“Kishibe.”
“Kishibe,” you correct, cheeks warming as you finally raise your eyes from his chest to look into his own. He’s watching you so closely that you almost look away again, almost chickening out.
His eyes are locked onto the way you’re chewing at your lip, waiting for you to say something more, hoping for anything that makes sense. When you don’t his patience thins enough to ask, “Well?”
“I-um,” you hesitate before your fingers curl into his shirt, mentally fortifying yourself, “I’ve never… I’m looking for someone experienced to- to help me. I want it to be you.”
There's a small pause as his whiskey-addled mind filters out the meaning of your words. Then, a small disbelieving smirk is half-formed on his lips when he scoffs out a laugh. “Ha, no, sweetheart. No, I don’t think so.”
He’s shifting to stand up off the couch when you panic. You’ve gotten this far! He has to hear you out, or you’ll never be able to look him in the eye again, let alone train under him. So before he can, you throw your thigh over his lap, straddling him. His hands flash to your arms in an iron grip, keeping your hands from wandering any further. He’s staring at you in muted disbelief, tense, as if he can’t quite believe you’re defying him.
“Please wait,” your voice raises in pitch, but you’re almost whispering. “I can explain, please just listen.”
“What? Cute little student girl got the hots for teacher? Or are you desperately in love with me now, and can’t bear the thought of anyone else sullying your innocence?” he drawls out, the insanity of this situation finally allowing him to release the floodgates on all the ill manner he’s been attempting to keep back all night.
Your face might as well be a space heater as you splutter in mortification at being seen through so easily, trying to find the words to refute him. “N-no! No, I wasn’t. That’s… That’s not…”
“You better clear this up real quick then, sweets, cause you don’t have long before I take it into my own hands,” Kishibe warns lowly, soft and dangerous, seconds from calling a cab to get you miles away from his apartment, and more importantly him.
The hard-eyed stare he’s giving you now is nothing like the way he looks at you in training. Your heart sinks into your stomach at the thought that entertaining your feelings is enough to make him react this way, turning him into this colder version of himself that you barely recognize. This is not going the way you intended, but you can’t imagine that you’ll ever be in a situation like this ever again, so you take a deep breath and clear your expression of all deceit. “It’s not like that, but I really can’t think of anyone else to help me with this. It’s not for lack of trying.”
Kishibe eyes you, his grip on your arms not slacking. You glance down at him warily, and he’s like a bristling cat that’s making an attempt at trust.
“So…? Will you help me?”
He mumbles eventually, still tense, “Why not Hayakawa? Or one of the other rookies, they’re probably better suited.”
You make a face. “The rookies are stupid, and Hayakawa-san is just too… stern.”
“I’m not stern?”
“That’s not the point!” You retort hotly. “Hayakawa just seems more like someone who isn’t interested in casual flings—”
“And that’s what you’re looking for here?” Kishibe cuts in drily, noting the way your mouth snaps shut. You shift awkwardly in his lap and he stoutly blames his nightly routine for the way his body is sluggishly perking to life. He might have the heart of a saint, but his mind is more like a devil’s… and he has eyes.
Oblivious to his internalizations, you grimace. You don't want casual anything so it's technically a point in Hayakawa's favor. But there's one big point in the younger man's (begrudgingly small) list of cons that can't be overlooked: he's not Kishibe.
“I’m looking for someone who knows what they’re doing,” you inform him, your voice softening. There’s a sort of vulnerability to you now that has the older man caving despite himself and listening more intently, watching you whiplash between assertive and shy for the nth time. “Someone I trust, who won’t take advantage of me. And… I don’t believe the whole sacred virginity schtick, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want my first time to be… I don’t know, special?”
Kishibe’s mouth runs dry, and this time he blames the alcohol. “This isn’t a good idea.”
“Don’t say that,” you plead softly, leaning closer without thinking in your excitement. That wasn’t a refusal. “It doesn’t have to be a big deal, I don’t have anyone else to ask.”
He can feel your breath on his cheeks, his eyes bouncing between your lips and eyes for a moment before humming low. “No one else? A girl like you, having to settle for an old man like me?”
"No one has to know. Please, sir?" You plead quietly, with crystal notes of sincerity. It's a painfully sweet sound.
Kishibe reluctantly lets your arms slip from his hands and drops his own to loosely grip your waist, absently drawing a pattern on your hip with one finger. The heat of your body is filtering so thick through your clothes that he doesn't know how he didn't notice it until now. You shiver at his touch, and he tries to keep his expression neutral when you instinctively grab at his shoulders.
He shouldn't be considering this for even a second, but he is and he hates himself for it. You're a young pretty thing, and he's made a point to stop looking at young pretty things the way your touch is sparking him to, for going on years now.
Carefully, one hand moves to rest on your stomach, caressing its way up over your covered chest, eliciting a soft gasp from you before it moves on and settles under your chin, firmly tugging it down to make sure you're looking at him. He's never cared for the way you can't look him in the eye, and he normally lets it go but he won't tolerate it tonight. If he goes through with this, that is.
Your eyes are wide, and glazed in a way that has nothing to do with alcohol for the first time tonight. Kishibe makes a low sound in his throat at the sight of it before speaking, a heavy, rumbling tone meant to ensure you're taking in every word.
"You want me to do this for you?"
"Yes." Your breath catches as you damn near breathe the word out, your heart in your throat and a flutter in your stomach that makes you feel like you might fly away.
"Then tell me exactly what it is that you want." Fuck, he’s really doing this.
"I…" The hesitation must be clear on your face because his expression gets heated, a tiny smirk forming at the corner of his lips. You wouldn't have seen it at all if you weren't staring at them so hard. A quiet moan spills from your lips as he presses them to your jaw, not quite kissing, but dragging them up, warm breath tickling your ear. The center of your world quakes as he continues with that low, soul-quaking tone.
"Do you want me to treat you like a princess? Worship your body and make it all about you, take you to another world as I take you apart?" Kishibe marvels at the broken whimper you make as he grazes his teeth across your earlobe. "Or do you want me to be a little selfish? Show you pleasure as I know it, and change everything you think you know about carnal desire?"
"Sir—"
"No," he warns severely, gripping your thigh in warning, pulling back to look you in the eye.
"Kishibe," you correct yourself with a breathy whine that you hope doesn’t sound ridiculous. "Kishibe, I want you to choose."
"You want me to choose?"
"Th-that's why I chose you. You always- always know what's best."
That's so far from true, but in this realm of possibility, with you blinking those sweet little doe eyes down at him, Kishibe won't be the one to correct you. "...Alright."
"Then please take care of me." Please.
This time it's him who shudders. "Alright," he murmurs again, "Alright, sweetheart. I've got you."
He’s a little gentler this time as he tugs your chin down to him, meeting your lips in a delicate kiss that has all his nerves standing to attention in a way he hasn’t felt in a long time. With other women, he has no reason to be slow or gentle. With other women, both parties know what they’re there for, but this isn’t like that. You aren’t like that. You’re young, and if you’re to be believed, untouched. Pure. And you’ve put yourself in his care, begging for him to remove that purity. He’s not sure he ever would have agreed to this if he were sober, so you lucked out. Or maybe this is what you wanted all along.
Kishibe groans softly as you timidly move to respond to his kiss, alcohol sweet on your breath. You at least seem to know what to do here, parting your lips and staying pliant as he learns how you taste, moving your tongue against his as he explores your mouth. He breaks for a moment, giving you a warning and enough time to stop him, tugging at the hem of your shirt. “I’m taking this off now.”
He waits, and when you do nothing but moan, he begins to pop the buttons of your shirt open, one by one from the bottom up, exposing your navel, and then the black cotton bra beneath. You kiss him deeper as he slides a hand up your spine, rocking your hips into his lap as he pulls at the clasp, undoing it in a practised move. The fabric falls loose, and he presses a hand to your sternum, forcing you to retreat.
Your lips are slick, a little swollen, but it’s the hazy look in your eyes that has all his attention. “You good, sweets? You even gonna remember this in the morning?”
“I will. I will, 'm promise. Please keep going,” you slur, not really giving him the best vote of confidence.
“Take that off for me.” Kishibe tugs loosely at your bra, the cups hanging just low enough for him to get a peek at your areolas. His cock is straining in his slacks now, but he’s too invested for it to be uncomfortable yet. He meant it when he said he was going to take you apart, and he’s going to do it slowly.
You blink at him, and timidly slide the straps off your shoulders. Your movements are slow, but there’s less hesitance than he’s seen so far. It’s clear you’re more worried about his disapproval than any insecurities you might have. Good.
“Good girl. Look at you,” Kishibe is quick to dole out the praise as soon as your tits are exposed, half for your confidence and half because they really are pretty tits. He’s reaching for them before even he can process what he’s doing. Your nipples are already hard, pulled taut and looking painfully neglected, either from your own arousal or the air. It could be cold in here for all Kishibe knows, but the air around him feels thick, heated and charged. He’d be suffocating if he weren’t so focused.
You take a shuddering breath as he holds them. His touch is so light, the pads of his fingers calloused and warm, stroking over the sensitive flesh. You want more, arching into his touch as much as you dare, still unable to shake the thought that he might change his mind and end this, but for now he doesn’t disappoint. Dazed, you realized the sharp gasp that bites the air is yours as he strokes the pads of his fingers over your nipples before tugging lightly, pleasure rippling hot under your skin.
Your head tosses back in a moan as he does it again, this time his lips brushing the curve of your breast as he pulls you forward, pressing your chest closer to his face. He sucks at the fat of your breasts, still gently tweaking your at your hardened nubs, working his way over, seemingly content to explore.
Pleasure moves hot and slow under your skin, but your mind keeps rocketing from one sensation to another, making it impossible to think beyond the man beneath you. His slick tongue moving against your skin, the heat and wet of it stroking over the edge of your areola, the rough pad of his thumb, the scrape of his blunt nail over the sensitive tip of your nipples, the same callouses gripping at your back, fingertips tickling the edge of your shoulder blade.
“Quit it,” Kishibe grunts after a minute, and you realize you’ve twisted your hands into his hair, tugging him closer and trying to drag him to where it feels like he’s purposefully avoiding.
“Please, Kishibe, please,” you moan, blissfully unaware of the minor tantrum you’re throwing at you grind down on his clothed erection. “Your mouth.”
“What about it?” He blinks at you lazily, taking the moment where you sit back to tug at the top few buttons of his own shirt, exposing the top of his chest and a peek of the dark hair that’s hidden beneath.
“Let… Let me feel it,” you breathe out after you’ve snapped your eyes away from that new detail.
The slow grin that spreads across his features feels like the first key in the series of locks that surrounds the man in front of you, a piece of him that he doesn’t share willingly. Something that has to be brought out, dragged out, a prisoner in a cage of its own making.
“Be more specific, sweets.”
But he’s still the same man, he just exists in varying shades. You squirm for a moment, subject to self-consciousness, but the ache in your nipples, growing tighter in the continued neglect, wins out. You cup your own tits, pushing them out as you lean back down to him. “Want it here. Need to feel you suck on them.”
An appreciative gleam brightens dark eyes. “There’s a good girl.”
This time Kishibe leans in with intent, and you learn something else—your mentor is a goddamn tease.
His tongue drags over your nipples before sucking, and your hands are tangled in his hair again before you can process it, a cry in a pitch you don’t even recognize torn from your mouth. The slick muscle flicks over the tip as his free hand comes up to roll the other between his fingers lightly. You’re shamelessly rutting into his lap now, senselessly chasing the pleasure boiling low in your stomach, and you can feel him moan against your skin at the friction.
You feel the scrape of his teeth, light and intentional, before he pops off and switches to the other. The treatment begins anew and you swear you might be able to come from this, the wet suction of his mouth, the tacky warmth as he tugs and twists at the nipple still covered in his spit. But Kishibe doesn’t let you, noting the frantic ruts of your body and beginning to slow his efforts, easing you back down.
“Wait—” Your complaint rears itself as your fingers twist into the shorter hair of his nape, trying to tug him closer the moment he pulls away.
“Easy, I’m not done with you,” he rasps, taking your wrists and gently detanging your fingers from his hair.
You yelp as he grips your thighs and flips your back to the cushions, a strength you already knew he had from all the times he’s stomped you in training, but it surprises you regardless. There’s no time to pick through your thoughts at the display, because Kishibe is bullying between your thighs and capturing your lips in a kiss that puts the last one to shame. It’s possessive, it’s plundering; erasing any other thought from your mind except the way he feels against you. How immovable he feels, his hips keeping your thighs spread, his obvious arousal against your core, his weight against your torso—whatever isn’t supported by his forearm against the cushions, just what he chooses to give you—the scratch of his stubble against your face, the ones he lets overgrow because they shadow his jawline again in less than a day.
You moan into his mouth as a hand slips between your bodies, pulling the button of your slacks and pushing a hand into your panties, the sound turning into a high keen as he drags his fingers through your slit. You know you’re wet, soaked even, but it’s still a shock to feel your own wetness as he pulls back out, slick against your mound before he’s free of your clothing, to see it shining on his fingers when he pulls back to give you a breath. You knew you wanted him, but to see how much would be mortifying if he knew the truth.
The glisten on his fingers goes unnoticed for a second as he catches sight of your wrecked expression, sitting back on his haunches.
“Oh sweets, look at you,” Kishibe chuckles, voice tight. “You’re a pretty sight right now, and you don’t even know. A sweet little mess. My sweet little mess, for tonight.”
Making a decision, he swipes his hands on the thighs of his pants and undoes his shirt, tossing it over the back of the couch, aware of the way you stare from beneath him. He's getting there in years, but the aches of this job refuse to let his body go soft. There's a thin layer of soft skin stretched across the muscles beneath, making the definition less pronounced, less assuming, but there's no denying the power behind them as he flexes subtly, smirking when your eyes track the movement.
"Hips up," he orders firmly, his fingers already tugging at the waistband of your slacks.
Not needing to be told twice, you shift and raise your hips as he pulls them from your legs, panties and all. You're completely bare under him, and he's still wearing his pants, the button popped, looking like a god above you. His eyes are piercing, his expression set like marble. As he puts hot palms on your thighs, spreading them even further apart, you think about how attractive he looks when he smokes, almost wishing he had a cig hanging from his lips so you could see it.
Kishibe is staring intently at your pussy, the hunger in him growing deeper as he watches the muscles twitch. "So no one's ever touched this, huh?"
You shake your head, whimpering as he pulls your sticky lips apart.
"You lying, sweetheart? Not even you?"
Kishibe pulls back the hood of your poor swollen clit, stroking it lightly with the tip of his finger, dark eyes watching your face intently.
The touch rips a gasp from your throat like ice had been poured down your back, tossing your pretty little head back into the pillows as your fingers twist at what little slack the cushions beneath you have. Kishibe feels the flames of hell crawl a little closer to his own flesh as his arousal flares dangerously at the sight.
When you remain silent he prompts a little cruelly for an answer, slowly circling the throbbing bud. "Hmm?"
"I've-yeah I've touched it. Sometimes."
"Tell me."
"Tell you?" You suck in a harsh breath as one of his digits teases your entrance, but pulls away.
"Yeah, tell me how you touch your pussy at night. I wanna know how you play with yourself." His voice drones with detached amusement but his dark eyes are sharp, the sight making your skin prickle with elation to be the center of his attention.
“Usually slow,” you breathe out, moaning when he moves to your clit again. Two fingers press on the bundle of nerves and begin to rub back and forth in a steady tempo.
“Like this?” Kishibe murmurs, watching you closely.
“Slower,” your voice breaks an octave higher as he increases the pressure just a little, readjusting to what you now realize are instructions for him. “Y-yes, mm, like that…”
“Good. How about your fingers, hmm? You do that slow too?”
You can feel yourself dripping down to the couch as his voice drips across you like honey. “Yeah, at first.”
“One to start?”
“Fuck!” A keen tears from your throat as he slides the first digit in, abandoning your clit, the thick, calloused digit pressing in to the hilt with zero resistance.
“Or do you start with two?” Kishibe watches raptly as his middle joins his pointer in the rippling warmth of your cunt, the broken sob leaving your lips sending a irresistible wave of want tearing through his body. The way your hips grind into his touch, chasing more of him is enough to let him know that you can take more, but he lets you stay here for a moment, using his free hand to stroke over his confined cock as you writhe beneath him.
It’s not hard to find the right angle to stroke your slick walls, curling his fingers up into the spot that has you tossing your head back with what almost sounds like a mournful wail, as if you’re just realizing that you’ve never really given yourself real pleasure before. Kishibe isn’t sure if you have to be honest, you haven’t said, but he isn’t concerning himself with that. He’s too focused on the way you shy away from his touch when he presses his thumb to your clit again, as if you can’t take the combination.
“Oh?” It’s almost a coo, delight pulsing in his veins. “Not like that huh? That not how you do it?”
“I can’t, I can’t—it doesn’t, n-never like this!” It almost sounds like you’re pleading with him, your eyes wide as you stare at him, a thick haze of shock and bliss covering your irises that Kishibe is losing himself in, pumping his wrist, tempted to add a third finger just to see what sounds you’ll make.
“Told you I’d change everything you think you know about pleasure, sweetheart.” He pulls his digits from your pussy, relishing in the whine of protest. And if he’s being honest with himself, there’s a bit of a power complex rushing through him, to be able to control your pleasure whether you think you can handle it or not is too alluring. It’s the thought of making you scream, nothing barred, as he forces ecstasty on you that you don’t even know exists on that has him pushing off the couch which a groan to finally free his cock, shucking his pants off, the liquor leaving him a little unsteady.
“Sit up for me.”
You do as he says, confusion scrunching you expression as he settles between your legs, his knees protesting only a little as he shifts so that the plush carpet isn’t dragging uncomfortably against his skin. A little yelp stays in your throat as he tugs you to the edge, spreading your thighs wider and positioning your hips up to expose your pretty pussy. He’s only a breath away, the scent of you thick, kissing distance really, when you slur out some nonsense that sounds questioning, but he can’t say he actually catches any sense of syllables from you.
“I’m thicker than most so you need this,” Kishibe grumbles, nipping at your inner thigh as you squirm and glaring you into submission, “But even a man with a pencil dick better be doin’ this for ya, so don’t accept less.”
Before you can come to terms with him on your knees before you, your mind fizzles out as his tongue swipes through your folds, and his groan vibrates deep into your core. If not for his hands keeping your thighs spread, you would have wrapped them around his head. His nose nudges at your clit as his tongue presses into your clenching pussy, and you can’t stop the garbled sound of pleasure as he laps at your walls, your head tossing back against the couch cushions as he eats you like a meal. It’s surreal, it doesn’t make a lick of sense but oh god you don’t care. The sounds of him slurping at your cunt makes your cheeks burn and you force yourself past your self consciousness to look down at him, the skin of your knuckles stretched tight as you curl them into shaking fists, trying to wrap your mind around the sensations.
Kishibe flattens his tongue over your clit, and meets your gaze with a wicked gleam in his eyes as he slips a finger into you, savoring the way you clamp down right away, giving a reedy mewl. He can’t help himself any longer, one hand closing around his dick and beginning to slowly stroke himself, trying to go slow, to ease some of the pressure and calm himself down. He adds another digit, and sits back as he begins to work you towards your finish.
“Should’ve done this in a bed,” he mutters under his breath, the scent of your pleasure thick, feeling mildly guilty as you tremble through your long awaited awaited high. Even his first encounter had been in a bed, traditional.
Kishibe hisses into your thigh as your fingers twist so tight into his hair that he’d snap at you if he were anywhere but here. Here with his fingers sweeping over your clit, watching the way your muscles ripple and tense, an obscene amount of slick and cum dripping onto his couch, and damn it why are you so easy to spoil? Why is he letting you practically rip the hair from his head as your hips jolt and jump, pleasure taking every ounce of your control away from you. There’s a wet sound as he finally pulls his fingers from your cunt, and you slump against the cushions, a looking so beautifully fucked out that it’s a damn shame you haven’t actually been fucked yet.
But that’s what you came here for, and Kishibe will not be the one to disappoint. He pushes to his feet for a moment and drags your hips until you’re both on the couch comfortably, and lets himself sink between your legs, his dick hot and throbbing against your inner thigh. It’s weeping precome and there’s a shivering sense of relief to know that his patience is finally about to be rewarded.
“You still with me, sweets?” Kishibe murmurs softly, leaning over you, letting his lips drag up your throat in a possessive trail of teeth marks and bruises. “You ready for me?”
The prickle of his overgrown stubble brings you back down a little, and you moan as his tongue swipes over the indentations left in your flesh. “That was—” you gasp at a sharp dig of his teeth under your jaw, hips arching towards him as you feel the weight of his dick between your slick folds, thoughts flying from your mind as the thick tip of him slides over your oversensitive clit. “Oh fuck, Kishibe please. I need y- I need it, oh god.” Maybe this wasn’t a good idea. Maybe he really is going to ruin you. You can’t imagine anyone else ever making you feel this good, so overwhelmed but so hungry for it.
“Good fucking girl,” he whispers, and your body lights up as he shifts back a little, the head of his cock pressing against you and easing inside your desperate walls. He grins as your arms wrap around his shoulders, lips searching for his as your hips try to squirm deeper onto his cock. He meets you in a deep kiss, but he grips your hips firmly, sliding deeper into your clenching pussy at his own content pace, groaning into your mouth at how hot and wet you are. So tight, so so tight, that he can’t stop the juvenile thought about being sure you were a virgin from flitting through his mind, but he lets it go, not about to sully this experience for you with his own pussy drunk stupidity, closing his eyes and falling deeper into the kiss, forcing you to slow it and calm down for him, echoing your whimpers with tiny groans of encouragement.
His thrusts are as steady and measured as they can be with the way your walls suck him in, pussy lips stretched wide around the thicker middle of his shaft. Every time he pulls out he can feel the way your body is trying not to let him go, and every sink home is accompanied by a shaky little exhale from you that sets a fire so deep in his gut that Kishibe is sure the whiskey is the only reason he hasn’t fallen to pieces yet. You’re so pretty and needy sprawled about beneath him, so sunk to pleasure that you’ve resigned to just taking what he gives you and it’s addictive. His cock throbs as he listens to your mumbled little slurs about how good it feels, and he has to pause, breathing deep and hard as he wills down a sudden and fierce urge fill you with cum.
Kishibe chuckles as he sits up and you let out a whine of disapproval, but a slow roll of his hips changes your tune immediately. You’re sucking him in greedily, your clit swollen and damn near begging for attention. He brushes it gently with the back of his knuckles, hissing as you squeeze him in response, getting impossibly wetter around his length. “Doing so good for me, how are you feeling?”
“More, want more.” It’s barely intelligible with how breathless you are, tears leaking from the corners of your eyes down your temples. Your face is so sweet, so open, trusting and needy and suddenly Kishibe can’t find it in himself to draw it out on you any longer, is done handing out pleasure piece by piece, as if he were passing out candy to savor. He wants to pour pleasure over you, wants you to drown in it, to fall so deeply into it that there’s nowhere to surface to, lost in an endless sea.
One strong arm slides under your hips and pulls you up into a better position, fingers digging into your hip as Kishibe begins to fuck you in quick, steady strokes. His forehead is pressed to your chest, cheek in plush of your breast as he controls his groans, a dark satisfaction choking out the last tendrils of guilt as your fingers desperately weave their way back into his hair once more, cradling his head tightly to your chest. There’s no more irritation; the sharp sting feels like a fucking prize, knowing that the price is an overwhelming pleasure that he can feel through you. You feel so good around him, responding so well to his movements, angling your own hips and moving back into his thrusts, that he can’t stop a continuous stream of curses and praises from melting into your skin.
“You’re doing so fucking good for me sweetheart, so good. Squeezing me so tight, wrapped around me so perfect. You feel good? Everything you fucking wanted, hm?” He bites at the flesh of your chest as you tighten around his dick, goosebumps rising visibly across your skin.
You feel like a live current, so electric and buzzing with energy and it feels like there’s nowhere for it to go, zipping up and down your body only to return, shivering and sparking deep in your belly. You try to articulate that this is way more than you ever thought you could ask for, but all that comes out are bitten hiccups of his name and yes and please please please.
Kishibe is more than happy to oblige, grunting and groaning in his throat, way past the point of feeling guilty that you’re losing your virginity on a goddamn couch, too caught up in your drunken slurs, more from pleasure than whiskey.
He grins as your fingers clench around his bicep, scrabbling as you gasp out, "Ohh, nngh—Sir wait, wait! Please I'm gonna—"
"Go ahead, sweetheart." Kishihe groans, feeling the rippling constrictions of your sweet pussy drag him closer to the edge.
"No, I'm—I'm gonna pee! Please."
Kishibe’s s head picks up off your chest immediately, and his thrusts stuffer. "Yeah?" You watch panting as his eyes sharpen, hips coming to a full blessed stop. You feel a bare moment of relief before its ripped away and he's moving again, fucking you a little faster than before. "Then go ahead."
You give a wordless cry, shame and pleasure clamoring in the shrill note, your head shaking back and forth in denial. You can't hold it, not if he does that.
"No?" Kishibe feels like the Devil himself as he shifts his angle into a grind, still fast and controlled, watching your features twist as you keep fighting to hold it back. "Am I not making you feel good?"
"Sir!" Your whine draws the title out, panicked, but your knees dig tightly into his hips, your body at least betraying you. Kishibe works a hand under one of your thighs and presses it towards your chest. One of his palms drags down over your tits, stroking down your stomach to put a gentle pressure over your pelvis. Your eyes fly wide and a moan is forced from your lips as the awful urgency thickens, bliss flooding close to the surface.
"If I press here you won't be able to stop it."
Kishibe's stare catches your glazed eyes, dark and hungry. His orgasm is approaching steadily now, pleasure whispering selfish instruction in his ear, and he's unable to help but listen. "You'll come so hard it won't matter anymore. What's a little mess for some pleasure, hm sweetheart? If you want it just tell me."
Your breath catches. His dick keeps hitting that spot in you that makes it impossible to think rationally. He's making you feel so good, goading you in that voice of his that you've worshipped fervently night after night in your apartment, a pillow as your altar.
The voice in your head is screaming no. It's pee. He'll think you're disgusting and you look up to him so much. You don't want him to associate you with something like this, to so thoroughly debase yourself. But he's making you feel amazing, his cock bullying all your softest parts with undefinable experience. You've heard the gossip about how your mentor likes to spend his nights, but how are you supposed to complain when he's making you feel like this? And he's the one saying you can p—
"Get outta yer fucking head and come for me, girl." Kishibe growls through his teeth, palm pressing down firmly, calloused thumb spreading over your neglected clit.
You shatter and cry out, clutching at him tightly, no room for apologies as you tear red lines down his back. Warmth gushes against his pelvis, but the hot shame holds no candle to the blistering pleasure crackling across all your nerves. Listening to Kishibe groan and curse, the feel of him breaking down into something more genuine as his hips snap roughly into yours in chase of the bliss you’re already neck deep in, you’ve never felt more satisfied. He finishes inside you with a deep grunt and your insides flutter again at the milky warmth, your leg curling tight around his ass because you want all of it, you don’t want it to end yet.
But finally, his cock twitches one last time inside you and begins to soften, and Kishibe collapses on top of you with a little puff. You’re damn near ready to purr in happiness at the full weight of him across your body. His cheek rests between your breasts, but you’re unbothered by the scratch of his stubble as his breathing gets deeper, steadier.
Both of you are covered in sweat, cum, and other unspeakables but you’ve never been so comfortable. His softened cock slips out of you, and one of his arms slips under your waist and you feel your heart thud unevenly as he moves to his side and pulls you closer. His head is still buried in your chest, your one leg tangled between his thighs and your other draped over his hip. His eyes are closed, breathing deep and you find it in yourself to cautiously run your fingers through his hair. Kishibe gives a soft, sleepy rumble of contentment and you glow.
The feel of his hair between your fingers is the last thing you remember before the most luxurious drag of sleep tempts you into its clutch of darkness.
You wake somewhere you don’t recognize, your head thick and pounding awfully. You blink slowly in the low lighting and try to sit up, but your head spins and the pain increases so you let yourself fall back with a low whimper.
You turn on your side, fingers curling into the soft covers over you. Last night had been amazing, but you’re certain you had passed out on on the couch, and as you peer around the curtain-darkened room, it’s easy to tell it’s not the same. You don’t remember being moved; you’d like to say you would have woken up if someone had, but even you can smell the alcohol seeping from your pores.
Heart pounding unevenly, you try to calm yourself. You’d been dressed in a soft pair of boxer briefs and a tshirt far too large for you, and while you still feel a little bit sticky, you honestly had expected far worse—someone had tried to clean you up. Your heart starts to race now, fluttering and far too fast at the idea of Kishibe taking care of you. Those are a lot of extra steps to take for someone who preached respectable distance.
“There’s painkillers on the nightstand.”
You finally manage to sit up at the promise of pain relief, seeing the foil tablets and a glass of water, and glance at Kishibe in the doorway, looking about as disheveled as you expect you do. He’s in a loose tshirt and a soft, worn looking pair of sleep pants, blinking sleep and liquor from his eyes as he peers in at you.
“I’m gonna shower, you should too. There’s towels in the bathroom there.” He nods his head deeper into your room and you see another doorway, probably leading to the bathroom. “And you’re out of luck on breakfast. All the place has is coffee and water.”
Your stomach gives a displeased turn at that, desperate for something to offset last night’s alcohol. Before you can say anything, not even so much as a thank you, Kishibe turns and shuffles down the hall.
Slowly, you ease out of the bed and gratefully swallow down half the water before even glancing at the pills, but your screaming head does make sure you toss them back as well, before you peek down the hallway your mentor had disappeared down. You hear the sound of running water and follow it, wandering through the doorway to the room he obviously slept in last night, the bed an unkempt mess of blankets. The door to the bathroom is closed, and there’s already steam filtering through the gaps.
Letting an uncharacteristic determination carry you forward, you open the door and begin stripping off your clothes.
“Get out, sweetheart.” Kishibe’s voice sounds tired and distant, filling you with nerves that you refuse to let show on your face as you ignore him slip into the shower.
He’s working soap through his hair, leveling you with a deeply unimpressed look that would have sent you skittering before last night, before he called you his sweet little mess, before he called you good fucking girl. You take a deep breath and speak your mind.
"I want that again."
His response is flat, immediate. "Not gonna happen."
"Why not? Was it not good?" You look embarrassed and distraught at the thought and Kishibe heaves a sigh.
"How good it was has nothin’ to do with why we can't do this again."
“So you regret it?”
Kishibe isn’t sure where he stands on that yet. “Didn’t say that.”
"But then..."
"But what? I told you this was a bad idea didn't I? You should've chosen someone else. Anyone other than me."
You get a little salty at that. "I might be younger than you," Kishibe gives a sardonic huff "—but I'm still old enough to make decisions for myself."
"Old enough to make your own decisions, huh."
You shift under the water as he gives you a tired stare, his gaze sharpening into something more contemplative, glinting dangerously.
"So you're saying you want that again?" Kishibe questions calmly.
"Yes," you whisper, uncaring if it makes you sound desperate.
"If we do I've got some stipulations," he warns, voice low.
"Like what," your breath hitches as he leans closer, the water getting hotter against your back as he reaches past you to adjust the temperature.
"Well for starters," he grumbles, "I don't have any interest in going to your place. It's here or nothing."
"Fine." Your response is immediate, relief coloring your tone that you're not being immediately shut out.
"And this arrangement will be temporary, no matter how long it goes on," Kishibe continues slowly, his fingers coming up to pinch your lips together, cutting off whatever you were opening your mouth to say. "I'm not the kind of man that would treat ya like you're nothin'. I'm gonna tell you you're sexy when I've got you under me and I'm gonna clean up whatever mess I make of you, so I need to know you're not going to confuse common decency and respect with love, got it?"
You nod slowly, struggling to wrap your mind around the weight of his words. What he doesn't know won't hurt him, you just want more of whatever you can get. It's just a crush, maybe you'll figure out how to squash your feelings somewhere down the line. So you get a little hurt along the way, so what? You're not entirely sure how any of that is a problem and why he looks so serious.
"Anything else?" He hasn't spoken for a minute, but you can still see deep thought etched into his expression.
Kishibe glances at you, soap dripping from his hair down his neck. "Yeah, one more thing."
It's the most damning thing. Makima herself would be proud of him for this. This kind of thing is more her style, but he's already made it this far.
"Ya have to join the civilian sector."
He senses more than feels you stiffen behind him, closing his eyes and beginning to rinse his hair out as he waits for you to speak first. He's not blind, not anymore—after last night he'd really have to be to not understand the way you've been looking at him, probably since the beginning. Kishibe doesn't know how he didn't see it sooner, probably willful ignorance. But his eyes have been opened and he can't unsee it; you're a brat; you wear your heart on your sleeve, and for whatever reason…its flag is flying his colors. So he's going to use that, and you can thank him when you survive the year.
"Join the civilian sector?" Your voice trembles.
Kishibe glances down to see you chewing your lower lip. "Or quit. Find a cozy desk job somewhere. Either works."
"Why?" Your demand is fierce but it's weak; you look like a scruffy little kitten that needs shelter but too scared to come out of the rain. Kishibe can see you crumbling already, making his final stab. Why you'd want him this bad is beyond him, but dirty tactics have never been beneath him.
"If we're doin’ this, you're going to be available to me when I want you. Otherwise I can find others, like I've been doing. Finish up in here, and I'll make some coffee. Might as well go to the office together."
Despair crosses your features, and Kishibe lets the silence do the last of the work, stepping out of the stream and reaching for a towel. He makes quick work of drying off and getting dressed, bones aching for coffee. Curiosity pangs deep in his nerves as he wonders why killing yourself in Public Safety is even worth that expression, and why he’s equally as important as whatever it is. He tries to put it out of his mind and fails, fingers tapping on the expensive countertop.
As the coffee percolates, Kishibe hears the water shut off and the mental image of you stepping out of his shower flickers through his mind, ghosting along the memories of the way you felt beneath him last night. He tries and fails to admit to himself he’s not coming out entirely on top in this situation.
When you finally slip into his kitchen, dressed in your crumpled uniform from last night, you’re no longer wearing that brokenhearted little face, and Kishibe braces himself for whatever little pep talk you managed to give yourself while he was gone. He pushes a mug towards you and the sugar he somehow found while he was waiting.
“I have my own stipulations,” you grumble finally, accepting the mug without looking at him, spooning sugar into it. He wants to wince at the shriek of metal on glass as you stir, but he doesn’t.
“If I have to quit the hunter society to be ‘available to you’, then you have to be available to me.” Your eyes are a little heated as they finally meet his, and Kishibe gives a noncommittal hum. “Meaning you don’t get to sleep around. Just with me.”
Ah. Makima would be proud of you too, Kishibe muses to himself. He decides to let you feel that victory and puts on a show, feigning annoyance. He drums his fingers on the counter and gives you a dry, measured look. “What, sweetheart, want me to get tested or something?”
You rise to his bait, snapping a little. “Maybe that’s a good idea.”
“Fine.” He shrugs and sips his coffee. “Maybe you should too, since you’re so worried about my health.”
Embarrassment burns your cheeks at the thought of making that appointment, but you push through it. “Fine, I will. I’ll be needing to get on birth control anyways.” The barest hint of shock flickers through his expression before he slams it back to its usual tired smirk.
“Anything else?” He asks, sarcasm barely kissing the edge of his tone.
Your thoughts scramble to all the things you’d listed to yourself in the shower but with him looking at you like that, bemused, confident, smug, you forget most of them. You latch onto one thing and give him a glare. “I get a key. And I can sleep here whenever I want. I’m not waiting outside in the cold to be your booty call.”
Kishibe gives you a look and starts to pull a pen out of his jacket but changes his mind. He watches all the bravado and irritation drain from your expression as he steps into your space, melting into something else, something expectant, electric. He pretends he doesn’t see it, pretends that his blood doesn’t pick up at the sight of it, and whispers the passcode to the apartment, so close to your ear that he could bite it. Could.
He pulls back and listens to your shuddering exhale, tilting your chin towards him. “That’s for you only. I don’t give people access to my personal space, got it?”
You nod dumbly, eyes wide and body hot as his dark eyes flicker to your lips.
“Then I guess we gott’a deal, sweetheart.”
2K notes
·
View notes