#tojihigu

[lacquerheadd]

look at my client dawg i am not winning this case

[mrsblaileen]

⤷ ゛Facio ut facias

Pairing: Toji Fushiguro / Hiromi Higuruma

Higuruma has been a lawyer for a long, long time, and at this point in his career he's confident he's seen it all - but there's just something about his new client that makes the hair at his nape prickle. For someone standing accused of triple homicide and suspected contract killing at a local high end hotel, he seems perfectly at ease. It's as if he knows precisely which way the chips will fall, or perhaps Higuruma is finally losing his touch.

warnings. criminal!toji, defenseattorney!higuruma, hatefucking, top!toji, bottom!higuruma, unsafe sex, choking, canon-typical violence, anal sex and fingering, handjobs, desk sex, blackmail, corruption, bruises, slapping, implied mental issues/instability, mentions of blood/violence/gore/death. nsfw 18+ mdni.

✎ Words: 8.9k | Ao3 | Masterlist

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He’d expected arrogance, of course he had. You don’t blow a hole clean through the skulls of three mob bosses turned civilized business men without having some sort of back bone, or without some of the blood and cerebrospinal fluid rubbing off on you somewhere in the carnage. He’d seen it in nearly every coldblooded criminal he’d ever laid his eyes on, that same power tripped adrenaline. It was a symptom of it - the primal sort of thrill, satisfaction that only comes from the most innate form of domination; crushing a life beneath the grind of your boot like it was nothing. It was a dead giveaway every time, buzzing around a person like a swarm of flies, thrumming so hotly that you could smell it.

As he peered through the half-shuttered window into the interrogation room, there was that same undeniable hum of it hanging thick in the air. Hiromi could see it painting the edges of the man’s features as he sat motionless in a chair that seemed much too small for his hulking frame, if the way the warped plastic bowed beneath his weight was any indicator. It was laced in the lifted corners of his mouth, tucked just beside the faded pink scar.

Usually in your run of the mill common criminal, simmering just beneath that thin facade of pompous masculinity was cold hard fear, plain and simple. They’d try to hide it, but the stench of it was thick and cloying, a drop to the gut like the cold click of a magnum. Faced with the realization that the only thing that stood between them and a life spent staring out through pinstripe bars was a brilliant defense attorney, and a jury gullible enough to rule in their favor.

That’s what made Hiromi pause in the hallway, gazing blankly through the one way glass like the man sitting there had suddenly sprouted a set of shiny horns. The man’s expression held not a single lick of fear, in fact he didn’t seem uneasy in the slightest. Not from the itchy orange jumpsuit they’d somehow stuffed every inch of his muscled form into, nor the metal cuffs surely biting uncomfortably into his wrists. For someone standing accused of triple homicide and suspected organized contract killing, he seemed perfectly at ease. And when his head suddenly turned, jade green eyes peering lazily from behind slick glass as if he could feel the attention through the screen, lips still pulled into an easy smile, Hiromi jolted as if he’d been shocked.

He’d managed to settle himself back into his usual composed demeanor by the time he was stepping into the interrogation room. The door swung closed behind him and clicked with the chilling finality of a concrete slab sliding atop a coffin. Thanks to the pump of the automated air conditioning the air in the room was surprisingly cool, crisp and refreshing in Hiromi’s lungs as he took an indulgent inhale. He relished in the simple sensation, felt it reach the very edges of his chest cavity before he exhaled and ventured further inside. It was quiet, so quiet that he felt the back of his neck flush at the volume of his dress shoes tap-tap-tapping along the linoleum as he made his way toward the empty chair posed in the center of the room. About as inviting as an iron trap.

He made it a point not to lift his head enough to make eye contact as he crossed the floor. Instead fussing with an invisible loose thread on his tie, or the stack of papers in his arm, eyes studying the scratches worn into the tile from too many rough chair legs scraped overtop. He only resigned to lifting his chin when he was properly settled into the frankly uncomfortable chair opposite his new client.

“Fushiguro-san,” Hiromi greeted in a tone he hoped read as firm without being as dismissive as he felt, “I’ve been assigned your case. As of this meeting I will be acting as your defense attorney for the upcoming trial.”

Toji leaned back a little in his chair, eyes trailing from Hiromi’s face downward. Roaming past his jawline, the collar of his shirt - crinkled from when he’d snuck a five minute nap in an abandoned meeting room earlier that morning - and back up again. The entire reaction was slow, lazy, like a big cat might lounge in the sun after a satisfying meal. The image suited him, Hiromi thought. All sharp teeth and wild muscle moving beneath sleek fur, dark like liquid midnight.

“That’s a little rude, I don’t get an introduction?” Came Toji’s reply after what must have been at least three minutes, if the steady tick of the clock nailed to the wall above the viewing panel was anything to go by.

The reality of his voice surprised Hiromi a little. From his outward appearance Hiromi had already assigned something baritone, grizzled, war torn. True to his imagination, the tone was undeniably deep, though not quite as severe as he’d expected. There was a touch of softness beneath the grit too, like tattered velvet. It felt salacious against the shell of his ear, like the brush of lips, like if it touched him his skin might come away slicked in an oily sheen.

Hiromi felt a little pang of annoyance flare in his chest at the blatant nerve of the man, no, the suspected criminal lounged in-front of him, picking absentmindedly at a thumbnail like this was all some elaborate game.

“My apologies,” Hiromi began again, intending to introduce himself this time, “it’s-“

“There’s no need.” Toji interrupted, one large hand raised in the universal sign for 'stop talking'. The motion was accompanied by a metallic jingle which snatched Hiromi’s attention like the flash of a blade. The anchor looping both of Toji’s wrists to the table clinked gently, and his little plastic chair creaked with the effort.

The image forming in Hiromi’s thoughts shifted with the sound, in his minds eye a thick metal collar snapped into place around the imaginary black furred throat. And for some reason he couldn’t quite decipher, he closed his mouth and let the next words die out on his tongue.

Toji’s lips spread into a smile at that, and suddenly he shifted upright, leaning forward until his elbows dug into the table. The faded orange fabric of his jumpsuit crinkled where it was spread open wide at the chest, unzipped a touch too far to be proper, and the chain snaked along the aluminum tabletop with an earsplitting scrape. Hiromi fought the urge to let his eyes dip and follow the toned length of Toji’s throat, down past the zipper of his station issue jumpsuit to the plump expanse of chest laid sinfully bare there.

“It’s Higuruma, right?”

Hiromi felt his pulse quicken at the familiar sound of his name leaving the mouth of the stranger before him, a name he had certainly not offered. His nape felt suddenly warm, nervous system kicked into gear like his body had just sensed some unseen danger.

“Higuruma-san,” Hiromi corrected coolly, “please ensure you maintain standard formalities during our meetings.”

Toji watched him for a few seconds longer, chin resting atop his folded palms before he scoffed and raised his hands in mock defeat, easing back into his previous relaxed position with another melodic slide of chain.

“Sure, Higuruma-san,” he agreed, though Hiromi wasn’t quite dense enough to miss the mocking that edged his tone, “you’re the boss.”

“Good,” Hiromi nodded, trying not to sound as relieved as he felt. “Now tell me, what were you doing the morning of May 5th 2004.”

Toji exhaled, a long slow breath, sucking his teeth while his eyes traced the stained ceiling tiles as if he were actually considering the question. Hiromi watched him swallow, Adams apple bobbing up and down the valley of his toned throat.

“Who can say,” he mused thoughtlessly, “probably snoozin’ away if it was early morning.”

Hiromi’s jaw was aching with the tension of keeping his teeth clenched, and with the realization he tried to relax. Tried to focus instead on the thread of questions he’d decided on as he’d mulled over the initial evidence earlier in the week.

“And where would you have been sleeping, Fushiguro-san?”

“Probably a motel somewhere in Yoshiwara,” he smirked, like there was a joke weaved into the words that Hiromi was pointedly missing.

“Can anyone verify that?” He prompted flatly, that little grain of irritation rising again at the blatant disinterest painted over his clients face.

Toji tutted, shaking his head and flashing once again that blinding smirk that might have been charming to a certain audience, but to Hiromi brought only one word to mind: sleazy.

“I don’t kiss and tell, Higuruma-san.”

He suddenly felt for all the world like a horse being tugged blindly along the road by a dangling carrot. It was a cute routine, sure, but Hiromi was nothing if not persistent.

“There was CCTV footage extracted from the hotel lobby cameras,” he continued, sliding a snipped photograph along the desk, conscious of his distance to the other man’s cuffed hands, still folded neatly at his edge of the table. “The below is a still shot taken at 9:46am showing a person of interest entering Arasaka hotel and heading toward the staff elevator, which just so happens to be where an unregistered swipe card was also recorded by the hotels security system.”

He lifted his eyes during the tail end of the sentence to catch Toji’s reaction, only to find that the other man’s eyes weren’t on the photograph at all, instead they remained resting coolly on his face as he spoke.

Hiromi clenched his teeth, and swallowed hard before he continued.

“This looks remarkably similar to someone matching your build and description, wouldn’t you agree?”

“No, I wouldn’t,” came Toji’s reply almost as soon as the sentence had left his lips, tone kept light, airy despite the ice cold burn of his stare. His eyes remained locked on Hiromi’s, not sparing even a casual glance at the image printed below. In a similarly underwhelming display, his expression barely shifted, though the lower lid of his right eye twitched almost imperceptibly.

Hiromi could feel his unease rising, a bitter distaste that coated his tongue. He tried to swallow down the feeling, stomp over any innate bias or subjective opinion he might be tainting the evidence with. But even so there was something gnawing, burrowing into the back of his skull that echoed an early verdict with a dizzying finality. Guilty, guilty, guilty.

With that lone word bouncing around in his skull, he let out a lengthy sigh that seemed to leak some of his well-bottled exhaustion out with it. Resigned, he leaned across the desk with his hand outstretched, intending to snatch the photograph away.

Just as his fingers curled around the frayed edge of the print, a flash of orange blurred at the edge of his vision. With an undignified sound, he jerked forward, rioting against a grip that was suddenly locked so tightly around his wrist he was worried the bone might actually snap.

“You wouldn’t be trying to solicit a false confession from me, would you, Higuruma-san?” Toji questioned, voice laced with a faux sweetness that was in stark contrast to the pressure of his hold. It made Hiromi’s teeth ache alongside the searing pain beginning to dance up his forearm.

“Just trying to establish the state of play,” he replied, the words strained through half gritted teeth, trying not to let a whimper of pain slip free. “One can’t hope to play an affective game if he doesn’t have all of his pieces, can he?”

He glared over the table at the other man, eyes narrowed and brows knitted with a barely concealed disdain despite his formal tone. It was then that Hiromi noticed the fine hair on his arms was prickled to attention, brushing ticklish against Toji’s iron grip.

Toji watched him for another moment before his grip eased, and the relief was immediate, washing over him like the splash of a cool wave. Hiromi was a hairsbreadth from tugging his arm free when he felt a sensation that made him freeze once more in place. The hand around his wrist twisted, and a thick thumb eased up to pet a few times at the thin skin of his wrist, before it settled right over the center where his veins were blushed stark beneath pale skin.

Time seemed to screech to a halt, and Hiromi found that he was holding his breath for each long second that Toji did nothing but hold him, calloused thumb feeling like the scratch of a cats tongue against his pulse point.

“Hm.” Toji hummed thoughtfully, as if considering some shiny new piece of information.

And with that simple utterance, Hiromi was free.

He took full advantage of his newfound state, working another mean groove into the linoleum as his chair screeched backward and he stumbled to his feet. He bowed, more out of habit than anything - the action much too stiff, much too awkward - before he fled the room with barely enough wherewithal to grab his briefcase on the way out.

Ignoring the concerned demands of the visitor ward security guards who had began swarming the room as soon as he’d slammed the door open, he shouldered past the onslaught of bodies and all but sprinted from the scene like he were escaping a bomb threat. Hiromi managed to regain his composure for only as long as it took to make his way into the bathroom on the second floor and splash a few desperate handfuls of water over his face.

He stood hunched over the basin with his eyes closed for a few long minutes, letting lukewarm droplets trail down the arch of his nose and bead at the tip, dripping in frantic rhythm with his breathing. Water dribbled along the bench top, pooling between his hands where he was gripping the edge so tightly that his knuckles ached, painted bone-white in the clinical light.

That lone word beat like a drum in his head, letters blinking in time with the nauseating pound of his migraine. Guilty, guilty, guilty.

The security squad were a mixed bunch. Not that Hiromi in his good conscience ever took advantage of their fleeting attitudes any which way they happened to land. Though he had to admit, the one who regularly patrolled the visitors floor was a bonafide pushover. In fact, it was the very same guard who was currently staring at him with what Hiromi was beginning to think was genuine concern.

“Higuruma-san, are you sure?” He questioned, lips parted into an appalled little ‘o’ shape, “don’t you remember what happened during your last-“

“It’s fine,” Hiromi interrupted, sharper than he’d intended.

He grimaced a little before he took a slow exhale and fixed the guard with a smile as heartfelt as he could manage given the exhaustion creeping over him. The bruise around his wrist pulsed, and he resisted the urge to thumb at the mottle of sickly tones, lest he draw more of the guards unsolicited attention. He instead curled his fingers into a fist and clenched them. The skin above his palm was already rubbed raw from his picking, a new habit he’d found himself indulging in for the past week to an almost obsessive degree.

“Really, I’m sure,” he continued, cheeks aching a little with the effort of the smile, “please, take a break. You certainly deserve it.”

He was pleased when his tone came out softer this time, the subtle compliment landing just detached enough to be believable. He assumed it had achieved the intended effect by the way the guard gazed back at him, clearly little dazzled. Hiromi considered that he may need to start acting a little more sociable day to day, or at least start smiling from time to time if such a weak display of charisma had this big of an effect.

“Alright sir, if you’re certain,” the guard replied slowly, clearly still a little unsure, “I’ll just be down the hall in the break room if you need anything at all.”

He watched the shape of the guards back shrink as he crossed the hall until he was nothing but a little uniformed dot. Hiromi exhaled, lips still tugged into a lightly pleased smile as he turned and gripped the handle to the interrogation room, cool against his sweat slicked palm.

He’d barely made it three steps into the room before he felt his shoulder blades hit the door behind him, slammed so hard against steel that a ripe bloom of pain sizzled up his spine. He distantly registered a blur of ink black hair and faded orange before he was wincing, two fists wrung tight into his shirt collar until the crinkled fabric was biting into his throat like a set of teeth.

“You’re supposed to be some hotshot attorney, right?” Toji’s breath was hot against his cheek, words clipped and furious. “Paid your stupidly high fees, signed all your little bits of paperwork, yeah?”

Hiromi nodded dumbly, the whir of his brain halted by the incessant pressure at his throat, and the way it was getting a little harder to breathe with each minute twist of Toji’s knuckles.

“Yeah?” Toji spat, “so why the fuck am I still here?”

Without thought his eyes dropped to watch Toji’s mouth hiss the words, a tiny desperate part of him itching to see the way that slip of scar looked pulled into a snarl. The man seething before him was a stranger - nothing at all remained of the lazy predator he’d watched dodge his line of questioning a week before as if it were nothing more than a child’s game. No, this was an animal starved and cornered. Poised to strike, hungry teeth bared.

“A defense attorney,” Hiromi echoed firmly in reply, fighting to tear his eyes free from the obscene sight of Toji’s too-pink tongue swiping over a canine, “not a goddamn miracle worker.”

Invigorated by a sudden burst of adrenaline, Hiromi lifted his palms flat to Toji’s chest and shoved him hard, surprised when the hulking slab of a man actually staggered back a few steps, leaving him room to gasp a few desperate breaths.

Hiromi bent at the waist, hands finding his knees as took a few moments just to breathe. He sucked slow lungfuls of air, exhaling through his nose until he could straighten up without panting.

“Just relax,” he said once he’d recovered enough to speak again, “you’re lucky you’re even allowed in here without being restrained after that stunt you pulled last week. Who do you think vouched for that?”

He smoothed a hand down his bottle green tie, an instinctive motion, habitually self soothing. Toji watched the movement of his hand thoughtfully, more intently still when Hiromi hooked a finger over the knot and tugged it loose.

“No suit jacket today, Higuruma-san?” Toji questioned, “how informal.”

The silhouette before him was fading back into familiarity. Toji’s words felt controlled now, and his eyes had settled once again into a smooth green pasture.

“It’s hot.” Higuruma replied flatly, though the blistering weather outside wasn’t solely to thank for the way his suit suddenly felt a size too small.

With the sudden expanse of space between them, all at once he remembered where they were, and his neck nearly snapped with the speed at which he cast a frantic stare to the window. With a relief that nearly made his knees wobble, his eyes met only the smooth beige of the blinds, already tugged down and secured, shielding the contents of the room from anyone nosy enough to peer inside.

He turned his attention back to Toji, who simply shrugged.

“So you were planning to rough me up, is that it?” He accused, taking a few pointed steps toward the desk where he set his briefcase down a little firmer than was probably necessary.

“Hadn’t decided,” Toji mused, turning to follow Hiromi’s movement with his eyes, “thought I may as well be prepared for anything.”

The open ended nature of the word made Hiromi swallow, and he reached up once more to loosen his tie another inch.

“Anything, huh…” Hiromi considered aloud as he unclasped his case and began to fish through the files within, pulling a report and another photograph loose. “So what finally made you decide then?”

He wasn’t sure if he’d just been so lost in the task at hand that all five of his senses had abandoned him, or if the man he now shared space with simply held some sort of unnatural subtlety, but he couldn’t help but jump a little when the next reply came not an inch from his ear, despite him not noticing a single approaching footstep.

“It was that smug, self-gratified look on your face," came the purred reply, curling over the nape of his neck.

Scrambling, Hiromi twisted and stumbled backward until the rear of his thighs hit the desk, which shifted a little with the sudden weight, offering a sharp little scraping sound in reply. He tried to smooth his expression as Toji prowled forward the last few steps until he was well and truly crowding Hiromi’s space, looking all the more like a jaguar enjoying the last few fighting kicks of a cornered gazelle.

“Don’t act so shy now,” he mused, head tilted to scan Hiromi’s expression, “y’know I was surprised when I felt your pulse the other day."

Hiromi’s mouth was dry, so much so that it scraped painfully raw on his next swallow.

"Steady as a summers day, even with the hands of an accused killer on you.”

Toji’s hands came to rest lightly either side of him, thumbs curled over the tabletop. Hiromi leaned backward, desperate to create distance between them, for enough room to breathe, but the only thing that met him was the cool kiss of the tables edge as Toji pushed impossibly closer, caging him between the thick heat of his arms.

“You’re used to it, aren’t you? All the violence. Need something harder these days, don’tcha? To rattle you, make you feel alive…”

Hiromi could feel a bead of sweat trickling from his hairline, and he wondered distantly if the air conditioner was broken. Toji craned his head further, and even without seeing it Hiromi could hear the smile painting his lips as he all but purred the next few words.

“…to get you off.”

“Enough.” Hiromi lashed, straightening up with a suddenness that forced Toji to finally release his grip and step backward. “This is highly inappropriate, and if you continue I’ll be forced to withdraw from your case.”

“C’mon, it’s obvious doll.” Toji continued, ignoring the threat like he knew that is was just that, a threat. “You’ve got that look in your eyes, like a lonely little housewife who doesn’t get fucked hard enough.”

Hiromi wanted to cover his ears, or reach over and slap his hand over that scarred mouth just to stop the obscene words from flowing out.

“Go on, tell me,” Toji pushed, “when’s the last time you got off, huh?”

Even from three feet away, each word still felt as if it were being breathed right into the shell of his ear.

“Couldn’t get yourself there, could you?”

Hiromi gripped the table edge hard, leveraging so he didn't slip for the way his knees were threatening to give out.

It wasn’t that, no. If anything it was the opposite. 

In those long dark hours before the sun crept over the horizon, he’d lost himself time and time again in the shadowed depths of his own desire. It had scared him, how quickly he’d mounted that moral hump. Slipped down the hill into a valley of debauchery so sinful that it made his stomach churn to recall it now.

Behind eyes squeezed tightly closed were expanses of sun-bleached bone stripped of muscle, the gored hole of an exit wound through a blood stained suit shirt, skin sliced and pockmarked with glittering ricochet. Like the snake devouring itself, he felt cannibalized by the machinations of his own mind, rising to a tight wet crescendo that made his heart race and belly coil hot as a writhing pit of serpents.

He’d forced himself to stop, slapped sober with the realization of what he was doing, what he was fantasizing about. He’d gone to bed feverish and unsatisfied just shy of dawn, hands rubbed raw, stained red like fingerprints at a crime scene. He’d laid still as a corpse in his sweat soaked sheets, listening to his frantic heartbeat and awaiting the familiar blare of his morning alarm as if it were a death knell.

With the reality far too complicated to explain, he resigned instead to shaking his head. Though when he met Toji’s gaze across the room the mans eyes swirled with a resolute understanding that made Hiromi's breath catch.

Without another word, Toji’s hand raised to clasp around the jingling zipper swinging at the center of his chest, and to Hiromi’s mortification, he began to tug it downward.

“Just what exactly are you doing?” Hiromi sputtered, exasperation evident on his face as he watched the reveal - an expanse of tanned skin, sparse curls of dark hair spattered over plump pecs, the obscene curve of relaxed abs between the splitting of orange fabric. He forced his eyes upward, glued resolutely to Toji’s face, which of course, was smiling slyly.

“Let me make it up to you for being so rude earlier,” Toji offered smoothly, still tugging the zipper down, slow and teasing now like he could hope to push the attorneys patience just a little further.

“Live a little,” he drawled, the movement of his hand stopping just shy of his hips, though the zipper was still tugged low enough that Hiromi had a near pornographic view of the veins winding thick rivers below the faded orange fabric. “Promise I’ll make it good.”

And then suddenly he was moving. A few purposeful strides and he had resumed his previous position. Hands locked either side of his hips, caging him against the desk.

“This-… This is ridiculous…” Hiromi blurted, though Toji's focus didn’t bend. His attention was pin-pointed, like he had found a little weak spot in the wall of Hiromi's resolve and was now forcing his fingers through the cracks, tearing chunks away until he reached the soft fleshy underbelly.

“Is it?” Toji questioned, craning his head to whisper the words into Hiromi's hairline just as he pressed a knee between his spread thighs, firm enough that it earned him a choked groan. “Is that why you’re poking through your slacks right now just from a little dirty talk?”

Toji’s breath was hot, sticky against his pulse point, in stark contrast to the cool press of his fingernails where he had started tugging Hiromi’s collar open, making just enough room for his chin to slot into. Toji's jaw was rough when it grazed his cheekbone, like he'd gone a day without shaving, and the sensation sent a fresh spatter of goosebumps over his skin.

“Or maybe you just liked getting manhandled earlier, is that it?”

Hiromi’s breath caught in his throat like a stray bone when he felt the faintest brush of lips against his throat, a tiny peck pressed to the slip of skin above his spread collar. With his jaw raised, he eyed the security camera in the corner of the room as subtly as he could manage, thankful when he found the blinking red light dulled to a lifeless grey. For once the laziness of the maintenance department had done him good.

If he wasn’t sweating before, he certainly was now. With the heat of Toji’s body glued to his front like a blanket, and the threat of teeth grazing his throat as he pressed another kiss - hot and open mouthed this time - just below Hiromi’s ear.

“D-don’t.” Hiromi snapped, finding his voice somewhere in the winding haze of desire, a little breathless as he rioted, worming his way loose from Toji’s oppressive grip.

“Don’t kiss me.” He repeated, firmer this time. “And no marks. Someone might see.”

Toji simply watched him for a moment, considering, before he released his grip on the table and stepped back, hands raised in mock innocence.

“Alright. You’re the boss,” he repeated his earlier sentiment, hands lowering to cross loosely over his broad chest, “so tell me what you want.”

Hiromi shifted, the tight press of his slacks beginning to feel stifling. He could feel it, the raw burn of desire licking hot up his throat, setting a fire somewhere low and simmering in his gut.

“Just… shit, just touch me,” Hiromi breathed, voice small, like he couldn’t quite believe what he was saying, “make it quick, make it good.”

Toji chuckled, and before he could really comprehend it, his vision had shifted, and he found himself staring suddenly at the ceiling, sweat-soaked spine pressed to the cool tabletop.

“What are you?…” Hiromi mouthed, lifting himself to his elbows just to peer down between his spread thighs where Toji had slotted himself once more, watching a little dumbly as big hands settled over his belt buckle and began to unclasp it with an ease that made the tips of his ears burn.

“Can’t really touch you properly with all this in the way, can I?” Toji answered smoothly, not halting as he discarded the belt in favor of slipping Hiromi’s pant button loose. “Unless you’re an over-the-clothes kinda man?”

Hiromi simply shook his head, a little dizzy from the sudden gravitational change, biting his tongue until his brain alarmed loud enough to give him pause.

There was no softness in the way Toji undressed him, none of the quiet reverence of a lover. It was quick and almost clinical, practiced in a way that made Hiromi itch for more in-depth background check. Not that it would have mattered, hell, he was about to let this could-be murderer take him raw over a fucking interrogation table.

If Toji noticed the slick patch soaking the front of his briefs when he finally tugged his slacks off, he said nothing. Just hooked two thick fingers over the waistband and tugged them downward until they were crumpled on the tile alongside the rest of his lower half and the last few shreds of his dignity. For the first time since they'd met, Hiromi found himself feeling thankful for Toji’s boldness, not sure that he trusted his fine motor skills enough to even tug himself free from his pants right now.

“There we go, much better,” Toji hummed, eyes roaming the new expanse of bare skin, dotting over each freckle, each curve, before finally dipping down to take in the sight of him - hanging half-hard already between lightly toned thighs. Toji grinned, “not bad, boss. Not bad at all.”

The compliment, as small as it was, made him flush red, and he leaned back again in response, filled with the urge to hide his face despite his exposed state. Dress shirt crinkled, rucked up to his chin to bare his chest to the man above, nude from the waist down. He knew what he looked like - thin around the ribs from a lifetime of inconsistent meals, a little soft around the belly from the immobile nature of his work. He resisted the urge to shiver, felt his nipples pebble betrayingly instead.

A shadow leaked into his vision, and when he raised his head he saw that it was Toji lifting a lone hand to his face.

“Suck.” Toji demanded simply, and Hiromi scoffed at him, wide-eyed and a little disgusted. “Go on, unless you want to take it dry.”

With a sigh, he lifted himself from his elbows, slinking forward until he could tug a hand free. With a little more force than was needed, he grabbed Toji’s wrist, feeling a quiet little pang of annoyance when the man’s face didn’t shift despite the force of the grip.

Without breaking eye contact, he let his lips part and he lowered his chin until he felt the warm press of fingers graze his tongue. That earned him a reaction, he watched with a sly sort of satisfaction at the slow dilation of Toji’s pupils as he tracked the push of his fingers into the wet heat of Hiromi’s mouth, the slick swirl of his tongue between the digits.

After a few indulgent minutes, he lifted his head with a slick ‘pop!’ and pushed Toji’s wrist back toward him.

“There,” he offered, wiping his chin with the back of his hand.

Toji wasted no time, and Hiromi’s brow twitched at the first contact, a slick finger tracing his rim, soft and teasing. His own fingers gripped the tables edge, white-knuckled when the digit finally pushed its way inside and sunk down to the first joint with a searing sting, resting for only a moments reprieve before it began pumping in and out in a slow rhythm.

He tried to settle his breathing, exhalations coming out thin and frantic in the cramped space. He could hear distant chatter leaking in from the hall, and tried desperately to picture himself locking the door before he’d sat down earlier. He could see it, though the image his brain conjured seemed decidedly manufactured, glossy like the footage had a film laid over top.

Toji hadn’t smiled warmly at him when he'd entered. His hour old cup of coffee hadn’t been warm and inviting when he’d taken a sip while he flicked through evidence that proved his clients innocence. No. Somewhere in reality the ache in his shoulder blades sizzled, and his throat pulsed hot. Body battered by steel and the firm rub of his cotton-blend collar.

A sharp clicking tugged him suddenly from his thoughts, and he found after a few wide eyed blinks to clear his vision that it was Toji’s fingers snapping in front of his face.

“Hey,” Toji barked, brows knitted into a serious expression that looked stark on his features, “stay with me, yeah?”

“Yeah…” He mouthed, nudging his hips up a little, eyes locked on the motion of Toji’s wrist disappearing between his thighs, which trembled a little when a second finger worked its way inside alongside the first, accompanied by yet another sizzle of pain.

Toji’s fingers curled on their next thrust, and he made a conscious effort not to let the moan forming in his throat slip free. Instead he lifted his chin and met Toji’s steady gaze, expression kept as flat as he could manage, not willing to let him see how just a few fingers had his lower belly swirling with need.

“You’re a tough one, know that?” Toji mused, and Hiromi wondered if he could see right through his ruse.

“Maybe you’re just not as good as you think, Fushiguro-san,” he replied, sounding a little breathless despite his efforts.

Toji chuckled, and his eyes dipped with his next blink. His lips spread wider still when he watched Hiromi’s length twitch pathetically where it lay untouched, leaking a slippery little line against his belly beneath the attention.

“Hm," Toji hummed, "maybe I’m not.”

With his spare hand, Toji began to unzip the remaining stretch of his jumpsuit, tugged low enough now that the length tucked there sprang free. From what little Hiromi could see over the curve of his own chest, the man was considerable - thick with a tanned head, standing half hard between curls of that same dark hair that carved a sweet little trail down from his belly.

Hiromi found himself wondering how on earth he’d managed to conceal such an extremity within the thin fabric, but when he felt the prod of that thick length at his rim, any words that might have been forming fled his brain. He went rigid, the inward curl of his body an instinctive reaction, protective. Without a word, Toji lowered a big hand in response, palm coming to rest atop his sternum between either pec. Hiromi was sure that he could feel the frantic thump of his heartbeat humming against his palm, like the desperate tapping of a rabbits foot.

“Just relax,” Toji murmured, running his hand up and down the valley of his chest.

Against his better judgement, in some tiny way Hiromi did feel comforted by his tone, soothed, and his body relaxed into the touch. Despite the way his body was easing, his face remained a tight mask, broken only by the furious blush slapped over his cheekbones.

“That’s a difficult task when there’s a potential criminal crawling around on top of you,” the words came out harsh and defensive, hissed between his gritted teeth like a curse.

He watched Toji’s lazy smile flatten into a frown, and his thick jaw twitched. “Y’know I really wish you’d stop saying that,” the motion of his hand continued, beginning to ease into the realm of discomfort.

He was pressing noticeably harder now, and Hiromi’s chest was burning beneath the attention - that grating, itching feeling that came from rubbing the same spot over and over. Hiromi found himself squirming beneath the pressure, the friction of Toji’s hand rubbing his skin raw.

“You’re so certain of my guilt, aren’t you? But here you are, letting me have my way with you anyway.”

Hiromi heavily suspected that the man above him had killed at least three men already, and he was certain that he could kill him just as easily. He could snap a leg off the chair discarded beside them and stab him with the splintered end. He could slip Hiromi’s own belt off and cinch it around his throat, notch it tight until his eyes watered. Or better yet he might just do it with his bare hands. Hiromi had no doubt that he was capable of it.

He considered the options, played the scenes out in his head like he were watching a stage play. What might it be like, for that scarred face to be the last thing he’d ever see? What sort of picture would he himself paint with those calloused hands tied around his throat, wringing the very life from him, jade eyes drinking in the sight like it was satiating?

“I think that’s exactly what you want.”

To Hiromi’s relief, and looming unease in equal measure, the hand at his sternum ceased its infernal petting and instead crept upward. Fingers teased like snaking vines over the dip of his collarbone, tracing veins that were trailing up to his jaw.

“And what is it that I want?” Hiromi echoed, soaking in the indulgent way the words felt reverberated against the crook of Toji’s palm where his hand had settled. He considered mouthing another sentence just to feel the sensation again, and settled on a rumble of the other man’s name instead, “Fushiguro-san.”

“A criminal,” Toji finished simply. His eyes lowered, glinting like two emerald chips as he drank in the sight of his hand wrapped around the attorneys throat. His voice was low, intimate in a way that made Hiromi’s stomach loop.

Instinctively, his tongue darted out to wet his cracked lips, and he didn’t miss the way Toji’s eyes dipped to follow the motion. The reaction was primal, predatory, like he’d caught a glimpse of a fuzzy little tail disappearing into the underbrush.

“If it’s criminal you want,” thick fingers tightened, and before Hiromi could struggle against it, they had clasped onto a tight collar around his throat, “it’s criminal I’ll give you, Higuruma-san.”

Hiromi barely heard the last utterance of his name, deafened by the splitting sting between his thighs as Toji finally pushed inside. He thought he caught a sliver of pleasure swirling in that stormy green, not that the sight lasted for more than a second before his eyes were rolling skyward, vision painted black as he found himself staring at the back of his skull.

The pain was stunning, and he parted his lips to revolt, but the sound that slipped out was nothing more than a strangled garble, unattractive even to his own ringing ears. In the darkness behind his eyelids, he felt a pressure form, and realized with a jolt that it was another massive hand clasped firmly over his mouth, muffling his pained yelps.

“Quiet, yeah?” Came Toji’s whisper, more of a purr than anything.

Alongside the grip across his jaw and the pressure at his throat, it was a thinly veiled threat that needed no further prose. Hiromi let his eyes flutter closed once more, brows knitted as he focused again on steadying his frantic breath, huffed hotly through flared nostrils, dampening Toji’s clasped fingers.

Toji wasn’t particularly gentle, not that Hiromi had expected him to be. It was clear that he knew what he was, and Hiromi felt a sort of twisted pang of pride at the realization that he wasn’t going to hide it from him.

Inch by thick inch sunk inside, slow enough that he could feel every ridge, every pulsing vein, until his fingers grasped at the smooth tabletop and he mouthed another strangled little sound into Toji’s cupped hand, already wet with his drool.

Toji’s hips rolled slowly, neat little thrusts kept nice and deep. The sharp nips of pain were easing, slowly giving way to an aching pleasure, blooming somewhere low and hot in his gut. With a shake of his head, he wormed his head free from Toji’s grip, gasping in a much needed lungful of fresh air.

“Shit…” he choked between huffed breaths, writhing against the rhythmic rocking, unsure if he was trying to slink away, or sink down further. He felt his pulse jump a little at the sound of his own voice reverberating in the empty tomb, a tiny jolt of adrenaline shooting through him at his blatant disregard of Toji’s order.

Toji didn’t bother to clamp a hand over his mouth again, instead he raised a palm high and then lowered it flat across Hiromi’s cheek in a slap so hard that his ear rung with the force of it.

“Got a real filthy mouth for a lawyer, know that?” Came Toji’s voice just above the ringing, and Hiromi could hear the way he was smiling from the shape of the words alone.

His cheek burned with the impact, sharp and sizzling, breathtaking. He was sure that his skin was plastered now in the shape of Toji’s palm, and he felt his stomach churn with the thought, guilt and shame and red hot lust swirling like a nauseating cocktail.

“Not gonna cry, are you?” Toji tutted, though he didn’t manage to sound disappointed, “thought you liked it rough.”

Hiromi didn’t humor the obvious hook with a reply. He’d been in the game long enough to recognize bait when it was dangling right in front of him. Instead he blinked away hot tears and hiked a bare leg upward - reveling in the surprised grunt that escaped the man above him when he dug a heel into his hip hard enough to promise a bruise.

“Put-… your -hn-… put your goddamn back into it, Fushiguro…” Hiromi managed to hiss.

Toji grinned at that, a splitting of teeth so sharp and shiny it made Hiromi’s vision spin. Tenfold when he slipped a few inches out, and the slow shallow thrusts he’d been nursing him with turned suddenly brutal.

“Oh fuck…” Hiromi groaned, head lolling limply with each firm smack, hands grasping fruitlessly at the edge of the desk.

Suddenly nothing else mattered, his senses dulled to anything other than the sticky heat between them and the way Toji was carving a hole into him so deep he swore he could feel it in his stomach. Every other sound, sight, was secondary - even the distant clatter of his briefcase hitting the floor, contents spilling over the tile.

Plap! Plap! Plap!

That dull methodical thumping, like he were a being bent back into shape, or maybe out of shape was more apt. The sound was slick, sucking, each slap against the underside of his thighs accented by a graceless shift of the desk beneath them. Hiromi pictured short sharp little divots being worked into the linoleum, carved by the unending rhythm of Toji’s hips.

A hand found the thigh of his lifted leg and gripped it hard, using the leverage to tug Hiromi back against the motion, grinding him on his length. Suddenly Toji was leaning over to get a better angle, and in doing so the firm curve of his stomach grazed feather-soft over Hiromi's cock where it lay untouched and twitching feebly between them. Somewhere in Hiromi’s clouded brain swirled the distant consideration that this might just be the most pleasure he’d ever felt, that was until Toji hit something silky and soft and his vision cut out entirely.

“Ah!…” He moaned, unable to consider masking his reactions, not with how utterly drunk he felt.

“Right there, huh?” Toji cooed, watching the attorney melt into the tabletop, the thigh in his hand beginning to tremble beneath the touch. “Shh, there you go. Feels good doesn’t it?”

“I’m… shit, I’m gonna…” Hiromi slurred, shaking his head limply.

The rare brush of Toji’s stomach wasn’t enough, he needed more, needed more friction. Abandoning its place scratching at the desktop, Hiromi’s hand snaked over his sticky belly and down between his thighs, but before he could capture himself in his fist, Toji’s fingers snagged him. In a dizzying case of Déjà vu, Hiromi gazed down at Toji’s fingers, wrapped once again like a cuff around his wrist, thumbing at the bruised watercolour painted there.

“Uh-uh, not yet,” he drawled, gazing at him through sweat-soaked bangs that stuck wayward to his forehead, “gotta promise me something first.”

Hiromi tore his gaze free, blinking instead up at Toji’s face with glossy eyes, low-lidded and syrupy with pleasure.

“You get me off, and I’ll return the favor," Toji coaxed, "how’s that, boss? Quid-pro-quo.”

He felt a cold wash over his fevered skin when Toji’s words finally resonated in his lust-clouded brain, what he was really asking him for. Betrayal of his morals, not to mention ethical considerations. The very thing he’d hinged his career on, hinged his life on. But then, from the shadowed little corner of his mind, came another consideration. The other side of the marred coin.

All those long hours, the shitty pay. The countless innocent people he’d seen be sentenced to a fate worse than death just to line the pockets of the wealthy and powerful, keep them fat and satisfied. The months of pent up need, the exhaustion that before he had even noticed had crept into his very bones and made its home marrow deep. Right now, in this moment, it felt so very good to give in, to allow himself this small act of selfishness. No, more than good, it felt righteous.

Hiromi was nodding before the rational part of his brain had a chance to catch up. For once he allowed greedy, stupid, gluttonous lust to drive his actions.

“C’mon,” Toji prompted, beginning to pant now despite himself, clearly not immune to the way Hiromi was clenching desperately around him, “you gotta promise me.”

“God, I promise…” Hiromi heard himself croak, voice sounding fried, choking out half finished sentences like his brain couldn’t hold a single thought for long enough, “just make me… need to…”

“Good boy,” Toji soothed, and to his muddled brain that single slip of praise felt like Nirvana, “knew you were the agreeable type.”

With that, Toji’s thick fingers wrapped around his length and squeezed so tight that stars danced at the smeared edges of his vision. He barely lasted two pumps into that rough calloused fist before the back of his head hit the desk with a dull metallic ‘thud!’, and he was spilling over Toji’s scarred knuckles in stuttered pulsing throbs.

He knew he was moaning. Sharp, choked grunts between gasping breaths as he jerked, clenching desperately around the length buried deep inside. Though he could barely hear it over the blood pounding hotly in his ears. He did manage to catch a slip of Toji’s groan, a sound so blatantly pornographic that it would have had him half-hard in his slacks if he hadn’t just blown a load over them both.

As he came down, somewhere deep inside beneath the simmering bliss he felt a twitch, a telltale throb that had him shaking his head fitfully and squirming despite the blatant overstimulation the movement caused him.

“Fuck… pull out, don’t…-hn- inside…Toji!-“

He smacked at Toji’s forearms to no avail, resigned instead to gripping them hard enough that he could feel the muscle twitching beneath the dig of his fingernails. Either he’d cried out too late, or the man was purposefully ignoring his desperate pleas. Either way the result was the same - a rush of sticky heat that made his face twist, even more so when he felt the slick spend begin to leak out around the stretch.

Toji grunted above him and administered a final stuttered hump, pressed as deep as he could manage before he finally slipped free. Hiromi watched him stagger back a few steps through half-lidded eyes, tracing the shape of his broad chest, sweat soaked orange rising and falling as he caught his breath.

Hiromi lifted himself slowly to his elbows, wincing at the ache of his bones, and the slick squelching sound as he separated the upper half of his body from the tabletop. Limbs still twitching with residual little sparks of pleasure that were beginning to feel pointedly irritating as sordid reality faded back into view, vision stripped of the rose-colored lens of lust.

“Finally called me Toji, does that mean we’re on first name basis, huh Hiromi?”

The cocktail of fury and white hot shame settling in his chest wiped away any of the pleasure he might have gleaned from hearing Toji purr his name like that, especially after burying his load like he was trying to make it stick.

“Told you to pull out,” Hiromi barked, voice sharp and laced with venom.

He lifted himself to his feet, flexing a trembling leg and wincing when the muscle there cramped in argument. Ignoring the way his body cried out in complaint, he bent at the waist and fished his crumpled slacks, belt and all, from the floor and began stepping into them, forcing his scuffed shoes through the each pant leg.

He could feel Toji’s gaze on him as he moved, heated and sticky like the press of a palm. He tried to ignore the way the attention was prickling the hair at the back of his neck, the same way he was ignoring the slick heat that was beginning to dribble down between his shaking thighs.

“Yeah?” Came Toji’s voice alongside the metallic chirp of his jumpsuit zipper as he tucked himself inside and tugged it back up, “and I told you that I was nowhere near that shitty hotel on May 5th.”

Hiromi said nothing, just bit the inside of his cheek so hard that he started to taste the sweet coppery burst of iron, and zipped his own crumpled slacks up with a harshness that betrayed him.

“Think about that when you’re sitting in your cushy office later, drooling my cum out all over your pressed slacks, Higuruma-san.”

Hiromi didn’t spare another backward glance as he shoved loose papers haphazardly into his briefcase and fled the room, trusting that Toji was at least clothed enough not to give them away entirely, that was if his wrinkled clothes and sex messed hair didn’t do it for them.

True to Toji’s request, he did consider his promise as he sat at his desk later that afternoon, after a strong cup of coffee and a makeshift shower via several wet wipes and the sink in the single stall bathroom.

He watched the afternoon sun creep through the window, the hum of his desk fan sending particles of dust swirling, turning to little beads of light in the stray beams. Despite the cool flow of air, his neck flushed with the sobering reality of what he’d allowed to occur between the four reinforced walls of the interrogation room. Distracted, he leaned forward, cheek pressed to the flat of his palm, still warm and blushed from the earlier slap. He hoped that it had passed to any of his colleagues as nothing more than a healthy flush from the heat of the summers day outside.

As he shifted against his elbow, his eyes caught on the bruise peeking out from below the crisp edge of his shirt sleeve, the blood pooling there yellowed now with age. It seemed that he was collecting souvenirs, that or Toji was pointedly leaving stark little reminders of what had been promised between them. Staking a claim, maybe. Looped around his wrist like a steel cuff, painted across his face, or spilled deep inside, staining his slacks as he squirmed atop his desk chair. Just as promised, Hiromi thought bitterly, the taste sitting thick on his tongue.

On the notepad below he circled the word ‘duress’ in a mindless loop. Tracing the letters printed there in thick dribbles of red ink before he lowered his thumb to the page just to watch the way it soaked the pristine paper, smeared over the lines like crime scene spatter.

He lifted his thumb and considered the sight of his print left behind, etched into the page in blood.

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A/N. If you’re a lawyer please suspend your disbelief, I did exactly zero research on legal proceedings while writing this, just a stream of consciousness fr. Unrealistic prep, I headcanon that Higuruma keeps a squeaky clean butthole at all times just in case. Also the concept of writing 8k words about a pairing so niche that no one will read it, except you (yes, YOU. ily <3)

update: I changed the title, pls don’t mind me…

[lacquerheadd]

everybody knows that I’m a good girl officer…

[mrsblaileen]

and if I said criminal!toji and defenseattorney!higuruma…