Work Text:
"Drop it."
The first instance of Ichiro barking an unmistakable command at Samatoki came as such a surprise that Samatoki instinctively complied. He dropped the unlit cigarette he'd just tucked between his lips, and could only watch as Ichiro picked it up and tossed it into the nearest bin.
Ichiro turned back to him as Samatoki stared, answering Samatoki's disbelief with an innocent blink. "Nemu said you promised to quit."
Samatoki was… more or less fine with the fact that Nemu and Ichiro had become fast friends after the fall of the H-Era. Ichiro was a good kid, a good man; Samatoki had begrudgingly thought so even when they'd been snapping each other like wild, territorial dogs.
The only downside of this cute new friendship was that Ichiro and Nemu had gotten into the habit of teaming up. Against Samatoki.
"I promised to try," Samatoki muttered, because he couldn't deny that he had said something about quitting.
"That's a good start," Ichiro praised. "I'll help you try a little harder."
His voice was warmer now. Softer, sweeter. It was such a stark contrast to the sharp, assertive order he'd issued just a moment ago that Samatoki found himself shivering.
Shivering, and wondering—
Since when the hell did Ichiro talk to him like that?
Since when did he let Ichiro talk to him like that?
And since when did he… like being talked to like that?
Maybe it was a fluke.
After Samatoki dropped Ichiro off at home, from the movie they'd met up to see (which turned into a movie and dinner and drinks after, because neither of them were all that good at saying goodbye when they hung out these days), he drove straight to Jyuto's precinct and marched right in.
It wasn't like Samatoki to enter a police station of his own accord, but he couldn't wait to test something out, and he knew Jyuto was working late that night.
"Oi, glasses." Samatoki was there to ask a favor, so he refrained from greeting Jyuto with a smack over the back of the head, even though the back of Jyuto's head was always so smackable. "Do something for me."
"No," Jyuto stated flatly, without looking up from his computer screen.
"Tsk. Don't be a dick, you'll enjoy this." Samatoki waited until Jyuto reluctantly looked his way, after expelling a rough sigh through his nose, before he continued, "Tell me to do something."
Jyuto furrowed his brow. "Pardon me?"
"You're bossy," Samatoki said. "So boss me. I wanna see something."
Jyuto's frown deepened. He narrowed his eyes with suspicion, but ultimately seemed to decide he didn't really care if Samatoki was up to something. This chance was too good to pass up.
"Get me a coffee."
"Go fuck yourself," Samatoki retorted reflexively. For good measure, he added, "Die."
Jyuto gave him an utterly baffled look, apparently too bewildered to even feel offended just yet. Samatoki barely noticed, though. He was busy mulling over his own reaction, which was in his opinion the correct and measured reaction.
Huh.
So he hadn't spontaneously developed a thing for being ordered around.
That was… good.
That was probably good.
Except it happened again.
With Ichiro.
And that was very, very bad.
They'd just ducked into a conbini to pick up some drinks on their way back to Samatoki's place. Ever since Ichiro moved out to Yokohama, with his brothers going to college out there now, he and Samatoki had been meeting up for dinner more and more regularly. And drinks at Samatoki's place had, at some point, become a part of that regular routine.
More on autopilot than anything, Samatoki lifted a hand to point to his usual brand of cigarettes when he reached the register.
Only for Ichiro to lift a hand to cover his, pushing it back down.
"No," Ichiro murmured, his voice a low rumble, rising from deep in his chest and falling directly upon Samatoki's ear.
Samatoki felt himself shiver again, and he was pretty sure Ichiro, standing so close behind him, felt it too.
But if Ichiro did feel it, he didn't say anything or draw any attention to it. He only reached off to the side to pluck a couple lollipops from a display stand. One cola flavored, one strawberry cream.
"He'll have these instead," he said to the cashier, who looked extraordinarily disinterested in whatever ichiro was doing.
What was Ichiro doing?
And what was Samatoki feeling, about what Ichiro was doing?
Samatoki followed Ichiro out of the conbini in such a daze that he hardly even noticed Ichiro unwrapping both lollipops until Ichiro was lifting one to Samatoki's lips, with the other already popped into his own mouth.
"Open." Ichiro pushed the lollipop past Samatoki's lips when Samatoki unthinkingly obliged, then smiled—his expression becoming a picture perfect mask of innocence once more. "There. Isn't that better?"
Samatoki didn't answer; he was too busy letting the artificially sweet taste of strawberry cream flood his mouth, as thoughts of a decidedly different flavor of strawberry cream came unbidden to his mind.
So maybe Samatoki did have a thing for being told what to do.
When it was Ichiro telling him what to do.
Samatoki should have found it disrespectful, really. But Ichiro was never rude about it. He was firm, even stern, but never an ass. And he was only ever firm and stern when it came to Samatoki smoking, like his intentions truly were pure and all he really wanted to do was help.
Meanwhile, Samatoki's own thoughts were trending in a far less pure direction.
That wouldn't have been such a problem if Samatoki had been with Ichiro. Really with him. Samatoki was a proud man, but not one burdened with an overabundance of shame; he wouldn't have hesitated to ask his gorgeous boyfriend to play up the demanding, commanding act every now and then.
But Ichiro wasn't his boyfriend, not yet.
They were going out together a whole lot these days, but not necessarily, explicitly, Going Out Together. It had only been a few months since they really clicked together again, and Samatoki was still trying to get a feel for exactly how Ichiro liked him.
He had no doubt that Ichiro did like him and his company again, as much as he once had, if not more. But what kind of 'like' was it?
Was Samatoki still like a big brother to him? A role model? A hero, an idol?
Or did he like Samatoki the way Samatoki had come to like him, upon looking at Ichiro one day and realizing he was someone Samatoki could see as a man?
A strong, bold, and beautiful man at that.
Samatoki had thought he could take his time figuring Ichiro out. But now that Ichiro had grown bold enough to order him around, even if it was only in adorably well-meaning ways, Samatoki wanted him all the more.
And Samatoki didn't want to wait.
The next time Samatoki reached for a cigarette, it was on purpose. Usually, when he caught himself—or when Ichiro caught him, more like—tapping out a cigarette or buying a new pack these days, it really was just a force of habit.
But this time, Samatoki knew just what he was doing.
They were walking back to Samatoki's place together after one of their date-like-but-not-technically-a-date dinners. Samatoki waited for their shoulders to brush before reaching into his coat pocket for his pack of cigarettes, already prepared for a reaction—an admonishment, maybe—before he got it open.
He wasn't entirely prepared for Ichiro to give his wrist a light yet sharp rap, making Samatoki drop the pack entirely in his surprise.
Samatoki blinked down at the pack as it dropped onto the ground at his feet. He stared, absolutely transfixed, as Ichiro stooped down to pick it up. The spot on Samatoki's wrist still felt a little hot, and Samatoki found himself wishing it stung a little too.
But Ichiro hadn't smacked him that hard.
"You promised," Ichiro chided, as he started to walk along again, heading towards a nearby trash bin to chuck the whole pack in. "Think of Nemu."
"No," Samatoki blurted out.
Ichiro turned back to him and blinked, the pack of cigarettes still held in the hand he'd lifted over the bin. He looked completely floored, like it had never occurred to him that Samatoki might talk back.
"No…?"
Samatoki quickly shook his head. "I'm not talking about the cigarettes, chuck that shit out."
Ichiro let the pack drop into the trash without waiting another second, like he thought Samatoki might change his mind.
"I mean," Samatoki continued. The cigarettes were already the last thing on his mind. "I mean I'm not gonna think of Nemu right now. When I'm busy thinking about… how…"
Ichiro blinked again. He returned to Samatoki's side and waited patiently for Samatoki to continue. Samatoki didn't, not right away. He did start walking again, as his mind scrambled to put together the right words, in the right order, to convey just what he wanted to say.
They reached the front of his apartment building before he knew it. Ichiro stopped there, turning to face him, like he might say good night right there. He had before; though he usually came up for a drink, a chat, maybe a movie or some anime that would have them both falling asleep on the couch, there were times when he really did just walk Samatoki home, like a perfect gentleman, before making his way back to his own apartment.
Samatoki didn't want that. He didn't want that ever, but he especially didn't want that tonight.
It was his turn to be bold, now.
"I'm thinking," he repeated, "about how you can do that some more."
Ichiro cocked his head to the side, so cutely that Samatoki could have grabbed him and kissed him right there.
"That?" Ichiro echoed.
"The…" Samatoki stuffed his hands into his pockets and shuffled a step closer, until he was practically whispering in Ichiro's ear. "The whole ordering me around thing."
At that close distance, Samatoki could hear it, plain as day, when Ichiro drew a sharp breath. That reaction alone said practically all Samatoki needed to hear. It was certainly encouraging enough to make Samatoki's lips quirk with a grin.
"If you want," Samatoki added, teasing now.
Ichiro breathed out just like he'd breathed in—like a shot. He pulled back just a little, just enough to get a good look at Samatoki's face, perhaps to see just how serious Samatoki was.
And though he was still grinning, cocky and sure, Samatoki knew it was written all over his face. That he was serious, that he'd meant every word.
Ichiro lifted a hand, then. He caught Samatoki's chin between his thumb and forefinger, as though to keep Samatoki from looking away. As if Samatoki ever would have, or could have, when Ichiro's gaze met his with such heat.
"I thought," Ichiro murmured. "Hoped, even. That you might like that."
Samatoki's breath hitched in his throat. Oh, they were gonna have to talk about that later. Just what had given Ichiro that idea? He was right in this case, but Samatoki had damn well better not be giving off those sorts of signals to anyone else.
He would have to worry about that later, though. Because when Ichiro smiled, Samatoki could think about nothing else.
"Samatoki-san," Ichiro said, stroking his thumb over the corner of Samatoki's lips. "Invite me in, and let me stay the night."
It wasn't a question.
So Samatoki's only answer was to comply.