Work Text:
By the sound of it, the poor bastard arguing with Kisara’s secretary has been here for at least five minutes. He shakes a sheaf of papers insistently towards her, saying something about limited resources, but she remains unmoved.
“I apologize, sir,” she says unapologetically. “As I’ve said, Kaiba-sama is not to be disturbed at this time.” Just then, she makes eye contact with Katsuya, who offers her a little wave. She hits the buzzer to let him in and beckons him through, her focus not straying from the man petitioning her. “Feel free to leave any materials with me, and I can pass them along to her in due course.”
The man sputters in disbelief as Katsuya makes his way towards the door. “Didn’t you just say-!?”
“I said that Kaiba-sama isn’t to be disturbed at this time,” she repeats calmly. “Jounouchi-san is not a disturbance, unlike yourself.”
The man’s indignant protests follow behind Katsuya as he slips into Kisara’s office until he closes the door behind him to shut them out. She raises her head, eyes narrowed in displeasure at the noisy disruption, but her face softens the moment she lays eyes on Katsuya.
“You didn’t have to come,” she chides him, though there’s not a trace of upset in her tone. “I told you I would be fine.”
“I know.” Katsuya had come close to begging Kisara to let him come with her to the office. It’s her first public appearance (and yes, her workplace is still ‘public’, no matter what Kisara says) since her coming out; her first time dressing up not to hide herself, but to present herself. It’s a pretty big deal, Katsuya thinks, and the thought of leaving her to face it on her own made him anxious.
They had… not quite argued - neither was angry with the other - but debated the matter for nearly an hour yesterday. Kisara had slowly broken him down with point after point. Everyone will have read the article by now, she’d told him. It won’t be a surprise to anyone. (“And if you’ve got employees who live under a rock?” “Then it’s past time someone pulled them out from under it.”) That on its own hadn’t been enough for Katsuya, and he’d continued to argue his case (which mostly consisted of but I wanna), until finally she’d sighed, squared her shoulders, and played her trump card.
“Katsuya.” The way she’d spoken his name was quiet demand for his full attention. “You know I wouldn’t have been able to do this without you. I’ve needed you - I still need you - supporting me.” Kisara had squeezed his hand, while Katsuya had blinked into submission the sudden moisture that misted over his eyes. “But my public face has always been self-sufficient. And that’s not just for the media’s sake. I need that, too. I need to know that I’m capable of doing this, even- even when you’re not with me.”
Ironically, it was that waver in her voice, that crack in her resolve, that convinced Katsuya to let Kisara have her way. He knows he can’t, realistically, be there shadowing her at every single board meeting and business deal and whatever the hell else it is that comes with the job description of KaibaCorp CEO. He’d be bored and out of place; she might come under fire for his constant extraneous presence. No, Kisara needs to stand on her own two high-heeled feet, and the earlier she gets used to it, the better.
But that mutual decision hadn’t stopped Katsuya from missing her and worrying about her the moment she’d left for the office that morning. He’d puttered restlessly about the apartment for a few hours, switching back and forth between “cleaning” (moving the same three piles of stuff back and forth) and checking the news for… he wasn’t really sure what. Reassuring himself that nothing crazy enough to make the news had taken place at KaibaCorp, probably.
When lunchtime had rolled around, out of habit, a spaced-out Katsuya had made two portions. He’d stared blankly at them for a moment once he realized his error, considering what to do with the extra (eat it himself? save it for tonight’s dinner?) before the obvious answer had come to him. Kisara had wanted to present an independent image in her arrival, and in traversing the open hallways and curious gazes to reach her office, but she hadn’t said a thing about a visit to her office behind closed doors.
And so he finds himself now, the eager recipient of Kisara’s fondly exasperated gaze. He smiles at her, placing the hastily wrapped bentos on her desk (normally, he wouldn’t be so careless about it, but the prospect of seeing her had overtaken him). “I made too much lunch."
Kisara rolls her eyes. “Accidentally, I’m sure.”
“I know ya don’t believe me,” Katsuya says, raising his hands in supplication, “but I swear to ya that’s actually what happened.” When her gaze remains disbelieving, he continues, “I’ve been cookin’ for two every day for months, babe. And it didn’t help that I was thinkin’ of you all morning.”
The skepticism melts from Kisara’s face then, and she laughs softly, standing up and rounding her desk to meet him. Katsuya is all too happy to pull her to him in a hug. Despite her height - all six feet and five inches of it, including the heels - Kisara has an impressive, implausible ability to fold her frame in such a way that she fits snugly against Katsuya’s body in a way that makes her seem small. She does so now, tucking her head against his shoulder and clutching him close in a way that tells him as clearly as if she’d spoken it aloud just how welcome his presence is.
“Everything going okay?” he murmurs against her ear.
She nods. “Everyone seemed less surprised and more curious, as I suspected. But they’re all smart enough to focus on the work and keep any stupid questions to themselves. Or out of my earshot, at the very least. ”
“And the work’s goin’ okay?”
Another nod. “It’s really not too different working here as opposed to working from home. Biggest difference is my employees are here and you aren’t.” She pulls back and fixes him with a sly look. “Or you weren’t, at least.”
Katsuya grins. “And now that I’ve fixed that problem, everything’s gonna go wayyyyy smoother, yeah?”
“Mmm…” Kisara pretends to consider this deeply. “Nah, it’s actually been much easier to get things done without my gigantic walking distraction of a boyfriend around to bother me.” She smirks and gives his shoulder a playful swat.
Katsuya pouts and holds his shoulder, feigning hurt. “Hey, it’s thanks to this ‘gigantic walking distraction’ that you’ve been eatin’ three meals a day.” Katsuya inclines his head towards the waiting meals on Kisara’s desk. “Speakin’ of…”
“Alright, alright.” Kisara steps away from him, making to return to her chair. “I can spare an hour or so.”
A sudden, spontaneous thought sends Katsuya scrambling to beat her to it, and he finds himself with his behind planted firmly in her fancy office chair before he knows precisely what he’s doing. All he knows for sure is that he and Kisara are alone in the office, with a promised hour of solitude, and she’s looking characteristically gorgeous in an understated but finely tailored white blouse, cut low enough to hint at her cleavage but not quite so low as to be unprofessional. This is an opportunity, and Katsuya doesn’t want to waste it.
Kisara crosses her arms, creating a shelf beneath her breasts, and Katsuya doesn’t bother to hide his gaze as it zeroes in on them. “What on earth are you doing?”
She’s aiming for annoyance, but the amused smile sneaking across her lips betrays how she really feels. Katsuya offers up his best puppy-dog eyes, and her smile grows wider. “I came all this way just to bring ya your lunch. Don’tcha think I deserve to rest my feet after that?”
Kisara points across her desk. “Chairs.”
“Yours is more comfortable.”
“Mine is also mine.” Kisara pokes his ribs, and he grins, swatting at her hand. “I’m going to need you to give it back to me if you want me to actually eat the lunch you brought me.”
“Aww, there’s plenty of room here for the both of us, babygirl.” Kisara arches an eyebrow at him. With a smirk, Katsuya spreads his legs and pats his thigh invitingly.
Kisara inhales through her nose, pressing her lips together, and considers him through half-lidded eyes. She takes a half-step towards him, and Katsuya’s grin becomes triumphant. Thinking he has her, he rolls the chair back slightly to make room for her - and then she presses her palms to the desk behind her, giving herself a boost as she hops up to perch atop it.
She offers him a faux-sweet grin. “I’ve got the taller chair now.”
“You’re taller than me no matter what!” Katsuya can’t help the laughter that overtakes him at the almost childish retort. “But now I’ve got the better view, don’tcha think?” Katsuya’s not that much shorter than Kisara (at her barefoot height, that is) but their heights while in their respective seats have now put her tits directly at his eye level. He leans in closer, letting her get a good look at his attentive appreciation. “How’re my girls doin’ today, huh? Enjoyin’ their chance to see the world?”
Kisara rolls her eyes. She shifts on her perch to seat herself more securely atop the desk, her thighs flexing and spreading a bit as she does so. “You’re such a-”
Katsuya doesn’t let her finish. He seizes the desk on either side of Kisara, using it to pull himself and the chair sharply forwards so he’s situated between her open legs. She yelps as their bodies make contact, and within an instant Katsuya pulls her blouse down by the neckline and buries his face between her breasts.
“Katsu- mnn…” She groans as he brushes light, teasing kisses up the curve of one breast, then down the other. They’re soft and plush and warm against his face, and he presses his hands against her back to pull her closer, wanting to completely erase the gap between the two of them. She squirms beneath his touch, not in displeasure, but in delighted sensation, if her breathy gasps and skipping heartbeat beneath his lips are anything to go by.
He graduates from kissing to nipping at Kisara’s breasts, gathering just enough of the tender skin between his teeth to deliver a pleasant sting. She gasps and squeaks upon each new bite; he can tell by the way her hair tickles his hands that she’s tilted her head back. Her own hands reach blindly for him in order to steady herself. One clasps tightly about his shoulder; the other finds its fingers threaded through his hair.
Katsuya smiles into her warm, smooth skin. “Enjoying yourself?” he murmurs.
“What?”
“Oh, sorry.” He pulls back slightly, looking her in the face, but keeping close enough that his breath tickles her tits as he speaks. “I forgot ya wouldn’t be able to hear me through these massive tits of yours.”
Kisara shivers, though whether it’s due to his words or his breath Katsuya isn’t sure. Despite her glassy, needy eyes and the faint flush across her cheeks, she attempts an air of unaffectedness, wrinkling her nose at him. “They’re not massive. I’m - nn - only a C cup.”
“I dunno, babe…” Katsuya makes a show of inspecting her breasts. “They look pretty fuckin’ huge from where I’m sittin’.”
Kisara huffs. “Forced perspective.”
“Alright, alright.” Katsuya reaches for the strap of her bra. “What say you we do a little experiment to test my hypothesis?” He peels one strap off her shoulder, letting his nail trail down her skin as he does so, and she groans low in the back of her throat. One round, full breast peeks out of the loosened cup, and Katsuya is pleased to see her nipple is already stiff with arousal. “Let’s find out-” he pulls down the other strap- “how easy I can fit ‘em in my mouth.”
Kisara inhales sharply, her tits heaving freely with the movement, and Katsuya spares a brief second to admire how gorgeous they look - how gorgeous she looks - exposed plainly just for him: the neckline of her smart white blouse stretched indecently, her lacy bra loose and useless around her torso. Then he dives in, taking her soft flesh into his mouth and suckling like he’s trying to drink from her.
Kisara’s manicured nails dig into his shoulders, the fabric of his shirt an ineffective shield from the pinpricks of pain - not that he minds in the slightest. Her desperate clutching and the whimper she suppresses into the crown of his head are both proof he’s doing his job well and hot as hell. Katsuya scrapes his teeth ever-so-lightly across her tit, eliciting a drawn-out shiver and a moan to match it when he delicately grazes her nipple.
He pulls his head back slowly to release her captive breast before turning his attention to the other one, lavishing it with the same treatment he had the first one. His hands, meanwhile, sneak beneath the hem of her shirt, unhooking her bra and discarding it to allow him free roam of the smooth skin of her back. Kisara has all but given up trying to speak already; her breath comes in heavy, needy pants interspersed with salacious vocalizations whenever he touches her just so. Katsuya is certain that if he looked up at her face he would find her mouth wide open and her lashes fluttering in luxurious pleasure; it’s tempting, but to do so would mean pulling his focus from her tits. Her inside his mouth is all he wants: the soft, yielding flesh filling his hungry mouth like a warm pastry and her erect nipple a welcome, willing playmate for his tongue.
“You’re so pretty.” The words tumble from his lips the moment he releases her tit and takes a breath. Damp fabric brushes Katsuya’s chin as he switches breasts once more, and he realizes after a hazy moment that it’s his own drool soaking the neckline of her blouse, having leaked from between his jaws unawares as he’d fit his mouth as best he could around her tits. “My babygirl and her lovely girls,” he continues, moving a hand from back to front so he can fondle her neglected breast. “You’re so good for me. So pretty and sexy. I love that you’re lettin’ me have my way with you, right on top a’ your big girl desk.” His own movements have become frenzied. He wants to focus, to suck on her hard nipple, but he also wants to cover every inch of her beautiful breasts. The second instinct wins out for the moment, and he uses his hands to press her tits tight together as he peppers them with adoring kisses.
“Kh- Katsu-” His unfinished name is barely a whimper - barely even a whisper - as she surrenders herself entirely to his voice and his touch. The both of them are hard, and have been for a while now: Katsuya can feel his own erection straining uncomfortably against his jeans, and can see Kisara’s tenting even beneath the many layers of fabric that make up her smart, dark skirt.
Katsuya withdraws a hand from beneath Kisara’s shirt to unzip his fly, groaning with simultaneous need and relief once he gets his hand around his cock. “Fuck,” he grits out as he begins to stroke himself, his fact still buried deep between Kisara’s tits. “Kisara- you- so pretty, I-”
He’s having trouble getting the words out himself, his breath hitching as his pleasure begins to peak. Kisara remains speechless, too, but her hand suddenly closes around his upper arm in a grip too hard and too deliberate for it to be mere ecstasy. Katsuya immediately pulls back, his hand slowing as he searches her face anxiously. “What’s wrong, babe?” he murmurs. “You okay?” Glassy-eyed, Kisara nods vigorously, but her death grip doesn’t abate. Katsuya waits a few moments longer, pausing in his ministrations to allow her to regain her breath.
“Inside,” she finally manages, her chest heaving with the effort of speech. “Katsuya- need you inside me. Please.”
Katsuya hadn’t thought he could get any stiffer, but he feels the effect of her pleas on his cock instantaneously. He and his dick both want to be inside of her, too, just as badly (if not more) than she wants it, but…
Katsuya drops an apologetic trail of kisses atop the crest of her breasts. “I didn’t bring lube,” he whispers against her collarbone, silently cursing himself for the oversight.
“Second drawer.”
Katsuya blinks.
“What?”
“Second drawer,” she repeats, a touch of impatience audible in her voice. “Under the- nnn…” She squirms when he pinches her tit to bring her back down from her high horse. “The- stuff…”
“Oh, thanks, babe. Real descriptive,” he teases. Even still, he’s able to locate the lube without any trouble under all the stuff. While it’s not immediately visible upon opening the drawer, it’s not in any kind of secret compartment, either. Katsuya supposes most people would know better than to go through Kaiba Kisara’s desk, and even if they did, there are more incriminating things to find than a simple tube of lube. In his haste, he covers his fingers in probably quite a bit more than is necessary, but no matter. Not like it’ll be hard to replace.
“How long have ya had this here, anyway?” he asks as he quickly re-screws the cap.
Kisara turns her face to the side. She speaks so quietly Katsuya almost doesn’t hear her answer.
“...Since today.”
A slow grin creeps across Katsuya’s face. “Oh yeah?” He wraps the arm attached to his un-lubed hand around her torso, yanking her forward and into his lap. She wraps her arms around his shoulders, her head turned doggedly away from his, but not so far that he can’t see the pink flush rushing to her cheeks. “So, you were hopin’ I’d pay ya a visit today, after alllll that talk about you bein’ Little Miss Independent.” His prepared hand snakes its way beneath her skirt, tugging her underwear down before teasing the rim of her hole with his fingers. It twitches with anticipation, and Katsuya chuckles before leaning in to whisper his killing blow into her ear. “You’re a slut, babygirl, ya know that?”
Kisara doesn’t even try to deny it. She whimpers, rocking back to press her hole insistently against his finger. “Please, Katsuya-”
Katsuya captures her lips in his, swallowing her sweet pleas. She sighs, her lashes fluttering closed, and Katsuya takes that moment to penetrate her. He doesn’t go very deep to start, but she groans into his mouth, angling her hips to press herself deeper onto his finger.
“Easy, baby. Easy,” he whispers. He’s worried she might hurt herself in her haste, but her hole, tight though it is, takes him in readily; either the excess lube was of use after all, or her body is just that eager to be joined with Katsuya’s. Either way, her desperation is infectious. Katsuya kisses her again, wanting to be close and connected in every possible way, but the meeting of their mouths is rendered sloppy, interrupted by their combined gasps and groans. Kisara keeps arching her head back as Katsuya opens her hole further, as he introduces a second and then a third finger; Katsuya’s focus is shattered by the threefold sensations of Kisara’s tits squashed against his chest, her hole clasped about his fingers, and the fabric of her skirt brushing against the head of his unbearably sensitive dick. As such, they’re less ‘kissing’ and more ‘bumping their noses and chins together’; despite how awkward it sounds, though, Katsuya finds their combined scrabbling for each other only turns him on more.
“Ya ready?” he pants when she feels sufficiently open. Kisara nods rapidly and shifts atop his lap, preparing to envelop Katsuya’s dick between her legs, but he holds her in place with a firm hand on her hip. “Woah, woah, not so fast, babygirl.”
“What?” She scrunches her nose at him, her face and neck flushed with lust and her impatience obvious as she grinds back needily against the hand still filling her hole.
It’s tearing at Katsuya just as much to not have her riding his dick, but he pushes his impatience down, holding up a rapidly constructed facade of calm control as he offers her a sleazy smile. “Last I checked, I’m the one with my ass sat in the CEO chair. I think that means I get to call the shots here.”
“Okay? And?” Once again, Kisara doesn’t even argue with his claim, just fixes him with a pleading look that says whatever you want as long as you fuck me. He hadn’t meant to draw this out too much longer, but he can’t help it when faced with her wide blue gaze: desperate and desirous and, beneath it all, trusting that he’ll give her what she needs after he’s done playing around with her. Katsuya kisses her, pressing his lips firmly to her open mouth, and with it trying to impress upon her just how fucking hot she is, how much it gets him off to see and hear her squirming and moaning above or below him. She sighs into the kiss, accepting it despite the urgency burning within her.
Finally, Katsuya breaks the long kiss, taking in a breath before he brushes another kiss against her chin. “I wanna see-” he kisses her neck, and she squirms and sighs- “your pretty ass-” a final kiss between her breasts- “bent over the desk.” Kisara gasps, and he raises his head to look her in the face. Kisara’s mouth is slack, her gaze faraway, and Katsuya grins. It’s clear she’s onboard, that she’s already there in her mind.
Gently, he removes his fingers from her hole and then helps her stand on shaking legs, making sure she’s steady enough before he stands up himself. Kisara turns about immediately, her blouse riding up and exposing her back as she bends for him. Katsuya laughs as she attempts to gather up the fabric of her skirt with trembling fingers, taking over the job for her. It’s a beautiful article of clothing: layers upon layers of gauzy, dark fabric draped over one another asymmetrically, each sheaf edged with silver. Of course, the refined, businesslike outside of the skirt hides the stains of both of their precum underneath.
“That’s a good girl,” he croons, lifting the skirt to expose her ass. “So ready for my cock inside your pussy. You’ve been ready for a while now, yeah?” She moans, and Katsuya wets his lips as he watches her expectant hole twitch, its edges shimmering with smeared lube. “You’re so ready for it, I bet you orgasm as soon as I stick it in,” he taunts her as he lines himself up. “That’s okay, though. Your cunt’s always so hot and tight, it’s hard for me to help myself, either. But don’t worry, baby. You’ve been so good for me, I’ll make sure I take care of you first.”
With this promise and a practiced thrust, he enters her. Kisara yelps, and there’s an initial resistance, but he repositions slightly and with a few rolls of his hips his passage eases. Kisara moans wantonly as his length sinks into her, stifling the sound behind a hand. Normally, Katsuya would peel her fingers away, would insist upon hearing her cries unmuffled, but he’s keenly aware of Kisara’s secretary and any potential visitors just outside the door. The thought of them overhearing Katsuya laying claim to his girl is so hot it makes his head spin, but his last bastion of practicality reminds him that Kisara has a company to run and a reputation to uphold. As sexy as the thought is, any damage to her image isn’t worth getting himself off - and, anyway, he can still do that just fine, with her bent 90 degrees beneath him.
Katsuya shoves a hand down her shirt, which stretches easily for him, to grab a handful of tit; he wraps the other arm around her waist to prevent her from bruising her pelvis against the desk once he starts thrusting in earnest. She shivers beneath his hands, her inner walls clenching around him in pleasure, and Katsuya has to bite the inside of his cheek to keep himself in check. He’d promised her an orgasm, and he intends to hold himself to that.
Without further ado, Katsuya begins to fuck her properly against the desk, slow and tantalizing at first, then gradually picking up the tempo. Kisara moans in time with his movements: each cry coming in time with him reaching the apex of a thrust, and then gasping in each breath as he drags his cock back in preparation for the next. She’s practically hyperventilating by the time he reaches full speed, her chest hot and flushed and jittery beneath his hand.
“Fuck, Kisara- I’m so close,” he gasps, struggling to hold himself together. “Are you close? Plea- please tell me you’re close.”
“Y- aaah- y- Kats…” She can’t even manage a full word, but it’s all the answer that Katsuya needs. He lets himself go completely, the head of his cock slamming into her at full force. As her muffled cry of release rings in his ears, Katsuya fixes his eyes on her white-knuckled grip on the desk’s other edge, and his eyes squeeze shut as he comes with a long, low, grunt.
Once he’s spent, Katsuya slumps forward, fitting his body to Kisara’s and placing a hand atop hers. Slowly, her tight grip on the desk slackens, relaxing beneath his large, warm hand. The room is silent save for the sounds of them both trying to catch their breath.
Finally, Katsuya kisses her cheek before pulling out. His cum gushes from inside her, and would threaten to stain the carpet; but he’s prepared, crouching so that he can catch the mess and mop it up with her skirt. As he works to pat her legs (relatively) clean, Kisara slowly rises to a standing position. Once he’s certain the mess is contained, Katsuya mirrors her.
Awareness returns to Kisara’s eyes as she looks down at herself. Her blouse is drenched in sweat and stretched out beyond saving; her skirt sports a dark, wet spot just below the crotch; and, while she probably can’t see it, her lipstick is smudged from lips to chin. She huffs indignantly (amazing that the woman can do that immediately after Katsuya had done his utmost to fuck her brains out) and crosses her arms over her (still exposed) chest. “Well? Anything to say for yourself?”
Katsuya offers a cheeky grin. “You’re very welcome.”
Kisara rolls her eyes, shoving his shoulder as she passes him on her way to the office’s private bathroom. “I have a meeting at four, you asshole.”
Katsuya glances at the clock before padding after her into the bathroom. “Ya still got three hours.” Kisara’s eyes don’t leave her reflection, but she sidesteps to allow him space next to her at the mirror. While his clothes aren’t in as bad a state as hers, he still looks disheveled enough to turn heads: her lipstick smudges his mouth, his hair is a rat’s nest - and, upon closer look, there’s a stray trickle of cum staining his jeans, but he thinks he can probably get away with that one. Katsuya wets his hands, rubbing them across his stained mouth and through his messy hair.
By the time he’s satisfied with his appearance, Kisara has finished with her makeup remover and is running a brush through her long, dark locks. Katsuya wraps his arms around her from behind and presses an apologetic kiss to the exposed nape of her neck. “I’ll bring ya whatever clothes ya want from home,” he murmurs. “Just be real specific so’s I can get the right ones.”
“Home’s too far,” she says dismissively. “You’ll never make it there and back in time.”
She’s not making eye contact with him. Is she mad? It strikes Katsuya as a little unfair, given how enthusiastic she’d been to get things started - and it’s not like he knew about her meeting! - but he doesn’t want to argue about it, not in the middle of her workday.
“It’s only twenty minutes, babe,” he counters hesitantly. “Maybe thirty if ya get unlucky with the trains, but-”
“But that’d be too easy for you,” she finishes. She finally turns away from the mirror and faces him. “After you barged in here and ruined my outfit-” she tugs at her loose neckline, and Katsuya presses his lips together to keep from smiling- “I think it’s only fair that you go out and buy me a new one.”
Kisara’s poker face is pretty good - always has been - but Katsuya catches the sparkle in her theatrically narrowed eyes. “So, lemme get this straight,” he says, the corner of his lip quirking in a half-smile. “As punishment for my heinous crimes, ya want me to go out and use your money to buy whatever outfit I want for ya?”
“That’s correct.” Her lips twitch with a suppressed smile. “I expect you to come back miserable and remorseful.”
“Miserable and remorseful and with a sexy new outfit. You got it.” He turns to leave with a smile still affixed to his face.
“Katsuya!” Kisara calls out after him as he exits the bathroom, placing great emphasis on her next three words. “Work appropriate, please.”
“Sure, sure,” he tosses over his shoulder as he heads for the door.
-----
There’s a razor’s edge between sexy and work appropriate, and Katsuya thinks he’s walked that tightrope perfectly.
“You’re lucky I brought a blazer,” Kisara grumbles as she fastens it over top of the low-cut blouse Katsuya had returned with.
Katsuya pouts. “Aw, you’re puttin’ the girls away? Don’tcha think they wanna see what your big business meeting is all about?”
“And do you want the ‘girls’ to be out and free for everyone to see?” Kisara clearly means the remark to be a gotcha, but she makes a face as soon as she’s finished speaking. “Ugh. I hate that I said that even to make fun of you.”
Katsuya laughs and pulls her in by the waist, letting his hand drift down to the slit in her skirt. It’s a thin enough slit that it doesn’t show too much - that you might not even notice it if you weren’t looking for it - but Katsuya knows it’s there, and he takes full advantage of it as he teases his fingers along the exposed skin. “Personally, I think ya’d be doin’ the world a favor by showin’ off your perfect titties. But, yeah, I like knowin’ that you wanna save my girls all for me.”
Kisara glances away, trying and failing to hide her blush with a roll of her eyes. “Would you obsess over my breasts less if I started sneaking E into your food and you grew your own?”
“Nope.”
“Figures.” She places a hand on his chest in preparation to shove him away, but leans in for a quick peck just before she does so. “Do me a favor and get out of here before you ruin this outfit, too?”
“Alright, alright.” Katsuya walks backwards towards the door to the office, not wanting to tear his eyes away from her until the last second. “I’ll see you at home, yeah?” Kisara nods, her eyes already glued to her monitor, and Katsuya takes that as his cue to leave her be. But just as he turns away:
“You had better be ready to peel these clothes off of me once I’m back.”