Work Text:
“Do you want to go out for drinks after work on Friday?”
He’s resting his head on Aki’s lap in the backseat when he asks. They’ve just been turned loose, freed after a fight with a devil of little consequence. It’d been Aki who’d suggested a break before heading back out, which is a good sign. Maybe Angel’s training is finally working.
The taller male continues, the weight of his hand resting on Angel’s shoulder as he rubs circles through the fabric, working at a knot on his neck.
“I ran into some guys I trained with back in the day, and they suggested catching up. I mentioned you possibly coming.” As if Aki can sense Angel’s hesitation, he changes his approach. “I already gave them the rundown that you’re a devil-”
“No.”
“It’s free food.”
Does Aki really think so little of him? His hand has been down Angel’s pants- and vice versa- multiple times at this point, and yet the human still treats him like an aloof stray cat that can be tamed with kibble.
“...Sure.”
Anything is better than Public Safety’s “dinner”, after all.
Friday progresses as usual, which is to say it’s the most grindingly slow day of the week.
By noon, he’s accepted that he’s excited. Under a dozen layers of delusion, he can pretend it’s close to a date.
The logical side of Angel’s brain, obviously, debates this. If he views this as some romantic movie-scene date night, he’s setting himself up for disappointment. It’s not like it’s just the two of them, and it’s not like Aki is going to introduce him as anything other than a partner.
But his heart keeps chirping “Date with Aki” no matter how hard he tries to silence it.
Five o’clock can’t come fast enough.
__
The moment they step into the izakaya, second thoughts flood Angel’s mind.
It’s too much.
Firstly, the place is loud, packed with suit-clad salarymen enjoying drinks after work, babbling loudly as waitstaff shout greetings and orders to the kitchen. Music warbles through tinny, cracked speakers, insistent despite the general cacophony.
Secondly, the air is a bouquet of clashing scents. It assaults his sensitive devil nose with a thick slurry of cigarette smoke, booze, human skin, and the shockingly mouthwatering aroma emanating from the kitchen.
Angel realizes he’s responded to the sensory overload by sneaking behind Aki, using the larger man as a human shield. He quickly shuffles to the side, his face burning, though his grip on Aki’s sleeve doesn’t loosen.
“Hey, Hayakawa! Over here!”
How Aki can hear the call over the din of plates clinking and loud conversation is beyond him.
Aki’s colleagues are already wedged into a booth by the time they get there. They’ve all crowded to one side, and as Angel slides in, squishing himself and his wings into the innermost seat, he wonders if this is what an interview is like. The assemblage sits expectant with their stares, and Angel’s once again reminded of his status. He’s an ornamental fish in a tank; easily observable, all-seeing, but unable to break through the thick barrier separating him from the real world.
Even if he could shatter the glass, he’d suffocate and drown in air.
At least Aki hadn’t been lying about the food. The table groans under the weight of assorted dishes, and a waitress quickly arrives in a flurry of apron and drink, depositing five gigantic beer mugs on the table.
Aki introduces the 3 other men at the table in quick succession, and Angel makes a halfhearted attempt to learn their names, if only because stopping to ask “who are you” would be more trouble than it’s worth. Sonoda is the one with shaggy chestnut hair, Higuchi is the one with a scar running down his cheek like an errant lightning strike, and… he immediately forgets the third one’s name, but he has a buzzcut that emphasizes his ears- which stick out like satellite dishes- even more, so Angel internally dubs him Ears.
It’s only when Aki nudges him that he realizes he’s supposed to join the other four in a toast. He’s never joined in on a toast.
Nor has he ever had beer before. He’s not sure if he likes it. It’s too sharp, too sour, and the tang of carbonation nearly makes him hiccup.
He prefers the kushiyaki and the spread of fried and grilled food. So as the other men chug their beer and retread old stories only the four of them are privy to, Angel busies himself slowly sipping his beer and nibbling the various dishes on the table.
By the time he’s really gotten into the rhythm of it- sip, chew, nod and offer a word or two when he gets roped into the conversation, repeat- he’s beginning to feel mildly buzzed, the colors of the room blurring like a camera going out of focus. It’s nice. The packed restaurant is radiant with the heat of the kitchen and customers alike, and Angel lets his eyes droop a little, feels his shoulders grow less tense.
Aki’s further into his drinks than Angel is. He’s on his second or third beer, and his cheeks are growing pink, his clipped and polite voice getting looser; the sloppy crew opposite them obviously began drinking before the pair got there, and peer pressure is pushing him to catch up. His lap looks really inviting, all nice and warm, and Angel allows himself to fantasize about resting his head there until they both melt into each other in an alcohol-infused blob.
But he can’t.
He can’t remember why he can’t. Probably some reputation thing. It’s mostly weird perv humans that date devils. Even though the “weird perv” name definitely encompasses Aki, a fact Angel knows far too well.
But Angel’s cute, right? Aki loves saying that while he’s bending him over his kitchen counter while Denji and Power are out, or when he’s petting his hair in the backseat after a long shift, or as an exasperated “you’re lucky you’re cute” when he buys Angel a chunk of honey toast the size of his head.
…But he never says he’s cute in front of others.
The poignancy of that realization slices through the drunk haze like a razor, and Angel’s buzz quickly grows necrotic, souring in his stomach and chest.
This was a mistake. He was stupid for getting his hopes up, for viewing this as a date.
He could have turned Aki down. He could have been home in his cell at Public Safety. At least there’s a bed there and it’s nice and quiet and smells like concrete instead of liquor and stinky middle aged salarymen.
So he sullenly finishes his beer in one big gulp, ignoring the way the bubbles buzz into his nose, and proceeds to frown loudly, enveloping himself in a stormcloud of sulk. Hopefully stupid Aki notices, but he probably won’t, because he’s stupid and he’s engrossed in stupid conversation with some stupid guys Angel doesn’t know. Stupid.
Stupid!!
He’s considering flagging down the waitress and getting another beer or a chuhai or something that’ll make the night go faster when the conversation lulls and shifts.
“I didn’t know your partner was such a looker, though.” Sonoda says, which earns him a smack upside the head from Ears. Angel recently learned that humans sometimes show affection by lightly beating each other, but the hush that blankets the table feels too pointed for play.
Aki’s hand shoots to Angel’s lap.
“And you’re still a horndog. Hands off my partner, alright?” Aki’s voice sounds lighthearted only on the most superficial, skin-deep level, and his fingers twitch imperceptibly where they rest on Angel’s slacks.
“Easy, it was a joke,” Sonoda laughs, waving a hand. “I’m sorry, though. I’ll keep it to myself next time.”
The set to Aki’s jaw belies that he doesn’t quite believe him, but he remains silent, and the conversation begins anew anyway. The three men begin a loud argument about some sports thing Angel doesn’t know and doesn’t care about.
“You good?” Aki stares intently at him, his pupils large and flickering with something fanged, something possessive. His voice is almost comically serious, even though every word is accompanied with the smell of booze. “Sonoda has no verbal filter, I’m sorry.”
“I’m fine.” Now he’s pretending to care. Fantastic. Aki’s thin brows furrow, his mouth opening to say something- if Angel didn’t know better, he’d say Aki’s upset. Angel certainly doesn’t share that upset; it had been a stupid aside from a drunk guy he doesn’t even know.
…Though the concept of Aki being more bothered than him is darkly appealing.
“Huh? You talking about me, Hayakawa?” As if on cue, the other man leans forward, grinning conspiratorially. Aki’s face quickly molds from concern into a vaguely jovial visage, though his smile doesn’t reach his eyes.
“I’m just telling him Sonoda has been saying ‘it’s the BayStars’ year!’ for as long as I’ve known him because he’s from Yokohama and also delusional,” Aki replies, which immediately ropes him into the lively sports argument.
Except his hand doesn’t leave Angel’s lap.
In fact, it creeps closer up his leg, giving his thigh a hearty squeeze.
Angel shoots a sideways look at him- they’re in public, not that he cares, but Aki does, 99% of the time- only to be met with his side profile, as engaged in the conversation as ever. Before Angel can brush it off as a fluke, Aki’s hand just naturally gravitating to his favorite part of the devil’s body, his thumb begins to knead circles in the flesh.
Angel readjusts in his seat and spreads his legs, bumping Aki’s knee with his. Hey. You know you’re groping me right now, right. And that we’re in public? Just wanted to confirm.
The devil’s telepathy skills obviously need work, because Aki nudges his foot under and around Angel’s, spreading the other man’s legs further with his calf.
His hand leaves Angel’s thigh for just a millisecond before he settles it gently on his lap, its gloved weight heavy and resolute. As the devil hazards a glance down, he begins to knead slowly, insistently, at Angel’s clothed groin.
“You good?” Aki echoes. This time, his voice is thick not with concern but with want, hoarse in his ear, and Angel swallows heavily. The room is spinning. This is wrong, not even devils copulate in public, but-
All Angel can do is nod.
“Good boy. You want me to stop, just kick me.”
With that murmured aside, Aki’s gloved hand creeps under Angel’s pants before sliding under the waistband of his panties, the latex drawing goosebumps in its wake. His sharp blue eyes are still trained on the conversation in front of him, and anyone would think the peachy blush to his cheeks is simply the flush of alcohol.
The skin of Angel’s lower stomach has always been sensitive enough to elicit squirms and little gasps; that’s probably why Aki takes extra time there, idly rubbing a circle on his hipbone.
Sometimes he hates how well Aki knows his body.
Angel shifts in his seat, spreading his legs further, anything to redirect the nervous energy fizzing in his bones. If the other men notice, they not only keep silent, they don’t even spare him a second glance. He fights to keep himself fluid, as natural as possible, instead of twitching in arousal as Aki’s gloved fingers inch downwards, spreading his lips open and tracing at his entrance.
Their eyes meet: Aki’s wide with surprise, and Angel’s hazy with lust and dull humiliation. He can wiggle and look away all he wants, act like the corner of the menu is the most interesting thing he’s ever seen, but he can’t hide that he’s soaked almost clear through his underwear with want.
For the first time, Angel is thankful for the lack of privacy. It brings fewer speaking opportunities. The concept of Aki commenting on how wet he is makes him want to steal the other man’s lighter and self-immolate.
The voice in his head screams again, choked in alcohol though it might be, that it’s wrong. Not just that he’s letting Aki touch him like this in public; but that he’s enjoying it, enjoying the burn of humiliation crackling up his spine, enjoying the clueless glances of people who could never know the secret they share. It’s sick. He’s sick.
But Aki’s just as sick.
And somehow, they found each other.
That thought, coupled with the idle roll of his clit between Aki’s fingers, makes him shudder and gasp, gripping desperately at the table. An almost imperceptible hiss of warning escapes the human, and his eyes are stony as he leans in.
“Be quiet unless you want the whole table to know who you belong to.”
At the revelation that it’s jealousy, Angel nearly lets out a buzzed giggle. Aki Hayakawa. The man who looks like a fucking romantic drama lead. Jealous. Over a devil. Angel turns the word over and over in his head, sucking the meaning from it like it’s a hard candy on his tongue. Jealous, jealous, jealous.
Apparently a dopey grin and barely-suppressed giggle wasn’t Aki’s intended reaction, as he scissors his middle and pointer finger together- hard- squeezing Angel’s clit between the digits as their tips press into his entrance.
The devil’s hand snaps up to his mouth instantly, barely managing to cover the startled moan that bursts from his lips. One of the men glances impassively at him, and Angel forces himself to cough. It’s not his most convincing work, but the other man returns to his drink, and it gives Angel an opportunity to sip at some water.
“You okay? Breathe.” Aki’s voice is low and heavy as his gloved fingers drag slowly, torturously, against Angel’s walls. He debates stomping hard on Aki’s foot for that one. What kind of asshole plays the concerned partner while they’re knuckles-deep in their pussy?
Angel’s eyes scan the restaurant for a hint of recognition, a judging glare that screams I know what you’re doing and you’re sick for it, but all he sees is a Gaussian blur of drunk faces spinning around him. A wave of dizziness overtakes him, either from alcohol, from adrenaline, or from the overwhelming feeling of Aki’s fingers rhythmically pistoning inside him.
“…What about you, Hayakawa? You seeing anyone? There’s no way a hardass like you has time for dating.”
Somehow, it’s that question from Higuchi that breaks through the white noise of pointless banter. Angel tuned most of it out, but those words slap him across the face. They’re not even directed at him, so why do they make his chest clench?
“…Actually, I am with someone.”
The utter disbelief from around the table suggests that Aki has just casually admitted to being able to teleport.
“No way!”
“Is she hot?”
“What’re they like?”
“Mm. They’re the spoiled brat type, and it’s kind of hard to read their emotions sometimes, but they’re really cute. So, so cute.” Aki’s thumb rubs rhythmic circles on Angel’s clit as he speaks, his tone as even and measured as if he’s discussing the weather. When he lifts his beer mug to his mouth, there’s a grin on his face, and it’s all Angel can do to keep himself from slamming his own head into the table. “Especially when they get flustered.”
“I didn’t take you for the teasing boyfriend type,” someone interjects, and though an electric wave shoots through his chest at that word- boyfriend- Angel nearly laughs. Despite their shared history, these people don’t know Aki at all.
No, that’s not true. It’s more accurate that there’s a side of Aki- the side that will make him cry and then coo over him and heap him with praise as he wipes his tears- that only Angel knows.
That revelation makes the breath catch in his throat, and Angel temporarily forgets how to breathe.
“You’d understand if you saw them.” Aki’s fingers crook inside him, hammering the spot that always makes him unravel, and Angel leans into his hand, trying not to sob. His other hand bunches in his slacks, desperately trying to anchor his tipsy mind to something tactile other than the stretch of Aki’s fingers in his pussy. “They’re perfect.”
“You got pictures? Lemme see-”
“Nope. That’s between us. They know who they belong to and that’s what matters.”
Luckily, the drunk audience sits enraptured by Aki’s sordid tale, so the broken, pathetic whimper that escapes Angel’s lips goes unnoticed.
“Whatever you guys are into, man. My girl’s probably cuter. Has better taste in guys, too. Except the other day, she-”
As Higuchi begins rambling about some happenstance or another, it’s all Angel can do to bite back a sigh of relief, feeling his core disengage and his shoulders loosen. The spotlight is off him.
Or it would be. He should have known Aki wouldn’t let him off so easily.
Aki’s chin rests on Angel’s shoulder, cheek pressed into the veil of pinkish-orange hair. When he speaks, his breath is hot on Angel’s earlobe; his voice is so low and quiet, it’s like the world has shrunk to only them.
“Would you like it if I laid you on the table and fucked you in front of everyone? Show the whole world who you belong to?” Even as he shoots Aki a sideways glare, Angel’s pussy clenches traitorously around his fingers at the idea. Even in his current state, it doesn’t escape Aki; he can feel his cheek twist into a grin. “…You like showing off? Fucking exhibitionist.”
Angel doesn’t trust his ability to speak, but he can’t let that go by unchallenged.
“No, I don’t-” Angel’s voice is so quiet and breathy that he’s afraid it’ll get swept away by the raucous buzz of the bar before it can even reach Aki. He draws in a ragged breath. “It’s not that I want people to see me like that, I just- I want people knowing I’m yours-”
Aki’s fingers freeze inside him, and Angel nearly screams. Not now. Not when he’s so close. The tiniest, most pathetic whine escapes Aki, before his fingers pick up speed again, hammering insistently into his heat.
He’s merciless, so merciless Angel can feel tears pricking at the corners of his vision.
“You’re so fucking adorable. My baby.”
It takes everything Angel has to not cry out as he cums, walls clenching around Aki’s fingers as they relentlessly coax his orgasm from him.
The human’s left hand wraps around one of Angel’s and squeezes, anchoring the devil to the realm of the living as his legs shake and he bites down on his bottom lip.
It’s the performance of a lifetime, but when Angel’s thighs stop twitching and he remembers how to breathe evenly, the only recognition he receives is Aki unlacing his left hand from his, slipping the fingers out of Angel’s still-sensitive pussy, and giving his leg an affectionate bump with his.
It might as well be a standing ovation.
But Angel nearly throws it all away when Aki slowly, so casually he’d be shocked if it raised any suspicion even among a sober group, raises his fingers to rest on his mouth. To the devil’s continued horror, his tongue ghosts across his fingers, casually licking fluids from the latex.
Aki glances over at him, his expression impenetrable if not for the phantom of a smile in his eyes.
The room is suddenly far too hot, and he wraps his hand tightly around the tepid glass of water in front of him, trying to will the heat away from his face.
“Hey, Angel Devil, you okay?”
“I-I…” There’s genuine concern on the other man’s face, and if his mind was actually working he’d be mildly touched by it. Quick. Excuse. Anything to get them to stop looking at him. “I think… I drank too much, I don’t feel good…”
“Maybe we should get the check. Does Sonoda still take his shirt off when he’s hammered?” Aki says, glancing at Angel before glancing at the other men. Ears is down for the count, his head resting on the table as a thin stream of drool pools under his cheek, and the other two men look like their self-control is tenuous at best. “…Yeah, let’s get the check.”
Before the devil can say a word, Aki’s already paid for Angel’s food and drinks.
Once the other men sort out their bill to the sullen disdain of the college kid working up front, the pair wrangle the drunkards into a taxi outside. That is to say, Aki shoves them and their assorted belongings- including a discarded shoe- into the backseat while sliding the cab driver a crisp 5000 Yen bill. Angel provides silent emotional support.
The redhead leans against the wall, watching the world spin around him: couples tucked into each other’s arms, friends laughing and bantering, the muffled tunes of some Namie Amuro song playing from a convenience store nearby. All of that mixes with the pleasant, persistent weakness in his legs.
His buzz wore off a long time ago, but the world still feels soft around him.
“…I’m sorry about that.” Aki says when he returns, his eyes locked on the receding form of the taxi.
“I mean, they were annoying, but-“
“It’s not that. I went too far.” He finally turns to look at Angel, and the devil tamps down a giggle at how silly he looks: a grown, 190-centimeter-tall man with a face like a scolded puppy. “Are you mad?”
Mad?
Should he be mad? When there’s a gentle night breeze against his cheek and Aki’s so close he can almost hear his heartbeat?
The human twitches a little in surprise as Angel falls into his chest and wraps his arms around him, burying his face in the cotton of his shirt. Aki still smells like the bar, like booze and salaryman sweat and stale cigarettes, but Angel can still pick up on the body wash and skin underneath.
He stays there, for a minute, just letting this stupid horny human be his entire world. Aki’s arms enclose around him, pulling him tighter as if he can keep everyone else out, and the dull thump in the taller man’s chest washes everything else away.
“…When we go out next time, can it be just us…?” Angel finally says, turning to look up at him. He calls upon whatever alcohol is remaining in his system to force the next words out. Aki’s been greedy enough the whole night; it’s his turn to be selfish.
“I want you to show me off.”
He even throws in an eyelash bat for good measure, just to really seal the deal. Aki swallows heavily, his cheeks growing even pinker, and even before he opens his mouth Angel knows he’s won yet again.
“Yeah. That’s a good idea.” As naturally as if it belongs there, Aki rests his hand on Angel’s head, stroking his hair and letting the strands fall between his fingers. To any observer, they’d be indistinguishable from the other couples drifting down the sidewalk, if not for the wings on Angel’s back. Two lovers to a stranger, their story beginning and ending with their connection.
That thought makes a lump rise in Angel’s throat.
“But let’s finish somewhere more private. Just the two of us. I want you all to myself at the end of the night.”