A piece of cheesecake for cielmelodies (1/4)

[futurepm_mod]

Title: Hard Candy
Pairing: Sho/Jun
Rating: NC-17
Summary: On most days, Sho is a librarian who alternates as a research assistant. On Saturdays, he is Jun’s.
Warnings: D/s, bondage, gags, semi-public sex, phone sex, collars, barebacking
Notes: For cielmelodies. I hope this is to your liking despite Sho having lots of sex and doing not a lot of library work (sorry about that). This story revolves around the D/s relationship and the dynamics present here shouldn’t serve as a basis for any actual practice. Thank you to my beta.

A glance to his left told Sho that it would be another slow day in the archives; the clock on his desk has been on 9:25 for what already felt like hours.

He stretched, hearing his joints pop.

“Does anybody still uses libraries?” Aiba asked, leaning against the countertop.

Sho liked Aiba. Aiba was an industrial chemist, working for a pharmaceutical company that wanted clinical trials for their latest innovation. But Aiba was careful; instead of agreeing to the proposal, he had headed to the public library to ask for Sho’s help.

“People like you,” Sho told him, smiling in front of his monitor as he waited for the database to provide the most recent journals they had on the catalog.

Aiba smiled. He was always a cheerful one. “I like it here. It’s quiet.”

“Unless you’re chatting me up,” Sho joked. He jotted down the control numbers for each article in Aiba’s very specific search (double blind studies for toxicities of some compound Sho couldn’t pronounce) before handing Aiba the piece of paper. “Second floor, then turn left.”

Aiba laughed, accepting the paper with a tiny bow. “You’re the best, Sho-chan.”

Sho simply waved him off, relaxing in his seat as Aiba trudged away with a noticeable bounce on his steps. Sho wouldn’t mind a co-worker like Aiba; his enthusiasm was infectious.

Instead of a cheerful coworker however, what Sho had was an L-shaped desk with stacks of binders underneath. There was another desktop to his right, the one the head librarian used. Sho was only the assistant head librarian, but that meant that he spent more hours surrounded by shelves, books, and files than his superior.

His phone beeped, causing a tiny vibration that Sho felt in his pocket.

Out of habit, Sho looked around to check if anyone was watching him. It wasn’t taboo to use his phone during work hours; it just happened to be ingrained in him even before he had gotten the job.

The patrons of the library were all minding their own business, and despite the quiet chatter Sho could hear in the background, the sounds emitted by his phone with each cautious tap still seemed louder.

Tomorrow, I’d like to meet at 8 PM.

That was the message. For a brief moment, Sho stared at the bonsai icon, wondering what would be an appropriate reply.

He keyed in Not 7? and tapped Send.

The response was almost immediate, his phone vibrating in his hands. It is Friday today.

Sho couldn’t help a tiny smile at that. He considered sending an apology, but ultimately decided with a simple Understood for his reply.

There were no subsequent messages after that, but Sho kept rereading the first message, the fiery knot in his stomach still present.

Jun always had that effect on him.

--

The website had been Ohno’s idea.

Ohno was one of the library’s regular patrons. He worked in the café across the archives, and he made these delectable treats and appealing lattes with his skilled hands.

Ohno often visited the library to take a nap during his breaks. He became Sho’s friend when he became a familiar face, more so when he gave Sho a free latte when Sho visited the café.

Good food, more than anything, easily wins Sho’s heart.

Soon, Ohno became one of the few people Sho could talk to about anything; the man mostly just listened and hummed in agreement whenever Sho would vent a little in front of him. Ohno was the type who either didn’t mind or just spaced out too often. Either way, he was an adequate companion, a comforting presence regardless of the constant stresses in Sho’s life.

There had been many things Sho mentioned to Ohno in passing; he honestly didn’t think Ohno was actually listening. But one day, after Sho had let out his frustrations over his most recent hookup ending in a catastrophe, Ohno slipped a piece of paper in the saucer of his next coffee cup.

The URL had been the only thing scribbled on that paper. No explanations or addendums—just Ohno being Ohno.

Sho had checked out the website out of curiosity, when Tinder had yielded nothing but dick pics that didn’t pique Sho’s interest in any way.

In the Room was the site Sho had gotten from Ohno, and upon opening it, Sho had realized that perhaps, all his one-sided conversations with Ohno weren’t really one-sided after all.

It was a social networking site that had the same features as Tinder, finding people of the same preferences in nearby areas. That part had been the easy one to digest for Sho.

But In the Room also asked for predilections and kinks unlike Tinder. Sho was admittedly inexperienced in that department, but he has always been curious and open to possibilities. There were things he had trouble addressing, but they were all the things that he was willing to try.

He had made his account, filled in his profile, and when he had reached the text box asking for what he wanted, he’d decided to fill it out honestly.

For Sho, who worked as an assistant head librarian of the oldest public library in a corner of Tokyo, having someone else in charge wasn’t something new. He has a superior, someone he respected and listened to often. He was used to being asked for things, to accomplish tiny favors and receive monetary compensation for his efforts.

But what was it like to not receive monthly bank notes for his efforts, instead garner favor, appreciation, and perhaps genuine gratitude? That was what Sho wanted to know, to find out. There had been that nagging feeling that In the Room could perhaps help satisfy his curiosity.

As he had filled out the kink list, he had ticked all of the kinks he was into, even the ones that were up for negotiation. When he had reached the bottom, it had only three choices for him.

Choice A had read, I like being in charge.

I prefer someone else being in charge had been choice B.

C had been a combination of the ones that had preceded it: I’m fine with either.

Sho had clicked B.

For weeks, there was nothing. Sho wasn’t particularly hooked to the site; he had catalogues to check and to look over from time to time. Lunch dates with Ohno had the man asking if Sho had visited the website, and Sho simply nodded.

Then Sho received the email, that he had a personal message waiting for him in In the Room’s messaging system. He got it when he was in the middle of his latte, some of the foam sticking to his philtrum.

Without wasting time, despite Ohno being still in front of him and munching into the croissant he had made with his own hands, Sho logged on and checked the message.

Sho’s username was Zeus, and he had received a message from someone who went by Lucy.

Zeus-san, the message went, you seem like a very honest person to me.

Sho immediately tapped onto Lucy’s icon, which was a diamond. Lucy’s profile stated that he was a bisexual man, a year younger than Sho but also residing in Tokyo, and he was open to pretty much anything but hardly interested in just anyone.

The profile also said that Lucy liked being in charge.

“They’re calling you back?” Ohno asked, wiping crumbs that had stuck to his jaw.

“No, it’s not work,” Sho answered with a dismissive wave, already distracted.

“Date?” Ohno asked again, giving Sho this hopeful smile. He was Sho’s confidante regarding his failures to have something concrete and stable—he must have deduced it from simply looking at Sho’s face.

“Something like that,” Sho said after giving it a bit of thought. “Maybe,” he added.

“Best of luck,” Ohno said, taking a huge bite out of his croissant once more.

“Thanks,” Sho murmured, his fingers already hovering on the keyboard, his eyes fixed on the blinking cursor.

Who doesn’t like honesty, Lucy-san? he typed, and after rereading it, he tapped Send.

Ellipsis appeared a few seconds after Sho had sent in his reply, and his breath hitched.

Lucy was currently logged on to the website.

Point, Lucy’s message said, followed by another set of ellipsis. Sho waited, and the next message for him read, Your profile gave a very earnest impression. I like it.

There was a plunge in Sho’s gut as he read those last three words. I like it. Lucy, whoever he was, liked Sho’s bold declaration that he was inexperienced but willing to learn.

You read all of it? Sho sent. His profile was three paragraphs long, and In the Room had listed his kinks in another tab.

I found it interesting, was Lucy’s reply. I’m assuming it is your lunch break so I won’t waste your time anymore. Are you interested?

Straight to the point, perhaps the impatient kind. Sho had met men like this before, but aside from a diamond icon and a very particular dating profile, he didn’t know much about Lucy yet.

I’ve never done this before, Sho sent, followed by Not like this, I mean.

No rush, no pressure. You did state you are inexperienced. But you didn’t answer my question.

Sho held his breath, that churn in his stomach feeling too hot for a moment, like he’d been caught red handed and whoever did was displeased.

I am, Sho keyed in, deciding to be honest. His honesty had piqued Lucy’s interest; his honesty would probably lure Lucy back in.

For future reference, Zeus-san, I don’t like repeating myself. Now what do you say to a round of question and answer? was what Sho received.

If Sho hadn’t been interested in Lucy before, he certainly was now. He checked his watch and saw that he had fifteen minutes left. He looked up and met Ohno’s eyes from across their tiny table.

Ohno was smiling. “I know that background,” Ohno said, pertaining to Sho’s phone. “You finally got one?”

Ohno always spoke of things like they were as simple as fishing (his favorite hobby)—set a bait, wait, reel in your catch.

“It’s probably nothing,” Sho said, shrugging. He typed a quick Sure and sent it. “We’re just conversing.”

“Better than Tinder though,” Ohno said, stretching. “I’ll clean up. I’m up for the next three hours.”

“Thanks, Satoshi-kun,” Sho muttered as Ohno began clearing away their used plates and cups. He turned back to his phone, letting the intermittent sounds of porcelain hitting utensils serve as background music.

You’re free to ask a question of your own, provided you answer mine. If you don’t want to talk about it, it’s fine. Just say it. I’ll begin: what’s your daily atmosphere like?

Sho wasn’t expecting that question. He spent a few seconds pondering on what to answer, then he went with Books. Folders. Files. Mostly books. There’s a café across my workplace. I frequent it.

I like books, Lucy’s first message read, followed by a prompt: Your turn.

Why Lucy? was what Sho sent as he left the café and made his way back to the archives. It’d be another slow afternoon from the looks of it; not a lot of people go to the library on weekdays unless they were university students.

Or industrial chemists like Aiba, trying to find answers before his deadline.

I like The Beatles. It’s one of their songs that I like. Hey Jude is another one, was Lucy’s reply, something Sho read when he was finally back on his desk. Favorite color?

Sho replied Red and tapped Send, before keying in his question. What’s the view from your window, Lucy-san?

Their messages went back and forth (Lucy’s reply to the window question being Buildings and buildings. Sky Tree. Like Tokyo in a snowglobe. By the time it was early afternoon, Sho learned that Lucy liked soba, had a bonsai at home, and wanted to watch a soccer match in Barcelona.

Work ate up the following hours, so Sho politely excused himself and explained his situation, that there were theses that he had to look up for some students. He also had to help a university professor locate a digital copy of an atlas, one that wouldn’t be available for public download until the next month. After that, Sho had to sort out library cards and renew some library passes for a group of young researchers.

He returned to his desk and found a message that said, You like helping people out. Sho didn’t miss that it wasn’t phrased as a question.

I’m a librarian, Lucy-san. It’s part of my job, he keyed in, figuring it was best to give his new friend a few details about what he did for a living.

Sho’s phone vibrated, and he read Is that why you registered for this site?

Tinder was becoming predictable and uninteresting.

Sho was surprised when he received a laughing emoji for a reply. Lucy never gave Sho the impression that he was easy to please. Personally, Lucy told him, I only go there when I want a quick fuck or I’m too drunk that I no longer care.

Before Sho could come up with a response, Lucy sent him another message: I wasn’t judging you. In case you thought I was.

Well, that was a relief. What do you do for a living, Lucy-san? was what Sho decided to send. He’d rather know more about Lucy than ponder on the true meaning behind his previous messages.

Sho instantly received a smiling emoji for a reply, followed by ellipsis that were quickly replaced with I’m a business consultant, right now in the middle of a meeting I’d rather have not attended. You’re keeping me entertained.

Entertained? Sho quirked an eyebrow at that. He was just replying to Lucy’s messages, and most of them were answers to Lucy’s questions.

Entertained is an interesting word for it.

I wasn’t lying when I said I was interested in you.

That made Sho draw in a quick breath. It had been a while since he received that from anyone, unless he was in some swanky bar in Nichome and the night was turning late. Why the interest then? Which part of my profile convinced you to send a message?

A set of ellipsis popped up, only to disappear before popping up again. Lucy was choosing his words carefully, and now Sho was absolutely glued to his phone as he waited.

I liked your honesty. I value honesty, Zeus-san. I think it’s an irreplaceable element in every relationship.

Sho’s hands moved quickly, typing out Are you looking for a relationship? without rereading it.

The reply was instantaneous, only taking a couple of seconds. Aren’t you?

Sho flipped his phone, the screen facing his palm. Why did he sign up for In the Room? Sure, Tinder was becoming tiresome, but if he only wanted to get laid, Lucy was right—Tinder did the job.

Which meant that Sho was looking for something more. Not in the relationship sense that he wanted stability, but something more to one night stands and drunken hookups at a bar.

Sho had this feeling that he and Lucy were on the same page, that they weren’t pertaining to a relationship that consisted of dinner and movie dates, of afternoons spent at an amusement park or by having a picnic somewhere.

I’m inexperienced, Sho keyed in, knowing Lucy liked his honesty above all else. But I’m willing.

For the next five minutes, there was nothing. The messenger system didn’t have any Seen notification that would at least give Sho an idea if he’d scared Lucy away or if he’d sounded too desperate for Lucy’s tastes. Sho busied himself with scrolling through Lucy’s profile, seeing that the man’s kink list was at least thrice of what Sho was into. It was very detailed, arranged from what turned Lucy on the most to the least. The section for the kinks that were up for negotiation was sparsely populated, but arranged in the same manner.

Lucy was someone who had been through something like this before, perhaps for multiple times in a year. Sho scrolled up and saw that Lucy had been a member on the site since its establishment in 2010.

Someone with a seven-year experience (or perhaps longer—Sho was now under the impression that Lucy didn’t exactly keep his predilections a secret) had voluntarily sent Sho a message because he’d apparently been interesting enough. In the Room didn’t offer profile photos, so Lucy hadn’t been piqued by his looks or by any part of his body. It had been Sho’s words that had grabbed his attention, and Sho couldn’t figure out how. He’d made his account only a month ago.

His phone vibrated, and Sho tapped on the messenger icon that had a tiny red callout for a notification.

I have a proposal, Zeus-san, was all Lucy’s message said.

But before Sho could confirm that he was listening (or reading, it didn’t matter), a set of ellipsis popped up, followed by I’d like to institute a probationary period of a month.

Probationary period? Sho blinked. It sounded like he was applying for a job.

I won’t be asking for something troublesome. If you accept, we’ll start small and gradually work our way until the end, was Lucy’s next message. Your profile said you like someone to be in charge. I like being in charge. I want to know if it’ll work out between us.

Sho sent And if it does? If I pass your probationary period, Lucy-san, what happens? with steady fingers.

The ellipsis that had appeared were gone after Sho blinked, instead replaced by a message that made Sho’s heart race.

Then I was right about you.

--

That was how it started. Sho accepted the probationary period offer, and Lucy’s next proposal was that they move their conversation elsewhere. He asked for Sho’s LINE ID and email address (the one Sho used for his account in In the Room) and in minutes, Sho received the LINE notification that someone added him.

Sho was expecting Lucy, but instead he got someone whose LINE ID was Massan.

Massan’s photo was that of a bonsai.

He accepted the request, and soon, he was greeted with a message. Shoyan?

It’s one of my nicknames, Sho explained. The -yan is the affectionate bit, or so I’ve been told.

Sho, was the next thing Sho read from Massan, and his eyes widened. Reading it felt like he heard it from the man personally, despite not knowing how the person he was talking to looked like. I like your name. Better than Zeus.

Will I ever know yours? Sho asked. In his head, there was Lucy whom he’d met in Ohno’s suggested website, and now there was Massan who was apparently the same person but seemed more real than Lucy had been for reasons Sho couldn’t name.

Jun, was the prompt response.

Sho mouthed the name repeatedly, trying to get used at it. Jun. Jun. Jun with the bonsai icon. Sho stared at it, at the circle that showed a rectangular pot which housed a tiny tree that seemed to be in full bloom. It must be the real thing, the one that Lucy—no, Jun—owned.

You don’t have to work for anything, was what Jun sent to him next, followed by a clarification that made Sho’s cheeks heat up a bit. Not yet, at least.

Sho looked around, seeing some students sleeping and some cramming, but no one was approaching his desk. The head librarian was still on her vacation, and all security cameras were directed at the long tables for the patrons.

No one was seeing Sho text, and what he was doing with Jun felt all the more...secret.

It thrilled Sho.

So how does this work? Sho asked, anticipation churning in his gut for what he was signing up for.

What’s your work schedule like?

I work eight hours every day on the weekdays, and five hours on a Saturday. The weekends usually had the bulk of visitors in the library, and Sho’s superior liked more interaction and preferred a lively atmosphere. She had the rest of the weekend and shared half of the weekdays with Sho.

And in those hours you spend at work, do you usually have the free time to have a conversation as long as the one we’re having?

Yes. Sho had a feeling that Jun liked direct answers; he seemed like the person who would ask for an explanation if he wanted it. Sho prided himself with being smart enough to pick up on subtle hints, and even if he hadn’t seen Jun in person, Jun gave off the feeling of someone who only liked details that were necessary.

Jun’s reply was longer than what Sho had been expecting. That’s good to know. Here’s how the probationary period works: for a month, I’ll be sending simple orders in this thread. You reply as per instructions. The time limit is specified for every order, but considering your line of work, I’ll be giving out hours instead of minutes. However, they will decrease according to how fast you respond.

The challenge was evident with how Jun had phrased that message, and a part of Sho wanted to prove that he was up for it. He wouldn’t have agreed to it if he wasn’t.

Sho settled for a simple I understand for a reply, and he remained seated on his chair, waiting.

This time, Jun’s response was quick. Do you have any questions?

Sho sat there, considering his options. He had no idea what were the limitations to what he could ask. Was Jun pertaining to the setup of the probationary period? His explanation had been clear and concise. There was nothing to clarify.

Before he could come up with anything, Jun had sent another message. You’re free to ask anything.

Is that an indefinite offer? Sho sent, wanting to be sure first.

It is. In order for this to work, I need you to be honest. And I will reciprocate.

Sho decided to ask the one thing he had been curious about since Jun’s first message to him as Lucy. Why are you doing this?

A minute-long pause, then Sho could read Clarify.

Sho took a deep breath. The fact that Jun couldn’t see his face and didn’t know anything aside from his given name gave him the bump of courage. All of this. Going through all this trouble. I’m inexperienced, and yet.

Same reason as you, was Jun’s reply, sent almost immediately, like he had been expecting Sho’s query. I’m looking.

Looking?

For someone who can give me what I need.

And I seemed like that someone? What exactly were you looking for?

Someone honest. Intelligent enough to read between the lines but respectful enough to never assume. Someone who can confidently admit what they’re lacking in and not feel ashamed, instead having the desires to improve. Someone eager to learn.

To Sho, that read like a job description. Except that it wasn’t. It was Jun being honest with him, answering his question and satisfying his curiosity.

Did Sho’s profile have that much substance? He wasn’t aware.

Does that answer your question? was Jun’s followup message.

It does. May I ask another one?

You may. And thank you for asking first.

Sho’s fingers hovered over the phone keyboard for a moment, before he typed Can I thank you, should the situation call for it?

He was looking a bit far into the future with that one, but he truly wanted to know what Jun’s preferences were for that sort of thing. Did Jun expect gratitude as early as now, or would they work their way towards that slowly?

Jun’s reply was as direct as the ones before it. I want you to thank me only when you feel like it. When you truly mean it.

Sho’s breath hitched; he wasn’t expecting that. Jun had given off the impression of someone controlling, someone who steered the conversation wherever he felt was appropriate. Sho had expected a simple yes or a no for an answer, but instead he had been given the freedom to do as he wished.

He figured that expressing his gratitude was one of the very few things Jun would allow him to do whenever he pleased.

After a brief moment of silence, his phone vibrated again. Do you have any more?

Sho thought about it. None at present.

All right. We will begin your probationary period tomorrow. Until then, Sho-san.

Sho was uncertain on what to reply, but there was an indication to the side that would show Jun that he had read the message.

He opted not to say anything. Jun did say “until then”, and until tomorrow, Sho supposed he’d get nothing in their thread.

He tucked away his phone just in time; a student with kinky hair was on his way to approach the desk to check out a title. Sho stretched his legs and went back to work, his phone forgotten.

--

Unlike yesterday in which Sho had received Jun’s first message while he had his lunch with Ohno, he got Jun’s latest message for him when he was in middle of checking out reference titles that were now obsolete since there were newer editions that had been delivered this morning.

The front desk was manned by Fuma, an intern whom Sho took a liking to, since he was respectful and did his job seriously. Sho wasn’t worried about any happening despite the number of visitors today: Fuma was capable enough to handle checkouts and requests for theses in the library database.

Sho checked his phone, not bothering to hide what he was doing since he was alone.

Time limit of an hour. Take a photo of three of your favorite books using the option in this app. Send them to me from your most favorite title to the least.

Sho hesitated only for a moment, then he set aside the iPad that had the reference titles he was checking in Excel to head for the back room, his phone in his hand.

Locating his favorite titles ate up more than thirty minutes, but he was able to find them and gather them all in one place that had adequate lighting. He took a picture of Faust, The Hunchback of Notre Dame, and The Five People You Meet in Heaven and he sent them in succession.

The Read notification appeared seconds after Sho had sent the last one, and he waited.

Twenty-three minutes left on your time. Well done.

The last two words of Jun’s reply sent a rush of elation in Sho. He had done well. He had done well enough that Jun was pleased—there was no way he wasn’t; he had promised honesty from the very beginning. It was a shame Sho couldn’t see Jun’s face; he wanted to know if Jun had sported a tiny smile as he received Sho’s reply.

Sho tucked away his phone after, picking up the books he’d collected to place them back in their shelves. He went back to work, pulling out five obsolete editions and making a record of them in the database.

The rest of that day passed without any further orders from Jun. It made Sho feel like his work day dragged on and on.

On his way home aboard the train, while he was checking out which restaurants to call for a takeout, he received a LINE notification from Jun.

Time limit of three hours. Give me the two most recent personal photos from your photo library, excluding the ones you’ve sent earlier. None of the photos you’ll be sending must have your face or any part of your person, but must be personal nonetheless.

An addendum popped up a few seconds later: You are not to take any photographs right now.

Sho switched apps and checked his photo library, finding a bunch of selfies. His face with that delicious shoyu ramen from the other day. His face with that minced meat nabe that had been Ohno’s recommendation. His face with Aiba’s signature mabo tofu from last week’s visit to the guy’s family restaurant.

Selfies, selfies, and more selfies. Sho kept scrolling, and all he saw was his face. Jun didn’t ask for his face.

By the time he got home, forty-six minutes had already passed from Jun’s time limit. The instruction was very specific, and Sho didn’t want to bend the rules in his favor. He could easily crop one or two photos, edit out his fingers or his hand from the shot, but that would be cheating.

He didn’t want to cheat. He wanted to be honest.

Sho took a seat on his couch, determined. He began to painstakingly checkout each folder, which ate more than an hour and a half of his time.

Time check, and he realized he only had thirty-nine minutes left.

He settled for that photograph of the knitted scarf he had received for Christmas, and for a photo of the view from his hotel room from the time he’d been to Dubai for a vacation.

He sent them, and was immediately rewarded with a response from Jun.

Thirty-seven minutes left on your time. Was it that difficult?

Sho was about to reply, but there was another message from Jun.

Yes or no.

Yes, Sho sent.

The scarf. Gift from a boyfriend?

Sho had to laugh at that. More like knitted by my grandmother. It was one of the few things she’d made but hadn’t been able to pass to Sho at the right time. They found it in Gunma a week after the funeral.

I’m sorry, was Jun’s immediate response.

Don’t be.

The city view. Saudi?

Close enough. Sho smiled. Dubai.

Spectacular view. Excellent work.

Sho shut his eyes and took a deep breath. Not out of relief but out of happiness, the tiny tendrils of which were creeping up his form, making him bite his bottom lip to suppress a smile. He was itching to ask if he’d pleased Jun, but decided on typing out the one thing he hadn’t yet, meaning every word.

Thank you.

Jun’s reply came after a beat. You’re welcome.

Sho held his phone in both hands, allowing this momentary feeling of floating consume him even just for a while.

--

The following days passed by in a similar manner: Jun would send simple orders, mostly about him asking for photos that didn’t include Sho’s face. Sho had to send photos of borrower’s slips, catalogue cards, Ohno’s latte art for that day, of the signboard for free portraits written in liquid chalk he had seen at the park on his way back home.

Overall, they were simple, easy to follow orders. The time limits varied, but they were all reasonable. The most difficult one (in Sho’s opinion, so far) was Jun asking for a photo of a homemade dinner.

Sho sent his own version of a dress omurice as a reply.

Jun’s response arrived nearly five minutes after he’d sent the photo. What is that?

Dress omurice, Sho replied, still taking pride in his work. It tasted fine; it was edible. He’d nearly cut himself while mincing (or was it dicing?) the onions, but it had turned out fine. He was prepared to defend it.

I’ve never seen dress omurice look so mutilated, was what Jun sent in their thread.

Mutilated? Sho was offended. It’s good. Don’t let appearances fool you!

He was surprised when instead of a rebuff, he received another instruction.

Time limit of three minutes. Take photos of your hands. Show me the back of each, then your palms, and your fingertips. Include your wrists, too.

Sho scrambled to follow—he only had three minutes. He took each photo in succession and sent them in the order Jun had specified. His hands were shaky, his heart leaping to his throat when he hit Send for the last one and saw that three minutes had passed.

Did he make it?

His phone was silent for the next couple of moments, and Sho held it in combined worry and anticipation. He’d never asked what would happen if he didn’t make it on time. Would Jun dole out punishments? Was that how this worked, even if he was still on probationary period?

His phone vibrated, and he cautiously unlocked it to check.

Right on the dot. Good job.

The relief was momentary, almost instantly replaced by curiosity. In the past days, Jun had never asked for any photos of his person—not until tonight. May I ask a question?

You may, was the immediate reply, like Jun had been expecting him to say that.

Why now? Sho had a feeling Jun would understand what he meant; in their conversation so far, Jun was coming out as someone perceptive and sensitive.

I wanted to know if you’ve hurt yourself while you made that rather grotesque version of dress omurice.

Instead of being offended, Sho was surprised and...touched. Granted, Jun didn’t even bother to mask the insult (rather grotesque—he didn’t just settle for grotesque), but the concern was palpable in his message. The order made sense, and it made Sho’s gut feel funny.

It’s not grotesque, Sho retorted as a reply, not knowing how to express what he was presently feeling.

No. That’s why I said rather.

That made Sho shake his head in disbelieving laughter. He’d never win against Jun, would he? I’ll have you know that it’s good.

Consider this as me knowing. But don’t be too ambitious next time.

Sho felt his cheeks warm at that. Was Jun reprimanding him? Did he displease Jun with his choice of dinner? Was it that unsatisfactory? he sent after minutes of contemplating it.

The phone vibrated with a message. No.

Sho waited, and Jun sent another one. But if it can endanger you, I’m against doing it.

You’re making it sound like I’m a hazardous element in a kitchen.

Your omurice gave that impression. Don’t try something too advanced next time.

It sounded like a reprimand, except there was also the underlying feeling of Jun being concerned, perhaps a bit worried if Sho wanted to push his luck. Right now, Sho badly wanted to know how Jun looked like, just to see if his gut feeling was right.

I understand, Sho sent. An apology felt out of place, since Jun didn’t really seem very displeased with him.

That being said, was Jun’s next message, followed by do you bite your fingernails?

Sho checked his nails and the photo he’d sent, comparing them. Jun would have had to zoom into the photo and examine it carefully to be able to notice such a thing.

Was Jun really that meticulous? Yes, Sho admitted, when I’m nervous.

Time limit: indefinite. Do away with that habit.

Before Sho could type out a question, there was another message. Your honesty and confidence despite your inexperience drew me to you. I want you to be more confident.

Sho took a deep breath at that, releasing it in a rushed exhale. As an employee, he liked it when his superiors pushed him to his limits. He knew his own limitations but he had always been driven to get past them in order to excel. As a person, he always aimed higher, always wanted more, always viewed his limitations as merely barriers he could overcome someday if he worked harder.

To him, this was Jun making him go past his limits, for him to become a better person.

I understand, was what he chose to send.

Beginning tomorrow, you are to send to me photos of your hands with your palms spread on any flat surface, so I can see if you’re doing it or not. I won’t be specifying an hour, but you are to send those to me before the day ends.

Okay.

Jun’s reply this time made Sho’s breath catch, heart hammering inside his ribcage. He froze, feeling his blood rush south as soon as he read it.

Good boy.

--

Apart from the additional instruction of daily photos of Sho’s hands, the subsequent weeks passed in the same manner: with Jun giving out orders that were answerable by photos, sometimes videos. He’d asked for a video of the night sky that Sho could see from his apartment, specifying a duration of ten seconds. Jun’s comment for that one had been Seems chilly. Keep warm tonight.

Sho had slept with his kaimaki on and his blanket covering his body that night.

Before Sho even realized, his probationary period was up. Jun’s only message for him on the day after a month had passed was Wait for my email tonight, which wasn’t helpful or informative and just made Sho nervous.

He lifted his fingers to his mouth but froze as soon as his fingertips made contact with his bottom lip. He clenched his hand to a fist and lowered it to his side.

To get rid of the nerves, Sho focused on his work. Today was archiving day, which meant he had to begin checking books that had come out in series and evaluate their condition. Lately, there had been more titles that he had to file as a reference book, meaning they couldn’t be checked out anymore since the bindings on the pages had started to give way.

Sometimes, the people who borrowed the books didn’t take care of them in the way they deserved. Sho hated it. He liked his job; he liked being surrounded by books while caring for them at the same time.

The hours passed by with him being engrossed in inputting details to their database. He ended up doing an overtime until he started hearing (or imagining) noises since it was only him and the nighttime security guard left in the archives.

That served as Sho’s signal to head home, but he opted to stop by an izakaya first as a reward to himself.

It felt strange, not receiving orders from Jun. The probationary period had passed all too quickly, and before Sho knew it, he had gotten used to receiving instructions. Throughout today, he’d check his phone and would feel a pang of disappointment when there had been nothing for him. At first, he couldn’t define it. Then it had gradually sank in, that he’d been waiting because he’d gotten accustomed to waiting.

He had a bottle of beer against his mouth when his phone vibrated in his pocket. He absent-mindedly pulled it out, eyes widening when he saw an email with a diamond emoji for a subject.

The sender’s email address read as ‘jun.m’.

Sho slipped a couple of bills across the table as payment and moved to leave, wanting to be home before he opens the message. He wanted to be somewhere private; all of his interactions with Jun so far had been secret. Ohno only knew that Sho was in constant communication with someone, but nothing more. The orders, everything Jun had asked from him so far—he and Jun were the only ones who knew.

As soon as he got the door of his apartment closed behind him, he began reading the email.

Sho-san,

You’ve been honest, earnest, and very attentive to everything I’ve asked for in the past month. Your inexperience is undeniable, yet you’ve been expressive enough that I was able to see the willingness in you. Frankly, you were impressive.

If you are amenable, I’d like for us to meet and share a couple of drinks this coming Saturday at 9 PM. I’ve attached the address of the establishment and will be waiting for your response. This Saturday will mark our official meeting, in which we’ll be discussing how to proceed from here. I’d like for you to hear my proposal in person.

Should you be willing to proceed, you may reach me through this email. Please let me know no later than tomorrow evening.

Regards,

Jun

Sho reread it again, then once more until he could see the words when he closed his eyes. Jun said he was impressive. It was nothing like getting a compliment while he was doing his job—this one felt more...personal.

A part of Sho wanted to jump at the opportunity of meeting Jun, to finally have a face to attach to the phantom feeling of having someone he was in constant communication with. Someone who had given him nothing but instructions but equally praised his good work.

Someone who had been in charge of him.

But there was a side of him that hesitated because he had expectations. His current image for Jun was someone who looked older despite being younger in age, someone in a suit 24/7 and had a fancy car with keys that he didn’t allow to jingle because it irritated him.

It wasn’t concrete, but still, expectations were expectations. He wondered if Jun had some of his own too, regarding Sho. What did Jun imagine he’d look like? Had Jun even imagined, ever thought of it?

Did Jun think of him as much as he thought of Jun in the past month?

Questions were gnawing at Sho, and he decided to let the email gel for the next few hours. He’d have a bath, think about it, and perhaps get himself another can of beer from his fridge. Whatever he decided on, it’d be a beginning of something. Something good, something bad—he couldn’t tell yet.

But as he sat there, later when he’d finished his bath and his second can of beer, he made up his mind.

He had to find out.

He waited until midnight before he tapped on the Reply option.

Jun-san,

I’ve read your email and am agreeable. I didn’t see the point of making you wait when I would still give you the same response. I’m pleased to have read your honest evaluation of my performance and grateful for your feedback.

He paused, wondering how to express that he was looking forward to meeting Jun without sounding too desperate and overly curious. He never had the impression that he’d annoyed Jun in their past correspondence, but there was always a first time for everything and Sho wanted to tread carefully.

I look forward to Saturday.

Sho ended the email with his usual signature and sent the message.

--

The address Jun had attached to his email led Sho to a bar in Nishi-Azabu, one that had private booths. Jun had apparently reserved a booth for them beforehand, and Sho had been instructed to give Jun’s name upon query.

He did, and he was led to a booth in the back, one that didn’t have a lot of patrons. From the looks of it, the bar was members-only, and Sho was only granted entrance because Jun had arranged for it.

When he slid into the booth, he was offered a menu that consisted of expensive drinks. Nothing out of Sho’s budget, but something he’d normally go for only when he felt like rewarding himself.

“Matsumoto-san said to give you anything you wanted, in case you’d be early,” the waiter told him.

Matsumoto? Sho blinked. He never knew Jun’s surname until now. Matsumoto Jun. Knowing his full name made him all the more real, and Sho let it sink in for a few moments.

“I’ll have scotch, thank you,” he said, handing the menu back.

The waiter politely excused himself, and Sho relaxed in the booth, leaning back and stretching his legs. He had been early only by two minutes, and checking his watch revealed that it was exactly 9:00 PM at present. The booth had a glass door that allowed Sho to see the corridor, and he kept glancing at it every time he’d see a shadow color the walls outside.

The waiter came back with his drink and excused himself once more, and Sho nursed his drink while he stole glances at the direction of the door.

9:05.

9:08.

9:10.

His fingers were tapping against the table surface as a way to calm himself. He wasn’t bad with waiting—he’d spent the past month waiting for instructions from a man who had a steadily blooming bonsai for an icon—but Jun had said 9 PM.

9:11.

9:13.

9:15.

His scotch was halfway finished now, and he was contemplating on getting another one when the glass door swung open, a man wearing a fedora and a red jacket entered the booth.

Sho stared at the stranger, at the casual way he slid into the booth, sitting right across Sho before lifting his head. His hat hid half of his face in shadows, and Sho could only see his chin.

Before Sho could open his mouth, the waiter returned.

Jun—Sho was assuming it was him; who else could it be?—lifted his hand even before the waiter could speak. “Wine. Red, the one you were recommending earlier when I came in. Make it two.”

Jun’s voice had a certain aura to it, nothing like the deep rumble that Sho’s had or the airy, lighthearted feel Aiba’s possessed. No, it was suave and smooth, and it already had Sho’s attention.

Sho hardly noticed the waiter depart.

“Apologies for the wait,” Jun said, tilting his head. He still had the hat on, and Sho was considering on asking him to remove it. Was he free to make requests? They just met. “I had some problems with the printer.”

“Printer?” Sho asked before he could help it.

Jun’s face under the hat moved the slightest bit, but Sho saw enough that it was unmistakable: Jun was smiling, the brim of his fedora hiding it from view. “I did say I have a proposal. I wanted it on paper.”

The waiter returned with two glasses of wine, and after he set it in front of them and left, Jun extended a hand towards Sho in a wordless gesture for him to sample the wine.

He did, finding its rich taste and fruity odor too sophisticated for his tastes.

“Well?” Jun asked, his own wine glass in hand as he sniffed the contents inside. “How is it?”

“A bit spicy,” Sho said honestly. “Tastes expensive.”

To Sho’s surprise, he was rewarded with a laugh. It was manly, a rushing intake of air that ended in a chuckle, producing a sound of genuine amusement. “I haven’t tried this one before.” Jun took a sip of his drink, and Sho watched his tongue dart out as he appeared to lick his lips. His mouth glistened despite being hidden under his hat. “Tastes old.”

“That’s a strange word for it,” Sho commented.

“A good kind of old,” Jun clarified, setting his glass down. Then he lifted a hand to remove his hat, and Sho held his breath.

Jun ran a hand through his hair before looking up once more, and Sho wasn’t expecting the glasses. Thick, large frames, the edges of which rested right on Jun’s high cheekbones. He had prominent eyebrows that made him look intimidating, and without the hat hiding his face, Sho could see the leftover marks of acne all over his face, imperfections that lined his jaw.

There were three beauty marks surrounding his mouth, and Sho’s eyes were drawn to them. They looked like dots that were waiting to be traced, perhaps by a finger or...something else.

His eyes snapped back to Jun’s, and Jun’s lips curled in amusement.

“Not what you expected?” Jun asked, lifting his wine glass to his mouth once more.

“No.”

Jun’s eyebrows lifted the slightest bit. “The good kind of unexpected or the bad kind?”

“The good kind.”

Sho couldn’t deny it. Even behind the huge glasses, Jun was attractive. Strong face and striking features, but that made him more compelling and appealing to Sho.

This was the person who’d asked for photos of his everyday life—the kind of food he’d eaten, the lattes he’d drunk, his favorites, his surroundings. The person who’d prohibited Sho from giving in to his mannerisms and had urged him to have more confidence.

It felt surreal to be able to put a handsome face to all of that.

“That’s good to know,” Jun said, pushing his wine glass to the side. He leaned back in his seat, inclining his head to reveal a long, pale neck. He said nothing, just looking at Sho, until Sho couldn’t help squirming in his seat.

“Uncomfortable?” Jun asked.

Sho was accustomed to answering questions with just yes or no, so he went with the truth. “Yes.”

“Why?”

“You’re...staring.”

“I like what I’m seeing.”

Sho had to look down at that, feeling warmth from his neck travel upwards. He resisted the urge to touch his cheek and feel the heat spread.

“Not what you expected?” Sho asked, remembering Jun’s words from earlier.

Jun smiled, catching on. “Exceeded my expectations, in fact. For someone without experience, you’ve been doing that a lot.”

“You said you had a proposal,” Sho prompted.

“Getting impatient?”

“Is that a bad thing?”

“There’s a proper place for it,” Jun answered, but he reached into the pouch he had brought with him. “But I’ll let it pass for now.”

When Jun faced him once more, he had a piece of paper with him. He slid it across them, and Sho accepted it with the briefest tilts of his head.

It was his profile in In the Room as well as Jun’s, particularly the section of their kinks.

Sho had an inkling that tonight would be about upping their...arrangement, but he wasn’t expecting this kind of direct approach.

He liked it. It made things easier, and the lack of embarrassment from Jun’s side was helping assuage his nerves. He hadn’t had sex for months and hadn’t dated for longer. He was determined to have something promising come out from tonight, and it made him more conscious of his actions.

He looked up and met Jun’s expectant gaze.

“My proposal is far more lenient in schedule compared to what we’ve had in the past month,” Jun began, and Sho turned all his attention to him. “Your probationary period was structured as such because I wanted to assess the willingness in you as you follow my orders. What I propose is something long-term, for as long we both want it.”

“I’m listening,” Sho said.

“Simply put, I will have your Saturdays. I understand that you work for a half a day in the archives during Saturdays. Which is why only your Saturday evening until the midnight beginning Sunday will be your time with me.” Jun gestured to the paper in front of him. “I’ve read that for more times than you can imagine. I’ve compared the kinks you’ve listed to the ones I’m into and had them printed out for clarification. I want to do that now if that’s okay with you.”

Sho slid both papers back towards Jun as a response.

“Just give me a yes, a no, or negotiable,” Jun said, and Sho gave a quick nod. He knew what he wrote, but he appreciated Jun taking the time to confirm things with him first. “Praises?”

“Yes,” Sho answered immediately. He liked being complimented. It wasn’t a secret.

“I noticed,” Jun said with a smile. He held a pen in his right hand and Sho watched him put a tiny check beside the kanji. “I can give it if you’re deserving of it.”

“Do I have to earn it?” Sho asked, then he exhaled. “I’m sorry. I should have asked for permission first.”

“No, not yet,” Jun said, waving his hand in dismissal. “We haven’t reached an agreement yet. Whatever applied in your probationary period is nullified for now, unless you agree to my proposal. And to answer your question: yes, you have to earn it.”

“I understand,” Sho said with a nod. “Please continue.”

“Bondage?”

“Yes.”

“You like being restrained,” Jun stated.

“Yes,” Sho answered. He didn’t miss Jun’s smile.

“How about spanking?”

“Yes.”

“Slapping?”

“Yes,” Sho replied, holding his head high. He wouldn’t be ashamed. He wouldn’t have listed it if he was ashamed of it. Admitting it outright was just another step he had to overcome.

“With rings on?” Jun asked, lifting his hand for emphasis. Sho could see a large, studded silver ring on his middle finger. He imagined that making contact with his cheek, creating tiny indentations.

“Negotiable,” Sho said.

Jun made these notes on Sho’s paper before moving to his own, scribbling in tiny kanjis that Sho couldn’t read given their distance.

“Breathplay?” Jun asked, and Sho noticed Jun was looking at his own printed profile.

“No.”

Jun immediately drew a strikethrough over the word, moving to the next one. “Orgasm denial?”

“Yes.”

“How about delay?”

“Yes.”

“Orgasm control?”

“Yes.”

The tiny checks appeared on both papers, and Jun moved to the next. Sho’s answer to “gags” was another yes, but he said no to crossdressing. He answered negotiable for toys, and when Jun asked for clarification, he went with “Depends on what they are.”

“I have a lot in my collection, Sho-san. If we proceed with this, we’ll have to go back to this bit,” Jun said, making notes on both sheets once more. He had to push his glasses up his nose from time to time, and Sho couldn’t help smiling at the sight. Jun looked so serious, so focused and dedicated.

“Sensation play?” was Jun’s next question. That wasn’t on Sho’s, so he assumed it was Jun’s.

That earned Sho’s another “no”.

“Just out of curiosity, why not?”

“I’m ticklish,” Sho admitted.

Jun laughed. “Very well.” He drew a line over the word and moved to the next one. “Sensory deprivation?”

That one was in Sho’s list of negotiables, and that remained true to this day. “Negotiable.”

Pen scratched paper, then Jun read the next one on his own. “Service?”

Sho blinked, thinking about it. “Negotiable.”

The tiny quirk of the corner of Jun’s mouth was hard to miss.

They went with the rest of list in the same manner, until they managed to cover all of it and Sho’s wine glass was nearly empty.

Jun pushed the papers once more in Sho’s direction. “Review them, in case I made mistakes.”

Sho did, committing Jun’s handwriting to memory. It wasn’t as messy as his own, and Jun had written smaller characters. Sho read make a list to go over beside the toys part, just as Jun pressed the buzzer on their side to call for a waiter and order two more glasses of wine.

They waited for the drinks to arrive and for the waiter to leave before Sho passed the papers back to Jun.

“All good?” Jun asked.

Sho nodded.

Jun steepled his fingers in front of him, making Sho straighten up in his seat. “Very well. The second half of my proposal then. As I’ve said, your Saturdays after work will be the time you will spend with me. We can work over the details should you choose to accept, but as an overview: we will meet at my home, where I have everything we will need. Should there be something that we will need that’s not in my possession, it’s not your problem. It’s mine. Since the setup is for us to only meet on Saturdays, the rest of the week becomes our time to prepare.”

“Prepare for what?” Sho asked.

There was a shift in Jun’s expression, but it vanished in an instant. “I will be drafting scenarios for our meetups. In the time you’ll be spending with me, we will both act according to the scenario we agreed on. I have from Sunday until Wednesday of the week to email you that scenario in order to give you time to agree and to prepare. You are free to make requests before Saturday, and I will seriously consider them and perhaps even agree to do some of them, depending on what they are. Does that answer your question?”

“Yes,” Sho said with a nod.

“That’s basically it,” Jun said, leaning on his elbows now. “Does it sound doable or do you want to back out?” Jun inclined his head to the side, studying his face. “I won’t hold it against you. If you don’t want to proceed, tell me. We’ll enjoy our drinks and go our separate ways. No hard feelings.”

“I accept,” Sho said with conviction, staring into Jun’s eyes across the table. “I accept your proposal.”

Jun shut his eyes briefly, then opened them to look at Sho’s hands.

He was examining Sho’s nails, Sho realized.

Sho had to resist the urge to clench his hands to fists. “I didn’t send a photo today.”

“No matter; I can see it for myself,” Jun said, and seeing him actually pleased felt like a drug rush to Sho.

It was as if he could get high on Jun’s responses alone, on whether Jun was pleased with him or not.

“Since you’ve accepted, I have some rules,” Jun suddenly said, eyes darting back to his face. “I expect them to be observed for as long as we are in this arrangement.”

“Of course,” Sho said. He knew what he was signing up for; he had more than just an idea how it would go.

Their arrangement was starting now.

“The first one, is that right now, I will have your safeword. It’s absolute. Once you say it, we stop, no questions asked. We can perhaps talk about the aftermath should there be a time that you might have to say it, though I will try my best not to give you reason to.” Jun’s expression was serious now. “I know you don’t know much about me, Sho-san. Which is why as soon as you give me your safeword, you are free to ask anything about me.”

Sho thought about the one thing that he hated; it was easier when a word had negative connotations to it. Something he disliked was tantamount to a hard refusal.

“Cilantro,” Sho said.

Jun’s eyebrow quirked. “Explain.”

“I don’t like cilantro,” Sho responded.

Jun let out a chuckle. “That’s funny. I don’t like it either.”

“You don’t?”

“The smell is irritating. Too overwhelming. It’s nothing but a disgusting grass,” Jun told him.

Sho laughed, hiding most of it behind his wine glass. “I can’t stomach it.”

“Very well, cilantro it is. Your question?”

Sho thought about this. He licked his lips to savor the remnants of wine. “Your other rules?”

Jun straightened in his seat, giving him an amused look. “You may only address me as ‘Matsumoto-san’ if you feel that I deserve it.”

That surprised Sho. He frowned.

Jun continued, “Which brings me to the next rule: respect is our utmost priority, as well as honesty. I will respect your limits—” he waved his hand over the sheets of paper in front of him, “—in the same way you’ll respect mine. I will be honest with you with what I can and cannot do, with what I can and cannot give, and I expect you to be the same towards me.”

Sho was about to nod, but there was a question threatening to spill from his mouth. He looked at Jun and tried to express it with a look.

“You may ask a question or tell me whatever you have to say,” Jun said. “For future reference, you only need to ask for permission if you’re in my place on a Saturday, right in the middle of whatever it is we will be doing.”

“You don’t know my name,” Sho told him.

Another lift of Jun’s eyebrow. It was an intimidating look. “Your LINE information has it, Sakurai Sho-san.” Jun had emphasized his surname. “Unless you put in a fake one?”

“No,” Sho denied immediately. He honestly didn’t remember that his LINE had his real name. Jun’s didn’t, and he didn’t bother to check his. “I forgot I put in my real name in there.”

“I appreciate it regardless,” Jun said. “Next rule.”

Jun reached into his jacket pocket and Sho’s eyes widened at the sight of him sliding a key across the table.

“That is a key to my apartment. You are to use it only when it’s a Saturday and we’ve agreed to meet. I’m expecting no cancellations unless something urgent comes up, about which I promise to inform you beforehand. Should there be a need to cancel from either of us, it must be no later than the morning of Saturday. I won’t ask for explanations, so I expect you not to do it, either. Whatever we had to cancel will commence on the following Saturday.”

“I understand,” Sho said shakily, placing his fingers on top of the key. The metal was still warm from Jun’s touch, and Sho felt a heady rush at the idea of having something Jun owned, to be given this amount of trust on first meet.

He didn’t want Jun to regret any of this.

“The key is yours, then,” Jun said. “Now that that’s settled, I will have your number. While I have enjoyed our LINE conversations, I prefer texting in cases I’m in the middle of a boring meeting.”

“To be less suspicious?”

Jun tilted his head. “I do have a reputation I have to maintain; I can’t be seen exchanging messages on LINE unless I’m on my lunch break.”

“May I borrow your pen?” Sho asked.

Jun pushed both the pen and the copy of Sho’s list of kinks in Sho’s direction.

Sho scribbled his number there and returned the items to Jun once more.

Jun read his handwriting once. “Final rule.”

Sho nodded.

“We won’t communicate unless it’s about our arrangement. I won’t ask about your day unless it’s Saturday. I won’t be giving you orders unless it’s almost Saturday or it is Saturday. As we’ve agreed on, your Saturdays are mine. The rest of the week is yours. However you spend it is entirely up to you.”

“I’m aware of that,” Sho said.

“Then,” Jun said, offering an outstretched hand across the table, “keep me in your favor, Sakurai Sho-san.”

Sho reached for Jun’s hand and gave it a firm shake, taking note of the man’s tight grip and his warm touch.

“Likewise, Matsumoto Jun-san.”

(2/4)