Takeo wasn’t an idiot, on a good day, he’d even call himself intelligent, but somehow this stupid fox managed to leave him fumbling for words on a regular basis. The reason this time was different, though.
Rusty, the stupid fox in question, was standing across from him in his office, slipping into one of Takeo’s shirts, bare chest on display. He’d been teasing the detective, gotten in his face, leading to Takeo’s coffee being spilt all over the fox. Unfortunately, he didn’t have unsteady hands to blame, only his own lack of self-control when it came to Rusty for his coordination flying out the window. What he didn’t expect was for the fox to seem upset by the idea of stripping in front of him, having made several jokes before now about how he was sure Takeo wanted to see him like this. Now, it made a little more sense, glancing at the man.
The jagged scar over his pale skin was jarring, to say the least, and Takeo couldn’t take his eyes off it, curiosity burning on his tongue. How did the fox get it? When? It looked far too messy for a surgeon to have done.
When he opens his mouth to speak, Rusty cuts him off, head low, focusing on finding the bottom button to the shirt with unconfident hands. “I know it’s ugly, you can stop staring.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t say anything,” Rusty chuckles, humour vacant from the sound. “You didn’t need to.”
Takeo forces himself across the space, slowly approaching the redhead. He sucks on his cheek as he brings his hands up to Rusty’s, rough fingers encasing the other’s more delicate ones as he removes them from the button they’d been fiddling with. There’s a thrum under his skin where they touch, proof of the chemistry he’d been trying to ignore ever since the fox had stumbled into his life.
“You’re making assumptions. Stop it.”
Another laugh, equally as forced as the first. “It doesn’t take a degree in criminal psychology to understand what staring means, Detective.”
“Did you consider asking me what I thought before getting so defensive?”
When the fox stays silent, Takeo brushes a thumb over the back of his hand, trying to soothe him, though he wasn’t sure it was working. He—as he often was around Rusty—was stumped, both by his need to make the man feel better and the reason why he even cared at all. Scars were ugly sometimes, and yet that wasn’t a word the detective had connected with seeing Rusty’s. Hell, had anyone else said the same comment about themself, he would have rolled his eyes and moved on, but…
“You know you’re pretty, that doesn’t exclude a five-inch gash.”
Rusty gasps, smiling for the first time since he’d started to get changed. “Was that a compliment, Detective? Let me check the outside, pigs must be flying!”
The fox tries to slip his hands free and move towards the window, but Takeo doesn’t let go. Instead, he pulls Rusty back until he hits the wall gently, getting in his space. That same electricity is there, that same pull that constantly drew Takeo toward the man before him.
Acknowledging it only makes it worse, Takeo’s voice coming out rougher than planned. “Take the compliment and shut up.”
“Why don’t you do it for me?”, Rusty grins in response, leaning back and biting his lip. The vulnerability that was there before is already masked, his usual bravado on full display. Even the flush on his freckled cheeks seemed planned, all part of the act. It makes Takeo’s chest squeeze, unsure of when, if ever, he’ll get to see Rusty when he’s not pretending.
He steps closer, dropping Rusty’s hands in favour of slipping them past the open shirt and grabbing for his waist. It could be the fact that Rusty was smaller than him, or that he simply had large hands, but how much of that waist he covers with his fingertips is enough to stir something deep in Takeo’s gut. The sensation only intensifies as he lowers his head to Rusty’s ear, speaking low.
“What if I did?”
The other man’s breath hitches quietly, pressing further back into the wall and staring at Takeo with wide, excited eyes. “I don’t want to get my hopes up now, Detective.”
When Takeo leans in further, lips a breath away from the fox’s, he waits for Rusty to close his eyes. As soon as he does, Takeo drops to the man’s neck, pressing a kiss to Rusty’s pulse.
“Really?”, Rusty scoffs on a laugh, shaking his head. “You’re such a tease.”
Takeo responds by dragging his lips across Rusty’s neck again before moving along his collarbone. When he skates his teeth over soft skin, Rusty shivers. “I never said I was going to kiss you.”
“You don’t say a lot of things.”
The man doesn’t warrant that with a response, moving down Rusty’s chest slowly. His lips brush an inch above the scar Rusty deemed as ugly, gaze flicking to meet the man’s. There’s a fire behind those amber eyes, something set alight as Takeo slowly drifts lower, lips skirting the top of the jagged line. The hands at Rusty’s sides drift up until Takeo can brush his thumbs over the man’s ribs, feeling the harsh breath he takes.
“Koji…”
Takeo moves again, kissing down the entire length of the scar, eyes pinned to Rusty. A hand threads through his curls, pushing them out of his face, an action that feels far too intimate, and yet what he was doing didn’t feel any better. He doesn’t want to speak, to ruin this little moment with words, not when Rusty is blushing, not when his walls are knocked down and he’s not moving to rebuild them. It may be the first time since they’d met that they’d both been so silent, listening only to each other’s bodies without need for a remark.
The hand in his hair tugs gently, pulling him up until he’s where he started, face hovering before Rusty’s. The fox smiles softly, eyes flickering from Takeo’s to his lips. “Thank you,” he whispers, fingers running along Takeo’s jaw, leaning in to press a peck to the corner of Takeo’s lip.
It all felt…too much, suddenly. Too intimate, too sincere, too everything. They were two people solving a crime, two people who should be focused on their jobs and not on this. Takeo didn’t have the time—nor the energy—to pay attention to the way his heart raced with Rusty under his fingertips. He shouldn’t care that this close, he could see every one of the man’s freckles. He wouldn’t let himself want more of this. All he was allowed was their banter, their bickering, the few moments where he considered pressing Rusty into the wall and forcing his mouth shut with his own. He had thoughts and that was it, nothing more.
Takeo clears his throat, dropping his head as he steps back. “You should get dressed.”
When Rusty sighs, it’s as pained and disappointed as Takeo feels. “Right, you clocked in at your job of being the fun police, I see.”
“That’s not—”
“Save it, Detective,” the fox grins, whispering in Takeo’s ear as he steps past. “I’ll take it. For now, at least.”
He shouldn’t be excited by that. He shouldn’t.
And yet…