Work Text:
What Nemu wanted, Nemu got.
That was the philosophy by which Aohitsugi Samatoki lived his life.
So when Nemu took a shine to the idea of becoming an idol, Samatoki made it happen. His advisors were against it. What the fuck was he thinking, letting her step into the spotlight when they as a yakuza family were meant to live in the shadows? But Samatoki wouldn't hear it.
What Nemu wanted, Nemu got.
It was as simple as that.
Samatoki pulled some strings, called in a few favors, and got her signed with a reputable entertainment agency. He watched her career like a hawk in the early days, making sure all her jobs were perfectly aboveboard. No funny business. Yeah, yeah—he was no fool. He knew the industry was all about beautiful people exploiting one another. But it wasn't going to happen to his precious little sister on his watch.
She made it big.
Of course she did, she was perfect in every conceivable way. Talented, cute, sweet. Her group mates became her best friends, her fans adored her, and her stalkers disappeared quietly in the night.
For three years after her debut, it was all smooth sailing. She was happy, so Samatoki was happy. He still diligently watched all her performances and TV appearances, collected all her magazine interviews and photoshoots, and demanded weekly summaries of her activities from her manager.
But he wasn't so controlling as to deprive her of her freedom. He didn't dictate what jobs she could and couldn't take, what friends she could and couldn't make.
Until.
"Nope." Samatoki shook his head. "No way. Absolutely not."
Nemu puffed out her cheeks and planted her hands on her hips. "Nii-san! It's a good opportunity."
"There'll be other good opportunities."
"Nii-san!"
Samatoki turned his attention back to his laptop, to indicate the conversation was over. He was rarely so stern with her, and almost never so dismissive. But this 'opportunity' was an absolute no-go.
Nemu wanted to date.
No, actually, that wouldn't have been so bad. Nemu was nineteen now, nearing twenty. Samatoki knew it was only a matter of time before she had her first relationship, and that was fine. He could live with that. Seriously. He could be cool.
But what she wanted now was to pretend to date.
Specifically, she wanted to pretend to date some fool named Yamada Ichiro.
("Who's that," Samatoki had deadpanned a few minutes earlier, when Nemu stepped into his office and laid out this plan of hers.
Nemu had rolled her eyes and muttered, "Don't act like you don't watch all his movies.")
Samatoki had actually known something like this was coming. A while back, Nemu had asked her agency to pivot her image from 'girlfriend' idol to 'big sister' idol. And Samatoki was all for that, if it meant a few less creeps perving on her. He just wasn't as much a fan of how that pivot was going to be brought about.
Taking her off the market was the first big step.
And getting her a 'work' boyfriend was the quickest, easiest, and most productive way of doing that.
If Nemu went around acting all lovey-dovey with some It boy, she would change her image overnight. There would be a wave of backlash at first, but she and whoever she was set up with would also gain a portion of each other's fan base and see a considerable spike in publicity.
Samatoki understood all that. He didn't like that a 'work' relationship meant her first date, maybe even her first kiss, would be a complete farce. She deserved better than that. But ultimately it was her life, her choice. Samatoki could have made his peace with it and settled for having a little chat with Mr. Work Boyfriend to make sure he wouldn't get any funny ideas.
It was the 'Yamada Ichiro' part that Samatoki couldn't accept.
Samatoki just didn't like that guy.
Ichiro was a few years older than Nemu, though they'd actually debuted at around the same time. They didn't start out with the same agency, but Ichiro had transferred to Nemu's about two years ago. That was around the time he started focusing more on his acting career, after coming up in an idol group with his two younger brothers.
And he was a damn good actor, even Samatoki could admit that.
Of course, Samatoki only knew all that because he kept tabs on all the entertainers at Nemu's agency.
It wasn't like he was the Yamada kid's fan or anything.
"What's wrong with Ichiro-kun?" Nemu prompted. "You already knew my manager was looking to set me up with a 'publicity' boyfriend, so that can't be the part you have a problem with. It's something about Ichiro-kun, isn't it?"
Samatoki sighed. He wasn't sure if he should be proud or worried that his little sister was so smart.
"He's just…" Samatoki finally turned to her again, absently waving a hand as though to fish the right words out of thin air. "He's too good."
Nemu blinked. "Too… good?"
"At his job," Samatoki said. "He's too… too smooth."
"Smooth?"
"That little punk has never had a single scandal, has he? His fans love him, his brothers love him. Anyone he's ever worked with has nothing but good things to say about him. He treats everyone with kindness and respect, like some sort of saint."
Nemu blinked again. "…and those are bad things?"
Samatoki gave a little huff and jerked his shoulders up in a shrug. "No one that 'good' is for real. There's just no way he's that pure of a person. He's hiding something under that stupidly perfect public persona of his."
"Ichiro-kun is a genuine delight," Nemu protested. She furrowed her brow and seemed to think for a minute before continuing, "But even if it is just his public persona, so what? We would only be a 'publicity' couple, anyway. If he does have some secret side, it's not like it would be any of my business."
Samatoki shifted uneasily and turned to look out the window. There was, annoyingly enough, an enormous digital ad for Ichiro's upcoming movie plastered over the side of a building just two blocks away. If Samatoki looked over at the right moment and squinted, he could catch a glimpse of the kid's stupidly handsome face right from his desk.
"What if you fall for him for real?" Samatoki grumbled.
Nemu stifled a laugh. "Nii-san, you know I'm every bit as gay as you are."
Samatoki huffed a second time and stood from his chair. He crossed the room and gave Nemu a quick hug as he passed her, because she was too cute to not hug, before reaching down for one of the magazines that sat on the coffee table in front of the couch. He flipped through until he found a full-page ad featuring Ichiro's infuriatingly cute smile and sculpted abs.
It was an ad for cologne or shampoo or something, but who could really tell or even care when the whole page was dedicated to a shot of Ichiro pulling up a basketball tank to wipe sweat from his brow while carefully placed rivulets of water ran down his chiseled, delectable—
Samatoki tossed the magazine back down onto the coffee table and crossed his arms, glaring down at Ichiro's impossibly perfect face.
"This guy?" he muttered. "It really has to be this guy?"
"He is a good fit, don't you think?" Nemu came over and smiled down at Ichiro's photo. "All his fans call him 'Ichi-nii', he's got the 'big brother' idol image locked down. Maybe some of that will rub off on me and help me towards the 'big sister' image I want to give off to my fans."
"There will be no rubbing," Samatoki warned.
Nemu laughed and gave his arm an admonishing slap. "Not like that! Obviously!"
Samatoki frowned at Ichiro's photo some more. It did make sense that Nemu's manager would suggest this guy for her sham relationship, and Nemu really was making a lot of good points. There was probably no better candidate for the role of her fake boyfriend.
But something about the whole thing still just didn't sit well with Samatoki.
"I wanna meet him first," he said. "See for myself if—"
"Sure," Nemu said, very quickly. Almost suspiciously quickly, as if that was what she'd been angling for the whole time. "I'll have my people talk to his people and set something up!"
Samatoki narrowed his eyes at her, but she beamed back at him so brightly and sweetly that any suspicions that may have flitted through his mind were dispelled in an instant.
Nemu was an angel.
There was no way she could be up to anything.
Just over twenty-four hours later, Samatoki received another visitor in his office. The meeting with Yamada Ichiro had been set up so quickly that Samatoki had to wonder, briefly, if Nemu had had her people talk to Ichiro's people before she even came to talk to him.
Well, whatever.
Samatoki had bigger problems standing right in front of him now.
Ichiro looked good, which was an especially large problem that Samatoki hadn't even bothered to raise with Nemu. Guys that good-looking didn't just stay single, and while there wouldn't technically be anything wrong with Ichiro and Nemu both having private relationships while playing out their public 'work' relationship, Samatoki didn't like the idea of some twerp stepping out on his sister at all.
"Aohitsugi-san," Ichiro greeted, with a polite incline of his head. He'd turned up at the office in a standard-issue celebrity disguise—baseball cap, dark sunglasses, and a black face mask—and just now started to take each item off. First the cap, then the sunglasses, then the mask, revealing an utterly adorable grin that Samatoki had to look away from. "Or should I practice calling you 'nii-san'?"
"Don't get ahead of yourself, brat," Samatoki snapped. "I haven't agreed to this charade yet."
Ichiro pushed his sunglasses up to rest on top of his head, which made most people look like complete douchebags, but of course he pulled it off well.
"Nemu did mention you had some reservations," he said with his amiable smile still firmly stuck in place. "What can I do to set your mind at ease, Aohitsugi-san?"
Samatoki eyed him warily for a moment, then stood from his desk to move over to the drinks cart. He trusted Yamada Ichiro about as far as he could throw him, which judging by how solid Ichiro looked wouldn't be very far at all, but he wasn't going to give Ichiro any reason to run off spreading rumors that Nemu-chan had an inhospitable big brother.
"Something to drink?" Samatoki offered.
"Coke if you have it," Ichiro said. "Or water's fine too."
Samatoki glanced back over at the kid, who wasn't really a kid at all. Ichiro was twenty-three, plenty old enough to have a drink drink. And he must have been able to see that Samatoki had quite a collection of fine liquor on display in his office.
Was it part of his 'good boy' persona to act like he wouldn't have a drink in the middle of the day?
Suspicious.
Very suspicious.
Samatoki poured himself two fingers of whisky, then leaned down to fetch a can of Coke from the mini fridge. "Ice?"
"Nah, and no need to dirty another glass. I can just take the can."
How thoughtful.
Maybe too thoughtful.
Ichiro thanked him with a smile when Samatoki popped the tab and passed him the can. He seemed to always be doing that, always smiling. Samatoki wasn't sure he'd ever seen the guy pissed off, except when playing a role.
"Sit." Samatoki nodded to the couch before returning to his own desk chair. "Tell me about yourself."
Ichiro sat and took a long pull from the can before lacing his fingers around it, cradling it in his hands.
Big hands, nice hands.
Samatoki looked away.
"Well, name's Yamada Ichiro," Ichiro began. "Twenty-three. Two little brothers, Jiro and Saburo. We were scouted about four years back, and we officially debuted as Buster Bros a year after that. Our first agency was on the smaller side, so they signed us over to Chuuoku Productions as we got bigger. ChuuPro has been great to us, really supportive of our pursuits as a group and as individuals. Right now, my monthly salary—"
"Stop." Samatoki lifted a hand and shot a glare at Ichiro from the corner of his eye. "Tell me something I don't know."
Ichiro looked surprised, and like he didn't quite understand what Samatoki was saying. Whether he was genuinely confused or faking it was anyone's guess.
"Aohitsugi-san…?"
"I see enough of your public face on TV and in magazines," Samatoki drawled, idly spinning his chair from side to side as he swirled the whisky in his glass. "But who are you really, under the mask? Whether or not the relationship's for real, I'm not gonna let Nemu run around with some guy I don't know."
Ichiro stared at him for a moment longer before ducking his head with a smile. "What you see is what you get with me, Aohitsugi-san."
"Don't bullshit me. No one's all sunshine and smiles all the time."
"That's true," Ichiro agreed, looking up to meet Samatoki's gaze again. "Maybe you're right that I wear a sort of mask as an idol, but my 'public face' isn't a complete fabrication. I do believe every idol has a responsibility to smile for their fans, but that doesn't mean my 'face' is fake.
"I do what I can to make my fans happy, and I avoid doing things that I know would make them sad. But at the end of the day, whatever I do or don't do—it's all what I want to do."
Samatoki could have rolled his eyes hard enough to see into his brain. It was all a lot of pretty talk that would have had girls squealing, but it wasn't what Samatoki was looking to hear.
"Nice speech," he snarked. "You rehearse it in front of a mirror every night before bed or something?"
Ichiro's calm, polite, soothing, and honestly downright sexy smile didn't fall. "I assure you, Aohitsugi-san, I mean what I—"
"Tell me something you wouldn't say to the public or this conversation is over," Samatoki interrupted.
Ichiro set his can of soda down on a coaster, then stood up like he was planning to take the second option. But instead of heading to the door, he made his way to Samatoki's desk instead.
"You're kind of an asshole, aren't you, Aohitsugi Samatoki?"
Samatoki blinked.
Despite the words falling from his pretty mouth, Ichiro was still smiling. He looked so pleasant and serene, with mirth crinkling the corners of his eyes, that Samatoki almost had to wonder if he'd heard him wrong.
"What did you just call me?"
"An asshole," Ichiro repeated obligingly. "Is that what you wanted to hear?"
Samatoki didn't like the way Ichiro was standing over him at all, but he was too surprised to rise to his feet. That certainly was something Ichiro wouldn't have been able to say to the public, but it sure as hell wasn't what Samatoki had been wanting or expecting to hear.
If Ichiro had just confessed to some glaring flaw, like recreational drug use or a gambling problem or, hell, even something innocuous like being a closet fudanshi, Samatoki would have felt a bit more like he was a real person and not some computer-generated dream boy made to appease the masses.
He didn't have to go and make himself even more charming by being so… so fucking cute and clever. It seemed to come so effortlessly to Ichiro that Samatoki wasn't even sure if he was doing it on purpose.
"Didn't think you knew how to swear with that mouth," Samatoki muttered, lifting his own glass to his lips.
"There's a lot I know how to do with this mouth."
Samatoki nearly choked on his whisky. He slammed his glass down, missing his coaster, and coughed until he could breathe again.
And when he looked back up, he found that Ichiro was still smiling and looking like the dictionary definition of innocence.
Ichiro's smile only dimmed a little, becoming a sultrier, more suggestive thing, as he spread his hands on Samatoki's desk and leaned in, until he was close enough to kiss.
"Want me to show you?" he whispered, his breath brushing Samatoki's lips.
Samatoki had been trying to accomplish something here, but he suddenly couldn't remember what. He couldn't have remembered even if his life depended on it.
But he could, and did, grab a fistful of Ichiro's hair and yank him down the rest of the way to bruise a kiss against those always-smiling lips of his.
It was a horrible angle, and Ichiro's sunglasses were knocked away and sent flying in the process, but Ichiro just cupped Samatoki's face and kissed him back with such filthy fervor that Samatoki heard himself groan. He'd just licked at the seam of Ichiro's lips when Ichiro shoved his tongue into Samatoki's mouth, stealing control and Samatoki's breath away in one fell swoop.
Somehow, before Samatoki even realized either of them had moved, Ichiro was on his side of the desk and Samatoki was pushing himself back in his chair and fumbling his own belt open. Ichiro didn't even seem to hesitate before sinking to his knees in front of Samatoki, where he kissed the inside of Samatoki's knee—who the fuck did that, who kissed a knee, and how the fuck was it so sexy when Ichiro did it—and reached up to help Samatoki get his fly the rest of the way open.
Samatoki groaned again and barely had the presence of mind to slap a switch that closed the blinds in his office before Ichiro got his cock out of his pants and took it into his mouth practically all at once. Samatoki wasn't even fully hard yet, but it didn't take long for him to get there with the way Ichiro hummed around him and stroked his hands up Samatoki's sides.
"Fuck," Samatoki breathed, lowering his gaze just in time to see how Ichiro's own lashes fluttered low. He was gorgeous with a flush rising into his cheeks, with his lips spread by Samatoki's cock, and with his eyes heavy-lidded with pleasure, like the sensation of Samatoki swelling up inside his mouth was the best thing he'd ever felt.
That certainly was a face he would never be able to show the public.
Maybe this was what Samatoki had been looking for after all.
For all his talk, Ichiro wasn't actually all that good with his mouth. He wasn't bad, per se. He was careful enough with his teeth, and he was eager, which counted for a hell of a lot. But he clearly didn't have an overabundance of experience. Of course, he could have been faking that, but Samatoki didn't think anyone in the world was that good of an actor.
Samatoki soothed a hand through Ichiro's hair, which was every bit as soft as it looked, when Ichiro got a little too enthusiastic and choked as the head of Samatoki's cock hit the back of his throat.
"Easy, baby," Samatoki murmured, tugging on Ichiro's hair just a little, then harder, when Ichiro moaned like he liked that. "Let me feel you take just the tip. It's sensitive there, y'know. Give it some attention with that pretty tongue of yours. Use those big, gorgeous hands of yours to take care of the rest."
Ichiro didn't seem to mind the coaching, and he was a damn quick learner. He pulled back until he was sucking just at the head of Samatoki's cock, closing a hand around the shaft to stroke it as he chased after each drop of precome with his tongue. He pulled off entirely after a while, only to flatten his tongue and lick a long stripe up the underside of Samatoki's cock, from his balls to the tip.
"Fuck, Ichi—" Samatoki fisted both hands in Ichiro's hair now. He couldn't quite stop himself from bucking up into that wet, hot cavern when Ichiro sealed his lips around his cock again, but Ichiro seemed to like that too. He planted one hand flat against the small of Samtaoki's back and all but dragged him off his desk chair, like he couldn't get him close enough, deep enough.
Samatoki was going to come faster than he had in years.
"Touch yourself," Samatoki rasped. "Let me see if your cock's as gorgeous as the rest of you."
Of course it was. Ichiro unbuckled his own belt and shoved his pants off in a hurry, like he'd just been waiting for permission to get a hand around his own cock. He was hard and dripping, just from sucking Samatoki off, which was such a hot fucking sight that Samatoki had to squeeze the base of his own arousal to keep from shooting his load down Ichiro's throat right then and there.
Ichiro shivered, then, and looked up at him with such unbridled want that Samatoki fell a little in love with him on the spot. Something about Samatoki's hand on his own cock seemed to have made Ichiro's eyes darken just a little, with a heightened pulse of desire.
"Like that?" Samatoki whispered. "Want me to jack off into your mouth?"
Ichiro let out a sound that could only be described as a whine. He was nodding almost before Samatoki finished speaking, and moved like putty in Samatoki's hands when Samatoki abruptly shoved him down onto the floor, on his back.
Samatoki slid off the edge of his chair and straddled Ichiro's chest. He cupped Ichiro's jaw with one hand and ran a thumb over his lower lip before dipping it into Ichiro's mouth, making him open wide.
"This the sort of thing you 'avoid' doing?" Samatoki asked as he started to stroke himself, right in front of Ichiro's face. "To keep your fans from getting sad? Pretty sure they wouldn't like you sucking off strangers you've only just met."
"You're not a stranger," Ichiro whispered back. "You're my good friend's big brother who I've wanted for years."
Samatoki nearly froze as a burst of heat exploded through him, spreading from his chest to his cheeks to his cock.
Did this adorable little shit have a crush on him?
Fuck, that was hot.
But what a waste.
They could've been doing this for years.
"Keep your mouth open," Samatoki ordered, if only to keep Ichiro from making any other grossly sappy confessions that would have Samatoki falling even harder than he already was. He pumped his hand up and down his own cock just a few more times before he grabbed a fistful of Ichiro's hair again, yanking his head up and shoving his cock past Ichiro's parted and waiting lips, to come down Ichiro's throat.
Ichiro groaned, choked a little, but took it all, working his throat around Samatoki and milking him dry. Through the haze of his own orgasm, Samatoki distantly felt Ichiro's come painting the backs of his exposed thighs too, probably getting all over his very expensive suit.
But Samatoki didn't give a fuck about that. Ichiro could ruin as many of his suits as he wanted, if he stayed this cute and eager for Samatoki's cock.
Ichiro was breathless, panting, when Samatoki pulled back, but Samatoki hardly gave him any time at all to catch his breath before bowing over him to lick the taste of himself out of Ichiro's mouth. He kissed Ichiro—nipping at his lips, sucking his tongue into his mouth—until Ichiro was hard again, and this time Samatoki stroked an orgasm from his cock with his own hand.
He licked Ichiro's come from his fingers as he looked down at Ichiro, taking in the sharp rise and fall of his chest, the slick sheen of his reddened lips, and the glossy haze of lust—and maybe something more than lust—still clouding his eyes.
This was an Ichiro who was thoroughly unfit for public consumption.
Samatoki had never liked him more.
"You like me or something?" Samatoki asked as he rolled off Ichiro to start cleaning them both up, as best as he could with a pack of wet wipes he kept in his desk. "You wanna go out with me?"
Ichiro sat up slowly, sluggishly, and smiled again. It was a smile that was unquestionably genuine. Small and sheepish, a bit nervous. Not like the glowing smiles he had for the cameras and the public at all.
Samatoki tipped his chin up with one finger and kissed him again, chaste and sweet this time.
"Yeah," Ichiro murmured against his lips. "I've liked you for ages."
"We've never met."
"Mm. Nemu-chan talks about you a lot, though. She speaks real highly of you."
Samatoki sat back with a smug grin. Of course she did. He was an awesome big brother, after all.
"You two plan this or something?" he asked after a moment, as he started to get out of his suit. His slacks and shirt had both taken on a few… questionable stains, so he figured he'd better just change into one of the spare suits he kept at the office. "She was never going to fake-date you at all, was she?"
Ichiro flashed him another sheepish smile that said it all. "Not really. Our managers did suggest me as her fake boyfriend first, but Nemu-chan thought it'd be better for her image to fake-date someone her age or younger. So, they're setting her up with my little brother instead."
"The sporty one or the nerdy one?"
"Hey!" Ichiro laughed. "They do have names, you know. Sporty one."
Samatoki nodded. He could live with that. That kid Jiro seemed like a gentleman.
"You know you didn't have to do all this, yeah?" Samatoki arched a brow before climbing to his feet and making his way over to the closet to pick out another suit. "With that face and body, you could've walked in here with zero pretense and I still would've let you suck me off."
Ichiro breathed another laugh and flumped back down on the floor, apparently needing a bit longer to catch his breath. "I wasn't actually planning on… doing that. You were just, um, kinda irresistible."
"Oh?" Samatoki grinned to himself as he pulled on a clean pair of slacks. Damn right he was irresistible. "What was the plan, then?"
"Uh… Nemu-chan kinda figured you'd be suspicious of me. She said that you would say my reputation's too smooth and clean or something, and that you would think I was hiding some secret dark side."
Fuck. Nemu had read him like a book.
"So, I was going to offer to meet up with you a bunch more times to show you the 'real' me," Ichiro said. "And hopefully, y'know."
"Make me fall for the 'real' you?" Samatoki came back over to Ichiro and pulled him up by the front of the shirt, lightly thunking their foreheads together. "Clever. Totally unnecessary, but clever."
Ichiro hummed distractedly and tipped his head up to steal another kiss.
"You can still show me," Samatoki murmured into the kiss. "Think I wouldn't mind seeing a little more of you."
Ichiro grinned against his lips. "Yeah?"
"Mhm. Show me everything. Let me know you, inside and out."
Samatoki really shouldn't have gotten into a new suit so quickly.
They wound up messing up the second one too.