Under New Management
By Sutlers

Kanda still doesn't like Allen's coworkers much—especially the obnoxious redhead, Lavi, who keeps looking over at them and cackling to himself—but he can't really bring himself to care when he's got good wine warm in his belly and Allen warm in his lap. Especially when Allen's fingers are teasing under the hem of his shirt and Allen's tongue is slick in his mouth.

"Yuu Kanda," Allen mumbles, and Kanda's hands slide around his sides to stroke the skin of this back. "Yuu Kanda," Allen groans against his cheekbone when Kanda runs his teeth along Allen's jaw. "God. So— fuck."

Kanda chuckles, low and quiet. "Allen Walker," he says, "I don't recall anything like a liquor license in those papers you showed me."

"Private—party," Allen gasps, and ducks down again to to swipe his tongue across Kanda's lips. He licks his way inside, tasting of wine and pastry, heady and sweet. His ass wriggles lazily against Kanda's crotch.

"Get a fuckin' room!" Lavi yells from one of the tables, and then collapses into laughter over his cards. Crowley giggles, and the girl sitting with them, the one who wears too much eye makeup, hides her face in her hands. Kanda had thought the back of Allen's favorite armchair blocked them sufficiently from view, but apparently not. Allen frees a hand and flips Lavi the bird.

"Maybe," Kanda starts, pulling away.

"Screw them, they're going to be too drunk to remember this tomorrow anyway," Allen says, and smiles. Kanda lets himself be tugged back in (not that he could have gone anywhere) and Allen's arms settle around his neck.

"And how drunk are you?" Kanda asks, amused.

Allen makes a face. "Asshole," he says. "You're one of those awful, stoic 'I'm not drunk' drunks, aren't you?"

Kanda refrains from pointing out that he is indulging in some rather blatant exhibitionism, something he would never do even pretending to be sober, and instead presses a palm against Allen's cock through his jeans. Allen lets out a tiny moan and one of his legs drops to the floor, hips rolling. He turns his face inwards, right up next to Kanda's ear, nudges the shell of it and whispers, "But to answer your question—pretty fucking drunk." A pause. "Wanna go fuck in the bathroom?"

The air leaves Kanda's lungs in a sharp gust and he tightens his fingers around Allen's hips. He feels Allen's lips curve into a smile on his ear. "That can't be—" he clears his throat. "That can't be appropriate." There's none of his familiar asperity in it.

"I'm the boss," Allen says primly. "I can do whatever I like."

When Kanda looks over, he sees Allen's pupils are completely shot, breath coming in shallow pants and lips red and wet. It's still new enough that the sight shoots straight down Kanda's spine to his cock, pulls hard in his gut and sends his pulse pounding even through the sluggishness of the alcohol. New enough that his own breathing comes hard and fast, skin suddenly oversensitive to every single tiny move Allen makes.

He kind of hopes it never gets old.

"Yes," Kanda hisses. Allen grins.

Then suddenly Kanda's lap is empty, but only long enough for Allen to grab his hand and pull him to his feet. Kanda knows what it has to look like: Allen yanking him after himself, their faces flushed and their fingers tangled together, but even Lavi's wolf-whistle can't drown out the rush of blood in his ears.

Kanda's back hits the door almost as soon as he steps through it, Allen's tongue lapping desperately at his own, Allen's hands shoving his shirt up and Allen's knee worming its way between his. Kanda tears himself away with a strangled "fuck" and fumbles with the lock. Allen makes a little mewling noise and steps back, letting Kanda secure the door. By the time Kanda is sure he's got it closed, Allen is completely bare-ass naked and holding a little thing of lube between his fingers.

"Where did this come from?" Kanda asks, opening his arms. Allen pretty much plasters himself against Kanda's side while Kanda runs a hand down his spine, somehow managing to get Kanda's shirt off his shoulders and his pants undone at the same time.

"I brought it with me," Allen says, licking a hot stripe up Kanda's neck and wrapping his fingers around Kanda's cock. He tugs a few times before Kanda grabs his wrist with one hand and grabs the lube out of his fingers with the other. He's already so horny he thinks he might die.

He flips Allen around so Allen's palms are flat against the door and Allen's ass is in the air. Kanda runs a shaky hand over it and presses himself forward. "So you came here expecting to be fucked?" he asks hoarsely.

Allen moans.

"Did you come here expecting to be fucked?" Kanda asks again, upending the lube on his hand. A good part of it spills on the floor but it doesn't matter, not when he's got two slick fingers circling Allen's asshole, pushing inside and hooking forward, getting a gasp for his efforts.

"Yes," Allen says, "please."

God. Kanda grits his teeth and pulls his fingers out, slicks his hand over his cock and pushes forward. Allen's loose enough anyway, with the liquor, loose and pliant under his hands, bones moving under Kanda's fingers as he rolls his hips back to meet Kanda's.

"Allen," Kanda groans, rocking forward. A sound that's almost a wail tears its way out of Allen's throat, long and low. He's always so loud, Allen is, all these ridiculous, sexy fucking noises coming from his mouth; sometimes pleas, sometimes demands, sometimes Kanda's name and sometimes just this incredible stream of filth. Kanda wants to hear all of it, wants to hear him beg, wants to learn what kind of movements elicit what kind of sounds: whether his teeth in Allen's shoulder will get an explosive fuck, whether a twist of his hips will get a cracked Christ, Yuu.

To look at him, you'd never expect it; he's full of guileless smiles and soft words, delicate veneer of deference that seems flawless from the outside, and it's only when Kanda is this close that the cracks appear. Close enough that Allen opens up and pulls him in, somewhere warm and and strange where smiles become sly and the weirdest thing—the weirdest fucking thing—is how much it feels like home. How much Kanda doesn't ever want to leave.

His world narrows to the hot clench of Allen around him, Allen's nonsense syllables in his ears and the sight of Allen scrabbling at the door when Kanda finally reaches a hand around and curls it around Allen's cock. A second later Allen's fingers are on top of his own, urging him harder, faster, please, almost sobbing it out, his small frame shaking with the force of it. Kanda's too close, feels like he's been waiting for this forever, and when he comes he actually blacks out for a second, vision going dark and legs suddenly weak.

Allen yelps when he slides out because then Kanda is flipping him back around, pinned to the door with one of Kanda's hands on his hip and Kanda licking a messy line down his stomach as he sinks to his knees. He swallows Allen's cock down without preamble, all the way down his throat and then Allen's fingers are flying to his hair and Allen's body is jackknifing over his as he comes with an airless groan.

They both kind of collapse in on each other as Allen slides down the door and more or less back into Kanda's lap. Their breathing evens out slowly. Kanda turns his face to Allen's shoulder, breathing in the smell of sex and sweat, something sweet like grapes. Allen lifts a hand to his jaw and lifts up his head, enough that he can lick away the small smear of come on the corner of Kanda's mouth and turn it into a sloppy kiss.

"Well," he says, against Kanda's lips. "That was fun."

Kanda snorts. "Slut."

Allen's only response is an indolent "mmmmm" as his fingers card back through Kanda's hair. Kanda kisses him again, slowly, sliding his hands down Allen's sides. The wine-haze is lifting, a little bit, and Kanda is becoming aware of the twinge in his knees, their awkward position and the cold tile beneath them. A knock on the door startles them both.

"Hurry up, will you?" Lavi yells through the wood. "I need a piss!"

"Use the other bathrooms, jackass!" Allen yells back, and then laughs a little when Kanda groans.

"I hope you realize I am never going to show my face here again," Kanda says. Allen just pats him on the cheek and plants another kiss on his lips.

About a Thousand Numbers, the other porny sequel by fallia.

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