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Knocking lightly on the door of the first lieutenant’s office, Ogata tells himself that as long as he’s aware of the position he’s in, he’s still the one holding the reins between the two.
And Ogata has always known where he fits in this whole plot. The others may be wrapped around Tsurumi’s fingers—dancing to his tune, licking his boot—but Ogata’s different; he knows better. He’d be a fool to believe he’s worth anything more than what he is: an asset, a useful pawn in Tsurumi’s game. Regardless of what Tsurumi makes his men believe—Ogata is aware that the only reason he’s kept around is because he’s proved himself to be worth keeping around. Nothing more, nothing less.
Ogata’s fine with that. After all, he, too, gains something from this game. So for now, he’ll stay put, pulling any strings he can grasp from where he stands.
Once he’s signaled in, Ogata opens the door and walks into the first lieutenant's office, locking it discreetly behind him. Tsurumi’s immediate attention on him, in the form of a smile that makes his body tense the slightest, changes the air almost instantly. It’s not particularly a small space and they’re nowhere within close proximity, but the first lieutenant has always had that effect on any room he occupies. It’s as though he’s filling the room with his being, claiming it as his own, until eventually it becomes less like he’s occupying the room and more that the room holds him within it. As if these four walls should be grateful that he has graced them with his presence. And whenever Ogata enters any such room, he, too, is influenced by that all-consuming presence. He knows if he’s not on guard, he risks being swallowed in it.
“Hyakunosuke,” Tsurumi says, folding his hands in his lap. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
Playing stupid, huh.
There’s only ever two reasons for Ogata being here, one of which includes reporting to Tsurumi, and if there is something to report, the lieutenant is the one to call him in first. Ogata wouldn’t just come to his office without a reason, and Tsurumi isn’t foolish enough to believe otherwise.
The steady sound of rain outside fills the space between them as Ogata stares at Tsurumi blankly, unmoving, feeling the slow thuds of his heartbeat in his chest. Something isn’t right with him, but, as always, he ignores the feeling. Instead, he starts to unbutton and shrug off his military coat.
“Oh? Could it be that you’re feeling lonely?” Tsurumi teases, tilting his head.
Ogata’s face remains blank as he places his coat on the coat stand by the door; though he feels his stomach turn at the implication. Lonely. He isn’t. But he doesn’t respond.
Tsurumi’s smile widens at his silence. “Come here,” he says, beckoning Ogata over as he pushes his chair backward, away from his desk.
Those are the only words Ogata needs to hear.
Two words and Ogata walks across the room and drops to the floor in front of Tsurumi. Something truly isn’t right with him.
Ogata loosely holds the legs of the chair as he lays his head on Tsurumi’s lap begrudgingly, his face turned to the side.
He doesn’t remember when it started, or, more importantly, why. But these visits have become frequent enough for this to turn into a ritual of sorts for the two. About once a week, Ogata enters his office. Tsurumi calls him to his side, Ogata gets down on the floor and lays his head on Tsurumi’s lap, the latter plays with his hair, pets him, praises him for his good work, uses his first name affectionately… Ogata hardly utters a word, and Tsurumi doesn’t force him to talk either. Occasionally, Ogata lets out soft breaths, akin to a cat purring under its owner’s touch.
Except, he doesn’t belong to Tsurumi. Not really. He’s a stray, and strays like him don’t belong anywhere, much less to anyone.
Ogata’s certain that Tsurumi is aware of this as well. Nonetheless, he insists on trying to tame a wildcat that simply refuses to be tamed. His persistence, while laughable, admittedly isn’t disliked.
It almost makes Ogata feel wanted, even if it's a game of pretend. Even if the only reason for Tsurumi’s hold on him is simply to add him to his collection of toy soldiers.
Tsurumi slides his hand over the top of Ogata’s head, running his fingers through the strands of his hair, thorough in his action. In spite of himself, Ogata immediately leans into the touch, the tension he’d felt walking into the office melting away with each drag of Tsurumi’s nails against his scalp. He doesn’t close his eyes, nor does he soften his expression—Ogata doesn't allow himself to indulge any further than this, and this already is too much. It’s pleasant—he can admit that much to himself, but the thought alone nauseates him in the pit of his stomach.
Tsurumi must’ve sensed Ogata’s mind wandering elsewhere, to thoughts the lieutenant would rather snuff out, because Ogata feels a hand move to caress his cheek, lifting his chin and bringing his attention to the man before him.
“Where’s your mind?” Tsurumi asks, his tone gentle and sweet—a contrast to his intentions, to his demeanor.
Don’t fall into it. Don’t let your guard down.
But Ogata is a twisted, broken man who’s missing something fundamental in being a person. Maybe that something is the affection of a paternal figure, or whatever this is. He can’t help but lean into the hand caressing his face. After all, when was the last time he was touched so gently? When was the last time he felt so cared for? Can he truly be blamed for wanting this?
Tsurumi is also a twisted, broken man who’s missing something, part of his frontal lobe, and perhaps—Ogata suspects—much more than that. Still, he’s able to fill the missing piece inside of Ogata, if only for a moment, within these four walls.
Ogata doesn’t respond, and instead withdraws from Tsurumi’s touch, laying his head down on his lap again. Thankfully, he isn’t questioned any further.
Tsurumi begins to hum softly as he goes back to threading his fingers through Ogata’s hair.
Don’t fall into it.
Ogata wishes he could shut his brain off. He tries yet fails to focus on the humming to distract himself from his thoughts.
Tsurumi doesn’t make it easy, either. To bring Ogata back, he pauses the hushed soothing and speaks again.
“You’ve done well, Hyakunosuke,” Tsurumi says, affection dripping from his voice like sweet poison. “You’ve worked so hard.” Tsurumi continues to fill him with honeyed words, but Ogata doesn't care for empty praise, nor how gentle the lieutenant sounds as he whispers them to him.
After all, he already knows Tsurumi doesn’t really mean it. He’s simply saying what he thinks Ogata wants to hear.
Despite that, his words, spoken softly into the space between them, send a shiver down Ogata’s spine. Disgust and relief races through his body simultaneously, and he can’t decide what sinks in first. He doesn't think about it.
With one hand running through Ogata’s hair, Tsurumi brings the other downward, reaching. “Give me your hand,” he says.
But Ogata doesn’t budge, ignoring him.
It’s as if he’s a cat whose paw Tsurumi wants to shake. What good would that do? Ogata doesn't follow such shameful commands. Shaking paws, following orders—those are things better suited for mindless dogs, like Usami.
“So aloof,” Tsurumi teases, humming softly. Ogata could bet the smile on his face hasn’t wavered since he walked in. It angers him to think about Tsurumi’s face, so he closes his eyes briefly without thinking.
Don’t let your guard down.
He feels the hand in his hair slide down the back of his head, fingers tracing the skin of his neck, soft yet firm. Ogata stiffens instantly, and his eyes shoot open. He ended up making the mistake of getting too careless.
“Relax…” Tsurumi soothes, but there’s nothing comforting about it. Not when the fingers press firmly into his skin, holding him down. “Relax,” he repeats, and it's an order. Tsurumi massages the muscle below his neck, squeezing the skin between his shoulder blades possessively. “You're so stiff here, Hyakunosuke. We can’t have that, can we?” he hums.
Pain and pleasure course through his body each time Tsurumi roughly kneads his muscles, and Ogata can’t help the whine that escapes his lips.
“That’s it,” Tsurumi praises, “good boy.”
He runs his hand down Ogata’s back before moving it up to his hair, tugging what strands he can grasp. Then, he pulls Ogata’s hair back, eliciting a quiet groan from Ogata’s lips. As his eyes meet the lieutenant’s, he’s finally released.
Shit.
If it didn’t feel good, Ogata might have been more embarrassed about the hardness forming between his legs. But he knows what Tsurumi is doing—what he always does—and he can’t be bothered to shame himself for it. This is just another thing that Tsurumi is to blame for.
The mild amusement on Tsurumi's face, the subtle smirk tugging at his lips, right before he lets go of Ogata’s hair only causes the latter to feel more aroused.
Damn it all.
Tsurumi’s authoritative hand, sliding across the bare skin of his neck, is starting to feel too hot. His fingers reach into the opening of Ogata’s collar, and Ogata finds himself breathing sharply.
“It feels good, doesn’t it?” Tsurumi chuckles softly.
Goddamn seducer.
Tsurumi proceeds to caress his skin gently with his palm after each firm squeeze. Every trace of Tsurumi’s fingers leaves his skin feeling warm and tingly. One part of his brain wants Tsurumi’s hand to stay on his skin while the other considers biting a finger or two off. But in spite of himself, he chases every touch all the same, and finds himself disappointed when Tsurumi eventually settles for simply playing with his hair idly, as if to allow him to cool down.
Ogata clicks his tongue quietly. Hmph. A tease, as always.
Deciding to take matters into his own hands, Ogata gets up from the floor and proceeds to straddle Tsurumi’s lap, eyes staring down at him as he settles one knee between the first lieutenant’s thighs. It's clear from the inquisitive hum Tsurumi lets out that he doesn't expect it. Good.
For the first time tonight, Ogata finally smirks.
“Well, well,” Tsurumi says, glancing down at the knee between his legs before his eyes travel back up to meet Ogata’s mischievous gaze. “This is new.” A subtle smile creeps onto Tsurumi’s face, and he places a hand on Ogata’s waist, squeezing lightly. “You hardly ever ask for something so…” a pause, and the hand on Ogata’s waist caresses his side idly as Tsurumi continues, “...blatantly, Hyakunosuke.” Tsurumi smiles as he tilts his head, and Ogata, unsurprisingly, can’t fully read his expression. “Don’t tell me…” he coos. “Have I been neglecting my favorite cat?”
Ogata’s nostrils flare as he grins wildly. “What exactly do you think I’m asking for, First Lieutenant?” He challenges instead, ignoring the question. One of Ogata’s hands holds Tsurumi’s shoulder while the other goes to wrap around the man’s throat—harmless, steady.
Tsurumi’s smile doesn't falter, even as Ogata runs his thumb over the lump in the lieutenant's throat. Per usual, the first lieutenant doesn’t react to the unspoken threat. Instead, he moves his hand down to Ogata’s hip. “You tell me, Private,” he mumbles, rubbing Ogata’s hipbone with his thumb. Ogata chooses to ignore it. “Clearly, you want my attention. What will you do with it, now that you have it, hm?” He grips Ogata’s hip, perhaps as some kind of a warning.
The warning, however, does nothing except further encourage Ogata.
“Do you remember what you said, First Lieutenant Tsurumi?” Ogata’s smile remains as he traces his thumb over Tsurumi’s throat. “In the carriage, I mean.”
Tsurumi hums, pretending to think for a moment. “You'll have to clarify which part you refer to exactly, Private Ogata. We did talk about many things that night, you know.” At those words, Ogata thinks of wiping the smile off the lieutenant’s face.
“You told me you’d enroll me into the army academy, remember? Don’t tell me old age has gotten the better of you,” Ogata mocks, smirking as he drags his nails across Tsurumi’s skin.
Tsurumi chuckles softly, and Ogata has to disregard the vibration against his fingers. “Age has not slowed me down just yet, my dear boy. But you must understand—at times, a damaged frontal lobe could cloud anyone’s mind,” Tsurumi says, far too sweetly.
“So I’m told,” Ogata purrs, eyes sharp and cold. “Then let me clarify for you, sir.” He moves his hand down from Tsurumi’s throat, placing it on his chest instead. He listens—or rather, feels—for the sound of Tsurumi’s heartbeat momentarily. The beats of his heart are calm and unwavering, frustratingly so. “You promised you'd arrange my enrollment, advise me, help me rise up in the ranks… Does that ring a bell, First Lieutenant Tsurumi?” Ogata’s smile contorts into something far more twisted. “As I’m sure you know, I can take a lot, sir,” he whispers, playing with the buttons of Tsurumi’s coat, eyes half-lidded as he casts his gaze downward. “But I can also be quite impatient.” Ogata emphasizes a slow, deep breath, hoping Tsurumi will take what he is laying out. He traces his index finger in a circle against Tsurumi’s chest, enunciating the following words as he meets the lieutenant’s gaze. “Especially… when I lack something.”
Tsurumi stares, the smile never falling from his face. Admittedly, Ogata can’t tell what Tsurumi makes of his performance. He isn’t so naive as to believe he can fool the man with his words—the two think too similarly for either to deceive the other—but at the very least, there must be some sort of appreciation towards how far he’s willing to go.
“You understand, don't you, First Lieutenant?” Ogata questions, feigning the softness in his voice, as a nod towards Tsurumi's own tone.
Tsurumi smirks, but something else is displayed on his face as well. Irritation? No, that’s too strong of a word to describe the expression. Displeasure, perhaps. Ogata grins—widely, almost childishly—feeling a hint of triumph fill his chest at the sight.
A confirmation of sorts. Of course, Tsurumi understands.
Tsurumi simply hums, moving his hand down from Ogata’s hip. Slow, deliberate. “As fun as this has been—and I’m sure it has been quite the pleasure for you,” he says, squeezing the side of Ogata’s thigh as though to make a point, “I, unfortunately, have other duties to attend to,” Tsurumi states, almost coldly, withdrawing his hand from Ogata’s leg and wrapping it around the finger tracing his chest. He grips firmly and bends the index finger back ever so slightly (another warning, Ogata recognizes) as he pulls Ogata’s hand away. “You’ll have to excuse me, Hyakunosuke,” he says, seemingly disinterested yet oddly polite, as he waits for Ogata to take a distance to stand up. “I can always entertain our little game later.”
Once Ogata has stepped away, Tsurumi gets up on his feet. He smoothes his uniform out, mostly just for show, as a subtle smile tugs at his lips. “Do take care of yourself, Hyakunosuke,” he remarks, patting Ogata’s cheek lightly. Shortly after, he walks around Ogata, leaving his back turned to the latter.
Ogata glares at Tsurumi from the corner of his eyes. Smug bastard. “Of course, sir,” he says instead, masking the anger bubbling up. “Thank you for your time today.”
“Anything for my favorite cat.”
Ogata doesn't turn around to look at him, even as Tsurumi exits the office, leaving everything: him, the stifling air, and the lingering scent of the first lieutenant, behind. Ogata takes a sharp breath once he's alone, realizing the hardness between his legs has yet to calm down.
Ogata is certain it didn’t go unnoticed, but he’d rather not pay too much mind to that. He breathes in the faint smell of Tsurumi one last time before he retrieves his coat, adjusts himself in his pants, and heads out, swiping his hair back.
He knows now what steps he must take to get what he lacks.