violence? i guess? weapons? fake dating? 1205 words.
The steely eyes of Captain Kataoka betray the nature of the mission that’s handed to them.
Miyuki’s sitting, legs crossed haphazardly, but that’s better than his partner—Sawamura Eijun, legs spread widely, taking up the entirety of the area that his rickety chair will allow him.
“Here are your aliases. Memorize them. Do not mess this up.”
Miyuki raises an eyebrow and opens the manila folder. Miyuki Kazuya, masquerading as Miyuki Kazuya. Wow, Miyuki Kazuya thinks, how original. His job? A policeman. Wow. How original. Skills: Cooking.
Wow, Miyuki looks up at Captain Kataoka with both of his eyebrows raised. Where is the difference?
Captain Kataoka looks back at him. His eyes silently communicate, keep reading—
“WHAT?” Sawamura screams next to him, jostling his folder onto the ground. “Boss, why?”
“I don’t make the rules,” Captain Kataoka says, arms crossed. Sawamura whimpers pitifully.
The piece of paper that details what they’ll be taking floats down onto the floor. Miyuki bends over to pick it up and that’s when he sees it—
Relationship Status: Married to Miyuki Kazuya.
He drops the paper.
**
There’s an uncomfortable, unnatural weight on his left ring finger.
Miyuki looks at the silver band that’s the cause of all his problems. Sawamura seems to have taken to his ring fairly easily—showing it off to Furuya, of all people—but whenever someone mentions that he’s married to the bastard that is Miyuki Kazuya—Kuramcochi’s phrasing, not his—Sawamura’s face sours.
“Hey,” Miyuki says and reaches out with his foot, knocking Sawamura’s foot lightly. “Cheer up, we’re married!”
Sawamura’s scowl deepens and his eyes are catlike. He ruthlessly knocks his foot back into Miyuki’s.
Well then.
That’s how they end up having to tip the taxi driver double because of the most intense footsie that two grown men have engaged in and the taxi driver takes it with a—haha, you guys are already an old married couple—to which Miyuki had to laugh awkwardly and sprint away from.
Sawamura’s already at the front desk, talking to the receptionist.
“This will be one bed then,” the receptionist laughs as she tucks a strand of hair behind her head and Miyuki stares at Sawamura with something that’s not love in his eyes. Sawamura laughs nervously, loudly, soon filling the five star hotel’s lobby with the sound of his own laugh, and then nods.
“Well,” the lady says, “congratulations on your marriage! Enjoy everything.”
“Yes, yes,” Miyuki says hastily and grabs the keycard, slipping one of the two into Sawamura’s coat pocket. “Now if you’ll excuse us—”
“Oh yes,” the lady says, her kind smile turning into a devious smirk. “I understand—can’t wait to have him all to yourself.”
Miyuki opens his mouth to argue. Closes it.
**
“We’re married,” Miyuki narrows his eyes. “If you compromise this mission because you can’t call me by my first name—”
“Well,” Sawamura says and throws his hands up in the air. “Can you?!”
“Sure,” Miyuki scoffs and schooling his face into a neutral expression. “Eijun.”
Sawamura grinds his teeth together. Miyuki smirks. Just another point on his imaginary scoreboard.
**
“Why am I here with you?” Sawamura laments, the ring on his finger still there.
“Because Ryousuke has actual yoga instructor credentials? What would you do?”
“I dunno,” Sawamura wrinkles his nose, “the splits?”
**
Their target is someone in this room.
“Eijun, I think this will be lovely,” Miyuki says as they walk into the couple’s yoga.
“Ah yes, Kazuya,” Sawamura manages to not stutter through his name, “I, as well, think this will be quite enjoyable.”
Kuramochi smiles from behind the desk, Ryousuke next to him in yoga attire. Screw you, Miyuki thinks as he glares at the other, because for no reason should he not be in Kuramochi’s position.
“Well,” Ryousuke clasps his hands together, “we’re so grateful that the newlyweds could join us! Have too much fun in your room, hm?”
Miyuki schools his face into one of a satisfied smile. Kuramochi mimes gagging behind Ryousuke.
**
Sawamura grunts when he gets on top of Miyuki—who’s currently in a somewhat painful reverse tabletop position, but at least he has all the right angles according to Kuramochi, who’s currently in a riot— and instantly goes into a backbend.
Miyuki looks up, Sawamura’s feet resting on his shoulders, his heels touching his biceps while his toes tickle his ears, and gets a perfect glimpse of Sawamura’s thighs and toned ass.
Do not, Miyuki thinks as they hold this pose, Sawamura’s hands on Miyuki’s knees, do not pop a boner. Miyuki Kazuya, do not pop a boner.
“So,” the guy to his right starts conversationally, “newlywed, huh?”
What kind of guy starts a conversation in yoga, Miyuki thinks but Ryousuke doesn’t seem to be paying attention or objecting—merely correctly another couple’s posture.
“Yeah, just a month ago,” Miyuki doesn’t know if that’s too long but the manila folder didn’t specify. The other male seems to take it for the truth, so Miyuki thinks that’s alright.
“Wow,” the man says and nods, “my girlfriend and I have been doing this for seventeen months.”
“That’s dedication,” Miyuki says.
“It’s good to be flexible,” the other says with a sleazy smile. “Especially for those times under the sheets.”
“…Right,” Miyuki says because he’s not going to think about what happens under the sheets with Sawamura right on top of him.
**
They go through five more poses then Kuramochi yells and vaults over the table.
“Sawamura, off,” Miyuki grunts and Sawamura shifts seamlessly from his splits to cartwheel off of his body. Terrible.
“Let’s go, Miyuki Kazuya!” Sawamura yells and sprints off, barefoot. Miyuki has enough sense to rifle through their yoga bags to pull out their badges and weapons—toe on his shoes and the chase begins.
“Sorry, ladies and gentlemen,” Ryousuke says with his velvety voice, “it’s time for me to leave.”
**
The chase is elaborate. Nothing quite beats the rush of adrenaline from vaulting over obstacle after obstacle.
The worst was probably when the criminal turned an entire cart of luggage straight at Sawamura and the other had the great idea to vault through—ducking and rolling after he passed through the obstacle.
Miyuki simply decided to run around, like normal people do, and handed Sawamura his badge and gun.
“Remember,” Miyuki says as they sprint together, both in skin tight yoga pants, “he’s a terrible person.”
“Shut up,” Sawamura says, “that was one time.”
**
Sawamura chases the criminal relentlessly with dogged determination and Miyuki runs off to cut him off, army crawling through vents so that he’s able to jump down in front of the other, gun poised right in front of his face.
Sawamura slows down, seconds behind him, and pulls out his gun as well.
“Miyuki Kazuya, FBI,” Miyuki Kazuya flashes a badge that says, Miyuki Kazuya. “You have the right to remain silent.”
**
Sawamura forgets to take the ring off for an entirety of three days and two hours after the mission is over. Miyuki makes a snide comment and he rips it off and well, now Miyuki has to get rid of his too.
FILL: TEAM Miyuki Kazuya/Sawamura Eijun, T
1205 words.
The steely eyes of Captain Kataoka betray the nature of the mission that’s handed to them.
Miyuki’s sitting, legs crossed haphazardly, but that’s better than his partner—Sawamura Eijun, legs spread widely, taking up the entirety of the area that his rickety chair will allow him.
“Here are your aliases. Memorize them. Do not mess this up.”
Miyuki raises an eyebrow and opens the manila folder. Miyuki Kazuya, masquerading as Miyuki Kazuya. Wow, Miyuki Kazuya thinks, how original. His job? A policeman. Wow. How original. Skills: Cooking.
Wow, Miyuki looks up at Captain Kataoka with both of his eyebrows raised. Where is the difference?
Captain Kataoka looks back at him. His eyes silently communicate, keep reading—
“WHAT?” Sawamura screams next to him, jostling his folder onto the ground. “Boss, why?”
“I don’t make the rules,” Captain Kataoka says, arms crossed. Sawamura whimpers pitifully.
The piece of paper that details what they’ll be taking floats down onto the floor. Miyuki bends over to pick it up and that’s when he sees it—
Relationship Status: Married to Miyuki Kazuya.
He drops the paper.
**
There’s an uncomfortable, unnatural weight on his left ring finger.
Miyuki looks at the silver band that’s the cause of all his problems. Sawamura seems to have taken to his ring fairly easily—showing it off to Furuya, of all people—but whenever someone mentions that he’s married to the bastard that is Miyuki Kazuya—Kuramcochi’s phrasing, not his—Sawamura’s face sours.
“Hey,” Miyuki says and reaches out with his foot, knocking Sawamura’s foot lightly. “Cheer up, we’re married!”
Sawamura’s scowl deepens and his eyes are catlike. He ruthlessly knocks his foot back into Miyuki’s.
Well then.
That’s how they end up having to tip the taxi driver double because of the most intense footsie that two grown men have engaged in and the taxi driver takes it with a—haha, you guys are already an old married couple—to which Miyuki had to laugh awkwardly and sprint away from.
Sawamura’s already at the front desk, talking to the receptionist.
“This will be one bed then,” the receptionist laughs as she tucks a strand of hair behind her head and Miyuki stares at Sawamura with something that’s not love in his eyes. Sawamura laughs nervously, loudly, soon filling the five star hotel’s lobby with the sound of his own laugh, and then nods.
“Well,” the lady says, “congratulations on your marriage! Enjoy everything.”
“Yes, yes,” Miyuki says hastily and grabs the keycard, slipping one of the two into Sawamura’s coat pocket. “Now if you’ll excuse us—”
“Oh yes,” the lady says, her kind smile turning into a devious smirk. “I understand—can’t wait to have him all to yourself.”
Miyuki opens his mouth to argue. Closes it.
**
“We’re married,” Miyuki narrows his eyes. “If you compromise this mission because you can’t call me by my first name—”
“Well,” Sawamura says and throws his hands up in the air. “Can you?!”
“Sure,” Miyuki scoffs and schooling his face into a neutral expression. “Eijun.”
Sawamura grinds his teeth together. Miyuki smirks. Just another point on his imaginary scoreboard.
**
“Why am I here with you?” Sawamura laments, the ring on his finger still there.
“Because Ryousuke has actual yoga instructor credentials? What would you do?”
“I dunno,” Sawamura wrinkles his nose, “the splits?”
**
Their target is someone in this room.
“Eijun, I think this will be lovely,” Miyuki says as they walk into the couple’s yoga.
“Ah yes, Kazuya,” Sawamura manages to not stutter through his name, “I, as well, think this will be quite enjoyable.”
Kuramochi smiles from behind the desk, Ryousuke next to him in yoga attire. Screw you, Miyuki thinks as he glares at the other, because for no reason should he not be in Kuramochi’s position.
“Well,” Ryousuke clasps his hands together, “we’re so grateful that the newlyweds could join us! Have too much fun in your room, hm?”
Miyuki schools his face into one of a satisfied smile. Kuramochi mimes gagging behind Ryousuke.
**
Sawamura grunts when he gets on top of Miyuki—who’s currently in a somewhat painful reverse tabletop position, but at least he has all the right angles according to Kuramochi, who’s currently in a riot— and instantly goes into a backbend.
Miyuki looks up, Sawamura’s feet resting on his shoulders, his heels touching his biceps while his toes tickle his ears, and gets a perfect glimpse of Sawamura’s thighs and toned ass.
Do not, Miyuki thinks as they hold this pose, Sawamura’s hands on Miyuki’s knees, do not pop a boner. Miyuki Kazuya, do not pop a boner.
“So,” the guy to his right starts conversationally, “newlywed, huh?”
What kind of guy starts a conversation in yoga, Miyuki thinks but Ryousuke doesn’t seem to be paying attention or objecting—merely correctly another couple’s posture.
“Yeah, just a month ago,” Miyuki doesn’t know if that’s too long but the manila folder didn’t specify. The other male seems to take it for the truth, so Miyuki thinks that’s alright.
“Wow,” the man says and nods, “my girlfriend and I have been doing this for seventeen months.”
“That’s dedication,” Miyuki says.
“It’s good to be flexible,” the other says with a sleazy smile. “Especially for those times under the sheets.”
“…Right,” Miyuki says because he’s not going to think about what happens under the sheets with Sawamura right on top of him.
**
They go through five more poses then Kuramochi yells and vaults over the table.
“Sawamura, off,” Miyuki grunts and Sawamura shifts seamlessly from his splits to cartwheel off of his body. Terrible.
“Let’s go, Miyuki Kazuya!” Sawamura yells and sprints off, barefoot. Miyuki has enough sense to rifle through their yoga bags to pull out their badges and weapons—toe on his shoes and the chase begins.
“Sorry, ladies and gentlemen,” Ryousuke says with his velvety voice, “it’s time for me to leave.”
**
The chase is elaborate. Nothing quite beats the rush of adrenaline from vaulting over obstacle after obstacle.
The worst was probably when the criminal turned an entire cart of luggage straight at Sawamura and the other had the great idea to vault through—ducking and rolling after he passed through the obstacle.
Miyuki simply decided to run around, like normal people do, and handed Sawamura his badge and gun.
“Remember,” Miyuki says as they sprint together, both in skin tight yoga pants, “he’s a terrible person.”
“Shut up,” Sawamura says, “that was one time.”
**
Sawamura chases the criminal relentlessly with dogged determination and Miyuki runs off to cut him off, army crawling through vents so that he’s able to jump down in front of the other, gun poised right in front of his face.
Sawamura slows down, seconds behind him, and pulls out his gun as well.
“Miyuki Kazuya, FBI,” Miyuki Kazuya flashes a badge that says, Miyuki Kazuya. “You have the right to remain silent.”
**
Sawamura forgets to take the ring off for an entirety of three days and two hours after the mission is over. Miyuki makes a snide comment and he rips it off and well, now Miyuki has to get rid of his too.
It’s not like Miyuki was keeping track though.