Makoto shook his head, a playful glint in his eye as he grabbed two puddings. Her favorite. "Yeah, but my harem wouldn't be too happy about a new joiner."
Ayane watched him place the puddings on the conveyor belt. Her expression, which had been open and vulnerable, hardened. The familiar wicked glint returned to her eyes. She saw his gesture for exactly what it was: a concession, an apology, but also an admission that he cared.
She leaned in close as he paid, her voice dropping low so only he could hear. "Oh, you're giving me pudding? Are you trying to bribe the new applicant with sweets?"
Her hand found his ass, hidden from the cashier's view, and gave it a firm squeeze. "Don't worry about your harem," she whispered, her breath hot against his ear. "I'm not asking for their permission. I'm applying directly to the management anyway."
She pulled back just as the cashier handed him the bags, a sweet smile on her face. "And for the record," she said, her voice returning to normal volume, "I'm not looking to join. I'm planning a hostile takeover."
They walked home slowly, hands linked. Makoto smiled at her, fond and indulgent. "Well, I'll consider your application." He chuckled. "But I'll need to go home after we've finished dinner and the Gundam, though. I've got a tight curfew."
Ayane's arm stiffened. Her steps faltered for just a fraction of a second. "A curfew?" She sounded amused, but there was a sharp edge underneath. "Imposed by who? Your little stepsister?"
She stopped under a streetlight. The lipstick marks on his neck, pink and red mixed together, looked almost comical in the harsh light.
"Let me guess," she said, her smile a little too bright. "If you're not home by a certain time, she'll what? Ground you? Take away your gaming privileges?"
She took a step closer, her voice dropping. "Or will she just fuck you into submission until you forget my name?"
The question hit him like a punch. She didn't wait for an answer. She just laughed, sharp and humorless.
"You know," she said, her voice suddenly too loud, "I was going to be nice. I was going to play the long game. Seduce you with my witty banter and my impressive knowledge of mecha anime."
"But I think I've changed my mind." Her voice went low, dangerous. "I think I'm going to have to be more direct." She turned and started walking, her hips swaying. "And for the record," she called over her shoulder, "we're skipping the Gundam."
Back at her apartment, he started cleaning and chopping the ingredients. "You can try if you want. But I think she... no, they've drained me dry to make sure I'm unable to do anything perverted." He giggled.
Ayane laughed, throaty and warm, echoing in the small apartment. She watched him move around her cramped kitchen with easy confidence. The rhythmic thump of his knife against the cutting board was the only sound for a long moment.
"Drained you dry, huh?" she said finally. "That's cute. It's like they're trying to put a 'Do Not Touch' sign on a museum exhibit."
She pushed herself off the counter and walked towards him. She didn't stop until her front was pressed against his back, her arms snaking around his waist. Her chin hooked over his shoulder. "But the thing about museums," she whispered, her lips brushing his earlobe, "is that some people like to touch the art."
Her hand slid down his stomach. Slowly, deliberately. It found the waistband of his pants. And then it slipped inside.
"They think they can just tire you out?" she murmured as her fingers closed around his soft cock. "That's adorable. They don't know the first thing about you." Her fingers began to stroke, slow and gentle, expertly teasing.
He felt a flicker. A twitch, a slow, unwilling stirring of life. Ayane felt it too. A small hum vibrated from her chest into his back. "See?" she whispered triumphantly. "All they did was warm you up for the main event."
Makoto cleared his throat. "I would suggest you take your hands off my cock while I'm handling a knife, Miss Ayane."
Ayane chuckled, the sound sending a shiver down his spine. "Are you scared you'll slip, you harem king?" But she withdrew her hand for now.
She remained pressed against his back as he finished chopping, a warm and distracting presence. She was a silent audience as he moved around her kitchen, his movements efficient. She didn't offer to help, just watched.
He cooked in comfortable silence. The only sounds were the sizzle of pork in the pan and the gentle bubble of rice in the cooker.
When the food was ready, he plated it. A perfect mound of egg-fried rice topped with glistening, caramelized grilled pork.
Makoto washed his hands after finishing frying the karaage and rested them on the cooling rack. "Let's enjoy ourselves, then. And no alcohol this time, you hear me?"
Ayane smiled, wicked and slow. "No promises," she said, but she took the plate from him with surprising gentleness. "But I'll try to behave."
They ate in easy silence. Just the clink of chopsticks against porcelain and the occasional contented sigh. The food was good. Really good. The kind of simple meal that felt like home.
"You know," Ayane said halfway through her meal, her voice more subdued now, "this is really nice." She looked at him, her expression vulnerable and determined at once. "I could get used to this," she admitted quietly.
Makoto chuckled as he opened the puddings. "Don't act like this is the first time I've cooked for you." He grinned at her. "Last time you almost proposed to me so you could have my cooking every day."
Ayane's cheeks flushed. "I was drunk!" she protested, her voice going high and squeaky. "And you had just made that katsudon that was so good it should have been illegal."
She took the pudding from him with a small, embarrassed smile. "And for the record," she added, quieter now, "the offer still stands."
She took a bite, her eyes fluttering shut for a moment. "So," she said, trying to sound casual. "About that Gundam..." She looked at him with a mischievous glint. "I was thinking we could work on it in bed. It would be more comfortable."
Makoto chopped her forehead with his hand. "Did you learn that line from a hentai or those trashy ecchi anime again? Don't you know how much of a mess it would be to clean up all those small parts?"
Ayane recoiled with an exaggerated yelp. "Ow! That's violence! In my own home!" She rubbed her forehead, pouting. "And no, I didn't get it from a hentai. I got it from a shoujo manga. It was very romantic."
She sighed. "Fine. No Gundam in bed." Her eyes gleamed. "We'll just have to find something else to do in there."