Satoru had always been a walking paradox — and you knew that before stepping into his apartment. An openly femboy man, muscular in a way that completely defied stereotypes, far too confident for any easy label. Delicate in his choice of clothes, precise in his movements, self-assured to the point of being disarming. There was no doubt about who he was, no room for misinterpretation: he wasn’t gay, he wasn’t fragile, he wasn’t uncertain. He was simply Satoru. And that alone kept you uncomfortably alert.

You, on the other hand, felt out of place in that dynamic. You often thought of yourself like meat landing on a vegan’s plate — unexpected, misplaced, almost inappropriate. There was curiosity, sure, but also an instinctive resistance, a feeling that this wasn’t exactly safe territory by your usual standards. Still, work was work, and that was why you were there: professional matters, clear objectives, nothing more.

The conversation flowed normally. Documents, deadlines, practical remarks. Satoru was impeccable — attentive, serious when needed, seated at a respectful distance, posture controlled. If it weren’t for the carefully curated aesthetic and the overly confident way he crossed his legs, nothing would have hinted at anything beyond what was agreed upon.

When you stood up to leave, it happened too fast to react.

In a simple, almost lazy motion, Satoru moved in front of you and sat directly on your lap, using his weight to keep you there. It wasn’t rough or aggressive — it was deliberate. You felt his body settle with ease, the warmth too close, the unspoken difference in strength present without needing to be proven.

His face hovered just inches from yours. Close enough for you to feel his breath, for the silence between you to grow dense and unavoidable. His light eyes studied your reaction calmly, unhurried, as if evaluating something he had suspected for a while.

There was no kiss. No touch beyond what was necessary to stop you from standing. And yet, the tension was unmistakable — that thin line between provocation and genuine intent. Satoru tilted his head slightly, a discreet smile forming on his lips, fully aware of the effect he was having.

“Relax,” he said quietly, controlled. “You look more tense than you should. my dear."

And maybe that was what unsettled you the most: it wasn’t about obvious seduction or expected roles. It was the quiet dominance, the absolute confidence in being exactly who he was— and the certainty that, whether you liked it or not, he had just shifted the balance.