One-Two Punch

Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own at http://archiveofourown.org/works/31191047.

Rating: Explicit
Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply
Category: M/M
Fandom: 富豪刑事 Balance:UNLIMITED | Fugou Keiji: Balance:Unlimited
(Anime)
Relationship: Kambe Daisuke/Katou Haru
Character: Kambe Daisuke, Katou Haru
Additional Tags: daiharu, Top Kambe Daisuke, Bottom Katou Haru, Birthday Sex,
Birthday Presents, Post-Canon
Language: English
Series: Part 11 of DaiHaru Cluedo
Stats: Published: 2021-05-09 Updated: 2022-08-18 Chapters: 2/3 Words:
4162

One-Two Punch
by xo_Tea

Summary

To some, it would appear to be a meager offering. Minimum effort. Impersonal and dry.

To one, though – the only one whose opinion mattered, really – Daisuke hoped it would
prove to be an uncharacteristic show of affection. An excruciating attempt to take the
recipient’s preference for simplicity into consideration when the default inclination of the
giver was to be as obnoxiously extravagant as possible. An expression of affinity based on
intimate knowledge, not just the remembrance of a birthdate.

Case #11, Accusation: Daisuke in athleticwear with a birthday gift for Haru.

Notes

Note: The first two chapters are dedicated to setting the scenario and establishing the build-
up. Smut to follow.
 Tossing One's Hat into the Ring of Romance
Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

It was a small, unassuming thing: the powder blue giftbag perched along the corner of the
otherwise barren bedside table. An equally modest bouquet of gentle springtime flowers wrapped
softly in cream-colored tissue was its companion. The arrangement was nothing to speak of, really,
despite being meaningfully selected and freshly cut. Together and apart, however, the gifts were
quite possibly the most colorful visitors to have ever grace the mahogany nightstand.

For years it had been home to nothing more than a framed photograph of nostalgia. A somber alter
for memories more heartbreakingly fragile than the most delicate among the blossoms of the
bouquet; a befitting reflection of the rest of the room and its owner. Yet now it played host to such
vibrant newcomers, temporal as they were, as if to mimic the recent changes in the life of the one
that possessed them. Shiny, lively new things.

Granted, the vivid couple was easily dwarfed in both size and presence by the table’s only other
occupant: an ostentatious, golden lamp fashioned in the style of a bygone era. Its broad shade
loomed over them with daunting elegance making each item seem even smaller by comparison. It
was the sort of décor that commanded attention and drew the eye with its grandiose existence. And
yet it was the insignificant-looking little bag that held the millionaire’s attention as he sat on his
bed by the nightstand with a fountain pen in hand.

Daisuke traced the tip of his index finger along the edge of the cerulean visitor thoughtfully before
returning his attention to the small card meant to accompany the gifts. He tapped his pen - once,
twice - to an inaudible beat; then put it to the card to conduct a short-lived symphony of words.
Though barely perceptible, a tender smile tugged at the corner of Daisuke's lips as he dropped his
pale blue eyes to assess the efficacy of the message he had scrawled. There, centered in the blank
space of the card surrounded by a gilded scroll border was a simple note – “Happy Birthday” –
written in his own cursive penmanship in stately black ink. It said much and nothing all at once.

To some, it would appear to be a meager offering. Minimum effort. Impersonal and dry.

To one, though – the only one whose opinion mattered, really – Daisuke hoped it would prove to be
an uncharacteristic show of affection. An excruciating attempt to take the recipient’s preference for
simplicity into consideration when the default inclination of the giver was to be as obnoxiously
extravagant as possible. An expression of affinity based on intimate knowledge, not just the
remembrance of a birthdate.

Daisuke knew, of course, that Haru would never acknowledge any such sentiments aloud. He
suspected the sparkle in his partner’s aureate eyes would be telling enough, however, even if the
stubborn inspector only offered a gruff (but polite) “Thanks” in return. It was, after all, the thought
that counted; and Daisuke had put considerable thought into his birthday gift for Haru.

Each element was painstakingly chosen to work within Haru’s restrictions (whether expressed or
inferred) regarding reciprocity. This was why, of all the things the millionaire could have
purchased with his infinite wealth, the giftbag merely contained a “modest” wristwatch. Oh, it was
undeniably expensive: the watch came from an exquisite designer selection of platinum timepieces
known for their quality and durability. The only thing modest about it was the style which was kept
decidedly minimal to ensure the watch's true value passed unnoticed by one uneducated in such
luxuries. Thus, Haru would be none the wiser, and Daisuke could - whilst secretly reveling in the
truth of its monetary equivalent - satisfy his own predilections with such a present. It was a fair
compromise, the millionaire assured himself.

Regardless of the ticket price, the watch was still far from the present Daisuke had originally
intended to give Haru for his birthday. The millionaire had considered a new car to be a relatively
practical gift idea, potentially even one that was poetically personal and atoning given that Haru
still blamed him for unfortunate demise of his previous vehicle. Assuming he had let the frugal
inspector pick it out himself, Daisuke may have even argued that a new car would have cost
considerably less than the watch that was chosen as its replacement. Alas, Haru had upended the
millionaire’s plan for such an endeavor earlier that year by applying a blanket dismissal to any and
all future attempts to replace his totaled sedan.

The mandate had been passed down one chilly morning on their way into the office. Since Haru, in
true Spartan fashion, had yet to replace said vehicle, Daisuke had settled into the routine of picking
his partner up for work. That particular day Haru had been struggling to balance a pile of casefiles
and two thermoses of coffee in one hand so that he could open the passenger door to the Bentley
with the other. Knowing an offer to assist would be met with the same stubborn response as a
tease, Daisuke had simply watched while suggesting he would bring a moving truck the next time,
“Since you seem to want to bring the office home with you.” The millionaire had easily navigated
the grumpy retort that had followed in order to segue into the merits of an SUV. Given the
inspector’s penchant for taking work home and driving recklessly, Daisuke had said it would prove
a much better fit for Haru than "whatever rubbish you were driving before.” The tease was a ruse,
of course. While he didn't expect to get a direct make and model out of Haru, Daisuke had been
hoping to at least uncover his partner’s preference for vehicle types. His strategy had backfired,
however, when Haru not only adamantly rejected the insinuation but grumpily ranted out his strict
edict on the matter of replacing his old car.

Unsurprisingly, an argument had ensued. Daisuke had been on the verge of dismantling his
partner’s bullheaded refusal to accept any form of charity when Haru had blindsided him with a
nonchalant admission of, “I like carpooling with you.” The confession had left the millionaire so
stunned that he had accepted Haru's terms – and the thermos of cheap, stale coffee that was
subsequently shoved into his hands – without further protest.

Thus, there was no car. Just a watch adorned with a simple but meaningful engraving, a bouquet of
similarly subdued grandeur, and a card distinctly devoid of any poetics so as not to send Haru into
an annoyed, flustered fit.

With one last glance for the sake of perfection, Daisuke deemed the card sufficient, and carefully
tucked it into the bouquet between the muted violet irises and bright pink phloxes. He took care not
to disturb the soft, white bells of the Lily of the Valley sprays as he readjusted the tissue paper for
what felt like the umpteenth time, and even refrained from straightening the cerise bow tied around
the base of the bouquet despite the compulsion to redo what the florist had already accomplished.

“You are far from the selection I had imagined from Fleurs de Paris,” Daisuke sighed at the
innocent bouquet, “but perhaps your simplicity will keep him from tossing you into the rubbish bin
out of spite.”

It might not have been a luxe box filled to the brim with several dozen of the most perfectly curated
roses, but the seemingly simple arrangement was meant to convey a similarly substantial message.
As Daisuke caressed a few of the petals idly, he wondered whether or not Haru was well versed
enough in the language of flowers to understand the significance embedded into each bloom. The
millionaire had chosen irises for respect, admiration and gratitude. The phloxes were to serve as a
subtler symbol of romantic interest than that of roses but with the underlying tone of a deeper
connection based on their partnership - a unity of fiery souls. And May’s own flower, the Lily of
the Valley, was a nod to rebirth and a return to happiness. The flowers represented a confession,
both in their individual capacity and as a whole, that Daisuke had yet to find the words to verbalize.
“Thank you” wasn’t enough; “I love you” was too much; and the monologue he could wax about
his partner’s triumph over trauma and the way Haru’s very existence had rekindled the light in his
own life was so overwhelmingly complicated and riddled with undissected feelings that Daisuke
repressed all attempts his mind made to give it traction. So, until he could work up the nerve to say
it himself, the flowers would have to do.

Of course, for as intelligent as Haru was, Daisuke had a feeling that the inspector wouldn’t be able
to identify a dahlia if it hit him in the face, let alone be able to read the hidden message the
millionaire was trying to communicate through the silent spring heralders he had selected for the
bouquet. Daisuke sighed to himself. At least the inscription on the back of the watch was more
direct. It simply stated:

For Haru

Always, Daisuke

The engraving was as enigmatic and profound as it was easy enough to disregard as a mundane
tribute. “Always” could be interpreted in many ways, from romantic to platonic to “There wasn’t
enough room to put ‘How much?’” If anything, it would be the use of their given names that would
out Daisuke’s burgeoning affections for his partner. He had gone through with the decision boldly,
though, encouraged by the thought of Haru wearing the watch as well as the fantasy that - should
their paths diverge beyond the millionaire's control in the future - the fawn-haired man might look
upon the engraving and remember him fondly. Or exasperatedly. Either way, it ensured Daisuke
would remain on Haru’s mind in some fashion or another for some time to come, and that was
enough for now.

Daisuke glanced down at his own watch and sighed. It would still be another two hours before
Haru was scheduled to arrive for their evening soiree. The millionaire grimaced and paced over to
his wardrobe restlessly as he recalled the reason Haru was coming to him rather than vice versa:

Hoshino.

A separate affair – birthday drinks with the First Division “for old times’ sake” – in which the
wine-haired officer had beaten Daisuke to the proverbial punch in sequestering a chunk of Haru’s
time. Daisuke had been completely blindsided when he learned of his partner’s prior obligation,
having momentarily forgotten about his rival in the days leading up to Haru’s birthday because
he’d assumed the Modern Crimes crew would be his only competition in the bid for the inspector’s
attention. Haru had, of course, assured him that they could get together later, though he wouldn’t
guarantee sobriety. And so Daisuke had reluctantly shortened his proposed itinerary from a full day
of activities to a fancy dinner at one of Tokyo’s finest restaurants and a humble evening spent in
the quiet privacy of his penthouse afterwards.

Daisuke was still sour about the whole ordeal as he riffled through his wardrobe, ignoring the
 formal eveningwear he’d selected days in advance in favor of pulling out a black and crimson
athletic jacket and matching pants. Intent on burning off his frustrations with a quick boxing
routine that would still leave him with plenty of time to prepare before Haru arrived, Daisuke
donned his athleticwear and took off towards the state-of-the-art gym associated with the luxury
apartments beneath his unit.

The penthouse was nothing like the former Kambe mansion which was in the process of being
redeveloped into a public park; but that suited Daisuke just fine. He preferred staying at his palace
in London anyway when the mitigation of adollium permitted he and Haru respite from their
justice-centric travels. Besides, whenever they were back in Japan, more often than not Daisuke
found himself as a guest in his partner’s paltry, one bedroom apartment. Still, the penthouse served
the millionaire well when the latter was unavailable. It came with just enough amenities to make it
opulently comfortable, and he had fitted the space with all new furnishings save for the mixture of
belongings carried over from the mansion that reminded him of his mother and father.

The surreal combination of novelty and familiarity often made Daisuke restless, though, which led
him to seek various excuses to escape the penthouse. Mindless excursions to spend money on all
manner of patronizable local venues, while still viable, wasn't as commonplace as it once was for
the millionaire given the backlash visited upon his family's estate following the fiasco with his
grandmother; and Haru's influence (or, rather, the thought of his disapproval) kept Daisuke from
engaging in the more nefarious escapisms of his youth. So, instead, Daisuke chose to cope by
reacquainted himself with an old friend: the noble sport of boxing.

Though Daisuke had never truly strayed from the sport, his physical fitness regimen in recent years
had neglected it in favor of learning an assortment of martial arts and other skills that would better
suit his mission. Now, it was more about maintaining peak physical condition, and his exercise
routine had matured to reflect such...except when he was down and out in Japan. It was always here
that memories of his combative, back-alley exploits in London would come to him unbidden, and
he longed for that explosive release of strength and dominating energy that came with a well-
delivered punch. Rather than address such urges with introspection, Daisuke rekindled his interests
in boxing.

The gym associated with the penthouse property didn’t have a ring or the same equipment as what
was available to the millionaire at his personal training facility in London, but it did have a heavy-
duty punching bag.

…and now that his mind was plagued with images of wine staining gold, that was all the outlet
Daisuke needed.

Chapter End Notes

Inspired by the June 2021 Animage issue illustrations to commemorate Haru's birthday
(5/2) and Daisuke's boxing skills.

Notes:
Irises - the color purple in general is often associated with "royalty," and that principle
applies to the language of flowers as well. However, while purple irises are often
associated with high prestige and valor, they can also represent wisdom, gratitude, and
respect among other, more religious connotations surrounding faith.

Lily of the Valley - the flower of May, also referred to as May bells, Jacob’s ladder,
May lilies, as well as a variety of more religious nicknames. It was thought to
symbolize a “return to happiness” in the Victorian era, though today this flower is
more often associated with purity and rebirth. In some cultures it is thought to provide
good luck and ward off evil spirits.

Phlox - this lovely spring flower is full of romantic meaning. It is often thought to
convey love or the unity of souls, which makes it a good message for those
considering proposals. Other representations just as sweet: compatibility, partnership,
and harmony. In Latin, "phlox" means flame, and I like how kuroi_nekorin put it:
"perfect for a lovely, fiery, feisty Inspector." Also from kuroi_nekorin: "'Phloxes are
able to revive the place where they are placed in spite of their simplicity and above all
do not need special care to grow' (which sounds like someone we know)."

Cheers.
 Punch-Drunk

“Fucking birthdays…”

The incessant tapping of his foot on the polished marble floor echoed deafeningly in the otherwise
silent and empty hallway. His ears rang with the sound as though the space itself were
admonishing him for disturbing the savoir vivre its walls were accustomed to; but Haru was too
vexed to stop.

“Fucking Kambe…”

The curse was muttered against clenched teeth; the name, a growl. An exaggerated sigh - one born
of impatience and imbued with fretfulness - followed. It lingered a measure too long, disrupting the
rhythm of the irritated soliloquy he’d been broadcasting against the floor. His feet, unwittingly
charged with the task of expelling nervous energy, shuffled uncertainly in the absence of the beat.

Two hesitant steps forward landed him in front of the large, unwelcoming black door he’d met
upon arrival. For a door, it was a rather stoic and intimidating thing, especially when his knocks
upon it went unanswered. The longer he stood victim to its unyielding presence, the more
embittered Haru became until he was cursing again.

“Fucking… fuck this!”

Intent on leaving, Haru made an irritated about-face and stormed towards the elevator that had spat
him out into the desolate and miserable hallway. His resolve crumbled along the way, though,
leaving him stranded somewhere in the middle as his steps slowed to a contemplative halt.
Tethered there by indecision, Haru looked from the elevator to the door and back again.

“...”

“...”

“............fuck.”

He turned once more towards the inhospitable door.

As he stood there (a few stubborn steps away), Haru became aware of the cold sweat building
beneath the layers of his attire. It was minimal, thankfully; but still unpleasant as it caused his shirt
to stick in places weighed down by his gray blazer. The collar of his black button down shirt was
rubbing uncomfortably against his neck, too. He longed for his usual attire and regretted the peer
pressure-aided vanity that had inspired his current selection. In a fit, he removed the jacket and
loosened his tie. It brought Haru instantaneous relief. It also allowed him to channel his anxiety
into fidgeting with the blazer in his hands instead of pacing the floor.

Haru was mindlessly picking at the threads of his jacket when the elevator doors behind him
dinged open. All at once his focus pooled into a tight, sharp point within his chest as he inhaled.
Knowing full well the floor’s lone tenant was none other than Kambe Daisuke –

the man Haru had forgone several rounds of free drinks for in an effort to stay mostly
sober… on his birthday;
the man Haru had rushed over to spend time with like some lovesick teenager only to find
himself locked out of said man’s obnoxiously posh apartment… on his birthday;
the absolute jackass of man that was about to get an earful for standing Haru up for an
 anxiety-filled, insecurity-infested half-hour… on his fucking birthday;

– Haru turned around with several complaints on his tongue.

And promptly choked.

All the fiery words and scathing reprimands died in the desiccated desert that became Haru’s throat
as the glorious image that was Daisuke in fitted athletic wear fresh from a rigorous workout
inspired an incredible thirst within him. Haru assumed it was a rigorous workout, anyway, judging
from the quiet panting and the sheen of sweat glistening on that otherwise flawless, alabaster skin.
Those anomalies alone were enough to send a tingling wave of arousal dancing throughout Haru’s
body, and he was almost appalled by how quickly his exasperation gave way to lust.

But then Daisuke hit him with a tired, satisfied smile; half-lidded storm-blue eyes; and a curious tilt
of his head. The combination made for such an alluring sucker-punched that it stole Haru’s breath
away. It was that trademark, bedroom-worthy baritone, though, that really knocked Haru for a loop
when it came out much deeper and huskier than usual as Daisuke said:

“You came early.”

It took Haru several, embarrassingly long moments before he managed to formulate a response.

“Uh, yeah,” he offered absently, sounding as punch-drunk as he felt while his gaze wandered.

The athleticwear was such a stark contrast to the stiff, weighty fabrics of Daisuke’s usual prim-
and-proper clothing that the millionaire looked sinfully casual as he stood there in the brightly lit
marble foyer with his sleeves pushed up to bare his forearms, unhindered sans a bundle of cloth
wraps clutched loosely in one hand. The accessory tickled Haru’s curiosity, but only for a moment:
there was so much to look at, after all.

While far from what would be considered “revealing,” the athletic gear exposed more skin than the
standard three-piece suits Haru was used to seeing his partner wear. It was just enough to entice; to
inspire deliciously wayward thoughts. It also made Haru question himself. He never would have
guessed gym clothes, of all things, would turn him on; but here they were. Then again, Haru
suspected the black and red hooded raglan jacket would have seemed bland at best on anyone else.
On Daisuke, though? Oddly sensual…especially given that the jacket was unzipped to reveal just
how tightly the white shirt underneath it hugged the millionaire’s body.

Haru struggled to drag his eyes away from the barely concealed muscle definition of Daisuke’s
chest and abs long enough to continue the conversation. Swallowing thickly, he said, “I just…um,
finished up with the guys, so…you know. Figured I might as well head over here instead of going
back to my place or…something.”

What little focus Haru managed to recover was waylaid by an errant bead of sweat that chose that
moment to trickle down the side of Daisuke’s neck. He followed its path with a bit too much
interest as it rolled into the valley between the millionaire’s sharp, naked collarbones. Collarbones
that were rarely ever on display and that Haru had the overwhelming urge to lick all of a sudden.

Maybe I’m drunker than I thought, Haru considered idly while giving Daisuke a slow once-over.

Haru was so deep in his admiration for his partner’s fit physique that he nearly choked when
Daisuke moved unexpectedly closer to him. Startled and feeling as though he’d been caught with
his hand in the till, Haru’s sparkling champagne eyes flew up apologetically…just to melt in a
smug sea of blue heat.
Rather than step around to reach the biometric lock on the door to the penthouse located behind
Haru, Daisuke ignored all decorum and moved in as close as he dared to his fawn-haired
companion. With one arm outstretched towards the door’s fingerprint sensor and the other
hovering just above Haru’s hip as if to maintain balance on some invisible support – or to keep his
partner from fleeing – Daisuke murmured, “I hope I didn’t keep you waiting.”

“Nah, I haven’t been here that long,” Haru lied. He tried to adopt an air of feigned disinterest, but
they were so close he could feel the warmth radiating off of Daisuke’s body. His frayed nerves
begged him to step aside, to put some distance between them before his wildly beating heart gave
out. The alcohol in his system, however, had taken just enough of the edge off his inhibitions that
Haru remained firmly rooted in place.

In the moments that followed, Haru found himself tugging on the nylon strings of Daisuke’s
hooded jacket and mumbling coyly, “Hey…’m not messing up your routine by being early, am I?”

Haru quickly began to doubt his judgment - among other things - as his brain caught up with his
actions. He had purposefully limited his alcohol intake prior to his visit; but he felt positively
intoxicated. His body was acting on its own accord. His head was swimming. He felt flush. And, to
top it all off, he was getting weak in the knees.

The latter, of course, may have been due to the firm hand that finally made contact with the curve
of Haru’s hips. Or, perhaps, the raffish smirk that pulled across the millionaire’s lips, which Haru
got to witness develop at close range. These were factors Haru may have given more thought to
had the next words out of Daisuke’s mouth not made his mind short circuit.

With his lips skirting just beyond the edge of Haru’s ear, Daisuke purred, “You’re always welcome
to be part of my routine.”

Confused and doubting his sobriety with every second, Haru mumbled, “You…need a spotter or
somethin’?” He couldn’t meet Daisuke’s eyes.

“Or something,” Daisuke said softly as he watched Haru toy with the drawstring of his hoodie. His
partner’s gesture seemed more absent-minded than flirtatious, and Daisuke was set on disrupting it.
“Maybe a pre-workout warm-up,” he suggested while squeezing Haru’s hip. The subtle innuendo
was rewarded with a champagne-diamond gaze that sparkled questioningly inside rings of
burgeoning incredulity. Daisuke’s smirk deepened. “Unless…” He paused, trailing his hand slowly
up Haru’s side and down again.

“U-unless?” Haru stuttered out, breathless.

“You want to be my workout,” Daisuke offered quietly but with a straight face.

At some point, Haru’s hands had - without his permission - fisted themselves into the satin-smooth
fabric of Daisuke’s jacket, and now he felt his grip slipping along with his sanity. He blinked
owlishly at the millionaire, unsure if he was being propositioned or if Daisuke was being serious
about exercising. Or maybe one of his drinks had been spiked and he was, in fact, hallucinating.

Haru’s mind was going everywhere and nowhere all at once. The only thing he knew for certain
was that Daisuke’s proximity was making it even harder to think, goddamnit.

Fully aware of the effect he was having on Haru (though not privy to the ridiculous nature of his
partner’s internal turmoil), Daisuke crowded even closer. “Come,” he said, their bodies brushing.

Breath held and tightly wound, all Haru could manage in response was to choke out, “Wh-what?”
Daisuke pressed into Haru a little more, this time with the purpose of directing him towards the
open door and into his apartment. It was a risk, expecting Haru to yield when the man was more
likely to fly off the handle at any given moment; but Daisuke had been keenly aware of his
partner’s furtive glances and flustered demeanor ever since he’d exited the elevator to find him
standing bereft in the middle of the foyer. It had been a calculated game of cat and mouse from that
point onward. So the first, tentative step backwards that Haru took came as no surprise to Daisuke.
He matched it with a guiding, forward step of his own. “Come,” he reiterated.

When Haru stumbled over the threshold and the large black door clicked shut behind them,
Daisuke passed his partner and called blithely over his shoulder, “You can open your present while
I shower.”

The unintelligible noises sputtered behind him brought a smug tilt to the millionaire’s lips. As he
moved into the bedroom, Daisuke’s eyes immediately gravitated towards the gifts waiting patiently
atop the nightstand. Tossing his hand wraps aside, he took a steadying breath and thought: Round
two.

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