AN: I was put off by lack of Junjou Mistake-centric fic, so I decided to make my own. This will be a collection of JM fics/drabbles, updated as the inspiration hits me. I feel like the plot went lopsided on this one, but I was more concerned with the characterization here. Fits somewhere into the beginning of the JR timeline, after Isaka becomes the executive director.

Disclaimer: Junjou Romantica belongs to Nakamura Shungiku, et al. I make no profit from writing fanfiction.

"You're going to be late to the meeting if you lay there any longer." Asahina's voice was close. Isaka, maybe an hour before, had felt the telltale dip of the bed, the split second of the alarm's shriek before Asahina hit the snooze. He'd not thought anything of it, though, and had immediately drifted off again.

"The meeting?" Isaka shoved his face deeper into the pillow, cocooning himself into the bed. "Nngh."

"Ever the articulate one," Asahina murmured. Yes, he was definitely close by. Isaka cracked an eye; his partner was kneeling at the side of the bed, eyebrow arched and an unimpressed look plastered across his face.

"Shut up," he croaked. "It's early. Bring me some coffee."

Asahina chuckled, the low rumbling of his laughter followed by the sound of glass sliding across the bedside table. "Yes, Ryuuichirou-sama."

With a grunt, Isaka pulled himself up, sitting against the headboard with as much dignity as a man in his pyjamas with a bad case of bed head could. The coffee was perfect: black, with the remnants of a nearly melted ice cube at the top. It probably spoke poorly of him that he couldn't even wait for the coffee to cool, but Asahina, as he often did, said nothing of the odd habit. He merely put it into practice.

Asahina did a lot of things like that, really. He knew what Isaka wanted and offered it quietly, unquestioningly.

Isaka took a generous gulp from the mug, staring bleary-eyed around the room in an unconscious effort to force himself free of the last vestiges of sleep. "What time is it?"

"Ten minutes after eight. The meeting is at nine."

"Well," Isaka said cheerily, or what might have passed for cheery so early in the day, "fuck."

"The bath is ready. I'll call and postpone the meeting until ten. Do not," and here, Asahina's voice shifted from gentle to scolding, "fall asleep in the tub."

Isaka grunted in reply, intent on swallowing as much coffee as he could in one go. Then, he stumbled off to the bath, sinking into the water with a contented sigh. His eyes were already falling shut, the feel of the warm water – how did Asahina always manage to get the temperature just right? – lapping against his skin just enough to lull him back to sleep. Asahina always compared him to a cat, lazy and indolent but still too independent for his own good. Actually, he said that rather a lot, particularly when Isaka did things as foolish as fall asleep in the water.

Considering the way Asahina thought of him, he sometimes wondered how other people viewed him – and by extension, them. Because, no matter who he spoke to, Isaka wasn't just himself. He was Isaka-and-Asahina, or Isaka-and-secretary. Isaka's mother, for one, tended toward the belief that Asahina was her son's babysitter – a permanent one. Curiously, she'd dropped the subject of marriage about the same time Isaka dropped the misconception that Asahina was in love with his father.

It made sense, in a way. His reputation wasn't the greatest. Oh, he was good at his work, every bit deserving of his position in the company. But, as Akihiko often said, his worth ended at his job. He had a horrid personality.

Feeling a bit disgruntled at the turn of his thoughts, Isaka sank lower in the water. It was too damn early for all the introspection.

But even so, it wasn't about being spoiled or unable to take care of himself or, god forbid, needing someone else to take responsibility for him. No, it was, Isaka decided, a matter of control – but not the sort that any outsider would assume.

It was about this, whatever one could call what they had. It was about knowing without asking, about being so tied into each other that it was impossible to unravel themselves.

Asahina knocked on the door, three sharp raps. "Your time is up, Ryuuichirou-sama."

"Up?" Isaka demanded, shooting up out of the water. "I've only been in here—"

"Twenty minutes."

How the hell had that happened? "I'm coming," Isaka groused. There was nothing to it. Work was work, and if he didn't get himself going, there'd be hell to pay. Asahina would make sure of it.

He walked out of the bathroom, naked and dripping water everywhere. Asahina stared at him, hard, for a few beats. Then he rolled his eyes and grabbed a towel off the rack, slinging it over Isaka's head and scrubbing a touch too hard.

"Get dressed quickly. The meeting is at ten."

"You said already!" Isaka grabbed the towel from Asahina. "I'm up, I can do it."

Asahina opened his mouth to retort, but the phone rang. Isaka went to the mirror, listening to Asahina in the other room – he didn't sound pleased. The conversation was brief, but Isaka managed to get his hair dry before Asahina returned. He had one leg in his slacks when Asahina came in, glancing at his watch. He looked as composed as ever, but there was a telling strain in his jaw.

Isaka gave him a once over, then returned his focus to his clothes. "Who was that?"

A moment passed before Asahina answered. "My mother."

"Why was she calling the house line?"

"She couldn't get through to my cell phone."

"And?"

"She wants to see me tonight."

"So?" Isaka straightened his tie, giving his reflection one last look before stepping out of the room.

"You aren't invited."

That caught Isaka off guard. "I'm not invited," he echoed.

The tense set of Asahina's jaw flexed, and Isaka knew he was grinding his teeth. "It's an omiai."

An omiai? As far as Isaka knew, Asahina's mother had never mentioned the idea of marriage. Not in front of him, at least, and never that Asahina admitted. He marveled at the twinge of irrational jealousy that flashed through him, then let out an incredulous snort. "You'll have to apologize to her, then," he said, casual. "We're meeting with sales about a possible drama CD tonight."

"Ryuuichirou-sama," Asahina began patiently, "that's a lunch meeting."

"Not anymore, it's not." Isaka grabbed his phone from the dresser and sent a message to Yokozawa. "It's been rescheduled," he said, unable to keep the prickling irritation from his voice. "Tell her you're busy!"

His phone dinged, and Isaka glanced down at the screen. It was from Yokozawa. Isaka was good at reading between the lines, and in the curt, polite response that stated the man would take care of the rescheduling, he could read the fuck you, you obtuse bastard clear as day.

Not that he expected any different from that guy.

"You really ought to think before you do things like that," Asahina reprimanded him, but there wasn't really any force behind it. His jaw relaxed, the corner of his mouth twitching up. "I wasn't going to go."

"Well, I know you weren't. I wasn't going to let you," Isaka said plainly.

"If that's all, I'll bring the car around." Asahina, still smiling, turned to leave, but Isaka caught his hand and pulled him back.

"Like you said," he pressed his nose to the sharp line of Asahina's jaw, "the meeting isn't until ten…"

Asahina's eyebrows shot up, but he didn't move away. "We really don't have the time," he began, but Isaka silenced him with a quick nip to his ear. With a sigh that fell somewhere between resignation and a rumbling purr, Asahina's hands fell to Isaka's waist, first gentle, then gripping tight.

So maybe the outside view wasn't necessarily a good one. Maybe people looked at them askance, unable to understand exactly what held them together, but that was neither here nor there. Isaka had never needed validation beyond his own desire, and so long as the power remained in his favor, he'd keep Asahina tied to him.

And if ever the subject of an omiai was brought up again… Well, Isaka might conveniently miss the part of the invitation that excluded him. Asahina's mother, after all, should know better than anyone that where one of them went, the other was sure to follow.

Note: an omiai is sort of like a matchmaking session with the possibility of marriage in mind.