DISCLAIMER: "Shin Megami Tensei" and "Persona 4" and all associated characters and likenesses are the exclusive property of Atlus. Used here without permission. This is a fictional story made for purely entertainment purposes. Any relation to events or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

“...I thought we could have lunch together today?”

Sitting at his desk on the executive office floor of Junes and clicking through table cells on his computer monitor, Yousuke switches his phone from one ear to the other and gives a weary shake of his head. “I can't,” he replies, a little sadly. “I'm really swamped with reports, and they're due this afternoon-”

“Then I'll bring you lunch!” Chie offers brightly, and even through the cellular transmission, he can hear in the changing timbre of her high voice her shift from glowing smile to faint frown. “You've been so busy lately,” she says. “We've hardly had any time together.”

“I know,” he mutters. “But, this is the end of the quarter, and after that, I can-”

“Just let me bring you lunch,” she suggests again, and now he hears the smile return. “I've been practicing!”

Yousuke pauses for a single held breath. “You mean...you're going to make lunch?” he says, unsure whether to be ecstatic or horrified at this prospect.

The idea of his sexy little squeeze making him aisai bento – like some traditional, doting wife – makes his stomach do happy, prideful little flips in his belly...but the more sober side of him cringes at the memory of some of Chie's failed attempts at cooking over the years. Her skills have become significantly more capable these last several months, but when pressed for time, she still has the tendency to rush or even forget vital steps (such as, cooking chicken all the way through before serving it), and Yousuke doesn't think his insides can handle that kind of punishment. Not when he's got to stand up at the weekly staff meeting in an hour and give his project team report to his father and the rest of the store's upper management, and the closest toilet is all the way down the hall.

So he forces a strangled objection from his throat - “Uh, ah, I- I don't want to be a bother-” - but it's already too late:

“No bother!” Chie says, interrupting him again. “I'll be right there!” And before he can make further protest, the line has already clicked off, and he's left staring at the blank faceplate of his phone.

“So much for that,” Yousuke mutters to himself, as he places his phone on the desk beside him again.

Though maybe he's being unfair. She always tries so hard to please him, in her own inimitable ways: the little cups of hot tea carried over to his desk on the evenings when he brings work home; the gentle rubs of his temple or shoulders after a long and tiring day; the offers of the freshest pluck of sweet strawberries when she comes home from the market, or of the first dip into a hot and steaming bath before bed. And that's not even to mention what she offers in their bed...!

A low smile comes to his lips then, and he chuckles in forgiveness of her sometimes-overreaching enthusiasm.

She's right: this first year in Junes' middle management has been busy for him, full of hard deadlines and unforgiving assessments of his skill and ideas – nothing at all like the playtime assignments of his university days, which were more about studying project administration and putting ideas into theoretical practice. This last year with its festivals and town meetings and compromises with the Inaba Merchants' Association has been purely about profit, and the measurement of his ability to increase said profit.

It'll be nice to spend a little quiet time with her, he finally decides...no matter what kind of mess she might bring for him to eat.

To his surprise, not two minutes later, he hears a jaunty knocking on the office door. He looks up, and Chie pokes her head around the jamb.

“Is now a good time?” she asks with a beaming smile.

Yousuke chuckles again as he rises from behind the desk. “Where did you call from, the elevator?”

She steps into the office with a shrug, bouncing happily across the carpet to him, her short work skirt swaying delightfully around her thighs with each stride. “I didn't want to waste any time,” she tells him, and upon his desk she sets a mesh carry-all, from which confines he can smell the warming aroma of steamed rice.

“You made this?” he asks with a growing smile. “For me?”

Chie bobs her head, though not quickly enough that Yousuke doesn't notice the brief flare of pink heat in her cheeks before she moves to the task of pulling the food from its tote. “I thought you might like something not from the food court,” she says, her gaze still focused on laying out the bento on his desk.

“Yeah,” he says softly, coming to stand beside her, her shoulder almost against his chest. “Thanks. But, you really didn't have to go to the trouble-”

“I wanted to see you,” she blurts as she turns to look at him. And even though her voice flutters, she still says it in that no-nonsense, point-blank way in which she does so many things...and with such unabashed surety that he feels his heart patter for sudden and irrefutable want of her.

So before he lets himself think twice about it, he hooks one hand behind the base of her head and yanks her to him, crushing his mouth against hers.

Scrapper that she is, she doesn't whimper or pull away, but grabs him with equal intensity, one hand jerking his belt so his hips slam into hers, and the other clutching at the starched-firm collar of his suit shirt. Somehow around the hungry clasp of their lips she groans his name, and like a rush of wind fanning embers, the syllables – said in her voice, from her mouth, making her breasts and belly roll against him in the exhalation – make him growl her name, too, and seize the firm, tight round of her ass.

He pulls his tongue from her mouth only long enough to utter, “I want you.” Then he licks for the taste of her again, and the sensation of her lips closing around his tongue spurs a more pointed request on their next break of deep kisses:

“I want to eat you out,” he says, dropping his hand lower now, to pull her skirt to the top of her thigh.

Chie drops her hand, too, to the cramped space between them, to stroke at his suddenly alert and thickening dick. Her lips stray from his, and she rises on tiptoe to press her mouth close to his ear. “I want to suck you off,” she counters in a breathy whisper. Then she puts both hands flat upon his chest and gives him a solid push, sending him stumbling to the top of his desk, next to both the food and his laptop.

Yousuke can't help the lopsided smile that comes to his face when he looks back at her. “I love it when you take charge,” he mutters, shifting his knees apart. In the next second, she's climbed up nearly on top of him, her hands placed over his and the force of her mouth on his coaxing another groan from him as they twist their heads back and forth, each one seeking dominance.

The sound of a phone ringing in the hallway snaps both of them back to awareness of their surroundings, and he sucks a sharp breath of warning.

“The door-” he starts to say, but she's one step – or, rather, one kick – ahead of him, sliding briefly from her perch and striking out with one sturdy leg. Behind her, the office door slams shut, and he sputters abrupt laughter. “Take it easy-!”

She glances over her shoulder, grinning, too. “I guess I don't know my own strength,” she says, as though in excuse. Then she sniffs, quipping, “Doesn't look like I broke it, though.”

He snickers; the possibility of anyone else being able to break an office door with a single kick is preposterous, but he wouldn't put it past those gorgeous legs of hers. He gives them a long look of leering appreciation, and it's only when she turns back to him that he raises his gaze to hers again.

He feels his nostrils flare with eager anticipation. “What was that you were saying before?” he asks, the wicked grin returning as he gives an almost unconscious roll of his hips.

She blinks, then pushes toward him again; the luscious smile that perks her lips makes him nearly snort steam and blood.

She lays her hands on the tops of his thighs, slowly moving them toward his inseam as she steps once, twice, between his legs. “I was saying...” she begins, as she reaches to fiddle with the buckle of his belt, un-threading the creaking leather from its metal sheath. “...that we've both been so busy, recently...” And she folds the two dangling ends of the belt away, working backwards on the button and zipper of his trousers, now. “...and how we haven't had much time alone together...” And she spreads the edges wide, taking a moment to lay her fingers upon the bobbing bulge in his trunks, the yellow-orange ones with the white piping that he picked up one afternoon after her passing comment that he would “look cute” in them.

She slips her fingers beneath the flap, somehow an unhesitant expert at the twist and turn of maneuvering her hand from the top layer to his waiting member within. She's held his gaze this whole time – unwavering, barely even blinking – until she circles her hand around his shaft and guides it through the flap into the cool-but-somehow-getting-hotter air of his office; then she looks down at him (again, unshakable, focused, lovesome) and pauses, her lips parted and wet.

When she looks up at him again, her brown eyes are full of such intense desire that it makes him stop, and stare, barely able just to breathe.

“...And how much I've missed the taste of your sweet, city-boy cock,” she murmurs, and he starts to moan even before she dips her mouth over the quivering head of his dick.

In the porn he used to read (during distinctly lonelier lunch breaks, in high school and at university), the nameless girls would always use just their lips on the guys beyond the panels' edges, but Chie isn't afraid to use her teeth, too. Not hard, and not to bite. Just to scrape, a very little bit, over the length of his shaft, an extra unexpected scratchy sensation that always makes her lips and tongue and the roof of her mouth feel that much more soft. She used to ask him about it a lot, if it was okay that she did that, because she didn't want to hurt him, or do it wrong; he always said it was fine, that he liked when she got a little bit rough with him, because it made him feel more equal to her. (And because of the unspoken reason, too, of course: that there's too much of him for her to comfortably take in her mouth without letting her teeth touch him.) Now, though, she just slips her mouth over him without even asking – teeth, tongue, and all – as she starts her bobbing, persuasive rhythm.

He rises up against her mouth, not much, but enough to let her know how very good she feels, if she can't already tell from the humming groan that he can never quite control whenever she goes down on him.

She hums, too, when he moves, and does a sexy little snakelike grind of her body, as though desperate to shed the second skin of her clothes. She adds her hand to the mix, offering a stroke of her fingers along the length of him, and with the next hungry delve of her mouth, she presses her lips to the circle of her hand and swirls her tongue over him, and the deep, pseudo-fucking sensation makes him throw his head back and utter a strangled, grunting gasp.

She moans around him in reply, quickening her pace and then slowing it again, tortuous and teasing. She doesn't push the noises through her nose but lets them thrum in her throat, and the vibration around his dick is fantastic, so that he can't help letting go another pained, panting breath.

She moves her other hand between his legs again, cupping his balls and massaging them lightly as she shallows her cheeks around him.

He thrusts up between the fingers of her first hand, grunting in appreciation; she's a tank in a fight, and a wildcat between the sheets, but when she gives all of her attention to him in times like these, she can be so gentle and so tender that he almost forgets how brazen and bold she is...until she drops her mouth almost fully on to him, nearly swallowing his tip in her throat.

The move makes him hold on to the edge of his desk, his fingers clenching around the sturdy lip as he jerks his hips toward her face, wondering why the hell he hasn't asked this woman to marry him already, if only just to keep her awesome mouth to himself.

“Ah, geez, Chie-!” he seethes between his teeth, while she keeps humming and bobbing and licking and sucking. “You give amazing head...!”

She doesn't stop; it's like she'll never stop, her hands and mouth and tongue working him all over, to a ravenous, groaning delirium that makes him drop his chin and grab for her shoulder, spitting out a raw plea between them:

“I want to come in your mouth!”

She pulls back for a second, stone-still while she draws a long breath through her nose, and that makes him teeter on the brink, his thighs seized rigid and his balls clenched tight in her palm while he waits, agonized and drunk and so full of aching bliss that he almost can't stand it but for the pride of his own control and the want for her assent. She likes to play this game – and he likes to play it, too – to see how long the other can last when one of them asserts dominance with hands or mouth.

She looks at him, her lips still wrapped around him, and so he begs again:

“Please, let me come in your mouth!”

And this time she smiles, and sighs, and closes her eyes to take his full and trembling cock...and the sudden erupting release of his desire between her suckling lips.

His hips give a jerk, and one more again, and then he utters a squeaking little moan as he tries to settle back again. “Uh,” is all he says, trying to make spit for his parched throat.

Chie hangs on to him a moment longer, sucking gently at the last trickles of his spunk.

“You can spit it out,” he tells her, easing up to a more comfortable sitting position now. “I don't mind.”

But she shakes her head and makes a little noise of dissent, pulling up from his relaxing shaft by degrees. At last, her lips ride over the tender head, and she straightens up with another smile. “I just have to do a little bit at a time,” she murmurs, her cheeks flushing adorably.

Yousuke grins, feeling a similar heat rise into his own face. He glances away from her long enough to shift back to his feet, which don't quite work just yet. So he steadies his butt against the desk to tuck himself back into trunks and trousers, and then he looks over at her again; he can still feel the delighted blush in his cheeks.

“Thanks,” he says.

She nods, giggling beneath her breath. “Sure.” Her gaze falls to the space of the desk behind him. “You should probably eat,” she tells him now. “Before it gets too cold.”

He smiles, moving to sit at one end of the desk; he pulls the bento beside him, leaving space for her on the other side. “You want to join me?” he asks, and as amazing as she is at exciting him, it's just as wonderful to have her sit with him and share a simple lunch.

“You made onigiri...!” he says, beaming with both joy and pride as he opens up the travel box.

“Just with umeboshi,” she tells him with a sheepish shrug of one shoulder. “I figured I couldn't mess that up.”

“It looks great,” he assures her as he picks up one slightly-uneven triangle of rice and nori, with the purplish plum pressed in its center.

She picks one up, too, and they both take a sizable bite from each of their rice balls. Around their thoughtful chewing, they start to grin, and then giggle, for seemingly no reason at all.

When Yousuke finishes his first one, he pauses to look at her, and then reaches over and tucks a lock of her hair behind her ear. “You're great,” he tells her softly, and he leans over the box between them, to press his lips lightly to hers.

Chie sits back with a tiny and coy smile, still holding half her onigiri in her palm. “It's just lunch,” she says.

He laughs. “It was a lot more than that!” he says. “Believe me; a lot more.” And he drops his hand to his lap, licking at his lips. “I owe you something just as nice,” he mutters.

She giggles again, that beautifully adorable blush returning. Then she cocks her head to the side, as though contemplating. “I could always bring you dinner,” she says, fluttering her lashes in dramatic suggestion.

Yousuke snickers. “I wouldn't mind...eating out,” he says, and that makes the two of them break into giddy laughter that fills the room around them and lingers long after their food is gone, though not their affection.