Chapter Text
Warning(s): M, some sexual content, past mentions of child abuse
Whenever he thought of his past in India, of the coastal city of Mumbai, he wouldn’t be able to say much. His father had been a highly successful investor and lawyer while his mother—unusual for being an albino, like his brother—was one of the most recognizable Bollywood starlets in their time before moving abroad to expand business in Tokyo, of all places. It was beautiful there, too, but hadn’t always felt like home to the Senju; not even after they’d become naturalized with the right names and everything. Hashirama had been too much of an awkward, bowl-cut preteen, but the decades had changed him. Now, with a doctorate and several years of experience under his belt, he was one of Tokyo University’s most celebrated professors and considered the handsomest of its faculty.
Not that he really cared, as it was a superficial conciliation at best, and gods knew he was popular among the female staff and students, but… between all the humdrum of everyday life, it wasn’t what really brought him joy.
Honeypot wasn’t an app he’d ever thought he’d use in all his years, but when one of his students had written her thesis on some subject related to sex workers, its name had cropped up. Being someone as supportive of sex workers as he was, idle curiosity had piqued his interest, and he’d poked around it without any intention to commit. After all, he was a happily married man with a beautiful wife and child he loved more than anything for all the world to see.
That was, until he’d seen her.
It had been like he was struck by lightning when he’d scrolled through a cascade of a roster of sex workers, simply profile pictures with pseudonyms and ages. Dekorīn, her name was, but unlike her calling card, she was immaculately beautiful. Bee-stung, cherry lips had behooved him to pay the ¥5,000 viewing tag just to glimpse her profile. Doe-like teal eyes had caused the Senju to chase her further, like a fairy in a midsummer dream, just to view the gallery festooned with cheekily censored parts that hid her deliciously curvaceous body. ¥5,000 per spot, the ching of money spent accumulated until he’d blasted through almost ¥200,000 in one night. Pocket change for someone like him, but substantial for what had begun as mere curiosity.
Being able to keep those pictures demanded an account—a Pot—in order to view them later—the Honey. So, under the unimaginative moniker of Mori-san, he registered and the rest was history.
As each Bee (the name of the registered sex workers) had leaderboards on their profiles, he was able to see who lead them. And, with money blown like rain, he crept through the ranks before he occupied the highest tier of Dekorīn's. Grinning smugly to himself, Hashirama swiped through his own profile to the inbox with a personalized message from last week.
“Good morning, Mori-san,” Dekorīn murmured sensually into the camera, a closeup of her gorgeous face and stunning eyes spellbinding him, heat pooling low in his belly, but what really stirred his loins was when she adjusted and availed a glimpse of the swell of her rear barely concealed by her lacy g-string as she lay on her stomach in bed. He swallowed thickly, willing the burgeoning semi in his trousers down.
No, that was for later. Release with her name on his lips he only allowed himself after a particularly demanding day. A reward for completing his scholastic dues.
An alarm on his expansive desk chimed and Hashirama glanced up with a startled, guilty expression as he stumbled to exit Honeypot and stash his phone away, frantically pocketing the device while scrambling for his briefcase and tying his long, chestnut locks back into a ponytail.
“Oh dear, I’m going to be late!” the clumsy professor exclaimed as he raced from the sciences department, door slammed shut and bolting down the halls like a gangly colt escaping a wolf at midnight. It was in a fluster that Hashirama sped from his office in a headlong flight down painfully contemporary halls, muttering to himself in a high-strung tizzy the name of door serials while narrowly barreling past students filing placidly into their respective classrooms.
“Sorry, sorry!” the Senju excused himself, his form towering above the throngs of students like a puppy racing through shoots of tender spring grasses, puffing when he came to his designated lecture hall and was slightly mortified to find that almost every seat was filled as he clambered down the stairs leading into the lower level where he was deigned to speak, briefcase landing soundly on the table situated before the enormous projection screen.
“Alright, everyone, please make sure you have all your materials while I set up— Uh, huh?”
Hashirama blinked in surprise just as he dimmed the overhead lights that reduced the visibility to the flickering, cool blue laptop screens that reflected from the faces and glasses of his students who were there, a shadow filling the doorway’s threshold as it slid shut and the new arrival proceeded towards the lecturing theater where Hashirama had paused in removing the needed instruction materials from his briefcase, his heartbeat hammering in his throat when he realized who it was.
“Um, sorry I’m late, sensei!” the young woman bowed, shiny orchid, nape-length hair masking her features before she straightened, and Hashirama swore the blood drained from his face (and flew to his nethers).
If he hadn’t spent the better part of the past few months staring at that face and figure, he might not have believed she was who he thought it was. Though without makeup, it was plain to see that this was Dekorīn’s ravishing visage, of her heart-shaped face that tapered into a cute chin while her plush lips pulled into a sheepish smile. Hashirama knew there was no way of stopping the aching throb that pulsed all the way to his cock, the brunet fiercely grateful that both his dark complexion and the dimmed lighting that disguised his flush, and waist-high table, clearing his throat awkwardly.
“Aha, well, that’s quite alright! You must be new and got lost, Miss…” he trailed off encouragingly, willing his eyes to remain trained on her face.
“Haruno Sakura. Sorry about that,” the young woman apologized again, stroking a tendril of pink hair behind her ear.
“Hey, Haruno, get your ass up here!” a blonde in one of the closer rows gregariously beckoned, the Senju unsure whether to be disappointed or relieved that he was pulled from fixating too much on the object of his desires of late… And how she turned to stride away, catching a whiff of whatever perfume or shampoo she’d used that morning—
With a shaky inhale, Hashirama slid his glasses up the bridge of his nose and greeted his students with renewed focus, no matter how much a certain head of flossy pink compelled him to linger, his will was stronger.
Being Tokyo University's foremost academic in the field of natural sciences with specific concentration in forestry, well, he knew his class wasn’t the most exciting. But, with many students needing an elective class, his was known for being simpler than many of the other options and a means to an end to maintain top marks. Sure, it wasn’t the happiest reason to take his class, but every so often he found the odd student who genuinely engaged with his lectures. Those pockets of interest were more than enough to keep him going.
Well, that and the research he did that contributed to Japan’s national, environmental policy, but it wouldn’t do to get a big head about it!
Gratefully, the class came and went without incident. Aside from the sleepy level of participation that were the best any professor could ask for a morning class, he couldn’t help but notice that Sakura seemed to express genuine interest in what he had to teach. With a small laptop in hand, teal eyes switched constantly between his presentation or him as he spoke, unable to help feeling a little flustered as she did. Taking notes with an avidness that made him wonder if she’d be the semester’s rare student who genuinely took interest in his teaching.
Eventually, concluding statements were made, as well as a genial prompt for them to investigate further that promised extra credit to those that did. “And don’t forget to gather materials for Wednesday’s class, everyone! We don’t want anyone caught unawares, although, I will be sure to upload the presentation on Markup for those who forgot… I’ll see you Wednesday!”
After dismissing them, the din of shuffling feet and things being stashed in backpacks created a mindless atmosphere in which Hashirama stooped over his laptop to prepare for his next class on advanced conservation, surprised when his sixth sense was tickled by that same fragrance as before, struggling the urge to swallow thickly when he realized who it was. Removing his reading classes, he flashed Sakura an inviting smile.
“Yes, what is it, Miss Haruno?”
“There’s something I wanted to ask you about, sensei,” Sakura ventured as she fished through her knapsack’s front pocket, presenting him with a brochure he recognized as being the handiwork of the Conservation Society, an environmentalist club he headed afterschool on Friday’s. His heartbeat picked up as he realized the possible implications. “So, there’s this study being conducted on the Hanami grounds of the university about what’s been ailing the cherry trees, and I was wondering if you’d be willing to allow a non-club member to participate. I wanted to do it as part of my final project for the end of the semester, but since time is kinda limited, well…”
“We’d love to have you, Miss Haruno,” Hashirama acceded without a second thought, warm at thought of her dedication, let alone of being able to spend time with her. “Our first meeting of the semester is this Friday and every consecutive Friday after, so you won’t want to miss it.”
Sakura broke out with a hopeful smile. “Really? I promise I won’t get in your way, sensei!”
“Come to think of it, are you an Environmental Studies major at all?” Hashirama broached with what could easily be affable curiosity, even if his interest plumbed a little deeper than that.
Sakura perked at that, full lips pursed thoughtfully. “No, actually. I recently began graduate school for my Biomedical Sciences Masters. I still have my Masters’ to attain, but it’s my Doctorate right after. I’m not out of the woods yet!” She pumped her fist enthusiastically before uttering the sweetest giggle the Senju had ever heard. “Anyway, I’d better get going! I’ll see you Wednesday, sensei!”
Sighing dreamily as Sakura raced from the lecture hall, the rest of his day was spent in a warm, pleasant haze he hardly minded in the least.
On the commute home back to Minato City, Hashirama couldn’t help but realize, with a sinking feeling, that this wasn’t something he could pursue beyond an illicit fancy. Relationships between faculty and students were treated with vilification and suspicion, regardless of how old both parties were; even if it were a similarly aged intern and student, it still came with reproach. And from what he had learned from her Honeypot profile, Sakura was 24 to his 40… Which was still a sizeable age difference, but not as extreme as it could be.
Though he was backed by considerable affluence that could quash the ramifications of such an affair (hell, his father would probably laud him for it, the cad), he knew that a grad student who turned to sex work likely wasn’t doing it for fun. Though it was by no means a shameful occupation, for a young woman working her way through grad school, a normal, part-time job simply wasn’t an option. One that could make significant amounts of money just from photos and short videos alone was far more feasible, but not unheard of.
As the setting sun cast long shadows through the cabin of the subway car he occupied with dozens of other people, warming his bronzy complexion, he knew it likely couldn’t be taken further than faceless support on Honeypot while retaining a respectful distance and professionalism on campus. As much as he should’ve been fine with it, he felt a pang in his chest at how illicit it all was. How she brought him such sweet release behind closed doors, while pretending like it wasn’t the case in the lecture hall.
Once Hashirama had gotten off at his platform in Minato City, it was a short walk to the ritzy penthouse apartments he and his family lived out of, done with a slightly hung head and dejected air about him.
“I’m home,” Hashirama greeted once he’d removed his penny loafers at the large genkan and trudged into the expansive foyer, an enormous affair of a few walls that swept left and right dedicated to a small gallery of expensive pieces amassed through the years, to the living room with its tall bay windows that provided splendid vistas of the sunset illuminating much of Minato City. Ambling towards the open bar situated near the back of the living room, he dipped behind the marble bartop and into a mini-fridge tucked away where he fetched a bottle of beer, smacked the cap off on the bartop itself, and shambled into the living room where he heaved himself on one of the plush, black leather sofas gathered in a ring before the sleek fireplace.
“I went to see Tōka today,” Mito’s voice addressed him from behind, traveling as he heard her pop the cork to a bottle of wine, the contents sloshing into the glass she poured for herself. “I just… I just wish we didn’t have to keep pretending like this, Hashi.”
Of all the things that had arisen from their marriage, over a decade of secret problems were among them. Yet, neither party had animosity for each other, even if their marriage was strained due to external factors. Mito Uzumaki—heiress of the largest utility company in the nation—had come from a background much like his own. And because of Butsuma’s ambition and the need to plant roots in Japan, the marriage had been arranged to solidify and connect their families and gain footholds. Which had been a resounding success; Senju Incorporated had become the wealthiest foreign investment firm in the nation, legitimized by their relationship, and they’d reached untold levels of obscene wealth.
Interpersonally was different.
Mito was a woman who had struggled with her sexuality her entire life, having scant interest in men while, romantically and physically, her heart had always belonged to various women throughout. As of the past several years, it had been snagged by none other than his cousin, Tōka, who had become a pariah in her teens and disinherited for being an open lesbian and pursuing the arts that had made her successful in creative circles. Mito—who had been under the tyrannical heel of her father, Ashina, her entire life—didn’t possess that sort of freedom no matter how much she craved it.
What had resulted was the pair in a secretly open relationship their son was completely ignorant of while maintaining a close, intimate friendship. Case in point, the stunning redhead curled up on the sofa next to Hashirama and into his side, the man embracing her by her shoulders and rubbing small circles with his thumb. Truthfully, he did love her like a husband did, but that love was too altruistic to force an unhappy woman to feel the same. So, he supported her and did his best to facilitate the relationship she had with his cousin. It didn’t mean it still didn’t hurt, though.
They watched each other’s backs, and their friendship was the closest one Hashirama had. As long as Mito was happy, so was he.
It wasn’t much different than his doomed infatuation with Sakura, wasn’t it? Hashirama’s gaze hardened at the intrusive thought, lips thinned as his affections for Mito became absent-minded.
“You used the wrong card on Honeypot again, Hashi,” Mito murmured as she nestled comfortably into his side. “I was able to divert the transaction to the other account, but if I had been a day late, your father would’ve seen it, and well…” Hashirama’s father wasn’t a subject either liked bringing up, as he’d been physically and emotionally abusive with his sons after his wife’s passing. And when they’d grown away from him, the Senju patriarch held a vice over their lives, controlling their finances in a stranglehold to keep tabs on every aspect of their reputations; even the facets the general public would’ve never seen. Control that hadn’t abated even after they had spread their own wings.
He couldn’t be more grateful to Mito, though, who helped him gain some freedom as much as he did for her.
“Who is she? This woman you’re spending so much on?” Mito changed the subject, dark sapphires flickering on him. She sipped some of her wine, quietly receptive.
Hashirama couldn’t help the honestly bitter laugh he uttered. “An impossibility,” he answered tersely, but not unkindly.
Mito smirked wryly. “We really are perfect for each other; we seem to attract the same types, hm?” she remarked before allowing him to continue, knowing it was still a better tangent than anything to do with Butsuma.
“She’s… beautiful, Mito. I don’t think I’ve met a woman as beautiful since you.” At that, Mito smiled. “I really didn’t think anything of it, and well, someone in my position isn’t as free to pursue extramarital relationships. I thought that would be it. That I’d be a faceless admirer, and I was happy, until she suddenly showed up in my class today. She’s a grad student in the Biomedical Sciences program, and she doesn’t seem too different from the woman I’ve been dreaming of. Except, she’s real. And there’s nothing I can do about it.”
Mito sympathetically caressed a hand through Hashirama’s brown locks since undone when he’d gotten home, the man soothed but not placated by the tender gesture. Still, the Uzumaki more than anyone understood his pain, even if Mito was within reach of reciprocated love while all Hashirama could do was to gorge himself on a fantasy of togetherness on Honeypot.
As if on cue, a notification bell from his phone chimed and Hashirama set his half-finished beer aside on the coffee table before him, warming when he realized who it was. His inbox on Honeypot had a single, new message that was his weekly reward, tabbing into it and the new video message. In it, Sakura was dressed in a cute negligee and silky lingerie of a minty hue that complimented her hair gorgeously, waving into the camera with a demure bow. “Hey, Mori-san, I know it’s a tough week ahead, but let’s do our best, okay? I’m rooting for you!”
Mito propped her chin on his shoulder and watched, puffing a short laugh in the shell of his ear. “You weren’t kidding. She’s got a nice rack, too. But, you probably knew that, huh?” Ribbing his side, Hashirama dissolved into giddy laughter.
“Come on, you know that’s not the point!” Hashirama protested with a laugh, cheeks heating up. Because, yes, he’d noticed that fact quite some time ago himself. But, it was the message himself that quelled him into bittersweet silence, staring at the thumbnail wistfully. “It’s all I can have, but it should be enough for now, right? I think all I really want is for her to be happy. I’ll pray for it, doing this, being a good teacher…”
“What’s her name?” Mito asked after a beat, a finger twining in a tendril of Hashirama’s hair. Frowning into his beer after downing a hasty dreg, he sighed.
“And why would you need to know that?” Hashirama asked in genuine surprise, if a little defensively.
“What, are you forgetting that your wife is the Security Head of Uzumaki Utilities?” Mito rejoined with a wily smirk. “I’m just going to run a little background check. You know, to protect your reputation.” Her smile was bright and sarcastic, patting his head patronizingly.
“You… want to help me try and win her?” Mito nodded in confirmation. “In any other situation, I’d be willing, but… she’s my student, I’m her professor. It just wouldn’t be ethical.”
“According to lots of people, so are two women being together.” Mito pouted her lips dramatically. “Oh, come on! You’re over the hill already without someone to really love, who loves you back.” She grew guiltily quiet at the rejoinder, knowing that neither of them could help that Hashirama’s love for her was unreciprocated; at least, in the way he wanted. Mito loved him to the moon and back, but it wasn’t the love he sought from her, even if he never begrudged her for it for a second. “Sorry. But, she’s an adult, Hashi. At least think about it.”
“Mito, I have,” Hashirama replied in frustration. “On my end, it wouldn’t be an issue because wealthy men are almost expected to have affairs with pretty 20-somethings. It could end badly for her if she was found out, assuming she’d want some much older man to begin with. Someone like her could have anyone she wanted.” The Senju sighed wistfully, draining the rest of his beer before he tetchily realized he wanted another.
As if she read his mind, Mito’s warmth was stolen away when she rose to the bar and mini-fridge, retrieving another beer she used a cap popper to open, the audible effervescence drawing the Senju’s eye. Striding back towards the couch, she leaned over and hovered the beverage near his hand, but drew away when he craned for it. “She’s a sex worker, Hashi. If that got out, her career as a student would be over,” she whispered into his ear before allowing him to take the spirits. Sashaying away, her heels clicked on the marble floors resoundingly.
“I have to pick up Akio from school, but think about what I said, will you? And I don’t just mean what we’ll make for dinner tonight.”
Mystified, Hashirama watched Mito’s retreating back with a gaped mouth as the front door opened and closed soundly, the mechanism of the lock behind her the last he heard. With his beer fizzing softly on his knee, Hashirama raked a hand through his hair.
Gods, did he have too much to think about. With another sigh, he swigged the beer and shambled off to try and distract himself until his wife and son returned.