Chapter Text
"I find people fascinating in the infinite variety of their face, form and function."
Against the glittering cityscape spreading out across the velvet blackness of the night the young man's body seemed to float. The stark shadows created by the brilliant neon coming through the floor-to-ceiling picture windows both hid and revealed the pale ridges and curves he couldn't seem to get enough of.
Muscles flexed; rippled along the lithe, long lines of that body as his captive slowly awakened. The strands of hair shifted, revealing a portion of the face he liked to touch, the lips he liked to taste. Its owner was beginning to shake from the continuous strain he was under.
Takaba Akihito. Naked. Held up by a black leather body harness and arm sheathes connected to heavy-duty chains hanging from the plaster tile ceilings. The leather and gleaming, silvery metal seemed to only highlight the delicate, peach-pink blush that washed over Takaba's body.
"It's your fault, really."
His voice seemed to orient the young photographer as Takaba twitched. The noise of the chains catching one another tightened the pain in Asami's gut. He smiled, amused at his own body's response and enjoyed the heavy, pungent smell of of the leather. It no longer surprised him that he could recover so quickly despite his age. It was one of the many reasons he could no longer ignore Takaba.
He walked closer to the feebly struggling man and slid a palm beneath Takaba's chin, into the sticky sweat dripping down the other's face, over that body. It made Takaba's pale flesh gleam in the darkness of the office. His fingers were pricked by the light stubble and he didn't resist the urge to rub his thumb over the bristling fuzz or Takaba's full bottom lip.
Tightening his fingers, he tipped Takaba's face up towards his own. The young man's breathing stuttered then those long-lidded eyes snapped open and their eyes caught, held. Takaba's pupils were enlarged nearly eclipsing the beautiful striations of his ash-and-honey eyes. A ring of sulpher-yellow enclosed the striking colors of his cornea.
Takaba blinked and Asami leaned back, away, startled to realize he'd nearly lost his focus. Catching himself, he straightened. Those eyes. His needs, his wants, his demands are being subjegated by the one person who has no idea the influence he has over one of the most powerful man in East Asia.
Asami leaned down again, his grip no doubt bruising Takaba, and the smell of the stale, onion-like sweat saturating the air enveloped him. It insantly dispelled the anger and changed his annoyance into something else. The stinging, musky odor almost made him groan as he murmured against a throbbing vein in Takaba's left temple, "I'm so hard I can barely walk. You're not so unkind as to let me suffer like this any longer are you?"
Takaba tried to jerk his head away, a strangled whimper tripped over his lips and Asami's penis jerked in response causing him to kiss the pulsating vein. Takaba's skin was flushed a deeper radiance and Asami felt scorched as if beneath his own skin his blood was boiling, as if he'd stayed out in the summer sun for too long with no shade.
Asami found himself counting backwards from ten in every language he knew. Once he managed to get his body under control he mentally pushed the painful state of his arousal aside.
"The harsh, raw sounds you make only encourages me. Make me want to bully you in ways I know I shouldn't. You are not -- trained -- for those ways but starting today this will change. I will show you how to serve my needs..."
Takaba had been screaming and pleading helplessly for hours in which he'd forced the younger man to the brink of orgasm only to deny him at the most crucial moment. When he finally helped the youth ejaculate Takaba's brain, unable to take the abuse, had shut down. Asami allowed this momentary oblivion and had taken the time to do a bit of re-decorating in the office.
Now there was only a generic chair in front of Takaba. After lowering the photographer Asami carefully spread lubricant into Takaba's anus and positioned himself on the chair, setting the shaking youth on top of his lap. Having removed his jacket, vest and tie, he was only in an unbuttoned shirt. Cradling the smaller body, Asami ran his fingers up and down Takaba's spine, letting them both calm down.
"S-sick...bastard..." Takaba rasped, then mewled raggedly as Asami crushed a nipple between his forefinger and thumb. The sound only served to excite him as he watched the shorter man writhe and sob breathlessly. So much for a literal down time.
"How can a creature like you do this to me? I often ask myself this," he crooned into the sweat-darkened, ash-brown hair, "My favorite foods is no longer good enough. The spices you eat that I can taste in your sweat, your mouth, makes me hunger for you. The silk of my bed and thickness of my comforter brings back the sensation of your skin, the inside of your thighs. Your hair. How could you do this to me? You, a two-bit adrenaline junkie with not even the common sense of a lemming."
The tight sexual tension he found himself laboring under these days was becoming intolerable. Asami realized his very life is not as fullfilling as it once was. His business conquests and strategies are no longer as challenging as making Takaba submit nightly to him.
Takaba shifted in a move that would have ended with him sliding down Asami's legs, but Asami caught the slim hips. Takaba's head snapped up and sneered through clenched teeth, "You're no better! A low-life thug in a four figure, Armani sui--hr..nhk!"
Asami narrowed his eyes as he let gravity do the work after he'd lifted Takaba's narrow hips. He simply sat back to marvel how his penis was swallowed in thick, quivering gulps deeper, further into the tight, moist sheathe of Takaba's ass.
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Disclaimers: The characters and the deadly sexiness that is Ryuuchi Asami are © Ayano Yamane and anyone else who is not me.