Show Your Real Face To Me, 1/2
Title: Show Your Real Face To Me
Rating: NC-17
Characters/Pairings: Matsumoto Jun/Sakurai Sho
Summary: Where he expected the standard hotel-type set-up, Jun discovered that wasn't necessarily what the Face Down Club meant to provide. Instead of a bed he found only a dark hardwood floor. The walls were red and there was only a chair in the center of the room.
Notes/Warnings: For the fic exchange at sakumoto. An AU based on a world setting/feel inside one of Arashi's PVs. Inspired by Face Down.
His mistake had been telling Nino.
They'd gotten through the doors at The Hydra an hour before closing, already drunk off their asses from the other two clubs they'd been to that night. Of course Jun only realized later that he was the drunker of the two. But amidst the tacky fog machine and throbbing bass, Nino had watched how Jun's eyes moved, who caught his glance on the dance floor.
"So you're gay then," Nino said simply when they emerged from the club at closing time, huddling together in the chilly alley behind The Hydra with their cigarettes and the leftover body heat from close quarters inside.
Jun had sputtered out something lame, a slurred denial that wouldn't have fooled anyone. Especially not a co-worker who'd been trying to set him up on dates for the last year, all to no avail.
Nino had only smiled, dropped his cigarette to mash at it clumsily with his sneaker. "Now I see why you weren't biting." Now I see why you turned up your nose at all those girls...
"...I'm just busy," Jun had tried again, but Nino wasn't having it. They worked the same hours, after all.
Nino, in fact, was delighted at the new challenge Jun's sexuality presented. They worked long hours at the restaurant, slaving away in hot kitchens while the head chef soaked up all the praise. It gave the womanizing sous chef great pleasure to goad at his patissier companion, to try and find him someone to occupy his hours away from the oven and the kitchen torch. Nino never got to meddle with the menu so he settled for meddling in personal lives.
"I get to see how the other half lives," Nino mused, already plotting. "Leave it to me, Jun-kun."
--
Jun had scowled, mostly embarrassed that his secret was out. But over the next few days, he lost himself so thoroughly in perfecting the fall dessert rotation (pumpkin roll cakes, apple cinnamon mousse, sweet potato everything...) that he almost forgot that Nino knew his preference now.
So when he was cleaning up his station that night and Nino slipped a small card into the jacket pocket of his uniform, he thought nothing of it. Nino used that little trick to sneak Jun phone numbers and email addresses all the time. Natsuki the cabaret girl. Aiko, the single mother who still had a great figure. The women Nino had hand-picked for him with care.
He was in the locker room, changing to head home, when he finally took the card out to toss it in the trash. But it wasn't a slip of notebook paper, a name hastily scribbled on one of the head chef's business cards from the hostess station. This was thick card stock in cherry red, a heavy black font etched in the center.
The Face Down Club, Shibuya. Thursday 10:30 AM.
He turned the card over. Nothing. No Nino commentary. No "I think you'll like her." Not even the actual address of this club. A club he'd never even heard of, which struck him as odd. Before he'd gotten the job at the restaurant and put his harder partying days behind him he'd been inside every Tokyo club. Gay, straight, he'd surely patrolled them all once or twice, never showing his face enough for anyone to place him again and fuck over his career.
He'd never heard of The Face Down Club. Then again, he thought bitterly, imagining Nino's self-satisfied face, he'd never been to any hardcore fetish clubs before. If that was what his co-worker assumed about him...
His angry thoughts were interrupted as Nino approached, snatching the card from his fingertips. "I worked my ass off to get you in. Used every trick in my arsenal, every name in my little black book," Nino said, brown eyes sparkling with triumph. "You better fucking go."
Jun sat down on the changing room bench, lacing up his sneakers. "What kind of club opens at 10:30 in the morning? You're full of shit."
Nino smiled, wiggling the bright red card. "It's your interview. This place is elite. They vet everyone thoroughly, match you up. No playing the floor, hedging your bets and ending up with a bad lay. Hell, it's too bad I play for the other team...it'd save me a lot of time."
Jun flushed, grateful for the emptiness of the changing room. "So it's not even a club, it's a matchmaking service?"
"Specializing in people like you." Jun looked up just in time for Nino to hold up his hand in apology. "People of your persuasion who also like to keep it quiet. I'm not stupid, Jun, I wasn't running around blabbing your name to the first okama I saw."
Jun yanked the card back, shoving it into the back pocket of his jeans. "Why do you care so much about who I date?"
Nino's face finally turned serious. "Because you've got a stick up your ass, and you're scaring the hell out of your crew."
Jun scoffed. "What are you even talking about?"
"When poor Aiba-chan couldn't give you a status update on the pumpkin cupcakes tonight you threw a whisk at his head."
Jun opened his mouth only to close it soon after. Okay, so maybe he was a bit of a micro-manager when it came to the desserts crew, but he was in charge of it after all. Why shouldn't he expect his team to be on the same page as him?
Before he could explain himself, Nino shook his head. "This is my kitchen, and you're all my responsibility," Nino explained. "No more whisk throwing. Not everyone's as psychotic as you are. We don't even have a Michelin star, so take it down a notch, alright?"
Shame bubbled up in his stomach. Nino rarely played the "boss" card. He was serious. But work was everything to Jun. He'd spent so much time ignoring his own needs, shoving Nino's suggestions away, that he had no personal life to speak of. Nobody to share his thoughts or feelings with. Nobody who understood him. All his energy went into the cake pans, into his piping bag.
He stared at his boss, his only true friend in the kitchen. "I'll go on your stupid interview, but so help me if this is all a joke..."
Nino's seriousness washed away, replaced with the easygoing smile Jun was used to. Even when barking out orders to the line cooks and getting plates ready for the dining room Nino never lost his cheerful demeanor. "It's not a joke. The person I spoke to said they specialize in, and I quote, 'matching the unmatchable.'"
"Provided I pass the interview?" Jun asked, rolling his eyes.
"Provided you pass the interview," Nino repeated with a wink. "You got through culinary school. This'll be a breeze."
--
The next morning, Thursday, found Jun navigating the streets west of Shibuya Station. Upon arriving home the previous night, he'd scoured the Internet for the address of the Face Down Club. All he found was a basic website that required him to enter his name and date of birth along with the answer to a security question ("What is your mother's maiden name?"). He didn't want to know how Nino had known the answer, but as soon as Jun entered his info, the website spat back simplistic directions. No pictures of the place, no contact number, no further information.
His appointment was at 10:30 so he found himself wandering behind gaping tourists and hungover salarymen hurrying to the office for a late arrival. The directions carried him through Dogenzaka, the love hotels empty and the lights of other clubs in the neighborhood turned off, their doors shuttered until the promise of night returned. He went off the main drag, and the other pedestrians vanished. He slipped past closed izakayas and came upon a humble-looking dark brick building.
The sign out front announced a gastropub on the first floor, a hair salon on the second, and a pornographic bookstore on the third. But as Jun looked up, the building continued for another three stories. The windows were sparser on the upper floors, containing tinted glass blocks rather than usual window glass. This had to be it. He looked left and looked right before slipping through the doorway.
The stairs were narrow but well-kept, not a squeak to be heard as he climbed up to the fourth floor. Though there'd been no mail slot or sign in the downstairs hall, the thick wooden door on the fourth floor landing had a nameplate and buzzer beside it. The Face Down Club.
He pressed the buzzer, glancing up and catching a small video camera in the corner that he wouldn't have noticed if he hadn't thought to look. Well, they'd seen him now. The door opened, revealing a woman his age, maybe a little younger dressed neatly in a plain blouse and floral skirt. It was definitely not what he'd been expecting.
"You must be Matsumoto-san," she said quietly, inclining her head and holding the door open for him. "Won't you please come in?"
He was greeted with the sight of plain beige walls and hardwood floors, a generic looking office if Jun had ever seen one. This room contained only a desk, a printer, a few plants, and some hard-backed chairs. Another camera took in the sights from the corner near the glass block window. A water cooler bubbled and hummed in the corner near another door that probably led to the other rooms of the "club."
The woman gestured for him to have a seat. "My name is Inoue," she said by way of introduction. Her dark hair was pulled back into a neat ponytail, and she was probably quite cute if she smiled. But she was right to business in an instant.
She sat at the desk, popping up the lid on a laptop and typing at a furious pace. "You're here on a personal recommendation," Inoue said, nodding as her eyes darted back and forth across the screen. "Matsumoto Jun-san, age thirty. Single. Working in the foodservice industry, works evenings until late."
He swallowed, crossing one leg over another. This was starting off more like a job interview. He looked down at his jeans, noticing a hole just beside his knee. Was there already a strike against him? "Yes, a friend made the uh, appointment for me."
At that, Inoue-san did finally smile. "Please don't be nervous. We're all about ensuring your happiness here, Matsumoto-san. We understand that it's difficult to be open and honest about your true wishes and desires." She clicked her mouse, setting off the printer. "Before we move forward, I'll need you to fill out and sign these for me."
She got up, bringing the sheets over to set down in front of him. She slid a pen over, marking little x's where he was to sign. He blinked at the mass of paper before him. A ten-page non-disclosure agreement, stating that he would face a stiff financial penalty if he told anyone what went on at the Face Down Club or if he revealed details about his partner or anyone else he met on premises. A detailed list of charges for the club's services and facilities. A little more expensive than he'd anticipated, but within his budget. Three separate health forms. And the most alarming, a double-sided mostly blank sheet asking him to describe his ideal sexual partner and his likes and dislikes in sexual situations.
He watched Inoue-san's face remain perfectly passive as she marked a big black x at the bottom of the "kink" sheet. "Nothing is too outlandish, Matsumoto-san," she explained. "But do be completely forthcoming with your dislikes. Out of respect for both yourself and for any potential partners we match you with."
She handed him the pen and he took it with shaking fingers. His whole dating life had consisted of hookups at bars, the occasional date with someone from online. It had all come down to the physical, fulfilling a need. Sex with strangers. So what did he really want in a person anyway? He'd never really dated long-term - work and his own paranoia about his preferences always got in the way of that.
Inoue-san moved to the door, stepping into the next room to give him privacy to fill out the sheets. He wrote as neatly as he could, nervousness seeping through to the bone. All of this to find him a date. This was more than most marriage interviews entailed. He got through the health sheets quickly, noticing that by signing it he was required to get a complete physical along with thorough STD testing. That made him feel a little better. The Face Down Club was just as safety-conscious as it was secretive. Knowing that anyone else visiting the place had to go through this too was reassuring. He wondered just what kind of people came through the door around here. Celebrities? Politicians? How had Nino even gotten him in here? And who would they match him with?
So what did he want? Who did he want? Jun was exacting in almost everything. He liked control. He liked going from raw ingredients to finished product, controlling everything along the way from doling out flour to slicing into a just-cooled pie with precision. That eye for detail carried into every aspect of his life as a patissier, and he had exacting standards for the cleanliness of his work station and the behaviors of the dessert staff under him.
So when Inoue-san returned, Jun was just finishing up his list of requirements and preferences. He was exacting in every way professionally, and because of it, nobody really knew how much he craved for that control to be stolen away behind closed doors. He finished the list with a decisive slash of ink on the paper and his signature.
I'd like for someone else to take charge.
He slid the papers across to Inoue-san, who only glanced over them to ensure he'd completed everything. No blushing, no eyebrow raising. She opened the desk drawer and pulled out another card on that thick, red card stock. It only had an address. "We have a standing appointment schedule with the East Bunkyo Clinic. They are extremely discreet. Please visit them in the next week, and your results will be forwarded to us. Once we have confirmation of your health and disease-free status, we will be in touch for your first arrangement." She smiled warmly. "Do you prefer email, telephone, or direct mail? Any messages will come from the name 'Rainbow Dry Cleaners' directing you to pick up your suit at a certain time so as to conceal the true nature of the message. Is that agreeable?"
"It is completely agreeable," Jun replied, exhaling in relief. "Phone will be fine. Voicemail if I'm working."
Inoue-san rose and he joined her. She held out her hand, offering a rather firm shake for a woman. As if she knew him better than he knew himself already. Perhaps someone in her line of work usually did. "Billing statements will also come from Rainbow Dry Cleaners in installments so no charges look out of line. With the mobile banking arrangement, I'm certain that we will meet your needs for privacy. I just know we'll find someone perfect for you, Matsumoto-san."
And if not you just signed your life away and we have it on camera, he thought cynically, praying this whole thing wasn't a scam. He'd kill Nino if that was the case.
She escorted him out, leaving him back in Shibuya with a bit of a spring in his step. He thought back on everything he'd written, everything he craved in another person. Things he'd always assumed he'd never have, things he'd never experience because he wasn't like other men. Love with feelings behind it. Love and his work in total balance. Did he even dare to hope?
--
The East Bunkyo Clinic looked no different from any other with a healthy mix of mothers scolding their frightened children, a young couple, and an elderly man sitting in the waiting room upon his arrival. Eventually a male nurse opened the door and called his name with little enthusiasm, and Jun followed him.
But that was when he realized things were a little different. He followed the nurse past several waiting rooms to a staircase and was brought to a private room one floor above. Unlike the standard exam rooms Jun had been in before (exam table, squeaky chair on wheels, jars full of tongue depressors), this one had its own en-suite bathroom and a computer set up.
The nurse shut the door, looking rather bored with his life. He had rather messy hair and the shirt of his scrubs was half tucked in, half out of his slacks. He sniffed a little noisily as he booted up the computer, cracking his neck as he stretched a bit. "I'm Ohno, I'll be taking care of your exams today."
Jun nodded, trying not to look overly curious as the guy got set up for the exam. How this person had gotten through nursing school he'd never know, but perhaps his laid-back demeanor was a smokescreen to hide the clinic's arrangement with the Face Down Club. The physical exam was as typical as any other - the nurse listened to his heartbeat, checked his blood pressure, weighed him, jotting everything down in what seemed like the worst handwriting he'd ever seen before typing it up again into the computer.
He was a quiet guy too, only speaking in short, clipped sentences. "Turn right, please." "Breathe in and then out, please." With the usual exam out of the way, Nurse Ohno finally met his eyes. "Alright, Matsumoto-san, now for the fun part."
The guy grabbed a plastic-wrapped specimen cup from the counter beside the exam table. "Urine sample, please, if you're ready. Unless you want your blood draw first."
He opted for the blood draw, looking away as Ohno jabbed at him, finding a vein on his first try. Well, he was much better at his job than he looked. Afterward he took his time in the bathroom, returning to find Ohno waiting for him with his eyes closed. He had to give the man a shake to continue the exam.
He'd had STD tests before, but never with another man doing the exam, and never someone with the personality of a robot. He shifted a bit uncomfortably as Ohno moved over to the computer, leaning with his elbow on the desktop as he meandered his way through Jun's rather dull sexual history, clicking and typing away as he filled out whatever form the Face Down Club seemingly required.
In the same monotone he'd used all along and without so much as a blink, he read off the computer screen and asked Jun about every conceivable sexual practice, asked him about sexual positions, condom use, and even how often he masturbated. "Have you masturbated today?" Type type type. "Have you masturbated in the past week?" Type type type. "When engaging in anal intercourse, how often are you the penetrating partner? The receiving partner?" Type type type.
By the end of it Jun was mentally exhausted, wondering if his answers today were also going to factor in to the Face Down Club's matchmaking. He also couldn't help wondering what this Ohno thought of him. Was this how he spent his life, giving secret STD tests to closeted gay men? If only Nino could see this. He'd be over the moon, laughing at Jun's discomfort. He'd probably find Nurse Ohno's existence fascinating too.
Finally the exam was over and he bid Ohno and the East Bunkyo Clinic farewell. He spent the next few days hearing the guy's voice in his head, the almost bored way he asked about the most minute of sexual topics without batting an eye. He hoped that all this would be worth it. The red card had given the promise of something secret, something exciting. And so far it had been nothing but paperwork and pissing in a cup.
But three days later his phone rang and it was Inoue-san, though she introduced herself as Rainbow Dry Cleaners. The weirdness of the past few days vanished and his heart set to racing. She only had one message for him. "Matsumoto-san, thank you for choosing Rainbow Dry Cleaners. We are calling to confirm receipt of your suit. Everything looks manageable, and you should hear from us again soon."
When he opened his mouth to ask how long 'soon' might be, Inoue-san had already hung up.
--
Nino had been on him since the day of the interview at the club, begging for details. Jun had only implied that the interview had gone well and he was waiting for a match. And wait he unfortunately did. Unlike the instant gratification of a night out at a bar or a club, where he needed only a few drinks in his system to settle on a match for the night, the Face Down Club kept him waiting. But instant gratification always brought that emptiness, that shallowness when it was over. A stranger in the bed inclining his head, not making eye contact, slipping from Jun's apartment just after sunrise with the smell of cheap vodka and cigarette smoke still clinging to his clothes.
The Face Down Club promised more than that at least.
As the days passed, however, Nino seemed to sense Jun's impatience, giving him space in the hot, crowded restaurant kitchen. He'd probably even spoken to Jun's crew because Aiba-kun and Nana-chan were at peak performance, not one slip-up to give Jun cause to scream at them. Jun was fairly certain that he was making some of the best cakes of his life while he waited, all his nervous energy expelling itself out of the oven. Even the head chef pulled his head out of his ass and asked Nino to relay a compliment from a table of visiting American businessmen one evening.
He was home sleeping off one of those marathon cake performances when his phone vibrated with a voicemail in the middle of the night, jolting him from sleep. Let it go, his body told him. Listen in the morning. His clock read 4:13 AM when he scrambled for the bedside table anyway, flipping open his phone in seconds.
He'd taken out his contacts, squinting in the darkness as he keyed in his password. Finally, the comforting tones of Inoue-san's voice returned. She sounded as calm and collected at 4:00 in the morning as she did at any other time. It was a pre-recorded message. She gave him a date and time to pick up his suit: the following Tuesday at noon. Which based on the papers he'd signed actually meant midnight. He'd have to rush to get over to Shibuya after closing, but that would just add to the excitement.
He hung up. No name. No details. Just the date and time. He told Nino as much the following evening, lost in that strange place between anxiousness about the partner the club had found for him and relief that they'd found someone for him at all. Nino even sent Jun home early on a few evenings, shutting the entire kitchen down on time for once to reward everyone's hard work and give them a well-earned break.
But those extra hours only left Jun focusing on himself. Without work, he was left to his own devices. Left to ponder his failings, his insecurities. He'd never been on a blind date, never anything like this. Just what awaited him at the Face Down Club in a matter of days? And who? What should he wear? What should he say? Would the person even want to know his name? Would Jun like him? Would he like Jun?
Tuesday arrived and with it every ounce of self-loathing Jun thought he'd stamped out of himself years earlier when he'd come to terms with who he was. He worried about his face, if his rather large features were a turn-off. He worried about his stomach, if he should have worked out more or less. He worried about his body, if he was too hairy, too tall, too short, too skinny. He was vain, picking at his teeth, fussing with his eyebrows, even asking with a straight face for Nino to smell him. "You smell like a fucking Mont Blanc, so just tell this guy to gobble you up," was his friend's unhelpful response.
On the ride across town from the restaurant in Sumida to the back alleys of Shibuya, he nearly got off the train to vomit up the nothing he'd had for dinner. What if he was a disappointment? What if it was a bad match? What if the Face Down Club never called him for a meet-up again? Was he doomed to a life of celibacy and cake?
The streets were livelier now, nobody paying Jun a bit of attention as he navigated his way around this time, seeing drunken groups of friends, couples holding hands. And somewhere in this crowd was his partner for the evening unless he was already there, waiting. Was he a regular? A first timer? Handsome? Ugly? If anything they already had a strong need for privacy in common, so he at least didn't have to worry about this guy shouting complaints from the rooftops.
There were still diners at the pub when he made it to the building but nobody in the stairwell as he made his way to the fourth floor. A different person than Inoue-san opened the door when he pushed the buzzer, this time a middle-aged bald man in a business suit. He offered no greetings, only asking Jun for his name. The man then opened a drawer, handing Jun a red envelope.
It bore a number, 605, and inside was only a key card.
"Please proceed to this room on the sixth floor. If you remain on premises, we ask that you vacate by 8:00 AM. If you choose to leave before that, please return your keycards to this desk." The man moved to the other door of the office that Inoue-san had passed through during his interview.
Jun clutched the envelope in hand, seeing no judgment from the man. He merely held the door for Jun, shutting it behind him. He was now in a hallway full of numbered doors - 402 through 405. He imagined the set-up was the same on those above. At the end of the hall was another stairwell. He heard a door open when he climbed up past the fifth floor, finding himself hurrying a bit so that he wasn't seen by anyone else. Not that it really mattered.
The sixth floor hall was empty. The lighting was low, only a few pale sconces bolted against the dark walls. Each door had a slot for the key card over the handle, little red lights glowing. 605 was at the very end, and his heart pounded as he approached, clutching the plastic card in his sweaty fingers. Was his partner already inside?
He found himself knocking out of habit. He waited a good thirty seconds before slipping the keycard into the reader, hearing a soft beep and seeing the red light turn green as the lock disengaged. It opened inward, and he pushed inside, finding himself alone.
Where he expected the standard hotel-type set-up, Jun discovered that wasn't necessarily what the Face Down Club meant to provide. Instead of a bed he found only a dark hardwood floor, so dark it was nearly black in the room's low light. And the walls, he noticed, the walls were as red as those Face Down Club business cards. There was barely anything else there - only a white plastic Lawson bag in the corner that looked disturbingly out of place and a chair in the center of the room, some track lighting keeping it under a spotlight.
It was a lived-in chair, a piece of furniture with a history. It was a dark brown leather with overstuffed sturdy arms and a rather lush looking cushion. A door at the back led to a shower, toilet, and sink in a small bathroom. He found that the Lawson bag contained a packet of condoms, a small bottle of lube, a receipt noting the purchase of the items that very afternoon paid in cash, and a soft black sleeping mask presumably to serve as a blindfold.
He set the bag down, swallowing another lump of nervousness. Another red envelope was placed on the chair, bearing the name "Matsumoto-sama."
Inside, a typed note: "Your partner will arrive at 12:30. Please silence your cell phone, shower, and put on the blindfold. Sit in the chair and wait for his arrival. Thank you."
And like that Jun's first session at the Face Down Club began.
--
He'd done as the note directed, turning his phone completely off and hitting the shower. Unsure if his partner preferred him dressed or undressed, he chose dressed, tugging his boxers, jeans, and v-neck tee back on, leaving his socks and sneakers in the corner of the room with his jacket on top. He nervously dug the sleep mask out of the Lawson bag, shoving the plastic wrapper inside once he'd pried the package open.
He settled himself in the chair, running his fingers through his damp hair. He only wished he'd had another shirt to change into, his clean body now housed inside the shirt he'd nearly sweated through on the subway. The cushion was comfortable and he sat with his back solidly against it, opting for good posture. He'd specified on his form that he wanted to relinquish control to another - he had to follow those directions as the card ordered.
The red walls and dark floor vanished as he slipped the mask on, turning his world black. This part of the floor was away from the street. He couldn't hear any outside noise. Perhaps they'd soundproofed the building. He only heard the sound of his own breathing, the spare drips coming from the shower head in the bathroom. There'd been two towels, and he'd used one, folding it over the rack.
What time was it? Was it almost time?
He had no sense of it. He could have been in the chair, blind and vulnerable, for seconds or hours, but finally there was a soft tap of knuckles against the door followed by the beeping noise of a swiped keycard. Jun held his breath, his arms crossed over his chest, as the door pushed open and he heard footsteps. Did he say hello? Did he say nothing?
He opted for nothing, his senses amplified to an almost painful degree as the person closed the door and bolted it. The footsteps drew nearer, the sound going from his right to his left and around again. The person was circling him, but at a distance. Jun thought he could vaguely smell smoke, maybe a beer or two coming from the stranger's clothes. He had absolutely no way of knowing who was standing in front of him unless he broke the rules, and he'd worked so diligently to get to this moment that he didn't dare remove the mask from his face.
Finally the footsteps stopped. He could hear the other man breathing, definitely a man. He could just sense it was a man from the shoes and his scent. "Keep the mask on, please, and do as I say."
His voice was deeper than Jun's own, crisp and clipped. A proper voice offering no greeting, no introduction. Jun could only nod his assent. How much did this person know about him? At the very least he knew that Jun had obeyed, that Jun was willing to submit.
He tried to keep breathing, hearing the other man rustle around in the Lawson bag, heard the unzipping and shuffling sound of clothes that indicated his partner was taking off his jacket, settling it on the floor somewhere near Jun's discarded one.
When the man approached again, softer on his feet this time, Jun couldn't help himself. Exhaling a breath, he uncrossed his arms and squeezed his knees for courage. "This is my first time here. I...I just needed you to know that."
He heard the man shuffle from foot to foot. There was no anger or disappointment when he next spoke, making the hairs on Jun's arms rise. His voice was like warm honey when he said "I knew that. You're exactly what I wanted."
Such praise from a complete stranger, a stranger he couldn't see, made him tear up the slightest bit and he was almost grateful for the mask's placement now. Keep it together, he told himself. You're sitting here in the dark and you don't know what he's going to do to you yet.
But you're exactly what he's looking for.
The footsteps returned and this time the stranger circled him more closely. Now that Jun was listening carefully, he imagined that the man was close to him in age. He wasn't younger and he certainly didn't sound old.
"Put your hands on the arms of the chair," he was ordered and dutifully obeyed. "That's good. You're very good."
He bit his lip, feeling warm fingers brush against his arm, tracing slowly only for them to be withdrawn soon after. He couldn't get a sense of this guy, not really. He only had the voice that was driving him mad and the feather-light touches of his fingers. Soon they were on his other arm, turning it so those fingers could tickle along the inside of his elbow, could tease at his biceps.
He was already growing uncomfortable in his jeans, his erection making itself known. He'd been hard from the second the stranger had first spoken. There was something familiar about the man's voice, something almost comforting, but Jun couldn't place him. Couldn't remember him. He was probably just imagining things, getting lost in the sound of it as he continued to circle. But he already knew that he'd gotten his money's worth signing up for the Face Down Club.
Soon he took up residence behind Jun, standing behind the chair. Jun allowed the other man to trace the line of his jaw, to brush his thumb across his lips. The man's fingers buried themselves in his hair, giving a slight tug to pull Jun back, making him lean and tilt his head up, exposing his throat. The mask kept the stranger hidden, and Jun kept the mystery certain by shutting his eyes tight.
He couldn't keep in his moan of satisfaction when those fingers stroked along his neck, worshipped his skin, slid along the v-neck's collar and underneath to stroke at his collarbone. Whatever he'd been expecting in the Face Down Club hadn't been this. He'd anticipated the guy taking a shower and either settling for a blowjob or a quick fuck. He hadn't expected to be teased and tortured so wonderfully.
He wanted to bite down on the stranger's fingers, wanted to take them in his mouth and suck. But somehow he was compelled to obey. He found it all too easy, all too satisfying to relinquish the control he usually craved. All for someone he could only hear, could only smell, could only feel.
The voice materialized even closer, and he groaned at the sound of it right beside his ear. "Unzip your jeans. I'll be right back."
Jun soon found himself alone again, heard the sound of the sink running briefly in the tiny bathroom. He unzipped as ordered, almost relieved to do so. Then his partner was back, skimming his fingers back along his jaw. "Are you hard because this is your first time or are you hard because of me?"
He didn't know the right answer, moaning again when he felt the warmth of the man's mouth for the first time, felt the firm press of lips against the shell of his ear, another kiss lost in his hair. "I don't...I..."
The man's chuckle wasn't mean-spirited. "I'm just fucking with you." He received another kiss, this time to his temple. "Now you're going to jack off and I'm going to watch you."
The change in tone was remarkable, from teasing to ordering in a split second. He bit his lip, worrying that he was going to graze the head of his cock with his thumb and come in seconds, ruining the moment. But the stranger's orders were orders and despite the foreign nature of the request (Jun had never masturbated in front of anyone before) he was willing to comply.
He pulled himself from his trousers, stroking himself fully hard. He heard murmured sounds of approval from behind him; the stranger was still standing there, looking down on him from behind. A constant presence, a shadow, wanting to see Jun touch himself.
"Come on," the man said. "Don't be shy. No need to be shy with me."
Jun paused with his hand wrapped around his cock, hoping there were no hidden cameras in here documenting this. "I've never...I don't even know your..."
"Sssh, maybe some other time. Tonight I want to see what you look and sound like when you come, that's all." The man's fingers clenched in his hair - not to be cruel but to make his orders clear. "Now get yourself off."
He wondered if he'd ever been this turned on in his life, if he'd ever allowed himself to be. He'd spent most of his adult life in drunken fumbles, sloppy handjobs. This person knew exactly what he wanted from Jun, and he'd already implied that things weren't ending tonight. That there was the possibility of another encounter. It was this knowledge, the possibility of hearing the man's rough, encouraging voice another time, that got him going, hand working his cock as though he was in the comfort of his own home with some awful porn on mute.
It helped all the more as he heard the stranger unzip his own slacks, heard the mirrored, slick sound of another masturbating hand behind him. The man jerked himself with his right hand and the fingers of his left dug painfully into Jun's shoulder, gripping tight. The guy was getting off to Jun getting off. It only urged him on, hearing the control in the other man's voice lessen, heard his little exhaled gasps of pleasure as they mingled with Jun's own.
It wouldn't be long, and he bit back a groan, losing himself in everything that had happened since he'd set foot in room 605. He didn't know this man's face, didn't know his name, and he'd never wanted someone so much. The guy could be ugly as sin and Jun didn't care in the least, knowing only the man's voice, only the man's exacting touch and demands.
"I want to watch you come," the guy was panting now. "Do you like that I'm watching?"
Jun nodded, gasping, arching up a bit off the cushion. It would be seconds, mere seconds.
"Go on then."
He gave no thought to still being in his clothes, no thought to being in the red room in the worn leather chair, no thought to what he looked like. It was like nothing he'd ever felt, letting go of his pride and finding that perfect release, feeling come hit his t-shirt, hand trembling as his body shook with the force of his orgasm. Hearing the murmured approvals, the gentle moans of the stranger behind him.
He could only sit there, clothes and fingers sticky with his release, as the man stroked himself behind him. "Perfect, you're perfect," Jun heard, riding a blissful wave, knowing that he'd succeeded. He'd pleased this stranger. He'd passed every test the Face Down Club had set. The stranger's breath caught in his throat, and Jun could only listen to the sound of the other man as he came, the deep, satisfied moaning. He had no idea if the man had come on himself, onto the chair, or maybe on a towel from the bathroom. All he could do was sit and wait for what was to come.
Jun felt a sudden absence of warmth, then heard the sink again. It jarred him out of the moment a bit. When the man next spoke he was already grabbing his jacket, zipping it back up. Jun was still sitting there covered in his own come. An abrupt ending.
"Can I see you again?"
Jun couldn't help but blurt out "that's it?"
He was rewarded with a soft chuckle, a pat on the shoulder. "I'm really sorry to cut this short. Truly." Jun was surprised when the man kissed him on the cheek, a rather awkward little peck that seemed nothing like the personality of the stranger who'd just watched him touch himself. Like a switch had been thrown. "I'll set something up again soon. I just...I have to get home. Did you, uh..." For the first time Jun heard hesitation. "...that is, if you'd like to meet up again..."
Jun was surprised at his own calm, at his ability to keep the mask on, not wrench it off to confront the guy who was already leaving. "Yes, I'd like to, but are you even going to tell me a thing about yourself? Is this how everything works here?"
"No," the man admitted. "No, this wasn't typical. And I'm sorry. I swear I'll make it up to you."
"Will you even let me see you?"
The man was quiet again, absent-mindedly stroking his fingers through Jun's hair with none of the confidence he'd had earlier. Almost as though all of the energy and control that had started their encounter had vanished. His voice wasn't as steady or certain, as though he was as full of complexes as Jun himself was. He'd been so convincing...
"I'll set up another session. Does this time work?"
Jun cocked his head to the side, wanting to clean himself up but forcing himself to still submit to the stranger's wishes. "This time works better if you stay a little longer. But yeah."
"I really did enjoy this," the man admitted, stepping back. "I honestly did, and I haven't before. Not here at Face Down."
That made Jun feel the slightest bit better. He decided to be a bit more forgiving. Maybe it was easy to give in to the physical here, but once you had, what was there to say? He held his head high. "My name is Jun," he offered. "And I'll see you next time."
The man didn't reciprocate, only clearing his throat. "It was good to meet you, Jun."
He heard the door open and close, and he pulled the mask off in frustration. He flung it across the room, hearing it thunk against the door. Everything he'd wanted had been in his grasp. The man had wanted him, had gotten him, but where did that leave him now? It only left him thirsty for more.
In irritation he cleaned himself up, giving up on his t-shirt entirely and shoving it into the Lawson bag. He decided that the already paid for condoms and lube would be his parting gift for the night. He zipped up his jacket and checked the room for any sign of the man who'd been there just minutes earlier. All he could find was one of the hand towels from the bathroom tossed on the damp floor of the shower, probably stiff with dried come. The only evidence that there'd been another person here.
He sighed, making sure he left no trace of himself behind. The bald man was sitting at the desk on the fourth floor reading a book when Jun returned, setting down the key card. "Have a pleasant evening," the man said, turning a page as Jun exited.
part two
Rating: NC-17
Characters/Pairings: Matsumoto Jun/Sakurai Sho
Summary: Where he expected the standard hotel-type set-up, Jun discovered that wasn't necessarily what the Face Down Club meant to provide. Instead of a bed he found only a dark hardwood floor. The walls were red and there was only a chair in the center of the room.
Notes/Warnings: For the fic exchange at sakumoto. An AU based on a world setting/feel inside one of Arashi's PVs. Inspired by Face Down.
His mistake had been telling Nino.
They'd gotten through the doors at The Hydra an hour before closing, already drunk off their asses from the other two clubs they'd been to that night. Of course Jun only realized later that he was the drunker of the two. But amidst the tacky fog machine and throbbing bass, Nino had watched how Jun's eyes moved, who caught his glance on the dance floor.
"So you're gay then," Nino said simply when they emerged from the club at closing time, huddling together in the chilly alley behind The Hydra with their cigarettes and the leftover body heat from close quarters inside.
Jun had sputtered out something lame, a slurred denial that wouldn't have fooled anyone. Especially not a co-worker who'd been trying to set him up on dates for the last year, all to no avail.
Nino had only smiled, dropped his cigarette to mash at it clumsily with his sneaker. "Now I see why you weren't biting." Now I see why you turned up your nose at all those girls...
"...I'm just busy," Jun had tried again, but Nino wasn't having it. They worked the same hours, after all.
Nino, in fact, was delighted at the new challenge Jun's sexuality presented. They worked long hours at the restaurant, slaving away in hot kitchens while the head chef soaked up all the praise. It gave the womanizing sous chef great pleasure to goad at his patissier companion, to try and find him someone to occupy his hours away from the oven and the kitchen torch. Nino never got to meddle with the menu so he settled for meddling in personal lives.
"I get to see how the other half lives," Nino mused, already plotting. "Leave it to me, Jun-kun."
--
Jun had scowled, mostly embarrassed that his secret was out. But over the next few days, he lost himself so thoroughly in perfecting the fall dessert rotation (pumpkin roll cakes, apple cinnamon mousse, sweet potato everything...) that he almost forgot that Nino knew his preference now.
So when he was cleaning up his station that night and Nino slipped a small card into the jacket pocket of his uniform, he thought nothing of it. Nino used that little trick to sneak Jun phone numbers and email addresses all the time. Natsuki the cabaret girl. Aiko, the single mother who still had a great figure. The women Nino had hand-picked for him with care.
He was in the locker room, changing to head home, when he finally took the card out to toss it in the trash. But it wasn't a slip of notebook paper, a name hastily scribbled on one of the head chef's business cards from the hostess station. This was thick card stock in cherry red, a heavy black font etched in the center.
The Face Down Club, Shibuya. Thursday 10:30 AM.
He turned the card over. Nothing. No Nino commentary. No "I think you'll like her." Not even the actual address of this club. A club he'd never even heard of, which struck him as odd. Before he'd gotten the job at the restaurant and put his harder partying days behind him he'd been inside every Tokyo club. Gay, straight, he'd surely patrolled them all once or twice, never showing his face enough for anyone to place him again and fuck over his career.
He'd never heard of The Face Down Club. Then again, he thought bitterly, imagining Nino's self-satisfied face, he'd never been to any hardcore fetish clubs before. If that was what his co-worker assumed about him...
His angry thoughts were interrupted as Nino approached, snatching the card from his fingertips. "I worked my ass off to get you in. Used every trick in my arsenal, every name in my little black book," Nino said, brown eyes sparkling with triumph. "You better fucking go."
Jun sat down on the changing room bench, lacing up his sneakers. "What kind of club opens at 10:30 in the morning? You're full of shit."
Nino smiled, wiggling the bright red card. "It's your interview. This place is elite. They vet everyone thoroughly, match you up. No playing the floor, hedging your bets and ending up with a bad lay. Hell, it's too bad I play for the other team...it'd save me a lot of time."
Jun flushed, grateful for the emptiness of the changing room. "So it's not even a club, it's a matchmaking service?"
"Specializing in people like you." Jun looked up just in time for Nino to hold up his hand in apology. "People of your persuasion who also like to keep it quiet. I'm not stupid, Jun, I wasn't running around blabbing your name to the first okama I saw."
Jun yanked the card back, shoving it into the back pocket of his jeans. "Why do you care so much about who I date?"
Nino's face finally turned serious. "Because you've got a stick up your ass, and you're scaring the hell out of your crew."
Jun scoffed. "What are you even talking about?"
"When poor Aiba-chan couldn't give you a status update on the pumpkin cupcakes tonight you threw a whisk at his head."
Jun opened his mouth only to close it soon after. Okay, so maybe he was a bit of a micro-manager when it came to the desserts crew, but he was in charge of it after all. Why shouldn't he expect his team to be on the same page as him?
Before he could explain himself, Nino shook his head. "This is my kitchen, and you're all my responsibility," Nino explained. "No more whisk throwing. Not everyone's as psychotic as you are. We don't even have a Michelin star, so take it down a notch, alright?"
Shame bubbled up in his stomach. Nino rarely played the "boss" card. He was serious. But work was everything to Jun. He'd spent so much time ignoring his own needs, shoving Nino's suggestions away, that he had no personal life to speak of. Nobody to share his thoughts or feelings with. Nobody who understood him. All his energy went into the cake pans, into his piping bag.
He stared at his boss, his only true friend in the kitchen. "I'll go on your stupid interview, but so help me if this is all a joke..."
Nino's seriousness washed away, replaced with the easygoing smile Jun was used to. Even when barking out orders to the line cooks and getting plates ready for the dining room Nino never lost his cheerful demeanor. "It's not a joke. The person I spoke to said they specialize in, and I quote, 'matching the unmatchable.'"
"Provided I pass the interview?" Jun asked, rolling his eyes.
"Provided you pass the interview," Nino repeated with a wink. "You got through culinary school. This'll be a breeze."
--
The next morning, Thursday, found Jun navigating the streets west of Shibuya Station. Upon arriving home the previous night, he'd scoured the Internet for the address of the Face Down Club. All he found was a basic website that required him to enter his name and date of birth along with the answer to a security question ("What is your mother's maiden name?"). He didn't want to know how Nino had known the answer, but as soon as Jun entered his info, the website spat back simplistic directions. No pictures of the place, no contact number, no further information.
His appointment was at 10:30 so he found himself wandering behind gaping tourists and hungover salarymen hurrying to the office for a late arrival. The directions carried him through Dogenzaka, the love hotels empty and the lights of other clubs in the neighborhood turned off, their doors shuttered until the promise of night returned. He went off the main drag, and the other pedestrians vanished. He slipped past closed izakayas and came upon a humble-looking dark brick building.
The sign out front announced a gastropub on the first floor, a hair salon on the second, and a pornographic bookstore on the third. But as Jun looked up, the building continued for another three stories. The windows were sparser on the upper floors, containing tinted glass blocks rather than usual window glass. This had to be it. He looked left and looked right before slipping through the doorway.
The stairs were narrow but well-kept, not a squeak to be heard as he climbed up to the fourth floor. Though there'd been no mail slot or sign in the downstairs hall, the thick wooden door on the fourth floor landing had a nameplate and buzzer beside it. The Face Down Club.
He pressed the buzzer, glancing up and catching a small video camera in the corner that he wouldn't have noticed if he hadn't thought to look. Well, they'd seen him now. The door opened, revealing a woman his age, maybe a little younger dressed neatly in a plain blouse and floral skirt. It was definitely not what he'd been expecting.
"You must be Matsumoto-san," she said quietly, inclining her head and holding the door open for him. "Won't you please come in?"
He was greeted with the sight of plain beige walls and hardwood floors, a generic looking office if Jun had ever seen one. This room contained only a desk, a printer, a few plants, and some hard-backed chairs. Another camera took in the sights from the corner near the glass block window. A water cooler bubbled and hummed in the corner near another door that probably led to the other rooms of the "club."
The woman gestured for him to have a seat. "My name is Inoue," she said by way of introduction. Her dark hair was pulled back into a neat ponytail, and she was probably quite cute if she smiled. But she was right to business in an instant.
She sat at the desk, popping up the lid on a laptop and typing at a furious pace. "You're here on a personal recommendation," Inoue said, nodding as her eyes darted back and forth across the screen. "Matsumoto Jun-san, age thirty. Single. Working in the foodservice industry, works evenings until late."
He swallowed, crossing one leg over another. This was starting off more like a job interview. He looked down at his jeans, noticing a hole just beside his knee. Was there already a strike against him? "Yes, a friend made the uh, appointment for me."
At that, Inoue-san did finally smile. "Please don't be nervous. We're all about ensuring your happiness here, Matsumoto-san. We understand that it's difficult to be open and honest about your true wishes and desires." She clicked her mouse, setting off the printer. "Before we move forward, I'll need you to fill out and sign these for me."
She got up, bringing the sheets over to set down in front of him. She slid a pen over, marking little x's where he was to sign. He blinked at the mass of paper before him. A ten-page non-disclosure agreement, stating that he would face a stiff financial penalty if he told anyone what went on at the Face Down Club or if he revealed details about his partner or anyone else he met on premises. A detailed list of charges for the club's services and facilities. A little more expensive than he'd anticipated, but within his budget. Three separate health forms. And the most alarming, a double-sided mostly blank sheet asking him to describe his ideal sexual partner and his likes and dislikes in sexual situations.
He watched Inoue-san's face remain perfectly passive as she marked a big black x at the bottom of the "kink" sheet. "Nothing is too outlandish, Matsumoto-san," she explained. "But do be completely forthcoming with your dislikes. Out of respect for both yourself and for any potential partners we match you with."
She handed him the pen and he took it with shaking fingers. His whole dating life had consisted of hookups at bars, the occasional date with someone from online. It had all come down to the physical, fulfilling a need. Sex with strangers. So what did he really want in a person anyway? He'd never really dated long-term - work and his own paranoia about his preferences always got in the way of that.
Inoue-san moved to the door, stepping into the next room to give him privacy to fill out the sheets. He wrote as neatly as he could, nervousness seeping through to the bone. All of this to find him a date. This was more than most marriage interviews entailed. He got through the health sheets quickly, noticing that by signing it he was required to get a complete physical along with thorough STD testing. That made him feel a little better. The Face Down Club was just as safety-conscious as it was secretive. Knowing that anyone else visiting the place had to go through this too was reassuring. He wondered just what kind of people came through the door around here. Celebrities? Politicians? How had Nino even gotten him in here? And who would they match him with?
So what did he want? Who did he want? Jun was exacting in almost everything. He liked control. He liked going from raw ingredients to finished product, controlling everything along the way from doling out flour to slicing into a just-cooled pie with precision. That eye for detail carried into every aspect of his life as a patissier, and he had exacting standards for the cleanliness of his work station and the behaviors of the dessert staff under him.
So when Inoue-san returned, Jun was just finishing up his list of requirements and preferences. He was exacting in every way professionally, and because of it, nobody really knew how much he craved for that control to be stolen away behind closed doors. He finished the list with a decisive slash of ink on the paper and his signature.
I'd like for someone else to take charge.
He slid the papers across to Inoue-san, who only glanced over them to ensure he'd completed everything. No blushing, no eyebrow raising. She opened the desk drawer and pulled out another card on that thick, red card stock. It only had an address. "We have a standing appointment schedule with the East Bunkyo Clinic. They are extremely discreet. Please visit them in the next week, and your results will be forwarded to us. Once we have confirmation of your health and disease-free status, we will be in touch for your first arrangement." She smiled warmly. "Do you prefer email, telephone, or direct mail? Any messages will come from the name 'Rainbow Dry Cleaners' directing you to pick up your suit at a certain time so as to conceal the true nature of the message. Is that agreeable?"
"It is completely agreeable," Jun replied, exhaling in relief. "Phone will be fine. Voicemail if I'm working."
Inoue-san rose and he joined her. She held out her hand, offering a rather firm shake for a woman. As if she knew him better than he knew himself already. Perhaps someone in her line of work usually did. "Billing statements will also come from Rainbow Dry Cleaners in installments so no charges look out of line. With the mobile banking arrangement, I'm certain that we will meet your needs for privacy. I just know we'll find someone perfect for you, Matsumoto-san."
And if not you just signed your life away and we have it on camera, he thought cynically, praying this whole thing wasn't a scam. He'd kill Nino if that was the case.
She escorted him out, leaving him back in Shibuya with a bit of a spring in his step. He thought back on everything he'd written, everything he craved in another person. Things he'd always assumed he'd never have, things he'd never experience because he wasn't like other men. Love with feelings behind it. Love and his work in total balance. Did he even dare to hope?
--
The East Bunkyo Clinic looked no different from any other with a healthy mix of mothers scolding their frightened children, a young couple, and an elderly man sitting in the waiting room upon his arrival. Eventually a male nurse opened the door and called his name with little enthusiasm, and Jun followed him.
But that was when he realized things were a little different. He followed the nurse past several waiting rooms to a staircase and was brought to a private room one floor above. Unlike the standard exam rooms Jun had been in before (exam table, squeaky chair on wheels, jars full of tongue depressors), this one had its own en-suite bathroom and a computer set up.
The nurse shut the door, looking rather bored with his life. He had rather messy hair and the shirt of his scrubs was half tucked in, half out of his slacks. He sniffed a little noisily as he booted up the computer, cracking his neck as he stretched a bit. "I'm Ohno, I'll be taking care of your exams today."
Jun nodded, trying not to look overly curious as the guy got set up for the exam. How this person had gotten through nursing school he'd never know, but perhaps his laid-back demeanor was a smokescreen to hide the clinic's arrangement with the Face Down Club. The physical exam was as typical as any other - the nurse listened to his heartbeat, checked his blood pressure, weighed him, jotting everything down in what seemed like the worst handwriting he'd ever seen before typing it up again into the computer.
He was a quiet guy too, only speaking in short, clipped sentences. "Turn right, please." "Breathe in and then out, please." With the usual exam out of the way, Nurse Ohno finally met his eyes. "Alright, Matsumoto-san, now for the fun part."
The guy grabbed a plastic-wrapped specimen cup from the counter beside the exam table. "Urine sample, please, if you're ready. Unless you want your blood draw first."
He opted for the blood draw, looking away as Ohno jabbed at him, finding a vein on his first try. Well, he was much better at his job than he looked. Afterward he took his time in the bathroom, returning to find Ohno waiting for him with his eyes closed. He had to give the man a shake to continue the exam.
He'd had STD tests before, but never with another man doing the exam, and never someone with the personality of a robot. He shifted a bit uncomfortably as Ohno moved over to the computer, leaning with his elbow on the desktop as he meandered his way through Jun's rather dull sexual history, clicking and typing away as he filled out whatever form the Face Down Club seemingly required.
In the same monotone he'd used all along and without so much as a blink, he read off the computer screen and asked Jun about every conceivable sexual practice, asked him about sexual positions, condom use, and even how often he masturbated. "Have you masturbated today?" Type type type. "Have you masturbated in the past week?" Type type type. "When engaging in anal intercourse, how often are you the penetrating partner? The receiving partner?" Type type type.
By the end of it Jun was mentally exhausted, wondering if his answers today were also going to factor in to the Face Down Club's matchmaking. He also couldn't help wondering what this Ohno thought of him. Was this how he spent his life, giving secret STD tests to closeted gay men? If only Nino could see this. He'd be over the moon, laughing at Jun's discomfort. He'd probably find Nurse Ohno's existence fascinating too.
Finally the exam was over and he bid Ohno and the East Bunkyo Clinic farewell. He spent the next few days hearing the guy's voice in his head, the almost bored way he asked about the most minute of sexual topics without batting an eye. He hoped that all this would be worth it. The red card had given the promise of something secret, something exciting. And so far it had been nothing but paperwork and pissing in a cup.
But three days later his phone rang and it was Inoue-san, though she introduced herself as Rainbow Dry Cleaners. The weirdness of the past few days vanished and his heart set to racing. She only had one message for him. "Matsumoto-san, thank you for choosing Rainbow Dry Cleaners. We are calling to confirm receipt of your suit. Everything looks manageable, and you should hear from us again soon."
When he opened his mouth to ask how long 'soon' might be, Inoue-san had already hung up.
--
Nino had been on him since the day of the interview at the club, begging for details. Jun had only implied that the interview had gone well and he was waiting for a match. And wait he unfortunately did. Unlike the instant gratification of a night out at a bar or a club, where he needed only a few drinks in his system to settle on a match for the night, the Face Down Club kept him waiting. But instant gratification always brought that emptiness, that shallowness when it was over. A stranger in the bed inclining his head, not making eye contact, slipping from Jun's apartment just after sunrise with the smell of cheap vodka and cigarette smoke still clinging to his clothes.
The Face Down Club promised more than that at least.
As the days passed, however, Nino seemed to sense Jun's impatience, giving him space in the hot, crowded restaurant kitchen. He'd probably even spoken to Jun's crew because Aiba-kun and Nana-chan were at peak performance, not one slip-up to give Jun cause to scream at them. Jun was fairly certain that he was making some of the best cakes of his life while he waited, all his nervous energy expelling itself out of the oven. Even the head chef pulled his head out of his ass and asked Nino to relay a compliment from a table of visiting American businessmen one evening.
He was home sleeping off one of those marathon cake performances when his phone vibrated with a voicemail in the middle of the night, jolting him from sleep. Let it go, his body told him. Listen in the morning. His clock read 4:13 AM when he scrambled for the bedside table anyway, flipping open his phone in seconds.
He'd taken out his contacts, squinting in the darkness as he keyed in his password. Finally, the comforting tones of Inoue-san's voice returned. She sounded as calm and collected at 4:00 in the morning as she did at any other time. It was a pre-recorded message. She gave him a date and time to pick up his suit: the following Tuesday at noon. Which based on the papers he'd signed actually meant midnight. He'd have to rush to get over to Shibuya after closing, but that would just add to the excitement.
He hung up. No name. No details. Just the date and time. He told Nino as much the following evening, lost in that strange place between anxiousness about the partner the club had found for him and relief that they'd found someone for him at all. Nino even sent Jun home early on a few evenings, shutting the entire kitchen down on time for once to reward everyone's hard work and give them a well-earned break.
But those extra hours only left Jun focusing on himself. Without work, he was left to his own devices. Left to ponder his failings, his insecurities. He'd never been on a blind date, never anything like this. Just what awaited him at the Face Down Club in a matter of days? And who? What should he wear? What should he say? Would the person even want to know his name? Would Jun like him? Would he like Jun?
Tuesday arrived and with it every ounce of self-loathing Jun thought he'd stamped out of himself years earlier when he'd come to terms with who he was. He worried about his face, if his rather large features were a turn-off. He worried about his stomach, if he should have worked out more or less. He worried about his body, if he was too hairy, too tall, too short, too skinny. He was vain, picking at his teeth, fussing with his eyebrows, even asking with a straight face for Nino to smell him. "You smell like a fucking Mont Blanc, so just tell this guy to gobble you up," was his friend's unhelpful response.
On the ride across town from the restaurant in Sumida to the back alleys of Shibuya, he nearly got off the train to vomit up the nothing he'd had for dinner. What if he was a disappointment? What if it was a bad match? What if the Face Down Club never called him for a meet-up again? Was he doomed to a life of celibacy and cake?
The streets were livelier now, nobody paying Jun a bit of attention as he navigated his way around this time, seeing drunken groups of friends, couples holding hands. And somewhere in this crowd was his partner for the evening unless he was already there, waiting. Was he a regular? A first timer? Handsome? Ugly? If anything they already had a strong need for privacy in common, so he at least didn't have to worry about this guy shouting complaints from the rooftops.
There were still diners at the pub when he made it to the building but nobody in the stairwell as he made his way to the fourth floor. A different person than Inoue-san opened the door when he pushed the buzzer, this time a middle-aged bald man in a business suit. He offered no greetings, only asking Jun for his name. The man then opened a drawer, handing Jun a red envelope.
It bore a number, 605, and inside was only a key card.
"Please proceed to this room on the sixth floor. If you remain on premises, we ask that you vacate by 8:00 AM. If you choose to leave before that, please return your keycards to this desk." The man moved to the other door of the office that Inoue-san had passed through during his interview.
Jun clutched the envelope in hand, seeing no judgment from the man. He merely held the door for Jun, shutting it behind him. He was now in a hallway full of numbered doors - 402 through 405. He imagined the set-up was the same on those above. At the end of the hall was another stairwell. He heard a door open when he climbed up past the fifth floor, finding himself hurrying a bit so that he wasn't seen by anyone else. Not that it really mattered.
The sixth floor hall was empty. The lighting was low, only a few pale sconces bolted against the dark walls. Each door had a slot for the key card over the handle, little red lights glowing. 605 was at the very end, and his heart pounded as he approached, clutching the plastic card in his sweaty fingers. Was his partner already inside?
He found himself knocking out of habit. He waited a good thirty seconds before slipping the keycard into the reader, hearing a soft beep and seeing the red light turn green as the lock disengaged. It opened inward, and he pushed inside, finding himself alone.
Where he expected the standard hotel-type set-up, Jun discovered that wasn't necessarily what the Face Down Club meant to provide. Instead of a bed he found only a dark hardwood floor, so dark it was nearly black in the room's low light. And the walls, he noticed, the walls were as red as those Face Down Club business cards. There was barely anything else there - only a white plastic Lawson bag in the corner that looked disturbingly out of place and a chair in the center of the room, some track lighting keeping it under a spotlight.
It was a lived-in chair, a piece of furniture with a history. It was a dark brown leather with overstuffed sturdy arms and a rather lush looking cushion. A door at the back led to a shower, toilet, and sink in a small bathroom. He found that the Lawson bag contained a packet of condoms, a small bottle of lube, a receipt noting the purchase of the items that very afternoon paid in cash, and a soft black sleeping mask presumably to serve as a blindfold.
He set the bag down, swallowing another lump of nervousness. Another red envelope was placed on the chair, bearing the name "Matsumoto-sama."
Inside, a typed note: "Your partner will arrive at 12:30. Please silence your cell phone, shower, and put on the blindfold. Sit in the chair and wait for his arrival. Thank you."
And like that Jun's first session at the Face Down Club began.
--
He'd done as the note directed, turning his phone completely off and hitting the shower. Unsure if his partner preferred him dressed or undressed, he chose dressed, tugging his boxers, jeans, and v-neck tee back on, leaving his socks and sneakers in the corner of the room with his jacket on top. He nervously dug the sleep mask out of the Lawson bag, shoving the plastic wrapper inside once he'd pried the package open.
He settled himself in the chair, running his fingers through his damp hair. He only wished he'd had another shirt to change into, his clean body now housed inside the shirt he'd nearly sweated through on the subway. The cushion was comfortable and he sat with his back solidly against it, opting for good posture. He'd specified on his form that he wanted to relinquish control to another - he had to follow those directions as the card ordered.
The red walls and dark floor vanished as he slipped the mask on, turning his world black. This part of the floor was away from the street. He couldn't hear any outside noise. Perhaps they'd soundproofed the building. He only heard the sound of his own breathing, the spare drips coming from the shower head in the bathroom. There'd been two towels, and he'd used one, folding it over the rack.
What time was it? Was it almost time?
He had no sense of it. He could have been in the chair, blind and vulnerable, for seconds or hours, but finally there was a soft tap of knuckles against the door followed by the beeping noise of a swiped keycard. Jun held his breath, his arms crossed over his chest, as the door pushed open and he heard footsteps. Did he say hello? Did he say nothing?
He opted for nothing, his senses amplified to an almost painful degree as the person closed the door and bolted it. The footsteps drew nearer, the sound going from his right to his left and around again. The person was circling him, but at a distance. Jun thought he could vaguely smell smoke, maybe a beer or two coming from the stranger's clothes. He had absolutely no way of knowing who was standing in front of him unless he broke the rules, and he'd worked so diligently to get to this moment that he didn't dare remove the mask from his face.
Finally the footsteps stopped. He could hear the other man breathing, definitely a man. He could just sense it was a man from the shoes and his scent. "Keep the mask on, please, and do as I say."
His voice was deeper than Jun's own, crisp and clipped. A proper voice offering no greeting, no introduction. Jun could only nod his assent. How much did this person know about him? At the very least he knew that Jun had obeyed, that Jun was willing to submit.
He tried to keep breathing, hearing the other man rustle around in the Lawson bag, heard the unzipping and shuffling sound of clothes that indicated his partner was taking off his jacket, settling it on the floor somewhere near Jun's discarded one.
When the man approached again, softer on his feet this time, Jun couldn't help himself. Exhaling a breath, he uncrossed his arms and squeezed his knees for courage. "This is my first time here. I...I just needed you to know that."
He heard the man shuffle from foot to foot. There was no anger or disappointment when he next spoke, making the hairs on Jun's arms rise. His voice was like warm honey when he said "I knew that. You're exactly what I wanted."
Such praise from a complete stranger, a stranger he couldn't see, made him tear up the slightest bit and he was almost grateful for the mask's placement now. Keep it together, he told himself. You're sitting here in the dark and you don't know what he's going to do to you yet.
But you're exactly what he's looking for.
The footsteps returned and this time the stranger circled him more closely. Now that Jun was listening carefully, he imagined that the man was close to him in age. He wasn't younger and he certainly didn't sound old.
"Put your hands on the arms of the chair," he was ordered and dutifully obeyed. "That's good. You're very good."
He bit his lip, feeling warm fingers brush against his arm, tracing slowly only for them to be withdrawn soon after. He couldn't get a sense of this guy, not really. He only had the voice that was driving him mad and the feather-light touches of his fingers. Soon they were on his other arm, turning it so those fingers could tickle along the inside of his elbow, could tease at his biceps.
He was already growing uncomfortable in his jeans, his erection making itself known. He'd been hard from the second the stranger had first spoken. There was something familiar about the man's voice, something almost comforting, but Jun couldn't place him. Couldn't remember him. He was probably just imagining things, getting lost in the sound of it as he continued to circle. But he already knew that he'd gotten his money's worth signing up for the Face Down Club.
Soon he took up residence behind Jun, standing behind the chair. Jun allowed the other man to trace the line of his jaw, to brush his thumb across his lips. The man's fingers buried themselves in his hair, giving a slight tug to pull Jun back, making him lean and tilt his head up, exposing his throat. The mask kept the stranger hidden, and Jun kept the mystery certain by shutting his eyes tight.
He couldn't keep in his moan of satisfaction when those fingers stroked along his neck, worshipped his skin, slid along the v-neck's collar and underneath to stroke at his collarbone. Whatever he'd been expecting in the Face Down Club hadn't been this. He'd anticipated the guy taking a shower and either settling for a blowjob or a quick fuck. He hadn't expected to be teased and tortured so wonderfully.
He wanted to bite down on the stranger's fingers, wanted to take them in his mouth and suck. But somehow he was compelled to obey. He found it all too easy, all too satisfying to relinquish the control he usually craved. All for someone he could only hear, could only smell, could only feel.
The voice materialized even closer, and he groaned at the sound of it right beside his ear. "Unzip your jeans. I'll be right back."
Jun soon found himself alone again, heard the sound of the sink running briefly in the tiny bathroom. He unzipped as ordered, almost relieved to do so. Then his partner was back, skimming his fingers back along his jaw. "Are you hard because this is your first time or are you hard because of me?"
He didn't know the right answer, moaning again when he felt the warmth of the man's mouth for the first time, felt the firm press of lips against the shell of his ear, another kiss lost in his hair. "I don't...I..."
The man's chuckle wasn't mean-spirited. "I'm just fucking with you." He received another kiss, this time to his temple. "Now you're going to jack off and I'm going to watch you."
The change in tone was remarkable, from teasing to ordering in a split second. He bit his lip, worrying that he was going to graze the head of his cock with his thumb and come in seconds, ruining the moment. But the stranger's orders were orders and despite the foreign nature of the request (Jun had never masturbated in front of anyone before) he was willing to comply.
He pulled himself from his trousers, stroking himself fully hard. He heard murmured sounds of approval from behind him; the stranger was still standing there, looking down on him from behind. A constant presence, a shadow, wanting to see Jun touch himself.
"Come on," the man said. "Don't be shy. No need to be shy with me."
Jun paused with his hand wrapped around his cock, hoping there were no hidden cameras in here documenting this. "I've never...I don't even know your..."
"Sssh, maybe some other time. Tonight I want to see what you look and sound like when you come, that's all." The man's fingers clenched in his hair - not to be cruel but to make his orders clear. "Now get yourself off."
He wondered if he'd ever been this turned on in his life, if he'd ever allowed himself to be. He'd spent most of his adult life in drunken fumbles, sloppy handjobs. This person knew exactly what he wanted from Jun, and he'd already implied that things weren't ending tonight. That there was the possibility of another encounter. It was this knowledge, the possibility of hearing the man's rough, encouraging voice another time, that got him going, hand working his cock as though he was in the comfort of his own home with some awful porn on mute.
It helped all the more as he heard the stranger unzip his own slacks, heard the mirrored, slick sound of another masturbating hand behind him. The man jerked himself with his right hand and the fingers of his left dug painfully into Jun's shoulder, gripping tight. The guy was getting off to Jun getting off. It only urged him on, hearing the control in the other man's voice lessen, heard his little exhaled gasps of pleasure as they mingled with Jun's own.
It wouldn't be long, and he bit back a groan, losing himself in everything that had happened since he'd set foot in room 605. He didn't know this man's face, didn't know his name, and he'd never wanted someone so much. The guy could be ugly as sin and Jun didn't care in the least, knowing only the man's voice, only the man's exacting touch and demands.
"I want to watch you come," the guy was panting now. "Do you like that I'm watching?"
Jun nodded, gasping, arching up a bit off the cushion. It would be seconds, mere seconds.
"Go on then."
He gave no thought to still being in his clothes, no thought to being in the red room in the worn leather chair, no thought to what he looked like. It was like nothing he'd ever felt, letting go of his pride and finding that perfect release, feeling come hit his t-shirt, hand trembling as his body shook with the force of his orgasm. Hearing the murmured approvals, the gentle moans of the stranger behind him.
He could only sit there, clothes and fingers sticky with his release, as the man stroked himself behind him. "Perfect, you're perfect," Jun heard, riding a blissful wave, knowing that he'd succeeded. He'd pleased this stranger. He'd passed every test the Face Down Club had set. The stranger's breath caught in his throat, and Jun could only listen to the sound of the other man as he came, the deep, satisfied moaning. He had no idea if the man had come on himself, onto the chair, or maybe on a towel from the bathroom. All he could do was sit and wait for what was to come.
Jun felt a sudden absence of warmth, then heard the sink again. It jarred him out of the moment a bit. When the man next spoke he was already grabbing his jacket, zipping it back up. Jun was still sitting there covered in his own come. An abrupt ending.
"Can I see you again?"
Jun couldn't help but blurt out "that's it?"
He was rewarded with a soft chuckle, a pat on the shoulder. "I'm really sorry to cut this short. Truly." Jun was surprised when the man kissed him on the cheek, a rather awkward little peck that seemed nothing like the personality of the stranger who'd just watched him touch himself. Like a switch had been thrown. "I'll set something up again soon. I just...I have to get home. Did you, uh..." For the first time Jun heard hesitation. "...that is, if you'd like to meet up again..."
Jun was surprised at his own calm, at his ability to keep the mask on, not wrench it off to confront the guy who was already leaving. "Yes, I'd like to, but are you even going to tell me a thing about yourself? Is this how everything works here?"
"No," the man admitted. "No, this wasn't typical. And I'm sorry. I swear I'll make it up to you."
"Will you even let me see you?"
The man was quiet again, absent-mindedly stroking his fingers through Jun's hair with none of the confidence he'd had earlier. Almost as though all of the energy and control that had started their encounter had vanished. His voice wasn't as steady or certain, as though he was as full of complexes as Jun himself was. He'd been so convincing...
"I'll set up another session. Does this time work?"
Jun cocked his head to the side, wanting to clean himself up but forcing himself to still submit to the stranger's wishes. "This time works better if you stay a little longer. But yeah."
"I really did enjoy this," the man admitted, stepping back. "I honestly did, and I haven't before. Not here at Face Down."
That made Jun feel the slightest bit better. He decided to be a bit more forgiving. Maybe it was easy to give in to the physical here, but once you had, what was there to say? He held his head high. "My name is Jun," he offered. "And I'll see you next time."
The man didn't reciprocate, only clearing his throat. "It was good to meet you, Jun."
He heard the door open and close, and he pulled the mask off in frustration. He flung it across the room, hearing it thunk against the door. Everything he'd wanted had been in his grasp. The man had wanted him, had gotten him, but where did that leave him now? It only left him thirsty for more.
In irritation he cleaned himself up, giving up on his t-shirt entirely and shoving it into the Lawson bag. He decided that the already paid for condoms and lube would be his parting gift for the night. He zipped up his jacket and checked the room for any sign of the man who'd been there just minutes earlier. All he could find was one of the hand towels from the bathroom tossed on the damp floor of the shower, probably stiff with dried come. The only evidence that there'd been another person here.
He sighed, making sure he left no trace of himself behind. The bald man was sitting at the desk on the fourth floor reading a book when Jun returned, setting down the key card. "Have a pleasant evening," the man said, turning a page as Jun exited.
part two