Fic - Heel - 1/2
Title: Heel
Group: Nightmare
Pairing: Ruka x Sakito
Rating: NC-17
Genre: Mildly kinky smut. And shoes.
Summary: Side chapter to Cherish fic. Ruka has been reluctantly but obsessively involved in a twisted power game with Sakito for what feels like forever. But it's his birthday, dammit, and he's going to get a present one way or the other!
So this is a total PWP, and a much lighter tone than Cherish. It's not so much that I wanted to write about Ruka having a nice time as I wanted to write about hot shoes; and Saki's supermodel legs are the perfect excuse XD
Enjoy the kink!
HEEL
I know, from the way I told my story before, that the time I spent as Sakito's plaything must have come across as nothing but pain and bitterness and doom and gloom. All right, to be honest, most of it was, and we're both genuinely glad to be done with it. But there were some sweet moments too. Well, a few. Okay, one or two; but just remembering that one or two is enough to make my mouth go dry with desire, because they were so good. I'll never forget them, not if I end up having sex partners in the triple digits and live to be a hundred.
So, since I've managed to get myself all hot and bothered, I might as well tell you about one. Just to show you that when Sakito feels like throwing his dog a bone, he doesn't do it by halves.
Allow me to set the scene. It's my birthday, the legendary six-nine (yes, of course I know what it means!). Or at least it will be, in a month or so. Not that I've mentioned it to anyone but Ni~ya-chan, on whom I'm counting to buy me a suitably cheering and lowbrow present, possibly the Playboy calendar. But, somehow, Sakito has deigned to remember; I'm guessing that now I'm effectively his possession he has every one of my major life events logged away, in case they should come in handy for manipulating me.
“So. What do you want for your birthday?” he asks out of the blue as he's picking himself up off the floor and shimmying back into his jeans, wincing as the fabric brushes the bruised skin of his thighs. I blink; I've been furious at him for the last hour, hence the bruises, and in considerable pain for the past fifteen minutes where he punched me in the jaw in a fit of sexual enthusiasm. And now he's totally thrown me.
“Want? Me?” I say dumbly, clicking my teeth experimentally to check he hasn't dislodged anything. Sakito gives me a withering look.
“Yes.”
“You mean a present? From you?”
“Have I started speaking Chinese?” snaps Sakito, pulling his hair back off his damp face with an elastic band. “I'm being nice to you. So just tell me what you want!” He slides his feet into his scruffy designer sneakers. I watch him, still boggling at the notion, as he smooths his jeans across his slim hips, and am momentarily distracted by his magnificent legs, long and model-slender and no doubt still tingling from the friction of my body between them. Shame about the crappy shoes, but...
“You know what?” he says, tossing his head, “forget it.”
“...Wait!” Hang on. Two thoughts just collided in what passes for my brain after mind-meltingly good Sakito sex, and I may be having an idea. “I think I know what I want.”
“Really.” Sakito stares at me narrowly, apparently already regretting his philanthropic offer. “Is it going to be a pain in the ass to get?”
“Tell you what,” I suggest eagerly, “why don't I buy it, then I can have it sent to you, then you can give it back to me?”
“Whatever,” says Sakito, clearly bored with the whole conversation. I try to look suitably grateful, despite my aching jaw and his maddening contrariness, and I think I manage it because, if he agrees to go along with this...well, it'll be the best present I've ever had.
Okay. Don't think I'm a weird kinky Akiba perv (actually, I don't care if you do, it's really the least of my worries and it's a free country, after all), but I love shoes. High, hot, elegant chicks' shoes. Oh, not in some Glen or Glenda way, before you get scared; it's not like I get off on prancing around in Manolo Blahniks. But I like to see women wear them, because I'm a very creative guy and good shoes can be works of art. Not to mention that feeling a girl brush my thigh with her high heel in bed will have me standing to attention like the National Anthem.
Anyway. That's my big idea, born when I saw Sakito's perfect pins, and his pretty feet shoved into those fraying sneakers. I'm willing to bet any amount you like that the combined sex appeal of Sakito and killer shoes would be hot enough to start forest fires. And since he's given me the go-ahead...well, sort of...it can't hurt to try and make the experiment.
Not that I don't have doubts about this brilliant plan: Sakito may be the most beautiful creature ever to emerge from the boondocks of Sendai, but he's not actually a girl and it's been some years since he last had to wear a skirt, never mind a foxy pair of stilettos. Which is why I decide to go ahead and find the perfect shoes without actually telling him what I'm buying or who I'm buying it for. And once I've indulged long enough in drooling over footwear that may never come into closer contact with Sakito's elegant toes than him kicking me and my shoebox out the door, I'll have them sent to him. Then the ball will be in his court.
Hell, even if it never happens it'll be fantasy fuel for a month, and as birthday presents from one's master go you can't say fairer than that.
I know as soon as I pick up the phone that they've arrived: Sakito gives me his usual perfunctory greeting, but he seems rather distracted and I think I can figure out why.
“Er,” he says, for once without that scornful edge. “I just got this parcel. And if it's from you, I think someone screwed up the order.”
“Actually, I think it's probably right.”
“Shoes?”
“Yep.” I feel a little ripple of nervous excitement. Lame, but just thinking about him...
“Sorry to say so,” comes Sakito’s voice, sounding perplexed, “but I don’t think these are going to fit you, Ruka.” I pull a face at the image he’s just presented me with.
“They’re not for me, you berk,” I correct him, knowing I'll pay for it later; “they’re for you!” A moment of thoughtful silence.
“You are such a pervert,” he says at last, halfway between pitying and amused.
“Coming from you, that’s just funny.”
“This is really the best birthday present you could come up with.”
“Really,” I say stubbornly. I hear a sigh, then footsteps and some miscellaneous clattering.
“And they had to be so…well, so.”
“If you’re going to do something, you might as well do it properly.”
“I didn’t even know this was your - ow!!” Another clatter. “How do they walk in these things?!”
“Practice, I suppose.”
“Look at this heel! You could have someone's eye out!” I listen to Sakito recite a soft string of expletives under his breath, and try not to think too hard about how good he must look right now.
“So…are you gonna give me my present or not?” He makes an ambivalent noise down the phone, then a sigh of relief that I assume indicates he has taken the troublesome shoes off again.
“…I’ll think about it.”
Guess that’s the best I’m going to get.
Right up to my birthday I think it's the best I'm ever going to get, seeing as Sakito hasn't allowed one word on the subject since. And now it's my party, and I suppose I ought be grateful that he's relaxed his hold on my leash long enough to let me celebrate at all. He's not here, which isn't surprising; I doubt the sight of me having a good time with other people is top of his To Do list. And it adds a bitter, acid edge to my fun, just knowing that I wish he was with me.
Around two in the morning, when half my guests are sitting around engrossed in their iPhones and Yomi is asleep face-down in Ni~ya-chan's lap (this is the kind of party I throw, tragically), I feel the vibration of my phone through my jeans and am immediately on the alert. Seeing his name appear on the screen, I realise with a sour pang how tense I've been all night without even knowing it. All for him.
Sakito's message is short, insulting, and enough to give me an embarrassing semi in the space of about three seconds. It just says:
Heel.
Obscure, and yet it has me on my feet and ready to go before I've even figured out where the hell it is I'm going. Clearly Sakito wasn't feeling helpful enough to tell me.
Ni~ya-chan lifts his head as I whisk past him in the direction of the door, and yawns hugely at me. I wave my phone at him briefly, and then I'm gone, still trying to imagine what Sakito would consider an appropriate setting in which to give me a birthday gift. Assuming that's what he's planning. Oh, please let that be what he's planning!
I flag down the first taxi I see, then immediately feel like a moron when the driver asks me where I want to go and I can only gawp at him stupidly. I know I'm blushing: while I'm totally used to it in private now, I still hate being embarrassed in public. Just as I'm about to jump out and beat an inglorious retreat, however, my phone buzzes again: another message. No text this time, just a picture of a numbered front door.
Really? Wow. It must be my birthday.
I finally give the driver his directions, and the fifteen minutes it takes to get there feels like an hour, but gives me plenty of time to be incredulous, and for good reason. Sakito's apartment.
Now, just to put this into some sort of context for you: Sakito never invites me to his place; we've done it everywhere from my apartment to the Shibuya AX bathrooms, but his home is his castle and since we began this thing I haven't been allowed inside. Apparently I'm just not a house dog. But there it is, the glowing, digital proof on my screen, and never has a photo of someone's door been such a compelling invitation.
I arrive in front of the real thing panting, practically quivering with anticipation (and the accompanying twinge of unease that invariably goes with it). I'm about to ring the bell when I notice the door is open a crack; I feel the cool metal beneath my fingertips hum with possibilities, flashes of the sights that might lie behind it. I could stand out here all night, aroused and drooling, because my fantasies about this moment have been so strong, and perhaps it's better not to have them shattered. But even I know what a waste that would be. I push the door open, and step in.
Sakito's place is tidy, which is surprising (you wouldn't think it to look at him, but he generates a lot of clutter). And dark. I imagine, as I fall up the genkan step, that he's left the lights off on purpose just to keep me off-balance, physically and mentally. It's the kind of thing he likes to do. It's not exactly a huge flat, but actually finding him in it feels rather like trying to get into Narnia, and by the time I've ended up once in the bathroom, twice in the kitchen (how??) and once in what is apparently a coat closet, I'm all turned around.
I mutter to myself, which makes me feel a bit better, and open a door I'm sure I've been through before, just on the off-chance. Then I stop dead as soft golden light hits my eyes. Hot damn.
Sakito is sprawled on the sofa before me, endless legs clad in tight supermodel jeans that hang low on the soft curve of his hips; he’s wearing what is either a top or a dress (with chicks these days it’s hard to tell) in some filmy indigo fabric that manages to drape and cling at the same time, revealing tantalizing, barely veiled glimpses of flesh. He raises his lovely head, long hair scooped half off his neck and fastened with pins that glitter along with his earrings in the dim light.
“Evening,” he says serenely, resting an elbow elegantly on the sofa back and shifting his legs ever so slightly wider. I gulp, taking all this in with one heated, appreciative look before my gaze drops down the length of his body.
Ohh. I stare, not answering. All I can think is what good taste I have and what a great job I did, because I have never seen an ordinary pair of feet look so exquisitely erotic. Let’s be clear here: feet aren’t sexy. Shoes are. But Sakito, with his usual physical magic, has managed to fuse the two into an explosively arousing vision.
It's called Iron Fist, the brand. It caught my attention immediately, and once I'd looked up what the words meant I liked it even better: it's Sakito all over, the controlling bastard. I spent hours choosing the perfect shoes to match his perfect self, then wading my painful way through the English website to actually buy the damn things. But now I see them...it was so very worth it.
Sakito flexes one foot thoughtfully, and smirks at my expression. The shoes are open-toed, platformed, stilettoed. They shift in the light between charcoal and metallic pewter, a darker pattern of roses and bones contrasting sharply with his pale skin. Narrow straps wind their way around his slim ankles, a row of thin spikes just visible beneath the hem of his jeans. Nothing cute or fluffy for Sakito, that would be too misleading; no, they look wicked and beautiful as he is.
He crosses his legs as I watch, giving me a better view. The heels are so high that his lovely feet are arched almost to their limit, elegant geometric curves that press against the dark length of chain running from each ankle down the tender expanse of skin to his toes, which peek out, silver-painted and shy, from beneath a dark silk bow. Those heels must be six inches long, cruelly thin and sharp and looking quite deadly.
“You want a closer look?” he asks softly, as I stand frozen in the doorway, and the invitation sounds like a threat but yes, oh yes, I do. I approach him slowly, half eager and half wary, like a pet that wants to be stroked but is expecting a thwack from a rolled-up newspaper as well. He has a large, expensive rug which never used to be there covering the floor (Sakito is an odd creature: fetishes and mind manipulation, fine; breaking the no-shoes-in-the-house rule, obviously a worry), and my bare feet sink into the luxurious nap as I cross it.
I go down on my knees as I reach him, because if I want to keep him sweet I know I shouldn't stand above him. And, frankly...such a beautiful sight? It feels right to kneel. Sakito gives me a gratified little smile, looking so lovely I can't help but reach for him. It is my birthday, after all. But before my hand can get within caressing distance he gives me a languid glance, sets one foot against my shoulder, and the next thing I know I'm being tumbled roughly onto my back from the force of his push. He smiles again as he registers my scowl, then turns his attention back to the shoes, regarding them tolerantly.
Now, being the target of Sakito's aggressive attentions can be a deeply demoralising and unpleasant experience, as I've related at length in the past. But far, far worse is being ignored. Like it's just not worth his effort to engage with you, not even to hurt you. So I push myself up on my elbows, my smarting ego urging me to force myself into his awareness.
“Stay,” says Sakito absently, now examining his silver nails. I growl my displeasure at him. Perhaps he wants to be hurt tonight; he usually makes it clear right away if he does, and I'm more than willing to oblige at this moment. But...he's complied with my birthday wish, so far as it goes; and then there's the invitation into his home. It's baffling, and I don't quite know how to act. I ready all my muscles to spring at him, just in case. Sakito observes the trembling tension in my limbs with a practised eye, and just as I'm about to move he moves, flowing upright in one smooth motion. Before I can make a decision he's standing over me, one leg either side of my hips. He gives a pretty scowl of concentration as he finds his footing in the high shoes.
“I told you to stay, Ruka,” he says admonishingly, hands on his hips, the muscles of his legs taut and impossibly slender beneath his dark jeans.
“I am.” I don't try to sound insolent, I swear. But the particular tone of voice he's using antagonises me beyond belief and makes it very hard to answer him demurely.
Sakito sniffs and plants one light foot on my stomach, pinning me in place like a butterfly to a card.
“Don't...move,” he says, quite unnecessarily now. I catch my breath, because if he should happen to lose his balance I'll basically be skewered through the belly button with several inches of spiked heel and I can kiss my small intestine goodbye. He leans on me a little harder, and I feel a shiver of arousal as I look up at him, those beautiful legs stretching on forever.
“I must say,” comments Sakito levelly, sliding one hand beneath his dress/top/whatever and pushing it up to reveal his flat belly while the other eases open the button on his jeans, “you look pretty good down there. Kind of a stupid face, but good.” I make an unsuccessful attempt to get my glazed expression in check as he looks on, fingers inching aside more fabric teasingly while the diamond sparkles away in his navel.
“Saki...” I say plaintively, and slide my hand softly up his right ankle, tracing the line where the strap of the gorgeous shoe meets his even lovelier skin. I see his eyes close briefly, and I'm sure I caught a pleasurable little shudder beneath my fingers. I continue my supplication, smoothing my hand along the slim curve of his calf, the denim an intriguing contrast to the silk of his flesh.
“If I let you up,” he says, breath coming just a tiny bit faster, “what are you going to do for me?” I watch him raptly as he slides down his short zip. His fingers linger on his stomach, following the low waistline of his jeans, and as I make an unthinking attempt to move I feel the sharp dagger of his heel digging through my shirt.
“Well when you let me up, I'll show you.”
************
This fic has no business being in 2 parts! Stupid LJ. Well, on to the smut!
Read part 2
Group: Nightmare
Pairing: Ruka x Sakito
Rating: NC-17
Genre: Mildly kinky smut. And shoes.
Summary: Side chapter to Cherish fic. Ruka has been reluctantly but obsessively involved in a twisted power game with Sakito for what feels like forever. But it's his birthday, dammit, and he's going to get a present one way or the other!
So this is a total PWP, and a much lighter tone than Cherish. It's not so much that I wanted to write about Ruka having a nice time as I wanted to write about hot shoes; and Saki's supermodel legs are the perfect excuse XD
Enjoy the kink!
HEEL
I know, from the way I told my story before, that the time I spent as Sakito's plaything must have come across as nothing but pain and bitterness and doom and gloom. All right, to be honest, most of it was, and we're both genuinely glad to be done with it. But there were some sweet moments too. Well, a few. Okay, one or two; but just remembering that one or two is enough to make my mouth go dry with desire, because they were so good. I'll never forget them, not if I end up having sex partners in the triple digits and live to be a hundred.
So, since I've managed to get myself all hot and bothered, I might as well tell you about one. Just to show you that when Sakito feels like throwing his dog a bone, he doesn't do it by halves.
Allow me to set the scene. It's my birthday, the legendary six-nine (yes, of course I know what it means!). Or at least it will be, in a month or so. Not that I've mentioned it to anyone but Ni~ya-chan, on whom I'm counting to buy me a suitably cheering and lowbrow present, possibly the Playboy calendar. But, somehow, Sakito has deigned to remember; I'm guessing that now I'm effectively his possession he has every one of my major life events logged away, in case they should come in handy for manipulating me.
“So. What do you want for your birthday?” he asks out of the blue as he's picking himself up off the floor and shimmying back into his jeans, wincing as the fabric brushes the bruised skin of his thighs. I blink; I've been furious at him for the last hour, hence the bruises, and in considerable pain for the past fifteen minutes where he punched me in the jaw in a fit of sexual enthusiasm. And now he's totally thrown me.
“Want? Me?” I say dumbly, clicking my teeth experimentally to check he hasn't dislodged anything. Sakito gives me a withering look.
“Yes.”
“You mean a present? From you?”
“Have I started speaking Chinese?” snaps Sakito, pulling his hair back off his damp face with an elastic band. “I'm being nice to you. So just tell me what you want!” He slides his feet into his scruffy designer sneakers. I watch him, still boggling at the notion, as he smooths his jeans across his slim hips, and am momentarily distracted by his magnificent legs, long and model-slender and no doubt still tingling from the friction of my body between them. Shame about the crappy shoes, but...
“You know what?” he says, tossing his head, “forget it.”
“...Wait!” Hang on. Two thoughts just collided in what passes for my brain after mind-meltingly good Sakito sex, and I may be having an idea. “I think I know what I want.”
“Really.” Sakito stares at me narrowly, apparently already regretting his philanthropic offer. “Is it going to be a pain in the ass to get?”
“Tell you what,” I suggest eagerly, “why don't I buy it, then I can have it sent to you, then you can give it back to me?”
“Whatever,” says Sakito, clearly bored with the whole conversation. I try to look suitably grateful, despite my aching jaw and his maddening contrariness, and I think I manage it because, if he agrees to go along with this...well, it'll be the best present I've ever had.
Okay. Don't think I'm a weird kinky Akiba perv (actually, I don't care if you do, it's really the least of my worries and it's a free country, after all), but I love shoes. High, hot, elegant chicks' shoes. Oh, not in some Glen or Glenda way, before you get scared; it's not like I get off on prancing around in Manolo Blahniks. But I like to see women wear them, because I'm a very creative guy and good shoes can be works of art. Not to mention that feeling a girl brush my thigh with her high heel in bed will have me standing to attention like the National Anthem.
Anyway. That's my big idea, born when I saw Sakito's perfect pins, and his pretty feet shoved into those fraying sneakers. I'm willing to bet any amount you like that the combined sex appeal of Sakito and killer shoes would be hot enough to start forest fires. And since he's given me the go-ahead...well, sort of...it can't hurt to try and make the experiment.
Not that I don't have doubts about this brilliant plan: Sakito may be the most beautiful creature ever to emerge from the boondocks of Sendai, but he's not actually a girl and it's been some years since he last had to wear a skirt, never mind a foxy pair of stilettos. Which is why I decide to go ahead and find the perfect shoes without actually telling him what I'm buying or who I'm buying it for. And once I've indulged long enough in drooling over footwear that may never come into closer contact with Sakito's elegant toes than him kicking me and my shoebox out the door, I'll have them sent to him. Then the ball will be in his court.
Hell, even if it never happens it'll be fantasy fuel for a month, and as birthday presents from one's master go you can't say fairer than that.
I know as soon as I pick up the phone that they've arrived: Sakito gives me his usual perfunctory greeting, but he seems rather distracted and I think I can figure out why.
“Er,” he says, for once without that scornful edge. “I just got this parcel. And if it's from you, I think someone screwed up the order.”
“Actually, I think it's probably right.”
“Shoes?”
“Yep.” I feel a little ripple of nervous excitement. Lame, but just thinking about him...
“Sorry to say so,” comes Sakito’s voice, sounding perplexed, “but I don’t think these are going to fit you, Ruka.” I pull a face at the image he’s just presented me with.
“They’re not for me, you berk,” I correct him, knowing I'll pay for it later; “they’re for you!” A moment of thoughtful silence.
“You are such a pervert,” he says at last, halfway between pitying and amused.
“Coming from you, that’s just funny.”
“This is really the best birthday present you could come up with.”
“Really,” I say stubbornly. I hear a sigh, then footsteps and some miscellaneous clattering.
“And they had to be so…well, so.”
“If you’re going to do something, you might as well do it properly.”
“I didn’t even know this was your - ow!!” Another clatter. “How do they walk in these things?!”
“Practice, I suppose.”
“Look at this heel! You could have someone's eye out!” I listen to Sakito recite a soft string of expletives under his breath, and try not to think too hard about how good he must look right now.
“So…are you gonna give me my present or not?” He makes an ambivalent noise down the phone, then a sigh of relief that I assume indicates he has taken the troublesome shoes off again.
“…I’ll think about it.”
Guess that’s the best I’m going to get.
Right up to my birthday I think it's the best I'm ever going to get, seeing as Sakito hasn't allowed one word on the subject since. And now it's my party, and I suppose I ought be grateful that he's relaxed his hold on my leash long enough to let me celebrate at all. He's not here, which isn't surprising; I doubt the sight of me having a good time with other people is top of his To Do list. And it adds a bitter, acid edge to my fun, just knowing that I wish he was with me.
Around two in the morning, when half my guests are sitting around engrossed in their iPhones and Yomi is asleep face-down in Ni~ya-chan's lap (this is the kind of party I throw, tragically), I feel the vibration of my phone through my jeans and am immediately on the alert. Seeing his name appear on the screen, I realise with a sour pang how tense I've been all night without even knowing it. All for him.
Sakito's message is short, insulting, and enough to give me an embarrassing semi in the space of about three seconds. It just says:
Heel.
Obscure, and yet it has me on my feet and ready to go before I've even figured out where the hell it is I'm going. Clearly Sakito wasn't feeling helpful enough to tell me.
Ni~ya-chan lifts his head as I whisk past him in the direction of the door, and yawns hugely at me. I wave my phone at him briefly, and then I'm gone, still trying to imagine what Sakito would consider an appropriate setting in which to give me a birthday gift. Assuming that's what he's planning. Oh, please let that be what he's planning!
I flag down the first taxi I see, then immediately feel like a moron when the driver asks me where I want to go and I can only gawp at him stupidly. I know I'm blushing: while I'm totally used to it in private now, I still hate being embarrassed in public. Just as I'm about to jump out and beat an inglorious retreat, however, my phone buzzes again: another message. No text this time, just a picture of a numbered front door.
Really? Wow. It must be my birthday.
I finally give the driver his directions, and the fifteen minutes it takes to get there feels like an hour, but gives me plenty of time to be incredulous, and for good reason. Sakito's apartment.
Now, just to put this into some sort of context for you: Sakito never invites me to his place; we've done it everywhere from my apartment to the Shibuya AX bathrooms, but his home is his castle and since we began this thing I haven't been allowed inside. Apparently I'm just not a house dog. But there it is, the glowing, digital proof on my screen, and never has a photo of someone's door been such a compelling invitation.
I arrive in front of the real thing panting, practically quivering with anticipation (and the accompanying twinge of unease that invariably goes with it). I'm about to ring the bell when I notice the door is open a crack; I feel the cool metal beneath my fingertips hum with possibilities, flashes of the sights that might lie behind it. I could stand out here all night, aroused and drooling, because my fantasies about this moment have been so strong, and perhaps it's better not to have them shattered. But even I know what a waste that would be. I push the door open, and step in.
Sakito's place is tidy, which is surprising (you wouldn't think it to look at him, but he generates a lot of clutter). And dark. I imagine, as I fall up the genkan step, that he's left the lights off on purpose just to keep me off-balance, physically and mentally. It's the kind of thing he likes to do. It's not exactly a huge flat, but actually finding him in it feels rather like trying to get into Narnia, and by the time I've ended up once in the bathroom, twice in the kitchen (how??) and once in what is apparently a coat closet, I'm all turned around.
I mutter to myself, which makes me feel a bit better, and open a door I'm sure I've been through before, just on the off-chance. Then I stop dead as soft golden light hits my eyes. Hot damn.
Sakito is sprawled on the sofa before me, endless legs clad in tight supermodel jeans that hang low on the soft curve of his hips; he’s wearing what is either a top or a dress (with chicks these days it’s hard to tell) in some filmy indigo fabric that manages to drape and cling at the same time, revealing tantalizing, barely veiled glimpses of flesh. He raises his lovely head, long hair scooped half off his neck and fastened with pins that glitter along with his earrings in the dim light.
“Evening,” he says serenely, resting an elbow elegantly on the sofa back and shifting his legs ever so slightly wider. I gulp, taking all this in with one heated, appreciative look before my gaze drops down the length of his body.
Ohh. I stare, not answering. All I can think is what good taste I have and what a great job I did, because I have never seen an ordinary pair of feet look so exquisitely erotic. Let’s be clear here: feet aren’t sexy. Shoes are. But Sakito, with his usual physical magic, has managed to fuse the two into an explosively arousing vision.
It's called Iron Fist, the brand. It caught my attention immediately, and once I'd looked up what the words meant I liked it even better: it's Sakito all over, the controlling bastard. I spent hours choosing the perfect shoes to match his perfect self, then wading my painful way through the English website to actually buy the damn things. But now I see them...it was so very worth it.
Sakito flexes one foot thoughtfully, and smirks at my expression. The shoes are open-toed, platformed, stilettoed. They shift in the light between charcoal and metallic pewter, a darker pattern of roses and bones contrasting sharply with his pale skin. Narrow straps wind their way around his slim ankles, a row of thin spikes just visible beneath the hem of his jeans. Nothing cute or fluffy for Sakito, that would be too misleading; no, they look wicked and beautiful as he is.
He crosses his legs as I watch, giving me a better view. The heels are so high that his lovely feet are arched almost to their limit, elegant geometric curves that press against the dark length of chain running from each ankle down the tender expanse of skin to his toes, which peek out, silver-painted and shy, from beneath a dark silk bow. Those heels must be six inches long, cruelly thin and sharp and looking quite deadly.
“You want a closer look?” he asks softly, as I stand frozen in the doorway, and the invitation sounds like a threat but yes, oh yes, I do. I approach him slowly, half eager and half wary, like a pet that wants to be stroked but is expecting a thwack from a rolled-up newspaper as well. He has a large, expensive rug which never used to be there covering the floor (Sakito is an odd creature: fetishes and mind manipulation, fine; breaking the no-shoes-in-the-house rule, obviously a worry), and my bare feet sink into the luxurious nap as I cross it.
I go down on my knees as I reach him, because if I want to keep him sweet I know I shouldn't stand above him. And, frankly...such a beautiful sight? It feels right to kneel. Sakito gives me a gratified little smile, looking so lovely I can't help but reach for him. It is my birthday, after all. But before my hand can get within caressing distance he gives me a languid glance, sets one foot against my shoulder, and the next thing I know I'm being tumbled roughly onto my back from the force of his push. He smiles again as he registers my scowl, then turns his attention back to the shoes, regarding them tolerantly.
Now, being the target of Sakito's aggressive attentions can be a deeply demoralising and unpleasant experience, as I've related at length in the past. But far, far worse is being ignored. Like it's just not worth his effort to engage with you, not even to hurt you. So I push myself up on my elbows, my smarting ego urging me to force myself into his awareness.
“Stay,” says Sakito absently, now examining his silver nails. I growl my displeasure at him. Perhaps he wants to be hurt tonight; he usually makes it clear right away if he does, and I'm more than willing to oblige at this moment. But...he's complied with my birthday wish, so far as it goes; and then there's the invitation into his home. It's baffling, and I don't quite know how to act. I ready all my muscles to spring at him, just in case. Sakito observes the trembling tension in my limbs with a practised eye, and just as I'm about to move he moves, flowing upright in one smooth motion. Before I can make a decision he's standing over me, one leg either side of my hips. He gives a pretty scowl of concentration as he finds his footing in the high shoes.
“I told you to stay, Ruka,” he says admonishingly, hands on his hips, the muscles of his legs taut and impossibly slender beneath his dark jeans.
“I am.” I don't try to sound insolent, I swear. But the particular tone of voice he's using antagonises me beyond belief and makes it very hard to answer him demurely.
Sakito sniffs and plants one light foot on my stomach, pinning me in place like a butterfly to a card.
“Don't...move,” he says, quite unnecessarily now. I catch my breath, because if he should happen to lose his balance I'll basically be skewered through the belly button with several inches of spiked heel and I can kiss my small intestine goodbye. He leans on me a little harder, and I feel a shiver of arousal as I look up at him, those beautiful legs stretching on forever.
“I must say,” comments Sakito levelly, sliding one hand beneath his dress/top/whatever and pushing it up to reveal his flat belly while the other eases open the button on his jeans, “you look pretty good down there. Kind of a stupid face, but good.” I make an unsuccessful attempt to get my glazed expression in check as he looks on, fingers inching aside more fabric teasingly while the diamond sparkles away in his navel.
“Saki...” I say plaintively, and slide my hand softly up his right ankle, tracing the line where the strap of the gorgeous shoe meets his even lovelier skin. I see his eyes close briefly, and I'm sure I caught a pleasurable little shudder beneath my fingers. I continue my supplication, smoothing my hand along the slim curve of his calf, the denim an intriguing contrast to the silk of his flesh.
“If I let you up,” he says, breath coming just a tiny bit faster, “what are you going to do for me?” I watch him raptly as he slides down his short zip. His fingers linger on his stomach, following the low waistline of his jeans, and as I make an unthinking attempt to move I feel the sharp dagger of his heel digging through my shirt.
“Well when you let me up, I'll show you.”
************
This fic has no business being in 2 parts! Stupid LJ. Well, on to the smut!
Read part 2