[Tiny Drabble] Craving
Title: Craving
Pairing: Asami and Akihito
Rating: R
Warnings/Spoilers: None
Disclaimer: They belong to Sensei
Note: I posted this at YA comm to encourage people to try a one page drabble for the fanbook we're doing there.
Music blared through the club so loudly his skin vibrated, making his hairs stand on end like thousands of small antennae. Every breeze from someone slipping by, every brush of someone's hair as they spun past him made him feel more aware, more alive, more in the present. All of it, the heat of the bodies, the flash of the strobing lights, they could have caused sensory overload but tonight his senses drank it all in. Sensory overload was something he'd been getting used to, craving it even, and he hadn't seen Asami in weeks.
Tonight he'd finally said fuck it, and headed out to beard the lion in his den. He'd dressed in the clothing Asami had bought him in Hong Kong, a simple shirt and jeans. He'd gone to Asami's newest club and this time the doormen had known him. How could they not?
People had stared at him, a young man wearing not the latest fashions, but whatever he pleased, and then evidently decided if he'd been allowed in then he was either more powerful than they or else he was wearing the latest trend and they'd missed out. They'd flocked around him, wanting a piece of him, this mystery boy.
He let his body drink it in but it was like grape soda, a sugar high when what he really wanted was a rich and velvety red wine. Nothing here, even in excess, would satisfy him. The crowd parted as he suddenly shoved through in frustration, murmurs of respect running through it. This was how celebrity acted.
Fools, he thought. Blind fools, not seeing how diluted their lives were, seeing only surfaces, living only for that; yet so blind himself from his emotions that he ran into the one thing that would never step aside in the face of his anger.
"Looking for something?"
His senses filled with the perfume of cigarette smoke, clean linen, and scotch, the slight scratch of a tailored wool suit, and a deep voice that vibrated more than just his skin.
"I followed your scent here," he replied, a sarcastic reference he knew Asami would get. He took a step back so he wouldn't embarrass himself by rolling in the catnip that stood before him.
Asami's gaze ran down his body, dark and potent, Akihito's hairs and cock standing at attention, little soldiers responding to their commander. His skin felt like it was under the summer sun, the heat penetrating deeper still but not where he needed it.
"More," Akihito demanded. He felt he had the right to these days.
Asami stepped close, overwhelming him, surrounding him, a smoky, invading tongue plunging into him, filling all his senses now, almost there.
"More," he heard in a hot whisper against his ear, finally touching him where he most needed it, the last piece falling into place. A mere brush of the large erection bound by the oh-so-proper business suit and he exploded in his jeans, trembling, collapsing but held in place by arms that would never let him fall.
It wasn't that Asami had the right, though he did; it was that they both now knew that 'more' meant 'everything'. He relaxed, his craving sated for the moment, and he smiled secretly against the neck he loved to bury his face in as he was swept up and out into the night.
~end~
Pairing: Asami and Akihito
Rating: R
Warnings/Spoilers: None
Disclaimer: They belong to Sensei
Note: I posted this at YA comm to encourage people to try a one page drabble for the fanbook we're doing there.
Music blared through the club so loudly his skin vibrated, making his hairs stand on end like thousands of small antennae. Every breeze from someone slipping by, every brush of someone's hair as they spun past him made him feel more aware, more alive, more in the present. All of it, the heat of the bodies, the flash of the strobing lights, they could have caused sensory overload but tonight his senses drank it all in. Sensory overload was something he'd been getting used to, craving it even, and he hadn't seen Asami in weeks.
Tonight he'd finally said fuck it, and headed out to beard the lion in his den. He'd dressed in the clothing Asami had bought him in Hong Kong, a simple shirt and jeans. He'd gone to Asami's newest club and this time the doormen had known him. How could they not?
People had stared at him, a young man wearing not the latest fashions, but whatever he pleased, and then evidently decided if he'd been allowed in then he was either more powerful than they or else he was wearing the latest trend and they'd missed out. They'd flocked around him, wanting a piece of him, this mystery boy.
He let his body drink it in but it was like grape soda, a sugar high when what he really wanted was a rich and velvety red wine. Nothing here, even in excess, would satisfy him. The crowd parted as he suddenly shoved through in frustration, murmurs of respect running through it. This was how celebrity acted.
Fools, he thought. Blind fools, not seeing how diluted their lives were, seeing only surfaces, living only for that; yet so blind himself from his emotions that he ran into the one thing that would never step aside in the face of his anger.
"Looking for something?"
His senses filled with the perfume of cigarette smoke, clean linen, and scotch, the slight scratch of a tailored wool suit, and a deep voice that vibrated more than just his skin.
"I followed your scent here," he replied, a sarcastic reference he knew Asami would get. He took a step back so he wouldn't embarrass himself by rolling in the catnip that stood before him.
Asami's gaze ran down his body, dark and potent, Akihito's hairs and cock standing at attention, little soldiers responding to their commander. His skin felt like it was under the summer sun, the heat penetrating deeper still but not where he needed it.
"More," Akihito demanded. He felt he had the right to these days.
Asami stepped close, overwhelming him, surrounding him, a smoky, invading tongue plunging into him, filling all his senses now, almost there.
"More," he heard in a hot whisper against his ear, finally touching him where he most needed it, the last piece falling into place. A mere brush of the large erection bound by the oh-so-proper business suit and he exploded in his jeans, trembling, collapsing but held in place by arms that would never let him fall.
It wasn't that Asami had the right, though he did; it was that they both now knew that 'more' meant 'everything'. He relaxed, his craving sated for the moment, and he smiled secretly against the neck he loved to bury his face in as he was swept up and out into the night.
~end~