In the dark corner of his room, Touma found the note. It was an origami of a crescent moon, glittering like a storm’s last snowflake.
"Kuso." Touma licked his finger where the paper’s edge sliced his skin. He switched on the lamp, dabbing at the glistening drop of blood balanced on the moon’s sharp point. Parchment paper with silver backing. He squinted at the formal kanji, the antiquated vocabulary, the precise strokes. Was it Seiji’s handwriting? Only Seiji would be so formal, but somehow the heavy paper and the still damp ink didn’t fit his style.
" ‘We shall meet by moonlight at the Dreamer’s Den. Adorn yourself in green silk, that I might find you.’ Very weird."
But Touma, curious Touma, was intrigued. The Dreamer’s Den was a new club on the outskirts of the city... a rave that wasn’t loud enough, a bar that never served anything straight out of the bottle. Strange but boring. Motorcycle parking only; if you didn’t have one, you either walked or thumbed a ride. That was just the exterior. He’d heard from some of his Internet buddies that the Den had a tendency to go into moodswings. Whatever that meant.
Dark blue eyes looked out the window. Full moon. The note dropped to the floor, dusted by flakes of real silver.
Maybe tonight he’d find out.
He didn’t notice the shift of shadows as he threw open the closet door.
Touma walked. The club was a long way from the apartment and the hour grew later. The night wind swept his dark blue locks, their colors blending with the evening. He didn’t own green silk anything, unless you counted boxers. Rooting through the others’ overnight clothes, he’d come up with one of Seiji’s shirts. Seiji had broader shoulders and a tendency to tuck in, so the shirt was a bit large for Touma, stopping around mid-thigh. The baggy black jeans underneath seemed tight by comparison.
He could see the warehouse up ahead. There wasn’t a sign, painted or neon, but there were motorcycles rumbling in the alley next to it.
Suddenly he was seized by the insane urge to run. He took off, driven not by fear but by the need to outpace the night, to feel its chill fingers in his hair and on his skin.
Green silk billowed in his wake, a banner in the darkness.
The music thudded against his sternum like giant hands. Touma winced. Maybe not giant hands. He took in the writhing mass of people on the dance floor, lost in the rhythm. There were glints of metal and fluorescence everywhere.
He downed the Manhattan from the one of the Den’s plastic champagne glasses. The crowd parted for him, sweeping him into the beat. As the music took over his body he thought, ‘Not hands. If I could stand beside the path of Shin Ku Ha, this is what it would feel like.’ He was inexplicably nervous, wondering if he should have let the others know where he was going, suddenly reading volumes into every casual touch. The scene wasn’t that much different from the other clubs. Face paint, velvet, spikes, satin and leather... the beat sped up.
Suddenly all the lights went out. A single, chorused scream rose from the dance floor. Touma almost stopped dancing, but the music surged faster, and he realized the screams were from excitement. The crowd pressed in. Touma lost all sense of direction as the formless bodies towed him this way and that. Sweat ran down his face. Now he was scared. There were too many frantic touching hands and gyrating bodies, driven by the anonymity of the dark.
A pair of arms wrapped around his waist. At first he tried to cry out, but the familiar voice silenced him.
"Hello, Tenku-san." Compelled by the dancers around them, both began to move to the feverish beat.
Touma could feel the raw heat rubbing against his back through all the layers of clothing. He scowled into the blue hair, thicker and wilder than his own. The strong arms tightened their grip. Touma had to stifle a whimper of fear; not so long ago, this man had been willing and eager to destroy him and his friends. To throw his world into eternal shadow. "Anubis...!"
"Call me Kujuurou," answered the former Masho, licking and nipping at his neck. "You’re not afraid, are you, Touma-san?"
That got him. Of course he wasn’t afraid. He’d gone clubbing before. He’d handled deadlier situations than this. He yanked a handful of hair and kissed the darkness.
The lips were moist and cool, the teeth that bit at his tongue a little too sharp. So much sweat drenched their faces that Touma could barely taste his own blood in the salt. A hand grasped his neck, the other went to his crotch, and Touma had to wrap his arms around the muscled back to keep his balance. Smooth leather. Probably black. He could taste it, or something like it, in the kiss. The fear was mixing with exhilaration now. Of all the bodies in the darkness, he had been hunted out.
The rhythm shifted, and spotlights focused on a pair of mirrorballs. As the shards of light swept through the crowd, Touma felt the older man stiffen and grimace. Touma sucked at the little shred of torn skin on his lip. He slipped lower to cup the hard curves even as Anubis maneuvered him forward. "Yami, what do you have in mind?"
"Kujuurou," came the anguished whisper. "My name is Kujuurou." Touma shivered, pulling the man closer. It was as much reason as he was going to get for the invitation, and all he needed.
Kujuurou led him to a service elevator not far from the DJ. The music was deafening to the point of being unintelligible. Touma got his first good look at Kujuurou under the red light. Before Touma could stop it, a wave of fear swept through him. The man was so close, the cross-shaped scar pale under his dark eyes. If he didn’t know who he was, Touma would have admired the coiled, deadly strength in the body pressed against him, and moaned in pleasure, not fright, at the teeth which nipped at his earlobe. He shied away but only hit the cage’s metal wall. His senses told him they were moving up, away from the relative safety of the dance floor. He struggled then, but in close quarters Kujuurou was no match for him. Gloved hands pinned his arms to the wall.
Touma stared into the dark intense gaze, trying to slow his breath. He had seen this expression before in Seiji. It was a predatory look which meant they would play rough until Seiji was sated. He relaxed. It wasn’t comforting, but it was familiar.
Satisfied that Touma wouldn’t break away, Kujuurou methodically ripped the gloves off with his teeth. Everything was like a silent movie... Touma saw but couldn’t hear him growl. Suddenly the archer was under the bruising force of his kiss. A moist hand slipped past his jeans and boxers to touch his ass. Touma moaned, heart quivering with shame and undisguised arousal.
The elevator jerked to a halt. With his free hand, Kujuurou opened the cage and propelled them out to the narrow catwalks far above the packed crowd. As he clutched the wide shoulders, Touma could think of nothing beyond the fingers slipping deeper into him. The callused fingertips began massaging his entrance, and he spread his thighs even though the movement painfully confined his erection. Vaguely he wondered if anyone could see them up there; still, even if they could, the green silk shirt was long enough to conceal most anything.
Touma threw his head back as a finger managed to enter him in the enclosed space. Kujuurou’s arm tightened around his shoulders, and it was then that Touma realized how low the railings were. He opened his eyes to see a very startled Kujuurou holding him close, shards of mirrored light sweeping across his face.
‘Did he think I’d actually throw myself over to escape him? I’m here, aren’t I?’ Touma locked both arms around the man and leaned back against the railing.
"Please, Kujuu-san," he murmured, gesturing down at his jeans. Reluctantly Kujuurou undid the black jeans with his free hand even as Touma swayed dangerously near the edge. Without warning Touma bent forward and jerked back. The movement drove Kujuurou deeper into him. He was now seated on the railing, the dance floor two stories below.
"Don’t worry, Kujuu-san," Touma whispered. "Just finish it." He caught his breath as Kujuurou spread him further. By some trick of acoustics, the rhythm rang through his body, coupling with Kujuurou’s movements to send him shuddering. Now partially freed, he hooked one leg around Kujuurou, driving their cloth-covered erections together. Surreptitiously he braced the other foot on the lower railing.
Kujuurou kissed away the sweat and blood on Touma’s skin. "You smell good," he said. "Familiar---" he gasped as Touma took hold of his member. Too late he realized only his arm and Touma’s strong legs were keeping the archer from plummeting.
Touma basked in the fear and anger reflected in those dark eyes. Mind clouded by the jolts of pain/pleasure, he stole a glance downwards. The dance floor curved dizzily away from him like a world of darkness, so much like the Earth when he’d seen it from space. He was fairly sure Tenku would save him if he actually fell, but not sure enough to slow his thudding heart. Besides, if he fell he’d probably take Kujuurou with him. Though the grip on his back had tightened, it was oh-so-easy to slide down with all this slippery silk.
The rhythm hiccuped. The crowd cheered as the bass pounded back faster and louder.
Touma jerked down till the backs of his knees snagged the railing. Kujuurou automatically pulled back, his hand plunging deeper into Touma’s body. The butterfly shivers of vertigo mixed with the electric surge which shot through his spine. He screamed. The music drowned out the sound.
Aware that half his body dangled over open air, he rocked up and down, forcing the hand to jab at the spot, shivering as he clutched Kujuurou’s leather jacket. A tear streamed down his face. He was so hard it hurt, and his boxers were still in the way---
Kujuurou pulled his free arm away.
The rush of fear spiked Touma’s desire. Reflexively his fists locked on the smooth leather, oblivious to the metal biting into his skin. Kujuurou was leaning over him, his hand still buried deep within. Touma’s center of gravity was slowly but surely sliding away from the leg painfully wedged in the railing and towards his suspended torso. Another blast of pleasure. Suddenly came the panicked thought that he might pass out and fall.
A rough hand raised his chin. Midnight blue eyes fluttered open and saw nothing. Only the irrevocable knowledge that there were eyes that watched him in the chill darkness, eyes that knew what Night could bring upon those who walked alone beneath the stars.
Kujuurou lapped at Touma’s stinging lip. His hand reached into the boxers to grasp the swollen sex.
Touma saw white. The orgasm exploded through his body. He forgot to hold on.
Touma was barely aware when Kujuurou withdrew and hauled him back onto the catwalk. Most of the cum had landed on Touma, but just in case Kujuurou wove a darkness to hide from any prying eyes below. Touma shivered as he felt the icy magic. On his hands and knees, he was crying freely now, his body still shuddering with the aftershocks, his breath rapid. Sensation was coming back to him: the tingling, bruised ankle, the chaffed skin on his legs and ass, the bloodied hands and lip.
Rough hands pulled down the jeans and boxers. Before the cold could touch his skin, Touma felt a warm, heavy body above. He was unable to suppress the trembling fear which enveloped him. A hot tongue licked at his skin, trying to calm him, distract him.
"I know the smell now," gasped Kujuurou. "You smell of Korin."
Briefly Touma wondered how he could possibly have detected that after all their exertions. "It’s the shirt. It belongs to Seiji."
"When he wears it next, it will be my scent he’ll pick up." Touma felt the leather of Kujuurou’s pants and his hot length pressing against his opening.
"Wait, Kujuu-san..." pleaded Touma.
But Kujuurou had thought of it already. As strobes painted the dancing bodies below, Kujuurou pushed into him, the condom slicked with his own cum. Touma rested his head on the floor, holding his breath as the warmth filled him. He shivered at the feel of Kujuurou’s hand on his member and the ten meter fall he’d so blithely mocked. Nimble fingers quickly rekindled his arousal. Yet it seemed to Touma that Kujuurou was holding back despite the animal need which hung thick in the air.
Touma clenched his muscles as Kujuurou pulled out, earning a sharp gasp. "H-Harder."
The archer pushed back into the next thrust, moaning loudly as Kujuurou rubbed against the spot. A hand clamped over his mouth. Touma muffled his scream into it, realizing that he could be heard above the suddenly softer music. He stared at dance floor below.
His body was shaking some time before he noticed it. The music now throbbed through his head, and the strobes split each person into a million black-and-white demons. The world tilted. What a long way to fall...
A warm whisper in his ear. "Close your eyes. Don’t look down."
Obeying, his world plunged into darkness once more. They fell into their own private rhythm which not-quite matched the beat. In fact the music seemed to fade away. Instead there was only the feel of the body above and inside him, the slow growls of pleasure in his ear, and the scent of Kujuurou... heady and bitter. Sparks of sweet warmth seemed to emanate from every inch of his skin.
He turned his head. "Kujuurou," he said breathlessly, and he came, fingers squeezing the metal grille. Kujuurou bit back a cry. Incredible warmth burst inside Touma for what seemed like an eternity.
Quivering slightly, Kujuurou carefully withdrew. He caught the younger man before he collapsed. Touma sighed and leaned against Kujuurou’s chest, partially hiding himself inside the jacket. They sat there for a while as the catwalk vibrated in time to the music.
They cleaned up silently in the men’s bathroom. Touma would glance at Kujuurou from time to time but the other man didn’t seem in the mood for talking. Examining his split lip, Touma tried to think of something to say. Neither of them wanted or needed apologies. He just didn’t want the night to end like this-- not with so many hours to burn before daybreak.
"I’m sorry I had that little panic attack up there."
‘Worse than Seiji,’ thought Touma. At least he hadn’t taken off yet. What could they possibly do? There was that seedy little dive on the other side of town, dank but candlelit at this time of night; the soup was lethal but their sandwiches were decent. "I probably got too hungry. Uh, you wanna get something to eat?"
The dark eyes regarded him. "You’re still frightened of me," he said pointedly.
Touma walked up to him. In the harsh light he seemed a little lost. Better to touch him in the dark, and read his scent instead of his eyes. Touma’s pale hand cradled Kujuurou’s cheek, thumb lightly tracing the scar.
"You wouldn’t let me fall."
Kujuurou flinched away, but he gestured Touma to follow.
"Nice wheels!" The motorcycle gleamed in the yellowish lamplight. Kujuurou nodded, undoing the security locks. Touma thought back to the catalogs Shuu had shown him once. Large but not too hefty, built for cruising, black and chrome... "One of the Shadow models, right?"
Kujuurou patted the seat. "Got it second hand, but it’s reliable."
"Ryo’s got a Honda Fireblade."
He mounted the bike, gunning the motor. "An RR? Why am I not surprised. It’s red, right? That’s a good, light bike."
Touma grinned to himself as he slid behind him. ‘More than two sentences in a row!’
Kujuurou offered his leather jacket to Touma. The archer grimaced but slipped it on.
Sharp-eyed as ever, Kujuurou caught the look. "You’d have been cold in just that." He jumped when the sinewy arms encircled him.
"Not while you’re here," Touma said, resting his chin on Kujuurou’s shoulders. ‘Blue-green. His eyes are blue-green.’ He kissed him gently, mindful not to open up his wound again.
"...you’re not afraid, are you?"
Without another word they sped into the all-embracing night.
"Red for Pleasure" copyright © 2000-2 Sameshima Shuzumi. All content is mine; HTML and layout are produced by me. Background and button graphics are courtesy Angel's Webgraphics.