I think I've achieved the ultimate superiority.
Well, not quite. In the process of achieving it. I theorise that the 'ideal elite' must be without ties, as he is limitless. (And the limitless do not have anything to hold them back to dirt.) As embarrassing as it is to admit, I had... struggled with it for time to time. And sought to imagine for myself that the perfect elite does not exist. I hid and I was captured by reality. I have learnt my lesson. I've perfected myself.
I say this not be a cynic; but a true realist. Ties and attachments make one biased and unsure in his path. And that, leads to damnation.
I don't think I need to remember that strange time of my youth anymore. I have achieved greatness and made the unworthy bow before my shoes. Let me say, just recently I went to a wedding ceremony of my associate. She was a confidant of mine in my early years when Asami Ryuichi was just a name mixed with dust. A friend, if I have any.
Marriage is a wonderful thing. But that, in my opinion, only applies to the ones who are getting married. Not the ones who are associated with them. Talking simply for no reason would be near impossible when a woman gets married. Their responsibilities change, women change. Like a chameleon with a collar on its neck.
The wedding should've been... emotional. But I discovered that I felt nothing as I saw her off. And that made me happier than anything.
I have achieved perfection.
.
But even perfection gets boring after a while.
Takaba Akihito is a challenger of challenges. A certain, audere est facere. I've met many like him previously. They bow under me currently.
It's a small, small problem to handle.
.
I knew it was risky. Even back then. Maybe I was drunk in the face of exoticness; someone treating me as I should be, or perhaps I'm more selfish than I admit, attentions hungry for that kind of childish attention. It feels uncomfortable to refer to myself an attention seeker.
I don't care anymore.
But I only want this. The body, the soul, the delectable body that won't listen to me. And those eyes—a periwinkle sizzle. I want him.
And I will swallow him whole and keep him in me for as long as I can.
.
He moans under me. Seductive and, oh so very, provoking. (Does he know? Does he know how my heart is going to burst—) And he takes my punishment for that. I feel it in my bones. He is a lover.
He is a Gods' feast to my eyes. And I'm so, so very hungry.
I... may not be able to let go once I've tasted. To untie myself from the half-assed affection he gives me. That realisation makes me take a breath that would've been a gasp if I was any lesser man. But I feel lax.
"You know..." He sits up. A mess of blonde hair and plump lips. "It's a good night to play 'look-at-me-I'm-so-melancholic,' but you seriously should sleep. Don't blame if you can't get up on time for breakfast!"
"I think you should make me extra for my Bentō. I'm staying out late."
"Wha-? No way... I gotta go early tomorrow. Got a shoot with Takada, that guy nags about time so much. He makes my life hell, honestly."
Because right now, at this moment, all I smell is home.
[By home, he means sweat, semen and unwashed jeans. Asami swears if Takaba doesn't wash it by tomorrow, he will most definitely burn it.]
