I'm sorry I always do this! I swear I'm not dead! Also, this is probably the least smutty thing I will ever write for this fandom, I promise.
Takaba Akihito paces around his boyfriend/lover/whatever's penthouse. He walks on the furniture and pushes things over, like expensive-looking vases.
And it serves Asami Ryuichi right, he thinks. To leave Akihito here while he jets off to Europe in that private plane full of giggling stewardesses in skimpy outfits, to bar him from leaving the apartment. It just serves him right if Akihito topples over the CD rack, which is now mostly full of Akihito's own CDs, but he can't be bothered with details right now.
Akihito has been stuck in the penthouse on his own for three days and the kitchen is only as clean as it is because Suoh has tried in vain to straighten it up. Akihito smirks, thinking Asami will probably have to replace the counter for how much food is caked to it. He has, of course, contemplated escaping, but he finds it much more satisfying to stay in and destroy the place. Serves Asami right.
Besides, Akihito has no idea when Asami will come back and if he's not there when he does, there will be punishment, likely taken out of Akihito's ass.
And so what if maybe, maybe, he misses Asami a little? A very little.
Akihito drops onto the couch he had just been standing on. He huffs. He frowns. He looks around. Despite Suoh's best efforts, the kitchen and living room are sufficiently trashed. Akihito's fake room, or rather, Akihito's closet is untouched, neater than usual, actually and he intends to keep it that way.
But Asami's room has potential.
With a devilish grin, Akihito stalks into the room as if he expects Asami to be there. Everything is tidy, except for the bed which Akihito has only been sleeping in because it's more comfortable and not because he misses Asami. Even a little.
He starts with the closet. It's more complicated than it should be with buttons and moving racks. It'd be a lie for Akihito to say he's never gone through it, but it's all just boring suits anyway. To the right are shelves containing stacks of crisp, clean, neatly folded shirts. Does the man always have to look so impeccable?
Akihito stares down at his own clothing. Ripped jeans - and not fashionably ripped - and a tank top with some words in English Akihito doesn't know how to read. He glances back to Asami's shirts and at his own attire before stripping down to nakedness, having long given up on wearing any kind of underwear. He yanks out a shirt from the middle of one of the stacks, causing the ones on top to fall to the floor.
He pulls the shirt around his shoulders and buttons it. Honestly, it isn't as big on him as he thought it would be and Asami is more imposing in person than his shirt, but it smells like him and Akihito pulls the cuff over his hand and presses it to his nose and inhales.
High on Asami's scent, he flings the rest of the shirts from the closet and they flutter to the floor around his feet.
Akihito grins wildly and mashes the button that turns the racks of trousers and suit jackets until it whirrs and whines and finally stops altogether. He mashes it two more times for good measure, but it does nothing. He laughs and tugs down a black jacket and slides it on over the shirt he's wearing. Then he tears whatever else he can reach from the hangers and they too fall to the floor.
Serves him right.
He whirls around to face the giant king-size bed they do not share because Akihito has his own room, kind of. He dives into the sheets, wanting to smell more of Asami, except he's been gone for three days and now it smells more like Akihito's own self than anything else.
Annoyed, he tosses all of the pillows to the carpet and peels the sheets and blankets off, only to heave them unceremoniously onto the bare mattress. He throws himself on top of the pile and reaches over to Asami's night table. There is very little in the drawer.
Lube.
Vibrator.
Cock ring.
Cigarettes.
Cigarettes. Akihito brings the opened package to his nose, taking a good long whiff. He gazes at the sleek black package, stroking the side of it with his thumb rather absently. He can only read one word on the box and it's the name, "Dunhill". His hand dives back into the drawer and fishes out shiny, silver Zippo lighter with Asami's romaji initials engraved on it.
With the pack clutched in one hand, Akihito turns the lighter over in the other. It's obviously a gift and he can't help but wonder who gave it to Asami. Accidentally on purpose, he flips it and the flame snaps on. Akihito holds the flame, watches it flicker. Entranced, he flicks the lighter on and off and makes his way back to the living room. Asami's shirt barely covers him and the suit jacket falls just short of mid-thigh.
Akihito flips down on the couch and plunks his feet down on the coffee table, still playing with the lighter.
His other hand tips and a single cigarette slides out. Akihito tugs it out completely and places it between his lips. It feels strange there. He has never considered the thought of smoking in his life and he even chides Asami for "sucking on cancer sticks" on a fairly regular basis.
Yet, here he is, bringing the lighter to the end of the cigarette and half hoping he burns the whole building down.
The end of it smolders for a moment before smoke invades Akihito's lungs and he coughs violently, pulling the cigarette from his mouth and resisting the urge to gag. He taps the ashes off as he's seen Asami do and they flitter down on the fine leather of the couch. He places the cigarette back between his lips and attempts with only slightly more success to control the amount of smoke he inhales.
It's disgusting, he thinks. The whole process is disgusting and yet underneath the initial intensity of the tobacco and smoke is the taste of Asami. Akihito feels an anxiety he wasn't previously aware of leaving him. He holds the cigarette away and taps it against the elegant glass ashtray on the coffee table, instead of over the couch. He takes another puff and coughs slightly less.
By the third cigarette, he's more or less got the hang of it. Snuggling himself into the couch, he puffs away at it, clutching the ashtray in his lap. It's starting to feel good and all the tension he didn't know he'd been feeling melts away each time he inhales. He's almost completely relaxed when the door opens.
"Enjoying yourself?" Asami asks.
Akihito immediately jumps up and the ashtray thunks to the carpet, spilling ashes everywhere. He sweeps the pack and lighter off the table and hides the lit cigarette behind his back."Ha, ha. Hey Asami. How was your trip?"
Asami simply strides over, grabs Akihito's arm and plucks the cigarette out of his hand and snuffs it out between his own fingers, "What was it you called these? 'Cancer sticks?' You do know these are rather outside your pay grade, don't you?"
Akihito glares back at Asami's smirk, "Maybe somebody should increase my allowance before jetting off to Europe with a bunch of bimbos."
Asami laughs and kisses Akihito quickly, but long enough to taste and momentarily contemplates letting Akihito continue to smoke because his favorite tobacco has never tasted so good as it does on his boy's tongue. "I'm told you did not leave the apartment. I'd ask if that were true but," Asami surveys the damage in the living room, "I can see that it is."
Akihito looks around as if seeing the damage for the first time himself. "Oh, yeah... um, about that. I uh..."
"No need to explain. Clearly you have separation anxiety, like any good pet." Asami pulls Akihito to him and kisses him deep and bruising. "Don't worry, I won't be gone again for awhile." He strokes his boy's hair back from his face and enjoys how Akihito leans into his touch. "As for your punishment, I am fresh out of rolled up newspaper, but I'm certain we'll make do."
Thanks for reading!