Venus Man-Trap
"Remind me again, what are we doing here?"
Satsuki tilted her head back, staring dubiously at the depressing tacky neon sign mounted on the wall above the door. To her, the place lacked any kind of taste, elegance or… hell, anything. All they needed was a pink neon flamingo.
Or would that be pink bondage flamingo? Glancing around at her escort – honestly, it looked more like one fifth of a harem – she half-winced. The Angel's clothes were a little on the skimpy side, running higher to leather than usual. Fuuma fit right in.
"Satsuki, you seem to spend every waking moment trapped in that monster of a computer. You need to get out more." Yuuto's outfit shimmered as he walked towards her, extending one hand to escort her inside, apparently. As he did so, the shirt he was wearing was actually loose enough and big enough to pull to the side and expose one long line of pale-ish shoulder. Smiling charmingly, he moved up and tugged the shirt back, stubbornly.
His entire outfit was made out of sheer, glittering silver material; through which you could see the smooth plane of his stomach and chest. The pants were made of the same material, with only a thin sliver of what appeared to be pure, hard silver over the crotch. Leaning back, Satsuki already knew that the back of the crotchwear ended in a thin silver thong. His butt was bare; seen through a sheen of silvery, shimmery cloth. He looked like a trophy, only twice as shiny.
"Satsuki/Kamui/ and the Sakurazukamori are waiting for us inside. Please come on."
Satsuki shook her head blandly, stepping back and clutching the laptop to her chest like a shield. She hadn't dressed to go out, but had a feeling that no matter how she was dressed, she wouldn't fit in in this place. Venus Man-Trap. The kind of club that no girl would be welcome at.
"I'm not going to welcome here. I don't know why I let you take me out here." She shook her head, "I'm going back, Yuuto."
"Satsuki…" Yuuto reached out and grabbed the girl's wrist as she attempted to turn away. The silver material was horribly scratchy. "Wait outside for us, then. It isn't safe for you to walk back yourself. /Kamui/ said it wouldn't be long."
Satsuki shivered a little, breaking out of his hold and rubbing one hand down her upper arm vaguely. "I can't see why our Kamui would want to be here, anyway."
"Me either, but it's not really our place to question." He flashed a bright smile and a short laugh, "I better go inside. I'll see you later."
"Yeah. Later." Satsuki backed off to the side a little as Yuuto pushed open the painted wood doors, settling herself on the edge of the sidewalk and flipping open her computer. Her face was lit up by the vague light of the laptop screen and she smiled, running one hand idly over the back panel of the machine, which was whirring quietly. She failed to notice the large purple eyes watching her from not so far away.
---
Yuuto, meanwhile, had descended into the Man-Trap. If he had been almost any other of the Dragons, he would have been surprised by how… normal, the place was. Of course, Yuuto had been to these kind of bars before. Just out of curiosity, of course.
It didn't take him long to locate Seishirou and Fuuma. They might not have been the only ones radiating power quite so strongly, but they were the only ones radiating such pure badass.
Picking his way through the sweaty, excited crowd, he finally appeared just a little behind Seishirou's elbow. Breathing hard from the general amount of adrenaline and pheromones in the room, he nodded to Fuuma respectfully. "/Kamui/."
/Kamui/ turned away from the bar, looking Yuuto up and down like he was thinking of buying. Eyes dipping to the side, the blonde noticed more than a few empty shot glasses on the bar and coughed.
"Sakurazuka-san." Moving back, he nodded to the man next to him.
Seishirou turned to glance at him, staring through sunglasses. Of course people were staring at him for wearing sunglasses in a place like this. He must've been nearly blind under them in such bad lighting. Not that Seishirou looked like he cared. Nah, he probably wore those sunglasses in the bath and to bed, Yuuto thought vaguely.
Raising one hand, Seishirou's fingers eased around the edge of them and he tugged the black plastic off his face, staring at Yuuto blandly.
He shivered, but kept eye contact and stared back just as blandly, smiling.
Fuuma stared at them both, vision swimming a little, though he couldn't place why. He'd only had, (he turned back to the bar) one… two… three… what were they called? Snakebites? He didn't really remember. Seishirou had ordered the drinks, and the destroyer of the world had just gone along with it. Seishirou was the more experienced, after all…
Raising his eyes, he blinked at Seishirou and Yuuto who were, for all appearances, having a staring contest. Blinking again, he realised slowly that there was something cold digging into his stomach, and looked down.
The shiny silver buckle of a belt was pressed into his stomach. Grumbling softly, his hand went to it and dislodged the offensive metal. Another cold metal patch against the back of his elbow confirmed another belt, and he glanced at it quickly. For all appearances, his entire shirt was made up of belts. Upon closer inspection, you could see what looked like a dark-coloured net shirt, although it was so ripped in places that you couldn't see it. Belts criss-crossed his chest and stomach; a small one coiled tightly around one upper arm; the excess leather hanging stiffly in thin-air.
His pants were in equally bad repair, only much more obviously. Belts trailed from his waist; ending roughly around mid-thigh, though one was strapped around a calf further down. The black denim was ripped and torn and wasted in almost every way. It was also, to all appearances, slightly stained with dirt, what looked like stray spray-paint swirls, and something more metallic. The belts strapped the material to his legs at the top, but at the bottom they were left to fall to what amounted to ribbons in places. Someone must have helped him dress. You couldn't do up all those belts and hold the material on your body at the same time.
"…Stop glaring at each other." Fuuma said, leaning across and pressing one hand to Yuuto's chest; pushing him back with a soft "Down, boy."
Yuuto blinked, but relaxed; standing back on his feet normally. Seishirou smirked just a little, replacing his sunglasses and turning back to the bar. His first shot was untouched. Yuuto stared at the assassin blandly, eyes running over his outfit – which was no different from usual.
"If I can ask, why do we have to dress up, when the Sakurazukamori gets to keep his clothes? We look like we stepped off different porn sets."
Fuuma turned to glance at him, then looked at Seishirou. He gave a little smile, "He's from a porn set too."
Seishirou fought hard not to smile, and of course, perfect actor that he was, succeeded. Yuuto blinked and raised an eyebrow, then turned to Fuuma. "I don't get it."
Fuuma smirked, "No, the Sumeragi does."
Yuuto blinked again, looking from Fuuma and Seishirou, lost. Fuuma dismissed him with a rolling of eyes and turned back to the bar.
Just in time to see a pair of magnificent legs, clad in stockings and a fetching pair of black kitten heels stride across the polished bartop. Fuuma blinked, not noticing as the tip of one foot nudged his shot glasses off the top of the bar and onto the floor, where they smashed much too loudly. Seishirou had already removed his glasses from the bar, and Fuuma had all of five seconds to marvel how he'd known to do it, before they were on him.
Silk-gloved hands stroked down the back of his neck, and Fuuma's head turned to meet a perfectly-toned flat pane of stomach. A black tie closed what looked like PVC in only one place over a pale chest; running down in a sort-of trenchcoat effect past a black silk micro-miniskirt that came not even halfway down the boy's thighs. Black leather boots raced to meet the silk, stopping just an inch short; displaying an inch or less of black fishnet hose.
Fuuma froze, staring at the stomach, then tilting his head back to stare at the boy's face. He smiled. Fuuma smiled back. The boy took that as an invitation and slid onto Fuuma's lap neatly. Oh, the uke was pretty enough; big, gleaming blue eyes and long dark-purple hair that trailed down past the collar of the trenchcoat-thing and lower.
The dancer gave a little smile, leaning against the bar; still firmly on Fuuma's lap. Reaching across, he swiped Seishirou's replaced shot with barely a glance to the assassin, who was staring at him with mounting dislike.
Yuuto, on the other hand, looked nothing short of amused. Smiling smoothly, the blonde reached across and seated himself on the single barstool between Seishirou and Fuuma.
"Hello there." He said, smiling whorishly and establishing one arm around the dancer's waist. Because that's who he was; a dancer.
Fuuma made a small, disgruntled noise. His body was more than happy to have the cute little warm body on his lap, but his mind was screaming that it could cause pain. Lots of it. Especially since Kamui was designed to come here any time soon.
Yes, that was the purpose of this little field trip from Dragon of Earth boot camp. To coax Kamui away from the Seal's house. It had been, oddly enough, Seishirou's idea to use this particular club.
Raising one hand, he placed it on the small of the dancer's back and gave him an ungraceful shove. The purple-haired pretty uke landed just as ungracefully on Yuuto's lap; body thrown over the material, before the poor boy's nose connected with Yuuto's crotch. The ensuring crunch verified that it was, indeed, solid silver.
Clutching his bleeding nose, the dancer lunged backwards, staring at Yuuto with wide eyes. The blonde wasn't even looking; too busy attending his groin and wiping blood off the silver. Giving a little yip of pain, the be-plasticked dancer ran off into the pheromone sea.
"Good to see he has his uses." Seishirou remarked, jerking his head gracefully at Yuuto. It's hard to jerk your head gracefully, but Seishirou is just one of those anime characters that manage to do every mundane action with an obscene amount of style that us puny humans cannot replicate. Ahem.
"Yes, there was a point to covering his goods in silver." Fuuma agreed, turning to survey Yuuto's outfit, and adding "Candy usually comes wrapped, he's no exception."
Yuuto stared. Fuuma's eyes were just a little hazy, perhaps from one or two snakebites, or just from lust. Yuuto was, secretly, hoping it was the first. Latest gossip told that /Kamui/'s tastes ran to the sadistic, dark, and vaguely obscene. The blonde turned away hastily, sweatdropping and coughing at the thought.
Chuckling darkly, Fuuma turned back to the bar. "Speaking of candy, where's Kamui anyway?"
Yuuto peered at him. "So, we're here for your sadistic games? If so, why are the Sakurazukamori and I here?"
Seishirou raised one hand (unlit cigarette between two fingers) to wave at the door way across the other side of the room, "You'll see."
Yuuto blinked. He turned. He stared.
Kamui and Sorata were standing in the doorway. Kamui's eyes were on the ground, purposefully, and the uke was blushing a deep scarlet. Sorata's face was ashen, as he stared openly at the S 'n' M flunkies and camp hairdresser types sauntering to and fro.
Yuuto watched as identical evil smirks spread across the faces of the two sadists, and felt all the colour drain from his face.
〆