It had been unusually warm for mid-September. The oppressive heat was making people churlish, and the sluggish populace seemed tense. It didn't help that the booming tourist industry was unfazed by the heatwave. Rather, westerners flocked to Tokyo in droves to snap generic pictures, sample the local cuisine and just in Akithito's way. Walking anywhere these days was impossible.
When he complained, Asami has chuckled and offered to have him chauffeured to and from work. Naturally, Akihito flipped his lover off with a string of curses and vowed to just walk home every night. Asami as the only one in good spirits about the western influx. He was making millions off the dumb tourists and their indulgent spending. It made him more lenient with the photographer than usual, not that he was complaining.
It had been a few days since his last good lay, and he was getting twitchy. It was all Asami's fault of course. The churning population kept the police on edge, just waiting for the boiling suspense to explode. Smuggling weapons and drugs and whatever else he didn't want his kitten knowing about required a delicate hand now more than ever, so he had been living out of his office in Sion.
"Damn bastard," muttered said lover of the crimelord as he kicked his shoes off. It was a little after eleven, and Asami wasn't home. He didn't have a missed call either, or a drawling message. His lover was not going to be home again. The photographer did not used to be this sex-crazed, but living with Asami meant that Aki was exposed to his more debauched nature. He could not help if it jazzed up his libido a little bit.
Holy fuck, it was hot. He could barely feel a difference in temperature between inside and outside. Pulling his shirt over his head, he chucked it into a corner and dropped the air conditioner another few degrees. Asami was rich enough to spring for cool air.
But it was not enough. The air was cooling too slowly. His tank top was sticking to his sweaty skin. Akihito groaned in pleasure as he pulled it off of his body. Heck yeah, an air current. That was what he needed!
Bounding with renewed excitement over to the glass paneled wall, the photographer pulled open the doors to the patio. A heavy breeze caressed his skin. The heat still pushed the breeze, but it was moving. The wind hitting his front and the cold air touching his back was erotic. He moaned pleasurably, reveling in the sensual overload.
His legs wanted in on the action. Unbuckling his belt, Akihito shimmied out of his tight jeans and kicked them away. Clad in boxers and a thin tank, he held his arms stretched out. The hot/cold combo licked at the exposed skin, making his toes curl. Head dropping back, he let the wind play with his hair, igniting every tingling nerve and cooling his sticky body.
A dark chuckle alerted him to the presence of another. Hazel eyes snapped open, but his head did not lift back up. Asami leaned against the wall, arms folded and jacket gone. Gold eyes raked over Aki's flushed form with appreciation. "If I knew this is what you did when I wasn't home, I would have come sooner."
"It's too hot to fight," Akihito quipped. He turned around, letting the hot breeze hit his back. Inside was much cooler, and he realized with a flush that his nipples had peaked from the sudden temperature change.
Asami noticed, though. He crossed the room in two steps, hands ripping his tie off his neck. "You're home," Aki smiled into this hungry kiss. The soft material of Asami's shirt seemed stiff and scratchy to his over stimulated skin, and the man's comforting heat felt was almost too much in the suffocating air. Tongues battled for dominance but the photographer quickly submitted when Asami's tongue stroked underneath his own.
A heady moan passed between the two of them, and it nearly drowned out the whirling groan that coursed through the city. When the lights flickered, Akihito realized that it might not be the man's amazing kissing ability but an actual problem.
"What the––?"
An earth-shattering boom shook the Tokyo skyline. Reflexively, Asami pulled the photographer down to the ground as the sound crashed over them. The lights flickered one last time before going out. The whirling of the fans slowed, the air conditioner sputtered to a stop, and the city fell silent. "What's going on?" Akihito pushed his heavy lover off of his chest.
Asami rose up to his knees, keeping the boy pinned between his legs. "I do believe that we've lost power."
•
"What do you mean you can't fix it?" Akihito screamed into Asami's phone. "It's got to be a million degrees in here!"
The heat had only gotten worse with the power outage. The entire city had been pushing the limits of the power grid, desperate for some relief from the endless summer. Damn tourists, they weren't supposed to be here. If they were back in their plushy European homes, they would not have taxed the electric company. And now Akihito had to suffer for it.
"I have spoken with the president of the plant, Takaba. The warning he issued early today was ignored. It is going to take some time to get the power back on. He assured me that this sector would be the first to have its power restored."
"How long is it going to take?"
"It could take hours. Up to two days," Kirishima sighed. "I'll keep you updated. For now, you are going to be stuck in the penthouse."
Days. He could be stuck here for days with no power, and a naked Asami. The moment the crimelord realized their situation, he announced that he was not going to ruin his suits by sweating in them. He had stripped with such efficiency that Takaba had accused him of rigging a power outage for kinky sex. His suspicion was only increased by Asami's blithe acceptance of the situation.
"I can't fix it from in here," Asami said as he walked into the kitchen to pour a glass of whisky. The moon glinted on his muscular butt, and Akihito had to look away. It was too hot to fuck, despite what the other man claimed. So that left it up to Akihito get ahold of Kirishima. The secretary had worked magic in dire situations before; if anyone could get the air conditioning back on, it was him.
The secretary was honest: it was out of his control. And Akihito knew that probably no one in the entire city wanted the power back on as much as the rigid secretary. He was locked in an apartment with a pregnant wife. "There isn't anything else you can do?" the photographer plead.
"I'm sorry, Takaba. I'm making calls to see if I can get auxiliary power sent to the building, or emergency generators. For now, we're stuck like this."
"Great. Thanks," Akihito tossed the phone on the granite counter, as the crimelord was proactively looking for some candles. His lover was working up enough sweat for both of them: he insisted on staying clothed despite the heat, and continuously danced just out of Asami's reach as he begged Kirishima to get them air conditioning. Aki had mindlessly trailed after Asami, unaware that his lover was trying to escape his shrieks.
It was a full moon out, and the blinds were left open for some light. Asami could feel the thick sweat on him, rolling down his chest and between his fingers and down the nape of his neck, trickling down his exposed hairline. Akihito looked furious, and exhausted, and uncomfortable all at once. And it was interesting to him to see Akihito in this state. The photographer tended to roll with the punches while Asami tried to control them. The fact that the heat got his little lover so riled up that he lost all flexibility amused him.
He had not been lying. It was much more comfortable to walk around bare. The soft linens were heavy, and rough on sweating skin. Plus, the way Akihito's face lit up in embarrassment every time caught sight of Asami made his blood boil.
"You'll feel better if you take your clothes off," Asami found the candles underneath the sink. His little lover had rearranged the kitchen recently, and nothing was where he remembered it.
"Yeah right," the photographer accepted the candles Asami held behind him without comment. "I'm hot enough as it is without working up a sweat." A drop of sweat rolled between his eyes and hung off the tip of his nose. When it hit his cupid's bow, Akihito sneezed violent. Asami heard him mumble something that sounded like "Damn tourists," as he pattered away.
His lighter was still in his suit jacket. When Asami entered the living room, he was surprised to see Akihito hook two fingers into the waistband of his boxes. Hazel eyes met gold ones, and slowly, the photographer shook his hips as he pushed the elastic waistband down. The fabric moved so slowly, agonizingly so and Aki barked in laughter as his lover stood, transfixed. His cock was already half hard, and it looked to Asami in curious anticipation.
He could see, from where he was standing, that Akihito was drenched with sweat. The shirt was a light color, sticking to his chest in places. As he took it off, he had to peel it off of his body. The heat was really just making him more beautiful. Though he felt sticky and flushed, Akihito had a sort of sheen to him, a rosy pink blooming across the blade of his cheekbones. Now it was just tiny drops of sweat that adorned his face, clinging to his lush upper lip, running down his temple. Asami wanted to lick him.
Wrapping his arms around Akihito, Asami sunk into the leather couch. The cool fabric immediately glued to his skin, but he did not care. The saline boy in his lap glistened like his own silvery nightlight, a bright beacon that was capable of permeating the darkness that was his soul.
"Ngg, Asami," Akihito hissed into his ear as their erections ground against each other, the friction sending hot sparks up his gut. The boy wound his arms around Asami's neck, fisting into raven hair. And the fire only intensified when Aki nipped at his neck. "You taste salty," he murmured, febrile against the crime lord's flushed skin. Such good salt—not the salt of the earth, because that was too mundane, but something richer and smokier. "Like pretzels, and pickles, and cum," he punctuated every word with a vicious swipe of his prickly tongue.
Asami couldn't help it. He hissed when Akihito latched onto his neck and sucked for all he was worth. His cock throbbed with painful need, and he thoughtlessly reach between them to tweak at his lover's sensitive nipples. The rosy buds were pointed high, despite the humidity that crackled like lightening between them.
"Asami," Akihito's head rolled back as he gave way to the patient tug that played on his chest. "Oh, fuck…"
"Taste all you want, kitten." Asami's voice was harsh and heavy, like storm clouds moments before a rain. He was so hard it was painful. Akihito was the same. He could feel the photographer purring at the nape of his neck, still lapping like a kitten.
Akihito shifted in his broad lap, settling his shins on either side of his thighs, sliding his calves in there seamlessly because of the lubrication of the sweat. He settled himself in Asami's lap, their erections trapped between their bodies, and when he met the crime lords eyes, he wound his arms around his neck, bringing their faces together, lips almost touching. His mouth softened and almost smiled, and that was when Akihito moved forward, kissing him deep, heatedly.
In the middle of the kiss, he moved subtly and eased down onto him.
Akihito gasped softly. He exhaled and Asami's grip on his butt tightened, and his mouth moved along the photographer's neck, teeth pulling at the skin. The bastard was leaving large, purple bruises for the world to see. He would have to wear high collars to work for the next few days.
He luxuriated in the feel of them, pressed close and damply together, sheathed in each other without moving. Little by little Akihito pressed down harder onto him, feeling his scrotum pressed against him, the wiriness of his pubic hair against his own, that blond against black.
Asami bit harshly at his neck, and Akihito understood: that was the only urging he was going to get. Lifting himself slowly, he squeezed his ass as tight as he could. Asami groaned, head pressed back into the couch cushion. When he felt the thick head nearly pull out, Akihito released and dropped down quickly. He continued this tortuous fuck, pulling Asami out of him so slowly that he thought he might cry, and then thrusting his ass down with as much force as he could muster. Asami's fingers dug painfully into his hips, nails biting deep into the tender skin and drawing blood.
It was a slow and indolent fuck, matching the heavy and hot atmosphere of the night. His hips rocked against Asami, grinding against him. Their chests were pressed together and slick, and their skin made intimate and wet sounds as they moved. Akihito shakily unwrapped one hand from Asami's broad shoulders, reaching for his own weeping cock. He was so full, his senses taught like a wire. Just a little more.
Asami flexed his legs and his hips pushed up into him, and Akihito cried out wordlessly as he reached new depths inside of him. He half-snarled and continued to push as he did, a new and brutal pace being set.
The feeling changed suddenly, from indolent to desperate.
"Oh, god," he cried out, the syllables lengthened and frenzied. His head fell back, his neck exposed, and Asami watched the white column relentlessly, the pulse in the boy's throat hammering. "Oh, god," he repeated, his fingers tightening and then slipping across Asami's neck, leaving pale red marks in their stead. Akihito's hips were becoming erratic, and so he cupped a hand to the back of his head and forced him back up to meet gold eyes, pulling her face to his, foreheads touching.
"Look at me as you come," Asami commanded, and he had to obey, just had to. One of his hands stayed clamped to the back of Aki's head, and the other pressed to the small of his back, forcing him faster, their bodies pressed together and making deep, wet sounds as they moved sweatily together. Ahikito tugged on his own erection, in sync with Asami's jarring thrusts.
It was too much for him—his nipples skating wetly across Asami's chest, their stomachs pressed together, his hands all over the photographer, their eyes meeting fiercely, and the hard movement of his cock inside of him, so tight, and Akihito came savagely, his body held helplessly stationary by Asami, their eyes meeting—the photographer's almost panicked, the yakuza's aroused. He could feel the desperate, uncontrollable clenching of his anal muscles around him, the spasm of his legs, the raw and hoarse cries he was making.
Asami clenched his teeth and made a tortured sound through them, and, still holding Akihito, he simultaneously pulled his lover down onto him and thrust up into him, and tears came to Aki's eyes because Asami was so deep inside of his body, and then he felt him coming.
Asami came so hard he was momentarily afraid that he was going to pass out—from the heat and from the extreme pleasure of it. Akihito had already pitched forward onto his chest as soon as he had let go of his hair, and he was still twitching slightly, his lips scoring circles on his skin. He let his legs go lax, his thighs like jelly, and felt his come inside of the boy, hot and sticky. He loved coming inside of Akithio. It marked him as Asami's, irrevocably.
"Why the change of mind?" Asami asked sometime later.
They had found every cool place in the penthouse to fuck on: the couch, the wooden floor, the granite countertops. Even under the tepid water of the shoer, once. Now Asami had him trapped between the edge of the balcony and his own muscled body, tongue dancing around a swollen nipple.
"I remember my fourth grade biology lesson," Akihito gripped at his lover's head, keeping him firmly attached to his chest.
"Did you now?" Asami stroked Akihito's overly tender penis, bringing it to painful hardness.
"Yeah," his legs shifted open unconsciously as he prepared to be fucked on the veranda. "Sweating helps you cool down,"
Asami chuckled as he thrust into his boy's welcoming cavern. ""We can sweat all night,"
And Akihito looked forward to it.
A/N:
I own nothing. Just playing with our boys.
Addendum: It was brought to my attention that the ending was cut off. Oops! No idea how that happened. Thanks to Miyanoai for pointing that out!