Author's Notes: So, I posted this story under a different name on tumblr...probably not the smartest idea considering someone might think I'm plagiarizing it by posting it here under this username. However, I am the same person! Junjobingo and itano are all the same person...just different accounts that are suffering from the results of poor organizational skills.
...So, anyway... hi. Its been quite some time since I've posted anything. If you read my tumblr ( ) you might have noticed that I haven't been around for a while. Recently, I went through some pretty rough times. I decided that the only way I could truly find peace within myself was by facing the darkest aspects of who I am head on. It was terrifying, awful, and so very lonely. BUT, I can say, I am moving forward the future with new ambition and hope for myself.
During this time, I wrote quite a lot for this fandom in particular. I found myself writing light pieces, dark pieces, and somewhere along the lines, this idea came along. It was a spark of light in my life during my darkest hours, a taste of the sunny side that challenged me to find the natural humor in the junjo and sekaii worlds and incorporate that into my own writing. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.
Of course this is only installment one! So now, without further ado...
PS. Thanks for being the most wonderful readers a person can ask for.
~ONE~
Mizuki Banking
Tokyo Branch
Mr. Akihiko Usami
521, Bunkyo
Tokyo 21-555-12
6, August 2012
Dear Mr. Usami
Congratulations! As a recent winner of the Yamaguchi lifetime literary award, we understand how proud of you must be of your achievements in your career.
We here at Mizuki Banking are also proud of you and hope to continue supporting you during this transitional time by providing flexible options for customers of a calibre such as yours.
Therefore, we are offering you, Mr. Usami – as a loyal customer of our bank – six months of interest free banking should you decide to open another account with Mizuki. We do hope you decide to take advantage of this offer and we look forward to your partnership for the future.
Once again, congratulations!
Yours Truly,
Niigaki Yuuchi
TV Asia Studios
Tokyo
Mr. Akihiko Usami
521, Bunkyo
Tokyo 21-555-12
6, August 2012
Mr. Usami,
We are so proud of your work and your achievement concerning the Yamaguchi lifetime literary award. I, specifically, congratulate you Usami-sensei, on your successes. As the youngest recipient of this honour, you have truly caught the nation's, if not the world's, attention.
Your success is truly inspiring and extraordinary-a story that deserves to be covered on the nation's top prime time early morning news show, Hatsuban.
Perhaps you would be kind enough to reserve our station an exclusive interview with you Usami-sensei, since you have always been such a highlight for our show. If you wish to do so, telephone my assistant Hitomi Funayama to arrange a date for an interview.
Thank you and I will be patiently waiting for your response.
Sincerely,
Ayaka Fujimoto
TV Asia Representative
Marukawa Publishing
Tokyo SW4 325
Mr. Akihiko Usami
521, Bunkyo
Tokyo 21-555-12
10, August 2012
Dear Usami-sensei:
It has been five days since you have won your award.
You have made no effort to get in touch with the press, or fans, or even your own editor. This letter is the last resort since it seems that your phone has died, all emails have been ignored, and the house phone cuts directly to voice-mail. I am beginning to question whether or not you've choked on a martini olive and died or if you're hiding in your closet somewhere. Perhaps you would be kind enough to contact me, to assure me that our top writer has truly not gone to the wayside before I get a stomach ulcer.
If I have to drag you out of that apartment by your toenails, you know I will.
Anyway, Ciao!
Love,
Aikawa Eri
Editor
From all Misaki could remember it had pounced on him quicker than anything he'd ever seen before. It wasn't like he'd been expecting it to happen. He didn't even remember how it started, it just…did.
He'd woken to a cramped, darkened room, hazy with lingering cigarette smoke that had been polluting the air, stagnant round the ceiling fan, for what felt like days. He groaned, body sprawled awkwardly on the mattress, boxers twisted round his hips. The brunette tried to shift his weight, hoping to find some kind of comfort, but he found himself weighed down in his position, a foreign pressure on his abdomen suddenly heavy like rock. He gripped handfuls of the sheets, heaved his upper body forward, against whatever force was keeping him strapped to the bed, but gravity pulled him back quickly, his skull snapping back to the mattress with a thunk. Aggravated, he pried open one sticky eye and attempted to focus it, inhaling sharply.
What? What was that smell? Whatever it was, it was heavy in the stale air of the previous night, sticky and dirty, stinking of yesterday's efforts and ….was that flesh? He couldn't continue to just lie there, he decided, nerves buzzing with a new kind of curious energy that jolted him from his exhaustion. This was starting to look more and more like a potential Godfather-like situation.
With that thought, he tried again, pulling himself forward again, this time successfully overcoming the heaviness on top of him, sitting up straight. His spine clicked in protest, and soon followed with a jolt of searing pain that tore down his back. "Ow!" he cursed, his voice scratching its nails against his already raw throat.
Everything seemed weirdly out of proportion. He blinked a few times; well everything looked like it was in place. There were the curtains, the heavy fabric drawn shutting out any possible light from the outdoors, the heavy end tables that sat on each side of the bed, and even that lamp near the door he'd told Usagi-san to move because dammit, he kept tripping on it every time he stepped into the room.
No, something was still very wrong.
Perhaps it was the hundreds of glass eyes and teddy bear faces that were peering at him curiously from their perches on shelves and dressers.
No. It wasn't that either.
Then he felt it.
An inappropriate hand that rustled underneath the sheets, weaselling its way over his stomach. The mischievous fingers danced across the bare skin his t-shirt forgot to cover, making certain to take a leisurely loop round his belly-button, until they worked their way toward the buttons at the front of his boxer shorts. A thought began worming its way into his mind and the brunette suddenly, dizzyingly, came to his senses, sending blood rushing through his ears. Shit...its Usagi-san...Again! He grimaced when the hand had managed to pull one button free from its loop. Misaki scrambled, trying to wiggle himself free. No good. He was trapped by the man's other arm.
It was brief, but rattling, making him sag for a moment underneath the weight of Akihiko's leaden arm, drawing an unsteady breath. It had been a week. One week since he had been taken prisoner in the Usami-residence master's bedroom after the Yamaguchi Lifetime Literary award ceremony. That was Thursday of the fifth. Today was the twelfth. Seven days since he'd seen sunlight (okay, so the curtains had been opened once every morning for a good hour before Akihiko decided he wanted his privacy back); seven days since he'd had a proper meal beyond sloppily made bowls of cereal and microwavable cups of ramen; seven days since he'd had any real contact with the outside world.
He summoned all of his energy to say, in a rough voice, "Uh, U-Usagi-san?" No reply besides the hand that was now working at the ever-growing bulge in his boxer shorts.
"Ah...U-Usagi-san?"
The silence set in again – until finally a deep, sleep thickened voice responded with a questioning, "Hmmm?" Misaki dropped his gaze and turned his head slowly to the right – low and behold, shirtless and wrapped round his waist was the Lord Usami himself, wearing his most dangerous smirk.
"W-what's going on?" Misaki jerked about again, the panic seeping into his voice. The pressure on his waist pushed down and that same pain in his back jolted his spine. Misaki grimaced, twisting, suddenly realizing the cooking chopstick, no, ice pick that had been worked through his temple, piercing his skin on the other side, leaving a slow burning headache in its wake. The headache was centralized in his right eye—probably the result of his uncomfortable night with his neck propped up on a lumpy stack of pillows – and suddenly felt paralyzed by the pain.
"It's Monday. You know what that means." The man leaned down and pressed a kiss on Misaki's nose. The man smirked before he slinked down, his matted mop of lavender blonde hair eventually disappearing beneath the sheets.
Ah, yes. It was another Misaki Monday. It was a tradition that had started about a month ago after Akihiko read in some men's health magazine, that those in healthy relationships set aside two hours each week for 'intimacy'. Akihiko, who was never one to miss an opportunity for sex, implemented this as the newest Usami-residence law. Of course, the author disregarded the other 10 hours of sex that the couple already engaged in each week (and that was the bare minimum), saying that it was important to get his 'daily fill of Misaki'. The youth tried to rebut, but being that Akihiko was once a law student and rather stubborn at that, the chances of Misaki winning any argument with the man was zero to nothing. Thus, Monday mornings, from seven until nine was Akihiko's "scheduled sex" time. He even had it penned in his agenda.
"Usagi-san! You just had a whole Sunday full of Misaki!" he protested lamely, struggling some more. When he felt the warmth of the man's hand starting to work its way up his shirt, the boy stammered, "Y-you don't have time for this, U-Usagi-san! People are starting to worry about you! Have you even checked your phone since last week?"
The man shifted and Misaki felt soft lips pressed a kiss to the flat plank of his stomach. Then came the tickle of Akihiko's mouth curling into a smirk, as he said, "No."
Misaki, pausing his struggling to huff, "Have you even gotten out of bed?"
There was a rather disturbing pause before Akihiko replied, "Well, of course I have. To bathe and urinate." And with that, warm lips were back on his belly, and the pads of calloused fingers closed in, circling round Misaki's nipple.
"T-That is...ah,stop it...that is unsanitary! P-plus its not...it's not fair to your fans!"
The kisses stopped for a second, and instead, the low rumble of a chuckle vibrated across Misaki's stomach, sending shivers tinkling down the knobs of his spine. The man stared up at him from under the sheets, his lavender eyes practically glowing against the darkness that surrounded them in his fabric-made grotto. The man's irises really weren't lavender, but rather, a washed out periwinkle blue that happened to catch the ashy hues in his fair hair when the light happened to hit them just right. It was a bizarre effect, which made the man look even more devilish. "How?" he questioned with a grin.
"How? You're the winner of the biggest writing award known to Japan and you've been bedridden for days! You haven't said a single word to them! I bet they all think you O. at the reception ceremony or something horrible!"
For the first time all morning, there was a twinge of annoyance in Akihiko's voice, still muffled from his sheet covering. "They know I'm alive," he said, indignantly. There was another bout of shuffling, then Akihiko remerged from the sheets, relocating the offending fabric to the floor before he continued, leaning in, "I sent out a tweet right after everything was over."
Misaki cursed that damn Twitter-he hated it ever since Aikawa forced Akihiko to create an account claiming that, "All the hottest authors have one to keep in touch with what the public wants." Which seemed like a good idea in concept...but it soon became the author's newest excuse for never leaving the apartment for fan meetings.
The man slid back against him, close, smoothly, turning his attention back to plucking at Misaki's nipple, the cool, air-conditioned air kissing at the younger man's bare skin. Misaki gasped, losing his breath for a second, before he managed to say, "T-that is not a public statement, Usagi-san! It's barely 100 words!"
"Actually it is 150 words, love," Akihiko corrected with a grin. "Short, but got the point across. Plus, why would you want to go outside right now? There are probably photographers swarming."
Misaki opened his mouth to say something, but was cut off from a low moan that had been boiling in his belly. Akihiko purred with delight, his hand curving back down Misaki's quivering body inching lower and lower, until...
Bring! Bring! Bring!
Akihiko's smouldering eyes froze over, all the muscles in his body stiff, shooting an icy glare in the general direction of where the ringing was coming from. Misaki shrugged helplessly. The older man, frowning, followed the sound with his gaze until he was able to located the violent vibrating to a heap of laundry that had been strewn to the corner of the room that looked curiously similar to the outfit Akihiko had worn the night he received his award.
Misaki saw a glimmer of hope on the horizon when the phone started its second round of ringing. Whoever was calling, wasn't giving up. He returned his gaze back to Akihiko, determinedly. "You should get that Usagi-san. Someone is looking for you."
"So?"
"It could be important!" Misaki said sharply.
After a few heartbeats of silence, the author shrugged and turned back to Misaki, his hands regaining their previous naughtiness. Dammit! That was my only chance out of here! Misaki sighed, clamping his eyes shut as he anticipated the impending touch that was hovering low over his boxers. Wait. Perhaps...
"Hey, you know, it might be myphone. I…I was expecting a call from, uh, Iijun-sensei."
That little white lie worked like a charm because the author tensed once again, this time that chilly lavender gaze directed itself at Misaki. "That guy? Why is he calling?"
Misaki's gaze drifted, his mind racing for a reply. "Uh...er...because...because he said that wanted to go out with me for some cakes! To reward me for all the surveys I had to read for him. I practically read a thousand of them!" His breath caught in his throat and his lungs clenched as he waited for Akihiko's response. Please, please, please get jealous.
Akihiko stiffened at once, his eyes sharpening. "Misaki, I've told you that I won't allow you to hang around that guy. He has only bad intentions!"
So close. You're so close. You can practically taste freedom.Misaki forced down the smile that was starting to quirk at his lips, and coughed himself back into his role. "It wasn't my fault Usagi-san! I couldn't refuse Iijun-sensei. He's one of the biggest writers I work with. I can't disappoint him!"
If Akihiko was tense before, Misaki couldn't put words to the slightly haunting stillness of the body on top of him now. The author finally snipped, "Well, I'm your lover! You shouldn't want to disappoint me!"
This was it. Misaki's final act. He swallowed hard, made certain that his bubbling giggles were thoroughly suppressed with a serious tone, and he replied archly, "Well, I'm not going to tell him to leave me alone. I could lose my job…you'll have to do it."
Bingo. It was the golden phrase because within a second, Akihiko was rolling off Misaki, then off the mattress, hollering, "Fine! I'm making certain that jackass never bothers to call here again!" He stomped around the room, looking for the singing heap of laundry among the hundreds of other piles of dirty clothing that littered the floor. Misaki rolled his eyes, of course when Akihiko's back was turned, and with all the grace he could manage to muster up, he slipped off the mattress, grabbed his jeans off the floor and slipped them on, and began tiptoeing toward the door, ever so carefully, placing his hand on the brass doorknob and turning it...
And with that, Misaki managed to sneak out. Akihiko, his back still turned, fiddling with Misaki's cell phone (which hadn't been called at all). He didn't seem to notice the sound of the door creaking open while he spat curses and threats sourly at the device that was asking for a pass code. But he did hear the door slam itself shut once Misaki had made it out into the hall, and when he did, he made his revelation loud and clear, his voice thundering down the stairs, "Misaki! Get back in this room! Now!"
But no voice Akihiko could make was enough to scare him back into that wretched bedroom for another three days (or however long the author planned to hide in there). Determination took over as Misaki dashed down the stairs, socks slipping on wood floors, snatched a set of keys from the kitchen counter, smashed his feet into a pair of sneakers and left the apartment with a slam.
"Yes!" he cheered underneath his breath as he scrambled down the hall toward the elevator. He pressed the button a million times, hopping up and down as he waited for the elevator to come (they lived on the twentieth floor; there was no way Misaki was taking the stairs). He glanced back over his shoulder, down the long corridor that ended where Akihiko's door stood, overbearing and mahogany, making the rest of the hall look strangely miniature in comparison. A few heartbeats later, the heavy metal doors eased their way open, Misaki scrambled inside, stabbing at the ground floor button with his index finger over and over. Finally the doors shut, the car began descending down the shaft, and Misaki practically collapsed under the weight of his relief. He smiled wearily.
He knew Akihiko was probably smashing his fist against the closed doors of the elevator (Misaki was certain Akihiko didn't even know that there were stairs in the apartment), still throwing on his clothes and hollering like a mad man – also knew that in a few hours, he was going to be severely punished for this act of treason. But despite the sharp reminders that his logic was feeding him one by one, Misaki couldn't seem to stop grinning. Perhaps this was the first time he'd ever disobeyed Akihiko.
The thought was thrilling and although he wanted to just bounce out the apartment complex and into the streets, he was able to reign himself in, exit the elevator, and make his way to the door without attracting any attention. The last thing he needed was for Akihiko to ask someone in the lobby if they'd him and what direction he went, giving the man a free head start. Even so, Misaki was smiling – no he was beaming – feeling as if he'd just cheated the devil himself.
He popped outside, out into the cool morning air for the first time in seemingly forever, the punishing beams of the summer sun having yet to pierce their way through the clouds.
He glanced around – unlike what Akihiko had said, there was no swarm of photographers outside. It wasn't a complete lie about the photographers – after two days of being dubbed as the youngest man to earn Yamaguchi Award with no public appearances, the media came searching for him, here at his flat. They waited for hours at a time, figuring that the man couldn't possibly stow away in his flat forever. Two days later they had seemingly lost hope, and one by one the photographers dissipated, interests shifted to a popular singer's recent marriage scandal. Today the streets round the apartment were unusually quiet for a Monday morning and Misaki rolled his eyes at Akihiko's ignorance. Usagi-san, you are so conceited; you just think everyone is obsessed with you. The cameras left days ago. You aren't interesting anymore.
Misaki gave one last look at the apartment building that rose high above the streets casting a massive gray shadow in its wake, and hurriedly left the street. He grimaced at the thought of Akihiko finding him. Beyond punishments and humiliations, Misaki felt that barely audible, but oh so present, voice in his head informing him grimly that his little cat and mouse game with Akihiko might have been cute for a good ten minutes, but by now, he probably had the man genuinely worried. Trouble, it scolded. You're causing him trouble.
Misaki, shaking his head, tried to rationalize with himself.
It wasn't like the aggression Akihiko was displaying was entirely unnatural for a bad day or good– he was usually demanding and hated to see things not go his way, the product of a lifetime of coddling and constant self esteem reinforcement. Though, it wasn't like Akihiko to deliberately hurt people, and despite the anger he was showing, there was probably a good chance that Akihiko was feeling some kind of guilt tearing at the walls of his stomach by now. Emotions hit Akihiko hard, though he hated to show it and often masked them with aloof cockiness, and that was why his writing was acclaimed for being 'passionate' and 'provoking'. He'd take all the emotions that he kept bottled up for the day and spill them onto his words, his elixir for bringing fantasies to life. It was also, Misaki guessed and flushed, that Akihiko's powerful emotions were the driving force of his persistent "romantic" gestures – he just wanted to share those same feelings with someone he truly trusted.
Well…now he felt worse about the whole thing.
Sighing, Misaki made his way down the street, not quite sure where he was heading. The farther he got from the apartment, the more his stomach began twisting itself into knots. Eventually, he found a park bench and sat down, feeling the old wood creek under his weight. "I can't believe I ran away from Usagi-san," he mumbled. Drawing a deep breath through his nose, he closed his eyes, ran his fingers through his thin hair. "I wonder if he's worried about me…. or just pissed..."
He sat there for a long while, watching the early morning work force heading toward the business district of the city. He forgot how nice morning air smelled, crisp and clear of the day before. He had to admit, his escape was well deserved. "I spoiled him for a whole week," Misaki thought out loud. "He had it coming for him." That thought was enough to bring the smile back to his features as he lifted himself up and began heading toward the donut shop up the road.
Sure that nagging voice was there in the back of his mind, blaming him for every one of Akihiko's problems, and he had to remind himself again that Akihiko was the one that fucking imprisoned him for a week and deserved to play Escape From Alcatraz with the boy for a few hours – but rationalizations and mollifications aside, Misaki found that nothing quite assuaged the guilty heart like a maple-glazed donut. And for the extra guilty heart, he decided, he deserved a whole dozen.
