Day after Day
Always the same, never anything different: your life follows a schedule, a routine. There is never any change in it. Is this a good thing? Perhaps, but the same thing day after day can make a person dull and listless. In your line of work, that is never a good thing. So you decide to look at every day as a new thing. One day at a time is enough, one day, followed by a night of pleasure and bliss.
When the sun is out, you're just a barista at the local café, sitting behind the counter, a book open on the white and red striped apron that falls across your slender legs, tied underneath the scarf around your thin neck, your silver hair tied back in a high ponytail, half-framed glasses slipping off the bridge of your nose. You look up whenever the tinkle of the bell on the door sounds and get the customer what they want.
You have a schedule. You know when your regulars come in. They come in the order they visit you during the week.
First is always the fedora wearing Mafioso who calls himself Reborn. At exactly 6:07, he walks through the door and orders a black espresso, sharp, with two shots of caffeine and two dark chocolate biscotti to go with his coffee. He sits in the corner with his newspaper while his coffee is being prepared, sharp black eyes hidden underneath his tilted hat. He's always dressed impeccably and you find yourself liking that. Because it's always so much more interesting and so much more rewarding when you finally get that tie off, when those slender trigger happy fingers find themselves sliding your shirt off…
You always smile when you call out his name, a smile that never quite reaches your eyes, because although Reborn is interesting, he's not your favorite. If it's Sunday when he comes in, you always make sure to tell him to be safe and to have a good trip.
At 6:24, Hibari Kyouya comes inside and orders a cappuccino, venti sized, without whipped cream, as well as a banana nut muffin. Now Hibari, here's a man that has become one of your favorites. He's a favorite because he likes to bite. Call it a fetish of yours, but it's one the two of you share. You enjoy the feel of being nibbled, he likes nibbling.
But those things are secrets that happen between the two of you on Monday nights. Mondays because that's the night Hibari has off from the police department. He's always wearing his uniform, not a spot on the white shirt, his hat tucked under his arm, other hand resting easily on the hilt of his gun as he orders his food. Sometimes, he'll throw you an extra penny, but it's only Mondays that he throws you a quarter and if he gives you a dollar, you know to bring out that box later.
Things with Hibari have often been good, but he's the jealous and possessive type. Luckily, he doesn't come in at the same time as the other jealous and possessive ones.
6:53-7:00 is Yamamoto Takeshi. He has a time frame, but it's always the same time frame. He comes in laughing, a hand behind his head if he's almost late, and his dark eyes sparkling. He always blames his lateness on traffic or on his dog. You know a lot about his dog and that just makes you hate dogs even more. You just look up from your book with a bored expression, get him his mocha with extra whipped cream and then sit back down on your stool. You wait for him to decide what solid to get, but you know that he always orders from the menu board to your right. He always leans against the counter as you get him his food, talking to you about who knows what.
But if it's Tuesday morning, you give him service with a smile, your fingers lingering on his as you hand him his warm drink. You smile and grin and make sure your eyes twinkle with knowing. He always looks flustered but pleased when you do that before he runs out of the café and into his expensive Italian sports car. If you're feeling nice, you'll give him that extra special look and he knows that there will be a lot of fun that night.
Nobody else will come in until 7:42, so your boss usually has you sweep the floors or rearrange the pastries. "Gokudera!" his voice is always too harsh, too loud for seven in the morning. While you work, he always checks the register to make sure you haven't taken any money. If he finds one stray quarter or dollar on the ground, his black eyes burn and he threatens to fire you. Unfortunately, you're the only one willing to work for him so he has to keep you.
7:42 comes around and it's always the blond Cavallone who walks in, in all his trench coat glory. He always says he keeps meaning to come in at 7:30, but things keep happening and eventually, it's already 7:42 and it's always 7:42 when he walks in and trips over the rise going into the café. He laughs it off, sprawled on the ground. If it's Wednesday, you get out from your seat behind the counter and with a sigh, walk over and help him up. But if it's any other day, it's his assistant Romario that helps him up. Dino always orders a venti mocha frappuchino with extra whipped cream and just a plain cup of whipped cream for kicks. He likes sweet things, especially on Friday mornings, but on Friday's, your smiles are for another customer.
Dino always orders shortcake too, but if it's Wednesday morning, he'll order a big cake with all the fixings and eat three quarters of it right there in front of you. Romario always orders a mint tea and a buttered croissant. And if it's Wednesday, you even give some crumbs to Dino's pet turtle.
7:54 is when the navy haired bookkeeper from the family store across the street comes in. His eyes aren't matched, his right one red and his left one blue. It's been a while since it's bothered you. His hair is styled in a way that reminds you of a pineapple and you never fail to tell him that. But if it's Thursday, you tell him that pineapples are your favorite fruit. Mukuro, from Mukuro's Books, always orders a caramel frappuchino and a cup of espresso with two biscuits. He likes to eat a lot, so he also orders a box of one of those pineapple cakes.
Mukuro's a favorite of yours, so you always make sure to stick a little extra something into his box, even if it's not Thursday. But if it is, you make sure to stick a little note in there too. Mukuro likes sharp things and he likes lotus flowers. So with your talented origami skills, on Thursdays, you always make him a little origami lotus flower. If it's indigo, he knows something special is going to happen tonight. If it's not, something special is going to happen anyway. Mukuro's one of those jealous types, so you always make sure to give him a tug on his ponytail when he's leaving, but only on Thursdays, and when he turns around, you flash him a secretive glance and he always leaves with an appreciative smirk.
At exactly 8:00, the kindergarten teacher at the local elementary school comes in. Sawada Tsunayoshi is a poor excuse for a man, but you like the way his brown hair falls over his eyes when you grin at him, especially on Fridays. He orders his regular coffee with a cute stutter, slamming his credit card down with a bright red flush.
Tsuna flounders around briefly after that as he puts in a ton of milk and sugar into his coffee, turning the dark drink into the same pale brown as his eyes. He also orders something sweet, blushing when he tells you the order and jumping into the air when you call his name. And if it's Friday, you always make sure you put a little extra emphasis behind it when you say his name, enjoying the way it rolls off your tongue, because you know later that night, your name is going to come rolling off his as you take him in a wave of bliss and glory.
Tsuna's a favorite. Not just because you finally get to top him, but because of the way he gasps and pants so adorably. And then there's also the way he gets so flustered when you touch your lips to his cheek and whisper in his ear before sending him off on his way, especially if the café is empty on that Friday morning.
8:28 brings the red headed man named G. He never tells you his real name and you sometimes wonder if he's actually forgotten it. But he always brings with him his blond haired best friend and you can hear the blond call him that, so you assume that he's been called G for a while. G is always so touchy-feely with his blond friend, making a big show of laughing as they wait for G's order. The blond never orders anything, so you never catch his name, but you know that the way they're "flirting" is supposed to make you jealous, because G is another one of those jealous-possessive types. But it doesn't work, because you don't have feelings for any of your regulars. G always orders a black espresso and a dark chocolate coffee brownie with almonds.
He pulls out his cigar as he waits and you always glare at him, but then he reminds you that you smoke in the bathroom and you just pretend to be flustered and turn your back to him, making sure he can see the small of your back as you reach up to get that cup on that high shelf. His blond friend always looks flustered and turns away when G begins to make growling noises in the back of his throat.
You get off of work at ten, on the dot, and you always find yourself in the library, tucked away in a nook with your science fiction novels and your iPod. Because in the back of the library, nobody gets mad at you if you smoke.
The nicotine always fills your lungs with such sweetness and it always leaves you aching for more. The salary you make at the café barely covers the cost of your rent and you need your cigarettes. That's where your night time job comes in.
After you've read off an entire shelf at the library's science fiction section, you wander home. It's three in the afternoon by now, and you know your regulars will be coming at seven on the dot, except, if it's Dino or Yamamoto. They're usually late, bursting through your apartment door at 7:03-7:07 depending.
Sunday nights always begins with you on the sofa, watching reruns of old Charlie Chaplin movies, Chopin playing softly in the background. Reborn knocks on the door exactly three times, a half second pause between each knock.
Sunday nights are silent nights of passion.
Reborn smirks at you, as you open the door to him. Sunday nights, you always wear the sweats that are easy to take off, but still show off your figure, because the pants are too low and the shirt too high. But it's been a while since you've felt the need to be self conscious.
Reborn likes to do things nice and proper, so the spare bedroom is reserve for him.
You lead him in, cigarette dangling from the end of your lips, because you know that's the way Reborn likes to see you: a delinquent, without a care in the world, someone he needs to straighten out. He always grabs the cigarette out of your mouth and throws it out the window, not caring where it lands.
He pushes you against the wall, pressing his forearms against yours, his slender fingers wrapped around your skinny wrist. He presses his face against your neck, breathing in your scent before tossing you onto the bed.
There's no kissing between you and him.
He always takes you in silence, head thrown back as he rides out his orgasm deep inside you, filling you with his warmth. He hates protection, but he likes to do things cleanly, so he keeps himself inside of you for a while. Eventually though, you have to push him off.
He just smiles and pays you, before leaving with a cheerful, "See you next week."
You always take a long, hot shower on Sunday nights.
Monday nights brings Hibari Kyouya to your door.
Now Hibari, here's a picky man. He likes things exactly the way he wants them, and you always make sure of this. You always wear the red silk dress shirt and the dress pants, a black tie around your neck. You spray on the cologne that he has given you last week, tucking the scent underneath your silver hair, the hair that has been washed with Hibari's favorite lilac scented shampoo. It's soft and silky, just the way he likes it.
You put in your contacts, because Hibari likes the pale green in contrast to the regular forest green they are and you slap on some lilac scented lotion too.
Hibari always comes in and closes the door behind him, before grabbing your wrists and shoving you onto the couch. Monday nights always begin with you sitting on the arm rest of the sofa, because Hibari likes to push you over. He puts the money on the coffee table as he walks in.
You fall down into the leather of your sofa and he presses his lips against yours. His kiss is fierce and hungry, and you know from the way his member is pressing against your stomach that he's been waiting all week for this. His cobalt eyes are smoky with lust and the way he nips at your neck brings pain and pleasure to you.
His hands are always so very skilled as he takes you out, making you come all over his hands so easily. He likes to be tortured, likes to be in agony, so you take out that special box for him, the box that you keep hidden away from prying eyes.
Hibari likes to choose his toys, but you know it's going to be the same. He likes the handcuffs, especially the furry purple ones, and the cock ring, as well as the extra long vibrator. He hands you the cock ring first and you always slip that on with your teeth, keeping your hands on his waist as he tries to buck, head thrown back as you deep throat him, licking and nipping at his tender skin.
The hand cuffs go over his wrists, binding his left arm to the coffee table as he falls onto the ground, turned over on his back. You always straddle him over there, leaning over and whispering sweet nothings into his ear as you slip the vibrator up his ass, turning the thing up on high.
Depending on the week, Hibari might prefer to have you ride him, or to even have you take him from behind.
But it's usually you riding him.
His right hand always prepares you, sticking three fingers straight up you while you shift the vibrator up his own. You lift yourself and slam yourself down on his fingers for a few minutes before slipping off his ring as you slide yourself onto him.
He bucks his hips and moves. You always press your hands against his slender chest as you move. When you come, it's always together. His head is thrown back, as he pants and gasps out your name in an exhalation of carbon dioxide.
You always slump down over him, breathing in his soft scent, having extracted yourself. You lay sprawled on the carpet together. Monday nights, you never turn on the air conditioning.
Tuesday mornings, you leave at five and Hibari comes into the café at 6:24, showered and suited. Tuesday mornings, nothing special happens between you, because that was last night. But you know, come next Monday, the two of you will be on the carpet again.
That carpet is reserved for Hibari Kyouya.
Tuesday nights, Yamamoto comes in late as always and you're always in the kitchen when he comes in, your glasses on. Yamamoto has a fetish with glasses. Nights with Yamamoto are always different, but it always happens in the kitchen. Sometimes, he'll have you on the ground on your knees, licking and nipping at him, as his hands pull at your hair. He'll come all over your face and you have to wash your glasses in the sink, leaving him to pant and gasp, leaning on the island in the middle of your kitchen.
Yamamoto likes toys too, but they're not the same toys as Hibari. Yamamoto likes the feeling of being dominated, yet dominating at the same time.
He has you dress in leather sometimes, all leather, the pants clinging to your skin and refusing to let your arousal budge. It's uncomfortable and you have to rub your legs together as subtly as you can, as you coil a whip around your wrist, a seductive smirk on your face.
Other times, he'll have you on the counter, on all fours, as his tongue probes and licks at your interior. He always takes you from behind, on the cold kitchen floor. If you've given him that look earlier in the day, after you two have finished, there's always dinner waiting for the two of you. It feels like a real date, except it's backwards. He leaves right after eating, pressing his lips gently against yours.
"See you tomorrow," he laughs before leaving.
The kitchen is for Tuesday nights and for Yamamoto Takeshi only.
Wednesday nights, Dino comes in. Nights with Dino are as tame as you can get, the tamest of all of his nights, because Dino has no idea what he wants. You lead him on, and the two of you role play every Wednesday night.
It usually ends with him taking you, in throes of pleasure and bliss, as he gasps out your name loudly, still managing to find the energy to kiss you, your tongues fighting for dominance. Dino's hair is as soft as yours, and you find yourself wrapped around him as he licks at your stomach, gracing butterfly kisses down your back, his fingers penetrating you with ease.
Sometimes, he's a tree and you're a monkey, scaling the tree with prickly tentacles. He finds things to be tentacles and sticks them all up you at the same time.
It's horrifyingly enjoyable and you always come before he does, all over his face. He laughs and then takes you to the shower, where you make out and he pins you against the shower wall, the hot water running down your faces.
He takes you in the shower, always in the shower, with the scent of strawberry body wash and mint shampoo. The bathroom is for Dino.
Mukuro comes in with various boxes of things, always smiling and talking to you, even as you lounge against the sofa. He pushes you against the back of the door in the front hallway, and takes you once right there, his lips crushing yours, his ponytail wrapped around your wrists.
The front hallway is for Mukuro and he always prepares a special obstacle course for you every Thursday night. He has you go through each obstacle, each one shedding one piece of clothing, adding one toy to an abused hole.
When you reach the end, it's always crawling, the vibrators up your ass rendering you incapable of movement, as Mukuro forces you to give him a blowjob. He takes out the toys one by one, when he decides you've done a good enough job.
You're always bleeding Thursday nights, but when Mukuro throws you onto the wooden floor and crouches over you, his lips on yours, his hands gently, but firmly, pressing against you, his own erection straining against his pants, you know it's all worth it.
He takes in you pure bliss, bruising your lips with his forceful bite in the hallway that you keep reserved for him and his navy pineapple styled hair and mismatched eyes that arouse you easily on Thursday nights.
Mukuro leaves you sore the next day, so you're happy you're the one doing the taking on Friday nights. Sawada Tsunayoshi, naïve, young, your absolute favorite.
He always arrives on time, a little embarrassed, dressed in a T-shirt and a pair of jeans, a light smile on his face as he looks up at you from underneath his growing bangs. You brush them aside, chuckling deep in your throat as you gently take his hand and push him inside your apartment.
Tsuna deserves the very best, so the master bedroom is always reserved for him. He's always willing and compliant as you place him on the soft bed in the room, gently taking each piece of clothing off, lightly kissing him, never forcing.
There's always lubricant ready on the bed side table for him and it's not long before he loses his embarrassment and begins to kiss back, hands wrapping themselves in your hair. Sometimes, he gets daring, but it's not often.
He always makes the most adorable noises when he's being prepared, noises such as whimpers and small high pitched squeaks. It reminds you of a rabbit and you begin to wonder if Tsuna is maybe a rabbit in disguise, the number of times he gets you to do him.
Friday nights are the nights you enjoy the most, because the way the weather always seems to be nice, the way your humidifier always seems to work. Air conditioning is left on Friday nights, as the two of you lie down next to each other, curled up, arms wrapped around each other, pressing your foreheads together.
You're owned by so many people, yet, the only one you own is Sawada Tsunayoshi. Perhaps this is a good thing, because Saturday night belongs to G.
G is a man of many fetishes, and he hates doing it in the apartment. He takes you out on a date, always to a fancy restaurant or to a twilight picnic. G's a good cook, surprisingly, and the two of you enjoy some time alone on top of a hill, fingers intertwined.
As soon as it gets dark though, all facades disappear. G becomes a beast, viciously kissing you and fondling you. The grass is always cool against your back as your clothes disappear in record time. G always remains fully clothed, however, as he takes you.
He takes you so many times, once right after the other, because he claims just the sight of you arouses him. He rarely needs any help, and you get the feeling that G's best friend can't do very much.
The park belongs to G, and you yourself are split six ways.
They all say that you belong to them, solely to them, and that they love you. But as they slip you the money, you know it's all a fake. They have other lives, the secret affairs that you share is a secret. Nobody else can know.
But it's the only way you can live.
The only way you can survive.
Every week, right after the next. The only times you get a break is when one of your clients get sick or have to go away on a mission.
You learn more about them in one night than many can learn about them in years. Because in one night, all is bared. Two become one, and it all seems wrong, but you know that you have to do this.
Because you don't know any other way to live.