Such a natural, normal lethality.
The title is taken from the 31 Days theme for April 11, 2009. If you don't know the characters here, then you probably shouldn't read this. XD
"Shinsuke."
"You're late."
Bansai always comes back to their room with the scent on blood on him because he knows that it turns Takasugi on. A horny Takasugi is a manageable Takasugi, because he has been with the younger man long enough to be able to stare the smiling demon in the face, to not get intimidated or won over by his smooth cruelty. Besides, when Takasugi wants to be fucked he has the tendency to forgive small slights and forget just about anything else.
This moment is no exception.
"Come here."
Imperious and demanding, as always. Bansai stares at the younger man, takes the sight of him in from the safety of his dark shades: perched on the windowsill, legs spread wide enough to split the slit of his yukata up to an insane degree, one arm across one knee, one hand rapping the ash out of his pipe and into a small, cedar box on the floor. He wears his clothes loosely, as always, open wide enough to offer a rather generous view of his chest and a just mere hint of the skin of his belly.
"…Well?"
Bansai disobeys by plopping down on the floor and propping his back up against the wall, mostly because this is part of their game and partly because he likes to watch the way displeasure travels across Takasugi's face. It's in the turn of his nose, the light in his one good eye, and the downward curve of his lips.
Two counts, and Takasugi has crossed the room, as planned, and that allows Bansai to look up at him, as planned. It's a rare opportunity, seeing his leader from bottom up outside of the realm of the bedroom. Or the floor.
"You are only alive because I allow you to be."
Takasugi puts his foot on Bansai's crotch, and Bansai is not really thinking about looking anymore. He's thinking about the way Takasugi's voice sounds, how it's all low and soft with his particular breed of disdain. He's thinking about the way the ends of Takasugi's obi trail along the floor whenever they're cloistered away like this, how they're pooled in front of him now, shifting near Bansai's toe every time his master kneads his crotch with the sole of his foot. He's thinking about catching that foot, lifting that ankle up and bringing it to his lips. He does so in the next moment, and Takasugi smiles: small, thin, amused, cruel. That gesture holds Bansai's attention, and he only remotely notices Takasugi pulling his foot away and replacing it with the rest of his body instead, folding himself rather neatly on top of his subordinate. The ends of his yukata flutter out on either side of him, almost like wings.
"I'm your god, you know," Takasugi murmurs. He's removing Bansai's shades and holding the older man's face between his hands and he's speaking to him but he might as well be speaking to no one. Bansai reaches out, slipping an arm underneath Takasugi's yukata and hooking it around the latter's waist.
"Of course."