After watching the episode of Bakuman today, I really wanted to write a fic. I did... And I'm still pondering whether it is someting good or someting bad...
Anyway, I apologize for all the grammar/spelling mistakes.
English is not my first langage. This fic is spoilerproof, but if you didn't I recommend you to read the manga.
The clock indicated 23:00 pm. Hiramaru let go of his pen and bent in his chair. At this time, in his previous lifestyle, he would have been doing nothing. Maybe sleeping, maybe watching TV. Anyway, he would absolutely not have been drawing the fucking fourteenth page of a manuscript he had to give within the two following days.
Hiramaru bent deeper in his chair. He looked at the assistant that the magazine had provided for him They all looked absorbed by their work and only the scratching of quills on paper could be heard. The mangaka could not decide whether he liked this noise or not. As he was thinking, he joined his hands, connecting his fingers one by one. This sound meant that people were working, so he hated this sound because work, in Hiramaru's vocabulary, was hell. But on another hand, the sound he was hearing right now wasn't the sound of his work, it was the wonderful, fabulous, stunning, delightful sound of people working for him, for the sake of lightening the heavy burden that every chapters provided to him. He was suddenly overjoyed. All those people doing his work ! The thought that it was because he could not have done it alone or that those gentle people were actually paid did cross his mind, but soon were flushed down it. Who needed reality when delusion existed...
The banging door made him gasp. He suddenly went back to earth. He did not feel as if he had been pulled or anything that sweet. No, he just felt like he suddenly fell from a ten thousand kilometer high mountain, or more like the floor had disappeared under his feet. It was not great, it was not nice and it was getting worse as the steps in the hallway got louder. Hiramaru couldn't hear the sound of working anymore. He could only hear the loud steps which Yoshida hit the floor with. Why did his annoying editor had to come ? Hiramaru calmed a little when he looked at the knife on top of his desk. This time, he would not end up tied to his chair.
As he entered the small room, Yoshida sighed. It looked as if it was getting messier and messier each time he walked through the door. The assistants looked tired and annoyed that they had to work on a desk that obviously had not been cleaned since two, maybe three, years. Hiramaru, as always, looked tired and a negative mood, as always, was emanating from him. Yoshida chuckled, it had been a while that he had to take care of a so messed up mangaka. He would have been lying if he said he didn't like it. The feeling of getting something concrete from those rough geniuses that could not even handle themselves was the best. Yoshida looked past the shoulders of the assistants. They did not even bother to greet him, maybe one hour ago, he might even had been invited to drink something, but as the exhaustion pent up, nobody cared for the editor. He seemed to him that everything was going well. Hiramaru was unexpectedly working and respected well his schedule. Yoshida tried to remember what did he promise to the raven-haired man if he kept all his deadlines for a month. It seemed to have worked anyway.
Hiramaru was looking at Yoshida. He could not tell what was his editor thinking and that angered him, anyway he looked happy and, as he did not remove his coat, ready to leave.
Everything looked fine until Yoshida took the empty chair standing in a corner of the room. At that moment, the mangaka understood. He understood why Yoshida paid him a visit out of the blue and was right now waiting. Maybe, when he came he did not even think Hiramaru would be still working. Hiramaru grinned. Yes, his editor must have been angry when he pushed the door, when he saw the light and heard the sound of work. He must have bit his lips, thinking "why is he working right now ?". The mangaka laughed at the thought. He had unconsciously overpowered his demonic editor. He even pushed the game a little and said in a perfectly calm voice that he wanted to finish the fifteenth page, if that didn't bothered anybody. The assistants, that were not thinking straight anymore articulated a yes. Hiramaru went back to his drawings, a large smile painted all over his face.
Crap, he had figured it out. Yoshida's motive. The editor didn't know how to react. Should he be annoyed and amused ? He was lost right in the middle. It must be age. In a way, it comforted Yoshida that there were still some kind of youth inside of him making him a bit annoyed in the middle of all the cynism that had slowly dug his way inside him. Anyway, right now, if Hiramaru knew why he was there, he would give him what he was waiting for : sex.
Two weeks ago, he had slept with Hiramaru. It was not particularly hot day, they didn't not even drink something that could have altered their judgment. Their minds were perfectly clear. That's why it was even more strange andYoshida could not really grasped the real reason behind Hiramaru's actions, did he do it out of boredom, curiosity or just because of his sexual needs ? Yoshida had more or less the feeling this part would stay dark.
They didn't do any foreplay, lack of time, lack of lust. The both of them just wanted to get this started the sooner as possible. The hotel they had stopped at was a flashy love hotel. Hiramaru had joked that, if the location of his workplace a love hotel and Aoki Ko his assistant he would gladly work. Yoshida answered that he wanted to see his dream workplace. Hiramaru took him seriously and soon, they were walking in the hallway a key attached to a penis key chain in Yoshida's hand.
All the walls of the room were painted of a fuchsia pink that attacked the eyes in a painful way. A also fuchsia pink carped covered the floor. The furniture were, as expected, gaudy. The looked stolen to some kind of old movie adaptation of the Arabian Nights but painted over in fuchsia pink and magenta red. In the center of room stood a round bed, reflected by a mirror glued to the ceiling.
They had both lied down on top of the bed. Only their respiration could be heard. Sometime a cry or a particularly loud moan could be heard from the neighboring rooms. Maybe the architects of the building didn't know what would be the main use of their work and made thin walls. It was understandable after all : less concrete, less money. A few minutes had passed and the editor was still lost in his thoughts. It seemed as the tastelessly decorated room had a relaxing effect on him . That was until Hiramaru turned his head to Yoshida, then asked with the utmost calm if they could have sex.
When Yoshida entered Hiramaru, he found his hole to be quite soft but, still, the raven-haired man let go of a moan of pain. Not the first time but still not very much used, Yoshida thought when he started thrusting. He stopped thinking right after that and concentrated only on his thrusting.
After a few minutes, the editor concluded that anal sex with the six years younger mangaka was pretty good. He could feel Hiramaru clamping his ass around his cock each thrusts. It was heaven. The feeling was heaven. He wanted to feel more. He wanted to try more.
So without prior warning, he removed his shaft a second and flipped over Hiramaru on his back. A second later, he was inside the warm ass. Like he had imagined, it was better. He still had a good eye for that.
Hiramaru was overwhelmed with pleasure. Yoshida was just in another league. He put his arms around the older guy's neck and his legs around his waist. The feeling was still there overwhelming, wonderful, delightful... As lengths of pleasure went through him, he squeezed more and more. Moaning, groaning, gasping. His body arched, climax was already soon. He closed his eyes just a second and when he re-opened them, something hit him, Yoshida's wide back on the ceiling, precisely, the reflection of Yoshida's white back on the ceiling's mirror. It was a calming view, like a lighthouse during of storm. The raven-haired man closed his eyes again and planted his nails in Yoshida's skin. A drop of blood flowed. The editor let go of a groan and stopped thrusting for a second. A few minutes later, Hiramaru stuck his cheek to the editor's and whispered in his ear that he was going to come. Yoshida kissed him in the neck and left a blue hickey. Then their back arched, their body getting closer as cum was released and pleasure traversed their body.
In three, maybe five seconds, it was finished. All the pleasure had vanished.
Yoshida lied on top of Hiramaru for a few minutes, still panting. Finally he pulled out, leaving a trail of semence on the mat, and went to the bathroom. The room was unexpectedly normal. The shower looked clean and the hotel's shampoo looked quite normal. The editor didn't know whether he should be happy or sad because it meant that this love hotel couldn't even have paid the usual extravagant bathroom. He finally entered the cabin. The warmth of the water came back to his mind.
Suddenly, the editor remembered where he was. Hiramaru's apartment, 23:00 pm, sometime in January, maybe the tenth, maybe the twelfth. He smiled and thought to himself that well, if Hiramaru wanted to play, they would play. He removed his coat and got up, his memories had given him a new idea.
- Well, I'm gonna take a shower. If someone need advices, I'm back in fifteen minutes.
He quickly walked in the kitchen and soon found the little door of the bathroom. He was turning the handle of the door when a hand reached for his arm.
- There's not fucking way you're doing your little shower at my flat ! Said Hiramaru after storming in the kitchen.
- And why not ? You do have warm water and it looks like I have plenty of time.
Yoshida didn't look very serious and Hiramaru didn't look very annoyed. Maybe they were too old for that. This little game featured in most romantic books. That little play that male teenager often do with girl teenager. The mangaka started to laugh. He was way to crazy to actually be playing this kind of character. Yoshida laughed with him. They looked at each other. Their gaze was not one of lovers, no, just it was just an eccentric sadist looking at a manipulative shônen editor.
They both had their needs. Yoshida probably wanted to maintain this sexual relationship because he liked this feeling of insecurity, panick, that Hiramaru was emitting. His whole aura had something dark, something unusual. In a way, it attracted the editor that had been searching all his life for original work. Hiramaru probably did it out of fun or boredom, it wasn't clear, even in his head. He did not like the personality of the editor at all but he provided him what he needed right now, sexual pleasure.
Hiramaru kissed Yoshida. Their lips touched. Their tongues met. Their saliva melted. Yoshida entered the bathroom. Hiramaru got out of the kitchen. He told the assistants to go back to their home and, when they were none left, he leaned against the door. As he removed his left strap, he thought to himself how fun the night would be. A wide grin was showing all over his face.
Hope you enjoyed. Maybe, one day, I will write the Sadistic Tales of Kazuya Hiramaru. Not today, that's for sure.