A Euphoric needs something very different to get off.
That much he learnt very quickly.
Without indulging in their particular fetish, it was physically impossible to become aroused anymore.
Perhaps, he thought, that's what made the club so popular; the newfound ability for the rich and corrupt to delve into their darkest desires with ease, as much as they pleased, as long as they kept up their end of the bargain, of course.
He, however, could not tell whether he was blessed or cursed by this gift.
Scent.
Something all encompassing, even before his transformation. Something that now smothered him with its overbearing presence.
The first day honing his skills left him nauseous and lightheaded, whether from the strength of the smells or the sheer number of them or the mashing and mixing of them together he would never be sure.
What he was sure of was that he would never forget the first time the delicate aroma that was just him had hit his senses, rendering him dumbfounded and flustered beyond belief. No words would dare do such a thing justice, but he damn well tried to piece it together. Smoke, obviously. The man lit his cash-rolled cigarettes like a chain-smoker, if only to flaunt how unimportant it was to him, how little he cared. Pain, as well; a veil of repressed feelings cloaked his body so strongly, so definitively, it was a surprise no one else paid it any mind. And lastly was, quite frighteningly, death. No, not the sickening, repulsive stench of a rotten carcass, but instead something almost ethereal in its depressive presence. Altogether, it was simply him. Something strange, and beautiful, and intense, that left him weak in the knees and a bit short of breath.
Which is why he was more than willing to hunt down the man in the large building, no matter the time. A few seconds to locate him, and a few minutes (how long could he drag it out…?) to actually reach said destination, thanks to the skyscraper's generous size.
On that particular day, Choji Suitengu was to be found in his office; no time to wait around. Crossing the landing from one side of the building to the other, Tsujido arrived at the large, ornate door that guarded aforementioned room. Wasting no time, faltering not once, he pushed it open, expecting to come face to face with his savior.
What he found left him disappointed, if only for a moment.
The man wasn't at his desk, as per usual. He wasn't in the room at all, for that matter. Instead, draped over the back of his chair was only his coat, showy and pristine. He spent so much time wearing it, that it had practically become part of his image – and, because of that, it held his scent well. It was the first time he hadn't been seen with it though, as far as Tsujido was concerned. He supposed, however, that in the summer heat, perhaps even Suitengu, as great as he may be, couldn't handle wearing such a thing around. Still surprised that the coat had duped him, Tsujido took a step towards it, mind already attempting to find him again, processing the building he inhabited. Unfortunately, he seemed to have left already. The noirette was hoping to have caught him before he had departed, but he was in no luck. Instead, he was left alone, sans the man's pompous coat.
Advancing on the desk, he was surprised at how strongly the coat bore his scent, still enough to make him sigh lightly, as though it was pleasuring simply to be in its presence.
And that it was.
The longer he stood there inhaling it, with nothing else in the room to distract him, the more apparent it became to him that it probably wasn't a smart idea; taking seat at the desk, Tsujido couldn't resist the urge to pull the garment around his own lithe body, vaguely reminiscing on the last time he had done so. Perhaps not the most pleasurable of thoughts by any means, but indeed ones that would remain in his memory as long as he'd live. Letting his eyes fall closed, he continued to breathe in the delectable aroma that was the man he so dearly cherished, his visage heating up slightly as time went on, skin donning a sheen coat of sweat.
How long would he be gone…? If he knew, then maybe he could… It had been longer than he could remember, anyways. What harm could it really do? When he was out on business, he tended to be gone all day and night, appearing back among them within a day or two. Though he debated it (why why why would you think this is a good idea…?) his gloved fingers slowly tightened their grip on the coat as he stood. Preferring to hold it gingerly, least it get damaged and someone know, he shifted it to his shoulder, quietly lamenting over what he was doing, because it wrong, and he knew it, so why…?!
At least it was easy to avoid any prying eyes.
AN: Just forewarning, this is actually going to be a NSFW fic eventually, but I liked how it played out up to this point, and I figured I'd post a SFW version too? Reviews and subs are love, since this fandom is non-existent.