Alrighty, so we're back to smut. Huzzah! I'll go ahead and toss out this little tidbit: I'm probably going to write an alternate ending considering that I've already deviated from the original plot (this means that from now on I will be manipulating events and characters at my own discretion). Still, I don't necessarily want this to turn into a long, drawn out ordeal if no one is going to read it. So maybe two additional chapters after this one. Meadie out.
***Additional warning for this chapter: Shiki gets pretty rough with Akira, so heads up!***
Encounter Part IV
I had to admit, though it pained me to do so, that I was developing a peculiar fondness for this Akira character. He was quite different from the vile scum that crawl and slink through the darkened corners and trash-littered alleys that make up the foundations of Toshima; he was fearless and arrogant, and the delectable body beneath those clothes made me hungry for release. The fact that he was entirely content with ghosting through the shadows does not concern me, however, I admired that his confidence rendered him brave enough to bare his existence plainly to the light. I thoroughly venerate his boldness, as it's a quality that is nearly unknown in Toshima; regardless, I still appreciated that most of the wretched strays were considerate enough to lurk in the shadows and out of my sight. Those who elected remain unseen as they wallow in their pitiable fear may have indeed postponed meeting their ends by my katana, but the nauseating knowledge of their poorly concealed presence was enough to sicken me nonetheless, and I would gladly seek them out and eliminate them for my own satisfaction. He may still have been a dog of Igura, but I would scarcely even consider labelling the grey-haired man as scum, and certainly would not kill him for being such; he was a rare breed, a pet worthy of providing me with satisfaction in an entirely different manner.
I cursed myself when I realized that had been obsessing over Akira since we had parted, that my mind had not strayed from the memories of each burning surge of lustful heat that he inspired with every touch. He may be a rare breed, but that would never exempt him from the status of being a dog; and dogs should not be worthy of maintaining such a persistent occupation in my mind. Lost in thought, I scarcely acknowledged the fearful cockroaches that were darting among the shadows and filthy, darkened alleys of the rain-washed Toshima streets, and was even further disturbed by the realization that I had simply ignored their proximity rather than immediately moving to cut them down. Akira's existence was becoming embedded so firmly into my cognizance that it was making me weak and negligent, sapping away the potency of my lethality, and I found this to become exceedingly frustrating.
Determined to prove otherwise, I sought out and slayed several Igura rats, and was pleased to find that I could eliminate them with the easy efficiency that always dictated my movements. While I stood over their mangled corpses and flicked the filth of their blood from my blade, I still was haunted by an odd sort indifference to which I was unaccustomed; generally I would be relishing the satisfaction brought on by this simple assertion of my superiority, but this kill seemed lackluster. Though I was tempted to continue on with my elimination campaign as I sought to revive my typical state of mind, I simultaneously knew that my mind would remain wholly distracted while it was filled with thoughts of him.
Reluctantly, I whisked the residual droplets of persistent gore from my katana before guiding it back into its sheath with practiced efficiency, all the while mumbling flustered curses into the empty alley, which seemed to mock me as it echoed my gripes back to my ears. Growing increasingly more aggravated, I glared into the darkness at nothing in particular before glancing to the cloud-muddled sky overhead, desperate to cast my bitterness towards something, anything, innocent and tangible.
"Dammit," I scoffed, clenching my jaw tightly, "damn him."
At some point I found my way to the rooftops of the Toshima skyline, walking along the ledges effortlessly, and the rhythmic tapping of my boots on the stone proudly displayed my sure-footedness. Though I was six stories and one misstep from the wet, grimy asphalt below, I was equally confident in my balance here on the brick and cinder-block precipices as I would be if simply strolling amongst the shadows on solid ground. Many would likely feel that arousing rush of adrenaline and the high of exhilaration if they were to mimic my actions as I skated soundlessly from ledge to ledge, but the culmination of years of war and merciless killing had nearly entirely robbed me of the ability to feel any thrill. My confidence in my own abilities and strengths had essentially erased the sensations that accompany the pulsing, sickening elation of fear and the realization that one might be powerless in the face of imminent peril. However, given that I am, in fact, the most prominent and potent source of fear in the eyes of the scum of Toshima, the sensation of adrenaline soaked horror is entirely foreign to me, though I regularly see it painted across the faces of my victims. I envy them in a way, they are permitted to shamelessly express so many emotions, most notably the intoxicating shock of terror, while I am left with nothing. Even the act of taking a life has become less thrilling over the years; playing the role of shinigami may be somewhat satisfying due to the power that accompanies holding a life in the palm of your hand, but there are times when the task seems tedious as well.
He appears to be the only exception to the unwritten laws that govern my existence. When I'm with Akira, I am given the opportunity to savor the discord he induces, the sensation of being dominant and regulatory while simultaneously feeling out of control, basking in a primitive wildness that threatens to let me become unhinged. There is, however, a small and nearly unperceivable chain somewhere in my consciousness that keeps me shackled, albeit precariously, to the comforting restraint of sanity and composure. Akira's presence seems to weaken the suppressive bonds, causing each link in the manacle to strain and pull apart, threatening to disintegrate into nothing but a heaving wave of animalistic impulse. My assessment easily concludes that once those retainers are destroyed, there is no returning to standard human society or re-adoption of its morals and norms. At that instant, even the most decent of men undergo a nearly immediate reverse evolution, regressing back to a nearly barbaric being that lives only for his own pleasure. It is sinful, primitive, raw, and reeks with the divine scent of carnal contact.
Not entirely of my own accord, I somehow ended up perched on the roof of the building that stands across from the Neutral Zone hotel, watching shadows shift and recede as numerous Igura participants strode in and out of the light that poured from within the lobby. The illumination from within cast a yellow puddle of warm, comforting brightness across the damp asphalt of the street; but even the jovial spread of the heartening rays was consumed by the darkness as well, just as everything else in Toshima was. I sat atop the edifice as I vacantly assessed the scene below me, one of my legs swinging freely over the edge while the other was pulled slightly to my chest, lounging casually despite the strangeness of my location. Though I claimed that my actions there were merely a result of growing and unrelenting boredom, I knew that despite the asinine lies I told myself, I was in truth attempting to monitor Akira's movements so as to satisfy my foolish possessiveness. I felt as if I was a hawk with contradictory and illogical instincts, continuously tracking the prey that was so plainly in my line of sight but making no movement to descend from the air to claim my prize. The entire situation was completely ridiculous, and I scolded myself for acting in accordance with my own selfish whims, as well as for allowing thoughts of the grey-haired man to consume my mind so effortlessly.
Before long, I could see Akira's silhouette as he walked with apparent indifference toward the hotel, the volatile shadows cast by his movement between the lampposts growing and receding like an assemblage of hell-beasts that pursued him relentlessly. His approach was recognized by a tall, slender brunet whose presence I had scarcely acknowledged before, who called out to his companion and rushed to greet him. When the brunet clutched onto Akira's jacket and rested his forehead against the grey-haired man's lightly sculpted chest, I felt a nauseating surge of possessiveness; though the emotion could easily be reinterpreted as jealousy, I refused to admit that I felt slightly inferior to the brown-haired wretch who was tainting my property with his touch. Despite the open display of affection, which, in my opinion appeared far too pitiful and needy, my pet remained motionless with indifference, entirely disinterested in the brunet's painfully obvious pleas for affection. However, an irritated scowl sprang onto Akira's largely emotionless face when the other male inspected the bruises and bites with which I had branded him, tracing his fingers tenderly across the marks before attempting to caress his cheek.
I began to find this familiarity between the two to be infuriating as I watched the interaction in silence, tapping a gloved finger on the hilt of my katana with ever-increasing irritation. After Akira shouldered past the brunet and casually make his way towards the hotel entrance, he glanced in my direction and shot me frigid glare with those intense crystalline eyes, somehow detecting my presence on the rooftop. Though my anger remained unscathed by his acknowledgement, I couldn't restrain the nearly imperceptible smirk that tugged reluctantly at my lips.
"How astute of you, Akira," I quietly praised, but my resentment began to boil yet again as the lanky, brown-eyed fool glanced in my direction before chasing after the grey-haired man, much like a dog who was fearful of his master's abandonment. "My pet has a pet, hmm? That needs to be fixed."
After grumbling my irritation for several minutes, I alighted from my perch, quietly and swiftly descending through the tangle of fire escapes of questionable reliability until landing softly on the wet asphalt below, my coat rippling down behind me before falling to once again hug my frame. Rising from my crouched position, I straightened myself and shifted my sheathed katana to my left hand, coaxing free the familiar groan of my leather gloves against polished wood as I subtly tightened my grip, preparing for combat. The thought of having to prepare myself for a fight seemed utterly pointless, and frankly, ridiculously comical. I was always ready for battle; even a gang of one hundred Igura strays could prepare for a month and then attack me by surprise, but still I would receive not even a scratch while their pitiful regiment was decimated by my blade with ease. I was vaguely optimistic in my hopes that such an encounter would occur upon my entrance into the hotel, just so that I could prove my theory; nevertheless it was essentially guaranteed that the rats would scatter as they always do. How disappointing. It was very rude of them to hamper my sport just because they were afraid.
Stepping free from the secretive shadows of the alley and striding into the open expanse of the street, I cut down the three men who were lounging against the brick of the hotel, and I found it to be excessively pitiful that they did not notice my presence until my blade struck their flesh. It is truly revolting to witness the complacency of fools who have been seduced by the illusion of safety; safety is nothing but a fairytale, especially here in Toshima. If I decided that you were going to die, you would die like scum at my feet. And if I decided that you were worthy of my acknowledgement, I might forgo spitting on your wretched corpse.
I absently flicked their blood from my blade as I nudged the glass doors open with the toe of my boot, casually walking into the brightly lit space as if I belonged there, my gaze darting around the room in search of a pair of familiar blue eyes and a mess of grey hair. Soon my glare sought its target, and I instantly felt a surge of molten rage spreading through my chest like a wildfire when I saw the same vile brunet from before curled desperately around Akira with a nauseating smile on his face. My strides lengthened, ignoring the chaos that ensued upon the notice of my presence, but I didn't take satisfaction in their struggles as I usually would. Every fiber of my body was engorged with the singular desire to tear the lanky waif apart with my own hands; if he served as an example for the rest of the Igura roaches, I didn't care if his filthy blood stained my skin. He was touching what was mine with far too much familiarity, and for this treason he would be denied a swift execution by my blade. I intended to ensure that the message broadcast by his agonizing death would be burned into the memories of every whimpering, grimy rat in Toshima, asserting my ownership over Akira. My Akira. Soon they would be reminded of the true bitter flavor of fear, and would drown in terror at the mere fleeting thought of my name. If any of these dogs grew brave enough to question my absolute power after tonight, I would decimate this hell hole and tear the very stars from the smog riddled skies to remind them of their inferiority and reprimand their insolence. Everything they knew and held dear would vanish into a mist of blood with a single strike of my katana.
Reaching the cluster of chairs along the back wall of the lobby, I grasped my victim's throat roughly, my fingers curling tightly around his windpipe as I plucked him from the couch and threw him to the floor. As I glared down at him sprawled across the dirty carpet, I concluded that he was pathetic to such an obscene degree that I might have been able to pity him under other circumstances. Perhaps I would have been gracious enough to kill him quickly, thereby putting him out of his misery and freeing him from the knowledge that his very existence was nothing more than a bad joke with an even worse punch line. Clutching the back of his head with a whimper, the corners of his eyes were wet with tears as he struggled to push himself off the floor in a feeble attempt to rise to his elbows. When he cracked open his eyes, his gaze trailed along the gentle arc of my katana, finally leaving the gleaming steel to gawk in terror as his stare met mine.
"You must want to die, wretch."
His brown eyes were wide with fear as he trembled conspicuously, and he was fumbling with his words as he attempted to speak, likely trying to piece various phonemes together in some futile effort to plead for mercy. The mere thought of showing him mercy was making me nauseous, which even further fortified my disgust and urge to kill as I leered down at him, bumping the underside of his chin with the tip of my weapon. Releasing a pitiful whimper, he wrenched his eyes shut tightly and tipped his head back with a wince, straining to rid himself of the residual burning sensation left from my blade's contact with his skin. I was moments away from tearing the life out of his body when Akira's voice reached my ears.
"Shiki! That's enough!" he panted heavily, the rage in his voice reflecting itself in the icy gleam in his eyes. I engrossed the scene greedily; his frame was taught as he took a combative stance, his chest heaving as he glared at me furiously, and the animalistic ruthlessness of his expression caused arousal to churn in my blood. The temptation to take him here, plainly within view of so many Igura dogs, was becoming exceedingly overwhelming as his heated gaze continued to melt the chains of my self-control like acid. Though I never wanted to tear my eyes from him, to voraciously absorb the sight of my pet in such a deliciously aggravated state, I threw a hateful glare towards the stray sprawled on the ground beneath me and reluctantly re-sheathed my katana before turning to face Akira directly.
"Akira…."
"That's enough, Shiki," his retaliatory tone silenced me when he spoke, his low voice dripping erotically with venomous intent. Though I was now seething with bitter disapproval at his defiance, his gaze never faltered when confronted with my own, and thereby his attempts at intimidation did naught but provoke my desire even further.
"Are you barking at your master, pet?" I questioned dangerously, my voice lowering as it purred deep in my throat, thickly drenched in sensual malice. Taking easy, measured steps, I closed the distance between us and grasped his jaw tightly as I confronted his gaze; his expression never faltered and he made no attempts to struggle against my hold. We simply stood in silence as we glowered at each other challengingly, scarcely aware of the hundred pairs of horrified eyes that were fixed on us in the fearful, rigid hush of the room. Neither Akira nor I acknowledged the presence of anyone save ourselves, and as our wordless confrontation drug on, it seemed as if our closeness was beginning to say more than any verbal fractures in the silence could. There was something heavy in the miniscule pocket of empty space between us, and I could tell that it would only be a matter of time before he surrendered and succumbed to me once again; the sensation was erotic, dangerous, and desperate, and it threatened to consume us both.
Some curious emotion flashed in Akira's eyes for the fleeting fraction of a moment, and the temporary distraction left me vulnerable long enough to allow pale, warm lips to collide roughly with mine, slightly startling me at the contact. Regaining my composure, I smirked into the kiss, mumbling a gentle taunt before returning the violent affection. "Needy needy, Akira."
He seemed a bit irritated with my snide comment, as he nipped at my lower lip before softly licking the assaulted skin, coaxing my mouth open so that our tongues could begin to tie mindless, sensual knots. Releasing his jaw, I allowed my hand to ghost over his chest and down to his hip, where my thumb casually slipped beneath the hem of his shirt before moving to his lower back, my palm tugging his body against my hips. He groaned quietly, and I could feel the gentle vibration of the sound against my lips while his lithe fingers began to tangle into my hair and scratch softly into my scalp, desperately trying to pull me closer. This time it was my turn to moan at his ministrations, but my breath subtly hitched when I felt his blunt nails dragging themselves roughly down the front of my throat, undoubtedly leaving angry red marks in their wake as we parted for dearly needed air.
In the brief instant between our lips disengaging and opening my eyes, Akira managed to curl his fingers brutally around my wrist as he began to bolt through the lobby and out into the darkness of the street, dragging me behind him as if I was some stubborn bitch on a leash. Busting through the glass doors, he hissed some quiet curses when he nearly tripped over the bloodied corpses of the three men that I had cut down several minutes before, but he refused to release me until we were shrouded in the dim shadows of an alley. He was glancing over his shoulder towards the hotel and panting when I tore my hand free, and as he turned back to face me, my palm made contact with his cheek in a vicious slap.
The only sound that echoed through the silence was his subtle gasp and the resounding crack of my leather-gloved hand impacting the flawless skin of his face. His eyes were wide as his hand flew to touch the assaulted area, where a pink blush was rising to the surface, his flesh retaliating against the force of the collision. Soon enough, his frigid glare returned and was beginning to bore into mine in a silent confrontation, the sheer violence of our anger and pride turning the challenge into an unyielding, bitter battle of wills. Akira parted his lips and attempted to speak, likely preparing to spit a venomous insult at me, but I quickly silenced him with a scowl and a dangerous tone in my voice.
"Pray tell, Akira," I began, scarcely able to compose my rage, "what makes you think that a dog such as yourself has any authority with which to command my actions?" His eyes widened subtly as I took several steps towards him, forcing him to back into the gritty, wet brick of the alley wall; but despite his unfavorable circumstances, he still refused to submit to fear and intimidation. "More importantly, what makes you think that I won't take what I want right here before leaving you to die in a puddle of your own gore?"
Though he continued to glare at me defiantly, he flinched when I closed my fist around his throat roughly before turning him and shoving his chest and face against the wall again, the mild dampness of the building beginning to soak into his clothes. Attempting to fight back, he struggled and writhed against my grip desperately before finally concluding that his retaliation was merely a study in futility. Pressing my body against his back, I pinned him firmly in place, my fingers moving to loosen his belt; but when one of his hands grasped mine, I pressed my palm against the back of his, entwining our fingers as I pinioned them to the wall above his head. The miniscule whimper that fell from his lips was wickedly arousing, encouraging my digits as they worked on the strap of leather around his hips and unclasped the buttons on his jeans, teasing the growing hardness between his legs.
"Shiki, stop this," he growled, "Not like this, you're being too rough."
"I can discipline my pets however I see fit, Akira," I retorted with a scoff, wild amusement tinting my tone as I nuzzled into the valley between his neck and shoulder, biting him harshly.
"Ugh, shit. Shiki, not like this," he pleaded with only a trace of desperation in his voice, and I smirked against his skin, immensely satisfied that his spirit had yet to be broken. The moment that his defiance faltered and shattered, effectively becoming nothing but a pathetic clone of the thousands whom I had already killed, he would have to be eliminated as well.
Akira tensed noticeably as I tugged again on his jeans, the restrictive fabric shrugging from his hips and allowing my touches to freely explore the pristine expanses of his warm, bare skin without hindrance. Ghosting over the length of his hardening arousal, he gasped and shuddered at the sensation of the cold leather of my gloves, allowing his forehead to fall against the brick wall before him, his eyes wrenching closed as he fought the urge to buck his hips into my palm. I chuckled at his struggle, lightly dusting his neck with gentle nips and kisses as I abandoned his pleasure, moving instead to release my own length from the suffocating confines of my pants. Sighing with relief, I laid my head against his back before gripping his hip with my free hand, savoring his wince as my fingers curled tightly into the pale flesh, causing small purple bruises to bloom beneath my touch. I wanted to kiss every mark I inflicted on his specimen of a body in apology, soothing every cut and contusion that marred the perfection of his being. However, at this moment, it was paramount that I prove my point; I would deal with the repercussions of my actions later.
Gritting my teeth, I shoved myself into him forcefully, my moans easily drowned into oblivion by his cries and the heaving, sobbing gasps, the sounds piercing the air around us as I started to move, rocking my hips slowly. Akira maintained a pained grimace while I took him, miniscule tears attempting to burst free from the corners of his tightly closed eyes and his unbound hand clawing at any patch of my skin within its reach. Still, I managed to repeatedly strike the coil of nerves within him, his body giving reluctant shivers of pleasure as he began to relax around me, his grasp easing and moving to brace himself on the building in front of him.
"Too rough, Shiki, too rough," he whined in an increasingly ragged voice, his words nearly imperceptible between our moans and panting breaths. "Shiki, enough, please."
I could tell that he wanted to fight back, to preserve the fragments of his shattered dignity, but his body refused to move, crushed beneath the smothering pain and excessive sensory stimulus caused by my assault. Kissing his neck gently, I saw his digits curl into the wall as I spoke, the wet, gritty brick dust accumulating beneath his short fingernails as he clutched to it desperately. "Has your defiance been successfully quelled, pet?" Akira nodded violently, words no longer capable of expressing any coherent thought. "That's very good, shall I let you come as a reward?"
"Shiki, I… I want…" he mumbled, struggling to compose himself, "I want to see you. Let me see you, please. Please."
The raspy request caught me by surprise, my hips stilling as I considered his words carefully. "Very well," I murmured against the heated skin of his neck, pulling free of him and allowing him to turn to face me, admiring the wanton beauty of his lusty gaze and the blush that colored his cheeks. Lifting him and pinning him against the wall with my weight, his arms snaked around my neck and back, clinging to me desperately when I entered him again, his lips seeking mine with urgency as we drew closer to climax. My tongue was tangled with his as he came, the vibrations of his moans teasing my lips erotically and pulling me into the blissful oblivion of orgasm along with him. We remained entwined as we panted through our high, clutching each other while the oppressing fog of arousal faded from our minds, dissipating in a flurry of sighs and stray sporadic kisses. Carefully returning him to his feet, I attempted to clean him and redress us both, but he was clearly overcome with exhaustion and struggled to bear his own weight, rather slouching numbly against the wall behind him.
"Shiki, you were too rough," he whimpered softly, "you were too rough and it hurt."
I flinched at his words and defeated tone, tugging him into my arms with as much gentleness as I could manage and turning to leave the suppressing darkness of the alley, carrying him like a child. "Yes," I responded weakly, "yes, Akira, I know."
He merely nodded as he nuzzled into my chest, grey fringe falling across his face as he mumbled incoherent phrases that sounded vaguely like, "It's okay." I damned myself for the hundredth time that day, cursing the weakness that he coaxed from me, spitefully acknowledging that this beautiful man with arrogant eyes was able to draw forth emotions that I had long ago killed and buried. I hated him for it, but I refused to let him go; and I found this realization to be immensely infuriating as my façade began to crumble with little hope of recovery.
Damn him. Damn him for doing this. For awakening this revolting complacency that I had thought to be long deceased. This grey-haired man was tearing me apart, and I despised him for having such power over me. Regardless of how effectively I managed to convince myself of my resentment towards the celestial creature that was dozing peacefully in my grasp, nothing could tear him from my arms and hope to survive the repercussions that would follow. If anyone dared to contest my ownership or take him from me, they would suffer the consequences of their impudence until they could do naught but beg for death.
Akira was mine. Mine.