Chapter 11

*Updated, because the ending was to OOC for Asami. Hope this is better.

Asami observed the throng of impeccably dressed and stunningly beautiful people saunter into Club Sion. Their faces so wooden, maybe more from Botox than from boredom, that they could be mistaken for mannequins, if they didn't occasionally blink. As they sipped their golden colored bubbly beverages on this, a special night, Asami narrowed his eyes with contempt, wanting to be anywhere but here, his second home, because he practically lived there, Club Sion.

And so, on this special night and it still didn't register why it was so special, because he hadn't been listening when it was explained to him, as usual. The manager begged him, on his knees in fact, to come to the club and make an appearance. So he did his duty and mingled among the patrons and talked about god knows what with people who didn't care while making money that wasn't even worth the effort, because seriously, very few people made money the honest way anymore. Himself included.

He was beyond cynical these days. So cynical, he should bottle it and sell it to Coca-Cola. They could call it Asami's Cynical Soda, and it would taste like shit, and people would still buy it, because his photo would be on the can and it would promise virility and to feel real good going down your throat. It was all in how you marketed it.

Anyway, it was "Toast Night," or some kind of drivel, as the champagne flowed freely and the patrons drank until bubbles came out of their nose. He didn't know why he approved the endeavor. Maybe he did it to break the monotony of hiding and running, running and hiding, as if he was playing hide-and-seek with a bunch of gun toting children.

He would eventually have to pay the price.

The price was either jail or death, neither of which sounded like much fun, that's for sure. The police were a joke, though, with a punch line and everything. They had their heads so far up their asses; they would need a proctologist. It also didn't hurt that he let the D.A. win at golf and drink for free at his clubs. So jail wasn't on the agenda.

And death? Well, because he was a god among men, or because he was incredibly lucky he stayed far enough away from any trouble that would possibility fling dirt on his expensive suit. Or the syndicate that wanted his head on a gold-plated platter was just incredibility incompetent.

So he wrapped himself in a cocoon of safety of his own making, and waited for the other shoe to drop. He would not concede defeat. That would be . . . defeatist, and that was not the kind of man he was. Yes, he was, indeed, a god among men or he was just plain arrogant.

He was running on borrowed time, and the interest was exponential.

So he watched the inebriated crowds toast some celebration only present in their minds and wondered how long he could keep up the marathon. These days, he had to admit he was tired. He was bored. And he was tired of being bored. He was the poster child for melancholy, living a monochrome existence where the only color in his life was when he wore a blue tie. He needed an outlet. Yes, that kind of outlet, as in somewhere to bury his plug.

That was his first thought when he spied a waiter he'd seen in passing, but didn't acknowledge because usually, his was too conceited to actually talk to anyone. Yes, he was egotistical. Yes, he was a brutal man. But he still had needs, a man's needs. He was so manly, he should star in his own deodorant commercial.

So this little waiter, who had the body of a lithe dancer and hair the color of ebony otherwise known as black, caught his attention. He was cute. If he was any cuter Asami would have a nose bleed. And he was his for the taking, if he wanted.

And he did want him.

"Kirishima," he said, "What is that kid's name?" Because Kirishima knew everyone's name, like Misa Misa from Death Note. He pointed a toothpick at the spritely looking waiter who was busy serving drinks to some rather loud middle-aged men. Men he recognized as powerful CEOs of some company or other, not much more than glorified salaried men, really. Glorified, drunk and obviously perverted salaried men, because when the waiter bent over, they all checked out his ass.

"I think its Sato, Sato Kaede. Is there a problem?" He asked, and there went his glasses down his nose.

"Not yet." And just as he suspected would happen because he had a six sense about these things, happened. One of the perverted CEOs with hair so combed over his bald head, he looked like a rake had done the job, grabbed the petite waiter's ass and kept it there, like he had crazy glue on his hand. Sato paused a moment, and continued to serve drinks, while this man, who didn't seem to take being ignored well judging by the pissed off look on his face, continued to grope the little waiter, as the other three perverted CEOs looked on with delight on their sweaty faces.

"Don't wait up for me, Kirishima," joked Asami and Kirishima frowned at the boy in question, because in his mind, there was only one person that would ever make Asami happy, and that was Akihito. Not that he would tell Asami that, ever. Akihito was the yin to Asame's yang, the push to his pull, the other side to the same coin. But, Kirishima new better to speak his mind, as he really really really (really3) didn't want to be fish food. Better to let the past die a natural death.

Making his way quickly over, doing his best knight-in-three-piece-suit routine, Asami surprised the table by his sudden appearance, and his even more sudden hand on said comb-over man's wrist, as it firmly clutched little waiter boy's ass. Confused yet? Yeah, so was little waiter boy. Since when did Asami-sama care who touched his staff? But the arrival of Asami, who thought himself a god and no one had the guts to tell him otherwise, brought a sudden halt to these pervy proceedings.

"Do you mind removing your hand, sir?" He said in the politest voice he could muster, except underneath the politeness, was the air of death, mainly because he was twisting the man's wrist hard. To get his point further across, he glared, making the man's pale face grow paler, as if he was a ghost of his former self.

"I'm sorry….Asami-sama." Comb-over man said, responding in his own politest voice, and calling him by an honorific out of place, since he was older than Asami.

Asami ignored him and turned to little waiter. "I do owe you an apology." He said, bowing. "The alcohol tonight is making our patrons loose." He gave the young waiter, who had yet to open his mouth and say anything, one of his questioning, yet strangely erotic, gazes as if to say, through his eyes….

….your place or mine?

The boy didn't seem the least bit flustered by his heated gaze. He didn't even blush. "No problem, sir." He said, in a lyrical voice before glancing away quickly, as if looking at Asami in the eyes would cause him to go blind. And it probably would, if you were on the wrong end of one of his gazes. Just ask Decoration about it.

"Would you mind bringing a bottle of 1995 Perrier-Jouet to the VIP room? I plan to indulge tonight." Asami ordered, showing off the fact he could afford a 500,000 yen bottle of champagne, although it was his club, so he got it wholesale. If the boy was impressed he didn't show it.

"Yes sir." And the waiter left to his duty, shaking his little behind as if he was a dog wagging his tail.

His for the taking.

Asami retired to the VIP room, awaiting his little damsel in distress. The boy knew what he wanted; he wasn't naïve, even though he looked like an adorable little first year uke. Not that he was a pedophile or anything, he did have some morals. Not many, but some.

"Your champagne, sir." He said, setting it on the table quietly and stepping back, crossing his arms in front of him. Asami took in the boy, who seemed to find the walls so fascinating. They were actually; the room was decorated in a style reminiscent of ancient Greece. If you looked closely, there were friezes of young viral Greek men in various states of undress running around the molding at the top.

"Care to drink with me?" Asami asked, "I hate to drink alone."

"I'm still on the clock, sir," little waiter replied.

"Then you are being paid to drink with me. So drink." He ordered and the waiter sat down, his apron pulling up around his middle, showing off his tight dancer like legs underneath his black pants.

"Of course, sir, I would be glad to." He said, and proceeded to open the champagne, sending the cork flying across the room where it landed in a potted plant.

"Good aim."

"Thank you, sir." He said, as he poured Asami a drink, followed by a drink for himself. Asami chuckled, he had brought two glasses. Perceptive.

"So, how long have you worked here?" It was indeed small talk. If it was any smaller they'd need a microscope to find it.

"A year or so, sir." He replied, looking at Asami with half-dead eyes, as if this whole conversation bored him to death as well.

"I see. Do you enjoy your work?" Asami asked, not really caring either way what the answer was.

"Of course, sir."

Asami took a sip of his drink and sat down next to little waiter boy, as he started to call him, because he couldn't remember what Kirishima said his name was. He leaned back, legs spread in his Super Asami seductive pose (which was different from Super Asami genius mode), and shook his glass around in a circle like it was a pair of medicine balls.

"Do you know why I wanted you to drink with me tonight?" Asami asked, looking lustfully at his little captured prize.

"Because you require my company, sir?" He replied and Asami's mouth twitched.

"That's right." Asami said and palmed waiter boy's crotch gently, feeling it harden under his touch. "What is your name?" Asami asked, when he pulled his hand back. He needed to refresh his memory and his drink as well.

"I'm Sato Kaede, sir." He replied and he started to undress, not doing it sexily, or slowly, just undressing, as if he was getting ready to take a bath. Asami gave Sato an appreciative once over. The boy was thin, almost too thin, but had a decent enough body.

"Are you familiar with a man's touch?" He asked, while he loosened his tie, which was about as undressed as he was going to get tonight, as he was the seme. There were rules to follow, you know. Eh, maybe he would take off his jacket.

"I'm not a virgin, sir, if that is what you are asking."

"I see." Asami seemed rather disappointed, he was hoping to pop little waiter boy's little virgin ass, like a ripe…er….cherry. But it didn't really matter, because Sato was leaning over and unbuckling Asami's belt and unzipping his pants. This encounter was so far as exciting as a pile of rocks. Maybe he needed to drink some more. "In a hurry?" He asked, finishing off his champagne and pouring himself another glass.

"No sir, I'm sorry, sir."

"Don't be sorry, if you're in a hurry, come suck me." He ordered, and he leaned back and watched Sato kneel in front of him like an obedient dog and take his cock into his mouth.

For some reason, as the boy skillfully sucked on him, licking his cock like a popsicle before deep-throating him, well, as deep as he could, Asami kept thinking of other things, all work related. A meeting he needed to schedule, a liquor license that needed to be renewed, trivial things, things he would leave to Kirishima and forget all about. Sato's work had made him hard, and it felt good, but Asami needed more. He craved more, wanted more than to be serviced, as if he was a car in need of an oil change.

What he wanted, no, what he desired, was Akihito. More than a half of a year later, and he still missed his tentative touches on his skin, the way he blushed so easily from the his heated looks, pushed him away only to clutch at his shirt in desperation as he gave into his lust. He was done giving himself excuses why he shouldn't feel this way…..because he was a mob boss, because emotions dragged you down, because Akihito was a hindrance to his business. It didn't really matter anyway, because he had thrown Akihito away, like yesterday's newspaper. Asami realized he wasn't a god among men at all. He was just a stupid guy, one stupid guy in a world of stupid guys who pushed away what they thought they didn't deserve. And he certainly didn't deserve Akihito.

"Akihito." He whispered so softly that it barely registered. The slurping sounds at his crotch got louder, and he clutched the arm rest and closed his eyes in pleasure, thinking only that it was Akihito's lips around his cock as he came without warning into little waiter boy's mouth.

His mood brightened. Getting a good blow-job after a hard day's or night's, work did something for the psyche. He grabbed at Sato's chin and pulled him up, enjoying seeing his cum dribbling down Sato's face, the redness of the carpet burn on his knees. Sato eyes strayed to the left, then the right, as if planning his escape, refusing to meet Asami's gaze. He was trembling, just ever so slightly, as if he was cold. Asami wouldn't have noticed it, had he not had his chin firmly in his hands.

"Are you afraid of me?" Asami asked, knowing the answer already.

"N-n…no." He said.

"There are reasons people don't lie to me." He warned, and narrowed his eyes.

"I..."

"Do you want me to take you? You can say no. I won't fire you." He said, suddenly irritated by the very presence of Sato in the room.

"I just….I have someone I love and I really…"

His irritation grew. "Why did you come up here then, knowing what I wanted?" He said, and let go of the boy's chin.

He shrugged and pulled back, wiping Asami's cum off of his chin with the back of his hand. "I thought it was in my best interest not to refuse you."

Asami fixed his pants and rose, walking over to the window overlooking his hyped-up, shit-hole bar. The mannequins were still drinking, still telling the same bull-shit stories to each other. "I'm not in the mood anymore. Get dressed and get out."

"Yes sir. Thank you sir." He said automatically while he got dressed quickly.

"What are you thanking me for?" Asami asked. Actually he should be thanking him, but that wasn't going to happen.

"I'm sorry, sir."

Asami chuckled, more with contempt than with humor. "Go fuck your boyfriend and leave me alone with my misery."

The boy smiled. "I hope you find someone you love to, someday." He said, as he closed the door behind him as he left.

"It's not going to happen, kid." He said to himself.