Chapter 30 (Akihito's smell induced memory)
The operation of his base group last summer on Hong Kong Island. Nothing out of the way, at first … street working in the humid, overcast heat … passing flyers on neon lit Hollywood Road after tropically sudden nightfall … organizing a demo through Central … even enjoying themselves, the spices, sights, crowds, amid the spectacular skyline, beneath the subtropical jungle greens of The Peak. This was so much more southern than Tokyo, exotic to him. He remembered how he used to feel guilty about the adventure vacation aspect of his work. But at one guided supervision meeting they had learned that, on the contrary, this was important, that it was essential to take good care of yourself, that you could not help anyone else if you didn't, might even do more harm than good. Perverted helper's syndrome.
Then … observing the target milieu (taking care not to get involved personally, always difficult for him) … you had to know what you were looking for. The youths lounging around, seemingly aimless … the discreet business types … once he even thought he could discern the silhouette of a suited, longhaired man amidst a gaggle of goons with dark glasses - but he might have imagined this … the elusive Triad Leader Liu Fei Long? He had tried to get an interview with him, of course, but had been brushed off by a Cantonese voice - with a faint Japanese accent, he was sure of it …
Finally: infiltrating the scene … his mission.
"You don't have to do that! No one expects it from you!"
But he had wanted to. Always researching, talking, discussing … what did it feel like for those involved? Of course it would not be the same thing, he was in control … now, at any rate … there would invariably come that moment when he wasn't, anymore.
He had prepared himself carefully, re-dying his bleached hair, changing his appearance effectively with a little re-styling. He looked very young and didn't have to do anything about that.
It had been surprisingly (and frighteningly) easy to get himself picked up … he remembered a limousine with darkened windows halting after what felt like barely a minute after he had taken up his stance at the street corner.
Cantonese speaking men got off, arguing somewhat frantically. He understood almost nothing of the Cantonese, but "fast" was one fragment he did pick up, and the tone and whole manner of his "recruiters" spelled urgency.
A cloth was bound around his eyes, and they took off …
Eventually, again after what seemed almost no time at all, he was led into what had the feel and smell of a vast, elegant mansion - polished wood, swishing of leather soles on marble floors, muted tones, an atmosphere of supreme wealth and power.
Here too, this disturbing sense of emergency was overlying everything, hushed, anxious whispering, and had he correctly made out "he's done it again" in passing? He was almost pushed into a … room, he supposed, although it had this same vast feeling to it, stumbling over carpet so soft his feet sank in. His shoes had been pulled off, but otherwise no one did anything to him. The door fell closed with a discreet, luxurious click, and then some one addressed him in rushed Japanese. (And he felt certain he knew that voice … had heard it again …)
"At last, come with me, pleasure him …"
His heart dropped into his figure hugging leather pants. The moment of truth. Except it felt different than he had expected. There was no malice in the - native speaker's - Japanese voice, more urgency, even … panic. Tuning in to the interior of the room he became aware of strangled, gasping sounds, intermingled with what might be feeble thrashing on blanket covers … besides the scent of flowers, expensive fabrics and an unobtrusive but very male odour coming from the Japanese leading him towards those unsettling sounds, another smell was emerging … blood. A wave of terror broke over him.
The powerful (he could feel it from the grip of his hand) Japanese led him forth as gently as his obvious agitation allowed. His knee met the padded edge of a … bed, he supposed. From underneath his blindfold he could just make out a narrow strip of floor, but not who lay on the bed … and now the Japanese was guiding his hand down …
He sensed another human presence, warmth of another heavily breathing body … a musky smell overlaid with hints of ginger, patchouli and exotic spices … his heart began beating wildly as his hand was pushed down gently but urgently … onto shivering smooth skin, damp with sweat.
A sting of electrical discharge jolted through both him and his … client … at the first contact. His hand was guided over subtle undulations of abdominal muscling - he flinched - and further downward … and then, his head was nudged downwards a bit.
In a flash it was clear to him what was expected. Nausea threatened to overwhelm him … they wanted him to …
… he fought against blacking out …
… he couldn't do this … but he had, hadn't he? with Asami … this … man, he now knew, having met with resistance … a silky, semi erect male member, no pubic hair, not even any hint of shaving … this man was built smaller than his love, he could do it …
He had to do it. He lowered his face. The stench of blood intensified, and along with it a tangy scent he would probably have found intoxicating had the whole situation not been so terrible … from under his blindfold he could identfy glowing tan skin and the smooth male genital he was tentatively tracing, making it grow and harden. What he could see of his client was young and attractive - nothing like what he had thought to fear most - some withered old pervert - but it was scarier than in his wildest nightmares, a horrifyingly chilling feel to it … he almost cried out aloud when, in his extremely limited field of vision, he saw red glistening. A jagged line of deep glistening red … starting on the inner thigh, descending into the shadows of this young person's nether parts. Panic swept over him, as his compatriot's strong hand nudged him downward again. He was a thing, a being without any options of his own … oh why had he thought he could do this, this was far worse than ever imagined, maybe he wouldn't even survive … ?
"I can't feel anything…"
Akihito jolted at the sound of the soft, cold, lifeless voice. It was a beautiful voice, somewhere between baritone and tenor, in the characteristic Cantonese Chinese sing song intonation, lovely … so clear that despite his meagre knowledge of the language, crammed specifically for this stint (and a bit from kung fu movies), he thought he had understood correctly. And it was an inhuman voice, almost like from an automaton. It was almost impossible to resist the urge to tear off his blind fold, to flee.
He could feel pressure waves of anxiety ... they had to come from the Japanese, because now he urged, almost begged … "get on with it! do something…", pushing his head downwards … and with a searing jolt his mouth closed around the head of the beautiful arrow shaped cock.
It wasn't all that unpleasant, a little salty, acrid … if there hadn't been that smell of blood … that was nauseating, deeply frightening … would he be hurt too? Asami … would they ever see each other again? Wasn't he - cheating on him? He hadn't even thought of that aspect before, how could he … but would Asami even care? … he wasn't aware his eyes were tearing up, a few drops escaping from under his blindfold and falling onto his … client.
There was some reaction now, the cock in his mouth and hand immediately got hard. Thank goodness. Tentatively Akihito began licking at the tip, and started working his mouth back and forth over the shaft. The cock twitched, and he could feel the young man under him tensing, responding in an unexpectedly gratifying way. It had to be a beautiful body, so very young too, so … pliable …
Maybe this wasn't so impossible after all, perhaps he could even … bring this person some solace? He seemed desperately unhappy … and he had to be hurt quite bad, the smell of blood coming off his body was so intense …
He accelerated the motions with his mouth, even caressing the tip of the cock with his tongue ... severe suffering, that was the overall feeling here … he stroked and fondled the base of the cock, the smooth balls with a feeling verging on compassion. A soft moan interspersed with the gasping sounds … sending a thrill of excitement through Akihito's body, making his own cock twitch.
"You're a really nice boy, really great", he heard the Japanese' voice with what sounded almost like a sob … and suddenly he didn't feel so much like a thing any more, "help him, please help him …", it was a most unsettling sound, that forceful Japanese voice almost wailing in a singsong, "help him, please … please, make him stop …"
The Cantonese voice was to be heard again, softer now, muffled, with a strangled tone, almost as if his client was crying too.
"I still … can't feel … anything …"
… but his body apparently did.
And when it was over, when they both lay recovering, the young man below him heaving and shuddering, he himself collapsed onto his "client" gasping and panting … there came a sweaty hand, tentatively touching his hair - he had to steel himself not to jerk away, it would have made no sense at all. There was a long pause, filled only by both of their laboured breathing. When he heard the beautiful young voice again it was so low he couldn't be sure if it really sounded different. In Japanese, he thought he could make out the words, "don't cry, little brother …"
He leaned his head against the grey concrete wall, exhaling.
… so Fei Long had felt something after all, must have even felt the drops of Akihito's tears splashing onto his hot and cold bare skin.
"What's the matter with you?"
Akihito took a deep breath, noticing he had been gripping the metal plane so hard it had cut into his palm. Hastily licking off the tiny drop of blood pooling in the fissure, he shook his head - as if to shake off the past, deny this reality …
"I'm breaking in", Mikhail announced, heaving himself right onto the sill with incredible athletic prowess. "Shield your face!" he commanded as he shoved his elbow through the glass plane, sending a sprinkle of shards flying, dusting them off rapidly but thoroughly before pulling Akihito up after him and into the Institute.
- to be continued -
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