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Dinner

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I never thought that at any time in my life I would end up living the life that I am now. I had never visualized myself living a life of considerable stability and contentment. Coming from a past like mine, there should have been little chance of me escaping a future leading straight to Hell. So many others who led the same sort of lifestyle I did lost their way and later, their lives. Yet here I am now, wanting for few things; the things I do want are so foolish that I have to question myself about if I truly want them or not. For example, I once said that I wanted to be the wife of a head yakuza. Yes, wife. Just how that is possible for me, I am not at liberty to say, but I still believe it could happen.

* * *

The sound of keys being tossed onto the kitchen table behind me made me startle and drop the wooden spoon in my hand. I should be used to such a sound by now, but each time those pieces of metal fall it’s like the blare of an alarm clock sounding when I am deep asleep. My name follows immediately after the keys fall in what I had learned was a greeting.

“Daishi.”

It was Kirito. For about six months now he’d been living in an upscale apartment in Roppongi Hills. To this day I don’t know why he moved to such a place, much less how I ended up here with him. I always resided with friends, in places that didn’t belong to me. Now that Kirito moved me in, it still felt strange to call this apartment mine. There are few furnishings that I have bought with my own money, but many pots, pans, and other utensils are exclusively mine and I will treasure them like pieces of gold. I am a cook after all. Turning around to greet him, I picked the spoon up off the floor and moved to the sink to rinse it off. Dinner couldn’t be completed without it.

“Kirito. Welcome home!” I said in my most cheerful voice, smiling so wide that my eyes disappeared into my cheeks. I hadn’t seen him in two weeks and prior to that, nearly three months because we both were busy touring.

“What’s good about coming home if you’re here when I step through the door?”

I chuckled at his crude but good-natured humor and went back to the stir the contents of a small pot on the stove.

“The same thing that is good when I’m here to see you leave.” A glance from the corner of my eye caught sight of his lips stretching into a slight, silent smile as he pulled a chair closest to me from beneath the table and took a seat. From the business attire he was dressed in, I could tell that his evening out had been one that didn’t concern music or his usual career at all. There was something much more serious about him that I quickly picked up on. “You’re late. What happened tonight?”

“He’s going to jail. Arrested just a few days ago.” I leaned against the counter again, my face screwed up in thought. While Kirito removed his dark sunglasses, I could only wonder which "he" he was referring to. I could answer that question just as easily as I could answer just how and why he got involved with my organization; I couldn’t. This wasn’t the style of life for him and he was never a trouble-making punk in his youth like I was. He had no need to rebel because he always went against the grain and his charisma charmed others into following his lead. Maybe he did it for me. He participated in these misdeeds because he wanted to be like me, closer to me…

Ah, what a bunch of selfish, irrational bullshit. Only I could have the nerve to think of something like that. My involvement with the Bosou Tenshi had died down into something much less ruthless over the years, so I assumed they wouldn’t ask too much of him since he was baptized by yakuza activities for only four months. I bet my life that he could have been one of the heads within a year if he was determined enough, but this was not his character.

“…who?” I was almost afraid to know the answer. His urgency in lighting a cigarette so soon spoke volumes.

“Taka.”

“Taka?! Why the Hell would he go to jail? Under what charges?!” The well-known Taka had a record as clean as a blank sheet of paper. He and Kirito had been friends for years. This didn’t make sense at all.

Kirito had taken a long drag, the smoke stealing his voice until he released it into the air. ”Drug possession. He was caught in the middle of a trade off in the airport. Picked up the wrong bag, thinking it was his.” The tension in Kirito’s voice grew the more he spoke about it. Even the cuffs of his rolled up sleeves seemed to tighten around his arms as he restlessly rotated his silver Zippo lighter in one hand and pinched his cigarette in the other.

“Ah…” I didn’t know how to respond exactly, but I had to say something. Pushing away from the counter, I came to sit beside him at the table with a look of concern clear on my face. A wave of my hand dispelled a thick, hovering cloud of smoke.

“The idiots who fucked up took responsibility tonight and told me at the meeting. I have to front the money for Taka’s bail, but that’s only if they can bribe the crooked cop that took him in.” His knuckles were so white as he gripped the lighter that I thought bone would shoot up through his skin. Even the smoke that billowed from his cigarette was quietly raging.

“So he just wanted a body to haul in even if Taka’s innocent. Go figure…” I saw plenty of this back in the day. To see Kirito so angered over the issue made something inside me shrivel and turn acidic in my stomach. The slim cigarette left his lips for a final time before it was snuffed out and perched on the edge of his ashtray. In almost the same instant, the ashtray flew past my head and hit the back wall over the sink. Glass shattered but thankfully it was in mostly large, manageable chunks.

“Fuck!" he yelled in some of the clearest English I’d ever heard him use. When I picked my head up, I saw he was pinching the bridge of his nose so hard that it left marks on his skin. His chest heaved but he didn’t so much as fidget otherwise.

“It’s alright,” I said, rising to my feet as I untied my apron. “Taka will be fine. We have excellent negotiators. Law enforcement will do anything for money.” When my apron was slung over the back of my chair, I wedged myself between him and the table and forced him to scoot backward. He didn’t seem the least bit surprised by it, so I took it as a good sign that he would let me approach him even now. The Zippo he held was tucked safely back into his pocket.

“Law enforcement,” he said bitterly, but he was interrupted by me slowly loosening his tie for him. His eyes left the table, settling on me instead. I never really minded if he stared at me. In fact, I’d say I craved it. Being lavished in his attention was a rarity. Though his anger was still present, I could already see that he was trying to direct it to another outlet.

While my fingers lazily worked, I felt his hands usher me toward him. Naturally while he was seated, I could do no more than straddle his lap because I wasn’t tall enough to stand over him. Somehow I doubted that he wanted me perched there for long, so I protested and backed away a little. “It’s true, you know? Just believe me.”

“I do believe you.” And to scold me for resisting him, he corrected my backing away by jerking me back into position by the side seams of my shirt. I lost my balance and found myself sitting on his lap, toes barely touching the floor and hands braced against his shoulders. He wasted no time at all slipping his hands beneath my shirt and hiking it up to my collar.

His kisses were far from phantom-like, for each press of his lips seemed harder than the last. Each consumed more of my flesh and made me fluster beneath them. Having stood before the stove for a while, my skin was already sprinkled with sweat. Kirito tasted it as he dusted his tongue over my chest, biting mounds of muscle with purpose. I would have glutted on this sort of behavior, reveled at being his chosen source on which to vent his frustrations, but dinner was almost ready. Giving a look of longing toward the lonesome pot across the way, I leaned forward and tried to reach the gas knob to kill the fire beneath it. Just out of my reach, I strained to get closer but to no avail. The sound I made while doing so must have sent an entirely different message to Kirito. His hands cupped my back with surprising gentleness while his head tilted backward to peer at my face. He mistook my struggle for eagerness but he couldn’t be blamed. My nipples stood erect and firm beneath the breaths of air he expelled against them, inviting his advances. While I was worried about the apartment burning down, my body was concerned with self-destruction if it wasn’t tended to. Why couldn’t I get the two to agree when I needed them most? In a final desperate attempt I blurted out “…Kirito! Burning! It’ll burn!”

He gave a short laugh at that and sat upright. “It might.” Holding me still, I felt his mouth open against me. Slick muscle slithered past his lips and lazily traced a circle around my nipple, testing its sensitivity. Before I realized it my head was lolled back in I don’t know what. Ecstasy? Exasperation? If it was the latter, that emotion was short-lived. A sudden nip straightened my spine and I felt as no more than a seduced rag doll. My shirt came overhead and flew into a corner, leaving me half-naked and vulnerable to his roaming hands. Something danced across my belly, another scratched my sides. Still yet, that lecherous tongue aspired to reach for the piercing in my navel but fell tragically short, sending teeth to pinch my collarbone instead to avenge its failure. It hurt, but I was so sweetly sedated by the thought of pain that it didn’t matter. While Kirito was distracted by reacquainting his hands to the lines in my body, I had grown impatient with the amount of clothing he still had on. Consideration and gentleness had left me and I would not compromise my hunger any longer.

Designer labels did not restrict me. With a firm pull every pearled button on his Armani shirt wet flying in every direction. I could have laughed when I heard one plop into the sink next to the broken glass. Aggravated that I had destroyed one of his finer pieces of clothing, Kirito suddenly left a deep, plumb-colored passion mark unattended to yell at me. “Dai--!”

Before he could even begin, I silenced him by slipping into his mouth. There was a heated rush as our tongues lashed against one another. It was a power-struggle that raged inside us and I would gladly roll over if I was given enough of a fight. My heavy pants and shift of weight was enough to clue him in to my attempts at rising above him to crush him into his chair, so he threw me back and held me at the waist. When he hoisted me onto the table, I was determined to take him with me. Teeth sank into his gorgeous lower lip, mercilessly puncturing it. His low utterance of pain paired with the metallic flavor of blood was a trigger that brought me to strain inside my jeans. To free himself of my hold, he pressed me into the table by the shoulders. I could tell by the placement of his hands that this would hurt. It would even bruise when he was done, but my adrenaline coursed through me like morphine and deadened my senses to everything but pleasure. We’d sexed enough for him to know that when I get overly excited I feel no pain. I laughed and gave him the most breathy, unenthusiastic “itaaaiii” I could manage while he was above me. It was hard to tell just how his brain operated at times in reaction to that. When I did such things like this, he would get angry at being mocked and become more rough. Sometimes he’d laugh or ignore me. Other times he would do the thing I despised most: leave. I never knew when he was being intentionally cruel, but I knew that he was far too wanton to abandon me on the table.

When I picked my head up it was just in time enough to see his dark hair sink past my line of vision. On his descent his lip dripped blood on my stomach. Graciously pausing to lap it up, Kirito left behind the most beautiful and perfect of smears. ‘Like murder in snow’ I mused inwardly, propping to sit up on my elbows. He was no stranger to audacity, so it took him no hesitation to unbutton my pants and force them past my ankles. In all honesty, I think he was trying to break the button in the very same manner that I broke his. It mattered little, for now all I could feel was the cold wood beneath me and the shock of warmth around me. It robbed me of my focus but not of my ability to sense. I feel methodical strokes but a lack of fingers to execute them. Some rhythm has been established but I can’t follow it. He’s breathing but the suckling noises of wet flesh to chorus it has drowned it out. I haven’t noticed yet, but I’m lying flat again and pleading with the ceiling. I don’t even know what I’m begging for.

Stop. More. Harder. No. Yes.

What is it that I want? The white roof has become a canvas. There is an oil painting overhead of Kirito thrusting me into oblivion. There’s a smoking gun and a bullet piercing the nether regions of a virgin. It’s sexual mutilation in its sickest form. It’s a work of Marquis de Sade and I am the woman defiled. A border of flowers bloom like those between my thighs and they drain of color like those on my arms. I’m slipping, opening up, losing ground. I whimper as I’m being sucked to orgasm, but just as my fingernails scrape the wood, I’m jolted awake at the feeling of being full. My quiet moans are broken into incomplete pieces while I gaze through thin, white material at a sun inked into pale skin. The tail of a phoenix dangles beneath a cuff of cotton, tempting me to touch it. Before it could escape, my arms embrace the beast to draw it close but Kirito refuses to let me any nearer. The way his layered mane falls against the line of his neck is too much; I have to feel his warm skin, smell it, bite the silver pendant at his throat until it too breaks. But he won’t let me. He taunts me by fighting against my pull and hovering out of my reach. I want to mar the underside of his jaw but he’s too far above.

 

He must sense my frustration so he thrusts into me to calm me down. It’s a cruel joke. The delicious contact between us only draws noise from me that I don’t recognize. I believe his toying with me is only to give himself the pleasure of silencing me. It’s a game I can’t win, but I pick and choose my battles anyway. Since he won’t give himself to me, I take pieces of him by scratching through the thin material still on his back. The further he drives into me, the harder I scrape and dig until he writhes to ease the sting. Though I couldn’t quite grasp the lower hem of his shirt, I did manage to pull it up little by little so I could tear away at the skin at his obliques. It hurt so badly that after I heard him hiss, he suddenly claimed my mouth to throw me off guard and picked me up right of the tabletop.

When he sat back down in his chair, I felt the greatest jolt of electricity shoot up my spine and paralyze me. The feel was akin to being impaled by Excalibur, sudden, sharp, intense. Had I been split in two so easily? Kirito’s movement beneath me, though limited, seemed to mend me back together. As the burst of white left my vision and the echo of my voice faded from my ears, I got my bearings and realized where I was. So this is how he wanted it? I should thank him for foolishly turning over his control. My bare feet found a pair of lower rungs between the chair’s legs and I planted them on each for leverage. Writhing to claim my dominance, Kirito gave me a satisfactory groan despite the defiant look on his face. He was mine.
Lacking the same consideration for him as he lacked for me, I jerked his shirt down his arms and let it pile at his elbows. That still left his tie in my way, but that could be turned to my advantage. Using it as a make-shift noose, I grabbed both its ends in my hand and yanked it toward the floor. This forced his head back, exposing crafted shoulders, neck, and chest. Unmarked as they were, their flawless call would be answered. He was a quick-minded man so my fingers had to be quicker. As I bit at the underside of his jaw, they managed to loop the end of his tie around a support bar on the back of his chair to limit his movement. By the time he realized his captivity, it was too late and my brief, fanged smile told him so. He could only grit his teeth at me.

Now free to ride him as I pleased, I was almost careless about it. My movements were so casual and slow that I knew Kirito wondered if I really meant it or not. The wheels in his mind never stopped turning; I only wanted them to gear in different directions. He tried to pick his head up to yell, possibly even complain, but he couldn’t. Faking a sincere apology for my actions, I kissed his lips and trailed them to his neck. With my hands free to move about, I rolled his necklace out of my way and drew patches of skin into my mouth to suckle. His hands were free too, and busied themselves with palming my weeping erection. For each stroke he gave me, I’d brace my feet and lift myself up so that he’d slide out of me. Just before his tip left my opening, I’d pause, exhale against his skin, and ride my way back into his lap. Slow and steady could make him last longer if I was careful, but I didn’t mind when he decided to come. Selfishness simply encouraged me to make him moan. By no means was his thrusting easy to take. Deeper penetration this way was always painful, evermoreso when I increased my force. For each time he drilled inside and I ached, I bit into his flesh like the starved monster that I was. My fingernails scraped into his skin, creating plows of red welts in their wake. He’d squeeze me tightly in his hands but his mind was being overwhelmed with too many sensations to operate properly. They were weak and faulty, useless for grip. Despite that, their softness was nonetheless welcome. Even the few calluses from guitar-playing served the purpose of providing sensual contrast to his palms.

Something in that brilliant mind grew impatient, for he’d left the most needy part of me to handle my hips. Whether to slow me or control me, being held this way could only do so much. I rolled my hips against him in a deep, undulating rhythm, asking him ’Do you want more?’ with each gyration. He’d answer with a shaky breath projected at the ceiling. I’d help his voice along and push it from his throat with imposing presses of my warm lips, creating the most deliciously helpless moans from his rich voice. Even if he spoke no words, he was answering me with ’yes, yes…’
Kirito drug his fingernails from my hips to my thighs but the scratches he made were lost among the clouds tattooed on my body. Knowing this, I bared my teeth in a smile against his neck and growled for him on behalf of the shishi on my back.

In my moment of taunting, my right foot had slipped from the rung. He took notice of my mistake and used that moment to overtake me. Somewhere along the line the loop in his tie had worked loose and freed him. His arms came to cradle my upper and lower back as he braced his own feet against the floor. Suddenly throwing himself forward, he used the inertia of our weight to force himself inside me. My spine arched sharply as I went backward, for he had touched something deeply buried that caused me to constrict around him. My arms and thighs held him tightly, body coaxing him to come with its reflexive quivering. My own release had passed before I could realize it completely. The proof of its presence was a wet heat on our bellies as they contoured together. I’d even marked him again when he filled me with his seed; a droplet of my essence clung to a lock of hair just above his shoulder. I nuzzled him there to rid him of it while excess leakage ran out of me onto his slacks.

For a moment we just sat there catching our breath, rubbed raw and waiting for our hyper-sensitivity to pass. I was spotted with all sorts of marks and bites. His were far worse. Kirito’s neck looked as if he’d gotten mauled by wolves and left for dead. The scratches at his shoulders, back, and sides made him appear as if some beast tried to open him up entirely.

I licked my lips at my handy-work.

Helped to my feet and allowed to stand on my own, I watched him as he slowly picked himself up. Holding his slacks up with one hand, he parted from the kitchen. I already knew where he was headed. He was going to blog about us going out to dinner again and then he’d clean himself up. I’d follow soon after. When his back retreated, I hurriedly wrapped my apron around me and went to turn the fire off on the stove. When I peered into the pot, I wrinkled my nose in distaste. The stew I’d been cooking was completely dried out. What was left was a disgusting arrangement of soggy-crisp vegetables and mushrooms that looked like mounds of mud. Even the meat and potatoes had been scorched without enough broth to simmer in. Alone in the kitchen, I gave a childish pout and dumped the over-cooked food into the garbage.

Kirito made me ruin another meal.