Ryo apologizes with false sincerely to the interviewers as he quickly ushers them out of his apartment. More than anything, they are disappointed and confused, but at Ryo’s insistence they’re easy to herd along.
At the door, Ryo absentmindedly promises to reschedule and apologizes, yet again, for Akira’s unexpected and unwelcomed interruption, but it can’t be helped now. Akira obviously is in some sort of trouble and needs Ryo’s help, having staggered into his home covered in rancid demon blood.
Ryo is just glad Akira managed to retain some of his wit, and didn’t just parade into the receiving area as he pleased. That, at least, is the silver lining in this whole scenario. The precaution saves Ryo from having to kill the interviewers who were polite enough, but otherwise, he’s content not having resources wasted on individuals who only equate like grains of sand in Ryo’s grand scheme of things.
Jenny meets Ryo outside of his bedroom where Akira waits. She has his clothes bundled in her hands; the blood stains her otherwise pristine suit jacket, but she does not seem to care about the ruined attire.
“Akira has not been hurt,” Jenny begins. An invisible weight lifts itself from Ryo’s shoulders, allowing him to sag and exhale a relieved breath. The sudden sensation bewilders Ryo, as he places a curious hand over his galloping heart. Of course, he cares about Akira, but this…
Ryo swallows heavily, burying down that unfamiliar, unpleasant thought.
“Then what’s happened?” Ryo asks, audibly irritated. If Akira isn’t hurt, then why did he barge into his home and put a hold on the next phase of Ryo’s plans?
For as long as Ryo’s known her, Jenny has always been smiling, but there’s true amusement in the lines of her face when she says, “Your friend is dealing with the…” Jenny pauses, “side effects.”
“Talk to him,” Jenny says, taking her leave. “He’s awake, and waiting for you.”
Ryo nods his head, waiting until Jenny is out of sight before he opens his bedroom door and strolls in.
Akira is resting on his back in Ryo’s bed, listlessly gazing up at the ceiling as if contemplating how to bring it down with just the power of his stare alone. He doesn’t acknowledge Ryo, not at first, so Ryo doesn’t speak, just observes like the outsider that he’s always been. There’s a fine sheen of sweat adorning Akira’s summer tanned skin, and despite his cool demeanor, his chest rises and falls rapidly.
There is an odd fascination to it, Ryo finds, as he begins to count Akira’s breaths, and unconsciously catches himself mimicking the same pattern. It’s this found equilibrium that breaks Akira’s concentration. He tenses, ready for a fight (or maybe…no, not that), and then settles back down once he sees it’s Ryo.
“Jenny tells me you’re,” Ryo struggles for the proper words, “having some difficulties mastering your more primal urges.”
Ryo glides deeper into the room. Akira has his arms and legs spread out on every available surface of Ryo’s bed, so it’s troublesome finding a place to settle. Akira watches him with burning eyes as Ryo choses to sit on the edge of the bed, in-between Akira’s legs, curious. From this vantage point, Ryo can see Akira’s blatant erection tenting his black boxer briefs. The fabric looks sodden—utterly ruined—and something inside Ryo flares hot when Akira’s hips give the slightest of twitches in response to his gawking.
Akira roughly clears his throat. He sounds hoarse and rugged when he finally does speak.
“That’s the biggest fucking understatement of the year,” he snaps, gnarling his teeth.
Ryo clicks his tongue, excusing the rudeness since it is Akira. It doesn’t go unnoticed how Ryo often allows far more leeway to Akira than anyone he’s ever known. It’s a slightly concerning realization, it’s one he also doesn’t like to think much about.
“I almost attacked Miki,” Akira growls, fingers tearing at Ryo’s bedding. “I could see through her clothes, and for a moment I didn’t care what she’d want, I just wanted to sink into her—breed her—fucking eat her until I had my fill.” Akira looks tortured by this revelation, as if it physically pains him to admit he had such thoughts.
Ryo shifts, his palm resting flat on the bed as he watches Akira closely.
“Then why didn’t you?” Ryo asks, genuinely curious. It seems like an obvious solution to a simple problem. He knows the girl would’ve eventually forgiven Akira, because it was impossible not to. Akira could’ve used that to his advantage, easily.
“What?” Akira sneers, lifting his head so he can give Ryo the full impact of his fury. Ryo however is not intimidated, nor is he impressed. Perhaps he’d feel frightened if he was a different kind of person—a weak person—blinded by human vices and fears. “You can’t be serious! Like hell I’d ever do that to Miki. What the fuck, Ryo? What the hell is wrong with you?”
Ryo shrugs. He releases an exasperated breath.
This situation is growing to inconvenient lengths, and Ryo doesn’t have time to babysit Akira.
“I can give you some money,” Ryo begins, getting up from the bed. “You can go to the red-light district and satisfy your needs there. Just get it out of your system and be back up to speed the next time I see you. We can’t afford a setback like this.”
Ryo startles when Akira snags his arm, stopping him with a lurch.
“I don’t want your money,” Akira pants.
Ryo’s brow arches.
“Then why are you here?”
“It’s your fault.”
“It’s your. Fucking. Fault,” Akira grits out. “Take responsibility.”
“And how am I supposed to do that?”
He isn’t expecting to be tugged down to Akira’s level, spun roughly so that he finds himself on his back with Akira hovering over him. Ryo’s mouth parts, shocked, eyes wide, because he hadn’t anticipated this, but when he ponders upon it now it makes all the sense in the world.
That unexplored part of Ryo flares bright in the face of it, and he can’t ignore the sensation, just like how he can’t ignore the heat radiating off Akira’s body, seeping into his own, and the intimate awareness of having Akira between his thighs.
Ryo always believed he was above this, but as he’s come to know, anything involving Akira defies initial expectations. Of course, this aspect of their relationship would be affected as well. Of course.
Akira smirks, smug, as he leans in dangerously close. His lips linger above Ryo’s, who notices he’s panting softly, fogging up the air between them. He’s suddenly reminded of that feeble boy, the one who once cried over a dead kitten, and wonders if he’d let that Akira have him in the way he intends tonight. The answer surprises him; not because of the verdict, but the speed at which Ryo reaches it.
“You know, in all my life, I never noticed how pretty you were Ryo,” Akira murmurs. “I mean, I think I knew in some capacity, but I never really appreciated it until now.” Akira lifts his hand, cradling Ryo’s cheek as the pad of his thumb glides indulgently over his bottom lip. The touch burns, igniting his entire body. Ryo’s never felt this way before, like he’d enjoy being engulfed in hellfire if Akira was the one to bring him to it.
“Look at you,” Akira whispers, sultry. He drags Ryo’s bottom lip down slowly with the blunt of his nail, groaning. “You want it, don’t you?”
It seems obvious, so Ryo doesn’t bother responding to Akira’s query. Instead, he wraps his thighs around Akira’s waist, interlocking his ankles at the small of his back, and pulls him in close so he can feel that bulge against his own. That should be enough to inspire him into action.
Akira curses, hips stuttering.
Ryo chuckles, breathless.
He gasps when Akira begins tearing at his clothes. There’s no care, no consideration, just an overwhelming need to get Ryo naked. It shouldn’t affect him in the way that it does, but then again, Ryo is learning all new things about himself tonight.
Ryo doesn’t recognize himself.
He easily goes on his hands and knees, presenting his ass for Akira, who grabs his cheeks and spreads them obscenely wide. He can feel his hole twitching, desperate for Akira’s cock, or his fingers—it doesn’t matter—he just needs something.
Akira has already come twice tonight; the first time in Ryo’s ass, the second, on his chest, painting his nipples as he slapped his wet cock against the hardened buds.
Akira is greedy as he eagerly mouths over Ryo’s hole, tongue fucking his own come back into his ass while kneading and spanking the small globes of Ryo’s bottom. It’s disgusting—degrading—and yet, Ryo can’t get enough of it.
“A-akira,” Ryo moans, pushing his hair back from his sweaty face. “Put it back in,” he demands, top lip curling. “Fuck me.”
The gasping sound Akira makes as he removes his mouth from Ryo’s ass is utterly filthy. His lips, teeth, and tongue trail a scorching path along Ryo’s spine until Akira’s mouth is positioned right above Ryo’s ear. He bites at it, sucks the lobe into his mouth, and tongues the shell of Ryo’s ear before dipping into the canal and fucking that too.
“Ask me nicely,” Akira taunts, rubbing his cockhead up and down Ryo’s hole in a maddening press. Ryo widens the stance of his legs, trying to push back onto it, but Akira keeps him just out of reach. “You can do it. Just ask me. Just say, ‘please fuck me with your big, uncut cock, fill me up—fill up my hungry, little—”
Ryo wants to stab him.
“Please fuck me,” Ryo moans, a little put-on. He even dips his back in a deep arch, reaching around with his hand and outlining his asshole with two fingers, spreading it so wide his hole flares. “Akira please—”
Ryo grins in triumph when Akira pushes in, and he’s complete again.
Akira grips his hips with both hands, nails digging into his skin, threatening to shred him into tiny, bloody pieces. He pounds Ryo’s ass like he knows nothing else, like he wants nothing else than to be balls deep inside his hole. The slap of damp skin is vibrant against the air as Ryo’s hands shoot out, palms slamming flat onto the surface of the headboard as it cracks repeatedly against the wall. He’s never felt so full—so out of control and adoring it.
“Still so fucking tight,” Akira pants. He sounds awed, amazed even. Ryo preens.
“Maybe—ah—your cock isn’t—mmph—as big as you think it is.” Ryo fondly mocks, relishing in the way Akira’s nostrils flare in outrage over the questioning of his manhood. He’s so proud of it, so appreciative of what it can make Ryo say and do.
Akira clicks his tongue.
“I might believe that was true if you weren’t humping back on it like a cock hungry slut.” Akira snags a fistful of Ryo’s hair between his fingers, pulling Ryo’s head back and groaning into his ear. “Be honest Ryo, you can’t get enough of this big, thick, cock. You’re fucking drooling for it.” Akira targets Ryo’s prostate, unforgivably nailing it as Ryo cries out. He circles his hand around his abdomen, and begins furiously stroking his cock to completion.
“Akira—don’t stop—don’t stop—” Ryo chants. Each repetition gets louder and louder until he’s screaming it, convulsing and squeezing around Akira’s cock, covering the sheets with spurts of his come. Ryo whines pathetically when Akira pushes his head into the bedding and uses his body until Akira explodes inside him—a wet rush—and roars up at the ceiling like the beast he is.
Uncouthly, Akira collapses on top of Ryo whose face is already buried in a pillow. He chokes, trying to elbow Akira off him, and gasps when his body rolls sideways along with Akira’s own. He’s still inside Ryo—an odd feeling when he’s not seeing stars, but it’s not horrible, so he doesn’t complain.
“Ryo?” Akira asks, after they’ve gotten their breath back.
“Uh, I just want to say I didn’t mean any of that stuff I said,” Akira attentively explains. It’s interesting hearing him choose his words carefully as if Ryo is offended. He isn’t, but he likes hearing Akira stew in his own unrest. “I just—that kind of shit turns me on. There’s no basis for it. I just wanted you to know that.”
Ryo hums, considering that information.
“So, you didn’t mean it when you told me you were going to press me up against my living room window and breed my slutty ass for the whole wide world to see? What a shame. I quite enjoyed that one.”
Ryo grins when he hears Akira wheeze behind him.
He’s created a monster.