Right Hand Corner
by MacKenzie
I watch him swing his ass back and worth as I follow him up the stairs. I can feel him cast burning stares at me over his shoulder and it feels as if I have a string tied to the end of my dick, the other end wrapped around his littler finger; has felt like this since he caught me watching him in the dressing room, intently staring in the mirror as his slender form disrobed, and my hand snaked down the front of my pants. I stopped the moment I realized he was watching, but have been terribly hard for the hour afterward, and painfully uncomfortable on the drive back to his place.

It has been nearly three weeks since I first made love to him. Our schedule and paranoia prevented a reenactment, but the photo shoot we have just left was the last in a long run of promo work and now he and I, me and my Kirito, have a whole weekend of peace together.

At the top of the stairs that leads up to the bedroom of his warehouse-turned-Gothic manor, he pulls out a skeleton key from his pocket and opens the door. I smile, perhaps predatorily, as he holds and relocks the door behind me.

Three weeks... God, does a man really live so long? I had snuck in a kiss here and there, had even managed to grind myself against him once in a public restroom, but nothing so satisfying as being inside him. He leads me through his bedroom, where I have been many times before, but for very different, more mundane reasons than the one now, and I pause when he continues into the bathroom. "Should... should I wait here for you?" I ask hesitantly, unzipping my vest and pulling the worn-out grey t-shirt from the waistband of my pants. Toeing off my shoes, I step closer to the bathroom door, where he has returned to lean with a casual eroticism in the frame. I eye his angular body up and down with a hungry gaze.

"Mm, no, silly. C'mere." He beckons me with his finger and I obey, that string on my cock jerking taut again. He hops onto the counter and pulls me between his legs, tilting his head to the side beautifully. Reaching back, he dips his hand in a small pot of bright violet paint and brings his dripping fingers to my face, trailing them over my left eye. "Kohta," he coos deep in this throat, dragging a finger over my cheek and the bridge of my nose. "That's much better."

He continues to write something on my arm as I inspect his work in the mirror behind him; make-up like his own, making my eyes stand out more sharply over my finely boned cheeks. "Nice," I say softly, more attentive to what he is doing to my arm now than the make-up on my face. Kirito, in lovely, long kana is glistening wet purple on my forearm, and a dark blue kiss circling red teeth marks stands sharply below it for good measure. "Claiming me, Shinya?" I ask with a vicious ring in my voice. I don't expect the hit. I shout, my voice echoing off the tile, and double over, holding my brow.

"Yes, I'm claiming you, Kohta..." he growls from above me. "And don't call me Shinya." I stand up again, grimacing, and see the gun in his hand: a full sized .357 Magnum cradled in his long fingers. I gingerly touch my brow, my fingers coming away crimson. He smiles sadistically. "Here," he says lightly, grasping my chin in his free hand and bringing me forward, his hot tongue swiping not only the split brow, but the entire side of my face. "You'll get over it," he mumbles nonchalantly, leaning forward to kiss my neck. I lean my head back into the caress and let all thought of the pain in my head concentrate on how hard my dick is.

His lips are like the very essence of hedonism against my skin, pulling and kneading flesh where I want him to, his sharp teeth causing just the right amount of pain to make me growl deep in my throat with pleasure. The gun, at all times, is kept pressed to my cheek, hard. The flesh around the end of the barrel is sore and I think by now it must have broken the skin. Suddenly he stops and leans back, and I see something new in his eyes; something I have never seen before.

Concern.

"Kohta, are you afraid?" he asks in a voice I'm not so sure is Kirito.

"Afraid? What do you mean, Kiri?"

He shrugs and wraps his arms around my neck lovingly, so different from just the moment before. "I don't want you to think this is just a sexual thing... I do love you. So much... it's just..." Suddenly I see his cock, his pants flung open in one quick motion. "As you can see, I'm very hard for you."

I can feel the razor blade smile cross my lips and see the shudder run through him. "Oh, Kirito... I love you, too... but ne," I unzip my jeans and push them down my thighs, "I'm also very.... very... horny." He grins simply and slides from the counter, close against me, and I immediately begin to bite and kiss his neck in response to the friction his hard length is giving mine. From his neck, I go to his chest, and from his chest, I go to his hips. I have never given a man oral sex, but I am more than willing now. Kirito stops me before I can make my way down to his lovely erection. He turns in my arms and the gun briefly leaves my face, only to return with more pressure.

"Look at us, Kohta," he rumbles in his dark water voice. I look and regard us thoughfully; we two, so similar, pressed close and aroused to one another. I grin sadistically and bring my hand to his chest. He takes it rather well, and doesn't scream or even whimper as I scratch my name down his stomach.

"Now you're mine too, Kirito. You can't take it back, you're mine." He moans loudly and leans back against me, fighting as I try to pull of his jacket.

"No, no, leave it... take off my pants."

Again, I obey, my breath heavy for that invisible leash on my cock as I tug his pants and boxers off around his thigh high black leather boots. My name is bleeding trails of sweat and crimson down his chest and I quickly clean it for him with my tongue. The copper taste heats my own blood and I reward him with a low, drawn out moan as he wraps his leather bound legs around me. He kisses me again and I breathe in deeply, smelling his hair, his cologne, his sweat. It all only makes me want him more. Reaching between us, I take hold of his length, making him gasp harshly, the air rasping at a sudden pitch in his desire-choked throat.

Shaking his head, the second time now he has refused my attention to him, he pulls my hand to his lips and kisses my fingers before pushing me away. "Undress for me," he drawls in that tone I had learned from childhood is nothing short of a dare. Happy and willing to oblige, I step back and slowly slide my pants the rest of the way down my legs, tossing the jeans, socks, and boxers into the corner. His hungry eyes rake over my exposed skin and I touch my hard-on generously for him, running my tongue over my lips bluntly as I pull at myself in slow strokes. I can tell he's getting off on this. I push the vest off my shoulders and begin tugging up my grey shirt, running my hands over my nipples as he touches his own in kind, his eyes wide with excitement and his teeth gnashing anxiously at his swollen lip. The gun is leveled at my chest as I come back to him slowly, feeling vulnerable and terribly, erotically helpless. He grabs a fistful of my hair and pulls me into a rough kiss. I taste blood, not sure whose, and grope hungrily at his pale thigh. "Mmm... fuck me now, Kohta," he orders gruffly into my ear.

I want to so badly, but don't listen, teasing him on a bit longer.

"Kohta! I said fuck me!" The gun meets my head again, not as hard, but hard enough. "Stupid, do you think this thing isn't loaded?" He cocks the pistol and I take heed, hearing the distinct, slow pop of a round sliding home into the chamber.

"Is it?" I ask in a hushed voice, afraid now. I am never sure what all Kirito is capable of. He lifts an elegant brow and smirks maliciously.

"Do you really want to find out?"

Shaking my head emphatically, I give haste to fulfilling his order. His smile nearly slips into one of actual gaiety, but he catches himself and returns his lovely face to the expression of a true dictator. Pushing him up, so that my hands rest on his ass, his arms wrapping tightly around my neck, (that damned gun still at my head) I push violently into him. It's hard to move at first, his tightness dry and unforgiving, but soon blood and pre-cum make it easier. I can tell he loves the pain. I work hard, but slowly, making each thrust a direct hit on his center of satisfaction. I kiss him desperately and he moans into my mouth with appreciation, using every bit of leverage to force himself onto my cock. If he wasn't making this hurt so bad, I might have already cum.

But no, his love bites, slaps, pinches, and hits all keep my mind away from my dick and away from quick release, prolonging the bittersweet fuck.

His suit jacket feels lovely over his hard arms, straining to pull himself up and down on my weeping erection, and he has completely forgotten about the gun, now discarded back under his makeup box where he had pulled if from. The small of his back is pounding against the counter with each thrust, our bodies sliding against each other with beads of sweat forming over our skin. Makeup and paint have begun to smear over us both. One deep kiss...

I think I might explode. I can feel him near the edge, too, and scream in disappointment when he shoves me out of him and to the floor.

"Not yet, not yet, not yet," I hear him mumbling quickly to himself beneath heavy pants as he fights to keep some form of composure. He steps over me and I lay on the tiles like a good little brother, watching him stand above me, carefully planting himself over my wrists, which fit perfectly beneath the heel and sole of his stiletto fuck-me boots. I see now that there is blood covering his thighs and with a glance at myself, I notice I too am smeared with the sanguine liquid. There is a glimmering guilt in me as I hope that I have not hurt him too badly, but it quickly fades when he bends over, bends right fucking over from his waist, and grasps my head in his hands. "You like this, Kohta?" he asks thickly, his face flushed a beautiful pink under that pale tan.

I nod against his palms, leaning my head to the side to kiss his thumb gently. "Hai, Kirito-koi. I love it." If my arms were not crucified against the tiles, I would reach my hand up to brush the dark hair from my face, but no, they are pinned beneath his boots, and that's just the way I like it.

"Alright, then," he slurs like honey, squatting down closer to me. "Let's continue." I am surprised at how light he touches me... how softly his hands caress my chest and stomach as he edges his way on hands and knees to my hips. I watch his eyes constantly, watch those black orbs of demonic sexuality blaze over my body and then, often, into my own. Slowly, he settles himself over my bloody length and slides down even slower, his black eyes fluttering closed, the iris sliding heavenward as if he were possessed. I'm not sure what to do at this point... I have never been ridden, by either gender, and the feel of him now, all his weight against me, is short circuiting me.

He rolls his hips slowly at first, working me around inside him, before starting a sharp up and down motion, leaning back into his self induced thrusts. I groan in a low tone, closing my eyes and indulging in the bliss of it. Just as I am beginning to truly enjoy this, loving both the feel and look of him on me like this, lovely hands running passionately back through his dark hair, those lovely hands are on my throat. I start violently beneath him with the original reaction of trying to break free, but settle down a bit as I see the look of pure sadistic pleasure in his sex-glazed eyes. He is pounding up and down on top of me now, pushing against my throat for leverage. I am gloriously suffocating. I honestly think he might kill me, but if I cum before I die, it wont matter. I claw with a vicious loving at his wrists, but do not try to fight him off. To die inside of my sweet Kirito... it would be the beautiful epitome of this wonderful perversion. "I am and always will be yours," I hear over the blood pounding in my ears, the slap and slide of flesh and fucking, and our own strangled pants echoing violently off the tiles. I haven't the air to tell him that I love him, so my quick and furious thrusts up into him have to suffice.

Our collective orgasm, so sudden and unexpected in medias res of such physical and psychiological exertion, leaves my ears ringing. I can barely see him, holding himself up on shaking arms above me, past the explosions of orgasm. Or perhaps it's simply the blood flowing freely again through my brain, now that his hands have been removed from around my neck. "Jesus H. Fucking Christ," he breathes against my cheek, sliding off me and collapsing to the floor. "Kohta..."

"I know." I roll onto my side and stroke his bare hip lightly. His suit jackets is speckled in his own white essence. "Well, well, Monica. You might want to get cleaned up."

He slaps my arm and smiles, but it is several minutes before either of us can even think about standing. Stumbling to the shower, I manage to get him out of the jacket, and into one of the three industrials shower stalls lining the wall of his bathroom. Turning on the water, he pulls me into a sweet, deep kiss. A truly romantic lock of lips, the first honestly affectionate caress I have felt from him in days, and I bask in it reverently as his hands stroke up and down my sides. He turns, leaning against the concrete wall with his backside jut out against my hips, but our lovemaking is slow and purposeful. I touch and taste every inch of his shoulders, neck, and back, even manage several full kisses of his delicious lips. In the end we do manage to get ourselves clean somehow, and I find myself laying down on his bed in a thick bathrobe, watching him walk about his room with a towel about his waist. Another night with my Kirito... I call him to the bed, so that we might sleep in each other's arms and I might dream of the nights with him to come.

He smiles and sits down beside me. "I love you," he tells me with a deep loving in his eyes, but before I can reply in kind, he continues, "bitch."

+owari