Trickery

Title: Oh Shiznats
Disclaimer: I don’t own Yami no Matsuei ... don’t give me that look! Oh, and YOU do?!
Warnings: FINALLY we get to the lemony goodness! Huzza! (See? I told it would come!)

Sorry for the delay >_> some major sh!t’s been going down at my house lately, and its managed to royally screw up everything. Including the posting time line I had planned for this. But anyway, here it is! The oh-so-delicious lemon. In fact, I am drinking lemon tea as I type this. You know. Just to get me in the mood >3

Enjoy!

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Oh Shiznats

“Muraki! Stop–!”

As fast as everything had begun, it all ended. The only sound Oriya could hear was Muraki’s breath in his ear. The silver hairs tickled his face, brushing ever-so-lightly against the soft skin of his cheek. “Muraki...” Oriya didn’t quite know how to react. Something like this had never happened before. “Wha... what are you doing?!” He heard a soft, seductive chuckle in his ear.

“Was that so hard, Ori-chan?” that husky voice asked him, “This way, we both get what we want.” Persistent arms wrapped themselves tighter around Oriya’s shoulders and waist, a pale hand finding it’s way to his long, silken black hair. It felt so cool in contrast to the man’s warm body. Muraki loved it. He roughly ran a hand through it, feeling its richness. He had wanted this for so long. “Ori-chan...” that voice said, “Ori-chan– my Ori-chan, I’ve missed you...”

“You’re crazy!” Oriya declared. Had Muraki finally lost his marbles?! “Godammit, let go of me!”

“No, my Ori-chan,” the other purred his reply, running his tongue along the edge of the dark-haired man’s ear. Oriya shuddered. “Not until you’re mine again.”

“Wh... what?!” By this point, the investigator was beginning to panic. He struggled to break free.

“Don’t worry, you’ll like it,” the ghostly voice cooed, “I promise.”

“No, I wont! Now let go!”

The delicate white hand removed itself from Oriya’s onyx hair, gathering the mass of it and pulling it away from the neck, giving Muraki access to the cream-colored column. The man leaned down, brushing his lips against the tender flesh. “Do you remember what it was like, Ori-chan? How it used to feel...” Oriya closed his eyes, trying his best to ignore the feeling of Muraki’s pale lips as they grazed against his skin.

“Kazutaka...” the man spoke quietly, “that was many years ago. You need to forget.”

“I wont,” said Muraki, this time depositing a true kiss at the base of Oriya’s neck. “You were so different from everyone else. No one has ever felt the way you did.” The trapped investigator felt a blush rise to his cheeks.

“Really, Muraki, you don’t have to– ”

“Quiet, Ori-chan,” Muraki silenced him, “how can you enjoy this if you talk so much?”

Muraki brought his lips to Oriya’s in one sudden, swift movement. He needed to get the dark-haired man to remember what he had felt all those years ago, to remind him how wonderful it was. If he could just get Oriya to remember what it was like, then everything would be okay. The dark-haired man made a sound of protest, struggling against Muraki’s chest. The ghost-like man couldn’t help but smile into the kiss. His Ori-chan was so shy.

The investigator knew what his so-called ‘friend’ was trying to do, and he wasn’t very happy about it. Muraki was trying to get him ‘in the mood’– to seduce him. The white-haired man held tight to Oriya, to cease his movement as he skillfully moved his lip’s over the other’s. He hadn’t forgotten how soft they were. In fact, he hadn’t forgotten anything about his Ori-chan’s body. It was still lean and delicate, though hidden far too often underneath the various black business suits the man owned. Muraki wanted to see that cream colored skin before him; wanted to see it in all it’s glory. But the man knew he had to wait; he knew that first he had to do a bit of persuading...

Oriya gasped when Muraki forced his mouth open, knowing his friend wouldn’t do so willingly. The investigator felt the hot, wet tongue glide into his mouth, and stilled. The kiss was drudging up memories of college, on those nights that took place in their dorm room, when only one bed was needed instead of two... Oriya mentally kicked himself. ‘Don’t’ think like that!’ The white-haired man paused, slipping his tongue out, but remaining close.

“You like this, don’t you, Ori-chan?” He spoke against the other’s lips.

No reply came.

Muraki smirked, and continued the kiss. Oriya was breaking, but he wasn’t quite there yet. It would take more than a simple kiss to seduce him.

The ghost-like man lapped at the inside of his friend’s mouth, slowly massaging the tongue with his own. If only he could get his employee to kiss back... He was running his hand through Oriya’s ebony hair once more, gently coaxing him to react. It was all to no avail. Oriya was a stubborn man, after all. ‘Alright then, Muraki thought. He knew more persuasion was in order.
Oriya sighed in a bit of relief as Muraki broke the kiss; he didn’t know how much longer he would have been able to hold out. It didn’t matter how angry he was, or how much he wanted to forget the past... Muraki had always possessed some sort of ridiculous power over him. No matter how much he tried to resist, Oriya always failed, eventually. The white-haired man reached an arm past his captive, pressing their bodies closer together, (if that was even possible,) to close the door. The investigator got a whiff of the ghost-like man’s scent– it was like rain. It reminded him of the smell of rain when it was falling; heavy, soft, thick and fresh. A sensation panged in his lower abdomen for just a moment, however much he tried to deny it.

“You’re so warm, Ori-chan,” Muraki once again whispered into his ear, “So warm and soft...” Oriya shifted against him.

“Please, let go,” he begged, though he tried to hide it with a firm voice. The only movement Muraki made was to slip his arm more securely about Oriya’s waist, while using the other to slide the black overcoat off the man’s right shoulder.

“No,” was the simple reply. “Not until you’re mine. Not ever.”

Another shudder ran through Oriya’s body as he felt Muraki’s pale fingers undo the first few buttons of his white shirt, unintentionally tickling his chest as they went. Next the white-haired man slipped the shirt off his friend’s shoulder, revealing the creamy skin that lay beneath. The captive caught a glimpse of those ghostly eyes for a moment, illuminated by the bit of moonlight that slipped into the room through the drawn windows. They gleamed mischievously, twinkling silver to match the hairs that nearly hid them. But something else was glowing – white-hot in those metallic pools – and it came as no shock to Oriya when he realized what is was. Hunger. The man had seen it in those eyes for so long now, and he had fought against that hunger, all to no avail. Just like everything else that was in any way related to Muraki, he had lost to it.

The pale man brushed delicate little kisses all along the exposed flesh, flicking his tongue out now and then, nuzzling the base of Oriya’s neck. The dark-haired man couldn’t deny the tingling sensation that was forming at the base of his spine. He wriggled his arms free of Muraki’s clutch to grasp at the lax sleeves that hung from the pale man’s arms, pulling at them desperately, trying to separate his friend’s body from his own. “Muraki... please,” he pleaded in a quiet voice, deciding that it was no use to try and hide his begging, “Please, stop.”

The other man grunted his reply, placing a passionate kiss on Oriya’s collar bone.

Oh, gosh, it was too much! Oriya continually told himself to fight it, but he was failing, miserably. Those soft silver strands ticking his neck, that cool, pale hand stoking his hair, and those seductive, warm, wet kisses... fight it! For the love of God, fight it! The dark-haired man’s breath hitched in his throat – just for a moment – when he felt Muraki gently capture the skin of his neck, sucking it. He tilted his head backwards. Despite the little gesture, the investigator still uttered a breathy ‘stop’ half-heartedly.

As Muraki continued his kisses, Oriya vaguely noticed they were moving. He was only fully aware of this fact when his feet bumped into something soft, and, for the first time, it dawned on him what room they were in – the bedroom. Honestly! If he hadn’t been quite so aroused just then, Oriya most likely would have been most angry. Muraki lowered them onto the futon, never ceasing his playful kisses. The man knew victory when it dropped in on him.

When the white-haired man had finally settled his victim onto the futon comfortably, he paused in his affections, gazing down at the man beneath him. Kazutaka didn’t see what he had expected to. What had he expected? Resistance, resent, maybe even some anger or annoyance glowing behind the arousal in Oriya’s brown eyes. But what he saw instead was... passion.

...Had he missed something?!

Only moments before the dark-haired man had been upset with him. The only reason they were currently in this situation was because Muraki had forced his friend into it with bribery, trickery, and seduction. Since when had Oriya given any sign of having any feelings for him other than friendship, if that? The white-haired man didn’t know, nor did he wish to argue with his employee’s sudden change of demeanor. He would take as much advantage of the switch as possible. Muraki had wanted Oriya for so long now – so, so long. He would be a fool to let this chance pass him by.

Quickly, greedily, he unbuttoned the rest of the dark-haired man’s shirt, removing it along with the overcoat.

That creamy skin was now displayed before him, the delicate yet powerful musculature evident, the masculine chest rising up and down, donned with two copper-shaded nipples. Muraki had to touch that skin, he wanted to feel it, to run his hands over its satiny warmth and claim it, and make it his. His hands paled in comparison to its voluptuous, rich, smooth color as he brushed his itching fingertips over the flat abdomen. The ghostly man couldn’t suppress a shudder at that first sensation of Oriya’s warmth blossoming up from his hands, up through his arms and flowing into his spine, down into his toes, then volleying back to pool in his loins. Oh! For so long now, so long...

Oriya’s breath began to hasten at the feeling of those long, slender hands running up and down his body. He couldn’t deny the tightness he was experiencing in his pants, the heat that had crawled downward, first snatching his gut in a blissful embrace, then cascading into his privates, hardening him. Why was he enjoying this? Hadn’t he sworn he wouldn’t let Muraki do this to him? Hadn’t he denied all his love for this man, isolating it, ignoring it, forcing himself to believe any feelings other than friendship didn’t exist, and never would again? But these thoughts were all pushed to the back of his head. The only thing he knew right now, the only thing Oriya wanted to know right now, was those hands, that maddening pleasure, and the body that pinned him down to the undeniably comfortable futon. The only thing he could think was that he wanted more.

Muraki once again captured his victim’s lips in a kiss, deeper then the last, but simply for the fact that Oriya was responding. That alone made the gesture so much sweeter. Their tongues mingled for a moment before Muraki allowed Oriya’s to slip into own mouth, which he suckled greedily. The body beneath him shifted and squirmed, and wrapped an arm around his neck, clenching those fine silver hairs in a shaking fist. The investigator’s other hand moved to the pale man’s shirt, sloppily and hastily undoing each button. Lightning bolts shot through Muraki whenever the dark-haired man’s hand happened to brush again his chest, and he pressed his body down onto Oriya’s when the garment had been fully undone.

And – oh! That skin-on-skin sensation! That hot, hot feeling of the other’s flesh pressed against his own, the sleek friction as their bodies moved against one another! It was maddening! And all Kazutaka wanted was more. All he wanted was to devoir this man, to make him his, to make him cry out in throbbing pleasure and claim him as his own. Beneath him, Oriya broke the kiss, groaning as a shudder of pure desire ran through him. Muraki felt the hand in his hair tugging at him, pulling him downwards, and the ghostly man was only more than happy to oblige.

Brushing kisses quickly and swiftly down Oriya’s neck, his mouth found its way to a copper nipple, hungrily trapping it between his lips. Somewhere above his head he heard his employee gasp, back arching off the bed. Kazutaka circled and swirled his tongue around it, causing the supple flesh to grow taunt. He slipped his hands under the arch, fingers running patterns on the silken skin, tracing the spine up and down from the nape of the neck to the small of the back. It was so soft, so smooth, so absolutely and deliciously warm and tempting. The phantom could here wisps of Oriya’s voice every time he took a breath – alluring little ‘hah’s as the dark-haired man moved beneath him, seeking that oh-so-wonderful fleshy friction. Slowly, roughly, Muraki dragged his tongue over the hardened nipple, then captured it between his teeth and gave it a quick nip, inspiring a quick cry from his partner. What a sound that was! But the white-haired man wanted more than that– he wanted to make Oriya moan in pleasure, something deep-throated and from the soul.

Releasing the abused flesh, the man gently blew on it, causing a shiver to creep into the investigator’s elegant body. The fist in the pale man’s hair clenched for a moment, then eased. In one graceful movement, Muraki shifted himself until he was once again level with Oriya’s face – that beautiful face, with the ebony hair fanning around it, framing the creamy, lusciously soft skin and brown eyes and parted lips. All surrounded by a hallo of obsidian that glistened in the moonlight. After studying the glorious sight for just a few moments, Kazutaka lowered his mouth to the man’s ear and whispered, “More, Ori-chan?” before feathering playful, teasing kisses along the other’s neck.

“Muraki...” came the reply that was little more then a breath, “yes...” Those pale lips tickled and itched his skin as they brushed along his throat. Yes, Oriya wanted more, and how could he not? This was so sweet, so sensual, so... so... oh, gods, he didn’t even know what! So what if he would writhe in anger at his weakness later? All that mattered right now was that Muraki stay here, that the pale, ghostly man stay and continue this iniquitous seduction and fulfill his desire. “Yes, more...”

Kazutaka repositioned himself once again, this time to straddle Oriya’s legs, his delicate fingers playing at the waist of the other’s pants. Before doing quite what the dark-haired man wanted him to, the phantom leaned downward, pressing his lips to the tender flesh just above the pant line. Kissing, lapping, sometimes catching the supple, tender flesh between his teeth. Muraki could feel Oriya’s well-built muscles fluttering beneath the skin, the teasing stimulation exciting them. As he kissed, Kazutaka brought his fingers to the small, plastic button of his partner’s pants, carefully yet hurriedly undoing it. Oriya was breathing furiously beneath him, that masculine chest heaving up and down, reacting to every one of Muraki’s touches. Next the white-haired man brought his hand to the black zipper, pulling it downward, cautiously but quickly.

The man could feel the heat radiating off of Oriya – that wonderful, wonderful heat. Suddenly, Muraki felt nothing more than a sense of utter urgency, of craving – of need! Off, off, off! The ghostly man yanked at the black business pants, pulling the undergarments with them. He yanked until they slid off those narrow, inviting hips, down past the soft thighs. He finally ceased the kisses to pull the garments off the other man completely, tossing them to an irrelevant corner of the room. And there he was – the objet of his desires lay before the white-haired man in all his magnificence. Oriya was... beautiful. Not just physically, no, but staring down at the dark-haired man like this Muraki thought he could see into the other’s soul – he could see that, deep down, no matter how much the man tried to deny it, Oriya still loved him, still felt the way Kazutaka himself did, and still wanted this as much as he did. Oriya wanted to be Muraki’s once again.

The brown-eyed man shivered as the cold air mercilessly stuck his body in all the right places. He missed the warmth of his white-haired companion, the feeling of those icy-hot hands as they roamed over his body. He needed it – needed it more than anything he ever needed in his entire life. “Mur– ” he inhaled sharply, “Muraki...”

Meanwhile, Kazutaka felt as though he couldn’t breath. That beautiful, lithe body that squirmed so attractively before him – all he wanted was to look at it, to study it before he lay his hands on it, and examine every intricate detail before he spoiled it with his own pale body. “Muraki...” The ghostly man heard the plea, and was pulled out of his revery. Wasting no time, the pale man removed his own pants before placing the sweetest of kisses on Oriya’s thigh. He then moved upward, to stare directly into his partner’s eyes.

That cool, calm exterior had been shed and forgotten. Just then wasn’t anything; it was nothing in the whole wide world – no! In the whole universe – but Muraki and Oriya. Oriya and Muraki. Together. No facades, no lies, no tricks, no anything. Right then was just... them.

“Ori-chan,” Muraki said, his voice almost shaking, cracking now and then with emotion, “tell me... tell me you want to be mine again...”

There was a pause. For a moment, Muraki almost thought he wouldn’t hear it–

“...Yes,” was the quiet reply, “yes. I love you.” Those words rattled around in the white-haired man’s mind a few moments before the very slightest of smirks appeared on his face. He stored the statement somewhere in the back of his mind – it might come in handy later when Oriya would surely be most angry with him.

Muraki brought two pale fingers too the dark-haired man’s lips, who took them in gratefully.


“I love you, Ori-chan,” he purred, “my Ori-chan...”

Despite the pleasure of it all, a thought had made its way to the surface of Oriya’s foggy mind, making itself known as he swirled his tongue around Kazutaka’s digits: It had been so long. The truth was, (though the investigator would never admit it,) he hadn’t... ‘been’ with anyone since college – not in a long-term relationship, anyway. Sure, he’d had his share quick flings, tossed in with a fare amount of one-night-stands. But in those brief and petty relationships he’d either been on top, or with a woman. Point of fact being that the investigator knew this would most like hurt quite a bit. But he remembered how it felt, down to a tea. It wasn’t one of those things a person would simply forget over time. Oriya could remember the pain, yes... but he could also remember everything else. The pleasure, the excitement, and the emotions. Those absolutely amazing, wonderful, enthralling emotions which ebbed and flowed, gave and consumed, swallowed every inch of him until he thought he couldn’t stand it anymore...

Oriya wanted to feel that again.

Those amazing, life-giving emotions.

The man’s heart began to beat faster as Muraki pulled his fingers away, planting a kiss in their wake. Pulling back, he positioned himself between Oriya’s legs, spreading them wide. So long, so long he had waited for this! The ghostly man teased the flesh of his partner’s inner thigh, grazing the tips of his fingers over them in a feather-light touch, causing the dark-haired man to shiver. Delicately, he reached downward, slipping a finger inside.

Oriya gasped. The sensation was both new and familiar, and awkward as well as wonderful. Muraki moved the finger inside of him, to get the investigator used to it, which sent waves of pleasure washing over the dark-haired man like a tidal wave. “Relax,” the phantom commanded in a gentle tone, “you’re too tense.” Oriya complied, easing every muscle in his body to the best of his ability.

Another finger was added, and soon after that another as Muraki worked the digits inside of his partner. All he wanted was to burry himself deep inside Oriya’s body, to quench that thirst inside of him, subdue that primal need that had been eating away at him for months and months and months and absolute months now! But not without preparation. Not without making sure his life-long friend would enjoy this as much as he would. The white-haired man removed his fingers, and Oriya released a heavy gulp of air he hadn’t known he’d been holding. There was a sort of pause – the kind one gets only when they know something’s about to happen, whether it be good, bad, or a little of both.

Oriya knew it was good.


But, he also knew, by tomorrow morning it would be bad. So he decided to enjoy himself for the time being, and worry about tomorrow when it came. Simple as that.

Muraki positioned himself appropriately between Oriya’s thighs, placing his pale hands on those narrow hips. The dark-haired man clutched the sheets, waiting for that one moment which would undoubtably hurt, despite the stretching. Truth be told, he had expected a rough entrance on Muraki’s part. However, he was rather surprised when instead the man entered him slowly, taking care to make it as least painful as possible. Nevertheless, Oriya couldn’t suppress a grunt at the feeling of stretching and filling, of that heat entering him in one simple wave of absolute pleasure. His whole body clenched for a moment, then eased, a small curse quietly escaping his lips. “Shit...”

Kazutaka smiled, only giving his beloved a moment to adjust. But, even so, the ghostly man found waiting for just that small moment a difficult task. He didn’t want to wait! As it was, he had already waited for far too long – but then again, if he had waited this long, another few seconds wouldn’t hurt.

“What the hell are you waiting for?” Oriya’s quiet voice broke him from his vague thoughts, “Don’t just sit there smiling! Move!”*

Muraki was more than happy to comply.

He pulled out and slammed back in, no longer wasting time to wonder if he was hurting his friend. This had to be heaven, Muraki thought to himself. The heat, the tightness, everything the pale man remembered his friend to be, and everything he had ever dreamed he could be – the dark-haired man was more. This... Kazutaka couldn’t even find words for this! The rhythm was fast as Muraki slammed in and out over and over again, trying to quench that insatiable, primal need that burned so far down within him. However, the more he fed the desire within himself, the more he seemed to want. So Muraki pounded the rhythm harder. Judging by the sounds Oriya was making, the chest that heaved up and down unevenly, and the way the man thrashed his head left and right, his delicate ebony hairs obscuring his face – he didn’t seem to mind at all.

Oh, gods–! Nothing he remembered from college was ever like this! The dark-haired man clutched violently at the sheets, trying to somehow ground himself in the reality that he knew lay somewhere between the intense pain and pleasure, which mingled together in a mesh of spider-webbed sensations. Was that him making those sounds? Oriya couldn’t tell; the man really couldn’t hear much past the sound of blood rushing in his ears. A beautiful explosion of crimson and gold stars exploded behind his eyes every time Muraki slammed back into him, along with that ground-breaking, bone-crushing, mind-wrenching wave of white-hot pleasure that rocketed through him just as the other stuck that spot deep within him. Once Kazutaka had located the correct location, he worked it, hit it again and again, causing Oriya to moan and thrash and cry out in pure ecstasy.

It was the most beautiful thing Muraki had ever seen. Better than college. Better than foreplay. Better than that time he had peeked on him at the community bathing house. Those beautiful black strands of ebony hair, that creamy skin, the little jeweled beads of sweat which ran lazily down his temples... it was all so mind-numbingly beautiful. Muraki clenched his teeth as Oriya began to push into the thrusts, meeting him as best he could in his intoxicated, narcotic state. Bliss, heaven, utopia, perfection, and every other damn synonym in the thesaurus he could think of.

Oriya felt it coming, like jogging towards the end of a cliff. He felt climax creeping up on him. No! He didn’t want it to end so quickly, not yet! He mumbled some incoherent babble between his moans, but Muraki understood. Good, the ghostly man thought to himself. He didn’t know how much longer he would’ve been able to hold out either. “Dammit–!” he heard the dark-haired man declare, obviously trying to hold off the eminent orgasm. The pace between them quickened. Muraki was finding it difficult to control himself. Just a little longer, he knew, all he had to do was hold out a little bit longer – the ghostly man wanted Oriya to come before himself.

The dark-haired man, writhing, threw his head back in one last, guttural moan as climax hit him full-force. Blissful, wonderful, powerful heat spread from the top of his head to the tips of his toes, consuming him completely in that three-second blip of total thoughtlessness, that moment of seemingly divine connection. Muraki let himself go as well, spilling himself into Oriya. His fingers clenched and his silvers eyes shut tight, a moan escaping his own throat. He thrust himself into Oriya one last time, letting the heat surround him, spread out and cover his body completely in that one ultimate wave of pure pleasure. His breathing shuddered and stopped. His muscles began to relax.

It... was over.

The white-haired man collapsed onto his partner, both panting heavily in their greedy search for air. Moments passed before either of them calmed, and, pulling out, Muraki rolled off of Oriya. Gathering the pink-flushed man into his arms, he buried his pale face into the satiny-smooth ebony strands. The other, likewise, nuzzled his own face into Muraki’s neck. Sleep over-took him quickly.

The intense heat of love-making soon left their bodies, replaced instead by the balmy breezes of night air that strolled in lazily through Muraki’s bedroom window. As quickly as it had all began, everything had come to an end. The moans and cries heard only moments before were replaced with soft breaths, and the subtle sound of fabric brushing against fabric every now and then.

And a small, quiet little utterance, meant for only for one pair of ears to hear–

“My Ori-chan.”

A rough beginning brought to a quiet end.
_____________

Oriya stirred as the sun’s ever-annoying beams somehow managed to become acquainted with his closed eyes. Had he forgotten to close his window? Mumbling angrily to himself, he turned the opposite direction, in a vain attempt to out-wit Apollo.

Wait a minute... sun?!

...It was usually still dark when he woke for work in the morning!

The Head Investigator shot bolt-upright in bed, looking about the room with eyes that were now wide-awake. A sudden chill ran up his spine. He was... naked? It was then all the memories from the previous night came crashing back to him. Oh... crap.

He had – with Muraki – last night – they had – and where the hell had his clothes gotten to?!

Looking about once more, he noticed a pile of neatly-folded garments sitting on the floor beside the futon, along with three sheets of paper stapled together and folded into a neat square, which lay perfectly atop the clothes. The list–!

Quickly, Oriya snagged the papers, unfolded them, and read what they contained. And – holy shit – everything that Muraki said would be there was actually... there! Names, first and last, of all the leaders. Their addresses. Major meeting places, connections, evidence left at every crime scene to make every arrest. Amazing! As Oriya turned to the next page, a small sheet of lined paper feel onto his sheet-covered lap. Carefully, he plucked it from the fabric.

The investigator noticed the handwriting immediately – a thick and elegant script. It was Muraki’s. Brown eyes carefully scanning over the ink, he read.

“Dear Ori-chan,
As promised, here is the list with everything you wanted to know. You have until tonight to make all of the required arrests, though I’m sure there will be no problem, what with the evidence supplied. I do hope you find it to your liking. Make sure to take out Haru first, he is currently their ‘head of operations,’ so to speak. I have no doubts as to you efficiency.

Your’s Truly,
Muraki Kazutaka.

P.S. – I hope you slept well. Last night was, after all, rather exhausting for you, I’m sure. Then again, a night with me can do that to a person... you should have heard yourself, my Ori-chan, you really do sound wonderful when you moan. I decided to let you sleep in, so you can be as beautiful as ever for me when you walk in today. A beauty does need their rest, after all. How would you like dinner again tonight? I’m anxious to see those attractive legs of your’s again. How does french cuisine sound? I know a lovely little place near by.

Your’s Truly, (again,)
Muraki Kazutaka.

P.P.S.– You’re late for work.

-Kazu”

Oriya’s body shook to the point of rattling itself apart as he felt unstoppable tsunami-force waves of pure rage crash into him.

::::

Muraki Kazutaka, Head of Police at the Tokyo Police Department felt the foundation of the very building he was in shudder violently. Shit – and earthquake?! Now?! But he had a pile of paperwork to do!

It was then he realized it wasn’t an earthquake. Someone was stomping their way down the hall, towards his office door in near-stampede manner; something that would be stopped by any force of nature, something that screamed pure rage.

His eyes widened behind their silver-rimmed glasses. His face paled whiter than it already was, if that was even possible.

Oh. Shiznats.
::::

* – I tried to picture that scene in my head. Muraki just hunching there with some dumb smile on his face. It made me chuckle. xD

Well, there! That’s the end of it. Completely re-edited, revised, and now, re-released! I hope you’ve all enjoyed it!

And, by the way, did you enjoy the lemon? Hmmm? Was it tasty? >3

Any and All Reviews are Welcome!