Shot?

Akira yawned while walking into the penthouse, ready to get himself his early morning fix. He loved these couple of minutes every morning where he could play with the sleek espresso-machine in Asami’s kitchen. The sensual feel of the satined steel in his hands, the almost inauble sigh when the water was hot enough to be dispensed into his waiting cup. And the aroma wafting up to tease his nostrils when the porcelain was filled with the nectar fit for gods. The soothing sound signaling the upcoming feast for his senses. The rich, velvety créma would smoothly slide down his throat, taunting his taste buds on the way, always leaving him want for more.



He opened the cabinet above him and… stared. Two rather revolting items that would have to be considered a crime against humanity were staring at him. Offending his senses. Where the elegant, precious grail of his existence should await his worship.



Somebody moved them. Somebody.Moved.Them.



His senses screamed, offended by this atrocity. Almost desperate now, he opened the other cabinets, his need driving him to a frenzy.



Aaaaahh. Here they were. Nothing could stop him now. Not heaven nor hell, in fact, even his boss knew better than to attempt to stop this ritual. He took one of the precious cups and got to work, revering each treasured maneuver necessary to produce the dark, rich liquid that signaled the beginning of his day.



The world, all of a sudden, seemed to be a much brighter place again.

With a sigh, Akira leaned against the breakfast bar, carefully cradling his treasured cup, waiting for any sign that would signal that Asami was ready to begin his day.

The moment he heard the tell-tale sound of his master getting ready to walk in, he turned once more to his only true love to prepare the queen of his heart to relinquish another cup of pure heaven.



“Good morning, Asami-sama.” He felt the towering presence next to him, surprised again, that his boss would forego the elegant porcelain in favor of the chipped, pokemon-faced cup. A felony which he desperately tried to erase from his memory each morning. In vain. Asami did it to him every day. Since he had the kid’s stuff brought over. Who got himself shot. Stupid brat.



“Akira.” With a small nod, Asami acknowledged his most trusted, carefully taking the tacky cup with his espresso and went over to his desk.



He checked his schedule, flipping his ever-present phone open and made a call.

No greeting, as was his wont he got right to the point.



“Is the equipment ready to be built in today?”



“Yes, Asami-sama. We were able to get everything you need and will come over around 10 o’clock with the interior designer to set everything up.”



“Good. I want this finished.”



He hung up. Taking his cup up again, he walked past the kitchenette to the small empty room at the back of his apartment. It was supposed to be a utility room, but it had never been used. Now it would be transformed into a darkroom/office. His pet needed at least one room he could play in. His lips curved into a smile. He already had his ready. Waiting, toys in place, prepared for the arrival of the most important accessory to complete it.



“We have an appointment at Armani’s. Let’s go.” He went back to the kitchen, placed his mug in the sink and waited impatiently for Akira to get him his coat.



With a sigh, Akira put his cup away, helped Asami into the long elegant coat that added considerably to his menacing presence wherever he went.



****



They drove straight to Ginza, Akira parking the car right in front of the main entrance of the building that housed several of the world renown designers, to let Asami do his shopping.



Entering the Emporio Armani he was directly shown into the private showing room where he could take his time picking out what he wanted Akihito to wear. And endless array of models were presented to him, their suggestive poses emphasized by the pleasant tinkle of some odd music in the background, trying to seduce him to buy. Without paying the subservient employees any attention, he picked out what he wanted the same way he did everything. Efficient and confident. He rejected the shirts, selected four suits, and left without further delay to step into Prada’s.



The store-manager looked as if he was about to faint from his mere presence. He snapped his fingers, eager to satisfy his most elite customer’s every wish.



“I need some shirts.”



By the time he had finished his sentence, he found himself surrounded by enthusiastic employees, showing him the elegant shirts, made from the finest silk. He picked out several in the small size he needed for his boy which would fit with the suits and two larger ones for himself. It was hard to resist the grandiose feeling the superior material left on the skin.



“Shoes, size 26.” He quickly selected four pairs made of the most supple leather, a perfect choice for the suits. They would accentuate the elegant lines of the tailored pants and enhance the lanky beauty of his pet.



Then he saw them. He inwardly winced but still he knew they were exactly what Akihito would want. He purchased five pairs of the Linea Rossa sports-shoes in different colors, even though his senses were screaming at the insult to his taste. He had them added to his other purchases and signaled to the man attending to him that he was done.

The manager quickly ensured him that his selection would be delivered to him the same day and gladly went about to add up the impressive bill. Not caring about trivial things like bills, Asami walked out of the building to see to rest of his boy’s clothes.

Now, what to do about the casual wear. He was at a loss. Akira approached him with a questioning look on his face.



“Is there anything you need, Asami-sama?”



“Where does one usually buy…jeans?”



“Uh… I guess you could go to Calvin Klein?”



Relieved sigh.



“Ah, they have those, too?”



With that he got back in the car and headed for his next stop.



****



The elegant interior of the store offered him the calming environment he needed. As soon as he was approached by a horde of over eager employees, the manager Kobayashi saved him with a snap of his fingers. They knew him too well here.



“Welcome, Asami-sama. How may I help you today?”



“I need casual clothes.”



The world stopped for a moment. Surprise made the manager slightly raise an eyebrow, curiously looking at the man in front of him.



“These are the measurements.” Akira handed the man a small slip of paper on which every inch if Akihito’s body was mapped out by the tailors from Armani.



“Of course.” The world was back to normal again.



“Anything specific that we may show you?” Asami was carefully steered towards the back of the store, a section he had never wandered into. Never needed to. Until now. Stupid brat.



“I think Asami-sama would like to see some jeans.” Akira stepped in again. Instinctively feeling that his all-powerful boss was out of his comfort-zone.



They were directed to another private showing room which soon filled with young men, modeling incredibly tight-looking, hip-hugging contraptions of the infamous cotton material.



At first Asami couldn’t bring himself to choose any of the displayed pants. Until he started to imagine his pet wearing them. Wearing nothing but them. Tight, outlining every delectable line of his ass. Hugging it. Displaying it. Offering it. His mind wandered to how he would peel them down these incredibly long legs, leaving them there at his ankles, effectively trapping him…



“Ten pairs. Black and blue. Do you also have these in leather?”



“I’m afraid not, but Dolce and Gabbana offers a nice selection of men’s leather pants. If you wish, I will get them to come here and show them to you.”



“Do that.”



They served him refreshments while the models started to present shirts, sweaters and all the other unknown stuff that they thought his pet would get to wear with the jeans. Not that he would. Wear anything with those lust-inducing pants. To show his appreciation to Kabayashi who went to such lengt to please him, he selected a number of shirts that would sure to be stretched taut over his lover’s torso. The kitten would be outraged. Yet, he would wear them. He would make sure of that.



Finally the leather pants had arrived and they were just as he hoped. Accentuating the ass, leaving nothing to the imagination. Soft, supple leather that waited to be touched, stroking him through the exquisite material would be pure pleasure. Taking them off him would be…



“I take them all. Make sure that they will fit perfectly.”



“Of course, Asami-sama.”



“Is there anything else we can do for you today?”



“That’s all. Have it delivered today.”



He signed the slip of paper handed to him and got up. He hadn’t thought that shopping for his brat would be such a… inspiring experience. He signaled Akira and they left the passel of happy sales-clerks behind.



Now, there was only one more stop to make to pick up another surprise for Akihito. It had taken him quite some effort to locate a shop which could accommodate his wishes. But he had found it. There really wasn’t anything money couldn’t buy.



Akira directed the large BMW in direction of a quiet suburb of Tokyo, far away from the bustling life in the center of the city. On the backseat, the Yakuza was already back on the phone, efficiently taken care of his business. The tall bodyguard was as always amazed how his boss was able to deal with the endless problems arising every day, noticing every small detail and incorporating it into his dealings. Talk about multi-tasking.



“We’re here.”



“Good. Wait for me here.”



Asami flipped his phone shut, extinguished the remains of his cigarette with his heel, making a crunching sound on the graveled path leading up to a small inconspicuous looking house. Akira watched the tall man briskly walking up to the house, feeling a bit uncomfortable to let his boss walk into unknown territory by himself. He would feel a lot better, if he were allowed to at least wait at the door. Not that Asami couldn’t take care of himself, he thought with a rueful rub to his shoulder. The last ‘work-out’ with Asami had already been four days ago, and as much as he hated to admit it, he had gotten his ass kicked. Whenever they spared he was impressed by the fast moves of the man, the powerful muscles hidden beneath the silk shirts and the deadly punches he could deliver. He seriously hoped that Keita was scheduled for the next one. He wasn’t too keen on being used as a punching-bag. And he was. Asami did work out his sexual frustration on his suffering body. Because there was no other choice. Because the photographer would be out of commission. At least for another two weeks. Being sick. Stupid brat.



As soon as Asami reached the house the door opened and a little man, looking as old as time itself greeted him.



“Welcome, Asami-san.” He bowed reverently and motioned the Yakuza inside.



“Thank you for your fast work, Sumitani-sensei.” Asami acknowledged the man with a slight bow. He rarely showed this kind of respect. Only if it was due. And it was. Sumitani was a younger child of the Ningen Kokuho *Sumitani Masamine and had foregone the career of a swordsmith to be become a jeweler. He wasn’t really a goldsmith, he only worked with platinum. And only for select customers. If he liked them. Asami had met him twice before, explaining his requirements and surprisingly eliciting a gleeful cackle from the old man.



Nobody laughed about Asami. Ever. Except for this relic of long forgotten traditions. He dared. And lived. After he had expressed his delight at the fairly uncommon wishes of the dangerous man in front of him.



“They are done, Asami-san.” It took the Sumitani forever to extract a large box with the now finished items. He opened the box and there they were, on a bed of blood red velvet. Gleaming in the sun, beckoning him to touch. The metal felt cold and smooth to the touch. There was only one way to breath the warmth of life into them. His boy. Akihito. He would transform them from cold lifeless metal to hot, lust-inducing beauty. They were waiting for the pet’s skin. They were flawless, no hinge or seam could be seen, the even surface glittering in the light.



“I have included the magnetically encoded locks as you wished. They can now only be opened with the decoding key.”



“Perfect.”



He took the weighty box and held it in both hands.



“I appreciate your work, Sumitani-sensei.”



“It was my pleasure. But I’d enjoy it even more to see how they fit.”



“Don’t.Push.Your.Luck. Old.Man.”



He turned around sharply and left, the cackling laughter following him all the way back to the car.



*****



************

* Ningen Kokuho= Japanese: (Living National Treasure) highest ranking swordsmith, their works if entered into a competition it will not be judged. They are above the mere judgement of mortals (I assume).