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Tokio Love Monogatari	By : kamorgana Category: Rurouni Kenshin > General Views: 4092 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Rurouni Kenshin, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 3
- 4
- 5
Disclaimer: I don�t own Rurouni Kenshin, but the ideas, plots, text and OCs are *mine*.
Tokio Love Monogatari
Chapter 4: Midnight in the garden of good and evil
The next day, the X Day, the Day when I would have my way, I was in such a state of happy anticipation that I had a very, very abnormal behavior.
I was prey to a kind of reverse PMS, hormonal and irrepressible. In a word, I felt like being nice.
How awful.
I hence decided to achieve my G.A. list for one year in one day, as I am not very often in that lenient state of mind. That would be as frequent as a complete solar eclipse, if you want an order of idea. I actually answered to Megumi�s auto-congratulating morning mail. I went to visit Tooth Fairy at the hospital, with Kama-chan, offered her pink flowers, and slipped a coupon for a free haircut at a famous hairdresser�s salon to Yahiko. Then, I accompanied Kamatari and Tomoe to see �A walk to remember�, and passed them the Kleenex tissues. I had brought three boxes: they were barely enough. I couldn�t say if it was as tragically romantic as �The English Patient�, which was until then holding the record number of handkerchiefs (I usually have nothing to do but to count them, to avoid deathly boredom): I had spent a wonderful time, oblivious of everything but of the numerous sexual fantasies that I was building about me and Mr. Wolfish. Then, I had gone to the office, and actually chose a wearable and tasteful fashion for the September issue.
And finally, my good dispositions towards my fellow humans focused on one individual: Misao. After all, she was the little Santa Claus bringing me Mr. Wolfish all wrapped up, with a nice bow. No. Nononono. No bow. It reminded me too much of Yahiko�s costume, and that kind of thought would freeze my deliciously hentai dispositions.
She had phoned me just after lunch, asking whether she could use my help to choose her dress for the dinner. As I would have accepted this even on one of my real PMS days, when I am an axis of evil all by myself, I was just delighted as the perspective; and when we entered the St Laurent boutique (which was also a good action: it�s Aoshi�s favorite. The only nice thing that I could say about him is that he has good taste in fashion) on Omotesando, I was feeling like a mother hen taking her little chick to the pond for the first time. Fashion is my religion, and there are few things that I like more than convert people to it. Hunting wolves and bargains must be the only ones. And of course, having sex with the above-mentioned species, but is it really necessary to point it?
And indeed, the poor girl needed help. Is there something more damageable to feminineness than sports? There must be some secret worldwide plan of brainwashing the female athletes so that they think they have to look sweaty, casual and masculine to be respectable; like it happened in corporations, 20 or 30 years ago, when the only way that women could be taken seriously at a high level of responsibilities was to dress as drag kings. I theorized it as the Castration Ping Pong: the dominant machos accept that women can be their equal, but as it makes the poor honeys feel insecure, they ask women to send the ball back by cutting their figurative ones (i.e., their seduction attributes) so that the masculine sensitivity isn�t too offended. It�s like when a dog pees in the corner of another: it can expect to be relieved of one or two chunks of flesh by the one who had already marked its territory. And is there a field where men are touchier than their so called physical superiority? No, I�m not a feminist: I�m just a fashionista with the strong conviction that being beautifully dressed up should be added in the UN Human Rights Charter.
I had been one of the women to plant the last nail on these unholy practices� coffin in the business world, and that day, I was ready to confront this new head of the hideous Hydra of Clothing Machismo. Not that it would be too difficult: Misao managed to look rather cute with no make-up, a pitiful excuse for a hairstyle, and clothes that would have fitted better a male tenth grader. There was some work to do, though. I had a fit when she showed me the kind of dresses that she was usually picking up: beautiful, of course (thou shan�t blaspheme the Fashion Gods) but so awfully pristine. It would have been an appropriate choice for a prom ball, either for a long-time sweetheart, with the certainty that her cherry would be popped anyway before the last dance, or for a nun-in-training, with no intention to authorize any fruit-related action.
Remembering how Misao had, admiringly (considering that I had been unable to) and firmly avoided the Depressive Sundays, I had been a bit weary of her stubbornness, but she seemed very decided to follow my advice. She was wiser than I had thought. I led her to the sexy dresses showcase. After all, as I told her, she was 21 and dating a thirty-something: she was absolutely entitled to those. The second part of the argumentation seemed to have more impact. Was she unsure of Aoshi? That seemed ludicrous: nobody, knowing Cold Fish, would have had the shadow of a doubt that he was madly and out-of-character-ly in love with her. But on the other hand, if he was as expressive as I suspected, it was quite possible that the imbecile had told her nothing clearly. And I think that I mentioned Misao as not being very receptive to subtlety.
�What is Aoshi�s favorite color? It would be a good choice for your dress.�
�Dark blue,� she answered, lost in the contemplation of the showcase. I recognized the typical little spark shining in the eyes of any normally constituted female confronted to gorgeous dresses. Yippee! She wasn�t a lost cause. She just had all her fashion education to be done. I would be her Master Yoda, in a younger, taller, and not bald version.
�Isn�t that the color of your eyes?� I insinuated.
Parenthesis: I hate when I am nice. I feel so ridiculous. I was surely looking like an old busybody, all sugary and with a weakness for sweet romances, a kind of Miss Marple of WAFFiness. Playing Cupid for Cold Fish! If Yumi and Megumi ever learn about this, I will be made fun of for the rest of my life. I know lots of compromising and embarrassing details about them, but nothing that will ever match this. Not even Speedy Gonzales. End of parenthesis.
The fact seemed to sink in slowly; she widened her eyes, and blushed.
�Yes�I suppose��
�Well, so if he sees you in this�� I emphasized, pointing triumphantly at an �all flags up� sapphire blue velvet wonder, �You�ll finish wrapping him around your little finger.�
She glanced alternatively at me and at the dress, to eventually utter: �Finish?�
�That�s what I said,� I smiled, and authoritatively dragged her to the changing cabins.
The squeals of the shop counseling attendant (you don�t say �clerk� or anything that trivial when you�re in a first-class fashion boutique, or they will assume rightfully that you can�t afford the prices) once she was in the dress, stressed my absolute approbation, and she ended up by looking at her reflection in a mirror with one of her brightest smiles ever. She turned to me, clapping her hands.
�I take this one�I can�t believe it�s me!� she laughed.
�Wait until we�re done.�
�We�re not done?�
Oh, no, done we weren�t, young Padawan.
I took her to my favorite lingerie shop, and though she refused stubbornly to buy a Wonderbra, under the pretext that she would never cheat, I managed to make her choose some interesting pieces to replace her cotton underwear (note for later: start a campaign to ban these horrid un-sexy antiquities, and definitively, from women�s drawers). I hoped that Aoshi had no coronary problems because I was quite sure that his blood pressure would reach the maximum level at their view. Not that I cared about him, but if the idiot had a stroke, my disinterested efforts would have been all in vain. And he�s exactly the kind of killjoy that would invent anything to ruin your effect. Yet, with his obsession of healthy food, zazen and boring way of life, it wasn�t very likely.
Then, I took her to my beauty parlor and left her in the hands of Otowa, master in aesthetics and renowned hair stylist, and another ex of Kama-chan�s. I never doubted that his looks were what had attracted my friend in the first place: he was a gothic nightmare. This scary impression was reinforced by his always having a scissor and a razor in hands, and when he was working, his hands were moving so fast around the clients� head that he looked like a giant lobster, with a dozen of pinches. The wonderful and delicate creations that came out of this frenzy were a real shocker. His gender was very hard to determine. He had thin features and a mane of long red hair, which made Enishi bare his teeth each time he coincidentally met the Figaro, when he came to fetch Tomoe who was also part of Otowa�s exclusive clientele. Enishi has an interesting pavlovian reflex with long red hair.
Misao had a complete makeover, though Otowa confided in me, disgusted, that if everybody had her skin complexion he would have to close down his facial care department. And then, he yelped endlessly that her plaids were a shame, that hiding her hair was a crime, and that mentioning the eventuality of a cut, as she just had, was a sin. I would have been a tad vexed if he didn�t quote in his tirade my own hair as the perfection. I�m very proud of it, as much as of the fact that *I* don�t need a Wonderbra. Hey, I have my sensitivity, too.
I also got all pimped up (probably reassuring Otowa on the financial safety of his facial care department in the process, sigh), my regrettable mellowing not having the least made me forget that it was supposed to be MY big night first. How was I so sure? If you ask, you�re not a woman. There is a certain kind of kisses that tells you all. You already know how the sex is going to be: very, very, very (*0*)/. Letting such an occasion pass by is just unthinkable. Or good for the Guinness Book, under the category: moron of the year.
When Misao and I left the �Realm of Eternal Beauty� (yeah, that sounds like a funeral parlor, but I guess that�s coherent with Otowa�s taste) it was early evening, and I accepted her proposition to pick up my dress and join her before the other guests, to be sure that she was correctly attired, and to have a drink and rest after our efforts. I didn�t know that Misao could need to rest and especially after she had spent the afternoon doing nothing; but she told me, once we settled in Aoshi�s apartment terrace, situated on the top floor of a skyscraper in Shinjuku, that she had found it more exhausting than training for the World Championships. Maybe she would be the one needing a sabbatical if Tomoe and she exchanged a minute of their lives, then. Another enigma to add to my collection.
�Thank you,� she smiled again, �I was so worried about tonight. It�s the first time that Aoshi has this kind of private dinner here with me�.He took me to his firm�s parties, of course, but it isn�t the same.�
�How long have you been dating him?�
�It�s been six months. Actually, I�ve known him for a long time, but�� she shook her head. �He was my father�s lawyer.�
I already knew that Misao�s late father had been the head of another Yakuza family, from Kyoto, associated with the Yukishiro for more than 50 years. Aoshi is one of the famous Mafia lawyers, if not the most famous, especially as Makimachi and Yukishiro are known families. They�re sticking to the old code of honor, not going into drug dealing and other child prostitution thingies. Except for a few stupid tantrums of the chief of police, they co-exist more or less peacefully with the authorities, at least since the end of the gang wars 10 years ago.
�That�s a great apartment. You must love to live here,� I said, gazing at the view on Tokyo at night.
�Actually, I don�t�� she murmured, looking like a lost puppy, and then shrugging and gulping a sip of her whisky (yes, she still had some progress to make in feminine attitude) trying to pretend that she didn�t care.
I can dislike human beings, but I love animals (not only wolves) and I�m a sucker for puppies. Damn it.
�Oh. I don�t know Aoshi very well, but he seems to need time to make his decisions. You shouldn�t worry about this.�
�I wouldn�t, but it�s just that�if he didn�t talk about my future all the time, and say that I should think of it, I mean, that�s very sweet of him��
Bingo. I *knew* it. He was behind the dance teacher idea. I rule.
��but if he didn�t, I wouldn�t have begun to wonder about *our* future, and he never talks about this�Maybe he thinks that I don�t fit in? Or he isn�t serious?�
Aoshi, not serious? Not in a world where the sun rises every morning, dear.
�That�s why I want so much tonight to be a success, so maybe he will see me in a different light?�
I gave a good look at her, and smiled smugly. That was for sure.
Yet, it struck me that behind her cheerful appearance, the poor thing was more of an angst basket than I had imagined. Cold Fish�s de-freezing process obviously hadn�t reached his vocal cords yet. Imbecile.
As she was answering the ringing phone -and not only Aoshi was an imbecile, but also, as it turned out, a late to his own dinner imbecile- I decided to win my place in purgatory (I don�t think that I could ever pretend to one in Paradise anyway) in helping her so that things would go smoothly, using my social skills (I happen to have some, as my family, though it doesn�t have the same interesting curriculum as Misao and Enishi�s, is also wealthy) to ensure it�at least during the aperitif, before I would hunt down Mr. Wolfish seriously. That would do no harm to play hard to get�LOL. I didn�t believe it myself.
It meant that I would have to be nice to Sayo, though. Well, I could give it a shot. After all, I was in a Peace and Love day, which should make us find common grounds.
***
And it didn�t take me more than 5 minutes to switch into Mega Bitch mode. It went like this:
1-Enishi and Sayo arrived.
2-I greeted them with my most gracious smile, which made him raise a brow. None of us had been exactly discreet about our lack of appreciation (to put it politely) of Sayo, and he was too smart anyway not to notice.
3-I offered her some juice and not alcohol, on purpose, just to annoy her, as we all usually did�
�and that�s when she began to attack the mountain of good will that I was.
�Misao-chan, what happened to you? There is something a little�off, in you tonight,� the Saintly Twit began, in her diabetic coma inducing voice, and frowning like a bunny sniffing some rotten carrots.
Misao glanced at me, at loss.
�Maybe it�s your dressing style�� the Horrid Bunny insinuated, as if she was just discovering it, her expression sweetly innocent.
Yeah, sure. My bitch-o-meter started to register some definite vibrations. And this is one field where I am *never* wrong. God recognizes His people kind of thing.
I was pissed off because, even though Misao�s outfit was sexy, it was nothing outrageous. I�m a professional: I had taken Aoshi into consideration, and he had never seemed very impressed by Yumi�s over the top style. The strategic parts of her body were hidden and the ensemble was classy. Moreover we couldn�t be two dressed like sluts, and as we know what my goals were, you�d guessed that I had kept that option for me. I was hence insulted, as a liberated woman, as a friend (Misao couldn�t be any less, after I had actually consecrated some of my time for her happiness) and above all, as a fashion specialist. It was an offense to my pride and even worse, a blasphemy against Saint Laurent.
�Oh, I was thinking the same about you!� I retorted, using my most suave tone. �I think I saw a similar dress somewhere, lately��
Yeah, on Tooth Fairy at the opera. Sayo could have been a model for Convent Barbie. She didn�t have to make Misao feel uncomfortable, only because the girl wasn�t rolled into 30 meters of pink *cotton*. I didn�t even want to imagine what her underwear was like. Menopauses Granny�s style, for sure.
�You look great, sweetie. Tell me again why we never dated?� Enishi said at the same time, winking at Misao.
I love this guy. He always finds the appropriate words. And yes, why didn�t they? I knew from Tomoe that they were childhood friends, and I had always thought that a marriage was going to associate definitely the two families. But after Megumi and Sano, I have to admit that I�m obviously not a specialist. Except for my egotistical boss, nobody can pretend to be a genius in everything.
Sayo sent him a �You just sent a dart into my heart, and no not a Cupid one� look, her lower lip trembling slightly, her eyes filling with devastated incomprehension and the shadow of a tear.
Bitch, bitch, bitch, blinked on the virtual screen of my radar.
There is one thing that Enishi can�t bear: the view of an upset woman. Worse, it�s the only thing that can make him feel guilty, and considering his activities that says a lot. And if there is one thing that upsets *me*, it�s so see a wonderful guy wasted on some bitchy twit.
Yes, I�m a bitch, too, and so are my friends. But at least, we are honest ones. We don�t pretend to be some kind of little birdie fallen from the nest to have our way. Even Tomoe doesn�t have recourse to these pathetic maneuvers: she has her dignity. When we spit our venom, we don�t color it with rainbow paint; neither do we spread rose perfume to wrap the shit that we give to people. It�s again all the girls� rules, which are the only thing, except for the Great Designers, that I have some respect for.
My mountain of good will was hence reduced on the spot to a tiny little dune, the sands of my niceness spread away by a wind of righteous indignation.
Luckily, I was spared the view of Enishi comforting the fake martyr, because Aoshi made his entry.
That re-built my mood in a matter of seconds: he had his usual Cold Fish face, yet when he saw Misao, he went as still as a statue (and I bet that he went as hard) his jaw dropping of a good centimeter. I wish I had a camera, to immortalize that moment (and not only for eventual blackmail) which not only repaired the damage made to my tutorial ego, but also erased the effect of Sayo�s remarks on Misao. She was staring back at him, with a little shy smile and her eyes shining like Christmas lanterns.
It provoked a major ego-trip in me, as the captain of the Titanic would have had, if the boat had made the iceberg sink instead.
I could feel Misao�s growing self-confidence, as she greeted her Crumbling Iceberg. She had reasons to be: I must say that she was ravishing, and I was proud of my Cinderella. Even more proud, as another figure appeared behind Aoshi, the one that I had waited for.
Mr. Wolfish stopped, too, lifted a brow at Misao�s sight, gave a glance at Cold Fish (who looked as if he had just been taken out of the water, and was in need of oxygen) which made him have a bemused smirk, before his eyes fell upon me. He gave me an approving nod, his smirk widening as he had obviously gotten who was the Fairy Godmother, then he let his gaze wander on me and it wasn�t bemused anymore. I was suddenly in need of oxygen, too, and sweating as if I had been unexpectedly thrown into a sauna with my winter coat on. If I hadn�t been way too young for menopauses, I would have thought that I had a severe attack of hot flashes.
Since Hard-Stoned Fish and Cinderella didn�t seem to need my godmothering anymore, and that Sayo had greeted the newcomers with a reproach for being late and a lecture on politeness appearing clearly in subtitles, I decided to throw away my intention to play hard to get along with my social skills, and to be my real, bitchy self.
The saying is about good actions being rewarded, but frankly, experience taught me that bad ones were getting more pay off in this world.
***
We couldn�t really count on our host to animate the dinner, not that we did in the first place, considering Aoshi�s disposition to conversation. But he basically spent his evening with his eyes glued on Misao, and not even a word crossed his lips. I bet that he was practicing a zazen method, to try to keep his sexual impulses under control, which explained his highly concentrated expression. It seems that spirit doesn�t control matter: I noticed that he was keeping his hands in front of him while we went to sit at the table, and Mr. Wolfish, who had followed my stare, confirmed my intuition both on the method and its inefficacity by murmuring just next to my ear:
�There is no spoon��
His hot breath on my skin and his wicked sense of humor made me giggle in a porn-queen way, and if I had been a man, I would have had as many difficulties as Aoshi to bend my spoon. Being a girl has many practical advantages.
Thankfully, lusty giddiness had on Misao the exact opposite effect than on her Zazen Neo, and she was talking without discontinuation, saying just anything that was going through her mind�with a novelty: she didn�t pronounce Aoshi�s name once. I guess that having it virtually tattooed on her forehead and blinking like a neon sign in her eyes was enough already. It was a funny sight, each one of them sat at an extremity of the table, like two opposite poles of a magnet. I wondered if they were going to resist until the end of the meal. I was placed between Aoshi and Enishi who was, as always a perfect sweetheart, lending his ear to Misao�s blabbering. Mr. Wolfish was unfortunately at the antipodes, stuck between Cinderella and Convent Barbie, who didn�t need a long time to start her antics.
My main problem with Sayo isn�t even that I loathe her ideas or that I dislike her personality (though I do both, of course): then, I would have despised her only. But considering that her brother is *also* the leader of a yakuza gang, that she isn�t refusing to live fatly on that dirty money, neither that she refused the very expensive presents from the equally dirty money of her yakuza boss boyfriend, I don�t think that she is entitled to lecture anyone on their shallowness and lack of morals. She is dumb, but not enough to ignore who are the gentlemen (NOT) with flashy suits, sunglasses and missing fingers living on her family property�nor that her dear brother, who isn�t the sharpest blade of the dojo, spent the two previous years living on the government�s charity, in a shelter where it is recommended not to let the soap drop during shower time.
Finally, her sweetness is just an illusion. It�s all passive aggressive tricks. She tries to imitate Tomoe, but she isn�t in her league, and certainly hasn�t her class. Maybe that�s the most irking to me: she reminds me of a cheap Hong-Kong copy of my dear Hermes bags. And the illegal copy of famous brands is according to me a crime that is never too severely punished (thou shan�t worship fake idols).
In summary, Sayo is a closeted bitch, and I hate her with my guts.
As soon as Saitoh lit a cigarette, she started to cough, more and more loudly, since he was paying no attention to her. This is exactly what I meant with her victimization tricks: if smoke bothers her, why can�t she just spit it out? It wasn�t like he was going to devour her. His eyes told clearly that he had cast *me* for the lamb�s part, anyway.
But noooo: not only she was a pain in the ass, but she needed it to be wiped delicately and kissed afterwards.
Parenthesis again: it�s incredible how people�s lives change integrally because of the most insignificant things. It happened to mine that night, that moment, that second. End of parenthesis again.
Saitoh turned to her, and instead of giving in to her emotional blackmail, when she lifted her teary albino bunny eyes up to his face, he just blew a cloud of smoke directly into them. Retrospectively, I think that I fell in love with him at that very moment.
�Enishi��she whined, �I think that I don�t feel very well��
Add �coward� to the long list of her qualities.
He responded to her immediately, but there I have to bow to Tomoe�s perfect sense of timing, because Enishi reached into his pocket for his ringing cell-phone and left the table to answer. Count on your friends to be there for you.
�Can I have a cigarette? I forgot mine at home�� I smiled to Saitoh. I thought that I could be evil proportionately to the impending punishment of seeing Enishi fall into the Fake Handbag trap.
His wolfish eyes twinkled with more ironic bemusement (how is it possible to be that devastatingly sexy without even making a move?) and he extracted a cigarette from his pack�before handing me his own. The taste of his lips was still lingering on the filter, and I just purred on the first puff.
Obviously, this indirect therefore proper kiss had changed us into very rotten carrots, because Sayo did that bunny frown again, and she left her seat after one minute, to join Enishi. They had a little conversation, and while Saitoh and I were pretending to listen to Misao, I kept an eye on them. They finally came back to the table, a still undecided expression on his face.
Since Sayo had begun to lecture Saitoh on the danger of cigarettes, hence that she was keeping him ironically entertained, I took advantage of it to know what was going on.
Add �nosy� to the long list of my qualities.
�Was it Tomoe? Is she feeling well?� I whispered to him.
�She wanted me to fetch her at Yumi�s place.�
�Oh. Why are you here, then?�
�She went with the limo, Wu can take her home�� He paused, and then: �You think so too? That I prevent her happiness by being too protective with her?� he asked bluntly, as I was looking at him with a dubiously raised eyebrow. I had never, ever seen him so unsure of himself.
That�s when my bitch-o-meter exploded.
Incredible, how these so-called nice people ruthlessly abused innocent yakuza�s feelings. I was indignant. Yes, Enishi and Tomoe had a slightly dysfunctional relationship. Who cared? There is nobody I know who have a sane relation with their siblings, including me. They were happy like this: it was nobody else�s business. That a cheap copy of mother Theresa had managed to use Enishi�s Damsels in Distress complex to hook him was one thing. That she used Tomoe�s happiness, the only field where he was as blind as Stevie Wonder, as defiant as a newborn, and as manipulative as Forrest Gump to create a riff between the siblings and close her un-manicured clutches on him was another.
I�m never as evilly devious as when I�m righteously angry, and my strategy was ready within a second.
I took a very concerned face: �Oh, I don�t think so. Where did you fish that idea? She was so depressed yesterday, and smiled only when you said you would come.�
Hehehe. I also could use Enishi�s weakness, for the good cause. And *I* didn�t even need to lie. Yeah, the girl really had no class.
My answer was rewarded by a heavenly smile, especially appropriate image as Enishi�s eyes are as blue as a summer sky. I didn�t need to talk much to convince him not only that Sayo was �mistaking�, but also to insinuate that maybe she didn�t appreciate Tomoe as she deserved to be (which is impossible according to Enishi�s standards, to be honest). After 2 minutes, he stood up, excused himself; and telling Sayo that he would send Wu to pick her up, he rushed to his nee-san.
I told you: you can call me the Antichrist, but don�t say that I let my friends down.
***
The rest of the dinner would have been to Chou�s taste: it raced like a sport car, firmly carried by two pairs of (at)tractions, with Sayo as the fifth tire. She was locked in the trunk of our inattention, Misao still roaring like an engine, Aoshi still focused on cooling his overheated front radiator, and Mr.Wolfish and I still waiting for the green light to make out on the backseat. We were outrageously flirting with each other, and he was good at this, too. Our conversation could have seemed perfectly innocent, for anybody not having the idea to peek under the table and therefore discovering our little feet game�like Sayo did when she dropped her napkin. By the way, and I am here giving some advice as a fashion specialist, if she has a tendency to blush crimson she shouldn�t wear pink: the combination is unflattering. I�m just saying.
When we left the table, Aoshi walked to the terrace, stubbornly presenting his back to us, Misao went to get some champagne into the kitchen and Sayo went to the bathroom.
�Your place of mine?� Mr.Wolfish asked casually, as we were standing before the sliding windows, in the living-room.
�I thought that you always decided�� I answered, falsely disappointed.
His eyes lit with pure come and hither lust; and I felt as the Little Red Hood discovering the Big Bad Wolf. It only made me regret that we weren�t already in Grandma�s bed.
��so my only answer to this question would be: fast.�
Misao came back at that very moment, in third blabbermouth gear. Saitoh courteously pushed the glass doors open for her, with a smile so polite that it was slightly creepy. He didn�t strike me as being a gentleman, and I didn�t understand until I saw him stretch his leg just in front of her. She of course didn�t see it and stumbled upon it, as she was happily addressing Aoshi.
She yelped, the tray with the cups (very, very expensive crystal, a real pity) and the champagne bottle (Cold Fish has taste for this too, weirdly: he doesn�t drink anything but tea) fell and exploded, while she made a very gracious loop�10.0, she wasn�t a gymnast for nothing; and I got the satisfaction to see Aoshi rush like a knight in shining armor, to scoop her in his arms before she fell on the broken glass. I thought that maybe they should compete as a couple in the ice skating contest for the next Olympics, as the Icicle would be in his element�oops. Not anymore.
I�m glad I never lost my time on learning zazen: let me tell you that it�s very, very ineffective. I was wondering if I should call the firemen. Then I got a bit worried, because Aoshi was tugging on her dress already, and I feared that the imbecile would rip it off. If I couldn�t even trust his fashion taste�everybody knows that you don�t tear off anything over the Prada level!!
�I guess that they won�t bother too much if we leave now?� Saitoh said nonchalantly.
I must admit, to my shame, that I didn�t have any dilemma over saving the dress or getting undressed. I would pray Saint Laurent for forgiveness later.
He extended his hand, yanked me to him as soon as I had put mine in his, and I don�t know exactly how, but I found myself lifted in his arms with my legs around his waist. I was slightly distraught by my hormones preparing the room for the soon to begin party.
Every single one of my nerves was tense as a bottle of champagne with the cork ready to pop, the electricity system was getting short circuited by the overload of sexual tension, my internal fire brigades were losing the fight against the numerous foyers that his hands caressing my skin through the dress were creating, enclosing me in a kind of delicious blur, where I was only conscious of the sensations. I know that he walked to the door, and that we bumped into a wall or two as he was too busy kissing my neck and teasing my collarbone to pay attention to where he was going. I was vaguely aware that I heard a scream of pure terror while we were arriving in front of the elevator, but that�s when he decided to finally kiss me on the mouth, plunging me into giddy oblivion. It provoked in my whole body a delightfully thrilling rush, which would be comparable to the panic in a major department store on Christmas Eve, when everybody tries to get a share of presents, and is afraid to end up with nothing if waiting for one more minute. Forget the Christmas spirit sappy crap: this moment is the most exciting of the Nativity festivities, like a super giant bitchy bargain...my favorite time of the year.
And for sure, Mr. Wolfish was a perfect Santa Claus: he didn�t neglect any of the clients, which were all getting more than their decent share of little handmade presents. Quality and quantity were assured: he could also compete with Santa�s reindeer, if my nervous system was still functional enough to give accurate information on what was pressed against my fuzzily knotted belly. I couldn�t wait anymore for the time to unwrap the main gift, my feminine decorations not fitting their expensive Chanel wrapping paper anymore, especially as he had let go of my mouth to tease the little peaking bows. It made me sing a tune having nothing to do with Christmas Carols, see a million of little candles passing in front of my closed lids and have delicious champagne bubbles filling my brain�
�Until another scream, just behind us, interrupted our little feast. We broke off, me on a frustrated groan, him on a snarl, and opening my eyes, I discovered Sayo standing behind us. Definitely, pink is not for her: her face was redder than Santa�s outfit.
She was out of breath, and I realized what the previous outburst had meant: we were surely not the first couple she had stumbled upon during the last 10 minutes.
She then turned white, and she rushed to the stairs, yelling incoherently things like we would all go to hell. As far as I was concerned, that was exactly what I wished her to do. I hate drama queens.
It seemed that I had spoken my mind aloud, again. I tend to do this when I am bewildered�and this is a very mild word to describe the state Mr. Wolfish had gotten me into. Usually, it brings me trouble, particularly with touchy people like Yumi or Megumi, but for once it didn�t. He smirked, appreciative, which I didn�t know only from his expression.
I was about to let go again when my mind, which had slightly recovered from the first onslaught of lust, was able to activate the vital alarm signals. There was a thing that I needed to ensure, for the sake of my near future: bliss or nervous breakdown. I had checked Mr. Wolfish�s anatomy only through his clothes, especially his shoulders (broad and muscular, in spite of his relatively slim body), his butt (firm and round, yum), but I had had to bury my hands in his rebel mane of hair (silky, and I didn�t expect this, but that was as great as touching the fabric of a haute couture dress�well, yes, I do have weird turns on too, but you�ll notice that I have waited quite a while after we got acquainted before revealing them to you) simply because I had needed to grasp on to something when I was arching my back�
But I had forgotten the most important: did he have a hairy chest?
Silly, silly me! I had been so infatuated that I didn�t even think of it. He was so hot: I just couldn�t imagine the possibility. As I told you, I just can�t bear hairs and less hairy guys. It gives me the feeling of coupling with a gorilla, and yes I love animals, but not in this way�Oh, if he had one, I would be so despaired that I could just go and fuck Chou or even his car, or both, or willingly ask for a Depressive Sunday session. No punishment would be too harsh for such a stupid, imbecile mistake.
I reached for his shirt, reminding Misao�s dress and thinking that the Fashion Gods might punish me for my sin by depriving me of my (*0*)/. I tried to bargain, not ripping off the buttons (Mr. Wolfish was going Armani�and commando), but conscientiously opening them, not to commit another blasphemy. I really am good at bargain, because when I finally managed to part the lapels, I discovered a great, hair deserted torso. I exhaled a sigh of relief, and let my fingers trace the definitions of it, with a smile of pure pleasure as the muscles were reflexively tensing against them. He was lean, but not in a skin and bone way, and his skin was smooth and firm like leather, which yes, turns me on too.
Perfect, he was just perfect�and he was observing me, his brows lifted and his eyes turning golden with desire, and bemusement again. He released me, and before I had the time to wonder whether he was vexed, he had opened the elevator door and entered it, tugging on my hand to make me follow.
The door slid close again, and I found myself between him and the panel, his hands placed on each side of it, trapping me at arm reach, but not touching me. Leaning from behind me, he murmured into my ear: �I have my little preferences too��
�and he started to explain me what he intended to do, which implied silk scarves, blindfolds, him licking my body and me begging until I had no voice left to scream. I could have told him that going that far wasn�t necessary: I was ready to beg already, just imagining us, courtesy of his persuasive, low sexy voice describing his fantasy. It was enough to bring me near to a little orgasm. But for once, I held my tongue: it was definitely a case when the necessary is less important that the luxury.
�Any suggestions?� he added, very confident of his effect�OK, maybe because I had moaned a bit, and that my state of excitement was surely obvious.
That attitude made me react: I was indeed going to be the lamb in his Big Bad Wolf game, but until there I had been the hunter, and I wouldn�t give up before giving him a little run for his money. He had used words, I would act, and I tossed my head back on his shoulder, while rubbing my hips against his, tentatively.
�No�just that I can�t wait,� I let out, on a submissive and needy tone (well, yes, not far from the truth, but I showed it voluntarily�nuance).
It always works.
It had even more effect than I had thought. One of his hands closed around my waist, molding me to him, and I had gone on exciting him for less than 20 seconds, the cabin reaching the second floor, when his other hand went for the emergency stop button, and then back to cup one of my breasts.
�Me neither,� he whispered. �We�ll go for the necessary first.�
I didn�t have the time to wonder more than briefly whether he was really reading my mind, though this was the third or fourth time that he said just what I was thinking, because his long, rough, masterful fingers had disappeared under my dress, making me burn and melt at the same time.
Sex is about chemistry, they say, but it is way beyond any scientific field, in my opinion. Try to ask a chemist whether matter can be feverishly hot and drenching wet at the same time, and you�ll see what I mean. And was I both at the moment, when he was playing wickedly with me. Sex is like a dance, say others, where bodies find their rhythm like on a song known only to them. Yet, really great sex is more than this, and after he had put on the little required dance costume, it was such an incredible mix of tempos and tunes that a complete symphonic orchestra, the Rio carnival samba musicians in grand complete, and a thousand of rock bands combined would be unable to rend. Sex is like a flight to the stars, romantics put, but with him, it was also a fall into the flames, into an abyss that made me afraid of going any further by fear of exploding into a feeling that �pleasure� is way too sweet of a word to define.
Sex with him made me feel as if every cell of my body was dying and more than alive at the same time, too conscious of myself and of him filling me to bear the build-up any longer, and after I cried out, he crushing me in his arms as he came, too, I dissolved into a blissful nothingness, only dimly aware that I was already yearning to have him again.
This, my dears, is what you call a (*0*)/.
***
Even today, I can�t remember how we arrived to his place, though I have a very accurate and fond memory of what we did once we were there. It wasn�t before the next day, and way into the afternoon, that I managed to get out of the bed, completely exhausted and completely ecstatic, while he was finally sleeping for more than fifteen minutes. Luckily, I wouldn�t have to ride anything but him during the rest of the day, because if I had had to be on a bike, I would have ended up as the perfect mosquito trap: I was just unable to close my mouth, which had adopted an idiotic, everlasting smile. With the tiredness, it was surely as creepy as the Joker�s.
I managed to find my handbag, realizing coincidentally that I had lost my Dior collector unique lipstick, probably in the elevator, which would have provoked a fit usually but to give you an idea of my blissful state, I couldn�t care less at the moment, and I checked my messages.
Yumi had sent me several inquiring ones, bitterness appearing as she figured out what I was at.
Kamatari asking why I wasn�t there, because Titanic wouldn�t be the same without me.
Tomoe had sent me one with a heart, and saying that she would make up excuses for me for the next three months of Depressive Sundays. I had always suspected that she knew my dislike for it. I couldn�t be mad at her now for not helping me earlier, anyway, damn she is good at getting away with things.
One from Misao informing me that Aoshi had just proposed to her. I was definitely blessed: Sex Goddess and Love Goddess�looking like the Joker, yeah, I know.
Another one, sent later by Kamatari, hoping that my sudden latex allergy would be cured soon (Tomoe does have the sense of humor).
And, finally, a voice message by Megumi, saying that Enishi had requested Sano�s services for three days, and why the hell wasn�t I at Kamatari�s, she was going to die without me, especially as she wouldn�t get any for what seemed an eternity to her.
This finished making of this day the most perfect of my life.
�Phone addict?� asked a voice behind me.
I turned away, trying to make my smile sweet and contrived while I typed quickly a message, and I found Saitoh leaning on the doorframe of the bedroom, wearing nothing but a lit cigarette on his right hand. People always talk about rabbits, but let me tell you this: wolves� sexual capacities are truly underestimated.
�I have my flaws�� I said, modestly.
He grinned. �I didn�t notice yet�I�ll have a snack, and then I should investigate further into this��
I managed to press the �send� button and to drop the phone on the couch before he walked towards me.
It was a very short answer to Megumi, so that she�d have a taste of her own medicine. You can surely guess the content. Oh, and you can think that I�m revengeful, childish, cheap, whatever you want. Let me remind you that I couldn�t care less: I have amazing sex as you are reading these lines!
To be continued�.
Ah, the lemon isn�t usual smut�it wouldn�t have fitted the tone of the story. I personally would have considered it as strong R, but I tagged it NC-17 just to be sure not to shock anyone.
About Sayo, and it stands for every acidic comments about the characters in this story: I used merely IC flaws, with of course the exaggeration due to the parody pattern and the subjective vision of Tokio (the narrator). No OOC-bashing in my fics, which is exhausting when it comes to Kaoru or Sayo�but I wouldn�t feel right inventing flaws that they don�t have. It takes the fun out of parodies in my opinion.
Next chapter: My sister is a Mary Sue. The city is cursed: no more men! Tough luck for some, life can suck. Tokio�s malediction is affecting many people�and especially the Yukishiro family. And a bunch of monkeys and Beasts from Hell are thrown in the mix.
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Tokio Love Monogatari