If looks could kill I would have suffered a sinners fair share of surprisingly quick deaths.
There are some people who are born to attract attention, and to revel in it. They are the ones that draw every eye in the room, hold it with a smirk that is somehow inviting and intimate at the same instant as it is aloof and unreachable.
And before I wax poetic and make myself sick, let me just tell you Yohji Kudoh is the wet dream of every idiot that has discovered just what all that plumbing between their legs is for. You can almost smell arousal as soon as he walks into a room with his too tight pants and ridiculously, blissfully short shirts. You can see the dom's dreaming about chaining him to the bed and whipping love marks into his perfect back, can see the sub's hoping he will pass their way to claim a kiss, to haul them off. He fills the requirements for every fetish, every inclination.
And the bastard knows it. You can tell by the tilt of his hips, the way he licks imaginary sweat off of his upper lip, passing those sleepy eyes across the room, leaving his drooling hopefuls to shiver in tense anticipation.
Crap, I could almost get off on that alone. It's like a contact high that goes right to my cock. Which is, in my humble opinion, one of the finer pleasures in life.
I could be content with that, following him around in a sexually symbiotic relationship, sucking the arousal off of every minor that had managed to sneak into each club Yohji routinely graced with his presence.
But when have I ever been content with something that easy, that benign?
It's a simple thing to get his attention, to tap on his mental shoulder and demand he look at me, he choose me. Its damn satisfying to feel the disappointment, to feel the jealousy of everyone else as he sits next to me, as he allows me to slip an arm over his shoulder. Ya know what's nice about Yohji? The poor guy is always up for a good fuck.
Sure he gets a bit irritable, once I get him to pay for a room, lock the door, and unhaze his mind enough for him to realize just who is pressing him down into the bed. And sure he tries to howl around the pillow his face is pressed against as I gnaw pleasantly at the back of his neck, but I don't see his erection complaining. His body thinks it a grand idea that I fuck him silly up against a cheap hotel bed. Hell, all the righteous indignation in the world couldn't make me ignore the fact he gets off on it, shouting his fury even as he orgasms onto conveniently white sheets.
It does wonders for my mood. It's the adrenaline from a good fight combined with the pleasure of a good fuck all rolled into one. That's my Yohji, a veritable font of useful sensation. It's almost funny, watching someone who is usually so confident in their body try and hide in a cheap sheet. If looks could kill I would have suffered a sinners fair share of surprisingly quick deaths.
He calls me a bastard, and this is the one time I wholeheartedly agree, don't even attempt a token protest. You know you're a right bastard when you can make someone think they liked it...and you don't even bother.