Darkdarling - Another Akio Sex Dream

   I eventually got lost (as I always do in places that are completely new to me), and I vaguely remember searching for someone that I could ask directions from, but there didn’t seem to be anyone around. Noticing a large clock on the wall, I saw that it was midnight, and far past the curfew. I was supposed to be in my dorm.

   The first tremor of worry rippled through me. What if I couldn’t find it? I couldn’t very well sleep in the hall, and this place was so big compared to my old school—I took a deep breath, steeling myself for the idea that I might have to stay up all night searching for my dorm. Fully prepared to explore all night if need be, I turned a few more corners and became not only lost but hopelessly lost.

   Eventually I came into the administrative wing. I’m not exactly sure how I knew what it was—there were no offices that I could see, and nothing to indicate that it was a place of work at all. In fact, it looked more like an art gallery than anything else—there were large still life paintings of fruit and flowers on the walls, which were gold-colored, and in the center of the room was a railing around a cutout that looked down on the floor below. I walked over to the rail, trying to get my bearings, but I knew no more than that I was on the second floor of the building.

   I felt a sudden touch at the nape of my neck, and instantly jerked away, facing the person that had come up behind me without my notice. “I’ve been watching you for a while,” he said, his white teeth flashing against skin the color of milk chocolate. “You do know that it’s against the rules to be in the Rijichou’s wing, and that it’s hours past curfew.” My every sense started to mutter danger warnings; somehow I knew that this man was not normal.

   “I know,” I said, unable to look him directly in those sea-green eyes. “I can’t help it that I’m lost. I’ve been searching for the dorms for that long.” I couldn’t help but wonder exactly why he was wearing a purple tie with a red shirt. It was an unusual color combination, to say the least, but he pulled it off admirably. The apprehension inside my mind began to grow as he planted one hand on the rail beside me, too close to my waist.

   “Your hair is exactly the color of a palomino’s mane,” he said wonderingly, delicately running his fingers through it and lifting up a lock so that he could see it better. He was really far too close for comfort.
   “It’s called bleach,” I snapped. “I use a lot of it.”

   Instead of becoming offended, he smiled. “You’re tired, and I can see that you’re uncomfortable. The first day at a new school is always hard, especially one so far away from your home. I’m Ohtori Akio, the Rijichou, and I’d like to personally welcome you to Ohtori Academy.” At the word personally, he leaned forward a little, and I involuntarily stepped back. There was more than a hint of predatory hunger underneath that smooth surface.

   “Th-thank you,” I stuttered. I can only excuse my inanity by saying that it was a new place, with rules that were different from my own home, and I wasn’t sure exactly what they were yet. At home, I would have been much more confident knowing that an older man was so obviously hitting on me; here, I wasn’t sure exactly what he was getting at, and it seemed sinister for the Chairman to start talking me up at some ungodly hour of the night when I was lost and supposed to be asleep in my dorm.

   Of course, there was a rather large part of me (my libido) that was all for this idea. Ungodly hour or not, sinister or not, he was gorgeous.

   “Do you like art?” he asked, taking a step closer to me. At this point, I was pressed against the railing, so I couldn’t back away any farther. I nodded mutely. I’m sure that my eyes were wide with fear and that craving, but for now the fear was winning. “Let me show you around,” he purred.

   I nodded again. Apparently there were to be no consequences for all the rules I’d broken tonight; it helped to alleviate some of my anxiety.

   His hand came up as if to pat my cheek, but it ended up trailing gently along instead, following the curve of my jaw underneath to my throat. “Good girl,” he said, his voice reminiscent of raw silk and dark chocolate.

   I instantly bristled; I hate being called a good girl. It’s like being told that I’m a dog—obey orders and be a good girl. I’m a cat person—I’ll do what I want, when I want, and if I don’t wanna, I’m not gonna.

   He laughed quietly, as if he’d heard my thought, and then tucked my hand into the crook of his arm. We walked around the rooms—I don’t remember how many there were, just that there were definitely more than three, each with the same railing and cutout floor in the center. Despite his fingers skating over the back of my hand every so often and the way he held me too near, I managed to converse semi-intelligently about the paintings. Art history has always been an interest of mine, and I don’t deny myself the chance to indulge in it. I don’t often deny myself the chance to indulge in anything.

   As we talked, the paintings grew less and less familiar, until Akio was doing most of the talking, introducing and acquainting me with the mythology behind particular paintings. I knew nothing of the story; it was something about a Bride, and a Prince, and I had never heard anything like it. I did recognize echoes of myths I had read (another interest of mine), but nothing rang completely true with those that I had heard.

   Finally, we came to the last painting. It was of a girl with purple hair, her back turned, long locks cascading down the back of her pink outfit. There was a white hat on her head and a suitcase in her hand. She was obviously walking away.

   “This is my sister, Anthy. She left last term, and I haven’t seen her since.” Akio’s voice sounded calm and even. He seemed not to care that she’d left.

   “Did you paint it?” I asked, at a loss for something to say. My voice held a ripple of fear, but desire threaded through it like a red ribbon. I couldn’t understand what it was about him that frightened and excited me so.

   “I painted all of the paintings you’ve been admiring in the last two rooms,” he chuckled. His other hand crept into mine, seizing it firmly, and the skin all over my body suddenly went on alert as he stroked the tender flesh of the crook of my elbow.

   “And the story?” I asked, trying to distract him with conversation. If he was talking, maybe he would lose interest in whatever plans he might have had. “What does it mean?” I still wasn’t sure whether I wanted him to lose interest or not.

   “I think you know what it means,” he said, his eyes turning to mine and pinning them effortlessly. Panicky desire roiled in my stomach; I couldn’t look away, and I wasn’t sure I would want to even if I could. I suddenly felt as small and terrified as a rabbit caught in the open by a wolf. Before I could react, Akio’s arms had snaked around me, crushing me against him, and his silver-lavender head dipped down so that he could taste the pulse at my throat. One of his hands moved down, smoothing my short teal skirt over my hip and then creeping underneath it. I couldn’t muster the strength to resist—I was too torn between terror and sensuality to even try. His lips traced a line up to my ear, and he murmured, “Shall we go for a drive?” The hand under my skirt slid up my buttock and then down the front of my panties, skating lightly over the fabric, his nail scraping at exactly the right spot.

   For aching seconds, I couldn’t even breathe. Desire was not the word for what I was feeling. Thirst, perhaps, if I had been a desert explorer who had just found an oasis that seemed likely to have been poisoned. I teetered on the edge of drinking that deceptive water for what seemed like eons, my body stiff with uncertainty against his, and then abruptly my answer came in a near-soundless puff of exhalation. “Yes…”

   His finger pressed hard against me and he laughed quietly into my ear as my hips thrust up to meet it. “I knew that you’d agree. Come with me.” The pressure of his finger lessened and then surged against me once more, drawing up into a lingering, grinding stroke before it left. I sagged into him for a moment, the fear heightening alongside the thirst, and then he stepped away from me and began to lead me out of the door of the building.

   I don’t remember the details of the walk; one moment I was leaving the art gallery, his arm around my shoulders and my body trembling with alternate waves of terror and desire, and the next we were in the car. I was in the passenger’s seat, and the car was accelerating far beyond the normal speed of any car. Once we had stopped accelerating, Akio laid a hand on the shoulder of my seat; at his touch, it began to recline. He turned to face me, the red shirt open down the front and his hair loose and whipping in the wind. “It is painful,” he said softly, a tiny trace of sympathy on his face. “You’ll become used to it in time. And you’ll have all the time in the world to become used to it as long as you stay within the boundaries of Ohtori.”

   My hands, clasped in my lap, made a frustrated little movement. “I understand what you’ve told me,” I said. To still my hands, I reached up and pulled off the red tie; the wind tore it from my fingers.

   A slow smile curved his lips. “You’ll be mine,” he whispered, and I was vaguely amazed that I could hear it over the rush of the wind.

   “I’m yours already.” The fear, the thirst, began to increase to a fever pitch. My hands trembled. I reached up to the throat of the white shirt and began to unbutton it, fumbling uneasily with them.

   Almost tenderly, he caught my hands, pressing them down to the white leather seat and unbuttoning the shirt himself. There was still time to turn back, I thought desperately. There was still time to say no.

   I didn’t. Akio moved closer to me, leaning over to place moist kisses on the sliver of skin that the halves of my shirt had fallen open to reveal. Starting at my collarbones, down the center of my chest, those kisses began to burn on my skin. I cried out softly as he went lower, goose bumps breaking out on my flesh, and as his lips touched my stomach and his tongue darted out to circle my navel, my fingers threaded through his hair. Thirst was now stronger than fear.

   Unexpectedly, I felt a strong pull, as if some connection had been made that was tearing my very soul from my body. My back arched; I felt a frantic need to escape somehow, the rending pain of my spirit separating from its anchors in my body centering in the pit of my stomach—right beneath the spot Akio was kissing. Despite that, my fingers tightened in his hair, holding him in place. The warm puff of his laughter prickled my skin with lust. It was unbearable, this exquisite marriage between pleasure and pain, and I gasped for the breath to scream just as I felt my soul give up its last connection to my body. The pain began to fade to a remotely bearable ache; Akio’s lips continued their descent.

   And then the goddamn phone rang and woke me up. I hate people who call early in the morning.