Fanfiction: A Posse Ad Esse: From Possibility to Actuality (2/2)
“The mini-bar has the usual stock of cordials, beer, and vodka…unless you’d prefer something else?” Fischer was already opening the refrigerator door.
“A beer would be fine,” Saito answered. The Muse had enough Japanese guests that the hotel regularly stocked its mini-bars with quality Japanese brand name beers.
Stifling his desire to precipitate their discussion, Saito casually accepted the cold bottle, briefly noting the Asahi part of the label.
Fischer took another bottle for himself before shutting the mini-bar and turning to lean against it.
They twisted off the caps and drank their beers quietly.
The soft sounds of their drinking and occasional movement lent little life to the hotel room, but the silence was companionable, to Saito’s surprise, and not as grating as the earlier boardroom atmosphere.
Saito set his bottle on the table, away from the complimentary vase of orchids, and waited politely for Fischer to finish.
It would take their men a few hours to calculate everything and officiate it. He could take his time pinning down Fischer’s game.
Fischer took both bottles and tossed them casually into the recycling bin beneath the wooden cabinet. Before Saito could say anything, Fischer walked right into his personal space and put a hand on his shoulder.
Fischer’s eyes boldly met his, as Saito’s muscles grew taut with shock.
“If you’re interested. If not, then it’s fine. I’m sure the gift shop downstairs has board games available.”
Saito had to laugh at Fischer’s insouciance, which was almost more appealing than his suggestion. Well, why not? It had been years-it had been several months. And the other man was quite easy to look at.
He returned the favor and stepped closer to Fischer until their lips were almost touching.
“Etiquette says that I should offer you the first shower,” Fischer murmured, his breath warm on Saito’s face, as his hand slid lower, intent on its exploration.
Saito looked deliberately from the bathroom seven meters away to Fischer’s eyes so close to his and reached for the man’s blue knotted tie and removed it from the white collar.
The kiss took Saito aback, but he returned it as they made their way to the bed, where the beige sheets were still firmly made. Saito undressed and sat on the bed, back against the pillows, and placed his cell phone carefully on the bedside table. He watched Fischer do the same.
Despite knowing about Fischer’s aikido classes, Saito still didn’t expect the well-defined musculature beneath his fingers and the solid weight that settled against him.
He reminded himself not to underestimate the other man. It would be a juvenile mistake to rely solely on appearances. Fischer’s seemingly slim but strong build reminded him of Cobb’s right-hand man, who had made his competence perfectly clear.
Saito leaned down and bit the long neck in front of him, appreciating the warmed scent of bergamot cologne, and his arousal grew. Fischer reciprocated the interest with an experienced hand moving downward and wrapping around him.
The smooth, warm grip felt good, and Saito had no complaints. He enjoyed the pressure around him for a long moment before brushing a hand thoughtfully over Fischer’s chest, feeling the dark curls, before dropping to the man’s cock.
Fischer groaned into his mouth and resumed the deep, slick kiss.
The almost painful pressure and heat built up low in his body, which warmed further at the caressing touches that Fischer was bestowing on his chest and belly.
He curled his hand tighter around Fischer, changing his strokes to encourage more sounds from the throat he was admiring.
Fischer’s eyes were closed, but they snapped open to stare into his, and their pace quickened, both of them impatient for the end.
As Saito reached orgasm, he pulled Fischer’s body more tightly against his and readily returned the aggressive kiss pressed on him, tongue tracing roughly around his mouth.
It was an unexpected display of possession, he thought hazily, as Fischer shuddered, gasping for breath, against him.
“Welcome to Modern Energy Affiliates!” The tall gray-haired man courteously bowed instead of shaking hands, and Saito appreciated the gesture.
Mr. Montoya guided them through the corridors, machines humming gently behind the thick glass windows, where the chemists and biochemical engineers did their work.
“Proclus Global has been spending the last five years on implementing a new sector for biodiesel fuels, hasn’t it?”
“Yes.” Saito studied Fischer curiously, wondering if the man was having second thoughts about selling his subsidiary.
“I’ve noticed that your company has a focus on domestic production. Acquiring Modern Energy Affiliates would be a nice coup for you. A while back, before I decided to sell my company, I actually started to draft a proposal for the government to subsidize the local farmers who’d agreed to grow wheat, barley, or corn predominantly.”
Saito nodded with interest, as they walked along the white-tiled hallway and made a right to reach the third laboratory, where Montoya stopped them for an explanation.
“We have a sizeable distillation machine here to break down the corn, barley, whichever, and over here, the resulting liquids stream to the next room to be refined.”
Mr. Montoya gestured proudly at the mass of stainless steel pipes and tanks where the liquids mixed and flowed to an area outside their view.
“I’d like to introduce you gentlemen to the wonderful men and women who have designed our special compound, but I’m afraid that their schedules are rather tight since we plan on doing a lot more testing to confirm our findings before the, ah, merger occurs.”
Saito admired the diplomatic choice of words. Restraining his amused smile, he turned his eyes on Fischer, who nodded briefly in response to Montoya’s explanation and didn’t appear to have noticed the man’s lapse.
Mr. Montoya guided them to a small auditorium, where a PowerPoint illustrating the vaunted synthetic compound had been set up. The silver encircled MEA logo glimmered in the background of the first slide. As they briskly took their seats, the corner of Saito’s mind told him that Fischer was sitting to the back and left of him. He remained oddly aware of the man even as he consciously paid close attention to the presentation.
Standing in the uncomfortably hot noon sun, Saito checked his watch in the shade of a nearby birch tree; the tour had ended a bit earlier than three o’clock, so he had some unexpected free time. He considered his options: lately, he hadn’t been following his physical regimen, and his hotel had fairly impressive facilities, but push-ups and stretches wouldn’t alleviate his oddly restless feelings.
His thoughts derailed, not unexpectedly, at his recognition of the well-heeled footsteps sounding down the walkway and stopping next to him.
“I could take you back to your hotel,” Fischer offered. “I have a few questions about your projects, and I’m sure you have yours about mine.”
Saito had no doubt that their talk would be complemented by other activities. He smirked at Fischer as he walked past the man to the waiting car.
Cobb pressed the cool muzzle of the gun to his forehead, and Saito stared into blue-green eyes, as the bullet knocked into his brain.
He was playing happily on the slides with Tatsuya-kun, but then his friend fell and cut his lip on the harsh metal. Children’s screams rang out until adults came running.
A man shouted hoarsely, as tears ran down his creased cheeks, and he looked at Saito with accusation. He aimed the gun unsteadily while Saito tried to make him see reason.
He walked the beach again and again and again. Finally, he asked his projections to bar the doors and windows; weeks passed before he begged them to tear the bars down.
Miyu-san cried softly with her back to the wall, whirling around with a look of fear until her eyes met his, and she wiped her face, putting on a smile and holding out a hand to him.
The derisive smirks stood out on faces framed by expensively cut hair and careful bespoke suits with styles fit for men, not boys. His classmates crowded him against the wall and mimicked his country accent, shaming him into silence for several weeks.
An arrogant young man swirling his glass of brandy, voice low but still clearly heard as he-
Saito woke up abruptly, staring at the geometric pattern that adorned the hotel room ceiling. He searched his memory, anxiety just at bay, the last wisp of dream fading into the ether, when he remembered very clearly that he had fallen asleep right next to Fischer. He briefly wondered at his lack of control, but the sex had been very good, if a bit odd near the beginning.
He rolled to his side and looked at the man sleeping with his back turned. Saito didn’t often think about what happened to the CEOs whose companies he took over, but he was curious about what Fischer planned to do once Maurice Fischer’s corporation had been fully dissolved and sold.
Fischer had enough money to live a luxurious life, but he didn’t strike Saito as the type of man who liked to be idle. Most likely, he had decided upon another goal in life that did not involve his father’s company or other commerce.
Saito thought he would always fondly remember Fischer’s obliging company in bed. He expected that it would be a pleasant memory for him as an old man.
He thought of his dream-self, hunched with the ubiquitous pains of an aged body, memories occasional refreshment in a stale mind. He felt like stockpiling the sweet memories of skin and sweat, bodies tensing in mutual sport; having lived an unexpectedly lonely life, he found himself hungrier in many ways.
His mind turned curiously back to Fischer and the oddly sentimental streak the man seemed to possess, if his obsession with the past had any bearing.
Saito searched his memory again, but he still did not recall the incident that Fischer had spoken of so mystifyingly. It did not matter, he finally decided, frustrated. He would be very busy in the upcoming weeks, and he had no time to chase down what he couldn’t remember, may never remember.
He lay on his back and tried to sleep, closing his gritty eyes. A clock somewhere in the room ticked incessantly while Saito thought resentfully about a nearby projectile. Finally, he gave up trying to court sleep, rolled over to his side, and reached out for the warm body next to him.
Fischer didn’t seem particularly bothered at being woken in the middle of the night, and Saito could feel the man’s distinct interest stirring near his thigh. Saito encouraged the response with a firm hand moving below and a smooth, slick kiss against a mouth opening in a half-stifled yawn.
As they moved roughly together, the almost painful friction of skin against skin was starkly heightened by the lack of light coming through the hotel room’s partially closed curtains, and before he closed his eyes, Saito noted the aesthetic appeal of their shadows playing against the embossed walls.
The pleasurable tension mounted steadily in an intense build-up that quickly left him satiated and pleasantly drained. He tightened his grip around Fischer and watched as the other man pressed forward forcefully with a sensual groan that almost roused Saito again.
They finally slumped together and continued to rest on the bed, limbs akimbo, for a few more hours, and when his watch hands pointed to 5:00, Saito gave up completely on slumber and took the first shower. As Fischer seemed content to sleep on in the tangled sheets, there was no need to be polite.
When he came out, fully dressed in the suit that he had ordered the front desk to send up, he saw that Fischer too had risen and was sitting, clothed in one of the hotel bathrobes, in the desk chair and typing away, his face eerily lit by the laptop’s glow.
He looked up at the sound of Saito closing the bathroom door. “Next week then?”
Saito hesitated infinitesimally. Their companies’ negotiations were nearly at an end; only another week or so was needed to tie up the final details. He and Fischer may as well make their break now.
But the past few months had been very pleasurable and, Saito suspected, had helped to ground him more firmly in the corporeal life he’d led since the fall into limbo.
“Yes,” he agreed.
Robert Fischer sat in a leather armchair in front of the roaring fire. His dark brown hair gained a not unbecoming cast of bronze against the heavy glow of light. Saito allowed the hostess to take his coat before walking to the sitting room near the foyer. He stood outside the ring of chairs.
“I thought you preferred to meet in the suite,” Saito said without a greeting. The fire cast its warmth on him, and he fought the urge to shift away.
Fischer was silent for a moment before smiling faintly, his eyes burnished by the light. “I didn’t want to risk temptation.”
Saito raised an eyebrow. “You had something else in mind?”
Fischer got out of his seat and walked up to him. They stood close together, and Saito felt a stir of unease before rough hands grabbed his shoulders from behind and pulled him back against the armchair that appeared.
Saito would have fought against the heavy restraint, but he was starting to suspect that Fischer had turned the tables and imprisoned him in a dream.
While the projections tightened nylon ropes around him, he tried to remember what he had done shortly before entering the hotel. Logically, he should have spoken with Miyagi-kun about confirming his flight plan for the next month.
But he couldn’t remember actually speaking to his secretary. Nor going back to his office in the first place.
Fischer turned around and sat back down casually, legs crossed at the knees, expensive fabric wrinkling against the strain. He tilted his head and examined Saito with his cool eyes, the chill welcome in the increasingly hot room.
A knife at his throat pressed noticeably close, and his throat warmed as a thin flow of blood streamed out. The sharp pain paled in comparison to the nerveless feeling in his fingers as he fixed on the fireplace mantel.
A tiny flickering flame licked into existence, then another flame, the size of a candle’s tip, then another and another until the whole room was dwarfed by the sudden loom of a horrifying inferno.
Saito noted Fischer opening his mouth, but the faint sounds escaped his hearing.
He burned.
Opening his eyes wide in sudden fear when his father ran into the room…
door banging open and shut…
the wall of rising flames behind him.
He cried and resisted being roughly caught up…
wrapped in his father’s wet, blanket-heavy arms…
the sound of shattering glass…
his arm yanked through the window…
the shocking agony, blood dripping.
Saito gasped for breath, one hand reaching up to his throat and feeling his loosened collar. He turned over and dry-heaved onto the navy carpet. His lungs and stomach ached with the force of his coughing, but attempts to lessen his heaves only further impeded his breathing.
The room thudded rhythmically with footsteps entering and leaving. Strong hands rested on his shoulders, and a cold glass touched his lips. He could smell ginger ale even as he pushed the glass away.
He would have demurred more forcefully if his throat weren’t out of commission.
He glared at Fischer from wet eyes. It had been years since he thought of Miyu-san and the fire, but he supposed he wasn’t surprised that dreams could be used to torture, to enhance childhood trauma to such a degree.
Piercing screams and rough yells… walls thundering with objects and bodies being thrown…Otousan rising up to use the phone…
Miyu-san giggled mischievously… bittersweet taste of grown-up ice cream, black coffee and caramel…delightfully cold on his tongue…He looked at her with little-boy worship.
Waving good-bye to Okaasan who was leaving to visit her sister and waving hello to Miyu-san who smiled gamely at him out from her blackened eye.
That rough young man of hers-
Otousan had hushed him vaguely, fingers tight around his wound, both of them staring at their burning apartment complex.
Alarmed cries sounded from their neighbors, also safe outside, as they recognized the shrieking figure, long hair and limbs burning, trapped.
Fischer again held out the ginger ale. He wasn’t looking at Saito, but he spoke with a hint of regret. “I didn’t realize that the sedative included a psychedelic component.”
Rather than risk more undignified heaving, Saito sat up slowly and took the glass; the drink washed soothingly down his raw throat and into his acid-churning stomach.
Still unable to trust his voice, Saito didn’t say anything, leaving the air open for Fischer to continue talking.
“Not the best time for this discussion, but I’m not flattering you when I say that I need every advantage I can get in our conversations.”
Breathing in once, twice, three times, his lungs slowly relaxed their constriction, and Saito felt he could speak without his throat tearing. “I assume this is revenge for invading your mind.”
“Well, not so much revenge as negotiation,” Fischer said mildly, rocking back onto his heels, both men now sitting on the sisal carpet. “I’d be more upset if the dream’s effects had a stronger impact on me, but the most I could say is that they lingered on for some time-gave me some unexpected hope. It was a real disappointment to find that my sudden sense of closure was artificial.”
Saito shook his head impatiently and suffered minor vertigo. His wavering view of the clock told him that they were in the early hours of the morning. It was beyond his current mind frame to judge when he had been taken under, but he estimated that it had been more than several hours since then.
“Get to the point,” he gritted out, one hand checking his coat pocket for his cell phone.
“I want you.” Fischer said serenely.
Saito’s fingers fumbled against the slick plastic of his phone. Something in his heart constricted, and blood rushed to his head. Eyes still wide, he stared at Fischer in shock before narrowing with angry distrust. What game was the man playing?
“I want you,” Fischer repeated, as though Saito hadn’t heard him the first time. “And I don’t think I can keep you if I don’t make a few things clear right now.”
Ignoring Saito’s furious expression, Fischer continued talking. “I am perfectly okay with letting you acquire my father’s company and MEA, but I have some caveats that I want to emphasize before we take it back to the boardroom.
“MEA will be a success, and I’m satisfied with being in the background. I don’t see any point in showing my capabilities by playing in the same sand box as my father. I think politics would suit me better than the energy industry.”
Saito’s anger slowly drained away as he absorbed Fischer’s words and saw the ruthless logic behind them and the unspoken offer that he could predict coming.
“You believe that your long support of alternative fuels will give you an advantage in pursuing a political position,” Saito said thoughtfully.
Fischer smiled. “We can help each other out. Strange bedfellows and all that. I like to think that I can see into the long-term, unlike some others I know.
“Don’t misunderstand,” he added, tone dismissive, before Saito could absorb his words and bristle at the perceived insult. “I was referring to someone else-a bully I used to know. But he doesn’t matter, not anymore.”
His blue eyes compelling, Fischer leaned towards Saito, his body warmth almost tangible. “Right now I want to know: are you willing to join me in this partnership?”
Saito didn’t pull away. He sat there on the hotel floor, his personal space encroached upon by Robert Fischer, and just considered the proposal.
He made the other man wait long minutes before finally extending the hand not holding the ginger ale glass.
“I’m impressed, Mr. Fischer.”
Snippets
“A beer would be fine,” Saito answered. The Muse had enough Japanese guests that the hotel regularly stocked its mini-bars with quality Japanese brand name beers.
Stifling his desire to precipitate their discussion, Saito casually accepted the cold bottle, briefly noting the Asahi part of the label.
Fischer took another bottle for himself before shutting the mini-bar and turning to lean against it.
They twisted off the caps and drank their beers quietly.
The soft sounds of their drinking and occasional movement lent little life to the hotel room, but the silence was companionable, to Saito’s surprise, and not as grating as the earlier boardroom atmosphere.
Saito set his bottle on the table, away from the complimentary vase of orchids, and waited politely for Fischer to finish.
It would take their men a few hours to calculate everything and officiate it. He could take his time pinning down Fischer’s game.
Fischer took both bottles and tossed them casually into the recycling bin beneath the wooden cabinet. Before Saito could say anything, Fischer walked right into his personal space and put a hand on his shoulder.
Fischer’s eyes boldly met his, as Saito’s muscles grew taut with shock.
“If you’re interested. If not, then it’s fine. I’m sure the gift shop downstairs has board games available.”
Saito had to laugh at Fischer’s insouciance, which was almost more appealing than his suggestion. Well, why not? It had been years-it had been several months. And the other man was quite easy to look at.
He returned the favor and stepped closer to Fischer until their lips were almost touching.
“Etiquette says that I should offer you the first shower,” Fischer murmured, his breath warm on Saito’s face, as his hand slid lower, intent on its exploration.
Saito looked deliberately from the bathroom seven meters away to Fischer’s eyes so close to his and reached for the man’s blue knotted tie and removed it from the white collar.
The kiss took Saito aback, but he returned it as they made their way to the bed, where the beige sheets were still firmly made. Saito undressed and sat on the bed, back against the pillows, and placed his cell phone carefully on the bedside table. He watched Fischer do the same.
Despite knowing about Fischer’s aikido classes, Saito still didn’t expect the well-defined musculature beneath his fingers and the solid weight that settled against him.
He reminded himself not to underestimate the other man. It would be a juvenile mistake to rely solely on appearances. Fischer’s seemingly slim but strong build reminded him of Cobb’s right-hand man, who had made his competence perfectly clear.
Saito leaned down and bit the long neck in front of him, appreciating the warmed scent of bergamot cologne, and his arousal grew. Fischer reciprocated the interest with an experienced hand moving downward and wrapping around him.
The smooth, warm grip felt good, and Saito had no complaints. He enjoyed the pressure around him for a long moment before brushing a hand thoughtfully over Fischer’s chest, feeling the dark curls, before dropping to the man’s cock.
Fischer groaned into his mouth and resumed the deep, slick kiss.
The almost painful pressure and heat built up low in his body, which warmed further at the caressing touches that Fischer was bestowing on his chest and belly.
He curled his hand tighter around Fischer, changing his strokes to encourage more sounds from the throat he was admiring.
Fischer’s eyes were closed, but they snapped open to stare into his, and their pace quickened, both of them impatient for the end.
As Saito reached orgasm, he pulled Fischer’s body more tightly against his and readily returned the aggressive kiss pressed on him, tongue tracing roughly around his mouth.
It was an unexpected display of possession, he thought hazily, as Fischer shuddered, gasping for breath, against him.
“Welcome to Modern Energy Affiliates!” The tall gray-haired man courteously bowed instead of shaking hands, and Saito appreciated the gesture.
Mr. Montoya guided them through the corridors, machines humming gently behind the thick glass windows, where the chemists and biochemical engineers did their work.
“Proclus Global has been spending the last five years on implementing a new sector for biodiesel fuels, hasn’t it?”
“Yes.” Saito studied Fischer curiously, wondering if the man was having second thoughts about selling his subsidiary.
“I’ve noticed that your company has a focus on domestic production. Acquiring Modern Energy Affiliates would be a nice coup for you. A while back, before I decided to sell my company, I actually started to draft a proposal for the government to subsidize the local farmers who’d agreed to grow wheat, barley, or corn predominantly.”
Saito nodded with interest, as they walked along the white-tiled hallway and made a right to reach the third laboratory, where Montoya stopped them for an explanation.
“We have a sizeable distillation machine here to break down the corn, barley, whichever, and over here, the resulting liquids stream to the next room to be refined.”
Mr. Montoya gestured proudly at the mass of stainless steel pipes and tanks where the liquids mixed and flowed to an area outside their view.
“I’d like to introduce you gentlemen to the wonderful men and women who have designed our special compound, but I’m afraid that their schedules are rather tight since we plan on doing a lot more testing to confirm our findings before the, ah, merger occurs.”
Saito admired the diplomatic choice of words. Restraining his amused smile, he turned his eyes on Fischer, who nodded briefly in response to Montoya’s explanation and didn’t appear to have noticed the man’s lapse.
Mr. Montoya guided them to a small auditorium, where a PowerPoint illustrating the vaunted synthetic compound had been set up. The silver encircled MEA logo glimmered in the background of the first slide. As they briskly took their seats, the corner of Saito’s mind told him that Fischer was sitting to the back and left of him. He remained oddly aware of the man even as he consciously paid close attention to the presentation.
Standing in the uncomfortably hot noon sun, Saito checked his watch in the shade of a nearby birch tree; the tour had ended a bit earlier than three o’clock, so he had some unexpected free time. He considered his options: lately, he hadn’t been following his physical regimen, and his hotel had fairly impressive facilities, but push-ups and stretches wouldn’t alleviate his oddly restless feelings.
His thoughts derailed, not unexpectedly, at his recognition of the well-heeled footsteps sounding down the walkway and stopping next to him.
“I could take you back to your hotel,” Fischer offered. “I have a few questions about your projects, and I’m sure you have yours about mine.”
Saito had no doubt that their talk would be complemented by other activities. He smirked at Fischer as he walked past the man to the waiting car.
Cobb pressed the cool muzzle of the gun to his forehead, and Saito stared into blue-green eyes, as the bullet knocked into his brain.
He was playing happily on the slides with Tatsuya-kun, but then his friend fell and cut his lip on the harsh metal. Children’s screams rang out until adults came running.
A man shouted hoarsely, as tears ran down his creased cheeks, and he looked at Saito with accusation. He aimed the gun unsteadily while Saito tried to make him see reason.
He walked the beach again and again and again. Finally, he asked his projections to bar the doors and windows; weeks passed before he begged them to tear the bars down.
Miyu-san cried softly with her back to the wall, whirling around with a look of fear until her eyes met his, and she wiped her face, putting on a smile and holding out a hand to him.
The derisive smirks stood out on faces framed by expensively cut hair and careful bespoke suits with styles fit for men, not boys. His classmates crowded him against the wall and mimicked his country accent, shaming him into silence for several weeks.
An arrogant young man swirling his glass of brandy, voice low but still clearly heard as he-
Saito woke up abruptly, staring at the geometric pattern that adorned the hotel room ceiling. He searched his memory, anxiety just at bay, the last wisp of dream fading into the ether, when he remembered very clearly that he had fallen asleep right next to Fischer. He briefly wondered at his lack of control, but the sex had been very good, if a bit odd near the beginning.
He rolled to his side and looked at the man sleeping with his back turned. Saito didn’t often think about what happened to the CEOs whose companies he took over, but he was curious about what Fischer planned to do once Maurice Fischer’s corporation had been fully dissolved and sold.
Fischer had enough money to live a luxurious life, but he didn’t strike Saito as the type of man who liked to be idle. Most likely, he had decided upon another goal in life that did not involve his father’s company or other commerce.
Saito thought he would always fondly remember Fischer’s obliging company in bed. He expected that it would be a pleasant memory for him as an old man.
He thought of his dream-self, hunched with the ubiquitous pains of an aged body, memories occasional refreshment in a stale mind. He felt like stockpiling the sweet memories of skin and sweat, bodies tensing in mutual sport; having lived an unexpectedly lonely life, he found himself hungrier in many ways.
His mind turned curiously back to Fischer and the oddly sentimental streak the man seemed to possess, if his obsession with the past had any bearing.
Saito searched his memory again, but he still did not recall the incident that Fischer had spoken of so mystifyingly. It did not matter, he finally decided, frustrated. He would be very busy in the upcoming weeks, and he had no time to chase down what he couldn’t remember, may never remember.
He lay on his back and tried to sleep, closing his gritty eyes. A clock somewhere in the room ticked incessantly while Saito thought resentfully about a nearby projectile. Finally, he gave up trying to court sleep, rolled over to his side, and reached out for the warm body next to him.
Fischer didn’t seem particularly bothered at being woken in the middle of the night, and Saito could feel the man’s distinct interest stirring near his thigh. Saito encouraged the response with a firm hand moving below and a smooth, slick kiss against a mouth opening in a half-stifled yawn.
As they moved roughly together, the almost painful friction of skin against skin was starkly heightened by the lack of light coming through the hotel room’s partially closed curtains, and before he closed his eyes, Saito noted the aesthetic appeal of their shadows playing against the embossed walls.
The pleasurable tension mounted steadily in an intense build-up that quickly left him satiated and pleasantly drained. He tightened his grip around Fischer and watched as the other man pressed forward forcefully with a sensual groan that almost roused Saito again.
They finally slumped together and continued to rest on the bed, limbs akimbo, for a few more hours, and when his watch hands pointed to 5:00, Saito gave up completely on slumber and took the first shower. As Fischer seemed content to sleep on in the tangled sheets, there was no need to be polite.
When he came out, fully dressed in the suit that he had ordered the front desk to send up, he saw that Fischer too had risen and was sitting, clothed in one of the hotel bathrobes, in the desk chair and typing away, his face eerily lit by the laptop’s glow.
He looked up at the sound of Saito closing the bathroom door. “Next week then?”
Saito hesitated infinitesimally. Their companies’ negotiations were nearly at an end; only another week or so was needed to tie up the final details. He and Fischer may as well make their break now.
But the past few months had been very pleasurable and, Saito suspected, had helped to ground him more firmly in the corporeal life he’d led since the fall into limbo.
“Yes,” he agreed.
Robert Fischer sat in a leather armchair in front of the roaring fire. His dark brown hair gained a not unbecoming cast of bronze against the heavy glow of light. Saito allowed the hostess to take his coat before walking to the sitting room near the foyer. He stood outside the ring of chairs.
“I thought you preferred to meet in the suite,” Saito said without a greeting. The fire cast its warmth on him, and he fought the urge to shift away.
Fischer was silent for a moment before smiling faintly, his eyes burnished by the light. “I didn’t want to risk temptation.”
Saito raised an eyebrow. “You had something else in mind?”
Fischer got out of his seat and walked up to him. They stood close together, and Saito felt a stir of unease before rough hands grabbed his shoulders from behind and pulled him back against the armchair that appeared.
Saito would have fought against the heavy restraint, but he was starting to suspect that Fischer had turned the tables and imprisoned him in a dream.
While the projections tightened nylon ropes around him, he tried to remember what he had done shortly before entering the hotel. Logically, he should have spoken with Miyagi-kun about confirming his flight plan for the next month.
But he couldn’t remember actually speaking to his secretary. Nor going back to his office in the first place.
Fischer turned around and sat back down casually, legs crossed at the knees, expensive fabric wrinkling against the strain. He tilted his head and examined Saito with his cool eyes, the chill welcome in the increasingly hot room.
A knife at his throat pressed noticeably close, and his throat warmed as a thin flow of blood streamed out. The sharp pain paled in comparison to the nerveless feeling in his fingers as he fixed on the fireplace mantel.
A tiny flickering flame licked into existence, then another flame, the size of a candle’s tip, then another and another until the whole room was dwarfed by the sudden loom of a horrifying inferno.
Saito noted Fischer opening his mouth, but the faint sounds escaped his hearing.
He burned.
Opening his eyes wide in sudden fear when his father ran into the room…
door banging open and shut…
the wall of rising flames behind him.
He cried and resisted being roughly caught up…
wrapped in his father’s wet, blanket-heavy arms…
the sound of shattering glass…
his arm yanked through the window…
the shocking agony, blood dripping.
Saito gasped for breath, one hand reaching up to his throat and feeling his loosened collar. He turned over and dry-heaved onto the navy carpet. His lungs and stomach ached with the force of his coughing, but attempts to lessen his heaves only further impeded his breathing.
The room thudded rhythmically with footsteps entering and leaving. Strong hands rested on his shoulders, and a cold glass touched his lips. He could smell ginger ale even as he pushed the glass away.
He would have demurred more forcefully if his throat weren’t out of commission.
He glared at Fischer from wet eyes. It had been years since he thought of Miyu-san and the fire, but he supposed he wasn’t surprised that dreams could be used to torture, to enhance childhood trauma to such a degree.
Piercing screams and rough yells… walls thundering with objects and bodies being thrown…Otousan rising up to use the phone…
Miyu-san giggled mischievously… bittersweet taste of grown-up ice cream, black coffee and caramel…delightfully cold on his tongue…He looked at her with little-boy worship.
Waving good-bye to Okaasan who was leaving to visit her sister and waving hello to Miyu-san who smiled gamely at him out from her blackened eye.
That rough young man of hers-
Otousan had hushed him vaguely, fingers tight around his wound, both of them staring at their burning apartment complex.
Alarmed cries sounded from their neighbors, also safe outside, as they recognized the shrieking figure, long hair and limbs burning, trapped.
Fischer again held out the ginger ale. He wasn’t looking at Saito, but he spoke with a hint of regret. “I didn’t realize that the sedative included a psychedelic component.”
Rather than risk more undignified heaving, Saito sat up slowly and took the glass; the drink washed soothingly down his raw throat and into his acid-churning stomach.
Still unable to trust his voice, Saito didn’t say anything, leaving the air open for Fischer to continue talking.
“Not the best time for this discussion, but I’m not flattering you when I say that I need every advantage I can get in our conversations.”
Breathing in once, twice, three times, his lungs slowly relaxed their constriction, and Saito felt he could speak without his throat tearing. “I assume this is revenge for invading your mind.”
“Well, not so much revenge as negotiation,” Fischer said mildly, rocking back onto his heels, both men now sitting on the sisal carpet. “I’d be more upset if the dream’s effects had a stronger impact on me, but the most I could say is that they lingered on for some time-gave me some unexpected hope. It was a real disappointment to find that my sudden sense of closure was artificial.”
Saito shook his head impatiently and suffered minor vertigo. His wavering view of the clock told him that they were in the early hours of the morning. It was beyond his current mind frame to judge when he had been taken under, but he estimated that it had been more than several hours since then.
“Get to the point,” he gritted out, one hand checking his coat pocket for his cell phone.
“I want you.” Fischer said serenely.
Saito’s fingers fumbled against the slick plastic of his phone. Something in his heart constricted, and blood rushed to his head. Eyes still wide, he stared at Fischer in shock before narrowing with angry distrust. What game was the man playing?
“I want you,” Fischer repeated, as though Saito hadn’t heard him the first time. “And I don’t think I can keep you if I don’t make a few things clear right now.”
Ignoring Saito’s furious expression, Fischer continued talking. “I am perfectly okay with letting you acquire my father’s company and MEA, but I have some caveats that I want to emphasize before we take it back to the boardroom.
“MEA will be a success, and I’m satisfied with being in the background. I don’t see any point in showing my capabilities by playing in the same sand box as my father. I think politics would suit me better than the energy industry.”
Saito’s anger slowly drained away as he absorbed Fischer’s words and saw the ruthless logic behind them and the unspoken offer that he could predict coming.
“You believe that your long support of alternative fuels will give you an advantage in pursuing a political position,” Saito said thoughtfully.
Fischer smiled. “We can help each other out. Strange bedfellows and all that. I like to think that I can see into the long-term, unlike some others I know.
“Don’t misunderstand,” he added, tone dismissive, before Saito could absorb his words and bristle at the perceived insult. “I was referring to someone else-a bully I used to know. But he doesn’t matter, not anymore.”
His blue eyes compelling, Fischer leaned towards Saito, his body warmth almost tangible. “Right now I want to know: are you willing to join me in this partnership?”
Saito didn’t pull away. He sat there on the hotel floor, his personal space encroached upon by Robert Fischer, and just considered the proposal.
He made the other man wait long minutes before finally extending the hand not holding the ginger ale glass.
“I’m impressed, Mr. Fischer.”
Snippets