RP log: Atobe Keigo and Oshitari Yuushi (1/2)
Who - Atobe Keigo, Oshitari Yuushi
What - Atobe and Oshitari run into each other at a wine bar, and Atobe takes Oshitari to his home where there is playing of piano, talk of art, and arousal of lust.
When - July 7
Where - Caves Petrissans and Atobe's penthouse
Rating - PG-13
(Could we have an Atobe tag, please? ^^)
If Atobe had horrible days, today would have been one of them. A soft sigh escaped his lips as he reclined back into the red velvet cushions of the small booth he sat in. He'd frequented Caves Petrissans, the ritzy wine bar that sat atop the Mori Building in Ropping, since he could legally drink, favoring the low lights and calm atmosphere it had to offer. It was here that he found peace and privacy, where he could reflect on the day’s work without any interruption, save for the sound of his glass being refilled by a hostess.
Between sips of the glass of wine he'd been nursing for the past ten minutes or so he let out another soft sigh, recollecting today's events, or lack thereof. Somewhere between dealing with an obvious rookie sales distributor that he was sure was just out to drive him absolutely and insanely mad and listening to the half-wit designer his father had hired to refurbish one of their hotel's lobbies, Atobe had decided that his father had put him on another useless project. He swore he could feel his talents just wasting away, years of college and schooling going down the drain.
He took a long sip of Petrus, his favored red wine, and held it in his mouth for a moment, just trying to relax, to not think about the bitter feelings he harbored for the man that seemed to be making his working life a living nightmare.
'What an exhausting day,' he thought idly to himself, running a finger along the rim of the glass, body curved and bent over it as he looked out the windows into the dark haziness of the Tokyo skyline. He knew he looked uncomfortable, still buttoned up in his dark charcoal colored suit.
Caves Petrissans was a lively place, Oshitari noted as he ran a slim finger down the body of his glass, scanning the bar. Lively, but very classy.
As was his tradition, every first Monday of the month he visited a wine bar, preferably a different one from last month. All the ones he had visited before were decent - nice wine served by lovely hostesses with long legs, in a dark, cozy environment - but they had all been overflowing with tasteless drunkards out to drink wine for its alcoholic value. The people here, as far as Oshitari could see, were at least neat drunks. His gaze stopped at a fairly young - early twenty by the looks of it - darkly clad man who sat alone with a glass of red wine, looking stressed. Oshitari smirked as he stood.
His own drink in hand, Oshitari strolled, hips traveling in a slow, comfortable sway, toward the silver-haired man. Another one of his customs.
Atobe sat thinking to himself, still wallowing in all of the day's less than useful events, and sat back in his chair, picking up the wine glass by its thin neck and sipping at it. The night was young and he was already bored, the clientele of Caves seemed a little older tonight. He blamed it on being a weekday.
Another long sigh passed his lips and just as he was about to launch into another tirade of 'Woe is me!' something caught his eye. A man, a young man with a suspicious look in his eyes was approaching him. A glare sat onto his face for a moment. He'd of course refuse to even acknowledge this intruder. At Caves he'd never been bothered. Most of the staff had seen to it, and even with that added rest-assurance it was something one just simply didn't do. Call it 'house manners.'
He cleared his throat, taking a long sip of wine to finish of the glass afterward and set his eyes on the twinkling Tokyo skyline, doing his bet to stare straight through the man that had settled right in front of him.
'How foul.' Atobe's light eyes bore into the belly in front of him, finally lifting to meet orbs hiding behind glass and frames. "May I help you?" The annoyance to the disturbance was clear in both tone and glance.
Oshitari smirked. This man had beautiful blue eyes, he decided. Although they probably would have looked more gorgeous had they not been staring daggers into him. Slipping into the booth and taking a seat opposite the moody young man, Oshitari commented, "I thought I'd come over to offer you company." A brief onceover. "And to compliment your fashion sense. That green splotch on your sleeve is there for aesthetic purposes, correct?" Oshitari's eyes were twinkling behind his glasses.
Atobe first scowled when this strange man slipped into the seat opposite him, the audacity to just sit down uninvited like that. If Atobe had wanted company he would have said so. He was just about to open his mouth to speak his displeasure with the situation when it firmly shut, his eyes falling to his cuff to see a splash of green paint on his suit cuff. He took in a long breath to keep himself collected, noting the sense of arrogance that just glowed from the other man. "Call it a new trend in fashion." He said, unashamed. On the inside he was fuming.
The designer and her damned bucket of paint would be fired first thing in the morning if he had his way. What a horrible shade for a hotel lobby wall anyway. How she was qualified for the job was beyond Atobe.
"I'd like to point out to you that you're being very ill-mannered." He brushed at the painted cuff, trying to fight the twinge of red that wanted to surface on the curve of his cheekbone. "You were not invited to sit or approach me. The least you can do is offer reasoning." His glare doubled as he looked expectantly for a prompt answer.
Again, Oshitari dodged the other man's demands for an explanation. Instead, he reached across the table and brushed an invisible speck off from the face that was on the brink of a blush. "Eyelash," he explained. And then he smiled, observing the pink the stained the porcelain cheeks. "Hmm."
Atobe reached up to grasp the offending finger. "Do you value this finger? If you do, I suggest you never fucking touch me again." He tensed and held onto it even tighter, an icy gaze boring right through the cool blue eyes locked on the man sitting before him. He was doing his best to keep his temper low enough so that the rest of the bar wouldn't notice. The last thing he needed was the wrong kind of attention.
"I value my finger as much as you value your reputation," Oshitari replied, indifferent. It wasn't as if a human can do any type of real damage on him. He didn't have anything to lose. "You don't want to hold on to my finger for too long," he advised. "Your hands will freeze." It was a fair warning, considering how icy his hands were. "And it's also sticky. It's covered with rosin."
"I come in peace,” Oshitari said, raising his hands, palms out to indicate surrender, “to offer the lonely goatherd a little company." Oshitari tilted his head, studying Atobe's face, and smiled. "You look overworked, you know. You're going to have wrinkles when you’re old."
Atobe looked offended as he tossed the long finger aside with a small snarl and reached for his napkin, whiling the sticky substance that he’d been warned of from his hands. "Do you honestly think that if I wanted company I'd have trouble finding it?" He leaned over the table, annoyance prickling at him.
Whoever this man was, he obviously had no clue as to whom he was speaking so candidly. Most people in this haunt knew better than to bother him, much less look his way unsolicited.
Oshitari shrugged. He thought about pointing out that no matter how rich or successful one was, a bad temperament can drive the even most patient of souls away from one's company, but this man would probably dismiss this thought as wind blowing by his ears. Sliding back in his seat, Oshitari continued to examine the other man's face. To speak in such a way, he must have been famous or extremely affluent. Or both.
"Hmm..." Oshitari hummed, trying to place the face to a name, all the while running his newly freed finger down his wine glass. He still hadn't taken a sip. He never did.
"What are you staring at?" Atobe cracked after a few minutes, sitting up straight and crossing his arms over a tight chest hidden under folds of twill and silk. The last thing Atobe wanted was to sit there and be gawked at as if he was on display at a museum.
"You," Oshitari replied simply with a careless shrug of his shoulders. He ran his forefinger along the rim of his glass, finding the soft, almost echo-like sound fascinating, despite that he had heard it many times before. "I'm sure you're used to it, correct?"
"You're being very rude about it." He had half a mind to stand and leave then and there but leaving a tab behind was never really his style, even though he was sure everyone knew he would most likely be back the next evening if work allowed. "You haven't even bothered to introduce yourself, not that I'm sure I care,” he decided to tack on. He wasn't curious of course to whom this man, who thought he could simply just waltz up and make himself cozy, was.
"Am I now?" Oshitari lifted a curious eyebrow, and chuckled. "I'm trying to put your face to a name. You look familiar; however, I can't quite place…"
"Oshitari Yuushi," he replied, voice an amused purr. "Pleasure to meet you."
Atobe looked at him dryly. Now suddenly he was in the mood to acknowledge him. "I'm sure it is." He looked to the side, holding up his glass to a waitress that went by so that she could fill it to its brim again. "Oshitari-san, then. Now that I know your name and can properly address you, if you'd be so kind...” he brought the freshly poured glass to his lips, taking a moment to take in its heavy fragrance before swallowing some, “…as to take your cursed soul and go haunt someone else for the night. I'm not in the mood."
Quirking his other eyebrow at Atobe, Oshitari smirked. "Cursed soul", huh? This man had no clue how frighteningly accurate the description was. "If you desperately wish for me to leave, then take my leave I will." Oshitari looked at Atobe once again before taking the stem of his glass in his left hand and beginning to stand.
Atobe scowled, "Sit,” he demanded. That had been too easy, and as much as he hated to admit it, that one thing had intrigued him. He wanted to know more. Why out of everyone in the room had Oshitari picked him to torture? What was with the candidness? The thought of a possible spy had of coursed first crossed his mind, but that didn't seem right, that kind of aura didn't surround this man. "Because you've taken it upon yourself to scrutinize me for the better part of this evening I think it’s only fair that I may do the same." A thin brow rose. Atobe himself wondered what exactly that suggested but quickly dismissed it, looking for a reaction.
Oshitari slid back down in his seat as a chuckle tugged at his lips. In offering to take his leave, Oshitari figured that if it was meant to be, the moody, dark-suited man would ask him to stay, and if not, then so be it. There was no denying that he was a hopeless romantic, one who believed in kismet, fate, whatever one wished to call it. "If I may have your name, you may scrutinize to your heart's content," Oshitari consented. He was interested in what this would entail from the man who had so precisely described his soul as "haunted."
"Should I avoid that question for the next ten or so minutes as you did to me? Or..." He trailed off for a moment. "Maybe I’ll be the bigger man." His eyes washed over the creature on the other side of the table. He was stunning, tall and lean with hair and eyes in such a unique shade. Atone had never seen anything like it...and he hadn't ever made such a judgment about a male.
"It’s Atobe,” he began, "Keigo." Another long sip finished off his glass. "We’ll see if it’s a pleasure soon enough, I'm sure." A smug little smile crossed his lips, one he wore when he was flirting a woman into his bed.
"You may be whatever man you wish to be," Oshitari affirmed. "Bigger, smaller, flashier, duller..."
Both Oshitari's eyebrows went up at Atobe's last statement and the smile that accompanied it. "My, my, isn't that a provocative grin," Oshitari said, amusement deepening with every word Atobe spoke.
"We will see when we do. Impress me. I'm sure you have plenty of tricks up your sleeve with which you may utilize to execute your revenge, Atobe." The name rolled off his tongue like silk, and suddenly Oshitari remembered why this man had looked so familiar. The lone heir to the Atobe Enterprise, Atobe had appeared more times than one could count in the media. Though Oshitari's interest had never lain in business, he had seen many of Atobe's pictures in the newspaper when flipping to the literary and theatrical review columns.
Atobe looked to his glass, knowing it was his fifth and knowing most of his decisions were being weighted against a clearer judgment. He refrained from thinking 'better.' simply because that would mean he was lacking, which, of course, he never was. He’d never flirted with a man, never thought to and he reasoned most men who might have been interested never dared, given his solid history with women.
"Aren’t you sweet with your words," Atobe commented, a small hiccup suppressed with the burgundy napkin he'd brought up to press against his lips. He made a motion and a few seconds later the bill was slipped in front of him quietly. He brought out a black AMEX card, placing it on top of the bill.
"I’m in a hurry." The hostess was off and back in a matter of a few minutes. "Have you paid your tab?" he asked, wondering if this was going to be anything like his experiences with women. If so he supposed he'd be inclined to pay off his bill, but only if he saw a profit in it.
Eying Atobe warily, Oshitari wondered how many glasses he had already downed. Three or four at the very least, he decided. From previous experience, hanging around drunken humans was not a good idea, but...this little human was different. Oshitari stayed put.
"I am," Oshitari agreed, nodding, even though Atobe had asked a rhetorical question, one that did not solicit a response.
"Of course," Oshitari replied to Atobe's actual question. "I always pay tab in the beginning." It wasn't as if he ever asked for anything more than just one glass of his favorite red wine, which he never actually drank. "In a rush home? Am I so frightening?" Not that there wouldn't be ample reason for Atobe to be frightened. Vampires tend to frighten humans as a rule.
"Home, perhaps." Another small bubble rose in his throat then popped before it could escape as a hiccup. He finished signing the tab he'd racked up and stood, looking down the curve of his own nose at the man who was making lazy and casual look so well together.
"Oshitari-san, if you're ready?" He adjusted his suit jacket, undoing then redoing the top button to it before smoothing over his whole appearance with his palms.
Oshitari, as annoying and pesky as he came off, had caught Atobe's interest, which was a feat in itself. Nowadays Atobe was rarely impressed by anyone enough to acknowledge them, and if was a simple companion for lust he was after it was never very hard to fake interest. He did that most of his time professionally in the office. "Are you coming?" His tone seeped with annoyance that he had to ask.
"If you wish," Oshitari drawled as he stood. He wasn't quite sure what to think about Atobe's quick temper. It was amusing, and perhaps even a bit endearing. "However, I hope you don't plan on driving in your current state of inebriation." On a second thought, Oshitari corrected, "But you probably have a driver, don't you?"
"I live near." Of course he didn't plan on driving. He was intoxicated but not stupid. Atobe had taken up residence at one of the top penthouses in a high rise in Ropping once he'd left college. He wondered briefly of he was making a wise choice or not, but then again he rarely made a bad one (at least not one that he would admit to) "Was this what you had in mind when you approached me?" Atobe wondered aloud as he leaned against the elevator wall, feeling dizzy as it shot towards the ground level.
"What I had in mind?" Oshitari echoed, thoughtful, following Atobe into the elevator. "I'm not sure quite what I had in mind when I approached you. I like to stop and offer company to people who look lonely. Or fascinating. You were both." Oshitari chuckled as he added, "Lonely, fascinating, and beautiful. Quite an intriguing combination, wouldn't you agree?"
"Words like those make me suspect you're just offering your kind companionship. What is it you want? Money?" Cool eyes took in Oshitari, trying to figure out his angle, only to tear away at the chime of the elevator door opening. Better judgment told him he should leave the tall man standing there on the street side. He cursed the curious streak that had made itself evident in him that made him choose not to.
Oshitari laughed, finding Atobe's train of thought maddeningly hilarious. "I have more money than I can ever spend," Oshitari assured. After all, a hundred years' worth of savings in the bank did begin to snowball. "I don't know what the deal is in your world," Oshitari said, despite that once, a long, long time ago, he did know exactly what it was like, "but in my world, not everything is about money. It can be just about…finding someone interesting to talk to. Or enjoying good company."
"Can you not take compliments as they come?" Oshitari stopped in his step and tilted his head curiously at Atobe. "But then I suppose given your status, people compliment you for want of something in return, correct?” A pause. “That's almost pitiable."
"Would you still like me to follow?" Oshitari offered Atobe an escape for the second time that night. "If you would like to be alone, I can certainly let you be."
"I don't need compliments." A hand came up to flick a silver-ish strand back into place. "And honestly, in my 'world', as you put it, that's all flattery is good for." He'd heard it too many times, charming words spilling out of all of those ass-kissers he had to deal with on a daily basis. Of course they had every reason to tremble in the shadow the Atobe family had cast across a better part of the city and country under but that didn't mean it wasn't annoying.
He stopped, turning back to Oshitari who had been a few steps ahead of him, his head tilted to the side as if he was in thought. This man was intriguing. Somehow he'd managed to point out Atobe’s every misgiving, and at times it felt as though he'd been reading his inner thought. Interesting. That had been what Oshitari had said he was. The truth was that Atobe was beginning to admit he found the same attraction in the mysterious man that had weaseled his way into his quite evening.
"My home is this way." He turned on his heel, not needing to turn and look to know that Oshitari was behind him.
"When someone offers you a compliment, you should accept it with grace rather than question their intent. It's the 'polite' thing to do. I assume that politesse is important to you, given how many times you pointed out my rudeness to me in the bar," Oshitari said, an almost impish smile creeping onto his face.
"I don't know if I would quite agree with that." Oshitari began walking behind Atobe, effortlessly catching up to him and matching his pace. "There is a fine line between praise and flattery. Flattery has a negative connotation."
"Is that an invitation?" Oshitari asked casually, teasingly, though, all jokes aside, he did need permission to enter another's home. It was one of the odd little laws of vampirism.
"With 'grace' you say?" Atobe's eyes slid to the man walking shoulder to shoulder with him. Oshitari was taller then him, forcing him to tilt his chin some to observe him. Atobe wondered mildly if the attraction to this man's mystery was well worth the annoyance he was subjecting himself to. "Thank you then, Oshitari-san." A brow rose and he practically rolled his eyes as they entered the lobby of the high-rises he lived in.
"And I suppose I should properly invite you in, if we are to be formal and cordial with one another." There was amusement in Atobe's tone. "Welcome to my elevator,” he said sarcastically, swiping his card, opening the doors and his arms to usher the other man in, a small fit of drunk delight rising in him at the ridiculousness of this situation.
What exactly did he plan to do with this man?
People, women specifically (the only type Atobe actually ever invited home) never came to talk. Atobe wasn't interested in men. Truthfully he wasn't interested in women either, not unless it involved a bed. The elevators shot for the top floor, parting with a small chime to reveal a long hallway, his door at the end of it, inlaid with oak and the family's emblem. "And I suppose you want to be welcomed here too,” he asked, slipping his key into the heavy door, looking over his shoulder at the prize he'd brought home tonight.
Shaking his head, Oshitari chuckled along. Atobe had had more wine that night than he'd thought. Again, it struck him that he should not be in the vicinity - much less the home - of a drunken man, never mind one whose blood was calling out to him. But, again, he pushed this thought aside. As long as there was an appropriate distance, everything would be fine, and the state of their pulses would stay unchanged.
"I would be delighted if you could invite me into your home," Oshitari said, voice rife with amusement. He quickly inspected his surroundings, and mentally nodded. This was about right for someone Atobe's status, the son of one of the richest men in Tokyo.
Atobe moved into the foyer of the penthouse, reaching down to pull of his shoes, cursing that last glass of wine he'd had because he was sure it was to fault for the headache he was beginning to feel. He turned to Oshitari, brow creasing as he stood still outside the threshold of the door.
"Please don't tell me you went though all that effort to bother and pester me into inviting you to keep my company just so you could stand in my doorway. Will you come in already?" he scoffed, voice irritable as he reached for a small screen on the wall, pushing a few buttons to bring light into the large expanse of the room. "And close the door behind you,” he added, disappearing around the corner to fetch another bottle of wine, not that he needed it.
Having received consent to enter - he was always careful about invitations, and preferred them explicit as not to take his chances - Oshitari stepped into Atobe's apartment. Or penthouse, rather. Giving what he could see of the place an onceover, paying special attention to the interior design, Oshitari lifted both eyebrows. He was fairly impressed. As asked - or ordered, rather - he shut the door behind him. "Did you decorate this place yourself?"
"Of course not. Do you think I have time for something like that? I picked out the linens and Mia took it from there." Mia, being his personal interior decorator, one he, not his father, had chosen. She'd always found a way to please him, if not though her decorating and coordinating skills, in other ways he'd appreciated. "Of course the art is all of my own choice." They were pieces he'd picked up from his travels, one artifact from each country he'd been to which had started a tradition from the first time he'd been taken abroad.
"You look more like the red wine type. Am I right?" Atobe held a bottle, reading the lettering on its label as he spilled into the oversized leather sofa in the middle of the room. He looked to the other man, giving him a look that he expected the other to decipher as 'Sit.'
Of course not. Oshitari chuckled inwardly at Atobe's words. What an unique brand of self value. Oshitari looked around the room at the paintings on the wall. "Interesting choices. Classy, but shows personality." A closer look at the art, and Oshitari realized that most were not Japanese. "Do you travel much?"
"I am the red wine type," Oshitari agreed, "but I think we've both had enough to drink for one night." Well, half of "both of us" was the truth, anyway. "I don't particularly like having too much alcohol in my system. People tell me I'm too impulsive and romantic without the workings of alcohol."
"Before my father chained me by the neck to Tokyo-center, of course." Atobe didn't bother to hide the bitterness in his voice as he moved to stand next to the taller man staring up at the painting in front of them. "This is my first." He touched the edge if the frame. "Franz Marc, German cubist,” he explained looking up at harsh lines and bright colors. "I was nine when I picked it which might explain the prominence of primary colors." He chuckled, cradling the bottle of red wine in the crook of his arm.
Oshitari tore his gaze from the painting and looked at Atobe. He could understand the animosity-resentment. After all, he had been through the same stages a hundred years earlier, fought the same mould, and ended up a vampire. Laughing humorlessly to himself, Oshitari wondered how Atobe’s story would end.
"Are you an artist yourself, or are you merely an admirer?" he asked, turning back to the piece. Atobe knew what he was talking about, as expected of the sole heir of the Atobe Enterprise.
Atobe looked annoyed at what he thought was a small unwarranted chuckle from the other man, before he answered. "I've dabbled, but I prefer to admire and collect. He shifted the bottle in his arms as he stared up into the painting. He remembered the argument, even at a young age, he'd gotten into with his father over this piece. His father had criticized that it looked like something Atobe could have painted with his fingers at his age - a waste of money, basically, was what he was trying to say. It reminded him of how different he and his father really were.
"I have a few other pieces from Marc that my grandfather has sent from home. It’s a pity they sit in storage." He spoke low and almost to himself, though he knew Oshitari was listening.
"That would make your mother German, if you still refer to it as 'home'." Now Atobe's facial features and eye and hair color began to make a lot more sense. Oshitari drifted further and further from where Atobe stood, studying the other pieces. "It is a pity to have amazing art sitting around, collecting dust. Is there anyone stopping you from putting them up?"
He stopped walking when he caught something black and polished out of the corner of his eye. He turned, spotting a baby grand piano by the large glass windows that lined three fourths of the south wall. Going over to stand by it, he said, "This is a beautiful instrument. Especially set here, where you can play and admire the scenery of Tokyo’s quieter nights. Very romantic." He looked at Atobe. "Do you play well?"
"Yes, making me half German….My congratulations to you Oshitari. You are bright." Atobe rolled his eyes, voice sarcastic but not as annoyed as it had been. "They're in storage because I don't have room for them here.” A considerably odd statement, considering the size of his home. He'd meant that he didn't have room for them when he had all the other paintings from his travels. There was a system to his decorating and having more then one Marc hanging would upset that balance. "I've thought about bringing them to the office, but I don't plan on being chained there for long…Call it a protest of sorts." He moved closer to Oshitari again watching him stare at a Degas piece. Atobe remembered winning that one at auction in France.
Light eyes fell on the piano when Oshitari mentioned it, an eye brow raising at it being called romantic. "Of course I play well." Really, did Oshitari have to ask? He'd been trained on it from the day he could sit up straight and reach the keys
Oshitari smiled cheekily at Atobe. "Thank you. I've always thought very highly of my intelligence." He eyed the Degas Atobe was studying. "Edgar Degas. The way he captured movement is really quite something. A true master in the depiction of moving objects, although I would say his ballerinas are far too flawless for him to consider himself a realist." Oshitari shrugged, running a finger lightly against the curved edge of the piano. "Despite that he is considered one of the creators of impressionism, he ascribed to realism." He casted a smirk Atobe's way. "But I'm sure you already know that."
Of course I play well. Oshitari was amused, again, by Atobe's confidence. "Would you care to demonstrate? Awe me with your piano-playing prowess?"
"He didn't like to identify with impressionism," Atobe stated, moving to lean against the piano in Oshitari's line of vision. "A man of my own heart, it's frustrating to be labeled and sorted."
He looked down at his nails, before pushing himself up from the piano. "I don't play for just anyone." He looked for a moment like he was in thought before he moved to pull out the black lacquered piano bench and run his fingers over the ivory keys. It was true that he didn't and most of the people he'd spent time with probably didn't care. Hardly anyone he'd brought to his home had been as impressed or interested in the art that hung on the walls or Atobe's pride and joy of collection. He started to play the beginning of Mozrt's Alla Turca before coming to a stop after pressing a few keys and looking up at Oshitari. "What would you have me play?"
"Anything you want to play," Oshitari said with a nonchalant shrug. From the way Atobe seated himself to the way his fingers curled over the keys, as if he was holding an egg under the palm of his hands, it was evident that Atobe had, in fact, been playing for quite a while. Atobe played with the type of posture that came from arduous hours of practice. "One should never tell an artist what to paint, after all. What do you feel like playing?"
"Well said," Atobe agreed, taking a moment to think. He knew most pieces by heart, all of them ingrained into his mind from hours and hours of repetition and study. He settled into position, back rigid and fingers flexed as he started into Moonlight Sonata. It wasn't flashy or particularly complicated, but it had been one of Atobe's favorites. He was also sure that the influence of wine in his system wouldn't make him capable of much more without stumbling, something he refused to do in front of this man. He swayed gently with the music, keeping his own rhythm as his fingers pressed into the keys, eyebrows rising and falling with the notes as he took on a somber look.
Oshitari looked curious at Atobe's choice of song. He would have bet good money on Atobe choosing a flashy, technically demanding piece, but, then again, his new friend was very much drunk. Despite Atobe's lack of sobriety, however, Oshitari was impressed by the fluidity of his playing. Atobe knew exactly how to feel the music and let the feel carry his long, slim fingers where they needed to be, and he knew precisely when to lean into his playing and when to stay back. Oshitari smiled. Atobe had the soul of an artist. God only knew what he was doing fighting a losing battle against his father in business.
When Atobe had finished, he looked down at the keys, fingers sliding off the notes he'd held and slipping down to his sides. He always felt like a different person when he played, his soul a little freer when it could express itself this way. "There." The arrogant self centered part of him reared its head again as he looked up to Oshitari expecting some sort of praise for the work he'd done.
Nodding in approval, Oshitari clapped gently. "You're well-trained," he commented. Atobe looked at home on the piano bench, as if that was where he was supposed to be. Not in tall buildings dealing with mountains of paperwork and men in stuffy suits, but here, in from of the piano. "And you're also a lot sexier when you're not being unspeakably conceited." A teasing glint passed through his eyes, though a part of him was honest in this remark.
"Am I?" Atobe's mouth set straight at the comment, the corners lifting with the tiniest of amusement that this man had the audacity to call him sexy-even if he was. "Or do you mean to say I'm sexy when my mouth is shut. Is that how you like your men?" He stopped for a moment to reflect on the comment he'd made, wondering where exactly it had come from.
Oshitari smirked. "Au contraire, mon ami," he said in practiced French. "Je préfère mes hommes comme vous." Atobe should have no problem understanding a little basic French. Given his upbringing, Atobe could probably read classic novels like The Iliad in the original Greek. "It's not interesting unless there's a fight. People who are too easily seduced are no fun." He flicked a piece of hair from Atobe's face, and trailed the finger down Atobe's jaw line. Atobe's jaw was elegant, but still distinctly masculine.
"Oh, vraiment?" Atobe had understood perfectly. Even if he had missed the meaning of the words, Oshitari's actions made it quite clear what he'd said. It was a strange feeling to give in to the touch of another man, Atobe never had before, and even when he'd spent his time with women most of them had never dared to touch him so candidly.
His fingers were cold against his skin, but Atobe didn't mind. They felt nice and smooth and he was starting to think flirting with a man almost seemed more fun than with a woman, as all they did was giggle. Oshitari was brilliant and challenging - Atobe had discovered this much from the hour or so he'd spent with him so far. He let out a soft chuckle before speaking, changing the langue, wondering if Oshitari could keep up. "Was passiert, wenn ich sagte, ich lieber meine Männer wie du?"
Chuckling, Oshitari mentally applauded Atobe. As expected, he understood perfectly. "Oui, oui, cher Atobe. Je parle la vérité." When Atobe didn't threaten to break his finger for touching him this time, Oshitari smiled. Atobe had very nice skin, so smooth it almost felt porcelain, except that it was soft and silky to the touch.
"Ich wäre sehr glücklich," Oshitari replied. Though German did not flow from his tongue as easily as French did, he was still able to form some basic gutturals. Merely one of the upsides to having lived over a hundred years: there wasn't a lot that surprised him anymore.
Atobe smiled at the German, leaning into the finger that was still pressed to his jaw. "Zeigen Sie mir, wie glücklich Sie sind,” he challenged, once again in German, finding this whole situation and conversation more thrilling than he'd ever expected it could be. What a surprising man Oshitari turned out to be.
With a light laugh, Oshitari purred, dipping down so that Atobe could feel his every breath on his ear, "Ihr Wunsch ist mein Befehl." "Your wish is my command" in German didn't precisely have the same ring to it as it did in English, but the nature of the language made the words sound rougher around the edges and rawer, which was exactly what Oshitari wanted before he pressed his lips against Atobe's. Atobe, Oshitari thought as he leaned in closer, tilting his head to get a better angle for mouth exploration, had extremely soft lips, on which he could still taste the sweet tang of wine. As he wrapped an arm around Atobe's midsection, Oshitari also noted that Atobe had a narrow waist, almost feminine, but too rigid to be. He smirked into the kiss.
Atobe wasn't sure if it was the wine or just that he'd been so attracted to Oshitari's intellect that he didn't mind the feel of a man's lips over his. He did mind, however, the hand that went around his waist, holding him like he was some tarty prom date. He scowled, as steely eyes slipped closed, a hand reaching down to guide Oshitari's hand from his middle further down onto his hips. That was better.
Oshitari would find that Atobe was particular when it came to positioning and touches.
He tilted his head into the kiss, fighting to get the upper hand, to be the first to part his lips, tongue inviting the other's in for an exchange. A small noise rose in his throat as they continued to kiss, Atobe's fingers flexing in reaction to each move on a toned bicep until they parted. "How dare you." He glared into dark midnight eyes, saving face. Of course he only acted offended, a hand coming up to lightly slap Oshitari's cheek but settling against it to pull him in for another long kiss.
Oshitari was oddly amused by the way Atobe shifted his arm, not that it wasn't exactly in keeping with his anal retentive personality, always looking for control and perfection. Oshitari hummed gently against Atobe's mouth as he felt Atobe open his mouth for a deeper kiss, making certain that Atobe's tongue did not invade his mouth, much less go anywhere near his incisors. As their tongues met, swirling in a battle for dominance, almost, Oshitari mused that it was almost as if they were dancing. It would, of course, be something passionate but romantic, like the tango. The waltz would come in later when surroundings were more comfortable and familiar.
When they parted for breath, mostly for Atobe's sake, Oshitari should probably have expected the hand that met his face. It was most likely intended to save Atobe some pride, but it only served to further amuse Oshitari when Atobe met his lips again. After all, any slap of Atobe's felt only like a tap to him. He smiled as his hands began to wander down the length of Atobe's frame, much smaller compared to his own, but not any less lacking in terms of muscle tone. They both had lean but strong bodies.
"Can you still stand?" Oshitari asked in a teasing hush against Atobe's mouth, sweeping his tongue softly across full, red lips. The hand that wasn't exploring worked to loosen Atobe's tie. There was no need to be so prim and proper while they were practically devouring each other whole. Well, that held more meaning to Oshitari than it did for Atobe, especially when Atobe's scent - the sweet aroma of his blood in particular - was just that much stronger up close. There was a certain temptation to slither down a few more inches and sink his teeth into Atobe's neck to get a taste of the warm, tangy drink, more delicious and satisfying than the most exquisite red wine.
"Of course I can." Atobe spat between kisses. What did Oshitari take him for? Some wilting love sick sap? He was more than experienced with long kisses and unspeakable touching. Oshitari obviously knew nothing of his extremely active sex life. "Are you having trouble keeping up? Do you need me to slow down for you?" he challenged, making a move to nip at the tongue that swept over his lips.
He scowled when he felt a firm tug on his tie, hand coming up to cover Oshitari's as he gave him a warning look. "You're stretching the fiber." Not that he had much reason to fuss. Ties were replaceable, even if they were Hermes. "Honestly." His fingers shooed Oshitari's away so that he could undo the knot with ease, letting it hang loose across his shoulder and down his front.
Of course I can. Oshitari wondered if such cocksureness came from experience. "I'm keeping up just fine. Thank you for your concern," Oshitari replied smoothly, chuckling when Atobe bit the tip of his tongue. Atobe would make a natural vampire, one who wouldn't hesitate to bite - and possibly kill - for survival. "Do you do this often? Bring strangers into your home, and allow them to have their way with you?" Oshitari's voice was playful, but genuine curiosity lighted his eyes.
Oshitari looked down at Atobe, amusement tugging at his lips. He had never met a man who was so high-maintenance before, but Atobe's brand of anal-retentiveness was charming in its own respect. You’re stretching the fiber. Oshitari considered making a crude crack at Atobe’s words, but decided against it. "Are you going to insist that you do everything yourself?" Oshitari questioned drolly, a wicked twinkle in his eye, keeping his hands firm around Atobe's hips.
What - Atobe and Oshitari run into each other at a wine bar, and Atobe takes Oshitari to his home where there is playing of piano, talk of art, and arousal of lust.
When - July 7
Where - Caves Petrissans and Atobe's penthouse
Rating - PG-13
(Could we have an Atobe tag, please? ^^)
If Atobe had horrible days, today would have been one of them. A soft sigh escaped his lips as he reclined back into the red velvet cushions of the small booth he sat in. He'd frequented Caves Petrissans, the ritzy wine bar that sat atop the Mori Building in Ropping, since he could legally drink, favoring the low lights and calm atmosphere it had to offer. It was here that he found peace and privacy, where he could reflect on the day’s work without any interruption, save for the sound of his glass being refilled by a hostess.
Between sips of the glass of wine he'd been nursing for the past ten minutes or so he let out another soft sigh, recollecting today's events, or lack thereof. Somewhere between dealing with an obvious rookie sales distributor that he was sure was just out to drive him absolutely and insanely mad and listening to the half-wit designer his father had hired to refurbish one of their hotel's lobbies, Atobe had decided that his father had put him on another useless project. He swore he could feel his talents just wasting away, years of college and schooling going down the drain.
He took a long sip of Petrus, his favored red wine, and held it in his mouth for a moment, just trying to relax, to not think about the bitter feelings he harbored for the man that seemed to be making his working life a living nightmare.
'What an exhausting day,' he thought idly to himself, running a finger along the rim of the glass, body curved and bent over it as he looked out the windows into the dark haziness of the Tokyo skyline. He knew he looked uncomfortable, still buttoned up in his dark charcoal colored suit.
Caves Petrissans was a lively place, Oshitari noted as he ran a slim finger down the body of his glass, scanning the bar. Lively, but very classy.
As was his tradition, every first Monday of the month he visited a wine bar, preferably a different one from last month. All the ones he had visited before were decent - nice wine served by lovely hostesses with long legs, in a dark, cozy environment - but they had all been overflowing with tasteless drunkards out to drink wine for its alcoholic value. The people here, as far as Oshitari could see, were at least neat drunks. His gaze stopped at a fairly young - early twenty by the looks of it - darkly clad man who sat alone with a glass of red wine, looking stressed. Oshitari smirked as he stood.
His own drink in hand, Oshitari strolled, hips traveling in a slow, comfortable sway, toward the silver-haired man. Another one of his customs.
Atobe sat thinking to himself, still wallowing in all of the day's less than useful events, and sat back in his chair, picking up the wine glass by its thin neck and sipping at it. The night was young and he was already bored, the clientele of Caves seemed a little older tonight. He blamed it on being a weekday.
Another long sigh passed his lips and just as he was about to launch into another tirade of 'Woe is me!' something caught his eye. A man, a young man with a suspicious look in his eyes was approaching him. A glare sat onto his face for a moment. He'd of course refuse to even acknowledge this intruder. At Caves he'd never been bothered. Most of the staff had seen to it, and even with that added rest-assurance it was something one just simply didn't do. Call it 'house manners.'
He cleared his throat, taking a long sip of wine to finish of the glass afterward and set his eyes on the twinkling Tokyo skyline, doing his bet to stare straight through the man that had settled right in front of him.
'How foul.' Atobe's light eyes bore into the belly in front of him, finally lifting to meet orbs hiding behind glass and frames. "May I help you?" The annoyance to the disturbance was clear in both tone and glance.
Oshitari smirked. This man had beautiful blue eyes, he decided. Although they probably would have looked more gorgeous had they not been staring daggers into him. Slipping into the booth and taking a seat opposite the moody young man, Oshitari commented, "I thought I'd come over to offer you company." A brief onceover. "And to compliment your fashion sense. That green splotch on your sleeve is there for aesthetic purposes, correct?" Oshitari's eyes were twinkling behind his glasses.
Atobe first scowled when this strange man slipped into the seat opposite him, the audacity to just sit down uninvited like that. If Atobe had wanted company he would have said so. He was just about to open his mouth to speak his displeasure with the situation when it firmly shut, his eyes falling to his cuff to see a splash of green paint on his suit cuff. He took in a long breath to keep himself collected, noting the sense of arrogance that just glowed from the other man. "Call it a new trend in fashion." He said, unashamed. On the inside he was fuming.
The designer and her damned bucket of paint would be fired first thing in the morning if he had his way. What a horrible shade for a hotel lobby wall anyway. How she was qualified for the job was beyond Atobe.
"I'd like to point out to you that you're being very ill-mannered." He brushed at the painted cuff, trying to fight the twinge of red that wanted to surface on the curve of his cheekbone. "You were not invited to sit or approach me. The least you can do is offer reasoning." His glare doubled as he looked expectantly for a prompt answer.
Again, Oshitari dodged the other man's demands for an explanation. Instead, he reached across the table and brushed an invisible speck off from the face that was on the brink of a blush. "Eyelash," he explained. And then he smiled, observing the pink the stained the porcelain cheeks. "Hmm."
Atobe reached up to grasp the offending finger. "Do you value this finger? If you do, I suggest you never fucking touch me again." He tensed and held onto it even tighter, an icy gaze boring right through the cool blue eyes locked on the man sitting before him. He was doing his best to keep his temper low enough so that the rest of the bar wouldn't notice. The last thing he needed was the wrong kind of attention.
"I value my finger as much as you value your reputation," Oshitari replied, indifferent. It wasn't as if a human can do any type of real damage on him. He didn't have anything to lose. "You don't want to hold on to my finger for too long," he advised. "Your hands will freeze." It was a fair warning, considering how icy his hands were. "And it's also sticky. It's covered with rosin."
"I come in peace,” Oshitari said, raising his hands, palms out to indicate surrender, “to offer the lonely goatherd a little company." Oshitari tilted his head, studying Atobe's face, and smiled. "You look overworked, you know. You're going to have wrinkles when you’re old."
Atobe looked offended as he tossed the long finger aside with a small snarl and reached for his napkin, whiling the sticky substance that he’d been warned of from his hands. "Do you honestly think that if I wanted company I'd have trouble finding it?" He leaned over the table, annoyance prickling at him.
Whoever this man was, he obviously had no clue as to whom he was speaking so candidly. Most people in this haunt knew better than to bother him, much less look his way unsolicited.
Oshitari shrugged. He thought about pointing out that no matter how rich or successful one was, a bad temperament can drive the even most patient of souls away from one's company, but this man would probably dismiss this thought as wind blowing by his ears. Sliding back in his seat, Oshitari continued to examine the other man's face. To speak in such a way, he must have been famous or extremely affluent. Or both.
"Hmm..." Oshitari hummed, trying to place the face to a name, all the while running his newly freed finger down his wine glass. He still hadn't taken a sip. He never did.
"What are you staring at?" Atobe cracked after a few minutes, sitting up straight and crossing his arms over a tight chest hidden under folds of twill and silk. The last thing Atobe wanted was to sit there and be gawked at as if he was on display at a museum.
"You," Oshitari replied simply with a careless shrug of his shoulders. He ran his forefinger along the rim of his glass, finding the soft, almost echo-like sound fascinating, despite that he had heard it many times before. "I'm sure you're used to it, correct?"
"You're being very rude about it." He had half a mind to stand and leave then and there but leaving a tab behind was never really his style, even though he was sure everyone knew he would most likely be back the next evening if work allowed. "You haven't even bothered to introduce yourself, not that I'm sure I care,” he decided to tack on. He wasn't curious of course to whom this man, who thought he could simply just waltz up and make himself cozy, was.
"Am I now?" Oshitari lifted a curious eyebrow, and chuckled. "I'm trying to put your face to a name. You look familiar; however, I can't quite place…"
"Oshitari Yuushi," he replied, voice an amused purr. "Pleasure to meet you."
Atobe looked at him dryly. Now suddenly he was in the mood to acknowledge him. "I'm sure it is." He looked to the side, holding up his glass to a waitress that went by so that she could fill it to its brim again. "Oshitari-san, then. Now that I know your name and can properly address you, if you'd be so kind...” he brought the freshly poured glass to his lips, taking a moment to take in its heavy fragrance before swallowing some, “…as to take your cursed soul and go haunt someone else for the night. I'm not in the mood."
Quirking his other eyebrow at Atobe, Oshitari smirked. "Cursed soul", huh? This man had no clue how frighteningly accurate the description was. "If you desperately wish for me to leave, then take my leave I will." Oshitari looked at Atobe once again before taking the stem of his glass in his left hand and beginning to stand.
Atobe scowled, "Sit,” he demanded. That had been too easy, and as much as he hated to admit it, that one thing had intrigued him. He wanted to know more. Why out of everyone in the room had Oshitari picked him to torture? What was with the candidness? The thought of a possible spy had of coursed first crossed his mind, but that didn't seem right, that kind of aura didn't surround this man. "Because you've taken it upon yourself to scrutinize me for the better part of this evening I think it’s only fair that I may do the same." A thin brow rose. Atobe himself wondered what exactly that suggested but quickly dismissed it, looking for a reaction.
Oshitari slid back down in his seat as a chuckle tugged at his lips. In offering to take his leave, Oshitari figured that if it was meant to be, the moody, dark-suited man would ask him to stay, and if not, then so be it. There was no denying that he was a hopeless romantic, one who believed in kismet, fate, whatever one wished to call it. "If I may have your name, you may scrutinize to your heart's content," Oshitari consented. He was interested in what this would entail from the man who had so precisely described his soul as "haunted."
"Should I avoid that question for the next ten or so minutes as you did to me? Or..." He trailed off for a moment. "Maybe I’ll be the bigger man." His eyes washed over the creature on the other side of the table. He was stunning, tall and lean with hair and eyes in such a unique shade. Atone had never seen anything like it...and he hadn't ever made such a judgment about a male.
"It’s Atobe,” he began, "Keigo." Another long sip finished off his glass. "We’ll see if it’s a pleasure soon enough, I'm sure." A smug little smile crossed his lips, one he wore when he was flirting a woman into his bed.
"You may be whatever man you wish to be," Oshitari affirmed. "Bigger, smaller, flashier, duller..."
Both Oshitari's eyebrows went up at Atobe's last statement and the smile that accompanied it. "My, my, isn't that a provocative grin," Oshitari said, amusement deepening with every word Atobe spoke.
"We will see when we do. Impress me. I'm sure you have plenty of tricks up your sleeve with which you may utilize to execute your revenge, Atobe." The name rolled off his tongue like silk, and suddenly Oshitari remembered why this man had looked so familiar. The lone heir to the Atobe Enterprise, Atobe had appeared more times than one could count in the media. Though Oshitari's interest had never lain in business, he had seen many of Atobe's pictures in the newspaper when flipping to the literary and theatrical review columns.
Atobe looked to his glass, knowing it was his fifth and knowing most of his decisions were being weighted against a clearer judgment. He refrained from thinking 'better.' simply because that would mean he was lacking, which, of course, he never was. He’d never flirted with a man, never thought to and he reasoned most men who might have been interested never dared, given his solid history with women.
"Aren’t you sweet with your words," Atobe commented, a small hiccup suppressed with the burgundy napkin he'd brought up to press against his lips. He made a motion and a few seconds later the bill was slipped in front of him quietly. He brought out a black AMEX card, placing it on top of the bill.
"I’m in a hurry." The hostess was off and back in a matter of a few minutes. "Have you paid your tab?" he asked, wondering if this was going to be anything like his experiences with women. If so he supposed he'd be inclined to pay off his bill, but only if he saw a profit in it.
Eying Atobe warily, Oshitari wondered how many glasses he had already downed. Three or four at the very least, he decided. From previous experience, hanging around drunken humans was not a good idea, but...this little human was different. Oshitari stayed put.
"I am," Oshitari agreed, nodding, even though Atobe had asked a rhetorical question, one that did not solicit a response.
"Of course," Oshitari replied to Atobe's actual question. "I always pay tab in the beginning." It wasn't as if he ever asked for anything more than just one glass of his favorite red wine, which he never actually drank. "In a rush home? Am I so frightening?" Not that there wouldn't be ample reason for Atobe to be frightened. Vampires tend to frighten humans as a rule.
"Home, perhaps." Another small bubble rose in his throat then popped before it could escape as a hiccup. He finished signing the tab he'd racked up and stood, looking down the curve of his own nose at the man who was making lazy and casual look so well together.
"Oshitari-san, if you're ready?" He adjusted his suit jacket, undoing then redoing the top button to it before smoothing over his whole appearance with his palms.
Oshitari, as annoying and pesky as he came off, had caught Atobe's interest, which was a feat in itself. Nowadays Atobe was rarely impressed by anyone enough to acknowledge them, and if was a simple companion for lust he was after it was never very hard to fake interest. He did that most of his time professionally in the office. "Are you coming?" His tone seeped with annoyance that he had to ask.
"If you wish," Oshitari drawled as he stood. He wasn't quite sure what to think about Atobe's quick temper. It was amusing, and perhaps even a bit endearing. "However, I hope you don't plan on driving in your current state of inebriation." On a second thought, Oshitari corrected, "But you probably have a driver, don't you?"
"I live near." Of course he didn't plan on driving. He was intoxicated but not stupid. Atobe had taken up residence at one of the top penthouses in a high rise in Ropping once he'd left college. He wondered briefly of he was making a wise choice or not, but then again he rarely made a bad one (at least not one that he would admit to) "Was this what you had in mind when you approached me?" Atobe wondered aloud as he leaned against the elevator wall, feeling dizzy as it shot towards the ground level.
"What I had in mind?" Oshitari echoed, thoughtful, following Atobe into the elevator. "I'm not sure quite what I had in mind when I approached you. I like to stop and offer company to people who look lonely. Or fascinating. You were both." Oshitari chuckled as he added, "Lonely, fascinating, and beautiful. Quite an intriguing combination, wouldn't you agree?"
"Words like those make me suspect you're just offering your kind companionship. What is it you want? Money?" Cool eyes took in Oshitari, trying to figure out his angle, only to tear away at the chime of the elevator door opening. Better judgment told him he should leave the tall man standing there on the street side. He cursed the curious streak that had made itself evident in him that made him choose not to.
Oshitari laughed, finding Atobe's train of thought maddeningly hilarious. "I have more money than I can ever spend," Oshitari assured. After all, a hundred years' worth of savings in the bank did begin to snowball. "I don't know what the deal is in your world," Oshitari said, despite that once, a long, long time ago, he did know exactly what it was like, "but in my world, not everything is about money. It can be just about…finding someone interesting to talk to. Or enjoying good company."
"Can you not take compliments as they come?" Oshitari stopped in his step and tilted his head curiously at Atobe. "But then I suppose given your status, people compliment you for want of something in return, correct?” A pause. “That's almost pitiable."
"Would you still like me to follow?" Oshitari offered Atobe an escape for the second time that night. "If you would like to be alone, I can certainly let you be."
"I don't need compliments." A hand came up to flick a silver-ish strand back into place. "And honestly, in my 'world', as you put it, that's all flattery is good for." He'd heard it too many times, charming words spilling out of all of those ass-kissers he had to deal with on a daily basis. Of course they had every reason to tremble in the shadow the Atobe family had cast across a better part of the city and country under but that didn't mean it wasn't annoying.
He stopped, turning back to Oshitari who had been a few steps ahead of him, his head tilted to the side as if he was in thought. This man was intriguing. Somehow he'd managed to point out Atobe’s every misgiving, and at times it felt as though he'd been reading his inner thought. Interesting. That had been what Oshitari had said he was. The truth was that Atobe was beginning to admit he found the same attraction in the mysterious man that had weaseled his way into his quite evening.
"My home is this way." He turned on his heel, not needing to turn and look to know that Oshitari was behind him.
"When someone offers you a compliment, you should accept it with grace rather than question their intent. It's the 'polite' thing to do. I assume that politesse is important to you, given how many times you pointed out my rudeness to me in the bar," Oshitari said, an almost impish smile creeping onto his face.
"I don't know if I would quite agree with that." Oshitari began walking behind Atobe, effortlessly catching up to him and matching his pace. "There is a fine line between praise and flattery. Flattery has a negative connotation."
"Is that an invitation?" Oshitari asked casually, teasingly, though, all jokes aside, he did need permission to enter another's home. It was one of the odd little laws of vampirism.
"With 'grace' you say?" Atobe's eyes slid to the man walking shoulder to shoulder with him. Oshitari was taller then him, forcing him to tilt his chin some to observe him. Atobe wondered mildly if the attraction to this man's mystery was well worth the annoyance he was subjecting himself to. "Thank you then, Oshitari-san." A brow rose and he practically rolled his eyes as they entered the lobby of the high-rises he lived in.
"And I suppose I should properly invite you in, if we are to be formal and cordial with one another." There was amusement in Atobe's tone. "Welcome to my elevator,” he said sarcastically, swiping his card, opening the doors and his arms to usher the other man in, a small fit of drunk delight rising in him at the ridiculousness of this situation.
What exactly did he plan to do with this man?
People, women specifically (the only type Atobe actually ever invited home) never came to talk. Atobe wasn't interested in men. Truthfully he wasn't interested in women either, not unless it involved a bed. The elevators shot for the top floor, parting with a small chime to reveal a long hallway, his door at the end of it, inlaid with oak and the family's emblem. "And I suppose you want to be welcomed here too,” he asked, slipping his key into the heavy door, looking over his shoulder at the prize he'd brought home tonight.
Shaking his head, Oshitari chuckled along. Atobe had had more wine that night than he'd thought. Again, it struck him that he should not be in the vicinity - much less the home - of a drunken man, never mind one whose blood was calling out to him. But, again, he pushed this thought aside. As long as there was an appropriate distance, everything would be fine, and the state of their pulses would stay unchanged.
"I would be delighted if you could invite me into your home," Oshitari said, voice rife with amusement. He quickly inspected his surroundings, and mentally nodded. This was about right for someone Atobe's status, the son of one of the richest men in Tokyo.
Atobe moved into the foyer of the penthouse, reaching down to pull of his shoes, cursing that last glass of wine he'd had because he was sure it was to fault for the headache he was beginning to feel. He turned to Oshitari, brow creasing as he stood still outside the threshold of the door.
"Please don't tell me you went though all that effort to bother and pester me into inviting you to keep my company just so you could stand in my doorway. Will you come in already?" he scoffed, voice irritable as he reached for a small screen on the wall, pushing a few buttons to bring light into the large expanse of the room. "And close the door behind you,” he added, disappearing around the corner to fetch another bottle of wine, not that he needed it.
Having received consent to enter - he was always careful about invitations, and preferred them explicit as not to take his chances - Oshitari stepped into Atobe's apartment. Or penthouse, rather. Giving what he could see of the place an onceover, paying special attention to the interior design, Oshitari lifted both eyebrows. He was fairly impressed. As asked - or ordered, rather - he shut the door behind him. "Did you decorate this place yourself?"
"Of course not. Do you think I have time for something like that? I picked out the linens and Mia took it from there." Mia, being his personal interior decorator, one he, not his father, had chosen. She'd always found a way to please him, if not though her decorating and coordinating skills, in other ways he'd appreciated. "Of course the art is all of my own choice." They were pieces he'd picked up from his travels, one artifact from each country he'd been to which had started a tradition from the first time he'd been taken abroad.
"You look more like the red wine type. Am I right?" Atobe held a bottle, reading the lettering on its label as he spilled into the oversized leather sofa in the middle of the room. He looked to the other man, giving him a look that he expected the other to decipher as 'Sit.'
Of course not. Oshitari chuckled inwardly at Atobe's words. What an unique brand of self value. Oshitari looked around the room at the paintings on the wall. "Interesting choices. Classy, but shows personality." A closer look at the art, and Oshitari realized that most were not Japanese. "Do you travel much?"
"I am the red wine type," Oshitari agreed, "but I think we've both had enough to drink for one night." Well, half of "both of us" was the truth, anyway. "I don't particularly like having too much alcohol in my system. People tell me I'm too impulsive and romantic without the workings of alcohol."
"Before my father chained me by the neck to Tokyo-center, of course." Atobe didn't bother to hide the bitterness in his voice as he moved to stand next to the taller man staring up at the painting in front of them. "This is my first." He touched the edge if the frame. "Franz Marc, German cubist,” he explained looking up at harsh lines and bright colors. "I was nine when I picked it which might explain the prominence of primary colors." He chuckled, cradling the bottle of red wine in the crook of his arm.
Oshitari tore his gaze from the painting and looked at Atobe. He could understand the animosity-resentment. After all, he had been through the same stages a hundred years earlier, fought the same mould, and ended up a vampire. Laughing humorlessly to himself, Oshitari wondered how Atobe’s story would end.
"Are you an artist yourself, or are you merely an admirer?" he asked, turning back to the piece. Atobe knew what he was talking about, as expected of the sole heir of the Atobe Enterprise.
Atobe looked annoyed at what he thought was a small unwarranted chuckle from the other man, before he answered. "I've dabbled, but I prefer to admire and collect. He shifted the bottle in his arms as he stared up into the painting. He remembered the argument, even at a young age, he'd gotten into with his father over this piece. His father had criticized that it looked like something Atobe could have painted with his fingers at his age - a waste of money, basically, was what he was trying to say. It reminded him of how different he and his father really were.
"I have a few other pieces from Marc that my grandfather has sent from home. It’s a pity they sit in storage." He spoke low and almost to himself, though he knew Oshitari was listening.
"That would make your mother German, if you still refer to it as 'home'." Now Atobe's facial features and eye and hair color began to make a lot more sense. Oshitari drifted further and further from where Atobe stood, studying the other pieces. "It is a pity to have amazing art sitting around, collecting dust. Is there anyone stopping you from putting them up?"
He stopped walking when he caught something black and polished out of the corner of his eye. He turned, spotting a baby grand piano by the large glass windows that lined three fourths of the south wall. Going over to stand by it, he said, "This is a beautiful instrument. Especially set here, where you can play and admire the scenery of Tokyo’s quieter nights. Very romantic." He looked at Atobe. "Do you play well?"
"Yes, making me half German….My congratulations to you Oshitari. You are bright." Atobe rolled his eyes, voice sarcastic but not as annoyed as it had been. "They're in storage because I don't have room for them here.” A considerably odd statement, considering the size of his home. He'd meant that he didn't have room for them when he had all the other paintings from his travels. There was a system to his decorating and having more then one Marc hanging would upset that balance. "I've thought about bringing them to the office, but I don't plan on being chained there for long…Call it a protest of sorts." He moved closer to Oshitari again watching him stare at a Degas piece. Atobe remembered winning that one at auction in France.
Light eyes fell on the piano when Oshitari mentioned it, an eye brow raising at it being called romantic. "Of course I play well." Really, did Oshitari have to ask? He'd been trained on it from the day he could sit up straight and reach the keys
Oshitari smiled cheekily at Atobe. "Thank you. I've always thought very highly of my intelligence." He eyed the Degas Atobe was studying. "Edgar Degas. The way he captured movement is really quite something. A true master in the depiction of moving objects, although I would say his ballerinas are far too flawless for him to consider himself a realist." Oshitari shrugged, running a finger lightly against the curved edge of the piano. "Despite that he is considered one of the creators of impressionism, he ascribed to realism." He casted a smirk Atobe's way. "But I'm sure you already know that."
Of course I play well. Oshitari was amused, again, by Atobe's confidence. "Would you care to demonstrate? Awe me with your piano-playing prowess?"
"He didn't like to identify with impressionism," Atobe stated, moving to lean against the piano in Oshitari's line of vision. "A man of my own heart, it's frustrating to be labeled and sorted."
He looked down at his nails, before pushing himself up from the piano. "I don't play for just anyone." He looked for a moment like he was in thought before he moved to pull out the black lacquered piano bench and run his fingers over the ivory keys. It was true that he didn't and most of the people he'd spent time with probably didn't care. Hardly anyone he'd brought to his home had been as impressed or interested in the art that hung on the walls or Atobe's pride and joy of collection. He started to play the beginning of Mozrt's Alla Turca before coming to a stop after pressing a few keys and looking up at Oshitari. "What would you have me play?"
"Anything you want to play," Oshitari said with a nonchalant shrug. From the way Atobe seated himself to the way his fingers curled over the keys, as if he was holding an egg under the palm of his hands, it was evident that Atobe had, in fact, been playing for quite a while. Atobe played with the type of posture that came from arduous hours of practice. "One should never tell an artist what to paint, after all. What do you feel like playing?"
"Well said," Atobe agreed, taking a moment to think. He knew most pieces by heart, all of them ingrained into his mind from hours and hours of repetition and study. He settled into position, back rigid and fingers flexed as he started into Moonlight Sonata. It wasn't flashy or particularly complicated, but it had been one of Atobe's favorites. He was also sure that the influence of wine in his system wouldn't make him capable of much more without stumbling, something he refused to do in front of this man. He swayed gently with the music, keeping his own rhythm as his fingers pressed into the keys, eyebrows rising and falling with the notes as he took on a somber look.
Oshitari looked curious at Atobe's choice of song. He would have bet good money on Atobe choosing a flashy, technically demanding piece, but, then again, his new friend was very much drunk. Despite Atobe's lack of sobriety, however, Oshitari was impressed by the fluidity of his playing. Atobe knew exactly how to feel the music and let the feel carry his long, slim fingers where they needed to be, and he knew precisely when to lean into his playing and when to stay back. Oshitari smiled. Atobe had the soul of an artist. God only knew what he was doing fighting a losing battle against his father in business.
When Atobe had finished, he looked down at the keys, fingers sliding off the notes he'd held and slipping down to his sides. He always felt like a different person when he played, his soul a little freer when it could express itself this way. "There." The arrogant self centered part of him reared its head again as he looked up to Oshitari expecting some sort of praise for the work he'd done.
Nodding in approval, Oshitari clapped gently. "You're well-trained," he commented. Atobe looked at home on the piano bench, as if that was where he was supposed to be. Not in tall buildings dealing with mountains of paperwork and men in stuffy suits, but here, in from of the piano. "And you're also a lot sexier when you're not being unspeakably conceited." A teasing glint passed through his eyes, though a part of him was honest in this remark.
"Am I?" Atobe's mouth set straight at the comment, the corners lifting with the tiniest of amusement that this man had the audacity to call him sexy-even if he was. "Or do you mean to say I'm sexy when my mouth is shut. Is that how you like your men?" He stopped for a moment to reflect on the comment he'd made, wondering where exactly it had come from.
Oshitari smirked. "Au contraire, mon ami," he said in practiced French. "Je préfère mes hommes comme vous." Atobe should have no problem understanding a little basic French. Given his upbringing, Atobe could probably read classic novels like The Iliad in the original Greek. "It's not interesting unless there's a fight. People who are too easily seduced are no fun." He flicked a piece of hair from Atobe's face, and trailed the finger down Atobe's jaw line. Atobe's jaw was elegant, but still distinctly masculine.
"Oh, vraiment?" Atobe had understood perfectly. Even if he had missed the meaning of the words, Oshitari's actions made it quite clear what he'd said. It was a strange feeling to give in to the touch of another man, Atobe never had before, and even when he'd spent his time with women most of them had never dared to touch him so candidly.
His fingers were cold against his skin, but Atobe didn't mind. They felt nice and smooth and he was starting to think flirting with a man almost seemed more fun than with a woman, as all they did was giggle. Oshitari was brilliant and challenging - Atobe had discovered this much from the hour or so he'd spent with him so far. He let out a soft chuckle before speaking, changing the langue, wondering if Oshitari could keep up. "Was passiert, wenn ich sagte, ich lieber meine Männer wie du?"
Chuckling, Oshitari mentally applauded Atobe. As expected, he understood perfectly. "Oui, oui, cher Atobe. Je parle la vérité." When Atobe didn't threaten to break his finger for touching him this time, Oshitari smiled. Atobe had very nice skin, so smooth it almost felt porcelain, except that it was soft and silky to the touch.
"Ich wäre sehr glücklich," Oshitari replied. Though German did not flow from his tongue as easily as French did, he was still able to form some basic gutturals. Merely one of the upsides to having lived over a hundred years: there wasn't a lot that surprised him anymore.
Atobe smiled at the German, leaning into the finger that was still pressed to his jaw. "Zeigen Sie mir, wie glücklich Sie sind,” he challenged, once again in German, finding this whole situation and conversation more thrilling than he'd ever expected it could be. What a surprising man Oshitari turned out to be.
With a light laugh, Oshitari purred, dipping down so that Atobe could feel his every breath on his ear, "Ihr Wunsch ist mein Befehl." "Your wish is my command" in German didn't precisely have the same ring to it as it did in English, but the nature of the language made the words sound rougher around the edges and rawer, which was exactly what Oshitari wanted before he pressed his lips against Atobe's. Atobe, Oshitari thought as he leaned in closer, tilting his head to get a better angle for mouth exploration, had extremely soft lips, on which he could still taste the sweet tang of wine. As he wrapped an arm around Atobe's midsection, Oshitari also noted that Atobe had a narrow waist, almost feminine, but too rigid to be. He smirked into the kiss.
Atobe wasn't sure if it was the wine or just that he'd been so attracted to Oshitari's intellect that he didn't mind the feel of a man's lips over his. He did mind, however, the hand that went around his waist, holding him like he was some tarty prom date. He scowled, as steely eyes slipped closed, a hand reaching down to guide Oshitari's hand from his middle further down onto his hips. That was better.
Oshitari would find that Atobe was particular when it came to positioning and touches.
He tilted his head into the kiss, fighting to get the upper hand, to be the first to part his lips, tongue inviting the other's in for an exchange. A small noise rose in his throat as they continued to kiss, Atobe's fingers flexing in reaction to each move on a toned bicep until they parted. "How dare you." He glared into dark midnight eyes, saving face. Of course he only acted offended, a hand coming up to lightly slap Oshitari's cheek but settling against it to pull him in for another long kiss.
Oshitari was oddly amused by the way Atobe shifted his arm, not that it wasn't exactly in keeping with his anal retentive personality, always looking for control and perfection. Oshitari hummed gently against Atobe's mouth as he felt Atobe open his mouth for a deeper kiss, making certain that Atobe's tongue did not invade his mouth, much less go anywhere near his incisors. As their tongues met, swirling in a battle for dominance, almost, Oshitari mused that it was almost as if they were dancing. It would, of course, be something passionate but romantic, like the tango. The waltz would come in later when surroundings were more comfortable and familiar.
When they parted for breath, mostly for Atobe's sake, Oshitari should probably have expected the hand that met his face. It was most likely intended to save Atobe some pride, but it only served to further amuse Oshitari when Atobe met his lips again. After all, any slap of Atobe's felt only like a tap to him. He smiled as his hands began to wander down the length of Atobe's frame, much smaller compared to his own, but not any less lacking in terms of muscle tone. They both had lean but strong bodies.
"Can you still stand?" Oshitari asked in a teasing hush against Atobe's mouth, sweeping his tongue softly across full, red lips. The hand that wasn't exploring worked to loosen Atobe's tie. There was no need to be so prim and proper while they were practically devouring each other whole. Well, that held more meaning to Oshitari than it did for Atobe, especially when Atobe's scent - the sweet aroma of his blood in particular - was just that much stronger up close. There was a certain temptation to slither down a few more inches and sink his teeth into Atobe's neck to get a taste of the warm, tangy drink, more delicious and satisfying than the most exquisite red wine.
"Of course I can." Atobe spat between kisses. What did Oshitari take him for? Some wilting love sick sap? He was more than experienced with long kisses and unspeakable touching. Oshitari obviously knew nothing of his extremely active sex life. "Are you having trouble keeping up? Do you need me to slow down for you?" he challenged, making a move to nip at the tongue that swept over his lips.
He scowled when he felt a firm tug on his tie, hand coming up to cover Oshitari's as he gave him a warning look. "You're stretching the fiber." Not that he had much reason to fuss. Ties were replaceable, even if they were Hermes. "Honestly." His fingers shooed Oshitari's away so that he could undo the knot with ease, letting it hang loose across his shoulder and down his front.
Of course I can. Oshitari wondered if such cocksureness came from experience. "I'm keeping up just fine. Thank you for your concern," Oshitari replied smoothly, chuckling when Atobe bit the tip of his tongue. Atobe would make a natural vampire, one who wouldn't hesitate to bite - and possibly kill - for survival. "Do you do this often? Bring strangers into your home, and allow them to have their way with you?" Oshitari's voice was playful, but genuine curiosity lighted his eyes.
Oshitari looked down at Atobe, amusement tugging at his lips. He had never met a man who was so high-maintenance before, but Atobe's brand of anal-retentiveness was charming in its own respect. You’re stretching the fiber. Oshitari considered making a crude crack at Atobe’s words, but decided against it. "Are you going to insist that you do everything yourself?" Oshitari questioned drolly, a wicked twinkle in his eye, keeping his hands firm around Atobe's hips.