goro laughs as he draws neat lines on akira's thighs, watches the blood bubble and spill. interesting prey, this one. he'll be even more fun when he wakes up again.

goro fucks the wound on kurusu's right arm with the knife, pulling back slow and thrusting deep, and kurusu jolts forward, screams himself hoarse, passes out, eyes rolling into the back of his head. his bladder loosens again in his unconsciousness; goro cums from the sudden surge of warmth.

"don't cry," goro whispers with a grin, taking kurusu inch by wonderful inch, chiding him like an unruly pet. he sinks into the other man's lap fully, bending to lap a bead of blood off his arm; kurusu whimpers. it's not enough. goro wants to destroy him.

does kurusu cry during sex? does he look beautiful covered in his own piss and blood, terrified out of his mind? yes, goro decides, working the man up to full hardness as he pleads and begs and prays, leaking pre against his will, he looks stunning, a man in his prime.

his crotch is warm and wet, and he can hear the dripping on the tile floor beneath him, the smell of ammonia nearly masking the sharp taste of iron on the back of his tongue. he succumbs to insensate trembling, numb when a leather-clad palm pulls out his wet cock and fondles it like a plaything.

a knife slides neatly through the muscle in his left forearm. akira screams through the gag, body curling and arching away from the pain. inadvertently, the knife pulls, stabs and twists with that movement in his right arm as well; the resulting near-seizure from shock leaves him limp and sobbing.

he's high up somewhere. the last thing he remembers is going out to dinner with his coworkers - meeting that man named akechi from another company - handsome face, cordial, leather gloves - business cards, gold leaf on black, pouring him a drink - christ, his head fucking hurts, spins -