A/N: I have spent a long time writing and re-writing this new piece. It is going to have many more chapters to come (a few of which are already pre-written) so have no fear, the plot bunnies won't appear!
I apologize to those of you who feel awkward reading this story in present tense. I've done my best to try and make it work and I hope you enjoy it regardless of that fact.
Many thanks to Sparkle, Maz and Neo. If nothing else, you've all listened to me bitch about this story enough for a lifetime of "Shut up!"s. I love you and appreciate your support.
Thank you for reading and enjoy the first installment of The Magician!
Disclaimer: I don't own Digimon.
Warnings: This chapter depicts a brief description of foreplay/sex between two males. If you are not comfortable with that, or you are not allowed to be reading this you have been warned. Also, there is usage of profanity throughout this story.
Chapter 1: Misunderstandings
It is hard to live a life of prostitution and those who are forced into the profession never make it beyond one trick at a time, living on the streets as they do. They live tireless lives, hoping upon hope that whatever is out there greater than themselves will grant them a better life. They live in the agony of defeated dreams and ideals, only holding a smile on their faces for show and only waking each day to live for the night.
This is the story of one who exalts this position. Of a man who, despite his dirty profession manages to be the best and most sought after lover for hire in all of the city. And because of his talent and his tricks or whatever he uses to cast his clients into bliss—he is called the Magician.
But even The Magician can't see ahead in time and notice that his future is about to crash with someone else's. A client, no less. He is bound by the same laws of time as every other person and yet even when the time comes to decide, only the newcomer's past can make the decision real or fake.
"Yo, you gotta I.D. punk?" The muscled bouncer yells over the loud music at me. I quickly smile and flash my I.D. at him, hoping he accepts it which he should considering my age. After giving it a once over he nods curtly and removes the belt blocking my way into the club.
I always get I.D.ed, since my looks haven't aged with me, but I'm used to it. Most times I ignore the ugly mutts doin' the dirty work outdoors and this time is no different. I got business to attend to, whether or not some punk guard stresses over me. I don't really want to be here any way, which is a sentiment reinforced even more as soon as I hit the floor inside. I can feel the music thud into me and that weird feeling creeps into the pit of my stomach like it usually does around these places.
I don't like bars; they make me feel uncomfortable 'cause of the low-life gays hangin' around them all the time trying to hook up for the night. Not my crowd at all, even if I myself look the part to be a bar-hopper. Really I'm only here 'cause I gotta meet my date… Nothin' else is important and I gotta focus on my goal and simply ignore the regulars giving me up and downs.
I don't understand why everything romantic with these people has to start at a gay bar; but I guess most gays aren't comfortable enough with their sexuality to meet in public. Probably afraid they'll get maimed or shot or somethin'. I say fuck it if people stare. If I'm with someone I love hell yeah I'm going to kiss them, and I'll do it any damn where I please. That's my philosophy on the subject, however lame a subject it is. It's my business, what I do romantically, and nobody else gets a say in it. Even the bigots keep there mouths shut after I show them what a real pussy faggot can do to their face.
I'm just one of those gays who doesn't put all the 'whys' into my romantic life. Why bother? Not like it's a big deal, whether I like dick or pussy. I just don't get what the big fucking problem is? I love someone, I date them, and I have sex with them. Relationships are what they are, and all the politics of it make my head spin.
I can't for the life of me understand why anybody wants to sit around and discuss the ins and outs of gay men, so to speak. In my opinion, if they want to make a big moral deal out of it, doesn't that mean they're interested? And correct me if I'm wrong here, but why the hell would something someone hates interest them? I got better things do to than analyze it all really, but if someone else isn't comfortable with my views, it's ok. They gotta right to be comfortable and have their own romantic stuff their own way. I respect other people's business unless they cross over with mine… then a few heads gotta roll to put things back in order.
I pull my black leather jacket closer to me as chills from the fast-paced techno music run down my spine. Every damn time I come in one of these joints they're always playing the bump n' grind techno shit. I can see where the bigots get their stereo types from when all the gays in the big cities do is mass together like they got nothing else to hold on to. It doesn't matter, though. I'm here now and at least I'm welcome. All the eyes I'm getting from people are plenty reassuring of that.
I shove my way through the sweaty masses, avoiding any talk I can. I don't regular this joint and I don't wanna make any unnecessary contacts, if you know what I mean. So I direct my undivided attention to finding my date.
All the guy said was to meet him in the lounge for some drinks and a chat. See, I love to chat; and a lounge?—that sounds classy. I could use a date after a long work week, so I make my way up to the bar and flag down the barkeep, who's just sitting there reading a gay porno like it's a novel. I've personally never heard of 'Firemen: Down the Poll' hitting the New York Times bestsellers list, but I guess it doesn't matter.
He notices me and glides over with those same hungry eyes and smirks at me like he owns the place, so totally happy with himself.
"What'll it be tonight, sexy?" Short and sweet. Not bad. But I got other business to attend to, so I politely decline the drink and get to the point.
"I'm lookin' for the lounge; I'm meeting somebody. The guy says he's got me on the list?" The barkeep smiles knowingly. What's with the guy? He's blushing as if I said something perverted. I didn't hear anything perverted come outta my mouth? He shakes his head loose and pulls out a clip board from no where.
"I see. So what's your name, sugar?" My face crinkles slightly. Sugar? How sweet. But I ain't into the girly pet names and I got things to get to, so hopefully his next sentence will tell me something I haven't heard from my mother…
"Taichi Yagami." He nods and attempts to read the list in the dim light of the bar. Finally after some scanning he hits the jackpot and scribbles down on the paper, probably his signature.
"Ah yes, Taichi Yagami. Mr. Ishida has you at the top of his list tonight. Lucky boy. Here's this," He hands me a blue card with a number on it. "And the lounge is that way, through the blue hallway and up the stairs." He nods one more time, as if to reassure me of the directions. I smile at him and throw a goodbye over my shoulder as I go back to shoveling through the crowds.
Mr. Ishida, huh? When I met the guy, he introduced himself as Yamato. I guess Ishida's his surname or something. Anyway, it seems a little ridiculous doing all this, I mean damn if it isn't hard to meet people in these joints. I need a card and directions just to sip drinks with a new interest? He didn't make it out to be such a big deal when we met on the street.
I had the decency that day to bump into him and knock over his things on a subway ride. Being the talk-crazy guy I am I begun to chat with him, after apologizing a million times, of course. It was a nice little talk, almost suggestive if I didn't know any better. He was an easy guy to talk to and seemed very open and friendly about everything; very fluent and sincere. I felt an attraction to the beautiful blond after only a few sentences, with his smooth voice and charming smile grabbing my attention. It was strange to me that day… I'm not a very sentimental person, and damn of poetry and lovely landscapes aren't the farthest things from my mind. But when I saw him, and don't laugh! I was captured in those damn eyes of his. He had the softest blue eyes, with a glow in 'em only comparable to the ocean. Yeah, that's the best I can come up with. Actually, everything about him was beautiful. From his clothes, to his hair and his pale, clear skin. I like men, yeah, but I don't ever love men that quickly. Most guys, you gotta get into their personalities first before an attraction comes. But this one was different. He grabbed me quicker than I could splutter out random apologies. It was definitely embarrassing to be staring at someone (blushing), trying to apologize, and trying to pick up their things all in one action.
I ended up dropping most of it a few more times before actually succeeding. I guess he didn't mind, 'cause when I started talking more he got quiet and listened like I'd never known anyone to do. After that, we talked about five more minutes tops before the subway train slowed to his stop. Then, to my surprise, he quickly scrawled down his information and asked me to meet him at a club, all the details written on the piece of paper. I agreed when he got off the train just in time for the doors to close behind him. When the train started up again I looked at the strip of paper in my hand. It said on it: 'Max's Place. Thursday. Meet me at the lounge. 333-2425. Don't call.' I didn't understand why he added his number to the note if he didn't want me to call, but I figured it was just a courtesy—or a spur of the moment kinda thing. I was just glad then that I gave him my name. He couldn't put me on the club list if I hadn't blurted it out earlier on in the conversation.
It's all blurry in my memory now, even how he knew I was gay without me sayin' a word. But all that really matters is the here and now I suppose, not how I got here. Nothing that unusual and great ever happens to me, so it must be a sign from the stars to go along with it... Yeah. The stars. Sure.
Thinking back on it, who would deny a date with someone that gorgeous? I probably just got lucky and said the right things, enough so to get a guy like him to ask out a guy like me. Not to say that I'm ugly or anything, 'cause for all the time I spend in front of the mirror, I'm pretty damn sure I'm not. But any human compared to him… wow. You can't compare humans to him. And it's that fact that makes all the indecency of going to a club worth it.
Now, as I walk down the aptly named 'blue hallway' the weird feeling in the pit of my stomach grows like a volcano erupting. I'm completely freaked by the sudden rush of the situation and the awkward surroundings thrown at me. I don't know this guy really at all, 'cept his name and I definitely don't know anything about him. And as I look at the random bouts of sex going on around me with men whoring and others taking the bait, I wonder what I'm getting myself into. I mean, come one, people having sex in a hallway that's supposed to lead me to an innocent date? It makes no sense.
I reach the stairs that are lit by a gloomy blue light and see a sign over them stating in bold blue letters: 'The Lounge'. How quaint. I sigh and pull my jacket even closer to my shivering body. I hope he's there so I don't embarrass myself or say the wrong thing at the wrong time, considering my talent for speaking is what got me here in the first place. Hopefully my brain is jumping to vast conclusions, but everything I've learned on the streets growing up tells me otherwise; especially that I should be careful. Every part of my body feels on edge now, as if the door looming above the stairs is the gateway to hell and suffering. Of course I can't help but chalk it up to my nerves acting up, but it still creates a lot of tension in my body just looking at what's in front of me.
As I did when entering the club, I go against my gut feeling and take the stairs two at a time, reaching the landing in seconds. By this point my confidence is wavering, but my pride won't let me back down from a chance, any chance with him. I gotta to remind myself, I'm now in my twenties, not a kid anymore. There won't be many more opportunities like this and knowing my personality and how great it works at pushing potentials away, I gotta take advantage of the ones I get. So I let out my breath and roll my eyes a few times before pushing open the metal door, not even attempting to predict what lies behind it.
Immediately as I enter the warm, scented room I see another large man in my way, a huge bouncer with an equally shiny bald head like the guy at the front of the joint. Do they breed these chumps or something? He asks me, of course, for my I.D. and entrance card. I flip out my I.D. and then hand him the blue numbered card given to me by the barkeep, both meeting his approval without any hitches. He steps out of my way, letting me view the rest of the dim room.
It's definitely not what I expected it to be; at least most of it.
Immediately I notice it looks like a lounge should in my mind. There's the soft glow of blue lights decorating plush couches and chairs. To the left is a large, clear window looking out on the sea of bodies dancing below, covering the whole wall.
But the room is very sensual—too sensual. It plays to all five of my senses as if it was decorated specifically to make me comfortable and speechless. Even the air tastes sweet and heavy—like sex. It's a bit more than I hoped it would be… It feels altogether too over-attractive and suggestive, which adds to my suspicion that I'm in way over my head.
Beyond the couches and euphoric display is a hallway leading to god knows where else. Maybe I'll find out? But considering the sexual glow of the place, and my nerves punching me for thinking about it, I know I shouldn't.
As I take a step into the room, breathing in my surroundings, another person enters from the hallway, completely silent and graceful in his movements. My face heats up when I recognize him as the man from the train ride, looking a lot less innocence and reserved as he had that day. In fact, if my brain isn't still somewhat alive, this would be a totally different person now, down to every last strand of clothing clinging to his thin frame.
He's wearing black leather pants that fit his every curve sickeningly well. His shirt is almost nonexistent, being only a black fitted mesh top, clinging equally as well to his form as if it was tailored to his body by a pro. All of his toned muscles and flawless skin are displayed without constraints, all the way down to his bare feet padding across the carpet.
He locks eyes with me with a sexy smirk in place. He's reading my mind now; I can feel it, as if he's inside my body and seeing my veins pumping at three times the rate. In fact, everything about him screams confidence and knowing, to an almost scary and inhuman extent. My surprised expression doesn't faze him one bit as he saunters up to me like a cat on the prowl and whispers a chaste hello reaching me, only inches from my chest. What the hell am I getting myself into? I was thinking drinks and a chat, but it looks like he's got other things on his mind for our "date".
It hits me now like a smack to the face, so obvious and conspicuous. He wants me—for sex. Nothing else is being implied right now other than pure passion and pleasure. Nothing. And I should've know as soon as I walked down that hallway and I should've never gotten my hopes up. I mean come on! There were guys everywhere! Humping each others brains out! And the worst part is, I had the fucking nerve to think he wouldn't be like that too. Like maybe if I opened the door at the right moment I would walk into a French restaurant and sip red wine with the guy. Of course this is what he wants! A club isn't a place to meet for a date; it's a place to hook up for a good time.
All of the sudden I'm more than uncomfortable, everything feeling like it's moving too quickly. I'm dying to say something, anything to get me outta here and back home, in my own territory. I don't feel in control as he gets right up next to me, and all my normal functions are failing. My brain is moving faster than it's supposed to and my motor skills are shot. For the moment, he owns me. What a trap… And in some sick little way, he knows it; as if this was his plan all along, to get me caught up in his web, lost in some lounge in some club with him an extremely sex-ready room.
Was this my plan? Did I have this in the back of my mind when I agreed to meet him at the bar? Or did he just assume I was looking for sex, just because I answered yes? I can't help but feel guilty and responsible for the situation I'm now in. I created this mess and I'm now paying for it. So why can't I get the hell outta here? I just… can't tear myself away from his—drug. He's like a hallucinogenic right now, pulling me into him so easily like candy for my toddler brain.
I don't know anything but his breath hitting me, so hot and heavy like the perfume in the room, filling my lungs to the brim. His even puffs of air hit the side of my cheek as he leans in closer, brushing his chest against my jacket lightly. It's way too sexy and appealing, making me want to hurl and moan at the same time—I can't decide. I just can't make a decision; he's on me too quickly. His soft, bedroom eyes are making my head swim and I'm losing any energy to resist. His voice suddenly rings out, singing from his lips that are now resting against my ear as he breathes in a low, siren-like voice.
"…Speechless?" He completely has me now.
That combustible word sends such shivers down my spine that not only do my feet freeze, but my brain shuts off too, leaving all control of my body to my animal instincts. Instincts that are telling me I'm turned on beyond belief—all in the few seconds it took for him to reach me. After only just registering he's in the room, I'm wrapped around his finger, not even having a chance to say hello or splutter out anything.
He has me now right where he wants me and expertly takes advantage of my—altered state. His fingers drag across my cheek and pull back, pointing to where I should follow. He backs away gracefully and starts down the hallway I had questioned earlier. It's apparent now where the hallway leads to. As if I didn't know before. Yeah. Right.
My feet seem to work against me now, pulling me along behind him, like I'm on an invisible leash that he's holding. It's too blatantly erotic to not be real.
The heavy scent becomes deeper, choking into my lungs and adding weight to my light body as I get closer to the new room. When I reach the opening of the door, my eyes have to adjust to the darkness of the bedroom. The room is lit by a lone red, shaded lamp giving off an almost nonexistent glow. The walls are a crimson red color and are lined with beautiful, sexually focused paintings and art pieces and in the middle of the room is a custom crafted king-size bed, hidden by a burgundy canopy.
The first thing I see on the bed is Yamato, still staring at me with those lusting eyes, holding the leash still tight. He's lying suggestively, knowing all too well by now that I want him badly. So much for not embarrassing my ego.
Still, something in the back of my drugged mind is telling me this is wrong, a voice that used to be louder, before opened that cold metal door… Damnit. The voice is slowly ruining the moment, screaming that I should turn and leave now; that I should just go home and not give in to my enormous sex drive that has taken apparent control over my body. It must've been a long week, 'cause the voice is clouded and distant even as it screams at my tired hungry and ultimately horny mind.
This is moving so damn quickly! One minute, I am in control and walking through a dancing crowd, totally calm and collected. The next, I'm immobile and stuck to the floor like glue, in total shock and disbelief and in a bedroom—no, a lair with a sex god. Am I really about to go down this road again? This seems so familiar to every other encounter I've been stupid enough to have. But this is different than then! This is so intense and swift, unlike any other attraction I've felt before. Everything about what he's doing is so entrancing, as if he's casting a spell on me, or hypnotizing me, something.
He chuckles lightly, leaning up from the bed and capturing me in a kiss all in one fluent motion. My shock keeps rising as his mouth is suddenly upon mine; soft, delicate lips touching me. He tastes so damn good it's unbelievable and my heart is working so fast it seems to be going slow, like a speed unattained by any human before. It's amazing and overwhelming to every extent because for some reason his kiss makes me feel close to him, like I want to tell him all my darkest secrets. I don't even comprehend what I'm doing at the moment and for some reason I already wish he'll be mine. This is bad.
I hate fairytales especially because they always end where I think real people begin, but for whatever reason, his lips remind me of a fairytale ending… Maybe this is the beginning? Should I be afraid of anything being this good this quickly? Maybe it will only get worse from here on out, and this is the best and closest we can get. But if it is, I might just be content…
I react automatically when his lips touch mine and my hand moves behind his head, deepening the kiss excitedly. If I'm going to give in to him, I might as well go all the way now that I'm here. I'm a damn good lover, and he's going to know that for sure even if he doesn't learn anything else about me tonight.
I push down the last of my regrets as I kiss him for the first time, forgetting everything for the moment. He moans in response in a perfect key, so melodic and continually enticing. My ears have never heard such a sound released from anyone before and it only pulls me farther into the kiss. What horribly romantic kiss, I'm appalled. I hate romance like this! Well, nothing's like this or even remotely as completing. The best thing to do: stop thinking and just do 'cause that's what I'm best at. But I swear, he knows every sensitive inch of my mouth instantly like I have a map written for his tongue to follow.
His teeth pull back swiftly mid-kiss, taking my bottom lip with them. I moan without thinking as he lets go and leans back in for another, deeper kiss. I could be satisfied by just this, which is saying a lot considering my love for other parts of the male body, and if a simple make-out session does this much for me I can only imagine what else I'll get to enjoy tonight.
His eyes are still trained on mine as our mouths tangle together and swiftly again he grabs me and pulls me down on top of him, eyes still staring at me. My body presses flush against his and he takes advantage of the fall to pull off his meshed top, revealing even more perfectly toned muscles underneath.
His hands run underneath my shirt, pushing out and lifting up my jacket and tee over my head as quickly as he pulled off his own shirt. I fall back now on his upper body and he places chaste kisses across my jaw line, occasionally dragging his tongue along behind them until he reaches the crook of my neck. He then licks and nips at the sensitive flesh, producing another long moan from me. I feel his mouth smirk against my skin before he bites down harder on the soft spot making me cry out again... I've never known a bite to be something pleasurable. It's amazing and making me feel totally useless, like I'm not supposed to be as good as him. I'll show him I can be every bit as good...
I'm always in control so this is weird to me. I hate it almost as much as I love it. And in immediate desperation to regain control, I go way ahead of myself and rip down his leather pants, revealing nothing else underneath. He breaks off and stares shocked at me for the sudden change in pace. Stupidly I go ahead without a seconds thought I bend my head down and take his full length in my mouth, which is probably the stupidest thing to do at the moment. He throws back his head and moans louder, continuing to work across any piece of flesh I give him with the same expertise.
It seems like he'll let me do anything I want! The sex is great, but it feels unattached, as if he is just doing his duty or something. Well, of course he is! What am I thinking? He doesn't love me; he's just looking for a piece of ass—or at least he's thinking that's all I want.
It's making me feel very insecure and used and that little voice in the back of my head gains more force now, yelling at me for being so stupid, letting him take control like he did. What am I doing? I have the hard cock of some guy I barely know shoved down my throat and I'm in some strange room in a club! Where's my dignity? Where'd all my pride and self esteem go? Am I really this fucking easy? Why the hell am I doing this!
The heat of the moment leaves just as quickly as it came, and my face flushes a deeper, more embarrassed red than it ever has before. The spell he cast leaks from my system and I feel like I want to vomit. Pushing away from the man I had misjudged, I grab my jacket and begin leaving the room, totally caught up in the moment. His face scrunches up in confusion, obviously wondering why I stopped.
As I'm leaving the room he jumps from the bed, grabbing my wrist. "What's hell's wrong!" He yells at me. "Don't you want me? I thought this is what you wanted!" I turn back, pleading him with my eyes to understand what I'm feeling. He just stares at me, his ocean eyes turning to ice, so unfeeling and cold. I've messed everything up by now, I know. But all I want to do is get out of there to somewhere where I'm safe again and in control.
When I don't answer he continues to spit at me, like a totally different person. "Don't you know who I am! Don't you get it! No one ever refuses me! What's your fucking problem!" His once sweet voice is now poisonous and I feel no remorse when I glare at him, give him the finger and run out of the Lounge and the club as fast as I can.
What a bastard! I have no clue who he is—am I supposed to? And he yells at me? Whatever, it doesn't matter who the asshole thinks he is; he's nothing to me and I need to forget him—now.
Knowing my nature, though, I doubt I can so easily. Everything went too fast, from start to finish and I'm totally confused. I hate to admit it, but I'm pretty sure all of what just happened is my fault. Knowing my past, I won't be surprised if it is… After all, history does repeat itself…
I feel sick and disgusting as I enter my one room apartment, tired from jogging all the way back from the bus stop. My body, inside and out, feels dirty and used, subject to the different scents lingering in 'The Lounge'. Even when I step into the shower to rid myself of the stench of incense and sex, I still feel unclean. What the hell was I thinking? Why didn't that voice in my head say it louder? I'm a dumbass. I'm headstrong, yes, but I'm not stupid. My instincts are very fine-tuned and I know damn well when I'm in danger, or doing something stupid. And right now I feel violated, as if he took me that far without permission or question. I know it's not true, considering I consented very willingly, but still, the whole situation left me lower than I've been in a long time. And I didn't even fuck the guy!
Before I entered the club I was at a steady point in my life, having gotten over past losses and problems, and was starting out fresh and renewed. And then that experience alone completely trashed all I had rebuilt... God, I can't believe how easily a prick like him got to me! Am I gonna have to be even more of an asshole to get rid of trouble from now on? I'm just… sick of trying to be who I'm not. And who am I? Someone who's emotions can be twisted around easily by anyone who takes the time to do it? I'm twenty-two fucking years old, I should be over this melodrama bullshit! But tonight I repeated myself, like every history teacher I've ever had's told me not to do.
How do I always manage to get myself into shitty situations? Horrible things happen to me all the time and when things get to me—they really cut in deep. The worst part is I always see them coming. I can see each and every hit come right at me, but I always make stupid, optimistic choices that land me flat on my back and punched out of another round. How many more rounds of this can I take? The last time something happened as a result of my stupidity, I didn't leave my apartment for a good month. That was the lowest low I had ever felt. I was new to the city and didn't have any friends or family to lean on, so I just sat around each day contemplating my life and working my ass off to pay the rent. I wouldn't even be in this damn city if my last boyfriend hadn't insisted we move here! That was an easy decision for him to make, considering his lover lived right next to us. But hey, it made the commute for cheating on me shorter, so kudos to this city, right? God I should hit myself for never seeing this shit coming. I can only ever see what's in front of me, like a squirrel not noticing he's about to get hit by a car because, oh look, an acorn!
This is horrible. I'm going down again and I have to stop it. I need to cut it out, and stay away from things that cause me pain. Most importantly, I need to stay in control. I need to forget that bar and that man like the plague, then I'll be fine. Somehow I'll do it. I'll work against my natural proficiency at being a dumbass and forget I ever knew Yamato Ishida. Anyone who uses me like he did doesn't deserve a second chance.
Unfortunately, I know I'm lame enough to give it to him…
I hope you enjoyed the first chapter! I always leave off on either an interesting note or a cliffhanger so get used to it, haha. Please leave a review for me so my constant e-mail checking syndrome (CECS) won't be for nothing! Oh, and flames are not welcome. However constructive criticism is always appreciated and if I can improve on later chapters before I post them, then that's great! See you soon