Read this now: Pre TDP. Meaning, takes place before the story "The Devil's Portrait" opens up. Though Misaki makes an appearance in this story, there is absolutely no Romantica. In fact, the two have not crossed paths yet. This is strictly Usami and Sumi, and one scene with Misaki. That's your warning. If you fail to heed it now, it's not my problem when you're upset later on.

Written for Risque Tendencies, who absolutely loves this pair.

The Devil's Misery

Glaring at the spoonful of steaming chowder against his pursed lips, Akihiko scowled. How fucking pitiful. The great Usami Akihiko, one of the most famous and popular designers- enduring something as ordinary as a cold. To heighten his misery, one of his workers had taken up the job in nursing him. Usami snorted and nudged the spoon away. He didn't need anyone's help; he could take care of all he needed by himself, but the young man was persistent.

A bit too persistent. Usami could swear the brat was using his rare illness as an opportunity to pester him.

"Is the soup too hot, Aki-chan?" Sumi purred, "I could always cool it off for you."

The designer glared. "How many times do I have to tell you not to call me that?!" He paused, a hacking cough rattling his lungs. "It's bad enough I have to spend the entire day with you."

"Now, now," he chided, "You shouldn't be acting like this when you're sick."

"How the hell am I supposed to act?!" the silver-haired snapped, "I can't get shit done with you constantly in my face!"

He raised a hand and knocked the bowl out of the younger man's hands, the china crashing to the floor. "And stop trying to feed me. I repeatedly told you I have no appetite and you keep trying to shove that shit down my throat."

"Aki-chan," Sumi tsked and scrambled to sweep up the broken china, "You should be resting, not downstairs trying to work." He dropped the fragments into a nearby trashcan and stood beside the designer who had taken residence on the plush red sofa. "How about I help you to bed instead?"

Akihiko scoffed. "No thank you. I'm content where I am right now. However, if you want to move to a different room, or city for that matter, be my guest."

When he obtained no smart-alecky response, the designer glanced up to notice the young man shuffling throughout his kitchen. What the hell? Was he about to shove more of that repulsive soup down his throat? Akihiko rolled his eyes and fumbled around the table for his usual carton, but even that appeared to be absent.

This brat was really trying to execute him.

"Sumi," he rumbled, "Where the hell are my cigarettes?"

A head of gray popped up from one of the cabinets. "I threw them away," was the nonchalant response. He ignored the various profanities echoing from the living area. "You shouldn't be smoking when you have a cold, Aki-chan. It'll only make it worse."

"Nothing," he growled and attempted to rest his head on one of the pillows, "can make me any sicker than having to deal with you."

As the penthouse returned to its usual quiescent atmosphere, Usami allowed his inflamed violets to slide closed. Christ, was his head throbbing. This nuisance of a cold had delayed his impending projects and granted him the misery of having Sumi Keiichi near him for an entire day.

Someone up there really adored him.

Akihiko nearly choked on the last of his musings when a pair of lips smashed down onto his own. His hands scrambled to chuck the younger of the two off his heaving torso, his lungs struggled to free themselves of the obstruction that had become lodged in them. A white pill, along with a coating of his saliva propelled from its captivity and was sent spiraling to the floor.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?!" he roared, "You almost killed me!"

"I was only trying to give you medicine, Aki-chan," the young man spoke ever so sweetly, "You're rather stubborn in taking anything, so I thought this would be the best way."

Usami roughly wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "For that stupid decision, and nearly trying to kill me, I hope you get sick next."

"I will share anything with you," he purred, "Especially any fluid that comes from you, Aki-chan."

Oh, yes. He was certain; someone up there absolutely treasured him.

Though extremely irked at the situation, he couldn't deny his inner, unrestrained carnality at the younger's response. Not when the circumstances were so grand. While the designer harbored no attachment to the brat other than sex, he wasn't one to neglect looking a gift horse in the mouth.

"Sumi?" he crooned, grinning when the young man jumped to attention, "You want to try to make me feel better, right?" He resisted the impulse of rolling his eyes at the illuminated expression and nudged his head toward the flourishing bulge within his slacks.

Keiichi's enthusiasm only amplified the designer's fervor. "Why, Aki-chan," he chuckled, "I thought you'd never ask!"

In almost an instant, the younger of the two was upon his knees, hands splayed against the elder's thighs, and nose tip nuzzling the vitalized, concealed bump. Latching his ivories to the metal snap, Sumi began to ever so leisurely free the designer's titillation.

Much too leisurely. "I don't need a show," Akihiko growled, "Get to the damn point."

His disapproval was curtailed when the younger's lips corked upon his crown, tongue laving the thick vein underneath. Sumi's spare hand seized what his mouth hadn't managed to, fingers trickling against the flesh before slowly creating a pumping routine. He hollowed his cheeks, producing a gratifying friction between his silky walls and the throbbing rod lodged against his throat.

The designer grunted, lolling his head back against the couch. His nimble fingers sought the gray locks, rubbing the disheveled tresses before using them to pull the younger man forward. The kid may have provoked him at times, but fuck, did he ever know how to use his lips and tongue when the time was appropriate.

Takahashi Misaki, age nineteen, could not breathe.

After numerous attempts of persuasion, his best friend, Toudou Shinnosuke, had managed to somehow drag him into some club where the women were scarcely robed. Wasn't that what all the cool college kids did during their free time? At least, that's what he had heard. If he wasn't mortified to know he wasn't of age and Toudou had bestowed him with a false ID, the silicone implants that his head was currently squished between had confirmed that.

"Misaki!" Toudou's voice reflected through the crowds. "Where are you?"

Disconnecting his squished cheeks and muttering a quick apology, he waved a hand to grasp his friend's attention. What the hell was he even doing here? He could have easily ignored Toudou's whining and rejected the invite.

Did the guy really think he'd find a girlfriend here?

"Not that I'm really interested in finding anyone anyway," Misaki muttered mostly to himself, "Besides, I don't think I could deal with my head squished like it just was."

As he collided with another busty female and was once more ensnared, the brunette froze at the unexpected musing that had seized him. It was the absolute strangest occurrence ever, but he couldn't help but wonder why he felt this was the first and only time he would experience anything of the female type.

For that matter, every guy within the room seemed to be walking around with the hard-on of the century, and he had barely flinched.

Perhaps he was just embarrassed.

Yeah, that had to have been it; after all, what else could it be?


"Oh, shit…" he muttered, "It can't be! I… I'm…"

He glanced down at his slumbering mini and frowned. "I'm broken! What did I do to cause harm to myself?" He rushed through the crowds to locate his friend. "Toudou! I need to leave! There's something wrong with me!"

Raking his fingertips across the silver-haired's toned abs, Sumi's spare hand continued to fist the wad of sheets as he attempted to maintain the correct pace. He glanced down to remark the simmering violet orbs staring up at him, the nonchalant expression gracing the designer's pale semblance. Lips parted, the younger of the two gasped when his small bundle was jostled once more.

"A-Aki-chan," he gasped, "Wouldn't it be easier if-"

His sentence was rudely curtailed. "If you think just because I'm ill, that I plan to bottom, you're out of your fucking mind."

Sumi merely grinned. "I was only thinking about your condition."

"I'm sure that's all you were thinking of," was the clipped response.

Conversation abandoned, the designer grunted when the younger lifted his hips to ground back onto his engorgement. A vague outline loomed over him, and then he was staring into the impassioned hazelnuts, the usual glasses absent. Keiichi's lips hovered over his, and with only a bit of reluctance, Usami sealed the gap between them. Tongues battling for dominance, Sumi grasped the advantage and pinned the elder's wandering muscle.

The younger of the two was the first to disconnect, his lips lingering over the ear below. His tongue flicked at the droplets of sweat before coasting its way down the heated rim.

"Sensei," he purred, slight groan trailing behind, "You have no idea what you do to me. Rubbing up against me in every way possible." He rotated his hips, relishing in the groan he received. "You feel so good, Aki-chan."

"Shut up," was the strained response, the designer's fervor amplifying due to the filth that gushed from the younger's lips.

Sumi's hand slipped between them to appease the building pressure; he had prolonged his release long enough. His eyes widened when a hand that was not his own nudged his aside to complete the task for him. The younger moaned, hands pressing into the mattress to increase speed as the designer began to pump his leaking rod.

"Mmmmm, Aki-chan!" he panted, struggling to join their lips once more, "C-come closer to me."

Elevating his position, Usami's lips once more collided with his. A muffled groan resounded between them as Keiichi's silky walls began to clamp down upon him. The hand between them pumped almost frantically now, the designer's hips piloting into the spot that he knew would send the younger into ecstasy.

With a final shout of the other's name, Sumi's cock twitched and spurted jets of his essence upon the designer's stomach. Shortly after, Akihiko followed suit, emptying all he harbored into the younger of the two and allowing him to milk him dry.

Collapsing onto the stomach beneath, Keiichi ignored the sticky pile and remained in position. That was, until the elder moved enough to knock him off. He frowned when Usami gathered a tissue and wiped the fluid from his still heaving stomach.

"Now get out," he grumbled and reached for the blanket, "I want to sleep this damn cold off, and that won't happen with you in here to annoy me."

The younger gathered his clothes, but paused at the door to study the now motionless lump within the sheets. A grin crossed his lips as he waited… and waited.

Until soft breathing emerged from the covers.

Tiptoeing across the room, he slid into the vacant area of the bed, inching his body close to the slumbering form. With another grin, he slowly wrapped his arms around the elder and rested his chin upon his shoulder.

"Admit it, Aki-chan," he whispered in the other's ear, "You only pulled that act because you knew I'd be back in here to bask with you in the afterglow."

Akihiko merely grunted in response, but made no move to remove the younger's presence.

"I knew it," Sumi whispered in return and then allowed his own eyes to seal upon the curtains of phantasm.


End notes: The actual TDP's next chapter will be published soon. There is still one more story I wish to update before that one. Feel free to strangle the author for making you wait for so long after such a bad cliffhanger.

For the Romanticas who actually read this, I'm impressed. To show my appreciation for that, I have posted a scene from a (very) future chapter of the real TDP on tumblr. The link to the blog is on my profile.

Til' next time.