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Katagawa—the only Katagawa worth mentioning now, not Junior, not eleven other siblings wrestling for the family name, and even Naoko is a soon-to-be-dead memory—sprawls back in the opulence of his king-sized bed, curling his toes against the silk sheets. The entire pleasure yacht has been designed for hedonistic excess, from the mirrored privacy glass wrapping the walls to the crystal decanters that enshrine the top-shelf liquors of several galaxies in his bedroom minibar. Katagawa has only the best, because he deserves the best.
And he knows he deserves Rhys.
Katagawa snaps his fingers, waking a Pleasure Sphere from hibernation mode. It vibrates gently, emanating pink mood lighting as it dispenses lube into his outstretched palm. Katagawa closes his eyes and slips his hand beneath the sheets, falling into a familiar fantasy.
It’s an old favorite, this one. It features Rhys on his back, wrists flat against the pillow, framing his head as he spreads his knees for Katagawa. Rhys has always been flustered, every time they’ve met—and Katagawa can imagine that same pink flush, that adorable repression in other contexts. He pictures Rhys gulping down excitement, mouth trembling as he finally gives into what he truly wants—when Rhys finally moans for Katagawa to fuck him, please fuck him—
No, no. Katagawa stops himself, groaning as he lets go of his cock. The fantasy’s best with anticipation, not just rushing to the final scene.
Mentally, Katagawa rewinds.
Rhys will accept the merger, of course. He’ll lose control of Atlas, sure, but he’ll be making so much money that he won’t have any idea how to spend it. Little does he know that Katagawa’s already planned the perfect date; Katagawa will first take Rhys out for his favorite frogurt, served in a crystal goblet with a golden spoon. And how delighted, how shocked Rhys will be, to know that Katagawa has already picked out Rhys’ favorite flavor! Chocolate dill pickle, because Katagawa cares about Rhys, and of course Katagawa’s taken the time to datamine his best friend’s favorite frogurt!
Then they’ll hold hands at Lazy River Land, sharing waxy, indirect chapstick kisses as they pass a cup of frozen lemonade. Rhys loves cherry chapstick, and Katagawa bets that Rhys won’t change that, even with all the money to be made after the merger. All that money and Rhys will still pick nostalgia, every time. Because Rhys is loyal. Katagawa just knows it. Rhys is loyal to his favorite shops, his favorite theme parks, and he’ll be oh so loyal to his new favorite CEO. Katagawa won’t go in for the real kiss, not yet, just be satisfied with tasting the remnants of Rhys’ chapstick on their shared straw. He will be satisfied watching the way that Rhys hollows his cheeks while slurping his drink. Katagawa will fill all the rides with champagne instead of water, just as a treat, and Rhys will laugh and sip at the effervescent spray…
Katagawa’s lube-slick finger slides under his shaft, and he thinks of Rhys’ soft pink tongue, the warm shine of Rhys’ cocoa-colored eye. Katagawa likes Rhys’ eyes, likes the contrast between the blue ECHO implant that’s all business, just like Katagawa’s, and the brown organic eye that still shows just how soft Rhys truly is. Oh, so soft.
Back in the fantasy, Katagawa thinks about how Rhys will confess his feelings. They’ll both be tipsy after the champagne rides, just enough for Rhys to lower his inhibitions, but not so much that Katagawa will feel lazy in taking advantage. Rhys will confess—he’s always wanted someone powerful to love him, to accept him just the way he is. Katagawa has read Rhys’ old files with Hyperion, so Katagawa already knows how he’ll nod and hug Rhys sympathetically at all the right moments. So sad, really. Despite Rhys’ obsession, Handsome Jack never appreciated what a good boy Rhys is, but Katagawa knows better. Oh yes. Katagawa knows what it means to be overlooked, to be the underdog. To have no one love you. To have to make them love you.
Or destroy them.
No, no, Rhys won’t ever have to see that part of Katagawa, because the only thing Katagawa wants to destroy is Rhys’ beautiful ass.
Katagawa curls his fingers around his cock, and starts stroking himself with a slow, gentle rhythm. He will invite Rhys aboard the Zanara, and they’ll frolic in the zero-grav pool before retiring to the master suite for more drinks. Rhys will be radiant with joy, still sun-flushed and fragrant with coconut sunblock, going ooh and ah over the spill of stars visible through the cabin’s wraparound windows. Katagawa will offer Rhys a sip of scotch, except Rhys will sputter on it, so they’ll laugh over that and Katagawa will mix him something sweet and fruity instead. Rhys will swallow with rapid gulps, building up his liquid courage, while Katagawa takes his scotch in neat sips over a perfectly-cut sphere of ice. Katagawa will roll the ice at the bottom of his glass, pulling it into his mouth just as Rhys finally gives in, begging…
This is the part that changes, depending on Katagawa’s mood. Everything prior has the polished gleam of long fantasy, endless repetition having smoothed out every detail. Everything after is still lined with the raw edges of desire.
Some nights, Katagawa imagines that Rhys will be begging to suck Katagawa’s cock, that Rhys will be so squirmy and eager to please that Rhys just falls to his knees and reaches for Katagawa’s belt. Katagawa will stop him with a raised eyebrow, and poor Rhys will blush with embarrassment as Katagawa undresses them both—slowly, carefully, because Rhys is a delicate package that deserves gentle handling—and then leads Rhys to the bed, where they will be more comfortable. They’ll curl up side by side, facing each other so that Katagawa’s golden ECHO implant mirrors Rhys’ blue one. As if their modifications were made to match, just like them. Katagawa assumes that Rhys will prefer to use his organic hand to touch; despite the advances with haptic feedback and chemoreceptors, prosthetics just don’t have the same level of sensitivity as skin. So Rhys’ mechanical arm will rest between them, and Katagawa will kiss every metal joint, one by one, as Rhys traces his organic knuckles along the curve of Katagawa’s shoulder and into the dip of Katagawa’s bicep. It will be slow, sensual, discovering the sweet spots that make each other moan…
Other nights, Katagawa permits Rhys to suck his cock. Katagawa will sit on the edge of his barstool with the warm, peppery notes of scotch still lingering in his mouth as Rhys fumbles his way into Katagawa’s pants. Despite the Hyperion sex parties, Katagawa can’t imagine Rhys with much experience; he found only two entry logs for Rhys visiting the orgy rooms, and both lasted less than ten minutes. There are also a few scattered ECHOnet photos from Rhys’ past dates, but Katagawa prefers to omit them from his memory. His Rhys is virginal, but enthusiastic. Katagawa thinks about how Rhys’ elbows will dig into his thighs when Rhys wraps his mouth around Katagawa’s cock for a messy suck, falling forward and gagging as the cock hits the back of his throat. Rhys will choke, eyes brimming with tears as he recovers, but Katagawa will run his fingers through Rhys’ hair, petting Rhys, murmuring what a good boy he is, so good. Rhys will be soothed, gentled, and start sucking Katagawa again, with shallow, slurping bobs of his head…
And on other nights? Katagawa yanks Rhys’ tie from his belt and drags Rhys to the bed, pushing him down and straddling those slim hips. Katagawa will rip Rhys’ suit off—hell, cut it off, pull out his stiletto letter opener and leave Rhys’ charmingly tacky suit in tatters—and start proving that Rhys doesn’t have to beg, because Katagawa wants him too. Katagawa will bite circles over Rhys’ tattoos, mouth still cold from the ice as he claims territory down Rhys’ neck and chest. He’ll use his weight to pin Rhys’ desperate squirming in place, making sure to bite harder. Katagawa wants Rhys to bear his marks, deeper than skin, deeper than ink. Rhys will whimper his acceptance, bruised and bitten and utterly beautiful...
Eventually, all of these fantasies wind up in the same place.
Rhys, on his back. Naked. Glorious. Mouth wet with desire, throat lined with hickies, his hair tousled in a thousand fly-away directions, and begging. Begging. For Katagawa to fuck his ass.
Katagawa tightens his grip, groaning as he thrusts into the tight circle of his hand. Yes, like that. The begging’s the most important part, because Rhys wants him, every time. Wants him, Katagawa, to be the one to fuck his ass and shatter his world.
Katagawa will be a gentleman. He’ll offer to wear a condom—but Rhys will moan no, no.
“‘Please, I want you in me. I want to feel every inch of you. I want to carry you inside me…’”
Katagawa whispers Rhys’ lines out loud, because oh but fuck just hearing that aloud is like carrying a wish into the world, planting that tiny seed of possibility.
And because Rhys wants him—because Rhys wants him so bad that Katagawa bites his own lip in the real world. Katagawa’s hands shake as he imagines Rhys’ mouth hot against his neck, Rhys’ pleas crowding the small spaces between their skins.
Katagawa doesn’t get the time to finger Rhys gently, to stretch Rhys out and prepare him for fucking, because Rhys just wraps his legs around Katagawa’s hips, heels pressing Katagawa’s ass as Rhys welcomes him in with a wet squeeze.
Katagawa pauses, savoring that moment of the fantasy. Like a perfect screenshot, captured on the video of imagination.
Then he picks up speed, a loose grip that ends with his wrist slapping his hip as he masturbates. He bets Rhys will be tight, so tight that Rhys’ll clamp right up after forcing himself to take Katagawa’s cock—because maybe Rhys got bent over a desk by a Hyperion executive or two, and maybe Rhys is even fucking that assassin with the faceplate, but Rhys will expect it to hurt. Poor Rhys probably never got any kind of loving that didn’t involve a bit of hurt. Rhys might even cry a little, like one of those glittery-eyed boys from hentai, but…
Rhys never got fucked by Katagawa before.
Katagawa will go slow, so fucking slow for him. Katagawa will kiss Rhys on the mouth, on the neck. Katagawa will breathe out next to Rhys’ ear, nice and slow. Katagawa will whisper, “Take your time, baby. Take your time.”
And Katagawa won’t start fucking him until Rhys is ready, until Rhys is begging, again, for Katagawa to fuck him into the mattress, to pound him into oblivion.
Katagawa will fuck him so, so good. He wants to jackhammer Rhys, sure, but for the first time? Katagawa will angle his hips, he’ll reach down to rub Rhys’ dick, they’ll both laugh as Rhys’ cock bounces off Katagawa’s belly when it flexes from Rhys’s arousal, and Rhys will open up with laughter, with pleasure. They’ll find their rhythm, Katagawa’s balls smacking Rhys’ ass as Rhys claws red ribbons up Katagawa’s back. They’ll come together, soft and romantic as hell, and at the moment of climax Rhys will scream—
Katagawa moans, balls lifting high and tight as he spatters against the sheets. Oh fuck. Oh fuck.
He pats himself dry, rolling over so he won’t have to sleep on the jizz spot. Fuck.
Thighs still damp, he finishes the fantasy, his response to Rhys’ scream.
“Love you too, baby,” Katagawa whispers.