A Joji Tale
folder
Original - Misc › -Slash - Male/Male
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
2
Views:
3,719
Reviews:
2
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Original - Misc › -Slash - Male/Male
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
2
Views:
3,719
Reviews:
2
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of characters to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. The Author holds exclusive rights to this work. Unauthorized duplication is prohibited.
A Joji Tale
A Joji Tale
A/N: For any of you who have been waiting for installments to my last stories, I'm sorry. I've been struggling with a major case of writer's block and I'm trying to get back into the game. This is a short story (I think) based on the characters from Combustion, which was posted and removed from here ages ago. My cousin is absolutely in love with the character of Joji, and I decided to write this based upon what could have happened if a hit man was sent out to end Joji's life, but got...distracted instead...
***
Chpt 1. Just a quick shower
“Whew.”
Joji didn't even have enough brain function for words as he stepped in the door of his apartment and flipped on the lights, instantly regretting that the minute the rays of florescent light stabbed his pupils.
Fuck...damned lights are too fucking bright...last time I let Fuun come by without me...
Joji shielded his eyes while he desperately searched for his universal remote, which was truly programmed to control everything in his house—from stereo to lighting and even the alarm system. The mini Nasa-tool was so ridiculously overpowered that he could set off car alarms and start microwaves in the building next door if he wasn't careful. And worst of all, he couldn't even claim the brilliance of being able to program the damned thing. No, that honor belonged to Fuun, the Poki-hyped teenager who had virtually stalked him on set, and whom he had now somehow informally adopted.
And it was Fuun, he decided, who was going to die from turning his lights from 'low' to 'supernova' and burning out his retinas.
At least the place isn't completely trashed, he mused as he turned the lights down to only mildly devastating, and walked through the living room. Empty boxes of instant ramen, a mini-store of video game boxes, and several teen magazines completed the transformation of his living space into an oversized teenage bedroom, but Joji was far too tired to chastise Fuun tonight. The music video that was supposed to finish at 4:30 that afternoon had dragged out fully until 4:30 that morning, and between the main artist's creative temper tantrums and customs hold-ups, Joji knew he'd just just have to save that “don't fuck up my shit” lecture for later.
Besides, it didn't seem like Fuun was around anyway. He really didn't like the idea of a teenager out on the streets alone at this time, but it's not like the slightly tweaked kid hadn't done that before. At this point what Joji really wanted—no what he really needed was a shower and some serious bed. Then he could be the overbearing big brother tomorrow.
He reached his bathroom and turned the nobs to boiling, allowing the room to fill with steam. The nice thing about being a multimillionaire in one of the best buildings in Tokyo was all of the perks that came with the millionaire pad. He had a palatial space, custom marbled Western-style tub and shower, and a jaw-dropping view of the city at night. His place was so above and beyond that it was frequently photographed for tourist magazines when he wasn't home—that's something he let Fuun handle—but he stopped short at shooting videos there. No need to unnecessarily mix business and pleasure in his view.
Pleasure...
That reminded Joji of what he was missing. Despite his success and money, it seemed that pleasure was surprisingly difficult to obtain—or, if not obtain, to retain in his life. Fast women normally only stayed around if he was willing to shell out cash, and fast men...well, Joji hadn't really gone down that road though he knew that if he were to admit it to himself, it might have to become an option if he didn't get his rocks off soon. His balls were so blue they were practically black, and he had become an official expert in hiding his hard on with all manner of bagged, pocketed, and altered clothing.
Thank god he had become a megaproducer of hip hop and not, say, hard rock.
White Snake would have nothing on him.
He sighed as he slid his shirt off, throwing it across the room to land on top of the jacket that was already laid out across the floor. Just a quick shower—that was all he needed to rest, relax, and then crash into the blissful inkiness of sleep. He stumbled over to the bed and began yanking off his pants and boots, the image of the hot water sliding down his sensitive skin already imprinting its sensual caress into his memory.
Just a quick shower...
***
The assassin watched as the target entered the apartment and turned on lights that would put the morning sun to shame. He was lucky that his target's eyes were apparently sensitive, and blinded him for the moment that it took for the assassin to sink into the shadows of the main bedroom watching, waiting. He had been careless in his frustration. Waiting for him in such an open space was a rookie mistake—it was much better to wait in a small, intimate room where no one would follow, and where the target could be dispatched with the minimum resistance and effort.
But to the stocky assasin's defense, he had been waiting for about five hours, and he was tired and cranky from having to work on what he thought would be a nice day off. The fact that this assignment had been given after he had already executed a last-minute snatch and retrieve mission, and that the man who would immediately benefit from it was off to take a pleasure-laden bath and was like salt in a gaping wound of irritation...but it looked like the man he had been waiting for was finally within striking distance. It was time to execute his orders and get back.
Suzuko owes me for this. He must know he owes me for this. I will MAKE SURE that he knows he owes me for this...
Ryuuoko, Stealth Dragon Assassin, smirked as he realized that his boss and best friend Suzuko (otherwise known to him as “The Asshole” even if he only called him that in his head) would be expecting a report of his activities to ensure that his orders were carried out. And he planned to give him that—the exact—moment he returned to the compound. There was nothing quite like an assassination report at the crack of dawn to jumpstart the rest of the day. Suzuko could have sent someone—anyone else, but noooooo, somehow this kid had managed to piss off the prissiest fucking Yakuza boss in history by touching one of the women that the Yakuza Lord had marked as his own. Despite the fact that the woman hadn't been marked until after he saw her walking down the street next to the target. Despite the fact that the woman herself had no idea that she had at that moment become the Yakuza lord's property. Suzuko Taraki was the world's largest ass for sending him on this mission. Death would've been better than waiting half the fucking night in this pigsty of an apartment. And on top of that, the kid didn't even know what he had done wrong.
But still, an order was an order. Killing this man wouldn't be a problem. He was a civilian with no military or even recreational martial arts training. Ryuuoko only needed to wait for the perfect moment of distraction...
And then the last stitch of Joji's clothing fell and distraction became the last thing on his mind.
***
TBC
A/N: For any of you who have been waiting for installments to my last stories, I'm sorry. I've been struggling with a major case of writer's block and I'm trying to get back into the game. This is a short story (I think) based on the characters from Combustion, which was posted and removed from here ages ago. My cousin is absolutely in love with the character of Joji, and I decided to write this based upon what could have happened if a hit man was sent out to end Joji's life, but got...distracted instead...
***
Chpt 1. Just a quick shower
“Whew.”
Joji didn't even have enough brain function for words as he stepped in the door of his apartment and flipped on the lights, instantly regretting that the minute the rays of florescent light stabbed his pupils.
Fuck...damned lights are too fucking bright...last time I let Fuun come by without me...
Joji shielded his eyes while he desperately searched for his universal remote, which was truly programmed to control everything in his house—from stereo to lighting and even the alarm system. The mini Nasa-tool was so ridiculously overpowered that he could set off car alarms and start microwaves in the building next door if he wasn't careful. And worst of all, he couldn't even claim the brilliance of being able to program the damned thing. No, that honor belonged to Fuun, the Poki-hyped teenager who had virtually stalked him on set, and whom he had now somehow informally adopted.
And it was Fuun, he decided, who was going to die from turning his lights from 'low' to 'supernova' and burning out his retinas.
At least the place isn't completely trashed, he mused as he turned the lights down to only mildly devastating, and walked through the living room. Empty boxes of instant ramen, a mini-store of video game boxes, and several teen magazines completed the transformation of his living space into an oversized teenage bedroom, but Joji was far too tired to chastise Fuun tonight. The music video that was supposed to finish at 4:30 that afternoon had dragged out fully until 4:30 that morning, and between the main artist's creative temper tantrums and customs hold-ups, Joji knew he'd just just have to save that “don't fuck up my shit” lecture for later.
Besides, it didn't seem like Fuun was around anyway. He really didn't like the idea of a teenager out on the streets alone at this time, but it's not like the slightly tweaked kid hadn't done that before. At this point what Joji really wanted—no what he really needed was a shower and some serious bed. Then he could be the overbearing big brother tomorrow.
He reached his bathroom and turned the nobs to boiling, allowing the room to fill with steam. The nice thing about being a multimillionaire in one of the best buildings in Tokyo was all of the perks that came with the millionaire pad. He had a palatial space, custom marbled Western-style tub and shower, and a jaw-dropping view of the city at night. His place was so above and beyond that it was frequently photographed for tourist magazines when he wasn't home—that's something he let Fuun handle—but he stopped short at shooting videos there. No need to unnecessarily mix business and pleasure in his view.
Pleasure...
That reminded Joji of what he was missing. Despite his success and money, it seemed that pleasure was surprisingly difficult to obtain—or, if not obtain, to retain in his life. Fast women normally only stayed around if he was willing to shell out cash, and fast men...well, Joji hadn't really gone down that road though he knew that if he were to admit it to himself, it might have to become an option if he didn't get his rocks off soon. His balls were so blue they were practically black, and he had become an official expert in hiding his hard on with all manner of bagged, pocketed, and altered clothing.
Thank god he had become a megaproducer of hip hop and not, say, hard rock.
White Snake would have nothing on him.
He sighed as he slid his shirt off, throwing it across the room to land on top of the jacket that was already laid out across the floor. Just a quick shower—that was all he needed to rest, relax, and then crash into the blissful inkiness of sleep. He stumbled over to the bed and began yanking off his pants and boots, the image of the hot water sliding down his sensitive skin already imprinting its sensual caress into his memory.
Just a quick shower...
***
The assassin watched as the target entered the apartment and turned on lights that would put the morning sun to shame. He was lucky that his target's eyes were apparently sensitive, and blinded him for the moment that it took for the assassin to sink into the shadows of the main bedroom watching, waiting. He had been careless in his frustration. Waiting for him in such an open space was a rookie mistake—it was much better to wait in a small, intimate room where no one would follow, and where the target could be dispatched with the minimum resistance and effort.
But to the stocky assasin's defense, he had been waiting for about five hours, and he was tired and cranky from having to work on what he thought would be a nice day off. The fact that this assignment had been given after he had already executed a last-minute snatch and retrieve mission, and that the man who would immediately benefit from it was off to take a pleasure-laden bath and was like salt in a gaping wound of irritation...but it looked like the man he had been waiting for was finally within striking distance. It was time to execute his orders and get back.
Suzuko owes me for this. He must know he owes me for this. I will MAKE SURE that he knows he owes me for this...
Ryuuoko, Stealth Dragon Assassin, smirked as he realized that his boss and best friend Suzuko (otherwise known to him as “The Asshole” even if he only called him that in his head) would be expecting a report of his activities to ensure that his orders were carried out. And he planned to give him that—the exact—moment he returned to the compound. There was nothing quite like an assassination report at the crack of dawn to jumpstart the rest of the day. Suzuko could have sent someone—anyone else, but noooooo, somehow this kid had managed to piss off the prissiest fucking Yakuza boss in history by touching one of the women that the Yakuza Lord had marked as his own. Despite the fact that the woman hadn't been marked until after he saw her walking down the street next to the target. Despite the fact that the woman herself had no idea that she had at that moment become the Yakuza lord's property. Suzuko Taraki was the world's largest ass for sending him on this mission. Death would've been better than waiting half the fucking night in this pigsty of an apartment. And on top of that, the kid didn't even know what he had done wrong.
But still, an order was an order. Killing this man wouldn't be a problem. He was a civilian with no military or even recreational martial arts training. Ryuuoko only needed to wait for the perfect moment of distraction...
And then the last stitch of Joji's clothing fell and distraction became the last thing on his mind.
***
TBC