Chapter Text
Perfection
With smooth crimson hair tousled to the side and down his forehead, each strand was carefully mussed and sprayed to stay in its place, framing his pale and angular face. No imperfection marred his features, no matter freckle or beauty mark, leaving his unblemished skin tender for a lover’s caress. Like chiseled marble, his high cheekbones were prominent against the heated light; his bone structure contoured faultlessly was used to bring out his attractiveness and the smoothness of his shaven jaw line, each angle and posture powerful in its making. His body did not fail him either and from what the photographer could observe from the suit that molded onto his build – the twist of his muscular abdomen, the strong thighs that supported his weight and his lean arms – suited to the description of what an Adonis God would portray.
How could a man be made to be so sinfully desirable?
For Akashi Seijuuro was in every sense of the word, flawless.
And Gods, his eyes, Kuroko’s mind screamed.
The mismatched shade of molten gold and raw sienna were intense beyond belief, the mutually complementing shades piercing as if they could attack one’s soul and devour. The shade of melted ingot – the shade of precious treasuries glinting in the daylight – drew him into the blazing fire of the hearth, the color of fervent passion that consumed with every lick of its flame. It was similar to the flush of a lover’s cheeks as blood rushed upwards with a messianic thrust, the low moan reverberating towards the gold chandelier that hung overhead, casting its hue onto the arching of backs on crumpled sheets.
His eyes left no thing or person unturned, his hypnotic eyes ripping through any defenses a person might have. It was overwhelming like a summer’s inferno and yet cool to the heated skin as if it was ice, the contrasting temperature bringing a rise to something in the photographer that he could scarcely understand. Peering through dark and long lashes, his magnetic gaze was further enhanced, and Kuroko nearly groaned in delight when the model looked at him.
Looked at the camera, he corrected himself chidingly. Steel yourself.
Despite his own moral advice, his lower regions screamed of the absolute abuse his work ethics put him through, going as far as telling him to screw professionalism because there were certainly other things he would prefer to screw as well.
And oh boy did it scream.
It screamed of how he was letting mankind down for not even talking to his recent muse, blaming his abysmal talent for expressing himself due to naturally numb facial nerves. It screamed how all the people of the same sexual orientation would be ashamed of him for letting this opportunity slip. Akashi Seijuuro was one of the most eligible bachelors that anyone could find, be it in wealth or looks, and he was a failure because he could not initiate a conversation with the man for all the life in him.
Safe to say, the teal-haired photographer felt urgings on a level he never felt before and he always prided himself to have a copious of self-control. He was not wanton by any means although he enjoyed an occasional fling, but not once had he felt this needy.
As much as his lower regions screamed, Kuroko was extremely grateful for his lack of expressions. It was useful when he didn’t want someone to know how he felt, easily hiding behind the blank mask he didn’t even have to construct. He couldn’t love his genetics more than the present moment, especially when he was painfully aroused by a sinfully beautiful red-haired man, thank God for loose jeans –
Okay, I have to stop.
His only consolation was that he could stare at Akashi unabashedly because of his job, his job, he reiterated to his active libido, and not look like a creepy hobo down the alleyway. He arguably stared at attractive men as his job, but none had bewitched him as his current subject did.
And honestly, how much practice did it take Akashi Seijuuro to master the art of presence that demanded attention with its towering dominance?
Every body movement the man made was deliberately crafted to enrapture, his image of confidence impenetrable with the slight smirk that tugged at his full lips. From the way his hands brushed against his shoulders to flick off the imaginary dust to the swiping of his lips with the pads of his long fingers, everything oozed sexiness that was never overdone. It was perfectly balanced on the scales and incredibly stimulating, and it was high praise when it came from Kuroko who had hung out with friends that were declared a model extraordinaire.
It was a pity that his camera could not capture every microscopic detail of his attractiveness, for its resolution could never match the meticulous optic organ made for the scrutiny of such beauty. He extended the feelings to the people who would never chance upon Akashi Seijuuro in real life, where they would never know the man more than a picture on the magazine or a report off a flashy charity gala, because his mesmerizing features could not be perfectly encapsulated on a bright screen or printed ink.
“Kuroko-san, have you taken enough photos?” asked the Akashi politely and it snapped him out of his reverie.
The said photographer focused on the low baritone that was emitted from the sensual mouth which bared a straight of white teeth with his speech. Well, professional can truly go and screw itself. There should be a limit to the number of good traits a person is allowed to have.
“Of course,” Kuroko said in a placid tone, casting his head down to shadow his slight blush. His heart was pounding thunderously and yet his face mostly failed to reflect that fact. “Would you like the copies sent to you?”
“That would be sufficient,” agreed Akashi amicably, loosening his black tie slightly.
Kuroko let out a short inaudible gasp when it revealed a pale column of his neck. His vein pulsated faintly beneath alabaster skin. Unmarred like the rest of the man, he imagined the feeling of him under the ministrations of his lips and scraping his teeth across the jutting collarbones that could hold wine. All he caught was but a glimpse, but it made the desire that coursed within his veins pump even faster.
It was torture in its most unadulterated form to stand so close to the man while he was untouchable, a figure beyond his grasp and one that he can only appreciate from afar. His profession allowed for only admiration, and his hands that handle his steel apparatus were only meant snap away in attempt to capture sights in one still frame. Kuroko was not allowed to touch and so he refrained, and he was aware that he deserved no place in higher echelons.
He briefly wondered if it would be okay for him to call his agent mid-way through the photo shoot to tell him to arrange his funeral because he swore he was on the brink of combustion. Akashi Seijuuro would be the death of him and he did not doubt it.
Screw gorgeous male specimens and vanilla milkshakes, he swore.
I could really use one right now…
“Kuroko-san, are you alright?” asked the model in concern, but the unbidden sly gleam in his eyes did not go unnoticed. The blue-eyed man spent the majority of his life deciphering and studying people and it certainly didn’t take a genius to know that something else was transpiring.
Other than craving the taste of your lips with vanilla milkshake?
“The usual,” he tried to say as apathetically as he could. “Viewing the pictures and sorting them accordingly.”
“But you haven’t changed the picture that you were viewing since three minutes ago,” Akashi called out in amusement.
A blush crept up his pale cheeks once more. “I’m inspecting the picture?” He offered half-wittedly.
His muse merely smirked again and leaned in so abruptly that it made the photographer freeze in his place. His breath hitched from the proximity of the contact and how he could properly study the red iris, his legs nearly buckled under him when the scent of his delicious cologne reached his nose. The sheer tension completely stilled him into a statue, unable to comprehend anything else other than the intense need to touch.
“Thank for the photography session,” he whispered sultrily. His breath fanned across his ear and his hands involuntarily clenched. Rest in peace camera, you were a good friend.
“I can see why many in the corporation praise your skill, Kuroko-san,” he continued to murmur, his lips dangerously close. “Because that is an excellent picture of a plant.”
The exhaled air danced across his unusually cold skin, leaving goose bumps where the heat touched. Beyond his seductive voice, he could hear his own heartbeat pounding loudly, to the extent that he was sure that the businessman heard it as well.
All he could think of was his ears, his neck, parts of which he wanted to touch or his warm body in his embrace and the sound of moaning – and wait – did he say plant?
The photographer glanced down at his camera screen and groaned. Had desire turned him into an idiot?
Kuroko turned around to see the retreating figure of his muse in real life for the last time, and his courtesy words of salutations promptly died a dog's death on his lips. He was left a gaping mess, or what his expressionless face allowed for at least.
Because if this was what fan service was like, he wasn’t one to complain.
Having his suit jacket hooked onto one finger and behind his back, Akashi sauntered out of the room with all the poise in the world, his back muscles flexing visibly oh-so-casually through the thin white fabric of his dress shirt. The combination of a great back profile and the curvature of his ass that was highlighted with each step was truly deadly, for it left little and yet all to imagination. He wanted to know how his body looked like underneath the light, each part ready for him to run his hands over and feel the muscle contract under his touch. He wanted to rake his nails over his back and mark the man for his own and feel him tense above him. He wanted pictures that were only meant for his perusal and dirty images flitted across his mind along with the pleasures it might bring, leaving the man positively mortified at his own creativity.
His mind agreed wholeheartedly – as did his lower region immensely – but his eyes still roved over Akashi’s body appreciatively nonetheless.
Kuroko Tetsuya let out a strangled moan as he allowed his camera to dangle on his neck by the strap, opting to bury his heated face with his hands. If the wink Akashi gave was any insinuation -
That man was truly a tease.