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It was the tongue.

That's what it was. Asami's tongue. Akihito held that muscle responsible for everything, sliding hot and wet across his skin, tickling and tracing and licking until Akihito couldn't tell up from down, let alone protest the violation of his person.

It could be hard or soft, rough on one side and silky smooth on the other. It could make Akihito moan, beg and spread his legs.

And just like in business, Asami took hold of his competitor's weakness, exploiting the point to his own advantage, though unlike Asami's business associates, Akihito always came out satisfied, with his body in more or less working condition.

Lying there, writhing under Asami who was licking a lazy pattern down his torso, Akihito wondered if having a weakness was really so bad.

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