Tokyo Ink (Gay SF Erotica)

mean some boat in the bay or another one of your rundown buildings. I meant the six o’clock news, the news at nine. J-vid on the hour every hour.”
    Tetsu stopped in front of the bed, stared down at Gabe. “How?”
    Another laugh from Gabe, slightly unhinged. “I always wanted to be a vid star.” He showed Tetsu his profile, drew two fingers lightly along his jaw line. “There’s a ValCo board meeting Wednesday afternoon -- annual shareholder vid cast. Is that too late?”
    Tetsu shrugged. “Wednesday would work, but who watches vid programming like that and how do we get the Code broadcast?”
    “Think, Tetsu-san. It’s like when the G8 used to meet up, all that economic power in one place. Remember the coverage outside those events?”
    Tetsu nodded.
    “And if a trillionaire CEO’s gorgeous, deranged son shows up, screaming about blackmail and suicide and lovers and a father’s exploitation.” Gabe paused, saw that Tetsu was catching on. “If he tears his shirt off, beats his chest, moons the god damn building… where is the camera going to be, what goes into heavy rotation on the vid casts?”
    Tetsu smiled. “You covered in the Code.”
    Gabe rolled onto his back, laughing, his hands pressed to his stomach. “Magnus is going to freak.”
    “Wait -- that’s bad. The guards --”
    "The guards will take me to him.” Gabe patted the mattress, inviting Tetsu back to bed. “When the world goes more to shit than it already is, I’ll already be deep in ValCo, close to Daddy and ready to strike a second time.”
    Tetsu put a knee back on the mattress, hovering while he tapped the mobile’s keypad and hit “send.”
    “Done?” Gabe asked.
    Tetsu nodded and placed the mobile back on the nightstand.
    “Good.” He grabbed the band of Tetsu’s shorts, pulled him down to the bed. “Because these little flashes of brilliance make me horny.”

Chapter Seven
    Late Wednesday morning in a Nu Edo hotel room, Gabe was stretched naked on the bed. Next to him, Tetsu opened a pack of body markers.
    “You talked directly to Magnus?”
    Tetsu nodded. “Mostly about the attack on Iyashii’s network after midnight.”
    Gabe rolled his eyes. “Of course that’s what he’d be interested in. But you mentioned your concerns?”
    “Yes, I said I was worried that you were going off the deep end.” Taking out a red marker, he drew the first anchor symbol on Gabe’s chest where Gabe had insisted it be placed. Next to it he placed a date symbol.
    “Will you teach me the Code when this is all over?” Gabe was staring up at the ceiling, his gaze traveling over its stuccoed pattern.
    Tetsu nodded, realized Gabe hadn’t seen him and quietly answered, “Yes.”
    Drawing the second anchor, he risked a glance at Gabe, saw that his eyes were moist and offered a weak jest. “You really are losing it, you know?”
    Gabe lifted his chin, fluttered his lashes at Tetsu. “Wait until you see my debut performance, darling.”
    “About that --”
    Gabe placed his index finger against Tetsu’s lips. “Just put your anchors where I said and don’t ask any more questions. Magnus will smell a trap if you’re not just as shocked as the rest of the crowd.”
    Tetsu turned his head to the side. He picked through the pack of markers, hands shaking. “I can’t protect you if we’re separated.”
    “I told you, Tetsu-san, I have my own special room at ValCo for times like today.” He turned to the wall, his voice breaking. “Do my back… and don’t talk so much.”
    Tetsu let the markers spill onto the mattress, brushing aside all but the most vibrant colors that would stand out against the bronzed skin. “You were so pale when Tori was doing the tats.” He ran his hand along Gabe’s arm and outer thigh. “And hairless.”
    Picking up the red and black markers, he began inking a fierce dragon, its clenched teeth holding the guidon staff and white banner of the Ikko-ikki. At its feet, a young Shinto priest brought his arm down to strike the first beat against a taiko drum. In the folds of the great beast’s wings and the priest’s robes, he finished the message with broad strokes.
    “Done,” he said, scooping the markers back into the box. Tonight -- two a.m. Thursday morning, the first battle of the peasants’ war against the corporate daimyo would begin. “Stand up and let me check it.”
    Gabe rose up. His posture seemed robbed of its dancer’s grace. Something wild and bordering on the edge of defeat