so right yet so wrong

I

Bokuto isn't a bad guy, he just has some bad urges alright? it's not his fault that the way you look has his mind running. at least that's what he is trying to tell himself as he eyes you from across the bar. who he is trying to convince? he is unsure if it's himself or some deities above judging his actions, but regardless his legs seemed to move on their own as he made his way over to where you were sitting.

he drank in every feature of yours, the way your fingers twirled the top of your glass you had just emptied, the hair your hair sat near perfectly, no perfectly, at the top of your shoulders framing your face so nicely, how your long legs (damn you) dangled of your seat tapping lightly on the bar stool to the beat in the back. everything was exactly what he had craved and more.

your eyes had lazily found his with a smirk playing on your lips. he didn't know yet, you'd wait for him to find out in his own.

"hey hey hey, what's a pretty defenseless girl like you doing in a sleepy place like this." he leans against the cool counter of the bar getting to eye level with you.

you can't help but keep the laugh you were trying to stifle from coming through, "who said in defenseless?" you question a flame of passion burning within your eyes.

he laughs at this as well, the booming sound of his voice still filling the bar even with such loud music playing and other side conversations happening.

"a pretty thing like you got a name or should i just call you my little devil?" he plays with a strand of you hair that had crossed to partially cover your eyes.

he leans in, but before he could make the move a firm hand is placed on his chest and shoving him down to the filthy floor of the bar.

(oh you didn't think i was going to be nice now did you?)

"you won't be calling her anything, especially not yours." the broad silver head man was still sprawled on the ground trying to gather his bearings.

"whatever man." once he finally gets up shoving his hands into his pants pockets and turning away from you and your boyfriend.

"kid, you know you're playing with fire getting me all riled up like this." his calloused hands grip your chin and turn you to face him, even sitting on the tall barstools you still had to angle your head to look  down at him. "let's get out of here."

"anything for you tanji- kun." you say kicking you feet out and you get up from the stool. the past four years had taken their toll on washijo's body now standing at a solid 5'4 opposed to the 5'6.5 tall man you had fallen for after graduation.

you could have had your pick of any man you had wanted, but something about the place of power this man was in drove you wild.

of course your friends were all concerned about you, wondering what made you want to be with the eighty year old man. you had no answer other than love. this answer never satisfied them however, causing them to believe that he had a vast amount of money you were hoping to get when he eventually passed.

you weren't in it for the money, being a high school volleyball coach wasn't a comfortable life. all the jewelry, phones, and new motorcycle you had you had bought yourself. there was no sugar in the "sugar baby" relationship. if anything you were the bread winner, clearly evident by the golden chain glistening in the club lights hanging around your mans neck.

"what is it my love?" he questions nearing the exit. he was always concerned when you were approached by other men. you would never cheat. not when you had him.

with your free hand not entangled in his own you run a finger along the column of his neck tracing along the chain adorned with a little "M" hanging delicately from the bottom. "just want you."