Asami treats his guns better than his lovers. They sit in foam lined cases, gleaming darkly against the light, shiny, well oiled and clean. He pulls his 45 pistol out, a single action weapon, and carefully sets it on the table, unloading it and pulling the slide back, before clicking the safety off and aiming at the wall. It’s heavy, solid in his hands, a familiar weight in his hand. The sights line up and he takes aim, testing how it feels, before placing the gun down.
Pulling the slide back, he locks it on the notch, before pulling out his cleaning cloth and gun oil. Q-tips follow and he expertly disassembles the 45, cleaning the gun slowly, savoring the hypnotic peace that descends on him. He quietly wipes the residual deposits and then clicks the parts back in place.
Satisfied, he tucks into the harness around his shoulders and places his suit jacket back on, before moving to look out the window.
The harness weighs down against his chest, comfortable and confidently he walks to the door. Takaba is waiting in the limo below, naked and tied up. Smirking he turns to go.
Asami may treat his guns better than anyone else but only one man owns his heart.