Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own at http://archiveofourown.org/works/402719.

Rating: Archive Warning: Category: Fandom: Relationship: Character: Additional Tags: Stats: Explicit Choose Not To Use Archive Warnings M/M Finder no Hyouteki | Finder Series Asami Ryuichi/Takaba Akihito Asami Ryuichi, Takaba Akihito Dubious Consent Published: 2012-05-12 Updated: 2013-06-25 Chapters: 14/15 Words: 62615

In the Devil's Teeth

by eprime Summary

Akihito finds out what betrayal rouses in Asami.

Notes

Takes place at some point post Pray in Abyss when they've better established a relationship. You know those stories you make up in your own mind at night before you sleep, where you let yourself be over the top and super angsty and emotional and torture your characters so you can have lots of hurt/comfort and cathartic release and a happy ending after all? Yeah, this is one of those. Normally, I wouldn't share my guilty pleasure id-fic with the public, but a friend and I got to talking about it a couple of months ago and she convinced me to start writing it down, so I indulged her. This is all her fault. (That being said, my over-the-topness/angst comfort level is lower than most, so this fic actually doesn't get too traumatizing, haha. And, well, if my mind does occasionally go to Defcon 1 angst levels, I'm not admitting it, and I'm not writing that down. Some things are better left buried in the dark recesses of my subconscious. *g*) I'll give notice for each chapter for things like violence, dub-con, etc. Chapter 1 contains some violence and lots of mental anguish.

Curse His Better Angel From His Side

Akihito wasn't expecting to see Asami home at this time of day, nor was he expecting Kirishima and Suoh to be looking so grim, standing to either side of Asami and staring at Akihito with carefully blank expressions. His heart sped up. "Did something happen? What's wrong?" His eyes raked over Asami, but the man appeared to be fine. He breathed a little easier, and moved closer. "Asami?" "You evaded your surveillance today. Where were you?" "What?" Akihito frowned. "You mean that guy you always have following me? I don't see why you're asking about it now. I do that all the time, don't I?" "Yes," Asami said coldly. "You do." "Yeah, then..." Akihito cocked his head, looking at Asami oddly. "You seem mad." "Do I?" "Yeah..." "Then hadn't you better answer my question?" Akihito scowled. "What is this? I don't know what crawled up your--" A pained grunt escaped him as Asami shoved him against the nearest wall. He'd moved so fast, Akihito had been too shocked to react. "Asami! What the hell!" His eyes went wide as Asami reached for his throat, not squeezing, but holding him there firmly. "I'll ask one more time. Where were you?" His cold gaze pinned Akihito in place. His heart was going wild now, beating against his rib cage with painful intensity. "I--I was at a friend's studio, you asshole!" "I see." Face impassive, Asami studied him. "And what were you doing there?" Shit. Akihito ducked his head, his cheeks flushing. "I don't have to tell you that." Immediately, the fingers around his neck tightened a fraction. He looked back up at Asami in shock. "You will tell me what I wish to know." Akihito glared. "You're not my boss, bastard! I'll do whatever the hell I want, and I don't have to tell you anything!" He was on the floor cupping one bruised cheekbone before he even knew what happened. Stunned, he looked up in disbelief. Even Kirishima and Suoh looked almost shaken. Asami's open hand was still raised, knuckles red from the force of the backhand he'd dealt. His face was utterly

blank, though his eyes seemed to shimmer with some turbulent emotion. It was silent for several seemingly long seconds, until Asami turned away, the hand going into the pocket of his slacks. "You're right." Akihito stared almost uncomprehendingly at his back as he spoke. "I'm not your boss. I'm your owner. I possess you completely, and though I've been remiss in teaching you that, rest assured that from now I will thoroughly imprint that fact into every fiber of your mind, body, and soul." His chin jerked. "Take him to his new home." Kirishima and Suoh loomed over Akihito, ignoring his struggles, his curses and pleas to Asami, as they captured his arms and began to lead him away. Asami never turned around. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine. Turn. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve. Turn. One, two, three... Akihito fell to his knees on the bare floor. Unmarked by any clock--his watch and phone had been taken from him along with the rest of his personal effects--the minutes passed, his shoulders gradually slumped, the minutes turning into hours, numbness and exhaustion subduing him. His throat was raw from yelling, his hands bruised from the pounding of his fists against the door, the walls, the window. If anyone had heard they hadn't come. The door was locked from the outside, and the one window wouldn't open at all. He'd even tried to break it with the only thing in the apartment that had seemed strong enough for the job--a small square coffee table that was the only piece of furniture other than a tiny sofa. He'd only succeeding in breaking the table, it lay in pieces beneath the apparently shatter-proof window. If he had managed to break it, he wasn't sure what he would have done anyway. There was no manageable way down. He was on the high floor of some building of some neighborhood, God only knew where. Suoh had blindfolded him and tied his wrists behind him before they had gotten in the car, and he had sat in silence once he had realized that they both would ignore anything he had to say, or even shout. Only the sound of Kirishima coughing occasionally as they drove broke the heavy silence. His initial panic and hurt and fear had been overridden by his shock, but then the gut-wrenching emotions had begun seeping through again. Despite himself, despite his wounded pride and anger, his blindfold had grown wet. He'd turned toward the window, holding his breath to keep in the sobs that wanted to force their way out of his chest. A litany of denial and questions had filled his thoughts. How could Asami have hit him? Why? There must be some misunderstanding. Asami would show up and explain and then everything would be all right again. "Kirishima," he had whispered. "Kirishima, I don't understand." He had felt the man stiffen beside him. He had heard an inhale as if Kirishima was going to speak, but there had been only the rustle of the man shifting position and then stillness and silence again. Blindly, he'd been led to this room, Suoh's hand around his bicep. He hadn't tried to run. It was only when they'd removed the blindfold and he'd realized that they were going to leave him there,

lock him up in that barren space that amounted to one small room and a tiny kitchenette in one corner had he started fighting again. "You can't! You can't just leave me here!" he'd shouted. "Please, just tell me what I did! Let me talk to Asami!" He'd clung to Kirishima's sleeve while Suoh's bulk had blocked the door. "Please, Kirishima...tell me why. How long are you going to keep me here?" He had thought Kirishima would ignore him again. He hadn't turned to face him, but Akihito had seen him glance out of the corner of his eye. "That's not for me to say." " Please." "Takaba-kun..." Kirishima had exhaled, Suoh a silent sentry by the door, then his face had turned fully away. "There is food in the kitchen. It is for you, and it is your responsibility to clean up after yourself. You will find a clothes hamper in the bathroom. Once a week, your food will be restocked and your laundry taken to be cleaned. This apartment is sound-proofed. Asami-sama owns the building. There is no one else on this floor nor the one beneath you. Please do not think you have any chance of escape. I'm sure you understand that other security precautions have been put in place. Behave." "Once--once a week?" Akihito had gasped. "What does that mean? You can't keep me here that long! I have a job! I have a life! My friends...my parents...they'll come looking for me. I...I--" "Takaba-kun," Kirishima's measured voice had overridden his panicked words. "You need to understand. All that you have now is what Asami-sama allows you. For the foreseeable future, that is existence in this room. The sooner you come to accept this, the better." "What? What are you saying? No!" Akihito had run toward the door, his fists batting ineffectually at Suoh. "I'll never accept it! Let me go!" He hadn't stopped screaming as Kirishima slipped from sight, Suoh's impassive face staring down at him as he'd reeled back from the firm but mild push Suoh had dealt him. "Let me go!" He had flown forward again, beating at the door, calling their names in desperate pleas. They hadn't come back, but Akihito had rampaged around the tiny room, unable to accept-to process--all that had occurred. Even when his fight had dimmed, he hadn't been able to stop pacing, his thoughts cycling over and over. And now, he was reduced to this pitiful, useless thing. Get up, his spirit urged. Find some way out. But his body rebelled, his mind dulled by pain and exhaustion. He slumped further. Doubled over, his forehead rested on the floor and he finally slept, his unconscious body curling into a fetal position as dreams plagued him.

Vapor of a Dungeon
Chapter Summary

Akihito's first week in confinement.

Chapter Notes

contains: dubious consent

A week later, and Akihito was still there. He hadn't gone crazy...yet. He wasn't resigned to his fate by any means, he still held out hope that Asami would come, and then he would be able to find out what was going on. He'd be able to fix things because he knew this all had to be a misunderstanding. It had to be. His existence fluctuated between moments intense emotion: anger, anguish, fear, and moments of equally intense boredom. He was starved for something--anything--to divert him. Apart from the sofa and the broken table, the apartment held nothing but some of his clothes, a few toiletries, the broken table, and the futon he'd found in the small storage cupboard under the window. He stared out the window now, trying to keep his eyes fixed on the blue strip of sky, something he did for hours each day. The view was nothing special, rather grim in fact. The room faced a gray, industrial looking building, and its small, grimier neighbors squatted on either side of it. The tantalizing glimpse of the outside world only made him feel more claustrophobic inside his small prison. In the mornings, he heated up hot water for his tea and sat slowly sipping, savoring every last drop. Some days, he amused himself by trying to remember the steps of the tea ceremony his grandmother had taught him when he was younger, even if he didn't have the proper items. After breakfast, he worked off frustration by going through the katas he could remember from the karate classes he took in his junior high school days. Picturing Asami's face as he executed blocks and kicks and punches gave him a vicious surge of satisfaction. He could only stretch that out for an hour at most, though. Then he moved onto the self-defense drills Suoh had taught him one week when, due to some threat Asami had refused to give details on, he was forced to hole up at the penthouse; Suoh guarding him every second of the day when Asami had to go out. He'd even gotten pretty good at meditation--something else Suoh had tried to get him into at one point during his instruction. 'A clear mind helps one focus, stay calm under pressure, a clear mind can save one's life', he'd said. But Akihito had never been able to stay still long enough to apply it, and he suspected Suoh just wanted him to shut up for five minutes. Akihito snorted. It was a lot easier to meditate, he found, when one didn't have any other options. Considering there was no wet paint around to watch dry, he figured he'd just have to go with it. What he wouldn't give for a book or a newspaper, much less his phone or laptop. He'd been

reading the backs of cereal boxes even, though what was stocked in the cabinets were the boring, healthy, adult variety, not the sugary, colorful brands he preferred. Still, reading about the nutritional benefits of tasteless brown pellets was better than nothing. The broken table had served a purpose in the end. He'd snapped off the remaining legs and was in the process of trying to learn to juggle. He'd earned more than one bump on the head, but it was something to break the tedium, though the ceiling was really too low to do it properly. He sighed heavily. Those things took up such a small portion of the day. Despite his efforts he knew it wouldn't be much longer before he did go stir crazy. He had to get out, and soon. He had been waiting all morning, every rattle of the pipes making him jump and twitch toward the door, hoping it would bring someone, as Kirishima had promised, to the apartment. He knew it had been a week because he had been keeping careful track of the days. The sight of anyone else, even an underling he didn't know, would be a welcome respite from his forced seclusion. He couldn't help hoping, though, that Asami would come himself. He knew that would be his chance out of this mess. If he was honest with himself, underneath his initial anger and his fear, he had begun to worry for Asami. Unwillingly, his mind played back the scene at the condo. He winced, fingertips ghosting over the cheekbone where the bruise hadn't quite faded yet. Asami had never hit him before. Sure, Asami had tied him up and drugged him and done as he liked with him, without a 'by your leave', but that was different, and that was before. Things had changed a long time ago. Sure Asami still liked to boss him around, and fucked him every which way he liked, but while Asami had never said it in so many words, Akihito knew that he meant a lot more to Asami than what people had always implied he was. Asami, now that he looked back, had made it clear in so many ways. His heart contracted painfully. What had happened? What would make him act so out of character? Was Asami in some kind of trouble? He frowned at the clouds scudding across the sky. If Asami were in trouble, he knew how to take care of himself. Kirishima and Suoh would protect him too. Akihito's fingers curled into his palms, nails imprinting tiny crescents into the flesh. Maybe...maybe Asami had put him here to protect him too. He hardly dared to hope it, but he couldn't squash the desperate flare of hope the idea birthed. Maybe one of his recent jobs had caused trouble for Asami. He couldn't think of anything lately that would have affected Asami's business, but then, he couldn't deny that he was a magnet for trouble. Things around him just seemed to have a way of getting out of hand. Asami had bailed him out a number of times. Had he finally gotten tired of it? But if that was the case, he could make things right. He would. He just needed to see Asami. He curled up tighter around his knees, admitting deep inside that despite what happened, he missed Asami. He missed him a lot. The sky had grown dark, the lights on the streets and the passing cars coming on before Akihito gave up. He felt sluggish, drained, disappointment eating at his gut. He entered the tiny bathroom and took a long shower, staying until not a drop of hot water was left. Once in his pajamas, he pulled out the futon and lay down, pulling a blanket up to his chin. It was still early. Maybe around nine or so, but there was no sense in staying up. Maybe tonight he would sleep better. Maybe he wouldn't have bad dreams. All he wanted at the moment was to forget everything about his situation. His eyes stayed open a long time, staring at the patterned shadows thrown by the faint light

coming through the window. Eventually, his eyes grew heavier and he slipped into a restless shallow sleep that gradually deepened. He wasn't sure what woke him, but he sat up, taking in the smell of cigarettes in the dark room, the small red glow that flared bright at the sound of an inhale. "A--Asami?" Akihito stumbled to his feet and felt along the wall for the light, wincing and blinking quickly as he tried to make his eyes adjust too fast. The fuzzy outline of Asami's figure gradually sharpened. He sat at his ease on the small sofa, tapping ash into the saucer that sat on the cushion next to him and watching Akihito expressionlessly. Akihito's mind was still clouded with sleep, but his heart leapt. "Asami!" He flung himself forward instinctually, latching onto Asami's jacket and pulling himself close to that warmth he'd missing for so long. He pressed his nose into Asami's throat and inhaled, relishing the comforting scent and trembling with the flood of adrenaline that shot through his veins. "Asami! You came. You finally came. I've been waiting. I've been waiting so long." His hands crept up, one hand cupping Asami's cheek, the other tangling in his hair. "Please, I don't know what's wrong, but if I did something...just tell me. I don't understand any of this, so please just talk to me, okay? Talk to me! We can figure this out. Okay?" The words tumbled off Akihito's tongue, he stuttered through them, needy and desperate to release all his pent up thoughts and questions, as he lifted his face, wet tracks on his cheeks, staring into Asami's cold gaze. Asami's expression hadn't changed at all. His hands were still at his sides, the cigarette wafting a thin spiral of smoke into the air. Akihito could feel the blood racing through his veins, his pulse doubling in speed. Dread settled in his belly like a cold ball of metal. " Asami." Finally, Asami moved. The cigarette was crushed out, and his hand came up, a thumb brushing gently across the moisture on Akihito's cheek. Akihito closed his eyes, leaning into the tender gesture for one aching moment. But then his wrists were caught and drawn away from Asami, brought down to his lap and released. He opened his eyes, reaching for Asami again, helplessly desperate to get through to him somehow, but one quietly spoken word stopped him. "Strip." He froze. "Wh--what?" "Take off your clothes." Asami's cold voice didn't change inflection. He merely continued to look at Akihito with the same, unreadable expression. God, he wanted to believe that Asami wanted him, that this was his way of making amends, using sex like he always did when words didn't work for them. But Akihito knew this wasn't the same. Everything about this was so very wrong. He bit his lip, then asked tremulously. "Why?" "Don't make me repeat myself." "But, Asami, we--we need to talk first. You...you hit me, and you locked me up here, and I don't

even know why. And I--I'm sure there's a reason, a misunderstanding, and if you just--" "Akihito." The word was uttered like a lash, though Asami didn't raise his voice, and Akihito froze again. "Do you believe that I can make you do what I wish?" He didn't dare not answer. Eyes wide, he nodded slowly. "And would you prefer that I force you--hurt you--to get what I wish?" "You--you wouldn't hurt me," Akihito said, his voice shaking, reflecting the uncertainty that wouldn't have been there a week ago. Asami smiled then, a tender, soul-cleaving smile that made Akihito ache to have those arms around him, protecting him, keeping him as warm and safe as he'd grown accustomed to. "But Akihito, I already have begun to do so. You're here for no other purpose after all." His chest and throat tightened, a lone sob choking its way out. "Asami, please..." Akihito whispered. "Just tell me why you're so angry." "Physical pain is such a crude method of subjugation, but if you insist on making me take that path..." His fingertips stroked Akihito's cheek again. "I won't be pleased. Do you really think this is the worst place you could end up?" "It's not fair!" Akihito cried. "Don't I deserve some explanation, you bastard! How can you do this? It's cruel!" At last, Asami seemed to lose some of his icy reserve. He jerked Akihito forward by the front of his pajamas until their foreheads met. "You'd better pray that I don't give you what you truly deserve, Akihito." He inhaled deeply and pushed Akihito away with enough force that he fell from Asami's lap to the floor. "A word of advice--the only one who judges what is fair around here is me. You will do exactly as you're told when you are told or you will suffer for it greatly." "Asami..." "It would be a shame," Asami continued coldly, "if others had to suffer for your transgressions as well. Your friends. Your parents." "What--what are you saying?" Akihito's horrified eyes turned up to Asami. "I'm waiting, Akihito." Asami's eyebrows rose as if in question. A nauseating dizziness made his stomach churn as Akihito got to his feet. Numbly, his fingers began undoing the buttons of his pajama top. He shrugged it off and pushed down his boxers and the pajama bottoms until he stood naked in front of Asami, his shamed face averted. "Now get down on your hands and knees and crawl over here." Akihito took a shuddering breath and complied, crawling the short distance until he fetched up between Asami's knees. "I'm sure you know what to do." Flashbacks to his time with Feilong sparked against his tightly shut eyes as he rose up and undid Asami's pants. This couldn't be happening again. But it was.

Asami's pants. This couldn't be happening again. But it was. Except this was worse. This was Asami and something that had been his to do because he wanted to was now something meant to punish, to hurt. If Asami minded the tears that spilled down Akihito's cheeks as his mouth worked Asami's cock, he said nothing. And Akihito, despite everything, couldn't help but try his best to please Asami, to put everything he felt for this man into this crude act that was only meant to demean this time. He had no evidence of success, only a mouthful of Asami's seed that he swallowed down, not even the sound of Asami's pleasure, if that's what it had been. Before Akihito had time to even wipe his mouth with the back of his hand, Asami rose, already tucked in and zipped up, turning toward the door. Panic made Akihito desperate. "You're--you're leaving?" A cold laugh cut through him. "Don't worry, Akihito. I'll be back eventually. You still have many lessons to learn." The door opened and shut, the heavy tumblers clicking in the lock as the hope Akihito had been holding began to wither.

Egregiously an Ass
Chapter Summary

Nothing ever stays routine.

Akihito thumbed over the marks he'd dug into the paint of the windowsill with his fingernail. Twenty-three lines to mark the twenty-three days that had passed since he'd been brought here. Listlessly, he pressed his forehead against the glass and stared out the drab view he now could draw blind if only he had a pencil and paper. The only thing that ever changed were the cars that drove along the streets so far below. His favorite game was to count the different colors, guess how many would be blue or red or black in a given amount of time. He'd talk out loud to himself, placing bets on the outcome, arguing with himself. Today, though, he only stared, lost in a deep trance-like state as the cars moved to the rhythm of the traffic lights below. He didn't shift when the door opened behind him. It was food and laundry day, and he'd learned that it was useless to speak to Kirishima, the one who brought his supplies, and the only person he ever saw besides Asami. He was obviously under orders not to say a word, and the only time Akihito had managed to catch his eye, the flash of pity before Kirishima could school his features was worse than no contact at all. He'd tried to get him to talk at first, but Kirishima went about his business quickly and quietly, though the rigid line of his spine all but shouted his discomfort. The unbearable sickening feeling that he was slowly fading away, that he wasn't even real anymore, was too much for Akihito. He didn't even glance around. "Is this what you've been taught?" Akihito gasped, his face jerking toward the sound of Asami's voice. It wasn't even dark yet, and though Asami didn't exactly come on a regular schedule, he never came this early in the day. An unsettling apprehension made his insides churn, but he scrambled off the ledge he was perched on and went over to Asami, holding his jacket as he shrugged out of it and folding it carefully over the arm of the sofa. It was a cruel mockery of the way things had been back at home. Asami's home. Had it ever been his too, or was he always only a temporary interloper? Akihito wasn't sure exactly how it had started back then--greeting Asami at the door like he was some kind of housewife, taking his briefcase and his coat and putting them away. Asami had never commented on it. He'd always acted like it was natural, though sometimes Akihito had thought he'd seen a hint of a pleased glint in Asami's eyes, even the corners of his mouth quirking up the faintest bit. Now, though, having Akihito go through the motions of domesticity was intended only to drive the knife in deeper. As Asami took a seat, Akihito hurried to the kitchen to pour him a drink from the bottle that had been left for just this purpose. He brought the glass, along with an ashtray, and presented them to Asami, and then he knelt at Asami's feet, staring at the floor as his heart thumped heavily.

For how long they sat in silence, Akihito didn't know, but Asami drank slowly, eventually reaching to grasp Akihito's chin and raise his face to him. "You were so easy to break after all, weren't you, Akihito? I thought you would have been more of a challenge, but now, I just feel bored." Shame slithered down and coiled in his belly like a cold snake. Still, a little bit of his old self flared up, though his voice was tired and dull. "What do you expect if you threaten my family and friends?" Asami gave a cold laugh. "Are you saying that I couldn't break you without that threat hanging over you?" Akihito's eyes raised slowly then, and something like life came into them, the old fire glowing like banked embers. "I'd never give in. You're just a bully, a thug, a sick, perverted bastard who does something like this for your own twisted pleasure. You're the lowest of the low. Even Feilong is like a white knight compared to you. And now I understand why he was like he was. He had a thousand times the honor you do. He had a heart. At least when I was his prisoner, I knew the reason why! I hate you!" Asami was off the couch so fast that Akihito barely registered he was being shoved backward until his head thudded sharply against the wood floor. Asami loomed over him with a face utterly devoid of it's usual impassive mask. Instead, a roil of cold fury and sadistic intent blazed out of Asami's eyes. "Foolish, Akihito. Always letting your mouth run ahead of your common sense. You've played the game well, I'll give you that. But I grow tired of this affectation of innocence. Play the wounded victim if it amuses you, but never think that I will be taken in again." Asami's unforgiving hands pressed cruelly into the flesh of Akihito's arms. "You think I'm a bully? A thug? You haven't even begun to see how twisted my games can get. And rest assured, Akihito, your only purpose is to provide the fodder for my amusement." He smiled at the fear that bloomed in Akihito's eyes. "Oh, don't look that way." The false sympathy in Asami's voice made Akihito feel sick. He stared up in wordless dismay as Asami's eyes got wilder, one hand moving to circle Akihito's throat. "Didn't I say what would happen if you ever betrayed me? This is your own doing. Your own choice." His fingers tightened and, for a moment, Akihito began to struggle, his hands scrabbling at Asami's. His thoughts seemed to slow and gain clarity. This was it. Asami was finally going to kill him. As if in a dream, he caught Asami's sharp, golden gaze. If he was going to die, then it wouldn't be so bad to go like this. Hadn't he said that before? Somewhere? Sometime? His own hands went slack and fell to his sides. His struggles ceased. A calm swept over him. But there was something important that he needed to tell Asami first. What was it? It was so hard to think, and Asami looked so...so... His vision flickered, Asami's visage wavering. Betrayal. That was it.Asami thought he'd betrayed him. How? Why? With a Herculean effort, Akihito's lips managed to shape one word. No. "No?" Asami laughed harshly. "No what, Akihito?" No, don't kill you? Should I loosen my grip so you can beg for your worthless life?" No. Akihito could only think the word as his vision slowly whited out.

He came to face down on the floor, bare from the waist down, his forehead sliding against the smooth wood. Asami's hand was fisted in his hair, his cock already buried inside Akihito. When Asami saw his eyes flutter, his hips were jerked higher, making Akihito groan, his abused throat raw with its own pain. Asami's deep voice intoned above him, scornful and cold. "You are nothing. You thought you could play me, but I'll show you what a mistake it was to entertain such an idea. You are nothing but this. Akihito cried out in pain as Asami took him brutally. "I will take my time truly breaking you, savoring every moment of your humiliation and despair. And when I have had enough, I will snuff out your insignificant little life without a qualm." Tears dripped down Akihito's cheeks, but he gritted his teeth, then stuttered out his defiance as best he could. "You...you're crazy..." He sobbed as pain radiated up his spine, Asami's brutal thrusts increasing in viciousness and speed. "Bastard! I...I didn't betray you! Whatever... whatever you think I did...it's not...it's not true." His cock was suddenly enveloped in Asami's large hand. His surprised, pained, gasp was loud in his own ears and Asami laughed cruelly as he hardened quickly. Oh God, not this. Not like this. This sort of forced pleasure was the absolute worst, but that's exactly what Asami gave him. "Just look at you," Asami taunted. "Always such a slut for it. I guess that part of you was never a lie. Your body is always ready to be of use, isn't it?" His fingers flew over Akihito's shaft, and now his thrusts eased back from pure pain into a less punishing rhythm. "At least you gave good value. Your eagerness to be fucked was always the most amusing thing about you." Akihito tried, he really tried to hold back, but Asami knew just how to touch him, just what to do to make him come. He did, with a poorly muffled cry, angry and humiliated, his trembling body collapsing beneath Asami's weight as Asami came himself with one last poisonous barb. "You are nothing." Then, even the mockery of warmth from Asami's body was gone. Akihito lay there, face against the floorboards, the air chilling his bare flesh, and Asami's seed trickling down between his legs. He willed himself to move, to do something, to regain any shred of his dignity. He could hear Asami adjusting his clothes, ready to walk out the door. He couldn't let him, not now that he knew for sure this was all some terrible mistake. He had to find out more, to convince Asami somehow. Slowly, Akihito pushed to his hands and knees, and then gingerly settled back on his heels. Asami moved behind him heading to the door. "I didn't do it." It was almost a whisper. The footsteps stopped. "I didn't. Whatever it is you think I did. I didn't." His legs shaking, Akihito rose unsteadily to his feet and turned, lurching across the few steps to where Asami stood facing the front door. "Please, Asami." His hand reached out and tugged at Asami's sleeve, his voiced laced with hurt and wounded love and desperation "Believe me. Please." Asami turned and met Akihito's swollen, red-rimmed eyes. His hand raised, hovering a moment as Akihito's eyes flinched, then slowly glided down the side of Akihito's cheek. His mouth smiled,

oh so gently, but his eyes were like shards of ice. He dropped his hand slowly, reached into his briefcase, and pulled out a thick, glossy magazine. "Be a good pet, Akihito, and I might bring you another treat when I come again." The magazine landed on the sofa and Asami turned on his heel, the bitter, humorless twist of Asami's lips burning into Akihito's vision long after the door closed. His shaky legs collapsed, and he held on as heaving sobs racked his already aching body. Desperately, he latched on to a single anchor in his mind: the look he thought he saw on Asami's face just before he passed out--it was wasn't disgust, it wasn't anger, it wasn't even sadistic pleasure. It was pain.

And Smote Him, Thus

Chapter Summary

Absence makes the heart grow...

Chapter Notes

Might contain some triggery stuff. Scroll down to the end notes if you'd like to check what those are.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

From his perch by the window, Akihito's eyes followed the man who brought in the bag of groceries, gathered the trash bag, and replaced his dirty towels with fresh ones. The man never spoke, so Akihito didn't even know his name. He didn't particularly care. This was--Akihito's listless eyes stopped a moment, staring unfocused at the wall as he tried to count back--the fourth visit since he'd last seen Kirishima. He assumed he'd gone with Asami. It made sense. Kirishima was almost always where his boss was. A month had passed--a month alone, if he didn't count (and he didn't) a once-a-week visit for five minutes from a stranger who wouldn't deign to look at him, much less speak to him. It seemed like much longer. Gradually, he had practically taken up permanent residence on the little ledge that allowed him to peek at the outside world, his knees tucked up under his chin. He was eating less and less, his appetite famed for its unfathomable capacity had all but disappeared. Even his small collection of magazines (his reward, Asami would say with a mocking smile, adding another one to the pile, after Akihito had been debased enough for one visit) lay discarded, dusty, in one corner of the small room. He was pretty sure he'd been wearing the same clothes for the past three days. It seemed pretty pointless to bother showering or changing clothes or going through any motions like a real person would. Sleep was the only thing, other than looking out the window, that had any appeal to Akihito at all. He was doing a lot more of that lately. It was so hard to wake up sometimes. Struggling to consciousness was like emerging from a deep pool of some thick, clinging substance, something that wanted to drag him back down into oblivion. Not that it mattered either way. It was nice down there, and Asami had said he might be gone for months. "You're leaving?" Akihito spoke without thinking, without permission, turning up eyes rounded with apprehension and dismay. "What? Will you miss me?" Rather than showing anger at Akihito's outburst, Asami looked coldly amused. The scorn he

could live with, but a month, maybe two, locked up by himself--Akihito couldn't stand the thought of it. Even if Asami only came to hurt and humiliate him, at least he was company. And Akihito hadn't fully given up hope that he could convince Asami somehow that he had made a huge mistake. After that time Asami had lost control, he'd stayed away for a week, and then began paying even more frequent visits to Akihito's little prison. His icy reserve was back, and he reinstated their dance of false intimacy with the barest minimum of words and gestures, using Akihito sexually in one way or another, but never as harshly. Akihito didn't try to provoke him again, but he kept his eyes and ears open. If only he could only find a way out, he would figure out what exactly was going on. He would find out, and then he would prove to Asami just how wrong he had been. And then he would kick Asami's ass for ever believing that he would do something like that. That hurt more than anything. Sure, he threatened to take Asami down in the past, but that was ages ago, and the last few times he had, Asami had surely known he hadn't meant it. Hadn't he? His anger and frustration sometimes built up so much, he could hardly restrain himself from lashing out at Asami. It was only his belief that Asami might be hurting just as badly as himself kept him from it. And, if he was completely honest with himself, he was a little afraid of what Asami might do the next time. Hurting or not, the unpredictable expression of Asami's unstable emotions were scary. He'd never seen Asami not in perfect control before. Even when he'd seen him angry, it was always banked, always contained and controlled in front of him. For the first time, he'd truly seen into the darker depths he'd always known were there. He'd thought sometimes of trying to woo Asami, to step beyond the dictates of their established routine and soothe Asami into some kind of trust and affection, but distaste for such arts and the unsettling feeling that he'd be stepping into a pit of vipers by trying to use his wiles--such as they were--on Asami stopped him. Until he could think of a better plan, he wouldn't make waves. He'd come out of the situation with Feilong by surviving. Enduring. He could do it again. The only thing he allowed himself was a single sentence every time Asami took his leave. "I didn't betray you." The first time, Asami had halted, his hand on the door handle, but after that one brief moment, he left with a word or look. He had never responded again, not until the last time. He'd turned, watching Akihito still on his knees, his lips pink and swollen from their task. Akihito's chest tightened. Asami's face was stone, but the expression in his eyes pinned Akihito to the spot. Asami seemed to struggle with himself for the space a few seconds before reaching into his inner jacket pocket and retrieving a small photograph. He held it out. Akihito stood slowly, hesitantly stepping forward to take it, his heartbeat a frenetic pounding against his ribcage. The picture was grainy, it looked like a still from a security camera, but the man in the picture was tall, attractive, and looked to be in his mid-thirties. Akihito frowned. "Who is this?" "You don't know him?" "I've never seen him before." "You're sure?"

"Yes, I'm pos--" Akihito looked up, his brow furrowing, and recoiled from the dark contempt in Asami's eyes, taking an involuntary step backwards. Asami prowled closer, his lips brushing against the shell of Akihito's ear. "Little liar," he whispered, the venom in his voice making Akihito shiver. Before he could respond, Asami's mouth was devouring his, a vicious kiss that sucked all the air from his lungs and smashed his lips against his teeth. The coppery-blood taste filled his mouth, and Akihito's hands beat desperately against Asami's shoulders as the burn in his lungs intensified. Asami let him go, using his thumb to wipe saliva from his own bottom lip. "I'll be gone for a while. A month. Maybe longer. I trust--" His mouth twisted into a sardonic grin. "--you'll behave." Akihito's heart faltered, a wild surge of panic making his eyes widen impossibly. "No!" Asami's eyes narrowed in response, his voice deadly soft. "No?" "Asami, please..." Akihito bit his lip, his hands reaching then drawing back to twist compulsively together. "Don't go...don't leave me for so long. I can't...I can't..." The begging was humiliating, but Akihito couldn't help himself. Asami stared down at him with unreadable eyes. "It's business." Asami's voice was surprisingly gentle, and Akihito almost wept as a warm hand cupped his cheek. He bent to whisper in Akihito's ear. "Fucking you, I'm afraid, is only a pastime." With a condescending pat to Akihito's cheek, he stepped away. "Now be a good little slut and wait here for me, won't you?" He hadn't been a good boy, though. When the man he didn't know had first shown up in place of Kirishima, he had run. The man had left the door unlocked, and while he was in the bathroom, gathering the small bag of trash and the laundry from the hampers, Akihito had slipped out quietly and ran down the long hallway lined with identical doors. There was no shouting behind him, no chase. He was disturbed by that on some level, but it didn't stop him. The elevator doors were wide open, and he rushed inside pushing the ground floor button and then jabbed repeated at the button to close the doors. A strangled cry escaped him while his fists beat uselessly against the console, random buttons lighting up but causing no reaction. He eyes lit on the lock. A key. He needed a fucking elevator key. Cursing, he ran out and threw himself at the emergency stairwell door. Locked. He let out a frustrated sob, casting a look back down the hallway. He was still alone. His eyes turned back to the door, and he noticed the small envelope taped there for the first time. It was addressed to him and contained a handwritten note in Asami's prefect lettering. Akihito. I knew you would eventually try to run, but I promised you from the beginning that there would never be escape for you. For better or worse, your fate lies in my hand. Til death do us part, as the saying goes. A token of my affection will be brought to you soon. Wear it with my compliments. But remember, my indulgence only goes so far.

His insides curling in on themselves, Akihito sank to the floor, letting his trembling legs firm before he pushed himself to his feet, and with resignation, retraced his short flight from his tiny prison. The man was waiting inside. He left as soon as Akihito arrived, but he was back before many minutes had passed, this time carrying something that made Akihito stare. He had started laughing as the man fastened it to him, the man's spooked expression only making it worse. He kept laughing, and he couldn't stop, not until tears streamed down his face and his breath hitched in uncontrollable spasms. A ball and chain. Asami always did have a warped sense of humor. It was removed a week later, but Akihito didn't try to run again. He got the message. Almost soundlessly, Akihito began to sing the words of a song that had been getting a lot of airplay on the radio a few months ago. The bright, fluffy lyrics, fit for ears of teenage girls in the throes of a first crush, made his lips curve a little in ironic amusement. It seemed to disconcert the man, who cast a quick, nervous look sideways before grabbing the bag of trash and laundry and making a beeline for the door. Alone again, Akihito kept singing, the whispered melody making the window pane fog up with his breath. It had begun to get a little chillier, especially in the evenings. He really should remember not to fall asleep leaning up against the wall like he was now. He'd been achy, his throat a little sore, the past few days. Goosebumps crawled up his arms, and he shivered a little. A nap would probably be good for him. A few more moments crawled by sluggishly, before Akihito slid one leg down, then the other, leaning against the wall until the sensation of pins and needles in his limbs began to fade. With effort, he dragged the futon from its cupboard and unfolded it on the floor. The blanket came next, and he crawled beneath it. The sunset bathed the far wall in a golden shade, and Akihito admired it hazily as his thoughts began to drift off and his eyes slowly shut. A sudden rumbling made them flutter open for a second, his stomach cramping with mild hunger pains. Maybe later he would eat. He was too tired now, much too tired too bother. The back of his neck ached terribly and the beginnings of a headache had begun to pulse at the base of his skull. All he wanted to do was sleep. His dreams came as usual. Stairwells and locked doors that stretched on forever, and he was running, trying to find a way out, but there was something after him, chasing him down, and he knew that if it caught up to him there would be no hope. Dread settled in his gut, the familiarity of the scene not lessening the impact of the fear and hopelessness that he cycled through constantly. In the dark, his eyeballs tracked back and forth beneath the lids, fingers twitching at his sides, until he finally drifted into a deeper, dreamless sleep. Hours later he woke again, coming out of a newer set of dreams that faded almost instantly upon waking, only the vague suggestion of Dunhills seeming to tease at his memory and nose. Asami. He sat up abruptly and regretted the decision instantly. His head throbbed with nauseating strength, and his entire body ached along in sympathy it seemed. Worse--Asami was no where to be seen, and there wasn't even the faintest scent of his cigarettes in the air. Akihito drooped back down on the futon. He must've have been dreaming it after all. He reached up, dragging a shaky hand across his face, trying to clear the sleep from his senses. Why did his face feel so hot? He felt like he was burning up.

It was only then, that he realized his clothes were drenched, as if he'd been sweating heavily, and for a long time. His state finally began to penetrate deeper into his awareness, and he began to shiver in the cold air. His blanket, he had kicked off at some point, and Akihito reached feebly for it, clutching it to his chin. His throat felt raw, and swallowing was agony. He desperately wanted a glass of water, but he wasn't sure if he could even bring himself to try to cover the few feet to the sink. The terrible dryness and pain in his throat finally convinced him, and he managed to get to his hands and knees crawl the short distance, waves of nausea crashing over him. He began coughing, a thick, congested sound that didn't bode well. He knew there was no medication in the bathroom cabinet. Nothing but basic toiletries. Using the counter to pull himself up, Akihito swayed, a rolling wave of nausea making the blood rush out of his face. His knuckles turned white as he gripped the counter's edge and willed himself not to pass out. When the feeling lessened, he tilted his head and let the water from the faucet run directly into his mouth. It felt heavenly, dripping down his chin and chest, though it made the shivering start again. His teeth chattered, and he whimpered a little until his eyes fell on the expensive bottle of whiskey that sat in the far corner of the kitchen. It was the only expensive thing in the apartment, and it was Asami's. Akihito never touched it unless Asami was visiting. His lips twisted at the innocuous-sounding word to describe the time Asami spent with him, but he stumbled toward it anyway. Maybe Asami hadn't broken him as much as they both thought because Akihito was already reaching for it. He opened it up, and held it to his lips. Cold medicine was mostly alcohol anyway, wasn't it? He'd just have a little. Asami might not even notice. Akihito felt like he might just die if he didn't have some. It wasn't like Asami would care if he did, but he might be pissed off he didn't get to do it himself. Akihito laughed a little wildly until he started coughing again, razing streaks of fire down his sore throat. Hunched over the counter, he wheezed painfully, riding out the wave. When he could manage, he finally took a healthy swig from the bottle, and then he was coughing violently again, sinking down to curl up over his knees, bottle still in hand. Shit, it hurt like nothing else. His raw throat practically ignited, but after a few moments it began to numb a little. He took another drink, and it went down a tiny bit easier. A warmth began to bloom deep in his belly. He could almost see why Asami liked this stuff. By the time he'd drunk enough to realize only a few drops remained of the bottle's contents, Akihito had ceased to think of its importance at all. His thoughts were thoroughly fogged and his body blessedly numb. He'd actually managed to stand up and, on very unsteady feet, stagger his way to the window. It was still dark outside, but the dawn was creeping up on the horizon. The sky was a darkish slate blue now, instead of black. He upended the bottle, letting the last drops hit his tongue, and held the bottle aloft in salute. "Good morning." His voice was gravelly and weak, and he frowned, clearing his throat, despite the way it made the pain flare, and tried again.

"Good morning!" The bottle slipped from his fingers and shattered against the floor. Shit. He dropped to his knees, not noticing as they crunched against the broken glass, the fabric of his denim jeans turning dark and sticky. Shit! Asami was going to be so mad at him. He was going to be angry again, and he would hurt him, even though it was an accident, and he really really needed to drink it. Asami would be even worse. He would be so cruel, and he might...he might stop coming for real...forever...and... Akihito scrabbled desperately at the shards, trying to pick them up, his palms and fingers bleeding in shallow cuts as he piled them on one palm, while tears dripped down his cheeks. The scent of the alcohol burned in his nostrils. He didn't want to be left alone. Whatever Asami thought he had done, wasn't that too cruel? It would be better if Asami just killed him outright, if he hated him so much. A sob escaped Akihito, his heart clenching painfully at the thought of Asami hating him. The relentless questions that never gave him any peace, battered at the forefront of his brain again. Why? Who was that man in the picture? What had he done? Hobbling to the bin in the bathroom, unknowingly leaving a dripping trail of blood, Akihito dumped the pieces in and sagged down to the floor in front of the toilet. Did it matter why? Asami hated him. Hated him. He was never going to let him go. Akihito would be trapped here forever, and when Asami got bored with punishing him--and maybe he already had--then Akihito would be left on his own in this barren little room forever and ever and ever. His vision blurred, and Akihito lifted his forearm to wipe away the tears that fell steadily. His skin felt cold and clammy now, and a violent wave of nausea sent him to the floor. Hunched over his knees, he convulsed, trying to hold in the bile rising in his stomach. It did no good; his body jerked as a stream of watery, brown liquid splattered over the tiles next to the toilet. Again and again, he heaved until there was nothing left and the dry spasms left him shaking. Groaning, he sat up slowly. He couldn't just sit here and rot away. But what was he supposed to do? He had nothing. He could do nothing. He was well and truly trapped. All his life, his freedom, all his choices had been taken away. Except...his eyes drifted to the blood-spattered shards and he slowly reached into the small garbage bin and picked up a large triangular piece that seemed to fit into his grip perfectly. His mother always said things happened for a reason, and that he should read the signs before making decisions. He'd been wrong before. He did have one choice--one way out. His fingers curled tighter, but Akihito didn't even notice the pain as the edges cut into his skin. Asami probably wasn't coming back. He was only fooling himself to think otherwise. This was Akihito's fate. This was all he had, but now fate had given him this chance. It was a sign, like his mother had said. And he was so tired. He knew she would understand--if she ever found out. He hoped so anyway. Mom and Dad, his friends, Akihito smiled softly, wiping at the tears that still dripped down his cheeks, pink fingerprints marking his flesh. I'm sorry. He hoped Asami would be happy finally. And if he ever realized the truth--that Akihito had only ever loved him--he hoped it wouldn't hurt Asami too badly. He hoped--

...the glass traveled up his forearm, resting at the crook of his elbow. All he had to do was slide it down toward his wrist, flay open the flesh in a slow, gentle glide. It would be so easy... --he hoped that... "Asami..." The whisper fell into the silence as drops of bright red began to well from the shallow cut where the shard pressed lightly against the delicate skin, his skin bluish-tinged under the fluorescent light. A vision of the man's piercing, golden eyes swam in his vision, that cool, judging gaze weighing Akihito in the balance, finding him wanting. Deep inside Akihito, a spark ignited. A sense of wrongness, reluctance, began to spread through his numb body. For a moment, two halves struggled; one willing his fingers to complete the path, and the other stubbornly insisting he let the glass fall from his hand. No. Akihito shook his head from side to side, ignoring the flare of dizzying pain as he struggled to overcome the drugged stupor of his thoughts. This wasn't him. He wouldn't do it. He wouldn't go out this way. Fuck the signs. He'd always found a way out before, and he would do it this time too. He'd find out what was going on--whatever or whoever was behind this--he'd find out and make them pay for hurting both of them. "Asami..." The name fell again with a breathless gasp into the silence, and Akihito slumped backward against the bathroom wall, the shard slipping from his grasp as his body began to convulse against the cold tiles.

Chapter End Notes

-Contains: angst, melodrama, blood, alcohol poisoning: vomiting, etc., thoughts of suicide

Farewell the Tranquil Mind

Chapter Summary

Interlude and reflection.

Two orange circles of light flared brightly in the dim, underground parking garage, then faded back to a fainter glow, as two men simultaneously inhaled deeply, held the nerve-soothing nicotine in their lungs, and then blew it out into the still, stale air. Only when the cigarettes had been smoked down to nothing and ground to the pavement, did Suoh speak. "He still hasn't woken up?" "No, but the doctor says he's out of critical condition and sleeping naturally. His body is still exhausted from the combination of the fever, malnutrition, and the...trauma." Kirishima's fingers twitched toward his mouth again, as if they still held their emotional pacifier. He settled for taking off his glasses and polishing them with a handkerchief tugged from his front pocket. "He could wake up anytime now." They were both thinking with something akin to pity the scene that would ensue when the boy did wake up, and they each hoped they wouldn't be anywhere near for it. At the same time, they were profoundly grateful that any such scene was even possible. "Boss wants him moved before that happens?" "Ideally. You've fully vetted the nurses?" Suoh gave a grunt of assent. "The detailed background checks were completed this morning." "Which men did you assign to penthouse duty?" "Tsukamoto and Otori." Kirishima nodded. Neither had any prior contact with the boy, and they were both loyal, discreet, and professional. Unable to suppress a tiny sigh, Kirishima rubbed his eyes tiredly and resettled his glasses on his face. Since the phone call he'd received three days ago, sleep had been a rare commodity. His phone was on mute, all calls forwarded to messaging excepting anything that came through on the emergency number. It could have been any number of things, Kirishima knew--the dicey situation with the Russians, a local rival making an unexpected play, business as usual, however urgent it may be. Except Kirishima somehow knew it wasn't. A sense of foreboding made him reluctant to pull out the deceptively innocuous device now vibrating in his suit pocket, but it couldn't be ignored. His boss continued to speak to the man across the table, never missing a beat, though that measured gaze flicked briefly in his direction. With a murmured apology, Kirishima rose to take the call. His eyes met Suoh's briefly as he passed by his watchful form at the door. A flash of awareness passed between them, and he knew that Suoh had gone on high alert, catching his uneasiness.

The conversation that followed did nothing to settle his nerves. It was an unpleasant shock to say the least, and he knew it would be even more so for his boss. He did his best to work the details out of the frantic man on the other side of the international call. It was enough to realize the situation was very serious indeed. Takaba was being rushed to a private clinic now, Asami's personal physician at the scene with him. He listened to Murata's stammered recital, his blood growing cold as he spoke of blue skin and seizures, and an apparent wealth of Takaba's own blood now decorating his small prison. When he extracted all he felt possible at the moment, he gave strict orders for frequent updates, barring not the slightest, seemingly insignificant detail. Praise for Murata's swift action, seemed to calm the man somewhat, and he assured Kirishima that he would carry out his instructions without fault, particularly to not let the boy out of his sight, and to ensure the doctor called as soon Takaba was stabilized. Neither one wanted to mention procedures in the event that he did not. For now it would be counterproductive to even contemplate such a necessity. His final instruction was to have the video of Takaba's last twenty-four hours placed on the private network. Without a doubt, he knew his boss would want to see it. It wasn't something he was looking forward to experiencing. Each glimpse of the boy's descent into his personal hell was disturbing. He could hardly even wrap his mind around the idea of that noisy, brash boy, even at this moment, being so close to... Kirishima frowned, shaking off inefficient thoughts. Contacting the pilot of Asami's private jet was a more immediate concern. He took care of that as soon as he hung up with Murata. He would be ready and waiting for quick take off, as soon as they arrived. The other minor details needed to travel were soon handled, and he fortified himself with a deep breath before braving the lion's den. Asami's eyes went to him as soon as he entered. There was no need for words, Kirishima took his seat and watched his boss work his particular brand of magic. Within ten minutes, the meeting had been wrapped up, and he and Suoh followed Asami to the car waiting below. He had a cigarette out, lit and sucked down, a quarter length of ash dangling from it, before Kirishima could offer him a light. "Well?" Kirishima didn't mince words. "It's Takaba, Asami-sama." He didn't miss the way the flesh at the corners of Asami's eyes and mouth tightened. "He's seriously ill and injured. Murata called the doctor when the boy failed to regain consciousness, and he's being rushed to the clinic for treatment now." He hesitated for the barest fraction of a second. "Apparently, it's...touch and go." His boss's expression didn't change, but the air around them seemed to drop twenty degrees. "What exactly is wrong with him?" This wasn't news he was looking forward to sharing, not at all. But the darkening expression on Asami's face had him spilling out the basics of what he had gleaned. God knew, they were disturbing enough, and the details...well, they were just heart-breaking. "Asami-sama, Takaba has a high fever, perhaps caused by some illness--a cold, the flu, it's not certain yet. Also, he seems to be suffering from alcohol poisoning as well as minor cuts from the broken decanter found near him." The rest of Asami's cigarette disappeared in one long inhale, and Kirishima watched the ash fall silently to the asphalt next to the car. "Is that all?"

The lethal quality of Asami's voice made him shiver. "No, sir. The poisoning caused a variety of problems, including severe vomiting and convulsions. When Murata got to him, his skin was blue and he had lost consciousness. Murata was able to clear his airways and get him breathing again until the emergency services arrived. And there is one another thing." One glance at the barely leashed, impotent fury in his boss's bone-chilling gaze told Kirishima not to test his patience. "It...it appears that he may have tried to take his own life. His forearm bore a deliberate vertical cut, perhaps meant to open up a vein, though it seems not to have been completed." Suoh shifted infinitesimally beside him. The news rocked them all. Just saying the words had Kirishima's chest aching in empathetic horror and compunction for the boy's predicament while he waited for his boss's reaction. For his boss, he felt a stinging anxiety he knew would not be assuaged soon. "The jet." "Is being readied as we speak, Asami-sama. We can--" Kirishima's phone vibrated again, and he answered it immediately. "Kirishima." He listened a moment, jaw tightening at what he heard. "I see. Possibility of a coma? Are you--" The phone was taken from his hand. A move which startled Kirishima, but ultimately didn't surprise him. He and Suoh exchanged a surreptitious glance as their boss spit out terse questions and equally terse orders. Kirishima pulled out his spare phone to check on the pilot and his other orders. He was ready for Asami's command as he handed back the phone. "We're leaving for Tokyo now." "Of course, Asami-sama. The jet is being fueled. We should be able to leave within half an hour of our arrival." He opened the car door for his boss and followed him inside. Suoh climbed into the front seat with the driver. Asami's frozen mask didn't waver, but he reached for the decanter of whiskey, prompting Kirishima to scramble into action. "Asami-sama, allow me--" "I can do it myself, for fuck's sake," Asami growled, and Kirishima sat back warily. Asami splashed the dark liquid into the glass, nearly filling it to the brim. He brought it to his mouth before he seemed caught by the sight of it. Murata's words ran through Kirishima's mind and unpleasant tingle spread down his spine. It was all he could do not to shudder. Asami's face contorted and he flung the glass against the far door of the car with a curse, an arc of expensive whiskey marking the path. It shattered instantly, spraying glass and alcohol, and leaving the interior reeking with the strong scent of the spirit. Kirishima winced. Asami was jerking at his jacket. "Where is my goddamned lighter?" His cigarettes were already in hand. He tipped one out and clamped it between his lips, and Kirishima hastily offered up a flame his own lighter. The dark head bent and the thin whisper of paper and leaves incinerating on the inhale sounded loud in Kirishima's ears. He had no idea how to manage this. Asami hadn't exactly shown himself amenable to conversation on the subject, not since this horrible mess had first begun to show, growing like a tiny speck of mold that eventually spilled out of its petri dish and corrupted every

aspect of their lives. The rational, calculating, composed man that he knew had been altered by this. It was shocking because Kirishima had seen both his mercy and his ruthlessness many times, but Asami had always been in control, even when his passions were roused. His reasons were always there, his methods sound, whether anyone else recognized them at the time or not. Except that had never been true when the situation involved Takaba, had it? Asami had managed it, though. He had channeled it when his hand was forced, and he used it to achieve his aims, as he always did. Kirishima wasn't even sure anymore if Asami knew what his aims were now. The evidence against the boy was overwhelming, compelling, but even so...it still didn't sit right. It didn't make sense, no matter how much digging into it seemed to point right back to Takaba. Perhaps this would be enough, finally, to shock his boss back to himself. Perhaps this mess, a situation Kirishima privately considered an empty show that would never have a final act (unless it was going on right now in a hospital in Tokyo), causing only grief for all players, would finally be untangled. Unfortunately, Asami's actions in this situation were entirely unpredictable. His eyes traveled over to the broken glass and the dark stain soaking into the carpet of the vehicle. The poor kid...what had he been thinking? His fingers itched for a cigarette of his own. But his boss smoked enough for two, lighting each one off the last until the trays were overflowing by the time they arrived at the small airport. He and Suoh flanked Asami as he climbed the steps to the small plane. "I want the video of what happened." The curt words cut through Kirishima's final discussion with the pilot. "I'll set the laptop up immediately, Asami-sama." Blank of all emotion--a sign Kirishima knew all too well to be a warning signal--Asami moved to his seat and waited for his order to be carried out. Kirishima hastened to comply, a low throbbing began to pulse with unwelcome intensity at the base of his skull. It was going to be a long flight. The low whir of machines barely disturbed the silence of the dimly-lit room. Akihito looked very small and very young in the middle of the industrial hospital bed with it's metal sides raised up to keep him safe and contained. The tubes going into his nose, as well as the I.V. slowly dripping fluids into his body, gave him an even greater air of vulnerability. A brush of knuckles against pale skin confirmed the fever that still ravaged through his frail body. He looked much thinner than Asami remembered. Should he lift that familiar weight in his arms now, it seemed the boy would be as insubstantial as mist; a shadow of his former self. Unwillingly, his eyes drew back to the bandaged arm that lay so limply on the coarse hospital blanket. His fingers lifted the tape, unwrapping with careful dexterity the gauze that wound around the thin arm, and his breath caught in his throat when the jagged wound was revealed, raw and red and weeping still, despite the neat, black stitching holding together delicate flesh with ugly utility. A knot of thick blood seemed to gather in his heart as it pumped painfully, trying to pass the stubborn blockage with an arrhythmic flurry of contractions. A wave of unexpected light-headedness forced his hands to the railing of the bed, and he held on with a white-knuckled grip, willing himself to master his body's responses. Deep inhales through his nose and iron determination eventually steadied him.

He was alive, despite current appearances, Akihito was alive. That was enough for now. He would see to it that he recovered, that he awakened. Anything else was unacceptable. He had been careless, blind to certain things, but that would change. Nothing like this would be permitted to happen again. Only he had the right to change Akihito. Only he had the right to touch him, to hurt him, and to punish him. And he would. He sank onto the stool by the bedside, his forehead dropping down to rest on the bar. Stupid, stupid boy. He would punish him for daring to try to escape him. He would punish him for not breaking in the right way, for continuing to deny his guilt, defying him to the very end. He would punish him for creating these useless, debilitating feelings inside him-this weakness--that filled him with self-loathing. When the boy woke up--and he would, soon--Asami would teach him that he could never escape. He would drive that lesson into him again and again. The machines hummed quietly in the ICU. His men ever vigilant beyond the door, while he kept vigil inside, eyes gone blank, remembering, fingertips brushing gently over the fine, purple-veined skin of Akihito's wrist where the faint pulse beat. When the trail led to this modest one bedroom apartment in Akihabara, Asami's instincts told him whatever he would find inside would be much more dangerous than the situation seemed to indicate. The tip off he received about the person who might not or might not be behind the recent trouble he had been having with certain of his Tokyo holdings was beginning to smell worse and worse. It was an uneasiness he couldn't fully explain because he knew he didn't have enough of the pieces yet. Someone was obviously attempting to play him. No oddities there. It wasn't that which bothered him. No, it was the vague sense of something familiar, something almost recognizable struggling to emerge. He could sense it. Only a bit more was needed to fill the gaps that would bridge those little puzzles that didn't interlock just yet: the rattling cages of certain business rivals, dead whores and unrest in Kabukicho, the Russian situation. Even Akihito had been more jumpy lately, as if he sensed the high tension Asami had been operating under, despite his attempts to hide it from his lover. Now, faced with the unassuming grey door, he found himself reluctant to step past this particular threshold. Just inside the door, that precognition, the sense of deja vu intensified. A first glance once Suoh and Kirishima had stepped aside showed the main room to be neat, but homey. A game system was plugged into the flat screen tv on one wall, a disordered stack of cartridges shoved onto one shelf. A computer and desk took up one corner, where a novelty coffee mug and a fat, stuffed creature of unrecognizable species sat next to the monitor. Various black and white photos adorned the walls, some in frames propped against the walls and floor. The door to the bathroom was open, revealing a small, functional room with a whimsical shower curtain. It reminded him of nothing so much as Akihito's tiny apartment back when he'd first begun his cat and mouse game with the boy. His eyes narrowed. "Wait." Suoh stopped his path to the only room they hadn't explored yet and looked over his shoulder. Kirishima watched him like a hawk, but he ignored them both, bending his knee to examine one of the pictures leaning against the wall. His eyes flicked to the next one and the next. "Asami-sama?" Asami rose, his sharp gaze zeroing in on one other item on the desk. In three strides he had crossed the room and hunkered down to study the heavy, metal pen. A gag gift, though a nice

one, from Akihito's friends when he'd received a rather prestigious photography award, and given to him with the teasing suggestion that he could use it for signing autographs when he became rich and famous. He remembered quite clearly how frantic Akihito had been when he had misplaced it only a few days before. He reached to touch it, then drew back his fingers. By then his bowels had turned to ice, though he didn't allow it to show on his face. Kirishima was on full alert, knowing his moods entirely too well, tension bleeding into his rigid, ready stance, his gun still out. Suoh had returned his gaze to the bedroom door, weapon in hand, as well. "Boss?" Another familiar feeling twisted his gut. It was quite the day for deja vu. Only, this time it was guilt, eating into him like a cancer that refused to go into remission. The stench of this trail was beyond rank. It rose to high heaven with its foul odor, and he knew it would only get worse. Akihito. Someone was targeting the boy again. Because of him. Someone had been close enough to steal from him, to touch him perhaps, to... He rose abruptly, startling both his men into an even higher state of alert. The handle to the bedroom door was in his hand before they could do more than protest. Kirishima's chiding tone darkly amusing him until what he saw inside chilled his blood too. It crawled sluggishly through his veins as his gaze traveled around the walls of the room. The bright afternoon light bathed the walls in warm light, perversely creating a pleasing effect that made the candid shots of Akihito glow with life. "Where is Akihito?" His voice sounded tight in his ears, but Kirishima was already on the phone, confirming the boy's location. "Asami-sama, he hasn't left the penthouse yet." He grunted in acknowledgment and briefly closed his eyes, allowing a wave relief to pass through him. Kirishima spoke quietly in the background, arranging for more manpower set on the task of watching the boy's troublesome ass. "I want the place dusted for prints." A ray of humor broke through as the irony of that remark took hold. Asami snorted and they all chuckled, the tension ebbing for a moment until Akihito's laughing visage caught his attention. He moved forward, drawn by the open happiness on his face. He'd never seen this picture before, nor any of the ones that lined the walls. When had they been taken? Where? More importantly, who had been the one holding the camera? What purpose did they serve? This little nest was an obvious trap, but what kind exactly? He was meant to find this place, but why? "Asami-sama." The uncharacteristic uncertainty in Kirishima's voice pulled him back into the main room, his pulse beginning to flow faster. "What is it?" "We found a wall safe behind a picture." Kirishima offered it up gingerly, a pair of thin gloves on his hands. "This one." A frown grew between his eyes as he took it and flipped the frame over before shock wiped his expression blank. His own face stared out at him, almost two decades younger, but clearly

recognizable. The other boy in the picture, arm slung around his shoulder and grinning widely, was equally familiar. Homura Yuta. All the puzzles pieces fell into place, but instead of the sense of satisfaction that usually came with that, only a nauseating certainty that this was only the beginning of a deeper game made his eyes harden. A dead man was threatening his life and his lover. He'd been in stranger situations. The concerned gazes of his men felt as heavy as lead, and his knuckles whitened around the frame. It cost him everything he had to maintain the control that wanted to break and lash out. His nostrils flared with the effort to suppress his primal need and underneath it the dread he didn't want to acknowledge. With brutal ruthlessness, he bottled the emotion, his mind already ticking over the possibilities. Well, then. He would play the game, and he would win. A dry, unpleasant shiver slid down his spine as he moved to the window and stared down unseeing at the flashy, lit up signs of the Otaku shops that lined the street. He would do this for the past, for his present interests, but most of all, he would do it to make certain Homura Yuto was never able to get anywhere near his Akihito ever again.

And Fall to Reprobation

Chapter Summary

Asami present and past.

Akihito tossed restlessly, the fever rising again, delirium-fueled babble occasionally spilling from him in incomprehensible bursts. His cheeks were flushed and dark circles under his eyes made his face look frail and bruised. It was important to bring his temperature down. Asami remembered the doctor saying that, but the worthless nurse wasn't around. Asami would fire her on next sighting. The back of his hand brushed Akihito's cheek, but he quickly pulled it back in shock. Akihito was more than feverish; his skin felt as if it were almost ready to ignite. Another shock rocked him as Akihito's eyes flew open. They stared up at Asami, taking up his whole face, enormous and liquid. "A--Asami..." The thin ghost of a voice paralyzed him. "I--I'm cold." Cold? How could he possibly be cold? He was burning up; his skin like dry parchment. A numb incomprehension weighted his thoughts and even his fine motor skills. At his sides, his fingers clenched futilely. "Please..." Weak fingers wrapped around his wrist, and when Asami looked from the offending hand and back to Akihito's face, he saw that all color had fled. A pallor had swept over him, leaving only a faint blue tint to that fragile, translucent skin. The small body jerked with uncontrollable shivers. A piteous moan escaped the boy and his fingers fell limply away from Asami. From a distance, Asami watched as the boy began to convulse, great racking heaves doubling his knees to his chest as he continued to cough and choke, a thin stream of vomit trickling from his mouth to the pillow. His skin got bluer and bluer, and Asami could only stand there, unable to move from where he stood and observed. "Asami...please, Asami..." That faint voice again, calling him, pleading. And the machine had gone mad; beeping louder and faster, zigzags making frenetic patterns across the screen. And then, as quick and cleanly as a head chopped off by a master executioner, it stopped. Nothing. Blank. No sound. No movement. A limp body on a bed. Eyes--those eyes--empty, void, gone. It was only then that Asami found himself able to move. "Wake up," he snarled, grabbing the boy by the shoulders and shaking the slight frame that weighed next to nothing now. "Wake up. You can't. Not yet. Do you hear me?"

Somehow, the boy ended up in his arms, cradled across his lap as Asami held him, rocked him, cheeks wet for some unknown reason. It was the nurse's fault. She should be here. "Wake up. Do as you're told for once, you disobedient brat!" Akihito didn't fight him, only lay in his embrace like a limp doll, cold and silent. Asami shook him angrily. "Stop it! Are you trying to piss me off?" The cold crept up his own spine, sinking into his skin and making his hands clumsy. He pressed the boy closer. He would warm him up. He would warm him, and then Akihito would open his eyes again. He would-"It's too late, Sir." His heart jumped as the nurse's hand landed on his shoulder. He looked up in startled fury, and the nurse shook her head in resignation. "He's gone." "That's a lie. You're lying," he said coldly. "Fix this. Wake him up. It's your job isn't it? Fix it now." She smiled sadly. "I'm sorry, Asami-sama. He won't ever wake up." No. He would never accept it. He would never... Wake up...wake up...Asami-sama...wake up... "Asami-sama!" The bedroom door rattled with a heavy pounding. "Asami-sama! Wake up, please! Asami-sama!" Drenched in sweat, Asami jerked up, hand sliding automatically to the compact gun he kept under the pillow before he was able to fully process the sound of the nurse's voice outside his bedroom door. He weaved unsteadily to the door and jerked it open, unmindful of his nudity. "What is it?" The nurse recoiled, turning away from his nakedness and the harsh, thick voice that barked out the question. "It's Takaba-san, Sir. He's awake." Always keep your opponent off balance. It was that maxim, that alone, Asami told himself, which brought him to the edge of the bed and his hand up to touch Akihito's wan face. Never let them know what you're thinking. Keep them guessing. Huge eyes followed his every move, never flinched as his fingers brushed aside the too-long hair that fell over Akihito's forehead. In the soft, dim light of the lamp on the bedside table, every moment of the last three months seemed etched into the boy's hollowed features. Even the bright hair running to black at the roots gave evidence of what had passed. The I.V. slowly dripped into his arm. The wire taped to his finger led to the monitoring machine, the sound turned so low as to be barely audible, nothing like the cacophonic chaos of the dream. Pale lips parted, a soft exhale, and the tip of a pink tongue appeared and disappeared, leaving a faint shine behind that mesmerized Asami as his fingers stroked fine skin. Akihito was warm, not feverish, not that horribly chilling cold that had seeped deep into Asami with insidious relentlessness. "A--Asami?"

The word was hardly more than a rasp, the barest whisper, and he had to bend his head to hear it. He reached for the drink on the table, putting the straw to Akihito's lips while his hand cupped the base of his skull, lifting his head as he took a short sip of the tepid water. It seemed to exhaust Akihito. His eyes fluttered closed and then opened again, wide and fixated on Asami. "What happened?" Undisguised, raw hope made them darken as his pupils grew. "Is...is this your condo?" Always proceed as if you have the upper hand even if you don't. Gently, he allowed Akihito's head to rest against the pillow again. The drink went on the table. Asami's hands went back to his sides. "It is." They shared a long look, Akihito's expressive face flickering with innumerable emotions that Asami watched with morbid fascination. His own face was carefully blank, though his chest contracted sharply as those wide, searching eyes filmed over and fat tears began to leak from the corners of Akihito's eyes. Akihito's body hitched under a sudden heaving sob. "How--" He choked out the words. "What does it mean?" Those compelling eyes sucked him in; Akihito always looked so appealing when he cried. Long, wet lashes clumped together, framing that shimmering, wounded look that had yet always contained an underlying fire. Was it still there? Asami bent over him, the better to see, resting his palms on either side of Akihito's waist. "You don't remember anything?" "I..." A frown creased Akihito's brow, confusion and uncertainty making him hesitant. "I was sick? At...at the other place." His eyes flickered away nervously, as if he didn't want to remind Asami that such a place existed. "Is that why I'm hooked up to this stuff?" The arm connected to the I.V. and machine twitched weakly. "You were very ill with a high fever and other complications," Asami acknowledged, his face showing nothing, but he drank in the slightest change of shade in Akihito's expression. "What do you mean?" Akihito's eyes got even wider, but then he winced, sucking in a sharp breath and turning his head into the pillow until whatever was paining him seemed to fade slightly. A headache Asami deduced as shaky fingers reached up to press against Akihito's temple. Asami reached out pulling Akihito's hand away, his own reaching to massage both temples with slow, circular strokes. Akihito look stunned and wary, frozen against the bed, caught like a little rabbit in Asami's sights. "You also had alcohol poisoning." "What?" His disused voice cracked, and the exclamation made Akihito wince again. "Apparently, you decided to drink all of the whiskey left in the decanter." Asami's voice was neutral, merely reciting facts.

But there was fear in Akihito's eyes now, along with confusion as Asami continued to soothe the pain out of his temples. "I--I'm sorry. I didn't mean to. I couldn't...couldn't think of anything else," Akihito stuttered. "Everything hurt, really bad, and I thought it would work like medicine. It was all that was there. I didn't mean to drink it all." Unwelcome, a vision of Akihito on the video feed flashed to the forefront of Asami's thoughts. How thin he had looked, pajamas hanging on his slight frame as he'd staggered across the room. How alone. Rage hit him again as fresh as the moment he'd first watched it, and it took all his efforts to conceal it, to leash it for the moment. "You broke the bottle," Asami countered with deceptive softness. "Asami," Akihito whispered brokenly, his eyes finally closing against the confusing conversation and tender fingers. "Do you remember what you did then, Akihito?" Asami's hands slid away, tracing softly over the curve of Akihito's cheeks before drawing away completely. Again the flash came: Akihito's image looping again and again. That bloody trail to the bathroom, the boy hunched over vomiting... "I...I don't." Blood and vomit on cold tiles. The glass. His own name on Akihito's lips as he... His hands slammed down on either side of Akihito again, jolting him into utter shock. The boy shrank back from his fury. "You don't remember? Think about it, Akihito. Think carefully." Asami's face hovered bare inches above Akihito's. "Do you remember, perhaps, picking up a piece a glass and trying to carve a ticket to hell into your arm?" Asami laughed with bitter coldness. "Because you surely didn't think you it was Heaven you'd be escaping to did you? You should remember, you bought your ticket to hell long ago, and I promised I'd be with you every step of the way." Stricken, Akihito gaped up at him, eyes filling with tears again, and then his face crumpled. He took great gasping breaths of air, unable to look away from Asami's possessed gaze. The nurse burst into the room without knocking, and rushed to the side of the bed. "Asami-sama, his heart rate, it's--" "Get out!" Asami snarled, his eyes still locked on Akihito's trembling form. "But I--" "GET OUT!" The nurse fled, door slamming behind her, instantly forgotten. Akihito's mouth worked silently as he held Asami's gaze, tears dripping down the sides of his face to wet the pillow. Finally, words shaped on his lips. "I...I thought about it." He swallowed, flinching at what he saw in the face above him. "It seemed like...like the only choice I had left." Asami's jaw clenched; wild, naked fury making him very still because he knew if he gave even the slightest opening it would spill out uncontrollably; even he didn't know how. Akihito was shaking his head now, his fingers creeping toward Asami's sleeve, clutching onto the fabric of his robe with surprising strength. "I didn't, though. I swear. I couldn't. I stopped." "Liar," Asami hissed. "I saw the feeds. You didn't stop. You had a fucking seizure. And then you

almost choked on your own vomit." "I don't remember that," Akihito cried. His chest rose and fell rapidly with his quick, sharp gasps for breath. And now Asami did notice the machine in his peripheral vision the movement, the light, the low click and hum that had gotten noticeably stronger. "Asami, I did stop. I was so...so confused. Everything was so messed up in my mind, so numb. I couldn't think straight. I..." "You wanted to escape," said with deadly calm. And, finally, Akihito broke. "What if I did?" he cried. "Is that so wrong? Anyone would! What would you do if someone you loved locked you up in a cage and then left you all alone for so long? Even you would think about it." "I don't love anyone." The cold lie burned like ice in his mouth, and Akihito radiated a palpable misery. His pale, ravaged face folded up, and he turned into the pillow, curled onto his side, body heaving with silent sobs. Invisible knives carved a path through his gut as he watched Akihito's anguish, but he only bent closer, letting his lips brush the boy's ear. "Let's be clear on this once again, my little Akihito. I own you. You are mine. You will always be mine. There is no escape for you. Ever." His hand brushed with a mockery of tenderness through Akihito's hair. "But I'll promise you this. I won't neglect my loving little pet again. I'll keep you here with me and give you all the attention you crave." The boy's intense emotional storm soon forced his weakened body into another deep sleep. Asami watched him sleep, eyes locked on Akihito's pallid face until duty outweighed fear of his anger and the nurses slipped back into the room to flutter around him, blocking his view and sending him in a blind fugue to stumble into his study and swallow the full contents of a tumbler before falling heavily into his chair. Only then did he pull a brown envelope from the drawer. The tumbler was filled again, and he leaned back in the chair, dumping a spread of papers and photos onto the surface of the mahogany desktop. Excluding the few prints he and Kirishima and Suoh had left in the apartment, only two other prints had been found that they were able to come up with matches for. He wasn't surprised by either of them. Homura had quite deliberately left his mark. It was his way of taunting Asami. It was why he led him there in the first place. Homura had no intention of hiding himself, or rather, he had no intention of hiding his involvement. His ego would never allow that, though his somewhat unreliable sense of self-preservation seemed to be keeping him under the radar for the moment. However, Asami knew he must be close. Homura was an up close and personal kind of sadist; he always had been. Asami was equally certain that Homura knew he wouldn't miss an opportunity to identify any potential accomplices. Although Homura almost without a doubt was revealing only what he wished to be revealed, everyone slipped up sometimes. Homura knew him well enough to know that he would follow this course of action because Asami had always insisted that it paid to be thorough--a trait Homura had always lacked, unless he was indulging in his particular brand of recreation. Reminding Asami of that long ago night when they were both seventeen and Homura had come home laughing after his arrest was surely just the icing on the cake for Homura. His fingers had been stained black with ink, smudging Asami's sheets as Asami had fucked the annoying, manic laughter out of him. That had been the night when it had all begun to fall apart, though it took him

a year to find out the full truth of his best friend's betrayal, as well as to acknowledge the full depth and breadth and nature of his proclivities. The past, beyond how it affected the here and now and what it told him of Homura's behavior and habits, was unimportant. He'd made his peace with that long ago. Homura should never have crawled out from under whatever rock he'd been hiding under all these years. Asami would teach him that. Akihito's fingerprints hadn't been a surprise either. The pen had been covered in them, of course; and only his. That wasn't particularly surprising. It could have been lifted from Akihito in any number of ways that didn't involve Homura directly touching it. What was surprising--or perhaps unsettling was a better description--was several of the other objects in the apartment coming back with Akihito's prints too. Not everything bore his touch, but many things did; enough to make it seem like Akihito had spent a good deal of time there, had made himself at home there. The T.V. remote, the game controllers and cases, a certain mug in the cabinet, the toothbrush (there were two) in the bathroom, all pointed to things Asami wasn't willing to consider. It didn't mean anything. Homura was perfectly capable of framing an innocent, would in fact take great delight in it. But when Kirishima had presented him with the updated, comprehensive report-because Kirishima was nothing if not methodical--and the list continued: vegetables inside the refrigerator, the underside of the couch, as if Akihito had helped to carry it from one place to another, the handle of the toilet scrub brush in the bathroom, Asami couldn't quite suppress the composure-shattering realization that what Homura would enjoy even more than framing an innocent would be corrupting one. Not Akihito, Asami thought. Akihito was not capable of such duplicity. He would never align himself with someone like Homura. Despite the looks and charm that Homura could deploy flawlessly when he set his mind to it, it wasn't something Akihito would succumb to. He would see right through to Homura's diseased core. "Asami-sama." Kirishima's low, respectful voice cut unto his thoughts. "The safe has been opened." He held out a piece of paper. "The combination." Asami took it. The numbers were another taunt--the date he had last seen Homura. It was also, Asami realized, eighteen years ago to the day. With a sinking feeling, he acknowledged the precise planning that had gone into this little surprise of Homura's. He had most likely been planning this for years. If that were the case... Asami turned abruptly, crushing the paper in his hand. "No one but you and Suoh are to know anything of what we find here unless I clear it first." Kirishima nodded. "Do you think we have a security breach?" "Possibly, but even if that's not the case, I don't want anything, particularly relating to Takaba, to get out." Kirishima looked graver than usual, but he excused himself to dismiss the other men. Asami walked to the window and raised it up. His urgent need for nicotine belied by his languid movements as he slowly drew the pack from his jacket pocket. He shook one of the thin cylinders out and tapped it against the box with a measured routine, then flipped it up to his lips and held it there as the pack was put away again, and his lighter was searched for instead. The flame wavered in the draft, but a cupped hand allowed him to suck the cigarette into life. He breathed in his drug of choice and blew it out again, looking out over the bustling Akihabara street. It was a setting he knew Akihito would revel in. It fit him to a tee, this frenetic, eclectic little

corner of Tokyo filled with curiosities and a youthful energy. He could imagine him fitting in here quite well. The candid shots of Akihito that lined the bedroom walls provided glimpses of Akihito in such settings--a study of fauna in its natural environment. Certainly, this suited him more than the high rises of Shinjuku or the modern poshness of Asami's own condo. Akihito thrived on the streets, chasing after his dreams. He thrived in the nooks and crannies where he struggled with evident enjoyment to make of his life what he would. Asami was a connoisseur of such sightings himself. Hadn't he allowed the boy to run free--for the most part anyway? In the end, Akihito had come willingly, more or less, to his domain. His sudden appearance after all his protests made sense given Akihito's convoluted rationalizations. He'd only needed the excuse to act as he really wanted. It was a series of events that couldn't have been planned, couldn't have been choreographed. Not easily. Such a premeditated scenario was more than unlikely. Asami sucked the cigarette down to the filter and flicked the butt through the open window, his ruthlessly logical mind unable to follow a train of thought to its conclusion. Who had leaked Akihito's phone number and address to the press? "Asami-sama?" He turned from the window to meet Kirishima's eyes. His concern showed through the small line creasing his brow and the small downturn of his mouth. "Yes?" "The safe is...er...safe." Kirishima practically twitched at the inelegant turn of phrase, and Asami repressed a smirk. "I mean, no incendiary devices were found." Kirishima held out a pair of gloves. "That won't be necessary. I know how Homura's mind works." He would not resort to crude and impersonal methods of attack. His brand of cruelty required intimate exposure. However, the stubbornness that came from Kirishima's innate personality as well as all their years together manifested in the insistent lift of an eyebrow and the patient immovability of his extended hand. Asami sighed and took the gloves. "Thank you, Asami-sama." He didn't bother responding as he walked across the room to the open hole in the wall. The gloves went on, clinging unpleasantly to his skin. He pulled the contents of the safe, a thick, manila envelope, into the open. It weighed heavily in his hands, his own name emblazoned on the front of it in English letters. For once, he found himself reluctant to take up the challenge of an opponent. The sinking feeling was stronger now; his instincts singing out the threat to what he held closest to him, to the essential core of his being and world he had built up from nothing. This was one zero-sum game he would turn away from willingly if he had the choice. That choice wasn't possible. It never was. The first item in the envelope was a letter.

Ryuichi, It's been a while, hasn't it? Never think that I did not think of you of almost every day since we last spoke. The truth is, I've kept you in my sights for a long time now. You've done well for yourself, as you always said you would. I kept waiting, though, to see you again because I knew it still wasn't enough. Enough? That's what you're thinking, isn't it, Ryuichi? Enough of what? For what? It's simple. I was waiting until losing everything you had would hurt you the most. I was waiting for you to truly value something that, once lost, could never be recovered. Imagine my surprise, when you took such an interest in Akihito. I knew as soon as you went into Baishe territory that first time here in Tokyo to fetch him back from Feilong that you were captivated. No one knows you as well as I do after all. Poor Akihito never believed it, or rather he didn't believe for the longest time, not that you had real feelings for him. Deep. Genuine. Dare I say...love? You always were a romantic, though you've tried so hard to conceal that aspect of yourself during your rise to power, haven't, Ryuichi? You and I know the real truth, though. Akihito--so modest, our boy--would laugh with disbelief when I would elaborate on the tender feelings I assured him you felt for him. He was adamant there was only thing you wanted from him. That Chinese man--Liu Feilong--he did us all a favor didn't he? For a time, I thought he might render all my careful planning, my cultivation of sweet Akihito, null. I did enjoy the glimpses of your rage, the irrationality of your actions, the fear. It was delicious, but I was happy that you were able to bring back your sweet, young lover. Or should I say ours. I know that I too missed his tight, eager body beneath mine, his tender declarations of love. Has he ever whispered such endearing sentiments to you? His charming naivete is exceeded only by his lewdness, don't you think? Please don't think I'm trying to make you jealous, Ryuichi. After all, we've shared him so well up until now, and he is an eager little slut. I'm quite certain he enjoys your domination of his body much more than he's ever willing to admit to me. His appetites are surprisingly rapacious. He fits in well with the likes of us. Your rape of our sweet boy awakened him to more than he ever dreamed, and for that he should thank you, not that he was inclined to do so. In fact, when I took him under my wing a few weeks later, just after you so boldly rescued him from the dragon's den, he made it quite clear how much he despised you--all the more for setting his mind and body at odds. I must admit, he was fascinated by our youthful adventures, though I fear I left him with an even more dire impression of you than even your rape of him could give him. He seemed inclined to give me his sympathies, and soon after, that delightful body, and after that, his oh so sweet affections. Only a few words, a few touches, a few dark revelations from your past--forgive me, I might have gotten mixed up on which of us did what back then--and, of course, your own rather brutal method of taming the boy, and that was all it took really to make him mine. He was quite indignant on my behalf, so loyal once his sympathies had been engaged. And he

was a surprisingly apt pupil. Who knew that pretty little mouth could be so deceitful. He played you beautifully, the mouse leading the cat around by the nose. Of course, he had the benefit of my knowledge of you and exactly what you like. He wanted to expose your true face, bring down your world in one fell swoop. At times, it was hard to persuade him to wait. I had to convince him of what would truly make you fall. It wasn't until your adventures in Hong Kong did Akihito truly believe that he had the power to break you. I will admit, that you shook him--taking those bullets for him. So tender-hearted. When he came back, it took me a week to soothe his guilt, to fuck him back into compliance. And the game of cat and mouse continued. I knew we were almost there when you took his things and left him a key to your own home. Your very inner sanctum! He was reluctant at first, and certainly we couldn't see each other as frequently, but I'm sure the little slut enjoyed himself with you. I always did. And all the little troubles to bring you closer, you have me to thank for that. Sudoh was an amusing tool, so easy to manipulate, and head over heels for you, Ryuichi. You should have chosen him after all, but he harmed our Akihito, didn't he? Your reaction to that little surprise was priceless. I knew then that this was the height from which you would fall. We laughed together, Akihito and I, at you with your heart on your sleeve. We had done it. The untouchable Asami Ryuichi had been brought to his knees by nothing more than a cute piece of ass and, of course, my inimitable mind. Of course, Akihito thought I had been collecting evidence against one of your more unsavory businesses while he distracted you. He thought his personal betrayal of you would be just the icing on the cake as your empire crumbled. He didn't realize that he was the ultimate sacrifice: to my cause and to his. I didn't lie, though. He will get what he wants--your ruin. Because it's coming now isn't it? If I could watch you now as you read this, I know your face wouldn't change, but on the inside you're already beginning to crack and crumble. You'll fight it, of course. You'll go on as if nothing has changed. You'll deny it, you probably are right now, but eventually you'll have to face the truth. Your little love spent the last year systematically betraying you. How does it feel, Ryuichi? How does it feel knowing that your cute little toy was playing you all along? How does it feel knowing that after you risked your life for him, he was fucking me at every opportunity? How does it feel to know that he doesn't love you? Never loved you? It hurts, doesn't it? Betrayal? It's always the people closest to us that hurt us the deepest. You should've learned that lesson a long time ago, but then I did say you're a romantic, didn't I? Akihito is a brave little thing. How I would love to play with him the way I do with all the other little whores that cross my path. But I'll be generous and leave this little slut to you. How will you punish him, I wonder? Will he die by your hand? Will you make him bleed and cry for mercy? Ah, I'm the one who's jealous now. Don't deny the inevitable too long, Ryuichi, or I might have to take matters into my own hand, and you won't have the pleasure of holding your lover one last time before the light in his impudent eyes dies out. I hope you enjoy the rest of the surprises I've included for you here. Take your time looking through everything. I promise you won't be bored.

I'll be watching. -Yuta

O Inhuman Dog
Chapter Summary

Asami relives the past.

Kirishima entered the penthouse quietly, not wanting to wake the boy if he was resting. The nurses had only packed up and left a few days before, after Takaba Akihito had been deemed reasonably recovered from his illness and injuries by Asami's personal physician. Recovered was a relative term, though, and he wasn't looking forward to the sight of Takaba, who was drawn and pale from so much time without direct sunlight and exercise. His eyes, large to begin with, seemed to take up half his face these days. In the kitchen, he set down the provisions he'd brought now that more substantial food had been approved and began putting them away with efficient movements. These quiet moments were actually somewhat of a relief. The stress they'd all been under the past three months had been tremendous. It still was, and with the possible lead on Homura's whereabouts, it wasn't going to ease up. He prayed they found him quickly, that this wasn't another wild goose chase. Without some sort of resolution to the situation soon, he feared for all of them, Asami most of all. "Kirishima?" Takaba's voice surprised him and he turned abruptly. "Takaba-kun." "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to startle you." Takaba had his arms crossed across his middle. He cupped his elbows, shoulder hunching slightly, and peered up apprehensively through too-long bangs. "It's fine," Kirishima reassured him. He turned to the fill the kettle and place it on the stove; a cowardly move carried to avoid having to meet that wounded gaze for longer than necessary. His line of work called for many things he'd rarely hesitated to carry out. Asami's orders were always grounded in cold, hard pragmatism, and sometimes even mercy. But this situation clawed at his gut with unsettling persistence, maybe even guilt. The pathetic gratitude in Takaba's voice a few days ago when he and Kirishima had crossed paths during Takaba's first foray out of the sick room still wouldn't leave his mind. Takaba had been painfully shocked and thrilled to be spoken to. The conversation had been brief. Kirishima had informed him that he had the run of the condo. He could cook for himself, watch television, do as he liked, only that he was not to leave, not to try to contact anyone, though all phone lines and Internet devices were offline in any case. But Takaba had smiled, a tiny but genuine smile that made his eyes shine for a brief moment. He hadn't argued or asked questions about the situation, except to clarify that it was really okay if he left his room. Kirishima had ignored the pang the diffident question caused him and nodded, telling the boy he could do as he liked. Then he had squashed the faint, blooming happiness in the boy's eyes with the stern admonishment he gave next. An uncomfortable discomfort had grown in his own gut as he made it clear to Takaba that he was being monitored, that guards were nearby, and that the slightest indication that he was not behaving--Kirishima's eyes had dropped to Takaba's bandaged arm and the boy had paled and drawn back, clutching at it as he dropped his gaze to the floor-would result in all loss of privileges and a severe punishment. Takaba had whispered his

would result in all loss of privileges and a severe punishment. Takaba had whispered his understanding and disappeared back into his room without another word. When Kirishima couldn't sleep these days, he found himself dwelling on the possibility of the boy's innocence, and even if what he suspected wasn't true, even if Takaba had been complicit in Homura's insidious plan, he still couldn't drum up the expected ruthlessness toward the boy. Sometimes he wondered what the punishment for his own deeds would be and who would dole them out. In any case, what Asami believed was what counted, though Kirishima also suspected that he was fighting his own battle on that front as well; evidence and gut feeling vying for dominant influence. All the second guessing and no real action had done a number on them all, which seemed to be exactly what Homura had wanted. He hoped he had a chance to personally repay the man for the chaos Kirishima's deliberately structured life had been thrown into and for the mental anguish he'd inflicted on so many. The Takaba now jerked him out of his pensive thoughts. "I just wanted to get some juice, if that's okay." Again, the tentative, halting voice made Kirishima's stomach churn, He forced himself to turn. Takaba hadn't moved or changed position. "Sit down. I'll get it." Looking alarmed, Takaba shook his head quickly. "Oh, no! That's okay, I can do it." Kirishima had already opened the refrigerator and retrieved the bottle of orange juice. He filled a tall, plastic cup with the juice. "Here." He set it at one of the high stools that bordered the center island of the kitchen. Takaba perched on it uncomfortably, spine straight and tight as his hands wrapped about the contours of the cup. "Thank you." He took a short sip, licked his lips slowly, then took a longer one, staring into the depths of the cup like a child. "Would you like breakfast? The doctor said you can introduce more solids. I can make you eggs, and it's probably best to have some soup too. Perhaps some toast." He glanced at Takaba, seeing that his eyes had grown wide. "If you feel that's too much..." "N-no." Takaba's confusion and anxiety was palpable. "Don't go to any trouble on--" "Prepare it." Asami's curt command startled them both. Takaba's body jerked sharply enough to make him totter on the high seat, and Asami stepped forward to steady him until he regained his balance. A vein throbbed visibly in Takaba's bent neck, his agitated pulse evident to both Kirishima and Asami. Asami's hands fell away from the boy's shoulders, and he frowned. "Make enough for all of us." His gaze briefly lit on Kirishima, who immediately understood the unspoken order. With Takaba hunched over the counter, Kirishima could see the painfully thin ribs through the fabric of his sleeveless T-shirt. He would add some fish and rice porridge to the meal, perhaps some fresh fruit. Asami walked into the other room again, his phone at his ear, while Kirishima busied himself with the food preparation. He watched Takaba out of the corner of his eye, noting the tense posture and the nervous juddering of his foot against the leg of stool. The silence was heavy and uncomfortable, but his not inconsiderable intellect failed him when he tried to come up with

something--anything--to say. He made quick work of the breakfast, Takaba, quiet and still, clutching his juice like a lifeline. They both heard Asami's voice coming closer again, then his clipped end to the phone conversation before he entered the kitchen. A robe landed on the counter next to Takaba. "Don't go around in next to nothing in the middle of December." When Takaba seemed frozen, his eyes flickering with uncertainty, Asami jerked his chin. "Put it on." Takaba complied swiftly, slipping his arms into the sleeves and belting the sash around his waist. His hands slid into the opposite sleeves, using them like a muff, and he darted a glance up at Asami. "It's...It's December?" Kirishima and Asami stared. "Yes." Asami reached for the box of cigarettes on the side counter and lit it. "December 12th." His expression had closed off completely, and he smoked in silence as Kirishima began to transfer the dishes to the island. "Oh." Takaba's chin dropped, his tousled hair falling forward to hide his face, though he seemed to sense Asami's unrelenting stare as his shoulders hunched further. Asami smoked the cigarette to its filter then stubbed out it and took a seat at the island. Kirishima followed suit, beginning to eat after his boss had begun. Takaba waited a beat longer until Asami's eyes flicked in his direction, then he bent to his food without his usual enthusiasm, but slowly, chewing each bite methodically and swallowing with something of an effort. After a moment, giving Kirishima the briefest glance before returning his eyes to his food, he said softly, "Thank you. It's good." Kirishima gave a grunt of acknowledgement. His head began to throb, a light pressure at the base of his skull. This situation was untenable. If some kind of closure wasn't found... As if reading his mind, Asami looked at him. "We'll go straight from here. Suoh is waiting below." "Of course, Asami-sama." "Akihito." The boy's hand stilled, curling tighter around his chopsticks. "Your meals will be delivered. I expect you to eat them." Takaba looked up at Asami and nodded, his eyes wide and unblinking. "Are you going away again?" He looked as if he was awaiting a scathing response to his question, but still he held Asami's intimidating gaze without wavering. The moment stretched out painfully, and Kirishima couldn't help wonder what his boss what thinking. How had he taken that question? "I'm only going to take care of business, Akihito." Asami's voice was cool and smooth. "I'll see you soon." He bent, his mouth brushing the outer rim of Akihito's ear. "And then we'll have a long talk together." Takaba shivered as Kirishima rose to follow his boss out the door. He really wished he hadn't seen the boy's haunted expression before he'd left. He knew it would stick with him all day.

Despite all the fires Homura had been setting within the province of Asami's organization, at least Kirishima had been able to take concrete action to put them out. It was neat and precise; cleanup issues aside. Organizational disarray was a thousand times easier to deal with than one young man who had managed to slip deep within the defenses of the most self-possessed man in Tokyo to rather disastrous results. God willing, their efforts today would pan out and Homura would be in their hands before nightfall. It might not make everything right, but it would go along way to making them better. Think about anything but him. Watch the streets, the cars, the buildings pass by, softened through dark glass like the filter of an expensive lens. No. Think about cold facts. Profits. Losses. Numbers. Yen and Euros and Dollars. Thousands of secrets. Hundreds of politicians in your pocket. Scores of business deals on the table. Two accusing eyes you can't escape from even in sleep. Think about anything but the quiet; the thin, pale ghost that haunts your home and possesses your thoughts. Think about revenge served stone cold. -*"Don't hang around like an asshole in the entry, come in." Yuta grinned and pulled Ryuichi inside, barely giving him time to kick his shoes off. "Got some good shit today." Ryuichi rolled his eyes. "Again? I didn't come over to get high." "You're so fucking boring lately, Ryu-chan." Yuta's sing song voice was deliberately provoking, so Ryuichi didn't let it faze him. Instead, he shrugged carelessly. "I can leave if you prefer." Yuta threw himself on the low sofa in the main room and sulked. "I'm surprised you didn't bring your school books with you. I thought you'd gotten them permanently attached." "I've finished studying." "Well, thank fuck for that. Will you sit down? You're making my neck hurt." Ryuichi sat on the couch, watching his friend with indulgent amusement. He half-despised the times when Yuta would adopt this semi-idiotic persona, but it also engendered a rather nostalgic sense of childhood too. Yuta had always been a spoiled little shit, but he was the only one who'd ever come close to matching him in wit and in his penchant for risky ventures. Ryuichi couldn't remember a time when they hadn't seen each other every day. So he took Yuta's wild mood swings with a grain of salt, because when Yuta allowed his true self to show, their minds worked so well together, in tandem so fast at times it seemed they didn't need words at all. It made them a formidable team. "Is your father here?" Yuta ignored the question for a moment, his smile not wavering as he studied Ryuichi through half-lidded eyes. Ryuichi raised an eyebrow, and Yuta stretched like a cat, the top of his shirt pulling away from his jeans to expose his flat stomach. "That bastard's making book for Oyama in Nishinari today." "Such disrespect." Ryuichi tsked. "What a way to talk about your father."

"Asshole." Yuta laughed, rolling onto his knees and slinking cat-like across it to straddle Ryuichi's lap. He crossed his arms, grabbed the hem of his shirt and pulled it over his head. His hands went to his fly next, flicking open the row of buttons with one steady pull. "What are you waiting for? Need to study up on what to do?" Ryuichi smirked and grabbed the waistband of Yuta's jeans to tug them down. Yuta rose up and kicked them the rest of the way off. His mouth on Ryuichi's a second later, fingers fumbling to push up Ryuichi's shirt too. The kiss broke only to allow the shirt to go over his arms and head, and then were kissing again, his fingers around Yuta's cock and stroking slow and light. "Shit!" Yuta cursed. "Not like that, you--unngh..." Ryuichi's hand tightened, his smirk deepening as Yuta scowled at him. "Manners." "Fuck you. Better yet, shut up and fuck me." The slow stroking of Yuta's cock resumed. "Ask me in English." "What is with you and your fucking obsession with languages?" Yuta thrust his hips futilely. Ryuichi grabbed his hip with his free hand and held him still. "Did you change your mind about leaving?" Yuta snorted, struggling a little, but both of Ryuichi's hands tightened and Yuta hissed. "You know I want out of this shithole more than anyone." "Well, then, ask me properly for what you want." His hand slid up and down with each word. "English. Korean. German. Take. Your. Pick." "Is this going to be on the Todai entrance exams, Asami-sensei?" Ryuichi just laughed, and Yuta spit out a long sentence that made him blink in surprise. "Cantonese? Impressive. Where did you learn that?" "From a whore in Tobitashinchi." Ryuichi just shook his head and laughed into Yuta's challenging eyes. "You're such a fucking brat." Yuta was flipped onto the tatami floor with a suddenness that knocked him breathless. "Maybe you do need that punk attitude pounded out through your ass." "That's what I've been saying." -*Another dead end and the terrible blankness on his face seemed to be swallowing him whole, or eating him up from the inside first. It was the only thing shielding his men, his immediate surroundings, the whole fucking world at large from his bitter, burning fury. He took pains to conceal it, coolly, impassively, but for his one outlet; he chain-smoked pack after pack, crushing the butt ends on the floor with utter disregard. The wallpaper was splashed with red, a dark, coppery scent hanging heavy in the back room. Its pattern was exactly the same, or at least close enough to what he remembered after all this time. The body sprawled at an unnatural angle on the bed. A date was scrawled on the wall near the light switch.

His men worked with a minimum of talk; efficient, competent, loyal, respectful, while he stood there and stared at the past. All the ghosts and monsters of his youth catching up to him and gibbering madly in the bright light of day. -*Ryuichi waved as the car pulled smoothly away from the curb, then turned and climbed the flight of stairs to the apartment he shared with his mother. Yuta was waiting for him on the balcony that circled the second floor of the building. "Was that my dad who dropped you off?" "Yes, he wanted to treat me to a farewell dinner." "Such a good boy, that Ryuichi. What good care he takes of his mother. Accepted into the finest school in Tokyo. So good looking too." Yuta tilted his head back and forth in time with his mocking words. "You're drunk," Ryuichi said flatly, too weary of such behavior to want to deal with it again; not tonight when he was on the verge of leaving. Judging from Yuta's blown pupils he was on something as well, and not something benign if the manic look in his eyes and his jittery hands were anything to go by. "What about my farewell? Did you forget about me already?" He knew how manipulative Yuta was. He knew it, and yet he still couldn't fully steel himself against the vulnerable cast of his features. It was in his eyes, the slight quiver of his lips, and the raw abandonment that Yuta radiated from every pore. "I didn't know you were interested in one." With his usual capriciousness, Yuta swayed forward and smiled sunnily. "Let's not fight tonight, Ryuichi. Can't we forget about all the shit between us? Can't it be like old times, just for tonight?" It couldn't be, they both knew that, but a temporary truce for what they had been once, Ryuichi couldn't deny either of them that. "Your place then. My mother is home, and your dad won't be tonight." "I fucking know that. He's my father." Ryuichi's lips pressed together. One of the many sore points between them lately. He should've known better than to mention Yuta's father. His jealousy over any attention shown to Ryuichi had always been there but had grown much stronger in recent years. Yuta's own relationship with his father had deteriorated badly, which Ryuichi figured was almost entirely due to the increasing inability on Yuta's part to pass himself off as a functioning human being. Yuta seemed to recognize his displeasure because he smiled again, sheepishly. "Sorry. Come back to my place. We'll have a drink." Against his better judgment, Ryuichi went. The door had barely clicked shut behind them before Yuta was all over him, clinging with deceptive strength, fingers sliding up the base of Ryuichi's skull, begging entrance into his mouth with the seductive slide and tease of his tongue.

"Yuta." Ryuichi's hands gripped his hips, trying to push the writhing body away. "Shut up," Yuta muttered. "Just shut up." His mouth moved to Ryuichi's neck, biting, licking; frantic words at Ryuichi's ear. "One last time, okay? You're leaving, so give this to me." Ryuichi shut his eyes. He felt weak for even considering it. It was weak. Yuta almost certainly despised him, at least on some level. It was the same for him, really, and yet reason seemed not to matter at all when Yuta pressed his mouth to his again, and this time he responded. His body, if not his mind, unwilling to release just yet the familiar comfort and pleasure to be had in this dance between them. Yuta moaned, and Ryuichi's fingers dug in to his hips. "Now, Ryuichi." Hot hands pushed underneath his shirt, moving feverishly. "I need it." Ryuichi took control, pushing Yuta back toward the bedroom, but Yuta shook his head. "No! Right here. Right here, right here, right here," he chanted. The manic words cut off as Ryuichi kissed him viciously, equal parts lust and anger, and not sure if he hated Yuta more for the excess of indulgences in vices that degraded and lessened him, or himself for still wanting him. So he shoved him roughly back up against the door, holding him there with his body, and reached around to tear open the front of his jeans. Yuta laughed, palms flat against the door, grinding his ass against Ryuichi's hips. Ryuichi had his hands ready to tug the jeans down his legs, when a sound from the other room stopped him. "What was that?" "What was what?" A second later, Yuta's back hit the door and Ryuichi snarled in his face. "Who's in the other room?" Yuta only shrugged, staring back at him with a mocking smile. "I can't remember." Contempt shaded his features, but Ryuichi turned his back and went to the bedroom door. "I don't think you want to see in there," Yuta called jovially. No, Ryuichi was certain he didn't want to either. He turned the handle. His stomach clenched, roiled, as he took in the scene. His nose prickled with the heavy scent permeating the close up room. This was much worse than Yuta's prior...encounters. A small whimper came from the inert body on the bed. The boy was still alive. Shit. He stepped forward quickly and knelt by the bed, taking in the numerous cuts and bruises. "Can you hear me?" The boy's eyes didn't open, only a barely there rasp answered him. "Hurts..." Not a request for help, the kid probably believed no one would bother. Ryuichi looked him over quickly; the cuts seemed shallow, though they bled well. The bruises were just beginning to show the promise of their dark bloom. He was pretty sure he'd live, though. "Hey," Ryuichi said gruffly. "Wake up. Do you want to get out of here?" One of the boy's eyes cracked open and stared at him for a long moment. Eventually, he spoke one word. "Yeah."

Ryuichi nodded. "I'll be right back." He stood and made for the tiny bathroom but Yuta blocked his path. "He's just some punk street hustler." "Get out of my way, Homura, before I make you." He must have seen the potential for hair-trigger violence boiling just beneath the surface of Ryuichi's skin because he stepped aside with only a bright, malicious smile. Ryuichi ignored him, going to the bathroom and bringing back wet towels and bandages and an antiseptic gel that he tossed on the pillow next to the naked boy. This was the last mess of Yuta's he would ever clean up. When he was almost finished, Yuta began rambling. "I was going to let him go. He's nobody. Just a dirty little whore who thought he could scam me. He's an eyesore. If he did die, it wouldn't be--" Yuta reeled back from the blow Ryuichi dealt him. Shocked, he gaped at Ryuichi, blood streaming out of his nose. He was ignored as Ryuichi pulled clothes from the dresser and helped the boy into them, but as they both passed by him, Ryuichi supporting the boy with one arm, Yuta grabbed his sleeve. "Ryuichi, I'm sorry. You know I don't mean it. I can't help it. If you weren't leaving me behind like this..." Desperation made his grip strong and Ryuichi had to let go of the boy to pry him off. "Please, Ryuichi. Don't go. We can do all those things we talked about right here." Ryuichi shoved him away. "You know nothing about what I want or what I intend to do." "You're my best friend! How can you do this?" Yuta flung himself at the door as they moved toward it. "We're lovers. You love me. I know you do." His needy smile, pathetically manipulative, made Ryuichi's skin crawl. "Don't go, I'm begging you." "We are nothing." Ryuichi stepped closer, his face a mask of chilled disgust. "Do you understand? Absolutely nothing. Don't ever make the mistake of showing your face to me again." Behind their backs, Yuta began to laugh as Ryuichi reached the front door. "Oh, but we are something, Ryuichi. And we'll always be something. You can't deny the ties of blood can you?" His hand froze on the knob. " Dear brother." Yuta laughed again wildly. "Father was always so proud of you. I was his real son, but it was always you he talked about. His perfect little bastard." "You...you're raving." "Oh no, it's the truth, Ryuichi," Yuta crowed. "I've always known. Always. Overheard your whore of a mother and Dad talking about it once. They were just speculating, but I knew then it was true. Found the proof later, but long before we started fucking, of course." "Shut up." "What's the matter, Ryuichi? Does it bother you that you fucked your brother countless times in your real father's house?" Yuta started giggling, and Ryuichi swung around, a creeping haze red coloring his vision. His fist cracked across Yuta's cheekbone, another into his gut, and he went flying. Ryuichi started forward again, but hands that held startling strength tugged at him; the boy met his glazed eyes and Ryuichi felt himself take a breath and then another.

He stepped backward to the door and finally opened it, the boy close to his side. Between wracking coughs, Yuta sent one last taunt. "Keep in touch, Ryuichi." Blessedly, the door shut behind them and the cool night air hit their faces. Who was supporting whom was debatable at that point. "What's your name, kid?" Ryuichi asked as they made their way down the stairwell. The boy looked up at him expressionlessly. "Yoh." -*"Asami-sama." "What is it?" Kirishima watched him with careful eyes. "Do you want to investigate the other rooms before the cleaners arrive?" He swallowed the almost irresistible urge to give way to a burst of what he was sure would be decidedly not sane laughter. There was probably nothing at the moment he wanted to do less than open another room of horrors, but he couldn't say that. His men likely already thought him certifiably insane after his erratic behavior of the past several weeks. "In a moment." A moment to rid himself of the taint from the memories of that night. At least he'd managed to save one person from Yuta's sick perversions. He should have killed him then, that very night. He had known too well what Yuta was on the way to becoming. If only hindsight could produce more than sleepless nights and stomach ulcers. Asami steeled himself and opened the door to the next room. The smell of blood hit him again. A humorless smile broke the mask of his face. What else did he expect really? The three bodies were laid out just as the police report had indicated seventeen years ago. These bodies were relatively fresh, unburnt, unlike those of that day when two of the bodies had been entwined, charred and melded in death. The other body had lain nearby, equally charred and twisted: his mother, their father, and someone everyone had assumed was Homura, due to a neighbor's eyewitness account. The police declared it an accidental fire; no one had cared too much about the cheap neighborhood block of apartments and its occupants to investigate further. Asami had considered it a murder/suicide, swallowing the guilt deep down during his first semester at University and never letting it out into the light of day again. What good would it have done? Sentiment had been shown to be nothing but a blind alley that led to destruction. Kirishima moved quietly behind him. "Asami-sama, did you see this?" He pointed to a small photograph that hung on the far wall. Stepping carefully, he plucked the photo from the wall and stared into Akihito's contorted face. The angle of the shot allowed no doubt about what was happening. Homura's face smiled directly into the camera, his fist in Akihito's hair tugging the boy's face to the side to expose it to view, one cheek pressed against the pillow. Akihito's round ass rose into the air, held high by the supporting arm beneath him, but Asami couldn't look away from his face, as if willing they boy's eyes to open and look at him with that fierce, proud light they used to hold.

The photo crumpled in his fist. Enough was enough. Homura had played him for a fool too long. He would take back the control he had foolishly all but handed over, and Yuta would dance at the end of his strings until he was nothing more than carrion on a gibbet.

Come, swear it, damn thyself

Chapter Summary

Asami and Akihito have a long awaited talk.

The day passed slowly for Akihito, despite the distractions allowed him now. He couldn't seem to settle down to anything and paced from room to room. The television didn't tempt him. He felt a strange, inexplicable reluctance to look out through that particular window to the outside world. He tried to read, but he couldn't concentrate enough to get past more than a few pages. In the end, he took a long shower and then a long, hot bath, which probably hadn't been the best idea since a wave of light-headedness had swept over him when he stood up. He rested on the bed then until his lunch was delivered, which he ate slowly but dutifully, remembering Asami's words. It was actually very good, and if his appetite had been what it used to be, he would have wolfed the entire thing down in a handful of minutes. As it was, he killed half an hour that way and then went to the large windows in the main room and drank in the wide open view again. He'd always loved the view from Asami's penthouse, and he couldn't get enough of it now. Eventually, he returned to his room. Asami hadn't changed anything. Now that the hospital equipment was gone, it looked just the same as it always had. His laptop still sat at his desk. His clothes still hung in the closet. Even his camera case still sat in the corner. Akihito's heart had leapt when he'd seen that, but he hadn't dared to touch them yet. Now, though, he approached the case and knelt down. Trembling fingers unlatched the door and took out his beloved camera; the one his father had given him. He touched it lovingly, raising the viewfinder to his eye. A tiny smile curved his lips. He'd wondered about the fate of his cameras when he'd been taken away. A part of him had wondered if Asami might have gotten rid of them, even smashed them beyond repair. That he hadn't--holding the tangible proof of that his hands--lit a tiny ember of hope deep within him, but his stomach still turned anxiously, and he wished he knew exactly what Asami had meant that morning by having a long talk. He wanted to believe that it meant something good, that Asami had finally come to his senses. Since waking up here, Asami hadn't touched him, had barely spoken to him, but the tiny, casual dignities and the evidence of care he was granted now marked some kind of change. Didn't it? Whether it was permanent or not or to the reasons behind it, Akihito didn't dare venture a guess. But what would he do if Asami did have a change of heart? In his fantasies, Asami came to him full of regret and sorrow, but not crying because Asami never cried. At least Akihito had never seen it, couldn't imagine it. But Asami came nevertheless and begged Akihito to forgive him. Sometimes he imagined Asami on his knees before him in a full, supplicating bow, while he himself stood aloof and cold and unforgiving, but other times he would be emotional and needy, eager to span the abyss between them. More than anything, Akihito wanted this nightmare to be over. He desperately wanted things back the way they were before. Even more, he wanted himself back. And, despite everything, he wanted Asami back. He missed unbearably the security he'd found in Asami's arms. But was that even possible? Would he ever be able to feel safe in them again?

He put the camera down gently and closed the case. Maybe now Asami would at least talk to him. Maybe he could get to the bottom of this unholy mess. He stood up and moved to his desk. His laptop came to life, and Akihito watched the slideshow of his favorite pictures his screensaver showcased: Kou and Takato with flushed faces on New Year's Eve, he and his mom and dad in matching Mickey Mouse T-shirts at Disneyland, and all his carefully collected, embarrassing shots of Asami that had never seemed to faze him at all. His chin drifted down to rest on his hand. He knew that Asami had managed his family and friends, at least in the short term. They thought he was away on an assignment, and they must not have had any doubts or they would have made a fuss, Akihito knew that much. An ache grew in his chest as the pictures scrolled by one by one. He missed them all so much. A short laugh slipped out as he blinked and rubbed his suddenly sniffly nose on his sleeve. Shit, at this point, he even missed Mitarai. He might even willingly share a scoop with him again. That is, if he ever got the chance. His smile faded slowly, but his chin lifted, the stubborn tilt recognizable to anyone who had ever spent any length of time with Akihito. His fingers curled into tight balls, and he inhaled sharply. He wouldn't let himself sink so far down again, not into that terrible pit where he couldn't think properly, couldn't feel. The stark white of the bandages on his arms just barely showed at the ends of his long sleeves and his stomach turned. Not that ever again. He wasn't so weak. He was a survivor. Even Asami said so. Well, he would show him then. He wouldn't let this break him; not anything or anyone. Not even Asami. Some day, he would even kick Asami's ass for ever thinking so badly of him. Some day. Akihito exhaled, his brief flash of rebellion draining him. He would, he promised himself. He would change things for both of them. But first, he was going to eat some of the junk food he noticed when Kirishima had been cooking breakfast that morning, and then he was going to watch television until his eyes fell out. Fuck it if he was going to be the horse that was led to water but refused to drink. He would find out just how far Asami's new latitude went. The Blu-ray player's clock glowed the time in red numerals: 10:20. The main menu screen of the movie Akihito had been watching played its short intro sequence again as Akihito blinked slowly. He must have fallen asleep before the end. A hazy memory (dream?) of fingers brushing through his hair made him frown. The sound seemed to be muted now too. Slowly, he pushed up on the sofa, his knees curling beneath him, and he gasped softly when his eyes fell on Asami sitting in the armchair that sat perpendicular to the sofa. His pulse immediately began to race, but Asami did nothing but watch him with the typical impassive expression he presented most often to the world. He wasn't even smoking or drinking, his hands curled over the edge of the arms, and only his sharply intent eyes gave any hint that his equilibrium was less than perfect. When Asami didn't say anything, Akihito found himself uncertain what to do. Now that he took a closer look, he could see that Asami looked tired, more than tired even; a subtle tightness to his eyes and mouth giving away his fatigue. Whatever he had done that day, it didn't appear to have made him happy. Unaware of it, Akihito furrowed his brow and drew his lower lip in between his teeth, worrying over what had distressed Asami.

It was Asami who broke the silence first. "How do you feel?" That was a loaded question. Akihito had no idea how to even answer it, but he had to say something. Perhaps it was the fact he was back in the penthouse, his comparative freedom, however fragile and confusing, finally beginning to sink in and dulling his survival instinct, which was never that reliable to begin with, or perhaps it was his still drowsy, foggy state that allowed the words to slip from his mouth, instead of some rote response. "I...I don't know." A line grew between Asami's eyes, but Akihito pressed on. "How should I feel after...after all this? Is that something you would normally ask of...of whatever I am to you now?" A long moment passed, Asami's piercing eyes never leaving his. His heart leapt into his throat when Asami stood. Two strides brought him to the couch and he bent, pulling Akihito's face to his with urgent, but gentle hands. His mouth claimed Akihito's as he kissed him like he hadn't in three months; a driving urgent thing that left Akihito shaken, tremulous, his heart beating faster and faster until he thought it really would give out. "I can't let you go." Asami's words when he finally drew back just enough to meet Akihito's uncomprehending eyes didn't make any sense. "Wh--what?" "I can't let you go now. He would kill you." Akihito's eyes flew wide. He stared at Asami as if trying to make sense of the words. "Kill me? I don't understand. Who would? What do you mean?" Asami's hands dropped, and he sat next to Akihito on the sofa. "You don't believe me?" "Don't believe?" Akihito's face scrunched up. "Asami, I don't understand. What the hell are you talking about?" Never taking his eyes off Akihito, Asami slipped his hand into his jacket. The box of Dunhills he retrieved was empty, and he laughed shortly, tossing the cardboard container on the coffee table. Instead, he reached up to loosen his tie, dragging a hand through his once immaculate hair, and confirming for Akihito that Asami's seamless facade was unraveling quickly. He stood up gingerly at first, but when Asami did nothing, Akihito quickly went to a side table where he knew Asami kept extra packs of cigarettes. He opened a box and brought it back, tentatively offering it to Asami. Asami took it without a word, shaking one out and placing it between his lips, sucking in a long inhale as his lighter flamed. It clicked shut with a sharp snick and then it landed on the table too. The impact against the glass made Akihito flinch. He stood watching Asami uncertainly until he inclined his head toward the couch. "Sit down, Akihito." Akihito did, staring at Asami all the while with bewildered anxiety. "Asami, what's going on? Did something happen?" Asami drew on his cigarette again, tapping ash into the tray on the table. "Yes, you might say that. Homura left a message for me, but I don't think it's having the effect he was hoping for." "Homura?" A shiver raised the hairs on Akihito's body when Asami's eyes narrowed. The muscle in his jaw

jumped and Akihito swallowed past the sudden dryness in his throat, but Asami just stubbed out his half-smoked cigarette and stood, sliding his hands into his pockets. "You don't need to bother with the pretense any longer." "What pretense?" Akihito cried out in frustration. Asami walked a few steps away before turning back and leveling an even gaze on Akihito. He didn't look angry, just tired, but he didn't speak. "Can't you just talk to me? Asami..." "No more games, Akihito." " You're the one playing games! I've told you over and over, I didn't betray you! I don't know who this Homura guy is. Did he do something to hurt you or something? Or...or tell you that I did?" When Asami didn't answer, Akihito gave another low, anguished cry. "Is he the one from that picture you showed me? I swear, I swear, Asami, I've never seen him before." "Enough." The word lashed out with cutting force, and Akihito winced. "Just admit it. I just want to hear you admit it, and then that will be enough." "Enough for what?" Akihito jumped off the couch, crashing disappointment and horrible, creeping hopelessness overriding any other consideration. His voice rose to a loud, high pitch. "If you're so sure I'm guilty of...of...betraying you, then why don't you let me go and let that guy kill me if he wants to? Why don't you kill me, Asami! If you hate me so much, then just do it!" The sight of Asami's contained expression made something snap inside Akihito, and a moment later he was pummeling Asami's broad chest, his fists drumming against him without impediment. "You should have just let me die in that hellhole you stuck me in!" He didn't realize he was crying until Asami's arms came around and held him close, Akihito struggled, but Asami didn't let him go. His arms held him securely until Akihito gave up the struggle, sobbing out three months of repressed pain and desperation into Asami's chest. The front of Asami's shirt grew wet, and Akihito's sobs eventually reduced to great, hitching breaths that made his chest heave. When he pushed away this time, Asami let him go, and he stared up with weary anger into Asami's stricken eyes. Akihito laughed hollowly, wiping at his red, blotchy cheeks. "You can't do it, can you? You think I betrayed you, but you didn't kill me." Asami's expression tightened, but he didn't look away, and Akihito continued. "It wasn't because you wanted to punish me either, was it? Even though you did a pretty good job of that." Asami's expression flickered, his lips parting on a harsh breath. Akihito barreled on. "It's because you can't." That stern face, still so beautiful, looked down at him, the eyes alive with tumultuous emotion that Asami so rarely allowed to show. "That's right, I can't." Akihito's heart ached with raw, answering feeling, and Asami stepped closer again. "It doesn't matter what you did anymore." "You won't kill me?" Akihito's hoarse voice breathed the question. "No." "You won't punish me any longer?" "No." Akihito looked directly in Asami's disturbed eyes, his own searching and wide. "Even if I do admit to being guilty. Even if I said I had betrayed you?" Asami smiled, a slight curving of his lips that only emphasized the coldness of his chiseled beauty.

"If you want to bring me down, do it. Do you want me to die? Here." From his holster, Asami drew his gun and offered it to Akihito. Akihito paled, his stomach plunging low, but he ignored the weapon, staying focused on Asami's eyes, which were anything but distant and told their own bitter story. He offered his own sad smile. "'I crush those who stand in my way, and I retaliate against those who seek vengeance.'" Asami's eyes widened, visibly thrown off guard by Akihito's words. "'That is my way.'" After a moment the lines of Asami's face softened, startling Akihito. "Those words don't apply to you. They never did. From the first, it was you who held me in your hand." On the inside, Akihito reeled. His shocked gaze locked on Asami. "You would really forgive me betraying you?" Asami bent, his lips hovering over Akihito's, and his fingertips brushed gently over the fragile bone of his cheek as he repeated the last bit of conversation from the long ago day. "I'll do whatever it takes to get a hold of what I desire." "And..." Akihito shivered, his heart beating a hole through his ribs. "What do you desire?" "Choose me. Stay with me. Love only me, my Akihito." Their lips met, a supplication, a humbling that shocked Akihito to his core, but when his eyes fluttered open and met Asami's golden-brown stare, they welled up with unshed tears. "Will you believe me?" Akihito's words were more than a question; they were a plea. Troubled eyes searched his, and Akihito held his breath, all his being crying out for Asami to tell him what he wanted, needed, to hear. He could see the warring emotions, the conflicted desires that subtly contorted Asami's features. Asami's forehead dropped down to his; fingers a gentle, tender touch at his nape. "Don't ask me for what I can't give. Anything else is yours." Akihito's eyes closed, fighting to keep the wetness from leaking out his closed lids. "Why?" His voice cracking, Akihito shook his head. "Why would you even still want me?" "Because I love you." Oh God. Akihito choked down a sob. Not now. Not that simple declaration after all that had passed. "So the past three months you didn't love me, but now you do?" His short laugh sounded more like a wounded cry. Asami went rigid, though his fingers stayed gentle, his forehead slipping down to Akihito's shoulder. "I was wrong. No knows better than I do how Homura can twist and manipulate, or how charming he can be. And..." He drew in a deep breath, his fingers spreading to cup the base of Akihito's skull. "You had just cause to hate me...to want revenge. You have cause. Even more so now." His head raised, a heavy frown not hiding the vulnerability evident in the turned down lips and the shadowed eyes. "But...Akihito. Forgive me." Forgive me. The words echoed in his mind. Reaching blindly, Akihito's hands fisted in Asami's shirt. He hung on for dear life, not trusting that his legs wouldn't buckle beneath him. His throat seemed to swell, he couldn't swallow, couldn't breathe, absolutely couldn't get a word past the huge lump that grew there.

It seemed like his whole chest cavity had been scooped out, scraped raw, filled instead with an increasing, throbbing ache that would never go away. Asami still thought him guilty of whatever horrible, nameless crimes that had brought them to this point. But even so... "Akihito?" The way Asami whispered his name made his eyes shut against the raw urgency it gave away. This was impossible. It was impossible. It had never happened, not in real life. This must be a waking dream, or he was simply sleepwalking through some insane landscape. But his name on Asami's lips, uttered with such breathtaking, brutal longing, made him yearn and ache for them both. And it had been a question, not a command, not an expectation; nothing less than true uncertainty; from Asami. And still, he couldn't speak. Only when Asami's hand began to slide away from his nape and Akihito's eyes opened and he saw the stark bleakness in that golden gaze, did his own heart shatter to witness it. Akihito stopped thinking entirely. Nothing mattered in that moment but that he make that look go away forever. His toes lifted and his mouth pressed against Asami's, and still he clung tight to his shirt as Asami lifted him in his arms. He wrapped his legs around Asami's waist, salt tears mixing with the taste of their kiss, tongues sliding and rolling, pushing deeper and deeper in needy rediscovery. He gasped into it, harshly sucking in air through his nose because he didn't want it ever to end. Down on the bed he went, oh so gently, more gentle than Asami had ever been, and his tears slid down the sides of cheeks wetting the sheets. Asami kissed them away, again and again, until Akihito pulled him down, arms twining about his neck, their bodies flush and another deep kiss driving toward something primal and inevitable. Asami bared them both, and then there was nothing but Asami's fingers, slick and cool, preparing the way. He was inside Akihito, rocking into him, all his usual control lost to the frantic, desperate pace they both moved to. Mouths locked together, they lost themselves in the slide and slap of flesh on flesh until their final shudders and cries faded into soft pants, and their bodies slid into a tangled dovetail. Still, Asami's hands stroked him, worked through his hair with compulsive need, and his lips pressed again and again to his temple and crown. Akihito allowed himself the pleasure, the heady comfort of being in Asami's arms again. It felt so good, even if it was all kinds of fucked up. This, at least, had always been their perfect bridge. Asami seemed to read his mind because he pulled Akihito closer, nestling Akihito's head against his chest, whispering into his hair. "This was never a lie, was it? This between us? Our bodies never lied." No, they hadn't. And that was enough for now, but, even as Akihito gave a murmur of assent and allowed his eyes to drift shut listening to the steady beat of Asami's heart, he promised himself: they were going to talk soon. Akihito would make Asami explain everything, every last bit, and then he would begin to rebuild what had been broken. He fell asleep before Asami moved from the bed to answer the low hum of his phone in the next room. He didn't see those golden eyes harden, and he didn't awaken when Asami returned to him, watching him sleep until the room began to grow light and he began to stir again. He didn't feel it when Asami pressed the needle to his arm and watched him grow still again.

Akihito woke slowly, light streaming across his pillow making it difficult to open his eyes. He moved slightly, feeling the familiar ache in his body that only came with his sexual encounters with Asami. Asami. A surge of adrenaline seared his insides as the events of the night caught up with him, and his eyes shot open. He blinked away the sting of sun and sat up, looked around, his mouth falling open and a sinking feeling in his gut. Where the fuck was he now? The door to the room opened and Akihito's head jerked toward the sound. His eyes went round. "Feilong?!"

A World of Sighs
Chapter Summary

Dark night of the soul.

Chapter Notes

I'm truly sorry for the long delay. Trying very hard to achieve a proper balance, but this past month I haven't done a very good job at that. This is a rather slow chapter, an interim perhaps.

The inner courtyard of Feilong's villa was beautiful and serene. Akihito already knew the twists and turns of the cobbled pathways lined with flowering Hong Kong Orchid-Trees. The violet blossoms provided bright spots of color that seemed incongruous with the winter season. Like beacons, Akihito followed their trail, almost able to forget he was hemmed in on all sides by the walls of the sprawling mansion Feilong casually referred to as his country home. Especially when he tipped his head up and watched pale clouds stretched across the watercolor blue sky, he felt free of all constraints, if only for a moment. The pale, cool expanse only emphasized the surrounding chill, but Akihito welcomed it, his breath hanging in front of him as he breathed out the December air. A part of him knew his present peace was tenuous, a transient reprieve, granted only by the pervasive numbness of the past few months and the still-reverberating shock of his last moments with Asami. With the newest assault to his equilibrium: his unexpected awakening in the hands of Feilong, he was operating on auto-pilot, sleepwalking through a reality that seemed ever more surreal. Asami. Akihito's cold fingers curled in the recesses of the deep pockets of the borrowed coat he wore. Why had he sent him away now, after everything? Oh, he understood what Feilong had told him, but the bare facts of a hasty plan to keep him safe from yet another quarter didn't make it any easier to internalize or to accept. Asami wanted to keep him safe. Asami had banished him, yet again. A spark of anger began to burn deep in his belly and his cheeks flushed a deeper red, already pink from the dry, bitter breeze as those first few moments of sleep-dazed, futile denial intruded into his thoughts. "Where am I? Where is Asami?" Waking to find Feilong with him had sent him into an instant panic, though Feilong had kept his distance. "It's all right, Akihito. I promise no harm will come to you. You're safe here." "Safe from what?"

Akihito had thrown himself from the bed, backed up to the wall, tensed for flight and wary. Looking troubled, Feilong had hesitated. "Asami sent you here. He asked me to protect you." "He sent me to you? I don't believe you!" Feilong had winced, but nodded, fixing Akihito with an expression of genuine sorrow. "He asked me for this favor. However, I agreed not for him, but for your sake. I hope..." Feilong had broken off, his gaze averted for a moment before he'd returned his troubled eyes to Akihito's. "I hope you can forgive me for what I did you to before, Akihito. Perhaps you will not be able to do so, but please know that I hold the deepest regret for my actions. I know can never make true amends, but I can promise you that here, you will always be treated as an honored guest and protected. Now and for always." A bitter laugh escaped Akihito now. The irony of being sent to the scene of one of his most traumatic experiences didn't escape him. How like Asami. Hair of the dog that bit you was apparently his therapy of choice; certainly a typical 'remedy' from this man. It wasn't that he was fearful of his life now with Feilong. They had established an uneasy truce after his return to Tokyo, sporadically keeping in touch mainly due to Akihito's feeling that Feilong needed someone he count as a friend of sorts. The knowledge, though, that Asami had moved him around again without so much as a goodbye or an explanation was galling. He really was nothing but a pawn on a chessboard. It hurt deeply, and his tumultuous emotions had fluctuated wildly over the past two days. That night with Asami was still impossible to consider clearly. The ache in heart when he tried was too overwhelming. Hope and need and desperation clashed with an underlying hurt and resentment, anger even, that he couldn't quantify or articulate in his current state. It wasn't fair. Self-disgust made his footsteps quicken along the path. He wouldn't allow himself to be so pathetic. So what if it wasn't? He wasn't some child to expect that life would be, but if Asami thought he would just sit back and let him arrange things to suit himself again, if Asami thought he could get away with cutting off all communication until he was ready to deal with him...here Akihito pushed down the frightened, tiny voice that asked: What if Asami was never ready? "Akihito." Startled from his thoughts, Akihito spun around, his eyes widening to see the stoic-faced man before him. "Yoh!" "It's been a while." "Yeah, it has." Akihito bit his lip, suddenly dealing with a slew of new and unexpected emotions. The last time he'd seen Yoh was the morning after Feilong had taken him that last time. He'd brought a new set of those clothes Feilong had liked to dress him up in and taken Akihito to the showers. Yoh had seemed visibly distressed that day, unusually expressive, though Akihito had been too caught up in the idea that Asami was actively seeking his release that he hadn't spared much thought for it. Yoh, however, had witnessed some of his weakest, most shameful moments. It was odd being confronted with another reminder of that, though he shouldn't be surprised. Where else would

Yoh be but at Feilong's side? Some of what he was thinking must have shown on his face because Yoh's expression flickered and his head lowered a little, those too-long bangs concealing his eyes for a second before he straightened. "Will you come inside?" The question and tone were benign, but Akihito regarded Yoh curiously. "Does Feilong want something?" "No. It's I who would like to speak to you. Though, Feilong is aware." Surprised, Akihito stared, wondering why Yoh would seek him out. "All right." He nodded awkwardly and followed after Yoh, though he was loathe to trade the garden for the house. They didn't go far. Yoh led him through a set of french doors that opened into a small study. With the draperies drawn open, crisp daylight flooded the room, giving Akihito a comforting view of both the courtyard and the sky. "Please, sit down." They stared at each for a long moment and then, once again, Yoh looked away. "Would you like tea?" Akihito shook his head took a seat on a sculpted sofa that faced a long coffee table. "What did you want to talk about?" His nerves were starting to get to him, an uncomfortable anxiety making his stomach roil. Unbeknownst to him, his right hand gripped the tight fist of his left and his nails began to compulsively scrape at thin skin covering the fine bones. Yoh sat down next to him, further surprising and discomfiting Akihito. "Please, Yoh. Just tell me what it is." His thinly concealed apprehension brought Yoh's eyes back to his. "I'm sorry. It's hard to know where to begin." He hesitated a moment. "Akihito, has Asami told you anything about his past?" Akihito frowned. "His past?" Yoh sighed. "Maybe that isn't the place to start. You do know why you were sent here?" "I only know what Feilong said. That Asami sent me here to keep me safe. That he was hunting someone who wanted to hurt me. This Homura guy. Is that...is that the truth?" His eyes grew large and glassy as Akihito fought the fear that this was only a new stage in the punishment, that perhaps what Asami had said only two days ago was a lie or a mistake at best. Maybe he had changed his mind and this was how Asami would rid himself of him. Yoh's eyes searched his face, looking for something, Akihito wasn't sure what. "It's true. I've spoken to Asami." "Is he here?" Akihito straightened up, the register of his voice rising. "Is Asami in Hong Kong?" "No. We spoke on the phone. He's still in Japan. He's...not able to leave yet." Visibly deflating, Akihito swallowed hard, dejection lacing his words. "Why, Yoh? Why did he do this? That guy, he's really after Asami, isn't he? Why did Asami drug me and send me away? Why couldn't I have stayed there with him?" "Akihito...is that really where you want to be?"

Akihito's head jerked up and he stared at Yoh, sudden understanding making his cheeks go ashen. Yoh knew. Some of it, all of it, Akihito wasn't sure, but his stomach and cheeks burned as he jumped to his feet and paced to the glass doors, his arms wrapping around his body, clinging to the wool of the light coat he still wore. "I...I need to be there." He stared out blindly, not seeing anything but Asami's face through the clear glass. A long silence fell, and then Yoh cleared his throat. "He sent something with you. Something he wanted us to give you when you woke." Akihito turned, staring at Yoh uncertainly. "What is it?" "This." He pushed a large, plain, brown envelope lying on the table toward Akihito." With trepidation, but drawn irresistibly, Akihito came closer. "What's inside?" "Evidence linking you to Homura Yuta and his plot to take down Asami." Akihito gasped, reaching out to clutch the back of the nearest arm chair as a wave of unsteadiness swayed him. Yoh rose swiftly, a hand beneath Akihito's elbow, and eased Akihito into the chair. "I--I--" He couldn't catch his breath. "Just breathe. It's going to be all right. You're safe here, Akihito." A harsh, whispery laugh escaped him, and he looked up at Yoh with wild, shiny eyes. "I didn't, Yoh. I really didn't do--" "I know." Yoh's low voice spoke quietly, reassuringly. "I know. It's all right. Asami knows too." Another unhinged laugh spilled out. "He doesn't know. He thinks I betrayed him." Akihito moaned. "God, he sent me here to get ri--" "No, Akihito. No." The fingers at his nape gave a reassuring squeeze. "He knows the truth. He sent this because he thought you would want to see it. That you deserved to know." His chest tightened again, an overwhelming rush of feeling overloading his senses. Panting, Akihito bent over his knees, the heavy envelope held tightly to his chest. Vaguely, he could Yoh's concerned voice murmuring in the distance, something about taking deep breaths, but it wasn't until an icy rag was pressed against the back of his neck did Akihito take a great whooshing breath and sit up, the rapid rise and fall of his chest finally easing slowly back to normal. "Why now?" Akihito's voice shook slightly. "What happened to make him finally believe that I didn't do it?" "I'm not sure exactly. I only know that he discovered the truth right before he sent you here for safekeeping, and that some of that information is also inside that envelope." "I have to go back, Yoh! I have to!" Akihito tried to leap up again, but pressed him back into the chair, looking even more troubled than before. "You can't." Frantic, Akihito struggled. "But I--we need to--" "Listen to me, Akihito. Asami had to fake your death to ensure that you would be safe, and Feilong swore to protect you. You can't be seen."

A growl of anguish and confusion sounded low in Akihito's throat. "Faked my death? How? What does that mean? What about my family, do they think--" "Calm down, Akihito." Yoh's hands moved to his shoulders and he leaned in to meet Akihito's eyes. "I'll tell you everything I know. That's why I'm here." "Why?" Akihito asked bleakly. "Why is it you telling me all this? Why not Feilong?" Yoh stared fixedly at Akihito for several seconds before answering quietly. "Because I've known Asami since he was eighteen. When you were here in Hong Kong before, I was working for him." Akihito's eyes grew round, his mouth slack, as the ramifications of that bit of knowledge began to occur to him. "So...so you were working for him all along? Like, a...a double agent or something?" "Something like that." Yoh's face had shuttered more tightly than usual. "Wow." Akihito's stunned expression slowly gave way to deep consideration. His brows furrowed and his eyes dropped to the twisting hands in his lap, but he didn't quite dare ask the hesitant question that trembled on his lips. He wasn't sure if he could handle the answer, not on top of everything else. Almost as if Yoh knew what he was thinking, he leaned forward, forcing Akihito to meet his gaze. "Asami wanted me to bring you to him immediately, but if I had, my cover would have been blown. His inside source that he had set up seven years before with Feilong would no longer exist. He didn't care. He offered me asylum, but I..." Yoh paused, his eyes clouded with the memories. A sudden wash of understanding spread over Akihito's features. "Your loyalties had changed. You wanted to stay with Feilong." "My loyalties to Asami never wavered. But over time my...loyalties to Feilong grew. At that point in time, I wanted to protect Feilong as well. It was my duty and my wish, so I convinced Asami the only way to avoid all out war between all parties was to exchange you for the deed. It was true enough." Yoh's head bowed a little. "But Akihito, I'm sorry that you suffered for that decision." Akihito didn't say anything for a long time. Yoh's hair fell across his eyes and Akihito was glad for that as things began to add up. Finally, he breathed in softly, a little gasp of discovery. "You liked him didn't you? Back then? You loved Feilong?" Yoh's eyes raised, surprise and respect mingling with the darker emotions there. "That...that must have been hard for you." Now Akihito could understand better the questions Yoh had asked of him back then, after his evenings with Feilong. Nothing was ever simple in this world. The empathy and sadness with which Akihito spoke, which shone in his eyes, seemed to further discompose Yoh, and his eyes flared wider when Akihito reached out and placed a hand on his forearm. An unreadable expression flickered across his face, but he held Akihito's gaze. "I admired you during that time. Despite everything, your spirit stayed strong. You were kind to a small boy who idolized Feilong and generous even to Feilong himself. He doesn't often speak of it, but your concern for someone who hurt you touched him deeply." Akihito flushed, uncomfortable with the unusually expressive words from Yoh. He deflected with another question. "Feilong...does he know about you and Asami?" Gravely, Yoh nodded.

"Yes. When I stole the deed, he discovered the truth. After a time, he forgave my deceit. My ties of duty are solely with him now, my but loyalty to Asami will never change" "Why?" Akihito asked softly. "That's one reason I'm here. To tell you that story." Was Yoh really going to divulge the truth of Asami's past to him? After so long, would he really find out more about a man whose secrets had been so untouchable? The fascinating lure of that almost made him forget the envelope in his hand, but Yoh was already pulling away and settling himself on the sofa across from Akihito. "Do you want to go through that first?" He looked down at it, fingertips smoothing over the blank surface. Apprehension made the bile in his stomach burn. "Do you know what's inside?" "Only that it contains evidence of the lies Homura wove to frame you. I don't know all the specifics, though I can guess. And..." Akihito's troubled eyes lifted to his, begging for reassurance that Yoh couldn't give. "From my own experience with him, it won't be pretty." Something clawed at his chest, urging him to fling away the bitter truth that waited in this small package, but there was no way Akihito would give into that weakness. Now, he would finally have his answers, at least to the why of things, And then, well, he would confront Asami with all the rest. "You know him? The asshole who did this?" "Yes. He was supposed to be dead." Yoh smiled grimly. "It's been a long time since I've seen him. It was the day I first met Asami." "Don't look so constipated, Kirishima. Do you truly begrudge me this indulgence?" "You know that's not true, Asami-sama." Kirishima's frustration leaked out in his voice and expression. "It's just Suoh and I both feel--" "Teaming up on me? It's too bad for you majority doesn't rule around here." "Of course, but we--" "I've told you that he won't try anything now. It wouldn't suit his style. He wants me to suffer, and he wants to see me suffer." Asami wandered on slightly unsteady feet back to the bar at Sion. At five in the morning it was deserted. He'd shown up at three and proceeded to sample a selection of liquors that would have felled a lesser man long ago. At four, he'd closed the club early, ensuring a number of patrons had watched him consuming copious amounts of spirits alone. A forbidding aura and his two faithful shadows kept his section of the bar free from anyone but deferent staff, and they had only approached him warily. "But surely now it's okay to take you home where we can better secure the situation." Asami laughed, one eyebrow lifting. "The situation? Always so euphemistic, Kirishima. You mean me getting drunk off my ass, don't you?"

In a move that startled his men, Asami planted his palms on the edge of the bar and hoisted himself to the dark, polished surface, and then he reached for the open Tequila from the motley collection of bottles and drank directly from the rim. With any luck, perhaps he could eventually fool himself into believing that this was all just an act for the benefit of others, and that the desire to get blind, stinking drunk wasn't rooted in the black emotions he wasn't willing to examine too deeply yet. He would save that for after. Kirishima and Suoh exchanged glances, and the familiar line appeared between Kirishima's brows. His fastidious tone made his voice tart, "Diplomacy is the hallmark of good business." Asami made a sound approximating amusement, his eyes red-rimmed and bloodshot, his impeccable facade all but obliterated. "That or a reliable semi-automatic." Though his jacket was long gone, and his tie, which had been half-undone already, was now pulled free and tossed carelessly aside, his gun holsters still crossed over his shoulders and back; his two constant companions snug within, and even more lethal than the two who stood staring at him with wary concern. "You know, proper henchmen would laugh at that." Neither one of them did. They both knew Asami's rather bizarre sense of humor came out either when he was in a particularly good mood, or a particularly foul one. They were under no illusions that he was having a good day. Carefully groomed hair had long since lost its perfection, and Asami raked back the wayward strands that fell over his eyes. A part of him that wasn't busy engaging in a battle of deep repression was entertained by the irritation Kirishima struggled so hard to hide. If only it wasn't accompanied by the hint of pity that softened the hard edges he was trying to provoke. It really pissed him off. He didn't want pity, didn't want understanding or patience or concern. Usually, Kirishima's tendencies to act like a little mother rolled off his back, but this was something else. He sure as fuck couldn't stomach this. He fumbled at his breast for his Dunhills, uttering a curse when he realized they were still in the inner pocket of his suit jacket. Kirishima, of course, stepped in, producing a cigarette and a flame that Asami bent his head to after clamping his lips around the butt. He gave a sharp nod in acknowledgement and sucked in deeply. The nicotine tasted heavenly, and he made sure to hold the smoke in his lungs for maximum pollution. A thin, white stream roiled in front of him as he finally exhaled. "Bring the car around." Suoh bowed and immediately left the room. Kirishima had already located Asami's jacket and had it draped over his forearm along with the discarded tie. The bottle of tequila went with Asami. Outside, Suoh stood waiting by the door of the BMW, opening it quickly to allow Asami not even to have to break his stride as he dropped his butt to the ground, squashed it with his expensive shoe, and climbed into the vehicle with only infinitesimally less grace than usual. He propped the open bottle on the seat next to him and reached for the pack he knew was in the side compartment of the car. Kirishima eyed the bottle watchfully as Suoh pulled out with smooth precision. When the thin cigarette dangled from Asami's lips, a heavy, gold lighter crossed the gap between the seats. Asami caught it with one hand and flipped it open; scrape and snick, the familiar ritual.

He followed it with a deep pull from the Tequila bottle, his mouth numb to the taste, but evoking an image of Akihito stretched and naked over the table in their kitchen, blushing despite the vigorous activities that had left him sweaty and panting. Protests, of course, had spouted from those pretty, kiss-plumped lips as Asami playfully licked Akihito's own salt off that toned abdomen to cut the bite of the alcohol. He could recall with perfect clarity dipping into the hollow of Akihito's navel to lap up the pooled liquid; the way his stomach had tightened and fluttered, his skin had flushed, Akihito's protests turning to moans as his tongue had followed a liquid trail down to the straining cock that Akihito had so unsubtly urged him to suck with double fistfuls of Asami's hair like reins in his hands. A cleared throat wiped away the ghost of a smirk that hovered almost-there at the corners of his lips. "Asami-sama. Where to? Home?" The last was asked with the barest hopeful uplift. He did smirk then, though the warmth in his eyes had fled. "I'd say the night is still young, but that's a lie. In any case, no." He took another drag, enjoying the second-hand trepidation his deliberate pause created. "Shinagawa Pier." Kirishima went still and then nodded as if it was to be expected. He passed on the location to Suoh, while Asami continued to drink and smoke, his eyes on the passing lights of Shinjuku. Even here, the ubiquitous Christmas decorations adorned window fronts and buildings with garish and saccharine charm. Akihito, at any rate, would have been charmed. He was always attracted to shiny things--the shiny and the dangerous--which probably entirely explained his unwanted and irrepressible fascination with Asami; the alluring facade both the bait and the mask that hid the black, black heart within. Of course, that hadn't ever been completely hidden from Akihito. Or rather, it had, more than Akihito had ever known. He was always so amusing with his accusations of dire intentions and deeds, but only throwing the words out without any real sense of their truth. Things had changed, though. Akihito certainly entertained no doubts now about the blackness within, nor the depths of the abyss into which he had fallen. No, he had been dragged down by Asami's own hand. Head cocked, Asami left the cigarette in his mouth and extended his right hand. The nails were neatly trimmed, manicure impeccable. His long, elegant fingers looked strong and capable. And they were capable of so very many things. The fingers furled and unfurled again as he turned it palm up, staring at the lines with a bleak, mocking twist of his lips. Perhaps he should engage a palm reader to tell him the outcome of his current imbroglio. "Do you read palms, Kirishima?" The cigarette bobbed between his lips, making him sound like a tough-talking gangster, but Kirishima didn't seem to appreciate the non-irony. "I'm afraid they didn't teach that at Tokyo University, Asami-sama." Asami took the cigarette between his fingers and again. "Hn. Just as well. My mother read my palm once." Only the slight tension around the skin of Kirishima's eyes betrayed his surprise at the mention of Asami's mother. "Is that so? And did her reading prove accurate?" "She said that I would rise to great heights, find love in an unexpected place, and have the ability to make all my desires come true." Kirishima's eyebrows rose. "That's...rather accurate."

"I'm fairly certain it was the fortune for Leo in that day's newspaper." "Ah." Asami nodded, reducing his cigarette to little more than ash before blowing out a white cloud of smoke. "She also predicted I'd have three black-haired brats with eyes of golden-brown to follow in my footsteps. I'm fairly certain that was wishful thinking." His lips wrapped around the rim of the Tequila bottle and he tipped it up and swallowed. "Barring a rather astonishing advance in biogenetics it does seem unlikely." A snort escaped Asami, and he fixed Kirishima with his red-rimmed gaze. "You think Akihito would allow me to impregnate him? He'd gut me if I even seriously thought about it. Hell, he'd gut me if he knew it even came up like this." For a moment, both men, and Suoh, who had been unobtrusively eavesdropping from the front seat, had a vision of an extremely pissed off Akihito with a rotund belly and a death glare in his eyes. It was a remarkably disturbing image, but any amusement it might have engendered was lost to Asami with the desolate, irrepressible knowledge that Akihito was unlikely to be offering him any sort of intimacy in the future, much less offering to bear his prophetical children, despite the kid's unfathomable ability to forgive the most egregious wrongs and bounce back like an industrial strength rubber band even when he was tested to the limit. Even so, everyone had their breaking point. No one knew that better than he did. His own socalled brilliant mind and keen instincts had failed spectacularly, and he had placed himself in the deeply unsettling and maddening situation of not being able to take what he wanted as he usually did. His mother's fucking predictions were all shit apparently. How he wished he could blame Kirishima or Suoh or any of the people who worked for him, or any of them who didn't. The only person he could rightly blame was the person he saw in the mirror every morning; a person he hardly recognized anymore. His failures etched lines around his mouth and eyes visible only to him; the deeper knowledge of his sins. Fuck, he still wasn't drunk enough. His chin tipped up, and his Adam's apple bobbed up and down the column of his throat until only a trickle was left. He lowered the bottle and glared at it. Tequila was vile. No subtlety at all. He should have brought the bourbon. "Did you ever make a Molotov cocktail, Kirishima?" "I'm afraid not." "Pity." He'd made his first one when he was thirteen, and he could still remember the rush of watching the flaming wick arc across the sky and the satisfying burst of flames as the bottle shattered against the concrete rubble of the abandoned factory. Akihito would get a kick out of it he bet--another shiny thing with bonus sound effects--as long as no small animals or children were harmed in the process. Asami laughed under his breath, ignoring the surreptitious glance from Kirishima. Fucking buzzkill, that one. Anyway, it was a pity he hadn't experienced that with Akihito. No, that had been one of many rites of passage he had shared with Yuta. Brilliant, shining Yuta. Was it narcissism all along that bound him so closely? Almost a mirror image, he'd thought so then anyway. Yuta had always been his blind spot. Because he had seen what he expected to see? What he wanted to see? His adolescent self had room only for admiration at that point, a shared pride between them, possession, knowledge of their superiority, fanned to a white-hot intensity.

His blindness, the excruciatingly embarrassing naivete still made him cringe internally. Fuck. "Oi! Can't this thing go any faster?" Suoh indulged him by gunning the pedal as he made a left turn, inertia ensuring Asami fell toward the right-side door. His shoulder thumped against the handle, a dull pain throbbing briefly through the Tequila haze. Fifteen. Laughing Yuta at the wheel as they spun out, joyriding through deserted streets. Even then, he'd never known when to pull back; he hadn't known how. His unpredictability was addictive. At least until the tarnish had begun to appear on that shiny surface bit by bit until Asami hadn't been able to ignore it any longer. There was nothing clever, nothing admirable about the self-destructive path Yuta had taken. He was flawed deep within. His self-indulgent nihilism disguised only by the powerful force of his personal charm when it suited him. He should have put him down like a rabid dog all those years ago. No matter, it would happen now, and then maybe someone would do the same for him. He laugh aloud, a rough bark that made Kirishima's eyes sharpen, assessing his mental faculties no doubt. Well, he already knew he was losing it, had lost it, in fact, approximately three months ago. He was a highly functional basket case, but a basket case none the less. Being intelligent enough to know it unfortunately didn't mean there was a fucking thing he could do about it other than what he was. Killing Homura would be the easy part and definitely therapeutic, especially if he got to make use of the man's own knives to do the deed. So deep in the pleasure of that fantasy, Asami actually needed Suoh's deep voice announcing they had arrived. Without waiting, Asami opened the door. His feet crunching along asphalt and loose gravel, the mostly empty bottle gripped tightly in his hand. He was aware of Kirishima and Suoh following at a discreet pace behind him. He ignored them. He'd been here twice before in the presence of Akihito. The first time, Akihito had cried for that dirty cop at the end of the pier, and Asami had run his fingers through that soft hair, giving in to the desire to offer some comfort to the distraught boy. It had been laughable considering what he'd just put him through, and Akihito had agreed, those amazing eyes lighting up again and scorching through Asami's aloof facade. He would never get enough of that fire. He had wanted to drink it all again and again as it miraculously refilled--the eternal return of Takaba Akihito. The second time had only been two nights ago. The last glimpse of Akihito's face, deathly pale and cold before the black, weighted bag had slipped beneath the surface of the dark water. It could have so easily been real. The tips of his shoes hung over the edge of the pier, while he locked into a stare-down with the black depths. He blinked first, dragging his forearm across his bleary eyes. Eyes squeezed shut, damp lashes clumped against the high lines of his cheeks, he faced another truth. It could still be real. He spun, hurling the bottle against the bollard that squatted like a bloated toad in the dark. Shrapnel glittered in the ugly fluorescent light of the tall, concrete lamppost. He had come here to give a show, but the deeper truth was that he had come here because he had to. He needed to. And here was the irony: drowning Akihito in Tokyo Bay was his purest moment with Akihito to date, even if he would probably never understand that. A baptism in the black waters of the abyss, but Akihito would be reborn into that freedom he had always craved.

One last reunion with his sordid past awaited, and he would eliminate the only thing standing in the way of that, and if it cost him everything, then so be it.

Pour This Pestilence into His Ear

Chapter Summary

A game of hide and seek.

"The lion cannot protect himself from traps, and the fox cannot defend himself from wolves. One must therefore be a fox to recognize traps, and a lion to frighten wolves." -Niccol Machiavelli By means of a long, hot shower, a close shave, a strong cup of coffee, and a balanced breakfast brought by Kirishima; Asami slipped on his outer skin as he did up the buttons of his shirt, placed the holster across his shoulders, covered it with vest and jacket, adjusted his tie, swept thick hair back with invisible gel. His impenetrable facade was almost complete, barring his socked feet that took him to his home office, Kirishima following dutifully behind. Stepping into the study required a mental and physical spine-stiffening from Kirishima. The large, mahogany desk was still littered with packets of Rohypnol, year-old surveillance snapshots of Takaba--timeframe determined by the color and length of the boy's hair--that underscored the boy's vulnerability in a variety of mundane environments, and larger, clearer shots of Asami and Takaba together. Those shots could only have been taken with an almost constant shadowing of the boy, for Asami had rarely been indiscreet when it came to their encounters. The deep, vicious slashes scoring the shiny photographs across the boy's face in each shot, as well the ruthless documentation of every moment of Takaba's life were a chilling testament to the idea that at one point Homura had considered a quicker and more direct method of hurting Asami. But even worse was the series of more recent pictures that had obviously been snapped at regular intervals by a camera on a timer. The sick fuck had put them in a binder; a family album. Kirishima didn't want to remember Asami's expression as he'd flipped through the thick pages the first time. Suoh had already warned him of the contents, and Kirishima thanked whatever higher powers that might exist that he hadn't been the one to finally unearth Homura's true lair. The picture they had found affixed to the wall in the slaughterhouse of an apartment Homura had led them to had been the truth of a sort, nauseating as it was, but it had not been the whole truth. The documentation of Akihito's violation had been all the more terrible as captured by that impersonal eye. His limp, vulnerable body, drugged and helpless, manipulated and abused by Homura was shown in stark, unrelenting reality. Even then, Homura had been planning for the moment when Asami would read the sick narrative that had been crafted just for him, when he would see Homura's triumphant smirk blazing out of two-dimensional space; a Cheshire Cat smile, remaining even as Homura faded away, elusive. But mad dogs couldn't stay quiet for long, Asami had said. Homura would, of a twisted necessity, show his face, but they would hunt him down before that. The cold assurance in his voice, the implacable command that his words carried, and much more, the simmering blood lust behind all the smooth control just barely contained by iron-willed control, instilled in his men a primal denial of any thought of failure to procure the outcome their boss desired. The boy had been spirited away to safety from Homura's madness. That was the reason they all spoke about, anyway. It was the truth, but only part of the truth. So Kirishima and Suoh and

Asami himself danced around the knowledge that Takaba had been sent away from the poison of their own immediate world, from Asami himself. Homura hadn't returned to his place, though they had gone in with stealth and withdrawn quickly; some sixth sense, perhaps, that they were close on his trail or whispers in the underbelly of Tokyo that could never be entirely contained had floated to his ear. But they kept up a constant surveillance regardless, and went about the business of tracking down his scent anew. A whisper had reached their ears that morning, and Kirishima fortified himself with the knowledge that as fucked up as things currently were, his boss had finally reassembled himself into the appearance, at least, of an impregnable fortress that succumbed to no challengers. Whatever happened afterwards, Kirishima knew without a shadow of a doubt that first Homura would be found, perhaps through the sheer force of Asami's will alone, and he would die, slowly and painfully in all likelihood. Kirishima found himself looking forward to the bloodshed with a fervor he usually didn't. The display Asami had made in public two nights ago was nothing to the naked emotion he'd exposed to Kirishima after the boy's slight body had slipped beneath the waters into strange arms below. He never wanted to see for himself again the raw, enraged pain and bitter, self-directed contempt that contorted Asami's features as he pushed past him to the car. That helpless fury, uncontainable, yet with nowhere to go.

*** The phone beeped again as the voicemail announced its presence. Kirishima sighed. Once they'd dealt with Takaba's closest friends and family, the calls had tapered off. Kirishima had been in charge of dealing with them at his discretion. This one, it seemed, would take some special handling. It was from the same person who had sent the text earlier that day. Akihito. You alive? When are you going to swing by the studio? Kirishima picked up the phone, the ridiculous charm dangling over the edge of his wrist as he navigated to the voicemail application and played the message. "Hey, Akihito! This is Soichi! We got back from Germany a bit earlier than we had planned. I brought some beer back for you, so come over soon. Your project looks great. You finally finished it! Took you long enough! I know it's a gift, but the way you fussed over it, I wasn't sure you ever would!" The man's raucous laugh made Kirishima's already throbbing head ache, and he pinched the bridge of his nose as the message continued. However, the next words made him stiffen with careful attention. "I guess you can stop sneaking around now, huh? Listen, since this piece is so big, I can wrap it up for you and deliver it in the van if you want. Just give me the address and I'll drop it by whenever you want. It'll be a thanks for keeping an eye on the studio while I was away. Call me!" Kirishima's fingers curled tightly around the edges of the phone. "I'll ask one more time. Where were you?" "I--I was at a friend's studio, you asshole!" "And what were you doing there?" "I don't have to tell you that."

A sense of the inevitable rippled across Kirishima's skin as a puzzle piece slipped into place. He wouldn't inform Asami, not yet. Weighing the options, he picked up his own phone and called Suoh. He indulged in a rare cigarette while waiting to be picked up. His nerves required one. Later that evening, he would think almost fondly of those few minutes before all hell broke loose. Seeing the interior of the studio was enough to send his stomach roiling. He knew now where the pictures of Homura's drugging and violation of Takaba had been taken. After talking to the owner of the studio, he'd wasted no time in calling Asami. He'd gone so far as to take a picture of what he'd come to retrieve and sent it over the phone. The silence was unnerving, but the quiet, cold tone as Asami had begun issuing orders was almost comforting. Bringing all the elements together to satisfy his boss's precise, extemporaneous plan, calling in favors, and not least of all navigating Asami's turbulent, though ruthlessly contained mood, was exceptionally trying after months of constant strain.

*** Kirishima's eyes flickered to the three large pieces of the triptych that rested along the wall and took up almost all of its space. When his gaze returned to his boss, he found himself subject to the weight of that penetrating stare. Unease raised the hairs on the back of his neck as Asami stepped around the desk, but he only moved to the center of the room and looked upon the photographic creation himself, deceptively calm as his hands slipped into the pockets of his perfectly-cut slacks. A low beeping interrupted the heavy atmosphere, and Kirishima hastily canceled the reminder on his phone. It didn't seem to faze his boss. Asami's eyes roved over the landscape of the shots Akihito had caught, transformed, and illuminated with a fresh and affecting skill. His talent was clear, but it was more than technique. It was if, with a jumble of both opposing and seemingly unrelated images, the boy had managed to capture the raw, chaotic passion that propelled him through life, allowed him to wear his every emotion on his sleeve. It also showed--and Kirishima couldn't help but wonder if Takaba knew how much--the vast importance that shadowy figure; that tiny glint of gold somehow dominating the piece, but transformed by the proximity of Takaba's chosen targets. Even he could see from his own more cerebral existence, that it was nothing short of a love letter from a young and vibrant man, using what he knew best to express it, probably without even full cognizance of what he was exposing. The effect such a thing had on his boss was incalculable. The boy had never understood his power. If only they had discovered it months ago; it would have been impossible to conceive of the boy's betrayal. Kirishima felt it as a deep and personal failure. Asami's thoughts had obviously taken a similar turn because he turned back to the desk and viciously swept the detritus of Homura's machinations on the floor, causing Kirishima to flinch slightly. When he turned back to Kirishima, however, his face was impassive. "Let's go." Kirishima nodded. "Suoh is waiting below." He followed Asami to the front door. The final piece in the picture of Asami's perfection was complete as he slipped his feet into his shoes and allowed Kirishima to help him into his coat. "Is everyone in place?" "Yes." Kirishima drew himself up, slipping into analytical mode. "Do you still feel it's a set up?" "The timing of this information is too convenient. Just after we discovered his supposed bolt hole,

and he's all but vanished into thin air until now?" Asami's eyes narrowed as the elevator began to descend. "But it doesn't matter. He's very clever, but he's also deranged. He'll slip up at some point, and I'll be there to take advantage of it. Besides," Asami smiled coldly, "I also know how to push his buttons." "I still wish you'd consider allowing me or Suoh to proceed first. If--" A cold look cut off his words, and Kirishima reined himself in. After all, he had known that Asami would not comply with their suggestions based on concern for his own security. He was stubborn that way. Asami finally attempted to mollify him with a reply. "Even if this is just another step in his game, don't assume anything. We'll proceed as planned." "Of course, Asami-sama." Kirishima bowed his head in acknowledgement. They elevator opened into the underground parking level, and they stepped out to be greeted by Suoh and two other guards. After a few terse words with Suoh, Asami climbed into the car. Kirishima also exchanged a brief, tight glance with Suoh as he followed after his boss. Smoke was already drifting up to diffuse into a shapeless fog above their heads. It was one reason Kirishima could even make any attempt at giving up his own habit. The second-hand fix was almost as good. After several minutes of silence as they passed through the city--Kirishima feeling the absence of his usual handful of comforting reports the entire way--Asami broke it with a deceptively casual question. His eyes were turned away from Kirishima, watching the midday streets streak by with smooth and steady speed. "Any updates?" Kirishima knew immediately he was asking after Takaba. Of course, he had given Asami the regular report on the boy first thing in the morning, and Asami knew that another wasn't due for hours yet. He also knew that Kirishima would have reported even the slightest bit of new information immediately. Kirishima, however, responded to what he knew was a compulsive question as if it were a matter of course. "Nothing yet," was his prompt reply. "Shall I contact Yoh?" A jerk of his chin indicated a denial of that measure. Instead, Asami met his gaze. "You have the details of the financial arrangements handled?" Gladly slipping into accounting mode, Kirishima nodded, his mental knuckles cracking. "It's all taken care of, Asami-sama. The accounts, the properties, the tax shelters, all have been handed off to the appropriate attorneys who will step in to manage all...er..." "Objections?" Asami smirked, a brief amusement lighting his eyes as he imagined, no doubt, the boy's reaction to finding out the vast resources which were now placed at his disposal, and yet which still reflected only a pittance of Asami's net worth. Blood money, as Asami called it with self-directed revulsion, though Kirishima knew the offering was much more complex than that. "As you say." The prim reply didn't hide Kirishima's own resigned acceptance of the inevitable storm. The amusement faded fast, though, Asami's eyes darkening once again. The wheels behind them turned, assessing innumerable moves and playing them out to logical conclusions, one of which being that he would not return to see to any of these arrangements himself. Kirishima was hardly

willing to entertain that scenario for any length of time. He would see to it that he didn't fail his boss again. He caught the line that furrowed Asami's brow before his face turned away again, and frowned himself. That these arrangements were more than just a precaution or an atonement, Kirishima had suspected from the first. Asami's intentions after Homura had been dealt with had never been explicitly stated, but Kirishima didn't keep his job by being a fool. If his intentions were, as Kirishima speculated, to set the boy aside--to free him in truth--then God help them all. It was just another powder keg waiting to erupt. Doggedly, he resisted the urge to lift his glasses and press his fingertips into the inner corners of his eyes. Instead, he breathed deeply and quietly, willing the tension in his body to dissipate. The rest of the ride passed without comment as he watched his boss chain smoke silently. When Suoh announced over the intercom that they were nearing their destination, he felt both a sense of relief and apprehension. He opened his mouth to make another futile request that Asami allow him to enter the dwelling first, but before he could speak, a ringing came from Asami's inner jacket pocket. The tone was that used for unknown contacts and received almost no use. For someone to have this private number... Kirishima straightened, senses on full alerts. A swift touch of a button alerted Suoh, as well. His gaze locked with Asami as he retrieved the phone and lifted it to his ear. "Asami." The quiet ride of the limo allowed him to hear the other side of the conversation perfectly. "Ryuichi." A smooth, pleasing voice with a hint of laughter resonated clearly from the phone Asami held to his ear. "I hope you've had a nice afternoon drive." The impassive cast to Asami's feature didn't alter, but the ash of the cigarette in his right hand began to grow as it dangled forgotten in the hand that rested on his thigh. "Homura, it's been a long time. You should have stayed dead." Full-fledged laughter issued from the phone this time, and it kicked Kirishima into motion. He pulled out his own phone, silently sending a series of orders that would hopefully culminate in the tracing of the call. "You're cruel, Ryuichi. Is that what you really wish? I wonder why you're on your way to find me then." Asami's eyes briefly flicked to Kirishima, and his fingers flew again as he disseminated a new set of protocols. The car's speed increased slightly as Suoh modified its course to maintain a holding pattern around the area until he got the word to move in. "We have unfinished business, you and I. New and old." Asami's reply was cool but controlled, a businessman imparting dry facts. It seemed to ruffle Homura's composure very slightly. The laughter faded, and Homura's next words were meant to cut deep, though his tone remained jovial. "You got my little gift then? If I hadn't led you by the nose, you would never have found my little home away from, but I don't expect thanks. In any case, it's a beautiful memento of your sweet little lover, isn't it? Family memories are so important." When Asami made no reply, Homura gave a soft huff of amusement. "Does it bother you? That I tasted all of his charms? He was charming. I can see why you wanted him. Pity he had to die for

his sins. Well," Homura tittered, "what you thought were his sins. I knew that would be what finally did it, what finally unleashed that demon inside that you like to pretend you control. You never did like to share." Homura laughed again. "How was it, Ryuichi?" The soft, playful lilt was sickly at odds with his words. "How did it feel to snuff the life out of your beautiful toy? You can tell me. After all who would understand better than I? It felt intoxicating, didn't it? Did you look into his eyes as the last bit of life faded? Did you drink in his fear and pain and despair?" His voice grew sharper at the end. "It certainly took you fucking long enough to get to it." Kirishima was no stranger to violence and mental aberrations, but still the rambling madness evident just below that urbane voice, made his skin grow cold. A sudden convulsing of Asami's hand, brought his attention to bear on his boss as a small shower of ash landed on the seat between them, but it was the expression on his face that almost made Kirishima recoil. "It's you whose pain I will consume at great length and with great satisfaction." "But you have to find me first, don't you, Ryuichi?" Homura sing-songed; a child's taunting voice. "And you're looking in the wrong place." Asami's measured toned belied the deep fury that seemed to make his eyes burn. "Seems like you're afraid to face me in person. Games of hide and seek are for children, but then you've never bothered to act like an adult." "And you used to be fun!" Homura's laughter went on even longer this time. Disgust joined the fury on Asami's face, and Kirishima pulled himself away to check an incoming text. They'd locked the call down to am approximate area, but were still zeroing on the precise location. He grimaced. Of course, it originated from the part of the city they had started from. He updated Suoh and mouthed one word at Asami: Shinjuku. It had been a wild goose chase after all. Asami cut through the laughter. "Enough of this bullshit. You want to see me, right? Name the place, and I'll come alone." "Oh, Ryuichi. Talk like that turns me on." "Enough," Asami barked, startling Kirishima into a violent recoil. "Oh, yes," Homura purred. "That's much better. The cracks are showing now, aren't they? Not so perfect anymore? You've crawled down in the dirt with me, haven't you? Killed your lover. Your innocent lover. Oh, how I wish I could've been there to witness every moment. How did Akihito die? What was your expression when you finally realized that you'd murdered your precious boy because you had believed all my lies? You will share, won't you?" "Don't ever say his name again." Pure venom spilled from Asami's lips. "Do you want think you can stop me?" Homura chuckled. "Then find your way home. That's all you have to do. I'll be waiting." The frown deepened. "Home...do you mean...Osaka?" The inelegant snort surprised Kirishima and his boss too if his wary look was any indication. "The old neighborhood? That dump? Fuck no." Just as the dawning realization transformed Asami's features in something like horrified disbelief, a new text scrolled on Kirishima's phone. Fuck. Homura was in Shinjuku all right. He was in the building that housed Asami's penthouse. He didn't need Asami's silent command to set Suoh speeding back with all due urgency.

Kirishima watched Asami rein in, with a Herculean effort of will, the chaotic emotions shaking him to the core. "Homura. What is that you want?" "Well, a tour might be nice. Lovely place you have here, but a bit sterile for my tastes." A tense moment held sway for several beats, and then Asami leaned his head back against the seat, his eyes closing. "A tour? Fine. Why don't you sit down on the sofa and have a drink until I get there? There's some nice whiskey on the sideboard." Kirishima listened as Asami stalled for time, his eyes on his own phone as he attempted to set men in place for something he couldn't anticipate. An urgent message to Hong Kong to be prepared in case the worst happened was the first priority. "Why, thank you! I'm glad to see your manners have made an appearance." The clinking sound of a glass and pouring liquid proved that Homura was taking Asami up on the offer. Unfortunately, his next words made them both freeze. "Forgive me if I make myself comfortable in your bedroom instead." "What are you doing, Homura?" The low growl was a warning, but the man only laughed it off. Through the phone, the sound of a glass being set down and a rustling of clothes or bed covers could be heard. "I'm lying on your bed, naked, with my dick in my hand." A muscle jumped in Asami's jaw, but he unclenched his teeth to give retort. "I see. This shouldn't take long, then." "We'll see." The amused huff faded into a moan. "But you might be right. Thinking of Akihito's tight, round ass quivering around my cock does get me going." "Homura--" "Call me Yuta, brother." Another pause, then Asami exhaled. "Yuta. You really have become pathetic." "Sorry, do you prefer that I call you lover?" "You're not my lover." Delightedly, Yuta agreed. "That's right. You're currently without a lover. Poor Akihito. He won't be easy to replace, will he? What a spark he had. I wish I could've carved it out myself." Another low, long moan rose, dirtying the surroundings of the car and its occupants by mere proximity. Kirishima looked out the window, willing the vehicle to move faster, for traffic to disappear, and for Homura to choke on his own poison in the meantime. "What he had, you could never touch." The contempt and conviction underscoring Asami's avowal seemed to send Homura into a twisted outburst. As the foul words he spewed, degrading and sick and designed to taint and taunt, ran their course, Kirishima watched his boss closely. Only a fine edge to his control remained. He could see that, but even as he leaned forward to make eye contact, to offer some support, Asami gave him a blazing look that spoke of triumph, and Kirishima understood.

The man was deranged, as the slapping sounds of flesh on flesh grew louder and his groans were interspersed among his obscene tirade, they were drawing closer to home. Asami had known the buttons to push, not that Kirishima had doubted. They both grimaced when the sounds of Homura's climax reached them, and Kirishima was already making a mental note to have the bed replaced. He wouldn't be surprised if his boss chose to remove himself from the penthouse entirely. The heavy breathing finally gave way to a breathless chuckle. "Was it good for you, Ryuichi?" "Me?" Asami drawled. "I won't be satisfied until I can get my hands on your body. Preferably your throat." "Is that what you did to Akihito?" It was the sound of movement rather than the taunting words that made Asami's eyes narrow this time. Kirishima met his worried gaze with alarm. If Homura decided to explore, then all their careful maneuvering would be undone. "Hey, Yuta," Asami said with false pleasantry. "I'm getting close, you know. If you're not careful, we really will have that tender reunion you've been craving. Our final one. Are you sure you're ready?" "As to that," Homura chuckled. "I'm sure you've guessed I won't be here when you arrive. I've been having too much fun playing with you, and I have more surprises in store, Ryuichi!" "Is that so? I've never been particularly fond of your surprises. But maybe you'll enjoy mine. I should be there within a couple of minutes to give it to you." Asami's knuckles whitened around his phone, and Kirishima held his breath, waiting to see if Homura would be flushed out by the idea of their imminent arrival. Homura's mocking laugh sent an unpleasant twist through his stomach, and Kirishima knew then that they were majorly fucked. "I know exactly where you are, Ryuichi. I've been tracking you the entire time. You won't be here for another fifteen minutes at least, even if you had green lights all the way." They heard the glass being picked up again and the sound of a long swallow. Homura gasped a little. "You know what I wonder about, Ryuichi?" "I'm sure I don't want to know." "I'll tell you anyway. I wonder why you seem so eager to get me out of your home. Besides the fact that I manipulated you into killing your lover, I mean." Homura giggled. "You're trying to scare me away. Why?" "You're delusional." "So I've been told, but it's useless for you to deny it. I know you too well. Is there something here you don't want me to see? I'm curious now." They could hear the sound of doors opening and closing. "Oh, how sweet. You've kept Akihito's room just as he left it? I wouldn't have expected you to be so sentimental. Makes my victory over you even sweeter. Maybe I should grab a little souvenir for myself." "The summary pain you've inflicted in the course of your weak, pathetic life will be nothing to what I will do to you." Asami's low voice, almost a whisper, vibrated with barely suppressed rage. Homura continued as if he hadn't heard. "There's nothing really of interest here, though. Hm? I suppose I'll look around some more."

Asami jerked his head toward the front of the car, and Kirishima leaned forward, lowering the partition to whisper quickly into Suoh's ear. The car made a sharp right as he turned off the main road and attempted to thread them through the narrow side streets. "What is it you really want, Homura? Yuta. Petty revenge for the fact that I saw you for what you were all those years ago?" "Can you really act so superior now, Ryuichi? After all, you're no different than me. We're two peas in a pod." "I'm nothing like you." Loathing filled Asami's voice. While his boss kept Homura talking, he checked on the status of the men converging on the building. He jerked his head up and caught Asami's eyes as he held up five fingers. Light laughter rolled from Homura, and the sound of another door being opened reached their ears. "It's not like you to deny your true self, Ryuichi. If you would just--" The words cut off abruptly, and Asami's eyes squeezed shut. The air in the car seemed stifling. Finally, Homura spoke, his voice and almost unrecognizable. "This...how did you get this? It wasn't time yet! How did you get it?" The words ended on an infuriated screech. "Nothing stops me from taking what is mine. You should know that." " When? When did you get this?" The playful mask was ripped to shreds as Homura began to rage at Asami. A loud crash made Asami hold the phone away from his ear, but he answered calmly, coolly calculating his reply. "Just this morning, actually," Asami lied. His voice was cold and composed, though Kirishima knew he was anything but that. "It made me look forward to our meeting even more than you could imagine." "Liar," Homura hissed, the sound of shuffling papers filling Kirishima with dread. "Liar!" The latest update from Hong Kong, Asami had left it on his desk after reading it. "Yuta, listen to me--" "Shut up!" Homura swore violently in concert with the sound of shattering glass. "Goddammit! You--you didn't kill him! You faked it, didn't you? You thought you could get away with that? You fucker. I'll find him, and this time I'll take care of him myself. I'll fuck him until he bleeds, and then I'll carve up every inch of his fine skin before I slice him open and mummify him with his own intestines." Asami listened to the disgusting torrent of obscenity, lines of loathing and disgust etched around his eyes and mouth. "You won't ever touch him again." "Oh, you're wrong about that, Ryuichi." Homura spit out, a snarling laugh punctuating his words. "Homura," Asami growled himself. "You cowardly piece of shit. Grow a pair of balls and face me here and now." "I'll face you, Ryuichi. Over Akihito's dead body. And then I'll gut you too." A short, mad laugh hissed through the phone. " Nghdeih hi gdouh gin."

*** Note: nghdeih hi gdouh gin is Cantonese for, "I'll meet you there."

It Makes Us Or It Mars Us
Chapter Summary

Meanwhile, back at the ranch villa...

Feilong shut his eyes as strong, warm fingers curled around the nape of his neck. His chin tilted toward his chest when they began to knead the tense flesh there. "You've been staring out that window for a while." Yoh's calm voice was a comfort, but the slight smile that crossed Feilong's lips behind the thick fall of his hair faded almost instantly. He sighed deeply and turned, breaking the soothing touch to meet Yoh's eyes. "I can't stop thinking about it." Yoh glanced out the window to where Akihito and Tao sat on one of the ornamental stone benches, their heads bent together and their breath visibly puffing into the crisp morning air of the garden. "He's a tough kid. Resilient." Of course, Feilong knew that. He'd seen it for himself the first time Akihito had been with him in Hong Kong. His gut clenched in painful remembrance. "He's been having nightmares." "He told you that?" Yoh expressed mild surprise, looking away from the scene in the courtyard to search Feilong's face. "Tao did. He's woken up every night to the sound of them." Feilong's eyes darkened with a helpless, frustrated sorrow. "Akihito only tells him that he is fine, and not to fuss over him." "As I said, he's strong. You know that." With an impatient jerk of his head, Feilong's long tail of hair tossed over his shoulder. "Look at him. He's a shadow of himself. Admit that you were shocked when you saw him." Feilong's voice lowered and he looked away from Yoh's intent gaze. "Even when he was here before, he didn't seem so...lost." His brows drawing together, Yoh studied Feilong a moment, then looked back out the window at the two boys. "He's been ill. A little paleness and lost weight is--" "It's more than that," Feilong snapped, "and you know it. His eyes are so shadowed. And..." Feilong's voice softened a little. "There's that wound on his arm." Yoh's eyes narrowed just slightly, indicating his interest. "Have you seen it?" Feilong shook his head. "No. Tao saw it when he was dressing after his shower. He asked me about it." His troubled eyes searched Yoh's. "Yoh, what do you think happened to Akihito? This

man...this Homura Yuta...if he framed Akihito and Asami believed it, then what exactly did Asami do to Akihito? Do you think Akihito actually tried to..." The question trailed off, Feilong unwilling to voice the thought. "I don't know," Yoh said slowly. "That doesn't seem like him. But he seems to be coping well enough now." Feilong sniffed in obvious dismissal of that idea. "You can say that even though you saw how he reacted to seeing the contents of that envelope?" "He isn't one to dwell on his troubles." A sudden flush of shame swept over Feilong, and his eyes slid away from Yoh. He knew that Yoh was making no accusations with that remark, no comment on Feilong's past mistakes, but still, his heart beat painfully in his chest for a few measures. The feelings faded, though, as Akihito's pale face rose up in his mind, the wide, trembling eyes that grew dark with hopeless denial. He could still hear the anguished cry that had brought him into the room where Akihito sat next to Yoh, a glossy picture in his hands. "This...this isn't real." His eyes had been supplicating and huge as they turned toward Feilong, begging him for relief from his pain. I would remember it if it were. Right? Feilong couldn't forget his own shock at seeing Akihito's state when he'd first arrived. How confused and bereft and disoriented he had been beneath the anger he'd used a shield. An unusual depression and ennui had weighed down the boy's shoulders in a way that Feilong had never seen. And then, the horrible evidence of Akihito being violated by that man on top of it all, was there any doubt that Akihito was suffering deeply? That man's cold-blooded crimes against Akihito, and those long ago against Yoh, had instantly earned Feilong's loathing and contempt, as well as his enmity. How he wished he could take his own revenge on that pathetic excuse for a man, to put all his skills to work to draw out his suffering for as long as possible. Feilong knew better than anyone how cruel the world could be, he was part of that cruelty, after all. Feilong's head bowed as his heart clenched painfully. Had he acted any better? He too had made Akihito suffer without cause. "Feilong." Yoh's firm voice drew him out of his dark thoughts. He waited until Feilong met his eyes, always so piercing, so knowing. "You, too, should not dwell in the past." Almost angrily, he felt his eyes pricking, but he refused to allow the moisture to form. He didn't deserve the indulgence, but his voice faltered a little as he breathed out, "Yoh..." He took a deep breath. "I want to help him so much." Yoh's hand slid behind his neck again. "I know." Feilong drew forward as Yoh exerted gentle pressure. "He knows that too." Their lips met, Yoh kissing him with a measured thoroughness that left Feilong both flushed and comforted. Yoh's lips brushed his ear. "You are a good person. I'll remind you of that as many times as you need." "Hmph." Feilong straightened up, pushing away his introspective thoughts with determination, and setting his mind the important matters at hand. "Your reminders aren't appropriate for the middle of the day when Tao and Akihito are not thirty feet away." Yoh's mouth curved on one side, but he stepped back and allowed Feilong more room. Some of the heat in his skin began to dissipate, and Feilong crossed his arms gracefully, putting on a mantle

of dignity and calm. "I just spoke with his man in Tokyo," Yoh remarked casually. Feilong's eyes sharpened. "Are they any closer to finding this Homura Yuta?" "Perhaps." Feilong scoffed. "I see they're still playing their cards close to the chest." "I had the impression that they feel this is another false lead." "Is this man really that clever?" A skeptical brow rose. "It seems hard to believe he could evade Asami's organization for so long when he's bending his entire will toward finding him." "He isn't someone to underestimate." Feilong expelled a breath, lips twitching in irritations. "I begin to understand Akihito's desire to return to Tokyo to do something, instead of sitting back and waiting." "You are doing something--protecting Akihito." "I know that." His eyes narrowed at Yoh. "And you know what I mean. It seems a waste of my skills to stay here." "You aren't seriously considering taking Akihito back there are you? Asami would not take that well or kindly. From what I hear, I wouldn't even want to guess what his reaction would be. And I know you wouldn't leave Akihito here with less expert protection." Feilong, who had bristled at the remark about Asami, softened slightly. "No, I wouldn't. It's just difficult to be unable to--" "Take out a psychotic asshole with your bare hands?" Only the faint glimmer of amusement in his eyes betrayed the impassive expression Yoh wore. Despite himself, Feilong laughed. "Exactly." "Well, you can take comfort in the fact that there are many left in the world." That earned an uncharacteristic snort from Feilong. "What about you? Don't you have any desire to revenge yourself on Homura?" "I won't hesitate to kill him if I get the chance, but Asami has a better claim. As does Akihito." An expression of surprise flickered over Feilong's features. "Do you really think that Akihito could ever do such a thing?" "Don't underestimate him." Feilong looked thoughtful. "I know, but..." "He took a shot at Yuri Arbatov." "What?" His eyebrows shot up. "You never told me that." "It wasn't at the forefront of my thoughts when we spoke at that time."

They shared a long look, a silent reassurance, before the charged moment between them broke. "Perhaps he might do such a thing given the right circumstances," Feilong allowed. "But I still have my doubts." "You saw what he was like after he had time to process the contents of that envelope. At first, he was a mess, it's true. In denial, scared, and hurt. But what was he like only a little later?" They both turned toward the window and watched Akihito lean in toward Tao, one hand on his shoulder as he spoke earnestly. "Maybe he's still all those things, but a large part of him is just plain pissed off." "At us." Feilong's dry response earned a nod from Yoh. "And Asami. And Homura. If we let him, he'd go off after him himself." "You don't think we should?" Uncertainty filled Feilong's voice. "Not by himself, of course, but we could conduct our own search. Yoh seemed to take the question seriously. "I think Asami is the best person to discover his whereabouts. He understands him best. Acting on our own would be too risky. It might alert Homura, and it would defeat the purpose of what we've done so far if he were to discover Akihito is still alive." Elegant lips pursed slightly as Feilong considered. "Do you think it does him any good being here, Yoh? After everything that's happened between us." "Yes." The firm reply left no room for doubt. "Haven't you developed a friendship? It seems you text each other all the time." Feilong's eyes narrowed slightly at the teasing, but he assented to the question. "Of sorts." Yoh gave a nod. "And you can see how much his mood improves around Tao." "Tao enjoys spending time with Akihito too. It's good for him to have someone closer to his age to talk to." An unreadable look crossed Yoh's face, and Feilong's head tilted slightly to the side. "What are you thinking about it." Yoh shrugged, a tiny smirk pulling up one corner of his mouth. He nodded his head toward the pair outside. "Just wondering what they're talking about out there." As Feilong's eyes turned toward the pair who were still huddled in intent conversation, Yoh gave his shoulder a nudge. "I'll bet they're planning an escape from the villa, and figuring out the best place to stowaway on a jet back to Japan." "Given who we're talking about, Yoh, that is not funny." Feilong grimaced. "Not funny at all." Akihito awoke to Tao's scrunched up face hovering over his. He gave an high-pitched yelp and jerked violently. At least it served to make the residual fragments of the dream he'd been having fade away to a bare impression. "Sorry!" Tao immediately jumped back, holding placating hands up in front of him. "I'm sorry, Akihito. I was checking to see if you were awake." His heart began to retreat from the strenuous gallop it had been startled into as Akihito slumped

back to the pillow. "What time is it," he asked thickly, scrubbing a hand over his face. "Seven-thirty." Fingers slipped apart, allowing the incredulous and pissed off look in his hazel eyes to glint through the cracks. "Do you always get up this early?" Tao nodded. "Fei-sama always rises early, and I'm the only one who knows how to fix his tea properly." Akihito snorted, curling up on his side and making himself into the shape of a ball. " Fei-sama should try making his own damn tea sometimes." "I'm sure he would prefer that to tasting any more of Akihito's tea." The sly comment earned Tao another glare. "Feilong can kiss my ass. I don't remember ever volunteering to serve His Fucking Highness tea, so if he didn't like it he can..." He broke off to narrow his eyes at Tao's poorly repressed giggles. "What's so funny?" "Fei-sama is right. It's fun to poke at you until you--how do you say--blow up." A pillow smacked Tao in the face, sending him off on another round of laughter, but he stopped eventually, sitting on the bed beside Akihito, who had pulled the coverings over his head. "It really is good to have you here, Akihito. I know Feilong and Yoh are glad to see you too." Akihito contained the urge to say anything too cutting about that. He did appreciate what everyone was doing for him, but it still galled him to be sent away, and he was sure they couldn't be thrilled he'd been dumped on them so suddenly. They were in danger too because of him, or at the very least inconvenienced. It wasn't fair. He hated being here, hidden away again. If anyone had the right to be back there confronting that creep, Homura, it was him. Why did everyone always have to treat him like he was less than a man? He had skills they didn't have. He was an investigative journalist, for fuck's sake. He'd managed to get the better of even Feilong and Asami more than once. Asami was too arrogant, thinking he could do everything himself, but this guy was crazy, and Asami wasn't invincible. The scars on his shoulder and thigh he would always bear testified to that. These thoughts plagued Akihito constantly. "Akihito? Did you fall asleep again?" What exactly did Tao know, he wondered. He would have to tread carefully because he certainly didn't want to be the one to burst Tao's innocent little bubble. It was a miracle that it hadn't been already, and it would come soon enough given the world he lived in. Akihito sighed heavily and pulled the covers from his face. "It's good to see you too, brat." Tao scowled at that. "Don't call me brat, I'm as tall as you now." It was Akihito's turn to frown, but it couldn't be denied. Tao did equal him in height now and would obviously soon surpass him. "Yeah, yeah. Height doesn't make a man." That earned him a smirk. "Sour grapes, Akihito?" "I can still kick your ass, pipsqueak, so watch yourself!" The remaining pillow on the bed hit Tao squarely in the middle, making him hunch over and

grunt. In the next second, a momentary war broke out as the two of them lunged around the room trying retrieve pillows and peg them at each other with early morning vigor. Eventually, they collapsed on the ruin of their beds, allowing their heaving chests to calm. "I'm hungry." Tao offered when Akihito's eyes began to flutter shut as if were on the verge of dozing off. The seeming weight on his eyelids disappeared, and Akihito's stomach rumbled on cue. "Me too." Suddenly wide awake, he sat up and grinned at Tao. "Let's eat." So far, it had just been him and Tao eating together in the morning. Whatever it was that Feilong and Yoh got up to, it seemed to keep them pretty busy. That suited Akihito just fine. He hated the way Feilong watched him so carefully, as if he thought Akihito was broken or something. It really pissed him off. Even worse was when Feilong tried to draw him out, even if he was careful about what kinds of questions he asked, making sure it was nothing too intrusive. Though, Akihito was sure he was dying to know everything that had gone on over the past several months. He supposed he could understand that. If the situation were reversed, he'd be curious as hell about everything too. That thought made him even sulkier, it wasn't as if he even knew details on what went on between Feilong and Asami all those years ago, even now. People could just leave him alone. He didn't have to talk or think about anything he didn't want to either. "Akihito?" Tao had risen from the bed, and now stood over him, one eyebrow lifted up. "You coming?" He rolled up and nodded, pasting a fake, wide smile on his face. "Just let me get dressed." Tea and the elaborate breakfast went a long way to restoring Akihito to his normal self. His appetite had finally recovered, especially with Tao constantly plying him with small dishes of the local cuisine. The conversation had been a little unsettling, but fascinating at the same time. When Tao had told him that one day he would join Baishe, working at Feilong's side, Akihito hadn't been completely surprised, but he couldn't help expressing his concern. "Are you sure that's the kind of life you want, Tao?" Instead of Tao getting angry or defensive, as Akihito thought he might, he gave a slow but decisive nod. His eyes were determined, but serious and thoughtful. "It's what I'm meant to do, Akihito." The solemn words, for a moment, erased the childish Tao that Akihito remembered, and left a very young man, still uncertain and raw, but without a doubt committed at this moment to his choices. Akihito wondered if Tao really had grown up that much. He'd always been devoted to Feilong, but this resolve seem to go deeper. "Why, Tao? I'm sure Feilong would support anything you wanted to do. This kind of life..." Akihito's face crumpled with concern and a little sadness. "I understand why you say this. You aren't a part of it--this world--not really. You don't understand how it is." "How is it?" Akihito folded his napkin and gave Tao his full attention. "How exactly did you come to live with Feilong?" A shadow crossed Tao's face, and he frowned and looked away. "If I tell you, then will you tell me why you're here? Not just about keeping you safe, all of it. Fei-sama and Yoh won't tell me

anything." The last was said with an aggrieved petulance that instantly brought back the Tao of old, and Akihito felt a brief flash amusement, even as the thought of having to explain his presence and what had happened to him made his stomach roil with sickening intensity. He felt his pulse pick up, his heart ratcheting up to an unsteady rhythm in his ribcage. Shit, not now. But it was no use, his breath became labored, and his fingers dug into his sweaty palms. "Akihito?" Tao's concerned voice sounded muted in his ears, but he felt cool hands on his shoulders, then his forehead as Tao bent down to peer into his eyes. "Outside," Akihito managed to gasp. Tao froze a moment, then swiftly crossed to the French doors and swung them open. A great wash of cold morning air blew into the room, ruffling Akihito's hair. He took a shuddering breath and then another. "Akihito." He could hear the frantic edge to Tao's voice. "I--I'm going to get Fei-sama." Unable to speak yet, he shook his head, gripping Tao's wrist and trying to think. He was fine. He was safe. This was nothing. He looked up through his disarrayed bangs to the rectangle of bright sunlight. A hand came beneath his elbow and Tao helped raise him to his feet with surprising strength. His arm slid around Akihito's waist. "Come on, then. Let's go outside. It's too stuffy in here." Akihito was able to take a step, the cold snap in the air bringing the blood back to his cheeks. Each step got easier, and when they finally made it to the central area of the courtyard, he was almost breathing normally. His limbs shook with fine tremors, but if he tucked his hands beneath his arms, it was barely noticeable. The frigid surface of the stone bench pressed through the fabric of jeans, but he welcomed the sensation. This inner garden of Feilong's villa had become a comfort to him. The fresh air, the big sky, the trees with their winter flowers, his soul craved it after such a long abstinence. He pushed down the memory of the distinct unease he'd been unexpectedly hit with at his first sight of that unobstructed swathe of blue sky. The four walls surrounding him encapsulated him with just enough space to give him a sense of freedom, but not enough to trigger that panicky feeling that sometimes seemed to well up despite his best efforts. He raised his face up, letting the full light of the sun hit his face, his eyes closed against the bright glare. A tickle built in his nose and he sneezed twice. The inside of his nostrils stinging with the sharp bite of air as he sniffed loudly. "We should get our coats." Tao hovered beside him a moment, then sat next to him, peering at Akihito with worry. "I'm fine." Akihito managed a grin. "This is nothing. When I was your age, we went on a school trip to Hokkaido in February and dared each other to strip naked and run through the snow in the middle of the night." Tao laughed. "Really?" "No lie." "That sounds like fun. I wonder what it would've been like to grow up like that. Going to school instead of having tutors. Class trips." For a moment, Tao looked wistful, but then his expression firmed. "But I've learned so much from Fei-sama. I wouldn't trade that for anything." Akihito sat silent for a long moment, a pensive cast to his features. "I used to think whatever happened in my life was my choice. That I could shape it exactly how I wanted, but now I don't

know anymore. Something happens and what you thought was true turns into something completely different. Is it fate that we end up where we do, after all?" He frowned and shook his head. "I can't believe that. We do have the power to make our own choices. We can't ever forget that. Otherwise, it's just like giving up." His face tilted back up to the sky. "Ahhh...well, then. We just have to keep doing our best! Right?" A small grin curved his lips. "Akihito?" "Yeah?" His eyes met Tao's, who looked at him with some confusion and a little apprehension as he risked a question. "Akihito, what happened?" The grin faded, Akihito didn't look away. After a moment, he sighed. "Apparently this guy, Homura, framed me because he wanted to hurt Asami." "That Japanese man who came to get you before?" "Yeah." Akihito eyed Tao a moment, a bit uneasily, before looking off into the distance. "I guess he spent a long time planning it. Made it convincing." He tried to keep his voice neutral and firm, but his chest tightened painfully as he made himself say the words. "A--Asami, he believed it, that I was working with Homura. That I wanted to hurt him. Not at first, I guess, but he started checking things out, and it all incriminated me. I...I saw a lot of the evidence. It was bad. Really bad." Akihito's legs drew up under his chin, and he propped it there. His brows drew together. It had been bad, terrible, really, and overwhelming. But... "Did he ask you about it?" "What?" Akihito turned towards Tao, his eyes wide and unfocused. "Did he ask you about it?" Tao stared at him solemnly. "If you were really helping that man?" An invisible fist gripped his heart again, squeezing it without mercy. "N--not exactly. No. It all happened so fast, and he was...he was angry, and I didn't even understand what was happening. And then when I found out he thought I'd betrayed him somehow, I tried to tell him, but..." He inhaled a ragged breath. Tao's cool hand circled his wrist, and his large, sorrowful eyes peered into Akihito's. "I'm sorry." Akihito jerked his head. "I'm fine. It's over now." "What did he do to you, Akihito? Did he hurt you? He..." Tao ducked his head, a blush forming on his cheeks, as he looked away. "He is your lover, right?" Akihito stared. It wasn't the question about his relationship that froze him, though. He wasn't ready. He wasn't ready to think about the other things yet. It was over. What was the sense of dwelling on it. He hadn't dwelled on what happened in Hong Kong the first time, had he, or any of the crap that had happened in Japan? "He shut me away for three months." The abrupt answer sounded harsh and forbidding, as if the door to that line of questioning had been slammed shut. Tao bit his lip, guilt turning his eyes dark. Forcing a deep breath into lungs, Akihito let his legs slide back down to the ground, and added more gently, "That's all."

That's all. A bitter laugh welled up from deep within, and he pressed his mouth together tightly to contain it. For several long moments, they sat in silence, neither moving or speaking. Eventually, Tao shifted and Akihito was surprised again by the startling maturity the boy had begun to show in both looks and manner. His serious eyes, glowed with a genuine compassion that warmed Akihito's heart. "It's a terrible thing, but maybe he didn't ask you because he couldn't bear to hear from your own lips that it was true. Maybe it was his way of trying to keep believing deep down that you didn't do it." Akihito made a faint sound of disbelief, turning his head away to hide the emotion that Tao's theory evoked. "It doesn't matter anyway." Tao's hand returned to his wrist. "I think he must love you very much." "Yeah?" Akihito tried to sound cool and amused, but failed miserably. "He locked you up, which was wrong, but he is like Fei-sama, yes? In their world, they punish those who go against them. He let you live even though he believed you betrayed him." Again, his heart lurched in response, but his face twisted too, rival emotions buffeting his tenuous peace. The words slipped out before he could even process them. "So that's supposed to make everything okay? Three months of my life gone? Caged up all alone? Him actually..." His voice cracked, and Akihito drew a shuddering breath. "Actually believing that I could do that, and being treated like...like..." No. His fists clenched, came down hard on his thighs and stayed pressed there. It was over. Asami had even let him out before he believed he was innocent. He must love him. And if that were true, then Akihito had to forgive him. Forgive him and forget all about what had happened. It was the best thing because the naked truth was he loved Asami in a way that couldn't be helped, and being separated from him, emotionally separated especially, had almost killed him. He wouldn't let that happen again, not for any reason. "I'm sorry, Akihito." Tao's remorse was evident. "We don't have to talk about this anymore." "Don't be. That was just..." He shook his head. "I'm over it, really. You're right, though. It's not worth talking about again." His eyes expressed doubt, but Tao accepted it, and a slightly awkward silence fell between them. "Tell me," Akihito began, casting about for another topic that wasn't charged with so much baggage. "What you do for fun around here? It can't all be making tea for Feilong and taking on armed mobsters with your bare hands, can it?" Tao grinned at the reminder of the last time he'd seen Akihito. "At least my hands weren't tied behind my back." Akihito laughed. "Don't remind me. But seriously, do you ever get to go out? See a movie? Chat up cute girls?" A funny look crossed Tao's face, and Akihito raised an eyebrow when Tao blushed. "I do watch movies on television and my computer." He was obviously eager to avoid the other question. "Uh huh." Akihito grinned. "And what about the girls? You like someone?" "No!" Tao shook his head, but his eyes slid away from Akihito's.

"Hm. Too bad." Akihito leaned in and gave Tao's shoulder a teasing bump. "Maybe after all this is over we can go out and find you a cute girl to date. I can give you some tips." "Have you dated a lot of girls, Akihito?" Tao's look of innocent curiosity was suspicious, but Akihito blushed anyway, reaching up to scratch the back of his head in a sheepish gesture. "Um, well, not a lot of girls. I've always been busy with my photography and--" "How many?" Tao interrupted eagerly. Akihito scowled. "That's not important! The point is, I'm older and more experienced, so you should listen to my advice." They stared at each other a moment before breaking into snickers. "God." Akihito groaned. "Please forget I said that." "I'm sure you give great advice, Uncle Akihito." "Shut up." Akihito grinned at the teasing, but his eyes narrowed in revenge. "There is someone you like, isn't there?" A furtive look crossed Tao's face, and he looked at Akihito uncertainly. Akihito leaned forward, the grin fading. "Hey, you don't have to tell me, but you can trust me to not blab it around, you know?" Tao hesitated a moment longer, but then he drew himself up and took a breath. "I do like someone. Not a girl." "Oh!" Akihito was a little surprised, and gave himself a rebuke with a rueful inner laugh. He of all people should take it in stride. "Well...that's nothing to be embarrassed to talk about." Not like it had been with him after being molested countless times by the most perverted crime lord in all of Asia. Tao probably had a crush on some music idol, or surely he had a few friends his age. Feilong would make sure he got to socialize at least a little, wouldn't he? "So who is it?" Tao's expression closed off, but not before his eyes slid to the window that framed Feilong's private study, where he often sequestered himself to work during the day at the villa. Whoa. Akihito had no idea how to react to that. He wondered if Tao had any idea about Yoh and Feilong. Poor kid. Shit. This was going to be awkward. "Is it...Feilong?" Tao hunched even further into himself, his shoulders coming up higher. A low, inarticulate noise emerged that may have been a yes. Akihito carefully weighed his words, wishing he hadn't opened this can of worms. "Well, Feilong is good looking, no doubt about that." He smiled, and Tao, risking a tentative look, slowly smiled in return. "He's more than good looking. No one is more beautiful than Fei-sama." Akihito laughed. "Well, we all have our types, but I don't think many would argue with you. Still..." Akihito leaned in conspiratorially. "Tell me the truth. How long does he spend picking his clothes out every day? How long does it take to brush out all that hair? Dealing with a guy like that, just think about having to wait on him every time you wanted to eat dinner, but he has to change into one of his fancy outfits." "He's not that bad." Tao laughed, though. "He has to look nice. He represents all of Baishe." A little wistfully, perhaps even resentfully, Tao added, "I used to brush his hair."

Akihito sidestepped that minefield. "But now you've grown older, and if you're going to be a part of Baishe, then you'll take on different responsibilities." "That's what Fei-sama said." Tao had brightened, pleased by the implication of his impending adulthood. "It would be weird, wouldn't it? Dating your boss?" "What?" The look of confusion on Tao's face almost made Akihito want to laugh. He'd obviously never thought of it that way. "Well, say you and Feilong...you know...how would that be working together?" "I..." "And, well, I don't know, of course. I only saw you for a short time, but I kind of thought Feilong was more like your dad. I saw how worried he was when you were hurt, and haven't you been with him forever?" "But he's not my father!" Tao turned red, his eyes growing less friendly toward Akihito. "Okay." Akihito held up a placating hand. "Just asking. But he's so much older than you. If I were you, I'd check out some younger guys who still know how to have fun. Frankly, I'm not sure Feilong ever did." "What about you?" Tao's indignation made his eyes blaze. "Aren't you with someone much older than you?" "Yeah, well, it wasn't like I was given a choice." Akihito glowered. "That pushy bastard wouldn't take no for answer. And look where that got me--stuck in Hong Kong again with another nutjob trying to kill me." That silenced Tao for a moment. "It...it doesn't have to be like that," he finally whispered. "No, it doesn't." Akihito gave Tao a small but genuine smile. "But there's a big world out there, and you've only seen a little bit of it. Feilong will always be a part of it. I think you're pretty important to him from what I've seen. If he's okay with you working at his side, he must think very highly of you." Tao wasn't happy him with, not yet, but he bloomed a bit beneath the idea of Feilong's approval. Grudgingly, he looked Akihito in the eyes. "Thanks for taking me seriously. For not treating me like a kid." Akihito grinned. "No problem. Just don't get cocky. I'm still your elder, so be sure to treat me with proper respect." "Ha, you'll be the one having to look up to me soon, remember?" Tao stood to his full height and stared down his nose at Akihito. "I've been taking on taller and bigger people than me my whole life, brat. So don't think--" "Akihito." Feilong's voice cut through their banter, the sound of it was low and even, but it stopped both of them in their tracks and sent an unpleasant shiver down Akihito's spine. Yoh stood beside him. "Come inside now, both of you. We need to talk." "What is it? What happened?" Akihito was off the bench and clutching Feilong's arm before

anyone could blink. "Asami...is he okay?" "Asami is fine." Feilong's clouded features betrayed his anxiety. "Akihito, Homura has found out that you're alive. We suspect he's on his way to Hong Kong." Tao gasped behind him, but Akihito didn't move a muscle. His eyes searched Feilong's as if he didn't believe his first assertion. "How did he find out?" Feilong hesitated. "Feilong!" "He entered Asami's home and found evidence." Akihito paled, his voice rising as he gripped Feilong's wrist with bruising force. "He was there? Was Asami there too? Is he hurt? Goddammit, tell me the truth! Is Asami really okay?" Feilong gripped his shoulders, a horrible compassion in his eyes that was almost unbearable to face. "Akihito." The sharp use of his name was like a slap in contrast, dragging him back from his worst fears. "Asami is unharmed. He is coming also, as fast as he can. Yoh and I will take you away from here, somewhere Homura will never find you." "No!" Akihito reached up and grabbed fistfuls of Feilong's long jacket, eyes blazing with denial. Yoh stepped forward, but Akihito completely ignored him. "I won't be locked up again! I won't hide!" Yoh interceded then. "Get a hold of yourself, Akihito. This is for your own safety, not a game. Don't make things difficult." "Fuck you, Yoh. You think I don't know this isn't a game? Fuck you! This is my life, not yours. Unless you plan on tying me up or chaining me to a bed again, I won't go along with it!" "That can be arranged." "Yoh." Feilong's voice brought all eyes back to him. "Feilong," Akihito's voice was urgent and low, pleading, but still strengthened by an underlying anger. "If you hide me, then what happens? Homura will still be out there. What if Asami can't find him? He hasn't yet. How long does this have to go on?" Akihito's eyes widened to their fullest, holding back the prick of tears that he wouldn't allow to fall. "What if Homura decides he'll just target Asami first if he can't find me?" He shook his head from side to side as if to wipe out that possibility. "It can't happen." "Akihito..." His jaw clenched at the placating tone. He knew Feilong was going to deny him. "No! I'll do this by myself if I have to! I'm not asking you to help! But I will get to Homura first. He wants to find me, so I'll let him. I'll be the bait, and then--" "Akihito." For a moment, Feilong's eyes flickered with uncertainty. Akihito held his breath. "It's too risky. Asami would never forgive me if something were to happen to you." "Huh." Akihito gave a bitter laugh. "So much for the guts of a bigshot Triad leader." A flash of anger crossed Feilong's face, but disappeared quickly. "I understand what you're feeling, Akihito, but this is the best way." Defiance radiated from Akihito's tense form for several long seconds, then he slumped forward with a sob, resting his head on Feilong's chest. Feilong tensed for a moment, then softened, and Akihito waited until gentle fingers came up and threaded through his hair in silent comfort.

His own hands moved with quick precision, finding what they sought. A tight, triumphant grin broke out as he danced back quickly, Feilong's gun gripped in his right hand. "You still wear in it the same place. I'm glad." Horrified looks spread across three faces. "I know you won't use that on any of us, Akihito." Yoh stepped forward, a cool, forbidding presence. "So this little display is pointless. Give me the gun." He held his hand out. "Or I will simply take it from you." "You're right," Akihito agreed, taking a step back as Yoh advanced. "I won't." Then he smiled, a slow, sad smile that made them all stare as their hearts began to beat faster. "But I will use it on myself. Anything is better than another prison. And if I'm dead, then Homura won't bother you. Asami won't have to worry about me, and he'll be able to take out Homura then. Solves all our problems." "No!" Tao cried out, stepping toward Akihito until Yoh's hands made purchase on his shoulders and yanked him back. "You can't do this!" "This isn't you." Feilong held his gaze, his own eyes huge with horror and denial. Akihito smiled again. It was his right hand that held the gun to his head, but his left arm rose too, its long sleeve falling back a little to reveal the stark white of the bandage that wrapped around it. The thick tension pulsed around all of them like a living thing. "Are you sure about that?

Chaos is Come Again

Chapter Summary

All Hell breaks loose.

Chapter Notes

Deep apologies for the long delay. I hope you'll stay with me until the end. We're almost there. (This chapter contains heavy violence, blood, guns, knives, and death.)

The whore's body cooled at the man's feet as he sucked another cigarette to its butt. He studied the red patterns on the pallid skin to either side of the prominent spine and frowned, seemingly dissatisfied by the congealed runoff that ruined the clean lines his blade had so carefully carved. His booted foot slipped beneath an angular hip and jerked hard, flipping the stiffened form over to reveal the mortal wound that graced its thin white neck. His mouth inverted too, slipping into a curiously tender smile, perhaps because the thing that had once been human looked remarkably like the other boy crouching in the corner. Akihito whimpered as the man's gaze fell on him, crawling over his naked skin like black beetles. A shudder wracked him. Soon, the man's expression seemed to say, he would have another canvas on which to perfect his work. Akihito couldn't look away. Those eyes were so vacant -- an empty void threatening to suck him down -- yet, something was there at the very bottom, capering and waiting. Bile rose in his throat. "I can smell your fear." Akihito started when the man spoke. He sounded like Asami, and Akihito felt some part of himself shatter deep inside. "You smell like cold sweat." The man's shoes tapped on the floor as he advanced on Akihito. "Like stale hope and desperation." Akihito's voice was caught somewhere in his throat. Only a soft, guttural groan forced itself past his lips when the man crouched down before him. His arms rested on his splayed knees, the stained knife dangling easily from long, elegant fingers that also reminded Akihito of Asami. The horror of the association finally forced his words. "I--I know who you are." The man's smile grew wider, and that sly, unnerving thing dancing deep within the man's eyes flared brighter. "Who am I?" "Homura." Akihito named him with loathing, the knowledge of the man's badness rising to the forefront of his thoughts, almost suffocating him with a sense of wrongness and filth. He didn't

want this man to touch him -- not again -- and flinched when those slender yet deadly fingers slid into his hair. The metallic scent of blood was inescapable, and Akihito swallowed hard to keep from losing the contents of his stomach. As if reading his mind, Homura smiled, a short nod that seemed to acknowledge both words and thoughts. "Of course you know me. We've met before, haven't we, my Akihito? We know each other intimately." "No," Akihito whispered, his eyes squeezed shut. "You don't know me." Homura's mouth pressed against his, fingers tightening in Akihito's hair until the sharp sting in his scalp brought tears to Akihito's eyes. Homura's lips were uncomfortably warm, hot enough to burn almost. Akihito struggled, but the hand gripped harder, and the flat of the knife blade rested against his cheek. It seemed to sear his skin, and Akihito bit down on the invading tongue in his mouth. He tasted blood, and his lungs constricted until he could only gasp desperately for breath. Full panic exploded within his chest, paralyzing him, as warm hands circled his neck and began to squeeze. His ears began to pound, drowning him in the loud beat of his own frantic heart. No! Not like this. Only Asami could do this. He opened his eyes, expecting to see Homura's rabid black gaze, but it was Asami's warm, familiar eyes that were watching him, full of deep concern and regret, even as his fingers pressed deeper into the flesh of Akihito's throat. "You should never have trusted Homura, Akihito." Asami's sad admonishment made Akihito's heart throb. But I didn't, he wanted to cry out. The unfairness of the accusation made his eyes fill. He shook his head from side to side instead, his wet gaze locked on Asami as he willed him to understand. His head ached dreadfully, the sound in his ears becoming louder and louder. "You should have looked only at me." The soft words, spoken so tenderly were an agonizing torment to Akihito. Fat tears slipped down his cheeks and dripped onto his collarbone. His mouth worked, lips desperately trying to shape one word. If only Asami would understand. Softer than a whisper, a single sound formed from the tip of his tongue sliding off the back of his front teeth. The pressure at his throat didn't ease, but held steady as Asami cocked his head curiously. "What was that, my Akihito?" Straining with everything he had, Akihito reached for breath, for consciousness, as his vision began to white out, tunneling to Asami's golden gaze which seem to glow brightly even has his eyelids fluttered shut. A curtain of dancing light behind his lids now, and still his mouth moved, breathing out his heart. Love. Love. Love. Akihito lurched up, sweat drenching his body and making the fabric of the thin pajamas he wore cling unpleasantly to his skin. His chest heaved, several raspy breaths forced through his constricted throat. His hands flew to his neck, and he let out a sob of pure relief. It took a moment for his nostrils to flare, catching the scent of smoke in the air. Like a startled

deer, Akihito's head came up and for a split second his thoughts flew to Asami. The triphammering of his heart didn't slow even when he determined the smell was nothing like Asami's cigarettes. He swallowed the disappointment before a different kind of panic began to build. The smell of smoke was frighteningly strong. Could it really be a fire? Even now, he wasn't sure if it was his imagination. Only a sliver of light from the cracked bathroom door bisected the room. Since Feilong had moved him and Tao to the interior of the villa to a windowless room farthest from any entries or exits, Akihito's sense of suffocation had intensified. Only the tenuous truce he'd forged with Feilong and Yoh had kept him there in the middle of the night when he'd struggled against the ever increasing urge to flee from the cramped quarters. It was too close to what he'd only just escaped, and the pressure inside that he struggled desperately to contain constantly threatened to manifest in one of those body-wracking, soul-withering episodes that made him despise himself for his weakness. He couldn't escape even in his dreams. The nightmare miasma was beginning to dissipate, though, and unease of a different sort began to penetrate his muddy thoughts. The smell of smoke was real. The unease began to transform into a deeper worry, not quite embracing full-fledged panic yet. Akihito slipped out of bed and went to the door, touching it tentatively, recalling elementary school training from so long ago. The wood wasn't hot, so he unlocked and opened it slowly. He peered into the hallway, halfway expecting Yoh to be standing guard there. Wall sconces dimly lit the long, empty corridor. The smell was stronger, and Akihito noted with widened eyes the hazy cast to the air. He saw no flames, but surely they had to be close if the smoky residue had reached this far. He stepped into the hallway on bare feet padding down to the nearest intersection and gasping as he turned the corner. Down at the far end of another long hall, he saw shadows on the walls leaping, the distant doorway lit by a vibrant orange glow. Finally, he registered the crackling sound of what could only be flames consuming whatever was in their path. The free-floating sense of unreality sharpened into a tight, controlled panic, almost like a slap in the face. Akihito ran back to the bedroom and hit the light. Tao groaned when he shook him awake, batting at his hands. "Tao," Akihito whispered harshly. "Come on. Wake up now. Tao." "Akihito?" Tao came awake slowly, his eyes blinking with sleepy confusion. "What is it? Did you have another bad dream?" "We've got to get out of here. There's a fire." Tao's grew round, and he sat up quickly. "A fire?" He clutched Akihito's arm tightly. "Where's Fei-sama?" His voice rose in pitch as he threw off his covers and swung his legs off the bed. "We have to find him!" "Shh!" Akihito flipped the light off again. "We will. He and Yoh are probably making the rounds. If there really is a fire, they're going to come looking for us here, but we can't wait. It's too close. We have to get outside." "No! What if he's asleep? We have to go find him, Akihito!" Akihito gripped Tao's arm tightly when he sprang up. "We're cutoff from his rooms. If Homura is

behind this, we don't know what might happen. We have to stay quiet and get out. Feilong will expect us to do that. I'll get you to him, I promise." "We have to find him, Akihito." Tao's wide, trembling eyes seemed to plead with Akihito. "What if something happens to him? And Yoh, too. I was so disrespectful earlier...ungrateful." Tao clutched at Akihito's pajama top with a desperate hold. "I--I yelled at Fei-sama. I defied him after all he's done for me." Tears slipped down Tao's cheeks. "I was really mean to Yoh because I was j--jealous." The dim light from the hall illuminated Tao's pale face. Akihito could see the unfocused gaze and the heaving chest as Tao began to hyperventilate. He shook him hard, snapping Tao's head back and jerking the focus of the frightened boy back to himself. His voice cracked out sharply. "Tao. Listen to me. Didn't you tell Feilong that you were old enough. Didn't you say you wanted to do real work? To help me? Didn't you stand up for me?" He gave Tao another shake. "Is this how you prove yourself? Feilong is already pissed off at us both. Don't give him more of a reason to discount us." "A--Akihito." Tao's shocked eyes flickered with hurt and shame. Akihito gripped his shoulders. "Stay with me, Tao. I need you with me." "I--I know. I'm sorry." Tao's expression firmed, color coming back to his face. He drew himself up, wiping moisture from his cheeks. "I'm ready." Akihito gave him a searching look then released him. He smiled grimly. "One thing..." From beneath the pillow on his bed, he pulled the gun he'd taken from Feilong, the gun he'd refused to relinquish despite the imprecations and guilt that had been heaped on him. He hated the feel of it, but it had led to an impasse, an unwilling compromise, because Feilong couldn't be sure of what he might do if pushed too far. Akihito himself wasn't sure what he do, and that must have been obvious. He had never seen Feilong so angry. " You. Keep silent," Feilong had said sharply when Akihito had interceded, shocked by the man's harsh words to Tao when he had begged not to be sent way. "You're the cause of this!" The guilt had almost crippled him. The gun had weighed so heavily in his hands. Perhaps he should have run, taken off on his own and faced Homura alone. He didn't want to burden everyone else when it was him at the cause of all this trouble. But Feilong had stared at him a long moment then smiled grimly and stated that Asami would hardly be pleased and would surely not allow it. Akihito looked at Yoh, a lost expression in his eyes. "I'll leave. This has nothing to do with any of you." Feilong took a quick step forward, making Akihito reel back several feet in alarm, his knuckles tightening around the grip of the gun, even as his hand trembled. Feilong froze. "Akihito. I can't allow that. We are involved, and I am responsible for you." Akihito shook his head from side to side, his anguish palpable, but his features gradually resolved into determination. "No. It's only me he wants. If I leave you'll be safe, and he'll come for me, and I'll...I'll..." "You'll what?" Yoh asked sharply. "Where would you go, and do you really think you stand a

chance against him? What do you think you can do?" Akihito met Yoh's narrow-eyed stare. "Would you kill him? Could you? Assuming you even had the opportunity." A shudder ran through Akihito, but he released a shaky, "Yes." His chin came up. "I'll blow his fucking brains out." He meant it. He did. It wasn't bravado. He wanted Homura to pay for everything. He'd hurt so many people, and turned Akihito's life upside down. He was evil and Akihito hated him like he'd never hated anyone before. He just wanted it to be over. He wanted it all to be over. What price he'd pay after that didn't matter. What happened to him next was unimportant. "Him or me. Both. It doesn't really matter. Use me. He'll be drawn out into the open, and then even if I fail, one of you can take him out easily, right? Don't worry about me." "Asami would never--" Akihito cut through Feilong's troubled words. "Is Asami here? Do you make all your decisions based on what Asami thinks?" The taunt had worked, or Feilong had allowed him to think so, though his eyes had narrowed, and Yoh had looked at him sharply when Feilong had acquiesced. "Very well. Perhaps it's not such a bad plan to draw him out. But Asami will be here soon. Will you stay so strong in the face of his anger." "I'm not afraid." "Not afraid," Akihito barely whispered. "Akihito?" Tao reached for his arm, and Akihito flinched, abruptly back in the present. Akihito jerked his chin. "Come on." Tao followed him out the door. Akihito turned right, away from the direction of the fire he could now hear burning with greater force. He could hardly believe that neither Feilong or Yoh had come for them yet. A sick feeling grew in the pit of his stomach, but he couldn't afford to dwell on the unthinkable now. He went along quickly, turning down the corridors he'd learned that would lead him to the closest exit. His heart seemed to batter against cavity of his ribs, thudding erratically like a wounded bird throwing itself against its cage. Homura was here. This had to be his doing. Would he would finally come face to face with him? Tao clutched his arm again as they neared the front wing. "Akihito." His hoarse whisper betrayed his barely held control. "Do you see that?" Thick clouds of white smoke were pouring into the large, open great room just off the main doors. White smoke, not black -- Akihito frowned, doubting this could be from the fire. Alarm sent a burst of adrenaline singing through his veins, and his eyes began to sting. He grabbed Tao and pulled him back around the corner. They were both coughing, their eyes streaming as Akihito opening the first door he saw and got them inside. "Tear gas," he managed to wheeze.

Tao's face was red and splotchy, his expression fearful, but he followed Akihito to the window, still coughing. They peered out side, seeing the hot orange glow of fires to either side farther down the wall of the villa and black smoke billowing from broken windows. "Shit," Akihito cursed. "We'll go out this window and get under cover. Stay low and quiet and follow me. We'll circle around the house until we find Feilong or Yoh." Their eyes met, Or Homura, remaining unspoken between them, but acknowledged all the same. Their gazes hardened. Understanding deeper than words flowed between them and they unlocked the window, climbing up on the frame and dropping to the ground one by one. The air was heated by the flames closest to them, and the heavy odor of gasoline hung invisibly but thickly, bringing on an unwelcome wave of nausea. Akihito bit his lip, thinking about the sprawling villa's layout. "Let's circle around toward Feilong's rooms," he whispered. At Tao's nod he slipped across the open lawn as quickly as possible into the shelter of the trees that surrounded the property. From their vantage point from the tree line, it became obvious that numerous fires had been set. Billowing lines of smoke rose from the rooftops on the other side of the house in various places. If it was Homura who'd done this, he had done his best to cut them off from each other and from escape. Did he hope to burn them all alive? Horrified, Akihito stared at the wing which he knew house Feilong's private room. Guilt made his insides crawl as he watched the black and white smoke mingle. He could only pray that Feilong wasn't still inside. Tao's hand clutched his tightly, and a choked sob escaped him. "He will have gotten out." Akihito's eyes blazed at Tao. "Let's keep going." Tao brushed at his eyes but nodded, and they moved on. Set apart from the house a little, the garage complex squatted dark and seemingly abandoned. Akihito's mind worked quickly. Silently, he jerked his head toward the buildings and motioned Tao to follow. He got as close as he could then slid to his belly and crawled the remaining distance, going as quietly as he could. Used to holding his camera in such a situation, the gun in his hand was less awkward than it might have been. He smiled with grim satisfaction as he felt rather than heard Tao following after. Somehow, he had to convince Tao to stay here. If anything happened to him, he wouldn't be able to live with himself. All this destruction was bad enough, but if someone else was hurt... Akihito breathed a sigh of relief as they reached the dark shadow cast by the wall of the building. He crouched and crept bent over toward the far end where a small window made a black square against the wall. He took off his shirt and bunched it around the butt of the gun, prepared to take out the pane with a sharp blow, but as he raised his hand back for the strike, his wrist was grabbed and twisted back. Tao gasped aloud, and Akihito turned into the painful grip to meet Yoh's tense face. Akihito sagged in relief. "Don't." The terse and whispered command was belied by the quickly hidden concern that swept Yoh's features. "He's brought men with him. We don't know how many, but they're mere thugs. We've taken most of them out, we think. But more may be around." "Fei-sama is all right?"

Yoh looked at Tao's strained and desperately hopeful expression and softened slightly. "He's fine." "And...and Homura." Akihito's faltering voice drew Yoh's gaze back. He shook his head. "We tried to find a way back to where you were, but it's impossible. They hit simultaneously in several places. We've been searching the perimeter looking for you. We knew you wouldn't stay put, so we didn't doubt you'd made your way outside." It was phrased as a slight on their ability to be obedient, but both Akihito and Tao realized the praise hidden within the words. Yoh's assessing gaze missed nothing as he studied them carefully for a moment. It lingered on the gun in Akihito's hand, but he seemed satisfied to see no injuries. "Come." "Wait." Akihito's fingers clung to his sleeve and Yoh stopped and looked at him. "What is it?" Akihito took a shaky breath. "Have...have you heard from Asami." He tried not to let emotion show on his face as he asked the question, but he thought Yoh's eyes flickered with something like pity. His heart constricted painfully. "Not here," was Yoh's only reply, and he led them noiselessly to a dark, sleek car and opened the door. No light came on when it opened. "Get inside and stay down." Tao climbed inside, but Akihito balked. "I don't want to stay here." "Now is not the time for this. I will take care of Homura." Yoh bent closer, his voice only for Akihito's ears. "Keep Tao safe." That was the only thing that could have ensured Akihito's compliance, and he grudgingly slipped into the car. Yoh reached behind his back and produced a small gun. He passed it to Tao. "You remember how to use this properly?" Tao nodded solemnly, and Yoh straightened. A pair of keys dangled before Akihito's eyes. "Just in case." "What are you going to do? And what about Asami?" Akihito stared at Yoh. "What if you can't--" A sudden volley of gunshots rang out, making Akihito and Tao start violently. Yoh muttered a curse and crouched down. "Stay down and quiet. I'll be back." Before Akihito could respond, Yoh shut the door with a soft click and disappeared, leaving Akihito with a stomach in knots and his most burning question unanswered. Surely Asami was okay. Yoh would have told him if he was here, wouldn't he? Or had Asami not even wanted to see him? Akihito could feel the weight of uncertainty and fear beginning to crush his lungs again. No! He couldn't do this now. He had to keep it together. He had to prove himself once and for all. "A--Akihito." Akihito raised his head. Crouched low on the floor, Akihito and Tao stared at each other, barely able to make out the whites of each other's eyes in the dark interior. "Do you think that was Fei-sama shooting?"

Tao's anxiety was palpable, feeding Akihito's own, but he put on his best front for the younger boy. "I hope so since rumor has it he's a top notch assassin." Tao let out a shaky laugh. "Yoh too." "Not so mad at him anymore?" Akihito teased gently, doing his best to distract Tao, despite the impossibility of the task. "Not even a little. If we survive this, Akihito, I swear I'll--" Shrills screams pierced the night even through the glass of the closed car windows. Blood drained from their faces, and their fingers unknowingly tightened around the guns they held. It was impossible to identify the shrieks, but neither one of them could rest easy. In perfect understanding, they crept from the car, and using the concealment the grounds provided, they moved as quickly as they could in the direction of the screams. The sound stopped abruptly before they located the source, and they exchanged a swift look of dismay. A few more crawled feet brought them around the corner of the wall. Akihito's breath caught, and he gripped Tao's arm, gesturing toward the body lying face up in the grass. His eyes closed for a moment, and Akihito expelled the pent breath. The man was unknown to him, but his relief was short lived. Another gunshot broke out, and more heedlessly, they ran, still within the camouflage of the trees, around the next corner until they pulled up short, spellbound by the scene before them. Feilong still held the man with the gun. His knife gleamed at the man's throat, but even as they watched, the body slid limply to the ground, fingers uncurling to drop the gun in the grass before it. Yoh stood a few feet behind Feilong, beneath an overhang of the roof, in the act of dropping another body to the ground. Sickened, Akihito took in the unnatural twist of neck, but Tao yelled out and broke from their cover. Too late, Akihito grabbed for him. "Fei-sama!" It was like watching a movie play out in slow motion. Tao ran forward, and Akihito heard the whine of bullets buzzing like angry wasps on speed. In perfect sync, dark divots of grass and earth exploded into the air in front of the running boy. Tao stumbled and windmilled his arms wildly, trying to stop his forward momentum too quickly. His feet tangled with each other, and he fell forward onto his hands and knees. With a huge rushing sound in Akihito's ears, the world came back to normal speed. His heart pounded hugely within his chest, and Akihito began to lift his foot, his muscles coiling to sprint. Some part of his mind noticed Feilong and Yoh moving too, but before his brain could complete the signal to make his body go, a voice rang out. Akihito froze and shuddered. He knew that voice. He knew it somehow, a part of him did, his subconscious self that he'd tried so hard to suppress. "You won't make it to the boy before I put a bullet through his head, and that would be a pity." Feilong and Yoh had frozen too. "Tao." Feilong waited until the panicked boy looked at him. "Stay still." His voice was calm and soothing, but brooked no disobedience, and he waited until Tao acknowledged him with a

trembling nod before turning and raising his head toward the roof. "Homura. You fight like a coward. Why don't you show yourself?" Rich laughter floated down. "Maybe one day you and I will have an opportunity to meet on more intimate terms and discuss that idea at length, but today...today I just want the boy -- not yours, of course, though he's pretty too." Even from this distance, Akihito could see the murder that lit Feilong's eyes, but Homura laughed again. "No, the one I want is Akihito. It's been so long since I've held him in my arms." Feilong's eyes narrowed. "He is out of your reach." "What a pity." Homura's voice chilled slightly. "Then this one will have to die after all." "No!" Akihito pelted forward, throwing himself in front of Tao and glaring up toward the man he couldn't see. Loathing welled within him. "You let him go now!" "Ah, there you are." Homura sounded delighted. "The pretty kitten with nine lives. Very well, we'll throw the little one back for now." Akihito lifted Tao up by his shirt and shoved him toward Feilong. "Akihito..." Tao's twisted around, his tormented gaze holding Akihito's. "Go," Akihito hissed, and Tao stumbled toward Feilong, but he stopped short after a few steps and lifted the gun in his hands. His fingers squeezed, a shot fired, and Tao cried out in shock and pain as the gun he held was knocked from his hands by Homura's bullet. He clutched his stinging hands to his stomach, wide eyes locking on Feilong. "And now you, Akihito. Drop your gun and climb up and join me." Akihito barely noticed Feilong moving and Tao falling into his arms. His gaze locked on the roof instead. Fuck. Homura must be crazy. He wanted him up there? Did he really intend that they both burn alive? The fires hadn't spread to this wing yet, but it was bad and would get worse very soon. Only the fact that the wind was blowing from behind them now made the air at all bearable. Still, Akihito didn't hesitate. The gun fell. Only a brief glance yielded up the best way to scramble to the rooftop - a jump, a swing up on a branch, a brief climb, bare feet finding purchase on rough bark, and he swung himself onto the ornate tiles of the roof. The smoky air made him blink away grit and tears, and before he could obtain his balance, a strong grip twisted his arm behind his back and pushed him down the inward slope of the roof. The bright blossoms from the trees of the inner courtyard looked incongruously beautiful in the moonlight, contrasting with the cold metal that kissed Akihito's throat and Homura's hot, ragged breath violating his ear. "Now, we play." Akihito knew how to take a fall. It was that, and the fact that the roof's eaves hung down low over the inner courtyard's walls, that prevented serious harm. The shove Homura gave him sent him flying toward the flagstones, but Akihito was able to keep his wits and tuck and roll as he hit the unforgiving ground. Still, a bright flare of pain in his ankle made him groan. His bare back stung too, skinned by the loose, white rocks of the landscaping. Akihito rolled into a crouch, instinctively putting his weight on his good leg, and stood shakily, only to cry out in agony when a kick to his injured ankle made

him crumple to his knees. "F--fucker," Akihito gasped, raising his gaze to meet Homura's look of false concern. "What a dirty mouth you have, Akihito." Homura hunkered down in front of him, smiling with every appearance of benign kindness. "Quite perfect for a little whore such as you. I didn't bother using it before, but perhaps I should take the opportunity now." "Oh, please do." All of Akihito's teeth showed as he smiled. Homura laughed. Without warning, his hand flashed out, and Akihito fell back, groaning with new pain when his head hit the trunk of a tree, his lower back arched painfully over the low stones that bordered the flower bed he was lying across. The thick, smell of damp earth filled his nostrils as Akihito rolled his head weakly, trying to blink away his blurriness of vision. Distantly, he felt Homura straddle him. One knee pinned his left wrist down, and Homura pulled out a sleek phone and flicked it open. He bent closer, and Akihito could hear it ringing and, faintly, Feilong's answer. "Liu Feilong. We haven't been properly introduced, but allow me to thank you for providing the means to trace Akihito's location. I admit, I was entertained by the texts you sent him. It certainly intrigued me that someone of your stature would remain so interested in an insignificant bit of nothing. Though, he does have his charms." Homura's eyes seemed to sparkle as he listened to Feilong's reply. "Shhh..." he finally said, smiling down at Akihito with that feverish gaze. "All I need from you is one thing." "F--Feilong," Akihito forced his voice out, fighting a nausea that wanted to pull him into unconsciousness. "Don't give him anything! Just--just kill him if he tries to leave. Let the asshole burn!" Homura didn't react, merely listened a moment before he nodded. "Yes, Akihito is still with us. Only, slightly worse for the wear. I can't kill him yet because the little slut needs to die in front of Ryuichi. It won't be nearly as much fun otherwise. I understand you felt the same way once." Akihito struggled sluggishly beneath him, but Homura only tightened his knees, pressing into Akihito's ribs until he cried out. Homura smirked as if whatever he heard on the phone pleased him. He tucked it between his ear and shoulder and lifted his knife. "You tell Ryuichi that I'll start my fun now, but it's entirely up to him how long Akihito has to suffer. The sooner he shows up, the sooner it can end for poor little Akihito." Akihito's right wrist was captured, and Homura pulled it, almost gently, above his head and pressed it to the hard earth. For a moment, all false warmth fled Homura's voice. "Be sure to tell him soon because sometimes I can't control myself." The knife rose in the air, then plunged into the palm of Akihito's hand, hilt deep in earth and flesh. Akihito shrieked, writhing beneath the man's macabre glee, and the silver phone fell to the ground and snapped shut with a click. The excruciating pain had one positive side effect. Akihito's thoughts and vision cleared, the bright sting of tears clearing away the fogginess the blow to his head had summoned. When he could think of something besides the agony radiating from his palm, and then the panicked, delirious thoughts of his cameras and would he be able to hold one properly again, Akihito pulled in a shuddering breath -- the smell of smoke seemed even stronger now, and he couldn't help but

wonder how much time there was left. But it wouldn't matter as long as Homura died here too. He had to make sure of that. "I...I thought...that you might have done all this because you were mad that Asami left you. Because he didn't want you. He wanted me instead, so you were jealous." Akihito's hoarse voice was low but clear, laced with the efforts of containing the pain he felt. His eyes blazed bright and fierce, though, and he focused on Homura's narrowing gaze. "But that's not it, is it?" He gave a short, contemptuous laugh. "You're mad all right. Mad as a fucking hatter, you crazy piece of shit. I can see why Asami dumped your sick ass. You're going to die right here, and Asami is still always going to want me and not you." This time, Homura's backhand bloodied Akihito's lip, but he just grinned up Homura. "Asami told me he loved me. He said he wanted me back even when he thought I'd betrayed him. Bet you never heard the same thing from him, huh?" With a smile that would frighten the Devil, Homura casually wrapped his hand around the hilt of the knife pinning Akihito's hand and pressed down. Akihito's screams pealed through the night again, and Homura had to raise his voice to be heard even when they died down to whimpers. A new knife appeared in his hand. "Do you have any idea, you pathetic little whore," Homura asked tenderly as he pressed the knife to the corner of Akihito's eye, "how much damage and pain you can cause a person's body before it finally gives out?" A small pinprick of blood welled up and dripped down Akihito's cheekbone like a red tear. "No. He doesn't. But I do." Asami. Akihito couldn't see him, but his body convulsed at the sound. Homura's hand fisted cruelly in his hair, and the knife slid down to his jugular vein. "Hello, Ryuichi. So pleased you could finally join us." God, Akihito wanted to see him -- no, he needed to see Asami on a purely visceral level. He needed to confirm the man's existence. He needed his own confirmed in those golden eyes that he'd come to look to for so much. "Let him go." "Asami." Akihito couldn't help calling his name. "Asami." Akihito heard gravel crunching. "Don't! Don't come closer! Just shoot him! I'm all right! I'll be fi--" A strangled cry escaped him as fresh pain bloomed in the thin line Homura had opened in his flesh. It was nothing compared to the throbbing agony of his hand, so Akihito pressed his lips together, unwilling to give Homura anything more or to distress Asami. The footsteps stopped anyway, and Akihito saw Homura smile triumphantly above him. "What an expression, Ryuichi. It's priceless, truly." Homura moved the knife delicately, so precisely. Akihito winced. "Yes. Do come and kill me, if you like. Too bad you won't be able to do it before this one dies." Despite the cruel hand in his hair, Akihito twisted his head, arching his neck until he could see the shoes of the one he had always known would come for him. Asami was still wearing those stupidly expensive Italian shoes, even now. A garbled laugh pushed past his lips, a rush of longing and need and love suffused him. He looked up the long, sharp cut of the slacks and up further, noticing the usually immaculate clothes were rather more charred and rumpled than usual. His

searching eyes finally met Asami's own breathtaking gaze. He could see the flames behind Asami, leaping higher into the night sky than they had been when then this little excursion begun. Barely any time at all, but it seemed so long ago. The only thing that mattered was here and now. Akihito laughed again. Delirious with adrenaline and something else -- acceptance maybe, or fate. "You look like the Devil holding court in your throne room, except you're too pretty. The smoking aura is kind of cool, though." That beautiful, aggravating smirk appeared. "Didn't you know that Satan was supposed to be the most beautiful of the angels before he fell?" A snort was Akihito's reply this time because before he could say anything else, Homura jerked Akihito's face away violently. "Don't look at him. Look at me," Homura hissed at Asami, the hand holding the knife raised toward Asami. " I'm your only equal. Acknowledge me." With the remains of his strength, Akihito clutched Homura's shirt with his free hand and pulled down with all his might, and then he jerked his head up with a quick and powerful motion. Fuuuuck. The crack of bone on bone was startlingly loud, though Akihito was in no position to note it. He collapsed back against the ground, paralyzed as his overworked pain receptors each clamored for greater attention. Homura's anguished cry was completely lost on him, but Akihito was vaguely aware of a blur that swept Homura off his supine body and the sounds of a struggle beside him. It was the screams that finally made him roll his head, and the methodical, wet thuds he'd been hearing made a sudden sick sense. Homura's fingers still curled around his knife, only now it was sticking through the center of his palm in a mirror of Akihito's condition. Asami loomed over him, his eyes cold and merciless. "Don't worry, I brought my own." A new knife appeared in his long, beautiful fingers and slipped into an expert grip. "I should have done this long ago." Homura spit out a bloody laugh, his lungs bubbling in their own blood. "I--I'll be satisfied if we die together." Bile rose and Akihito choked it down, the acrid burn scorching his throat like the smoke in the air. "Asami...enough...have... to get...get out..." Gentle hands reached for the knife, and Akihito couldn't contain the soft wail when Asami pulled the knife from the earth. "Leave it in," Asami whispered, cradling Akihito as he lifted him in his arms. The fullness of the sorrow in his voice took Akihito's breath away. He held his own wrist tightly and trusted himself to the comfort of Asami's shoulder. "I told you. I always told you." Homura's sluggish, bubbling voice came again. His smile a ruined mess. "You're just like me, Ryuichi. And now he knows too." A single gunshot rang out, and Yoh called to them from the roof. "You might want to move a little faster."

Suoh stepped into view behind him. A long rope fell. Akihito wavered in and out of consciousness as he was boosted up, and they escaped the burning villa. Flames and smoke everywhere. He giggled, once again in Asami's arms. "Hey, Asami." His head lolled back into the crook of Asami's neck. "We finally made it to the ends of the abyss." Then all went black.

Come Such Calms

Chapter Summary

The calm before the storm.

Chapter Notes

I know it's been an unpardonable length of time, but I hope you'll forgive me. Also, I'm only posting half of the chapter I intended to write because of circumstances I couldn't control. I did want to give you something while I finished up the second part. I feel like this is filler/lead up to the "good bits", but I didn't want to jump right into that so this is the result. The second part will become chapter 14, and then, I believe, chapter 15 will be the epilogue.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Akihito stared out the window, absentmindedly rubbing at the fresh scar tissue in the center of his palm. The stitches had finally dissolved, leaving a raised, red and jagged ridge that would soon fade to a more natural skin tone, or so he'd been told. It ached a little, and he wondered if it was because of the sheets of icy rain that fell just on the other side of the thick glass. Maybe he could get a job predicting the weather. His mouth twisted up in wry humor. Weatherman Takaba Akihito, reporting to you live from downtown Shinjuku. A dry laugh escaped his lips, though it barely made any sound. Only the slight fogging of the pane in front of him offered proof of its occurrence. He reached up and traced a letter in the condensation. Was it for himself or Asami, he wondered? The fog slowly faded, though the smudge prints of his fingers remained on the clear glass, a rare imperfection in this place. Unaware of the frown that drew a line between his eyebrows, Akihito rubbed at the smudges with the sleeve of his shirt until all traces had been wiped clean. Really, though, it was he who was the true imperfection, the anomaly in Asami's meticulously managed domain. "Takaba-sama." Akihito didn't turn around. His frown faded and morphed into a pensive confusion that he countered by pressing his forehead against the cold glass. "Did he tell you to call me that?" Suoh cleared his throat, obviously ill at ease. "Ah...no. Asami-sama never gave instructions about that." The few men under Asami's employ that he had seen over the past few weeks had all begun addressing him in the same way. Akihito had only noted it on the most superficial level, hardly processing it until now, when it seemed all the extraneous distractions had fallen away. Now that

they were back in Tokyo, back in Asami's condo, back home if that's what it was, everything had become much more distinct. "Why now?" "Takaba-sama?" Akihito knew very well that Suoh understood what he was asking. He was just stalling, made uncomfortable by the question. "You never called me that before. In fact, I'm not sure you ever used my name before. Kirishima was always the one to scold me, and he sure as hell didn't call me Takaba-sama. But I have been called kid and punk and--" "Takaba-sama, I..." Suoh sounded at once both dismayed and aggrieved. Akihito hid a secret smile at the man's loss of composure. Small pleasures were savored these days. "I apologize for how I addressed you in the past." Akihito didn't have to see Suoh's reflection to know that he was bent over at the waist, a deep bow that presented a level of respect that made Akihito's insides churn. "Don't." He gave a short laugh. "I was a kid and a punk." "Takaba-sama..." "I don't want to be called that." Akihito's voice was even and calm, but it held an implacable edge, and his thumb pressed harder into the scar tissue that he seemed unable to leave alone. "It is your due." "No. It's his maybe, not mine." Only silence met this statement, so Akihito offered, "You can call me Akihito." At least that snapped Suoh back up to his full height. "Asami-sama would--" "Say nothing about it." Asami, Akihito was sure, would indulge him in requests much greater than this. "Takaba-sa--" Suoh broke off when Akihito turned to look at him with true irritation marring his expression. "It...wouldn't be appropriate." Akihito sighed, suddenly too weary to pursue the conversation. He could feel a headache taking root, making his neck tight and his eyes throb. Not another one. He moved to the nearest seat under Suoh's watchful eye. "I'll bring your medicine." He was already moving, and Akihito sighed again at Souh's singleminded purpose. "It's only a headache." His weak protest was just for show. God knows, he wanted the painkillers, needed them before the minor inconvenience of his present discomfort bloomed into a shattering miasma of nausea and pain. Awkwardly hesitant, Suoh returned and pressed the pills and a glass of water into Akihito's hands. Akihito took them without complaint. Like a good boy. His snide swipe at himself didn't prevent him from smiling at Suoh. "Thanks."

"I'll prepare you a light meal. Asami-sama will be home within the hour, but he wishes you to eat now rather than waiting." "I'm not hungry." "Takaba-sama--" Suoh winced, "--san. You need to eat a little so that you can return to full strength." Akihito snorted softly, but he took pity on Suoh, whom he knew was only following orders. "Fine, go fix something if it'll make you feel better. Not making any promises, though." Suoh took the declaration stoically and took himself off to the kitchen. Akihito closed his eyes and hoped the pills wouldn't take too long to take effect. The sound of activity from the other room were muted and soothing. He must have drowsed a little, but only lightly, because he heard the front door open and footsteps coming closer. His eyes were too heavy to open, even when he felt warm fingers gently card through his hair. He didn't even have the strength to protest when they slipped away and the footsteps moved to the kitchen. He caught snatches of conversation -- "...the rain...hasn't eaten...headache again..." -- and finally roused himself to pad across the room barefoot, shivering when the plush rug gave way to the cold marble. "Hey." They both turned to look at him, and Asami stepped forward, his penetrating gaze assessing Akihito in a glance. His gaze softened and lingered, traveling over Akihito's features as if he were putting to memory every angle and curve. The tips of Asami's fingers grazed the underside of Akihito's chin, tilting his face until he could place the barest kiss on Akihito's waiting lips. Disappointment tightened his chest when Asami straightened. "Are you hungry?" Akihito shrugged, sullenly slipping into a chair at the table. He kept his gaze on Suoh's broad back as he plated the food. Asami was watching him. He could feel the stare, though Asami didn't say anything as shrugged out of his jacket and sat in the chair opposite Akihito. Akihito finally broke first. "Back so soon?" He tried to sound flippant, not wanting Asami to know how much Asami's absence unsettled him. He couldn't help feeling shamed by his neediness, though he tried hard not to let it show. "Kirishima insisted." Asami's eyebrows cocked in amusement when Akihito snorted. "He's pretty bossy. Like a fussy old housewife." The corners of Asami's lips curled up, and even Suoh looked like he was on the verge of a smirk when he set the dishes on the table in front of them. "I'll tell him you think so." Unfazed, Akihito picked up his chopsticks and grabbed a piece of fish. "Thanks." He nodded to

Suoh and busied himself with chewing the small bite thoroughly, not really hungry, but trying to maintain an appearance of normality, whatever that was anymore. Asami began to eat too, and Akihito snuck a glance at him before saying casually, "You don't have to keep coming home early to babysit me." His eyes flicked to Suoh. "Or have someone else do it when you're not here." "Is that what you think I'm doing?" Asami's expression had smoothed into that unreadable composure Akihito hated so much. "Isn't it?" It was no surprise that Asami didn't answer the question, and merely turned it back to Akihito. "So you don't think you need a babysitter?" Akihito narrowed his eyes when Asami didn't bother concealing a smirk. In truth, it was better than the mask, so Akihito just snorted. "No." He chewed and swallowed another bite. "I'm fine now." His gazed dropped to his plate and his cheeks took on the faintest flush. "You don't have to keep worrying about me." There was silence for a long time except for the sounds of Suoh at the sink, and finally Akihito couldn't stand the heavy weight of it. He looked to see Asami's gaze fixed on him. The raw selfrecrimination in his eyes made Akihito's heart thud painfully. "But I do." The simple words struck Akihito with profoundly. Asami reached across the table, where Akihito's left hand rested. Unconsciously, his fingers had curled around the scarred flesh. Asami's large, warm hand settled over his, and his thumb brushed with careful strokes across his palm. "You'll indulge my...desire to keep you close...a while longer, won't you?" Disarmed by the naked emotion, Akihito could hardly hold his gaze. He swallowed compulsively, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down the column of his throat. This tenderness, this gentleness, he still hadn't become accustomed to. On one hand, he craved it, this evidence of Asami's regard, but on the other he railed inwardly against it, at anything that smacked of his own weakness and Asami's perception of that. There was more to it too that had been chafing at Akihito, unsettling him despite his desperate attempts to adjust to not only being back in Japan and getting back to full health, but also to being with Asami again. So much had happened over the past four months, which he shied away from thinking on with any depth. It had never been his way to dwell on the past, and he didn't intend to start now. He was determined through the sheer force of his will to forget it all and to bounce back into the swing of his life -- their life -- only Asami had been so strange since they'd returned. Not cold or distant or harsh like he had been in those days, as Akihito euphemistically referred to them when he was forced to think of them at all. No, Asami had been present in every sense of the word. He'd been...kind. That was disquieting on it own. His concern and desire to make Akihito comfortable wasn't in question, but what Akihito did question was something else. Asami's heart -- where did it stand? He still remembered the wild, anguished declaration of Asami's love that night, back when he still thought Akihito guilty of being in league with Homura. And there was a thought that made his heart race and brought the knife to twist in his guts again. Was that still true? Asami had come for him again, but ever since then nothing had been like it

was even before this whole fucking nightmare. Despite Asami's kindness, there had been an invisible wall between them, and Akihito felt like he was now treated like a fragile china ornament to be carefully handled and placed out of reach and danger on some high shelf. If Asami did love him, then why was acting like this? He never had before, not even after his first ordeal in Hong Kong. So why? Why hadn't he--? "Have a good evening, Takaba-san." Akihito started a little, realizing he had gotten lost in his thoughts. Suoh was offering him a bow, taking his leave for the night. "Ah, g'night, Suoh-san. Thanks for dinner." His cheeks flushed as Asami looked on in mild amusement. "Where did you go?" "Nowhere," Akihito lied, shoving another bite of food in his mouth, using the opportunity to pull his hand away from Asami's. "Just wondering how you can afford to spend so much time away from your office." "It's not so difficult to work from here." Asami assessed him from across the table, until Akihito squirmed uncomfortably under the intense evaluation "Suppose not." Akihito shrugged, then very casually asked. "So does that mean you're going to work more here tonight?" The amusement was back. "I hadn't intended to. Why? Planning on subjecting me to another one of your dubious movie selections?" "Don't pretend you don't enjoy them." "I enjoy your reactions," Asami corrected. Akihito made a face, but he was happier than he wanted to show that Asami seemed willing to spend time with him. He even managed to eat most of the food Suoh had prepared. Asami had noticed too. Akihito had seen his quiet satisfaction during the meal. Good. That meant Asami could see that was back to his old self, mostly anyway. He needed more exercise, that was certain, but hopefully Asami could help him with that too tonight. Akihito offered Asami a small smile when Asami told him to pick out a movie while he went to shower. Akihito was sprawled on the plush rug in front of the sofa when Asami returned wearing only his bathrobe. He went into the kitchen first and returned with a two glasses full of his favorite imported beer. Akihito's heart beat a little faster as Asami bent down to place them on the table and revealed the smooth, sculpted lines of his chest as the robe gaped open. "Did you pick another horror flick?" Asami sat on the sofa, lips quirking as Akihito scrambled to his knees and glared at him. "I'm not sure I want to risk your flailing limbs again." "Yeah, smartass. And this one will freak even you out." "Hm." Noncommittally, Asami leaned forward to hand Akihito his glass. He picked up his own

and took a long sip. Akihito followed suit, enjoying the rich, malty taste of the beer. "How is your headache?" "Oh." Akihito met Asami's gaze. "It's gone." He definitely didn't want Asami to think he was feeling ill this evening. "I feel fine." "Good." Asami didn't smile, but he cupped Akihito's face gently, his thumb absentmindedly brushing across Akihito's cheekbone as their gazes held. Akihito knew that look. Finally. His breath caught in his throat when Asami leaned forward, and his heart thumped harder and harder, the tension so great within him that he thought he might actually pass out from the intensity of. Adrenaline and disappointment flooded through him when Asami only pressed a kiss against his forehead and leaned back to take another drink. For a moment, Akihito sat there wordless, then took a deep pull from his glass, frustration and anger making his hands tremble enough he had to set the glass down before he spilled it. When he felt in better control, he started the movie and moved up tentatively to sit next to Asami. They didn't touch, but Akihito was excruciatingly aware of him. Asami seemed oblivious to the sensations he produced, or maybe the truth was that the interest Akihito had once held for him had changed. Maybe it was only pity or guilt that kept him at Akihito's side now. Maybe Asami couldn't look at him now without thinking of Homura. How Homura had... No. Akihito revolted against that thought. That couldn't be right. It couldn't. With sudden aggressiveness, Akihito climbed into Asami's lap, straddling the strong thighs beneath him. "Asami." He leaned in, breathing deeply of Asami's scent. It offered both comfort and provocation, and a fierce need almost overpowered Akihito. He needed this. More than anything, he needed Asami, all of him. Akihito wanted his overpowering presence and his breathtaking skills and his undivided attention as Asami made him writhe with mindless pleasure and forget everything but what was between the two of him. He needed Asami's touch on his body, inside him, everywhere. "Please, Asami." His tongue tasted Asami's throat, and Akihito groaned softly. Asami's hands came up and gripped his hips with painful strength, though Asami seemed as motionless as a statue otherwise. He raised his face, blushing at his own boldness, but their gazes held, and Akihito pressed an eager, passionate kiss to Asami's mouth. For a brief, heart-stopping moment, Akihito thought Asami was going to reject him, but the Asami's mouth opened up to his and the overwhelming heat of their lust spread through Akihito like a flame. He moaned against Asami's lips, starved for more, and not shamed for once by his own carnal need. His fingers slid into Asami's thick hair as they devoured each other, and he sobbed aloud when Asami's long fingers slid inside his boxers and wrapped around his cock.

"Shh..." Asami soothed him, his lips finding Akihito's throat. Akihito's breath came out in harsh pants as Asami worked him with slow, even strokes, building up the pleasure until the coiled tension that pooled low in his groin was too much to bear. "Oh...please...Asami..." The hand around his cock didn't quicken, but Asami cradled the back of Akihito's skull and took his mouth again as his warm fingers gently coaxed him to orgasm. Akihito sank against Asami's chest trembling and buried his face in the crook of Asami's neck. For long blessed moments, Akihito thought nothing. He only felt the comfort and the bliss of once again being held close to this man to whom he was tied so inextricably. What he felt and needed couldn't be satiated by such a swift release, though. He slipped his hand inside Asami's robe and let his palm skim over the sculpted muscles. It had been so long since he could freely touch, and the acute longing to explore every inch of flesh consumed him. His fingers slipped lower, but before he could reach the hard length he could feel even through the thick robe, Asami's hand wrapped gently around his wrist. His hand was pulled to Asami's lips, and a kiss grazed against his knuckles when Akihito made a sound of mild protest. "There's no rush." Asami shifted, tucking Akihito into a corner of the couch. Akihito watched him with doubtful eyes, as he unhurriedly wiped the come from Akihito's stomach with the sleeve of his robe. "You're still recovering." "But I'm fine now. I wasn't hurt that badly. Asami--" Hurt bled through the words as he looked up at Asami in confusion. Since when had Asami ever let Akihito's injuries stop him. Another kiss stopped his words, and when Asami pulled away, Akihito found that he was clinging to the collar of Asami's robe with both hands. "Watch the movie with me. Rest a little," Asami murmured. "I'm not going anywhere." Akihito sank back into silence. What else could he do? Risking another rejection at this moment was beyond him, so his eyes turned toward the television. He said nothing as Asami handed him the glass of beer, but he swallowed the contents, barely noticing the watchful gaze Asami kept on him. He wasn't aware of the exact moment when his eyes slid shut and the glass slipped from his fingers to be caught by a ready hand. When Asami picked him up in his arms and carried him to the bedroom, he fluttered back to a dazed consciousness for mere seconds. "Asami..." A large, warm body curled around his, and lips pressed to his bare shoulder. Asami's whisper sent him into oblivion. "Sleep, Akihito." "Shit." Akihito muttered the curse softly, not wanting Suoh to overhear and then overreact and become even more smothering than his presence already was. Okay, that wasn't completely fair. Suoh gave him plenty of space, and he was only there at Asami's orders anyway. To be perfectly honest, he knew that it was his own wishes keeping him confined to the condo now. Suoh's continued presence as his own personal guard was evidence that Asami was still feeling extremely protective, but Akihito knew that now Asami's worries tended in another direction. Despite the tacit encouragement from Asami to go outside and to begin to ease back into the

swing of things, Akihito found that it just wasn't that easy. Asami hadn't said anything to him about it yet, but Akihito could feel the burden of that judging stare when Asami would come back after his shortened days of work. Probably he was getting sick of having Akihito underfoot all the time. Maybe it was only a matter time before he tossed Akihito out for good. He clutched the strap of the camera bag slung across his shoulder and stared at the closed door of the room that had always held the majority of his personal possessions in Asami's condo. All he had to do was open the door and tell Suoh he was ready to go. He reached out and his fingers hovered over the door handle. A full ten seconds passed before he let his arm drop. The camera bag landed on the floor too, and Akihito walked over the bed and sat down heavily on the edge. Blankly, he stared into space, not allowing himself to think of anything until the pounding of his heart had eased into a slow and steady pace. It wasn't long before Suoh knocked on the door. "Takaba-san?" Akihito went to the door an opened it. "Hey, Suoh. I think I might wait until later to go out. I actually started editing some shots I have on my laptop, and I'm really into it." He forced a light grin onto his face. When Suoh's gaze flicked to the desk where Akihito's closed laptop sat, Akihito stepped closer and leaned on the door to block his view. Suoh's gaze returned to him, uncomfortably sharp, but he only nodded. "Do you want me to order in lunch for you?" "Yeah, that'd be great!" Akihito beamed, not allowing the smile to slip from his face until the door closed again. He turned around and leaned against it, taking in the simple furnishings. His own small bed hadn't been used since they'd returned from Hong Kong. He'd slept in the huge bed in the master suite every night, though sleep was all that occurred. Even in the mornings, Asami was always awake and up before him. A sudden wave of depression swept over him, and after a moment, Akihito went to the windows and shut the blinds. He wouldn't go out today. Akihito took off his jeans and let them crumple to the floor. He'd fallen asleep early again last night. It was becoming a habit, though Asami kept insisting it was just a natural part of his body healing. He really shouldn't be so tired still, but he was. Maybe if he just slept a little while longer, everything that was bothering him would go away. He wouldn't have to think about seeing his family and friends after all this time and wondering if the cover story would hold up to all their questions. He wouldn't have to worry about the choking anxiety even the thought of stepping outside the front door cause. He wouldn't have to think about Asami didn't seem to want him anymore. Most of all, he wouldn't have to think about how he didn't seem to fit anywhere anymore, not even inside his own skin. Akihito climbed into bed and pulled the covers up to his chin. His thoughts spun, but not too much time passed before he fell into an uneasy sleep plagued by dreams that did little to provide his mind or body rest. Eventually, he slid into deeper sleep, leaving him unaware when Suoh knocked again and peered inside to see him curled up in the dark. He woke hours later, feeling groggy rather than refreshed,

but maybe he'd manage to stay awake past ten o'clock that night. He walked out into the main room. It was quiet, only one small lamp lit, which meant Suoh had left for the day, so Asami must be back. The master bedroom was empty, but the door to the bathroom was closed, and Akihito could hear the sounds of the shower. For a moment, he was tempted to slip off his clothes and join Asami, but that was too bold a move for him to do more than contemplate at this point. He settled for curling up in the middle of the bed to wait for him. A nervous rush of anticipation made his heart beat faster when the water shut off, and he sat up, leaning back against the headboard and trying to appear nonchalant as Asami came out of the bathroom wearing a towel around his waist and rubbing another over his hair. The smile slipped off Akihito's face, though, when Asami froze upon seeing him, peering through the folds of the towel. His expression flickered into something Akihito couldn't quite decipher, though it certainly wasn't pleasure at his presence. Then Asami's face smoothed over, then transformed into a smirk. "I thought you were out cold." He continued to dry his hair as Akihito scowled. "Sorry to disappoint you." Draping the towel around his neck, Asami leaned against the doorframe and regarded Akihito with amusement. "I heard you slept all day. Are you hungry?" Akihito shrugged. "Suoh left dinner. Why don't you go eat. I'll join you soon." "I'll wait for you." They studied each other, Akihito staring at Asami with a stubbornness he couldn't explain, and Asami eyeing him like he was trying to see right through him to the cause of Akihito's petulance. "Is everything all right?" "Yeah, everything's all right. Why wouldn't it be?" Asami's eyes narrowed, but he didn't move from the wall he was leaning against. "I thought you were going out today." "I changed my mind. I wanted to do some stuff here." Akihito's flickered briefly away from Asami's gaze. He had never been a good liar. "I see." Akihito felt a mild relief when Asami didn't quiz him on his activities. It was short lived. "Are you going out tomorrow then?" "Yeah, maybe." He shrugged a shoulder again, a frown pulling his mouth down. After a moment, he darted another glance at Asami. "Isn't it time you see your friends and family." Akihito's eyes widened. They'd both had their reasons for avoiding that subject, beyond the disclosure of their ignorance of the true events of the past several months and the cover story in

place that had appeased them so far. His injuries had been enough to put off his reunion, but he didn't have that excuse any longer. His bruises had healed, and his new scars could be explained away. Akihito did want to see them, desperately, but the gulf separating him from them seemed so huge now. How could he see them, talk to them, and not give away everything that had happened? Everything was so confusing now. Easing back into his old life was turning out to be more difficult than he had imagined. "I will soon." He wanted to look away from that assessing gaze, feeling naked beneath it as always, but he forced himself to hold it until Asami's next question blew his equilibrium. "Have you thought about the doctor's suggestion?" "You're kidding me, right?" Asami merely stared at him, his face a smooth mask, then shrugged. "You might find it helpful." In an instant, Akihito launched off the bed, his fingers curling tightly into his palms. "You think I'm crazy? That I'm so fucked up I need a shrink? That's fucking hysterical coming from you!" Asami's expression flickered, but he answered coolly enough. "You're not sleeping well. You have nightmares. You haven't stepped foot outside of this apartment. You haven't touched a camera. You haven't spoken to anyone else besides--" "Shut up! I--I'm not having nightmares! And you know I've been sleeping a lot, and I...I will go out. I was figuring some things out, but if you're so sick of having me around I can get out of your way. No problem!" He spun away from Asami, but his wrist was caught in Asami's inescapable grip. "Calm down." "I am calm!" "Clearly." Asami stern features softened when Akihito tilted his glare and stubborn chin toward him. His free hand came up and cupped Akihito's cheek. "I've missed this look." The touch undid Akihito, turning his tumultuous emotions on their head. He leaned into the warmth of Asami's hand with pathetic eagerness, the tender affection making his chest ache with a desperate sort of longing. "Asami..." Why did it hurt so much? He needed him. He need Asami so much. He felt so wound up. The tension had built and built in him until he could barely breathe through it. Only Asami could release it, but he hadn't. They hadn't. His lips parted, an unspoken invitation, and he raised himself higher, his hands curling behind Asami's neck. He didn't wait for Asami to take it. His own mouth pressed hard against Asami's, feverishly demanding a response, and Asami didn't deny him. He was rewarded with one of Asami's soul-sucking kisses that seemed designed to drain him of everything he was and then pour it back in again only even more enflamed. Akihito found himself pressed up against Asami's wet chest, the front of his t-shirt soaking up

stray droplets of water, and he moaned into the heated kiss. His tongue thrashed against Asami's, and he flushed with triumph as Asami's cock grew thick and hard against him. A growl escaped him, and Akihito's hands slid down Asami's back, his nails grazing lightly, making Asami jerk in reaction. He grinned, and put his hands to the towel, ready to rip it away and make Asami want him so bad, he'd get fucked into the mattress all night long. It was like a shock of ice water when Asami grabbed his wrists and yanked Akihito's hands away. He stared up in total incomprehension, his wrists still held in Asami's grip. When comprehension finally came, it chased the blood from his face and left him cold and sick. Asami was rejecting him. Again. God, he was so stupid. He didn't even realize the bleak laugh that fell from his pale lips. "Akihito," Asami spoke with unusual fierceness. "Whatever it is you're thinking, you're wrong." "I don't think I am." He laughed again. "You can let go of me now. I won't bother you again." He tried to jerk his wrists free and failed. "Just listen to me. Go pour yourself a drink. We'll talk after I get dressed." "Talk? Since when do you want to talk?" The wild bitter laughter just wouldn't stop. "Akihito." "What if I don't want to talk? Why do we have to? Why should now be different?" His sudden violent jerk succeeded in freeing his arms, but he stumbled back and fell to the floor at the foot of the bed. "I guess what you really want is for me to pack up and leave, right?" He was jerked off the floor before he could blink and found himself flat on the bed, Asami's large body looming over him. His expression looked almost wild, and Akihito's heart surged thickly in response. "That's...not what I want." The seconds stretched between them, and with each quickened rise and fall of Asami's chest, Akihito thought the man was instant away from falling on him and eating him alive. But the wildness faded, and a pained look that Akihito was afraid to decipher formed Asami's features. He straightened, allowing Akihito to scramble up to his knees to follow. "I..." He frowned. "Maybe...in this case..." Asami's uncharacteristic stutters frightened Akihito more than anything else could. He stared almost aghast at the disturbingly cracked facade and wished he could call down a lightning strike or curse Asami mute -- anything to prevent whatever words were going to come out of his mouth next. Akihito shook his head in wordless denial, closing his eyes against him. "Akihito." No, he wouldn't let Asami coax him into listening. Fingertips grazed beneath his chin, a thumb brushed his jaw, and Akihito felt the tears start beneath his lids. He breathed deeply through his nose, willing them away. He wouldn't give the man this too.

"Akihito." His eyes opened, wet, clumped lashes blurring his vision. He refused to meet Asami's gaze, and stared over Asami's shoulder instead. It took a moment to blink away the moisture, and then he gasped at what he saw in the looking glass behind Asami. From his shoulders and down to the white towel wrapped around him, Asami's back was crisscrossed in angry, red welts "What happened?!" He launched himself forward, reaching for Asami. "Who did this?" Asami's face froze even as he caught Akihito's arms, effectively stopping his attempts to get a closer look at the abused flesh. "It's nothing." Asami's voice was like ice. "Don't bother yourself." "How can you say that?" Akihito cried out in disbelief, struggling against the implacable hold. " Asami." His voice broke, and he stared up at Asami in wild distress. "Who hurt you? Could-could it be...H--Ho--Homu--" "No!" The word lashed out, but then Asami crushed Akihito to his chest, suddenly whispering soothing words and nonsense sounds into his hair. "No," he said more softly. "I'm sorry. No. He's dead and gone, you know that. He'll never hurt you again." Akihito trembled violently, clinging to the words and Asami's solid presence. Asami's lips pressed into his hair again and again. Akihito knew he'd said something crazy. Of course, he knew Homura was dead. He trusted that. He was there. But seeing Asami hurt had made him irrational. "Then what happened? Asami, please tell me!" The arms around him tightened painfully, and Akihito looked up in anguished confusion. "Can't you trust me even now?" The hoarse question visibly shook Asami, and his eyes squeezed shut for several seconds before he gently released Akihito, and turned to pick up the robe from the end of the bed. Akihito sucked in another harsh breath as he saw the welted flesh first hand. Before he could reach out or say anything else, Asami cast off his towel and drew the robe close around him. Akihito numbly stared at his broad, flayed back as Asami belted the robe. "I chose this." "What?" Akihito truly didn't understand. "What you saw. It was...done at my request." Asami still hadn't turned to look at him, but Akihito gaped. "You...you asked someone to do that to you?" "Is it so shocking?" "What are you saying? Of course it is!" "You've been exposed to some of my tastes before. It can't be that surprising." Akihito tried to wrap his mind around it, horror and utter shock making it difficult. He had been exposed to some of Asami's more exotic preferences. That hidden room stocked with all the bondage gear was something that had always made Akihito feel both apprehensive and titillated, but never in his wildest dreams had he imagined Asami to be on the receiving end of any of that kind of thing. "But...you've never done this before. Not since I moved in here anyway. H--Have you?"

Asami just stared at him expressionlessly. The answer was obvious anyway. He couldn't have hidden that kind of thing. Not when they had shared a bed and other intimacies. Sudden knowledge flooded through Akihito. This was why Asami had been avoiding him. This was why he had barely touched him, had avoided any intimacy, since they'd returned to Tokyo. "Why?" His plaintive question made Asami's eyes narrow. "Why, Asami? Why now? Because you don't want me anymore? Because you'd rather do this instead?" A burning pain filled his chest. A sense of betrayal he thought he'd put behind him, that he never wanted to feel again made him tremble. Asami's face contorted a moment before smoothing out again. "It's not like that." "What's it like then?" Akihito cried. " Why are you doing this?" "I..." A muscle in Asami's jaw jumped as he ground his teeth together. "I need it." A sobbing laugh escaped Akihito. "You need it. You need someone to beat you black and blue." "Akihito..." Asami stepped forward abruptly, his hand reaching for Akihito, but he slapped it away with a jerky movement. "Is that all you're doing, or are you fucking someone else too?" Anger sparked from Asami until he saw the bright tears well up in Akihito's eyes, and his gaze immediately softened. "I'm not. There's no one but you." "I don't understand this." Akihito bit his lip, his brow creasing as he stared at Asami. "If there's no one else, then why..." He flushed and dropped his gaze. "Why haven't you wanted me since we've been back? You've never...you've never held back before, but now..." A long silence feel the space between. Each second that passed made the weight in his chest heavier, and a miasma of suffocating gloom enveloped Akihito. He had thought everything was finally over, that they would forget what had happened and things would go back to normal. What had he done wrong? When Asami finally spoke, his voice was cold and flat, but it was the content of his words that drew Akihito's surprised gaze back to him. "When I went to Hong Kong to get you, and I took you away from there, I thought I could help you." A bitter smile twisted Asami's lips. "In my arrogance." The seeming non sequitur confused Akihito but held his attention rapt. "But still, I worried over you. Hoped that you wouldn't be permanently altered by what had happened. It was my fault even then." "Asami..." He half-turned away from Akihito's beseeching face and the automatic protests of that sprung naturally to his lips. "This...now...it is all my doing. It was I who abused you. I've lost any right...to expect that you would..." His hand came up sharply, cutting off Akihito's attempt to interrupt. "To atone...is not possible." Akihito expelled a long breath, shaky with the adrenaline that Asami's words sent through his

frame. "You don't have to," he croaked, his throat in the grip of taut emotion. "Asami, you don't have to do that. I--" "I cannot..." Asami broke in, the edge in his voice painfully evident as he struggled to put his thoughts to words. "I cannot...accept the role I've played. I..." His eyes closed a moment, and he took a deep breath before releasing it again slowly. "What you've seen here, whatever I have taken is nothing...nothing to what you--" "Oh, God. Asami..." Akihito stepped close, his fingers clutching onto the fabric of Asami's robe, and he raised his face to Asami, whose closed eyes didn't hide the bleak lines of his expression. "This is punishment? You're punishing yourself?" "Nothing so noble. I'm alleviating my own...distress. It's worked for me in the past." Akihito shook his head and shook Asami at the same time. "Look at me!" He didn't continue until Asami opened his eyes and fixed him with the full force of glare. "I don't--you can't think I want this!" "This has nothing to do with what you want." Akihito sucked in a breath. "Stop it." "Why should I stop? It's the truth. I'm not a nice man. You should know that better than anyone. I always act to suit myself." "Stop it!" Akihito flung himself forward, winding his arms around Asami's neck and holding tightly. "Don't say any more," he whispered before he rose up on his toes and kissed Asami feverishly. His tongue forced its way past Asami's lips, until Asami seemed to give in, and answered the kiss with intimate violence. Akihito moaned as Asami's large hands cupped his ass, kneading the firm flesh and Akihito ground against him. But only a moment later, Asami roughly pushed him away. "You don't know what you're doing." Asami's normally smooth voice was ragged, and he turned away from Akihito and began dressing with swift efficiency. "Stop acting like you know everything! I know exactly what I'm doing." Akihito's voice shook with depth of his hurt. "Why don't you tell me why you're doing this?" Asami ignored him as he did up the buttons of his shirt. "Just say it!" Asami's face remained blank, though Akihito could see the tightness around the corners of his mouth and eyes and the way his hands flexed convulsively. His incredulity and panic grew as Asami pulled on slacks and then reached for a jacket. "Are you going somewhere? You're leaving?" Akihito couldn't hide the depths of his distress. He didn't even want to, and the bitter wash of wounded betrayal he exuded seemed to penetrate Asami's already crumbling facade. His shoulders tensed, and then he turned to look at Akihito, guilt darkening his eyes. Finally Asami deigned to answer. "I have something I need to do." The cool reply infuriated Akihito. "Don't you dare leave!" Asami paused in his reach for a tie

when Akihito's voice broke on a sob. "I'll never forgive you if you leave right now, bastard." He saw Asami's jaw clench and his breath halted when those golden eyes pierced his. The look Asami gave him made his heart contract painfully. The emotion was concealed quickly, barely a flicker across Asami's face before it was concealed by a thin, self-mocking smile that twisted his lips. "Forgiveness is the last thing I expect." Forgoing the tie, Asami strode toward the door and Akihito was too overcome to say anything else to stop him. His throat seized up, so that he couldn't speak at all, but Asami hesitated at the doorway. "Akihito. I..." Asami's head shifted just a little, as if he were going to turn and look at him, and Akihito saw his profile, the sharp, beautiful planes of Asami's face and the way he swallowed before he spoke again. He held his breath, praying that Asami would say something to fix this, that he would make everything better. "Don't wait up." Akihito shut down. He sat on Asami's expensive couch and flipped through channels for hours, ignoring his stomach which clamored for food, ignoring everything except the calls of nature that took him on short trips to the toilet and back. Eventually, he crawled into bed again slept fitfully until morning when the sound of door roused him. He rushed out only to find Suoh turning away from his briefs-clad body. Deflated, Akihito turned around, ignoring Suoh's greeting, and returned to the bedroom. He refused to come out again for meals or anything else. Asami didn't returned that evening either. On the third day, he locked himself in Asami's study and stared at the images he'd captured and melded to create what he now realized was nothing less than the innermost secrets of his heart. All his hopes and fears and raw emotion wrapped up with a bow and presented to a man who was...impossible. Impossible to know and predict. Impossible to walk away from. He slipped behind Asami's desk and touched the objects that sat on it. Everything was smooth and heavy, beautifully crafted and perfect. It was the opposite of his own desk, where scrawled on post-its adorned every available surface, and silly stuffed creatures laughingly snagged from claw vending machines kept him company as he worked. Maybe he served that purpose for Asami, something imperfect he'd snatched to provide a spot of interest by contrast in the midst of all that dull perfection, something to surprise a smile out of him from time to time. The drawers to the desk were unlocked, and Akihito went through them without any sense of guilt. Asami surely kept anything important locked up somewhere, but he was desperate for the slightest connection to his lover. The side drawers were organized and held nothing of interest, only standard supplies, but the thin drawer in front of him revealed a folder and an envelope full of photographs. They were all of Akihito. The pulse of his heart settled into a deep, bittersweet ache as he went through them, thinking of Asami sitting in the same chair and doing the same thing. Some of the pictures must have been taken by people who'd been assigned to follow him around, but some, especially the ones where he was sleeping, Asami must have taken. Most of them were simple shots, mostly of his face, capturing various expressions seemingly by accident. Some were out of focus or had bad lighting, but viewed in a series they seemed almost

like a flip book of Akihito moving and reacting throughout the period that spanned their relationship. A thrill of discovery and gratification swept through him. Sentimentality wasn't something he would have ever accused Asami of, but he couldn't helped help but attribute the desire to keep such pictures close to a warmth of feeling rather than Asami's stalkerish tendencies in general. In fact, he'd seen an "official report" on himself once, compiled by Kirishima no doubt, with an incriminating photo clipped neatly to the written evidence. These pictures had been carefully selected, he was sure. He tucked the photos carefully back inside the envelope and put it back in the drawer then turned his attention to the folder. He skimmed through the contents, mainly a series of account numbers and amounts, understanding the gist of the information quickly, but unable to process the meaning of what was contained inside. In considerable agitation, he rolled the chair back and stood, his eyes going to the golden gaze that arrested him even from the depths of his own creation that rest in its frame against the wall, and even larger than life than the original inspiration. The discovery of the largesse with which Asami had apparently bestowed him meant nothing, though the meaning behind it constricted Akihito's breath down to a series of harsh gasps. If Asami was setting him up for life, for fucking eighty lifetimes more like it, it could only mean one thing, only one thing. No. Anger hit him like a swing of a mallet--powerful and implacable. Asami couldn't just settle things as he pleased. He couldn't just arrange things to suit himself, pat Akihito on the head, and pack him off to the rest of his life and wash his hands of him. No fucking way. It doesn't work like that, asshole. Akihito swept out of the office and vented his fury in a whirlwind attack on the pristine and precisely placed furnishings of Asami's condo. Suoh watched him silently and warily until Akihito managed to cut his bare foot on the shard of what had probably been a thousand year old priceless vase. His battering fists made no dent on Suoh's chest and arms, and he gently forced Akihito into the one remaining chair that hadn't been overturned and tended to his wound. All of Akihito's anger drained out of him, leaving him hollow and shaking. Suoh brought him tea, and Akihito fell asleep at some point, curled up in the chair and bone weary, his eyes red and swollen. He woke in Asami's bed very early and still alone. Suoh was asleep in the same chair Akihito had passed out in the day before and must have been exhausted because he didn't stir when Akihito entered the room. The living room had been restored to order, even though the alcove that had held the vase was still empty. Akihito had gotten a vindictive surge of satisfaction from that, but he had gone into the spare room and retrieved his favorite camera and headed out of the condo for the first time with barely a twinge. The cold air brought him to life slowly. The wind put color in his cheeks and whipped his overgrown hair around to blind him, but Akihito dove into the streets of his city, letting himself simply feel and taking pictures of anything and everything as the day finally broke and the rest of the population began to go about their pursuits of business and pleasure. He bought himself matcha and sweets in the teahouse of Hamarikyu Gardens, then took pictures of the bare-branched plum groves and the skyline from the mouth of the Sumida River. At midday, he sat outside at a tiny oden food cart at slurped down the savory soy-flavored dashibroth with pleasure. After days without much food, it tasted heavenly as well as nourishing his body and his spirits too. The owner of the stall let him take pictures, his coarse, genial face, beaming amidst the vapors of his steaming dishes.

When Akihito finally began winding his way back, the winter day was well on its way to growing colder and dark even though it wasn't particularly late yet. He knew Suoh would probably be there, anxious, perhaps with dinner waiting. He felt some guilt at that. Maybe Kirishima would come yell at him. He smirked a little, but it faded quickly. Asami would probably not be there. Akihito's chin rose at the thought. Not that it mattered. That bastard didn't get to run away. Asami never let him do that. He would listen to everything Akihito had to say whether he liked it or not. Akihito would make sure of it. Asami stood alone in front of the window. The lights were off and only the glow of the lights of the city provided any illumination to the silent room. Akihito was out there somewhere, orbiting erratically around this place like a rogue satellite that would eventually be drawn back to his proper sphere. Akihito couldn't escape him any more than he could escape Akihito. A cigarette dangled from lips, unlit and forgotten as he mentally chased Akihito down, an exercise to puzzle out his movements and thoughts, sniff him out like a hound on a scent. What was going through his head right now? That was the million dollar question. Akihito would come back. Abruptly, he flicked open his lighter. The flame danced in the dark and he stared, slowly incling his head to put cigarette to flame. The real question, he amended, was what was he going to do about that?

Chapter End Notes

The next part will contain the "big" emotional blow up. I'm sorry I couldn't get it all done in one go. Thank you so much for your patience.

If the Devil Bid You

Chapter Summary

Things come full circle.

The door shut with a solid thud. Instead of the footsteps he expected to hear there was nothing but silence from the entry. No, 'I'm home,' either. Perhaps the sight of his Italian loafers had stricken Akihito mute or turned him to stone. An Akihito statue could actually be a thing now that he thought about it. The boy's youthful vitality commissioned to be captured for all eternity, or for as much of it as he'd be around anyway. He could install a fountain on the terrace with the statue as a centerpiece--Akihito with cupid wings peeing into the water. He would probably get a kick out of that. Asami stared out the window amusing himself with variations on the theme until Akihito spoke behind him. He said nothing Asami had been expecting. Not, 'Where have you been?' Not, 'What have you been doing?' Not, 'Fuck you, I never want to see you again.' That's one of the things he loved about Akihito. Despite how predictable he could often be, the things he said and did could sometimes come right out of nowhere and knock him for a loop. "Do you think that I'm weak?" Genuine surprise made him turn and study Akihito with almost clinical assessment. Akihito appeared to be calm, controlled, though the line between his brows betrayed some agitation. "I've never thought that. Not since that moment you insulted me and jumped off the side of that building." A brief smile flitted across Akihito's face. "That was pretty awesome." Asami silently agreed. He would never forget the rush as the boy defied him so unexpectedly, but he raised his eyebrow and feigned criticism. "Insane might be a more accurate descriptor." "Yeah, whatever. Just admit you thought it was cool." "Perhaps I thought you had a death wish." Akihito snorted. "By that time, you weren't thinking anything but that you wanted to plow my ass." Asami said nothing. It was true enough, and for some reason the recollection made him uncomfortable. He itched for a cigarette. "Nothing to say to that?" Akihito taunted. "I didn't decide to plow your ass until I saw how cute you were all tied up and giving me those eyes." On cue, Akihito's narrowed gaze blistered Asami, enchanting him as always. Instead of protesting,

though, Akihito's mouth twisted up. "I'm glad you brought this up." This was new. Asami's fingers flexed, his index and middle finger shaping around a phantom cigarette. "Oh?" "Yeah, let's talk about how fucked up we've been from the start." Asami's face went blank, and he leaned back against the long window, his shoulders braced against the glass. With his arms casually folded across his chest, he could feel the forceful pounding of his heart. "If you like." His tone was indulgent, unconcerned, as if he didn't know this was the beginning of the end. Akihito stared at him for a long moment, his big eyes searching Asami's face like it was a puzzle. Then his eyes widened. "You're scared." Asami couldn't speak. Wouldn't. But that was all right because silence could be an equally effective weapon. "You think I'm going to leave you." Akihito stepped closer. "Or you think you'll push me away before I can." At that, Asami lifted one eyebrow. "I wouldn't have figured you for the clingy type." "I won't let you shut me out now." "That's not what I'm doing." "You're treating me like I'm breakable, like I'm made of glass. Like you think I'm so fragile, if you touch me the wrong way then I'll shatter. You do think I'm weak." "You're wrong. I just don't want to hurt you anymore." That seemed to shake Akihito some, but it seemed more startlement at the expressed sentiment than anything else. But then he took a shaky breath as raw vulnerability transformed his expression. "Are you sure that's it? Maybe you think I'm all dirty now because of what he did. But that never seemed to bother you before. Is it because he--" "He is nothing." Asami pushed Akihito back against the window, caging him there with his arms, a cold fury stinging his veins, not for Akihito, but for Homura, for himself. " Nothing." Akihito's wide eyes drained his rage, and Asami cupped the boy's cheek. "A diamond that falls into the dirt is still a diamond." Akihito's surprised blush begged for his touch, and his thumb brushed across the warm skin. "Your value is wholly unconnected to such things, except in that it makes you shine even more brightly against the filth." He saw Akihito's breath catch in his throat. "Asami...what happened...it's done now, in the past, just like what happened in the very beginning. I...I understand why you--" "No." Akihito flinched at the stinging denial. "Sit down, Akihito."

"No." Akihito flinched at the stinging denial. "Sit down, Akihito." Asami moved to the sofa, his hand pressing into the small of Akihito's back. Surprisingly, Akihito did as he was told, though the stubborn cast of features told a different story. Asami gestured to the small stack of documents that lay on the coffee table. "These outline the basics of the financial arrangements I've set up for you, or rather Kirishima did at my behest. He's good at that sort of thing. You'll find you won't ever want for money ever again." Akihito didn't look surprised, but his forehead creased, and he looked weary all of a sudden, years older than his age. "Blood money? That's not the kind of thing that interests me." "You can use it however you wish. Think of the good you could do with it." "Think of the good you could do with it." "I am. By giving it to you." "So this is it then? You're dumping me?" Akihito's fingers curled on his knees. "This is supposed to make it all better?" "No." Asami held onto his composure through long practice. Twisting this to the exact opposite of his intentions was a talent that only Akihito possessed. "No," Akihito mimicked. "No what?" "This is your chance to walk away for good. You should take it." "And if I don't?" If you don't then we'll truly be damned together. "It's the rational choice." "Well, it's my decision, and you've never accused me of being rational." The boy's flagrant indifference to his own well being was infuriating and much too tantalizing. Asami wanted to take the offered clemency and sweep Akihito back into his orbit, weave him back into the fabric of his everyday existence and claim him with all the intensity and possessiveness of his old arrogance. It would be so easy to make Akihito sing with mouth and fingers and cock. He could whisper sweet nothings and lewd promises in the sweet shell of his ear and watch the color bloom on his fine skin. He could make them both forget anything but the truth of their joined flesh. But the vision of Akihito's face flushed in passion changed to the pale, haunted ghost he'd become at Asami's own hands. "You're acting like an abused spouse." The nasty twist to Asami's words made Akihito flinch. Good. No more dancing around the truth. If Akihito needed a shove out the door, he would provide it. He wasn't going to entertain the idea that this would have some happy ending. There was no such thing. There were just endings. But instead of getting angry, Akihito stared at him. "Is that how you think of us?" Asami frowned. "What do you mean?"

"Married." He couldn't help it. His eyes widened, and he felt the blood behind the skin in his face. Would it boil or drain? Either was unacceptable, and Asami stood abruptly, turned away with a laugh. It approached a laugh anyway--humorless, dismissive, and covered the rapid thrum of his heartbeat. "It's true, isn't it?" Akihito continued, relentless. "You said you love me. You want me all to yourself, right? But you want more than that." Asami heard the creak of the sofa, and then Akihito's face pressed against his back. "It took me a long time to realize that underneath all your big talk about me belonging to you, what you really wanted was for me to want it too. To be all yours and for you to be all mine." And then Akihito's arms came around him, holding him. "You were never sure about that, were you? Of me?" Asami could feel himself cracking, disintegrating somewhere inside. His voice was his last weapon--cold and disdainful. "You hardly came into this uncoerced." "Yes," Akihito acknowledged. "Our relationship is fucked up from start to finish." Asami pulled away, searching his pockets for a smoke and a lighter, but Akihito's hand gripped his wrist. "It's too bad for you if you want to run away from it now. You never let me do that." He wouldn't meet the gaze he could feel burning into him. "Now I'm telling you to go." "I won't." "Akihito--" "You're scared. You're scared, and it's you who wants to run away." Akihito's voice turned scornful. "I never thought you were such a coward." Asami turned to face him. "Why do you want to stay? Do you think you'll change me? That I'll somehow become an ideal lover?" Bright, steady eyes pierce him, shining with an untainted sincerity. "I don't want you to change." A fist squeezed inside his chest. Unfair--when had the boy learned to play so dirty? Maybe he'd have a heart attack, and Akihito would have poetic justice after all. That might be preferable to the current situation. He had to swallow to speak. "I hurt you." The hand around his wrist released and slid down to his hand. Akihito's smaller fingers curled around his. "I forgive you." Asami's hand convulsed. "You're a fool, then." The words were all but snarled. "So you want your sins taken out of your hide?" Anger flashed in Akihito's eyes. "Does it work? Did you feel better after some stranger beat the shit out of you?" No, not this time. Not for this.

"You shouldn't be so hung up on that. It's a useful method of...stress relief." Akihito laughed in disbelief. "But not this time." Asami merely looked at him, stonefaced, until what he hadn't voiced, had barely let himself think until now, finally forced itself out of his mouth. "It could be." He watched Akihito's brow wrinkle. "If you do it." "If I..." Comprehension dawned, and Akihito shook his head violently. "No. No. Asami, I can't." Akihito was getting worked up, all his jittery habits coming to the fore, exactly the reaction he was expecting. Asami stopped them all with a word. "Please." Akihito stopped moving, stopped talking, stopped breathing from the looks of it. The only signs of life were the emotions flickering over his face. He was going to say no again. Asami could tell, could sense the wind up of denial and protests and supplications to forget. As if he ever could. Once the words were said, it seemed suddenly that nothing else would do but this. He had to have it at all cost. So instead, he would make his own supplications. Before Akihito's astonished eyes, he went down on both knees. His arms circled Akihito's waist and he rested his forehead against his abdomen, feeling Akihito tense in surprise. Hesitant hands came up and settled in his hair and stroked in probably unconscious comfort. Asami's lips found a sliver of exposed skin between the waistband of Akihito's jeans and the hem of his shirt. "Please." Akihito shivered. "Asami..." "Tell me you haven't wanted to," Asami murmured into the warm flesh of Akihito's belly. "All this time...to get your own back a little. Tell me you haven't dreamed of taking your revenge." The fingers in his hair curled a little tighter, but Akihito swayed in Asami's embrace, silent. Asami waited, knowing not to press while Akihito weathered the emotional currents his request sent spinning. The silence stretched longer, and every second increased the sinking sense of wretchedness that settled in his gut. When Akihito finally drew a ragged breath, Asami braced himself, breathing in Akihito's scent. Akihito would refuse, of course. Exposing that primal urge to Akihito had been ridiculous and illadvised. Weak. It was his own burden to bear. Akihito would consider it a slap in the face, as if he were equating what Akihito suffered at his hands to this. "I'll do it." Asami looked up, thrown enough to show the shock on his face. Akihito stared down at him. "I'll do it, but not for revenge. Not for punishment. Not for the transaction or trade off or negotiation you're trying to make it sound like." Asami forced the words past his dry throat. "Then why?" He hardly recognized his voice. "Because it's what you need." The words hit him like a physical blow, squeezing his heart, and Asami fought not to wince. Handing out raw truths was much easier than receiving them. When had the boy learned to read him so well?

He made some sound--he hardly knew what--that must have sounded like assent because Akihito pulled away from him, taking the warmth and comfort of his body with him. "Let's do it then." Asami's eyes widened. That Akihito would do this, would carry out the act now, was beyond surprising. He would have expected days of negotiations and hesitancy, if he'd had time to consider the situation, but the boy had done the unexpected again. Asami rose and met Akihito's determined gaze. He nodded once and walked past him, knowing that Akihito would follow him into the hidden room off the master bedroom. A pale blush settled across Akihito's cheekbones when Asami began to unbutton the shirt he wore. Asami couldn't help the tiny curve at the corners of his mouth. Even like this, Akihito was endearing. The expression was wiped away when Akihito asked, "Did you do this for the one who beat you last week?" He fixed his eyes on Akihito while he drew off the shirt and carelessly tossed it aside. "Yes." "Have..." Akihito dropped his gaze, turned his head slightly away. "Have you been back...to him...since then?" All of Akihito's insecurities were evident in the question, but Asami could hear the underlying anger too, the hurt and jealousy. Perhaps revenge was sounding a bit sweeter. "No." Yes, it was anger, Asami confirmed when Akihito turned his gaze back to him, flashing with familiar, fierce light. "You never will again. Promise me." Slowly, Asami unfastened his belt, then his slacks, staring Akihito down as he finished stripping down to nothing but skin. Akihito's throat bobbed, but Asami turned and strode to the wall, unabashed in his nudity. He heard Akihito suck in a breath. The marks on his back still hadn't completely faded. A flick of a switch smoothly lowered a set of cuffs and chains in the middle of the room. He went to them and locked his left wrist in the first one, and then with a deft flick of his right wrist locked the other cuff around it. "You can adjust the height over there." He nodded toward the wall. Akihito was silent for a moment, but finally he went and raised the chains until Asami's arms were spread up and wide, but his feet were still flat on the ground. It was a pose he could manage for a long time. If Akihito wanted to be really sadistic, he could have him up on his toes. "You can tighten it more if--" "Shut up." Akihito sounded angry. He circled around Asami, ending up directly behind him, so he was impossible to see. Asami knew he was there, though, because careful fingers traveled over the fading marks on his back. "I mean it. No one does this to you ever again. No one but me." A blaze of adrenaline coiled within him at the possessive heat of Akihito's words. He'd give anything to see the boy's face, but Akihito remained where he was, though his fingers dug into

flesh where they curled around his ribs. " Swear it, Asami." This forceful Akihito was more intriguing than Asami cared to admit, but his cock responded, swelling to a half-hard state, evidence of a sudden an aching lust fueled by Akihito's unexpected behavior and their too long period of abstinence. He wondered if Akihito realized the implication of his own words. He hid his reactions behind an indulgent purr. "I swear it, then. If it's what you wish. Only you." He couldn't see the blush, but he could perfectly imagine it. Akihito breathed deeply behind him and the warm breath of exhale washed over Asami's back. He didn't speak, but Asami heard him walk away and then the sound of the equipment display being opened. Desire to see Akihito's face swept over him. What expression played over it as he looked at the tools at his disposal? "Use the whip." The black leather implement hung on the wall, it's wicked tip hidden in the neat coil of its presentation. It wasn't a tool for the faint of heart on either side of the equation, and was dangerous in the hands of the inexperienced. It hurt like fuck, too. He hadn't allowed his recent sessions to go that far. It would have been too hard to hide it from Akihito, but there was no need to hold back now. Whatever Akihito inflicted was his to bear. "No." Akihito spit the word out. "If you want to do this, then I'm calling the shots here." He heard him take something from the wall, and then silence. Minutes passed and Akihito said nothing, did nothing. Asami was used to waiting, to cultivating patience in moments meant to cause unease. Was that what Akihito was doing, or was he having second thoughts? Asami frowned, but just as he parted his lips to speak, a panel in the wall slid open to expose the full-length mirror across from him. He registered the discomposure of his expression, and willed his features smooth again. The thud of his heartbeat increased in speed and intensity. He didn't want the mirror there. That hadn't been a part of how he saw this going. Akihito stepped out from behind Asami's back so that their eyes met in the mirror, and Asami wondered if Akihito knew exactly what was going through his mind. If this choice had been a deliberate goad. He saw the familiar spark of challenge flare up in Akihito's eyes. You can dish it out, but can you really take it? He ignored the blood coursing too fast in his veins, the way his wrists throbbed against the cold metal. He was already exposed to this boy, flesh flayed open to display the flaws and sins within. He had already revealed the depth of his feelings, and his need. What else was there to conceal? Fear. Asami allowed himself to think it. Fear that Akihito would see his weakness and finally hate him. Fear that Akihito would finally listen and run far away. Fear of losing what mattered the most. Fear of being alone, and the empty days and nights that would follow. "Asami." Akihito spoke softly, but his voice was steady and strong and warm. A thick leather strap wound around his palm and dangled from his tight fist. "What I give you is your everything." His eyes flew wide, the words hitting him harder than the first strike of the strap across his shoulders. He barely noticed the sting at first because the tumult of his thoughts overrode everything else. Had they come full circle so soon? Was this young boy so cocky, so strong, to think he could exorcise the demons within him? Was his spirit truly so generous and brave? But

Asami already knew the answer to that. Akihito struck again and again, not holding back as Asami had suspected he would. The pace and power of the blows gradually increased until they fell across his back and shoulders and buttocks in a steady fall of burning lashes. Asami watched through the mirror, the lithe muscles of his arms straining as the boy proved his strength, working him over with an intensity Asami hadn't expected. As the blows began to land in spots already raw and tender, the pain intensified, spreading fire in his flesh. His cock grew harder at the sight of Akihito, sheened in sweat and determination, his face ablaze with emotion that Asami drank in greedily. Pained grunts began to slip through his lips despite his struggles to contain them. Surely the boy would tire soon, and his reserves give out. The thought was unbearable. It wasn't enough, not yet. Sudden guilt rushed through him. He was...enjoying this. It was inexcusable. His mind flashed to Akihito in his sad little cell, his eyes begging for trust, for a scrap of human comfort, and he had been given coldness and pain instead, had come a hair's breadth from death. Alone. Sick. Frightened. Asami's face twisted. " More," Asami rasped on the breath of a groan. "Don't...stop." Their gazes met in the mirror, and for a moment, Akihito paused. The tableau held, only the heavy rise and fall of their chests marring the picture. Then, Akihito smiled. "Look at yourself, Asami." No, he didn't want to do that. He would much rather go on looking at Akihito. But Akihito stepped around him and began swinging from the other side, as if he fully expected Asami to listen and obey. The blows came with welting speed, and when one landed with a particularly well-placed lash across his ass, a harsh cry escaped him. He looked and barely recognized himself. His body stretched naked and taut, the his face contorted, sweat covered his skin, and his eyes seemed to shine with a savage light. That's what it was, animal savagery in the face of pain, his culpability, the endurance of it. Not anything else, not the sting of tears, not the knowledge that he would do anything, offer anything, become anything to have this boy--this proud, young man--at his side forever. His stretched limbs began to tremble, and without realizing it his fingers wrapped around the chains that held him. The raw exposure of that truth assaulted him. It felt as if his center was flying apart. Too much. The blood rose up in his ears and his vision tunneled, but the rattling of chains brought him back to the stark room and to his knees as the tension left the chains and his body. Akihito stood over him, concern darkening his eyes, and the strap slipped from his fingers. He could do nothing but watch Akihito in the mirror, both seeing and feeling that gaze grow heated as it traveled over his bruised and broken skin with possessive pride. Something like a growl rose up his throat when Akihito threaded fingers through his hair and pulled his head back. Akihito's face hovered over his, long fringe falling forward to tease his cheekbones and tunneling his vision to nothing but a pair of shining eyes. For a moment, a struggle seemed to ripple beneath the surface of Akihito's face, and then he bent and claimed Asami's mouth with aggressive lust. Asami tasted blood, his lips bruising against teeth, while their tongues tangled awkwardly. His neck ached at this angle, but his cock throbbed his appreciation, jutting out from his groin at

rampant attention. Too soon, Akihito pulled away, but Asami's snarl of protest died on his lips at the sound of Akihito unzipping his jeans. A hand planted between his shoulder blades, and Asami allowed himself to be pushed forward, the loose chain rattling as he went to hands and knees. He raised his head. Akihito was breathing hard, his reflected image showing a barely restrained energy that seemed to vibrate off the boy in invisible waves. A wild child--the only one who could ever come close to taming him--and Asami himself looking like a great cat crouched at his feet. Akihito moved behind him and knelt, pushing his jeans halfway down his slim hips. Was he truly willing to grant the boy this? Now? Akihito bent forward and licked along one of the raw, raised welts that striped Asami's back. Asami hissed, a shiver of electricity traveling his spine, an inner mocking laugh marking the knowledge that it wasn't in question at all. If the boy dared. Akihito's head lifted, that pink, wicked tongue darting up to lick the moisture at his lips as their eyes met. "Do it." Asami's words taunted, belying the hoarseness of his voice, the rawness flaying his throat. "Show me what you've got, Akihito." The heat of the body behind him seemed to intensify with the look of acknowledgment Akihito shot him. The aura of a man who was more than willing to take up the gauntlet and prove his mettle. Akihito pulled a small tube out of his pocket. He must have taken it from the case when he chose the strap. The unmistakable sounds of Akihito slicking his cock reached Asami's ears. His stomach tightened at the revelation that Akihito had the forethought to plan for this, that his resolve wasn't just a reckless abandon arising from the heat of the moment. His respect along with his lust ratcheted even higher. Then Akihito's fingers were at the ring of his ass, pressing inside, not particularly gently, but Asami supposed he deserved that. Cool and sleek with lube, they opened him up with impatient eagerness, and were swiftly replaced with the blunt head of Akihito's cock. Three short, rough thrusts and the cock slid into him inch by inch. His throat clicked as he swallowed, dry flesh stealing his voice. And then, one deep thrust hilted Akihito inside him, leaving him gasping as he adjusted to a sensation he hadn't felt in many years. Akihito moaned, his fingernails digging into the welts of Asami's ass. Fuck. The sensation of dissolving spread through him again, muddling his thoughts. Which one of them in the mirror was he? Asami struggled to keep his expression under regulation. This much, at least, he could hold onto. Slitted, hazel eyes watched him, and Akihito began to move. Shit. How had he ever imagined the kid would be hesitant? Akihito rode him roughly, but not without a certain consideration, one that showed he'd been paying attention all this time. He angled his hips just so to spark that bright burst of pleasure again and again, and warred with Asami's attempts to maintain his stoic composure. It didn't help that Akihito's expression was exultant, fierce, and just a bit deliciously sadistic when he succeeded in wringing a sound from Asami's lips. Oh yes, he was harboring no regrets, no guilt. His pleasure was tantamount as he pounded into Asami's ass again and again with all the stamina of youth and eager exploration. But Asami's own stamina was legendary, and he moved

with Akihito, sharing that driving rhythm until Akihito moaned aloud with each thrust. Before his smug satisfaction had a chance to take root, Akihito bent over, his hips still pumping, as one hand wrapped around Asami's cock and began to tug. Fuck. Fuck it all. A low groan spilled out before Asami could stop himself. Warm breath spread over his back when Akihito laughed. "You like that?" His hips punctuated with the words with deeper thrusts. Asami's head jerked up and his glare matched Akihito's, though his cock practically leapt within the circle of Akihito's hand. Their gazes locked in the mirror, Akihito's hand working him over, and then his thumb flicked over the head just as the little punk smirked at him. And you know just where he learned that move. A deep laugh, bubbled up in his chest, but before he could give breath to it, Akihito twisted his hips and that spark lit again, twisting through his groin. The urge to come crested the edge of fervent anticipation and cascaded right into inescapable climax. His cock jerked, coaxed into a prolonged release by that feverish hand. His arms trembled to support himself. Akihito cried out, and only then did the hand around him falter. He had the satisfaction of hearing Akihito gasp out his name as he came with a final, shuddering thrust. The boy bent double, gripping his hips tightly and panting against him. His forehead touched Asami's back, and the sting of the sweat on his raw flesh made Asami hiss softly. He regretted the slight sound when Akihito pulled away. "Did I hurt you?" Asami raised his head. Trembling fingers hovered over him, not daring to touch. In the mirror, the young, uncertain boy was back. Eyes scared, worried for him, and Asami's heart broke a little. "Stupid question, huh?" A garbled laugh escaped Akihito, and Asami pushed up to his knees. "Akihito." Immediately, his arms were full, and Akihito clung to him. Asami embraced him fiercely, one hand carding through Akihito's hair. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." The useless words spilled out, too little--but not for his generous Akihito--not too late. Akihito sniffed against his neck, even laughed a little. "It's over now, right? You and me...we're good. Right? No more hiding things. No more leaving." Asami couldn't speak, not yet, when his throat ached so strongly. He could only press a kiss into the crown of Akihito's hair and hold him tighter. "Asami?" The plaintive whisper tugged at him. "No more," Asami roughly murmured. "Promise?" His pulse throbbed where Akihito's lips pressed to his throat. "I promise." He would never let Akihito be hurt again. Not by himself. Not by anyone. Asami's eyes closed,

and he prayed to anyone that would listen that he would be able to keep that vow. Akihito raised his head and pulled Asami's face to his. They kissed deeply until Akihito's lidded eyes opened, a world of need and that defiant shyness shining out like a beacon. "Asami," Akihito flushed, but held his gaze. "I want you to mess me up all night." The heady rush of lust and power was familiar, but now he knew it was made even more potent by the trust Akihito willingly offered and the depth of the power he could now admit that Akihito wielded over him. The tenderness of his smile startled Akihito, but the sound of his words made him shiver. "As you wish."

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