Shit, he was exhausted. Akihito pushed his sopping wet hair out of his eyes as he trekked through the lobby of Asami's apartment building. His entire body ached, his joints were stiff and he was pretty sure that the crick in his neck would never straighten out. The photographer had spent three hours crouching beneath cargo nets and fishing gear, waiting for the arms deal to finish up. Nomoji Hayate was Japan's transport minister, and the old gas bag was longwinded. What would have taken Asami minutes to negotiate took him three hours.

Akhito's legs went numb half way through. That made running when some goons heard the click of his camera's shutter even harder. Of course Akihito had gotten away; it would be a cold day in hell before someone other than Asami threw him in the trunk of a limo.

"Takaba-san," the concierge smiled politely and nodded as the photographer walked by. He was always polite when Akihito picked up the mail, and never once did he call him 'Asami-san'. Now, Akihito found himself wishing that he remembered the man's name, if just so he could have an ally is Asami's world.

"Good evening," Akihito could barely manage to nod his head. All he could think about was the long, hot bath he was going to take. He might even steal Asami's rubber ducky.

He only had to wait a moment for the elevator to open. It was just after ten o'clock, so most of the rich tenants had already come home. Sagging against the wall, he contemplated what he was going to make for diner. He had not been to the store in a few days, sot he kitchen was looking a little sparse. Maybe he should call Asa––

"Hold the elevator!"

Reflexively, Akihito put his hand on the trembling metal door, and immediately wished he had not. He hated sharing the lift with the vapid socialites, who sneered at his torn jeans and muttered about the place going to the dogs.

"Thanks," huffed a pregnant woman as she waddled into the lift. She was carrying three reusable grocery bags, as well a paper one. "I didn't think I would make it if I had to wait for the next one."

"No problem," he instantly felt crummy for wanting to make her wait. Akihito had never seen her before, and he thought that he had seen everyone who lived on the floors below him. She looked, well…normal. Her dark black hair was pulled back away from her pointy face in bun, but it was starting to fall out. Her makeup was smudged, and she was wearing leggings. She looked nearly identical to Takato's wife, and not like one of the rich wives dressed in Gucci. "Which floor?"

"Second from the top,"

Just below the penthouse. He thought that Asami had bought the entire floor for his favorite goons, so that they could be at his beck and call twenty-four-seven. The idea that the bastard missed out on a unit do to a normal person like him filled Akihito with unbridled glee. Enough for him to take the mother's reusable bags. "Let me help you," he grinned. He was exhausted, but not tired enough to risk her going into early labor.

"Thanks," she panted again. The woman winced and a hand fluttered to her round stomach. It rubbed soothing circles, and Akihito briefly wondered what it would be like to carry a bowling ball in his stomach.

"You should make your husband help you," he suggested as he shifted the bags onto his shoulders, careful not to jostle his camera. "Or you could have had them sent."

"Cravings don't wait for delivery boys," his companion chuckled. "And my husband works late. He won't be a home for a few hours," a manicured hand tucked a fly away wisp behind her ear.

"Mine, too," Akihito answered mindlessly. He jumped when he realized what he had said. "I didn't mean that! Oh, shit! I'm not married! Not married!" he sputtered. He his head no and waved his hands, his face a glowing shade of crimson.

The woman laughed and grabbed his quivering hands. "It's okay if you are," she promised. When his mouth dropped and his face etiolated, she amended. "It's fine if you're not, too."

"I don't know what I said that!" Akihito rushed out. Oh God, why had he said that? He had to do some damage control, quick! If Asami ever found out that he said that, Akihito was sure that he would not be able to sit down for at least a year. Maybe ever again.

"I know you're not," the woman giggled kindly. She withdrew her hand in order to shift the bag in her arms.

The elevator door opened with a chime, making Akihito jump. He could barely get over her mortification enough to ask, "Do you need help getting all of this back to your apartment?"

"I should be fine," the woman took only one of the proffered bags. "The other two are for you," she explained when she saw his confused expression. "Asami-sama said that you were running out of the bare necessities, so I picked you up just enough to get you by."

Wait. He watched her start to walk down the hall. She hummed to herself as her hips swayed, trying to accommodate her distended stomach. Asami told her…that meant that she spoke to the crimelord. "Do you work for the bastard?" he shouted down the hallway, stepping out of the metal cage.

She looked over her shoulder in surprise. People always balked when he called his bastard of a lover out. "Occasionally," she admitted. "If he needs an event coordinator."

Fuck. Now Asami was sure to know about his Freudian slip. "You can't tell him!" Akihito plead as the doors chimed, wanting to close but not being able to since his body disrupted their sensors. "It's my ass on the line if you do!"

Her forehead creased at the wild frenzy in his eyes. "I won't, Takaba-san," she promised so earnestly that Akihito's shoulders instantly sagged in relief. He stepped back into the elevator and the doors slid shut. Asami's nameless drone waved goodbye before opening the door into her apartment.

Phew. His secret was safe. Akihito would not have lasted long in criminal photography if he took everything at face value, but she seemed so honest. Asami said that Akihito couldn't lie to save his life, and the photographer thought that she was the same way. Besides, pregnant women had better things to do than chat up Japan's biggest yakuza.

Lumbering into the apartment, Akihito quickly put up his impromptu groceries. Eggs, milk, curry powder, tofu, mirin, wakame…this was not the basics! Only an asshole would make a pregnant woman buy alcohol. And Dunhills!

He answered his phone on the first ring, knowing full well who would be calling him. "You bastard," he hissed.

Asami's dark chuckled echoed in his ear, sending shivers down his spine. "Hello kitten,"

"I am not your kitten!" Akihito fired his mouth off before he thought about what he was saying, a habit he seemed keen to develop that night. "How dare you send that woman out to buy us groceries!"

Asami paused for just a moment. Akihito heard someone mumbling on the other end of the line and then Asami was speaking again. "Saho was going out anyway, kitten. She could handle brining you dinner,"

"I can cook for myself, you dickhead! I don't need anyone to bring me a sushi sampler!" Though it did look scrumptious, he was going to stick to his morals on this one. He was a grown man, dammit. He could cook his own dinner.

"You are not going to eat ramen for the rest of the month, Akihito." Asami warned coldly. "It's not good for you––"

"Neither is this new carton of Dunhills," he waved it in the air, a conductor to his invisible audience. "That doesn't stop you!"

"Why do you have a carton of my cigarettes?" The last he checked, the photographer did not want to touch his so-called cancer sticks.

"Because Toho––"

"Saho," Asami corrected.

"Saho bought them. Why does some leggy, pregnant lady know what brand of cigarettes you smoke? And why does she have your phone number?" He tried to sound angry. Really, he did. Logic said that Asami was not screwing anyone else behind his back, not with the way he plowed Akihito's ass every night. And the photographer had never caught him flirting with a girl. Another guy, yes––but never a woman.

Then again…Saho was pregnant and Akihito had never seen her before. Was it Asami's kid? He did seem determined that Akihito refer to her correctly. Anyone else, he would have let the Toho thing slide.

Asami sighed on the other end of the phone. "How much did she buy?"

"Like three bags worth of shit!" Akihito remembered to be pissed. He was almost waylaid but the exasperation that laced his lover's words. "We agreed that I buy the food around here, you jerk! I get to earn my keep! You can't have a pregnant lady buy food anytime you decide you don't like my diet!"

That was just fighting dirty. There was no way he could get mad a pregnant lady. He would feel guilty instantly.

"Kirishima wants to know what she looked like," Asami pushed a button. "You're on speaker phone now."

"Huh?" he grunted. That was unexpected.

"Physically, Akihito. How did she look?" Asami's drawl was back, smug and infuriating. Akihito could see him lounging behind his desk as he smoked a Dunhill, smirking while Aki floundered on the other end of the line. "Kirishima wants to know."

"She said she was married, Asami! I'm not going to help you perv on some married lady!" he protested.

"I appreciate the sentiment, Takaba. It's good to know that you are protecting my wife's honor while I'm at work," Kirishima interrupted the lovers' banter. "But how was she? She knows she isn't supposed to do any strenuous lifting."

"Your wife?" Akihito repeated. No way…Saho was way too hot for Glasses! Maybe Suoh, the hulking behemoth he was.

"Yes, kitten. Saho is married to Kirishima," Asami said. "She's the one who bought you all those new clothes," he trailed off meaningfully.

"Oh shit," Aki swore. He had come home last month to find that most of his old clothes had been thrown away. In their place was racks of designer clothes, fashionably weathered and faded to look like the ones he spent years wearing out. To complete his new wardrobe was a drawer of skimpy lingeries that were mesh and lace and silk. Asami had fucked him on every surface in the penthouse because of that damn drawer. To think that the sweet, smiling Saho had caused his ass to nearly split in two!

"So you do remember." Damn, he sounded so sexy when he was smug. Akihito's cock stiffened a little bit just from that drawl. "You should have thanked her for your wardrobe makeover."

"Shud–dup," Akihito tried to growl but it came out more of a whimper. Come on, Takaba. Think calm, serene thoughts. Asami was trying to get him riled up. That meant that he was horny, and Akihito's ass was going to pay the price. "She looked fine…"

"Kirishima left the room to call her," Asami informed him. "So we are free to keep talking about how sexy your ass looks in that lacy blue thong that you like to wear."

"I hate that thong and you know it!" His face was crimson again. He was at full mast now, and Asami knew it. It was seconds until the yakuza decide to skip the rest of his work in favor of coming home to a naked Akihito, waiting for him in bed. They both were getting horny. Thinking quick, Akihito knew his only chance at being able to get into the bath before Asami came home was to diffuse the building sexual tension. "Wh…why did you call me?"

The other end was silent. For a moment, Akihito thought that the line had disconnected for he did not even hear Asami breathing. Then he heard the evilest chuckle he could ever imagine, and it made his skin crawl. "I heard the most interesting confession, today."

His stomach dropped to his knees. Fuck, no! "Wait! No! I didn't mean it!"

"Fufufu, kitten. I didn't know you considered us married. Such a good little pet, you've finally admitted who you belong to." He could hear the triumphant smirk through the phone.

"I don't belong to anyone, you asshole!" he spat with as much venom as he could muster. Which was not very much.

"Hiss all you want to, my kawaii Akihito. I'm on my way home now, and I intend to show you that you do belong to me." Asami's voice was full of heady promise, and Akihito's body warmed. He couldn't wait.

But that did not mean that he would give his lover the satisfaction of surrendering so quickly. "You wish, you pervert! I'm eating dinner, and I'm going to bed! My ass is off limits tonight!"

Asami must have heard how weak his conviction was. "I don't believe you for a moment. I'll see you in a few minutes, kitten."

He disconnected the call.

Akihito stood in the kitchen, pondering his next move. Asami would expect a fight from him. Aki loved to struggle, and Asami loved to give chase. They fit together perfectly, like puzzle pieces. But after his startling admission, the blonde did not feel like running. In fact, he wanted to surprise Asami even more, to take charge of the situation and make him lose his rigid self control.

Oh yeah. He did not even try to stop the diabolical grin that erupted on his face. He must have looked like the Grinch planning on how to steal Christmas as he wrung his hands together. He had the perfect idea: sexy ambush.

A/N:

I own nothing!

This is my first Viewfinder fan fiction. I recently found the community, and now I'm hooked. Reviews, constructive criticism, anything is helpful! I just want to do our boys justice. The ambush will follow in the second chapter.

The is un-beta'd, mostly because I don't have one and I hate rereading everything I've already written. I'm kinda lazy.