A/N: Wow, it has been so long since I've written a new fanfiction chapter. Here's hoping I'm still okay at it. When this story was first conceived and plotted seven years ago, I had it originally taking place on a cruise ship. But alas, the whole Hong Kong arc has happened since then and I didn't want to retread old territory, so I've re-plotted the whole story. Hope you enjoy! Happy reading!
- G.
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Trompe L'Oeil
Chapter 1
(***)
Tokyo, Japan
May 25, 20XX
"Will this be in tomorrow's edition?"
Takaba Akihito clenched his jaw and nodded. The middle aged woman asking likely wasn't aware that with his DSLR camera and the wonders of modern technology, her picture could be posted on his paper's online edition within minutes. But he said nothing, opting to let her believe that the print medium was still the best way to be seen. The accommodating smile he gave her strained his facial muscles as he quickly snapped a picture of the sequin-gowned socialite. The smile on her meticulously lined lips was probably not as forced as his, but she had undoubtedly been practicing at these events for all of her forty-ish pampered years.
The young photographer said a polite thank-you and walked away. He sighed inwardly, unconsciously pulling at his ill-fitting clothes. He could easily be in his regular get-up instead of this formal attire. Instead, his collar was too tight, his jacket was too restricting, and his borrowed shoes were pinching. All in all, he felt like a miserable, overdressed penguin on the verge of a homicidal rampage.
For what seemed like the hundredth time that evening, he wondered how he had gotten pulled into such a fate.
His conscience.
Well, his conscience, and the sneaky maneuverings of a guilt-tripping editor to be exact.
The previous day, his editor had called him into the office with a desperate look on his face. The air of defeat that had surrounded the older man had almost caused a wave of concern to wash through Takaba. Almost, that was, until said man asked him to cover a sick colleague who was working a fancy affair at some posh hotel. The abrupt refusal had left Takaba's mouth before he had had a chance to censor it. He was a photojournalist, not a fluffly society photographer! He ferreted out corruption and exposed criminals; he did not mingle with wealthy ladies and gentlemen.
That was until his manipulative beast of an editor looked at him with such a pleading expression that Takaba had felt like an ogre for refusing.
"Please, Takaba, I need you to do this. The paper needs you. Think of all the slack I've given you all these months, letting you chase your fanciful conspiracies and all that. This is but one small thing you can do to repay me..."
And just like that, he had been roped in, defeated by his own guilt and a silly sense of obligation.
Takaba mentally cursed his bad luck and his soft-heartedness. If only he could be as cold and callous as that bastard he called a lover. No, he reined his thoughts in at that point. He shouldn't wish for that. As undeniably alluring as Asami was, Takaba drew the line at emulating the man. The conceit and ego on him was what made him so despicable. And Takaba never wanted to be that.
But the sparkling jewels and flashing cufflinks that passed by him in a dizzying whirl were close to making him want to quit outright. Still, images of his editor's face and the threat of losing the freedom he already had in his job reminded Takaba that he couldn't leave. He ground his teeth together with resigned determination and skirted his way to the full service bar at the other end of the room.
He may have been trapped here in this glitzy prison, but that certainly didn't mean he couldn't take advantage of its perks. As he sidled up to the polished counter, he leaned his upper torso heavily against the edge. He tried to hide his suffering behind a façade of boredom while he waited for the bartender to finish with another order.
His efforts seemed to have been in vain though, for when the man behind the bar turned to serve him, he received a sympathetic look. "What can I get you, sir?"
For a fleeting moment, Takaba considered ordering something hard and strong - he deserved as much for attending this forsaken event - but the fact that he was still on the job held his compulsion in check. Besides, according to his friends, he made a very bad - or a very amusing, depending on how one looked at it - drunk. Not very professional at all.
"Just water," Takaba finally said as he straightened somewhat and rested his camera on the bar.
"Right away." The bartender efficiently filled a glass, his movements quick and sure.
At least one of them hadn't minded working tonight, the photographer mused. Still, he would've liked to know the other man's secret for looking so at ease in his uniform.
Once his drink had been placed before him, Takaba gave the bartender a grateful nod, and took a fortifying gulp. The startling chill of the water trickled into the pit of his stomach and surprisingly, he felt somewhat refreshed by it. Taking one more cleansing breath, he put his glass down, picked up his camera, and turned to face the decadence of the room.
From the stylized Doric columns that guarded the entrance to the gold gilt mirrors that lined the opposite side of the room, over two hundred people milled about and chatted, all in an effort to see and be seen. That, combined with the elaborate chandelier and five-piece orchestra playing softly from the side dais, made it hard to believe that this was in fact one big business affair.
Yes, Takaba had managed to do a little homework before arriving here tonight. The Synergy Corporation was the commercial brainchild of an international collaboration of investors. With the disastrous stop to nuclear energy generation in Japan, it hadn't taken long before companies peddling alternative energy sources came courting. Granted, the profit to be made was lucrative, and any CEO would be a fool for not seizing such a venture.
And did SynCorp ever know how to woo a country! In Takaba's experience, whenever such financial endeavors were involved, fancy affairs like this typically followed. Even he had to concede that it was an impressive maneuver.
'Which is why you should enjoy every minute,' an overly optimistic voice pointed out inside his head. How often would he even get admittance into such a lavish hotel, let alone this type of party? He brought his camera up to eye level and began to search for a subject through his viewfinder.
Click.
It was true. When in his life would he ever do this again?
Click.
The enticing twinkle of jewels, the sensual sashay of silk, the delicate clinking of crystal ... these all belonged to a glittering world that was as attainable to him as ... well, he might as well have asked for the moon.
Fake smiles, veiled motives, deceptive flattery - these weren't his people. This wasn't even his universe. This was ...
Cli-
His.
Takaba lowered his lens, a strange heat crawling like a meandering insect down the length of his spine. His grip tightened on the metal and plastic of his camera, and his breath caught in his throat. He felt a sudden rush of blood as it flooded his every fiber with liquid heat. He leaned back against the bar again for support.
The world could have easily reached Judgment Day and he would still remain clueless as to how just the very sight of Asami Ryuichi caused his body to react the way it did. Not that he'd ever let the man know that. The arrogant beast had enough sexual mystique to put Casanova to shame, and he knew it. Takaba didn't need to confirm that fact with him, and stroke his ego even more.
Asami stood near the other end of the room, the tailored fit of his haut couture suit and the confident posture of his imposing figure leaving no doubt that he was someone who belonged here. He stood taller than those around him, the slight downward angle of his head as he listened to the surrounding conversation in no way subverting his air of authority. But despite the perceived attentiveness to his companions, Takaba knew Asami's attentions were focused elsewhere. That intense gaze was discreetly fixed on him.
The photographer forced himself to swallow, all of a sudden wishing he had ordered something more fortifying from the bar when he'd had the chance. He stared back, of course. He stared back because that was all he was capable of doing. Asami's dark eyes had him pinned on the spot - piercing, predatory, dangerous - and Takaba had never felt more like a trapped specimen being analyzed ... and admired.
He felt his cheeks flush. Too much time had passed since he'd felt like this. They had been two ships passing each other in the dark the last three weeks, their erratic schedules having caused them to live like two strangers sharing a condo. And as loathed as Takaba was to admit it, he was secretly missing his domineering lover. He missed this feeling, this feeling of been trapped and powerless, and at the same time, of acting without inhibitions and wielding limitless power. All that bastard needed was to place those intoxicating whiskey eyes on him, and he remembered the sweat-soaked skin and hitched breaths of their last volatile encounter.
His camera creaked, the stress of his clenching fingers causing the polymer to protest. It wasn't much of a sound, but that and the sudden tightness of his pants were enough to snap him back to reality. The drone of chattering voices and the buzz of the orchestra filtered through his haze, reminding him that nearly a whole ballroom stood between himself and that man. That was something he should have been grateful for - especially since he was working - and yet, strangely enough, he felt a small seed of disappointment flower in his chest.
By sheer force of will, he focused his mind back on the task at hand and pulled his attention away from Asami. Slowly, he raised his camera and centered his shot.
Click.
The sound cemented the purpose of his presence back to the here and now. He was there to take pictures of glamorous socialites tonight, not criminal bastards with lurid intent in their eyes. He refused to be sidetracked. So thinking, Takaba pushed off from the bar, his back straightening as he infused himself with a little arrogance of his own. It wasn't until he was taking a picture of the orchestra that he realized he was still shaking from his silent encounter with Asami.
(***)
Having seen the things he'd seen during the course of his life, there were not many things that could surprise him. Therefore, when the tell-tale glare of a camera lens had caught his attention, he hadn't been surprised to find Takaba's familiar face behind it. Asami Ryuichi brought the champagne flute in his hand up for a sip, the bubbly drink a marked contrast to his preferred beverages. But it was an affected gesture, one that hid the slight upward tilt of a corner of his lips as he watched his errant young pet take one more picture before dismissing him like an insignificant speck of dust.
Asami relished the anticipation of catching the boy after his impertinent action just now. Takaba would pay for that, he promised himself silently as he turned his attention back to his companions.
"It's the perfect situation, isn't it?" came Kinoshita's excited voice. "And definitely worth your investment, don't you think, Asami-san?"
Kinoshita Eiichi was not a person with whom he would typically do business. For one, the man was legitimate. From the top of his balding head to the tips of his patent leather shoes, the older businessman with the wire-framed glasses and expressive face was as honest as they came. But the man had approached him thinking he was just as ethical in his dealings, and had pitched the investment opportunity quite convincingly. If Kinoshita only knew the truth about him, about some of the other 'ventures' he'd undertaken, Asami was fairly certain that what was left of the aging man's hair would turn white from shock.
In the end though, he had agreed, not only because it lent him an air of legitimacy, but also because a few not-so-legitimate players had entered the game. Whoever controlled the energy crisis right now had the chance of controlling the entire country, and who was he to deny himself a grab at some extra power. Besides, he had never been one to turn away from a little profitable fun.
"Yes, of course." His obligatory reply was spoken in a bland tone, and truth be told, he was not one to suffer such boredom lightly ... especially when he had something - or rather, someone - to alleviate it so near at hand.
His mind drifted to the quick camera flash that appeared beside the orchestra. A subtle glint of private amusement entered his eyes.
Alleviate indeed.
(***)
"Fucking Asami," Takaba muttered under his breath as he made his way into the hotel's business center. As if working in that crowded ballroom wasn't enough, having the presence of his crime lord lover around as he did his job was pushing his hypersensitive nerves into overdrive. The man probably did it on purpose, causing him to get all hot under his too-tight collar - not to mention very aroused - just because he could. Or perhaps it was this lengthy stretch of abstinence. Several weeks had passed since he'd gotten properly laid, and thanks to Asami, Takaba was beginning to realize he was actually quite a sexual creature.
"Again, all his fault," the photographer accused as he set down his camera case and started browsing through the photos on his memory card. An evil little grin flitted across his lips as he found the few he'd snapped of the despicable man. These, he wanted to keep. Asami never liked having his picture taken, and knowing the bastard the way Takaba did, he'd bet next month's wages that those images would suddenly 'disappear' before the night was out.
Reaching into his camera bag, he pulled out his card reader and his cell phone. Tethering one to the other, he made short work of uploading Asami's pictures to his private online storage site.
'Let's see him get them now,' Takaba thought smugly.
Feeling triumphant - however trivial and one-sided the battle had been - he quickly packed away his equipment, and moved to open the door.
"No, I refuse to do that! What you're asking me to do is illegal!"
Takaba paused, the knob still in his hand and the door only slightly ajar. The heated words had been spoken not too far outside the entrance of the room, close enough that he could hear everything without even straining.
"It's not illegal if we don't get caught."
The photographer was intrigued. Perhaps tonight wouldn't be such a waste after all. Very slowly, he eased the door closed, leaving enough of a crack to still make out the rest of the argument.
"But what you're asking, I can't do. The shares, the investors ... I won't be part of it! I'm not that kind of person."
Insider trading? Takaba's heart began to beat at a higher cadence. Talk about being in the right place at the right time! He had to resist licking his lips at the veritable scandal that had been practically handed to him.
"Not that kind of person? Really, Kinoshita? You think I don't know that you have someone waiting for you in your hotel room tonight who is not your wife? Don't give me your high and mighty routine when I know you're anything but!"
There was such a long silence after that statement that Takaba thought the men had left.
And then, "Go to hell, Mori."
A slow, dry chuckle answered the menace-laden comment. "I gladly accept the invitation," Mori retorted with dark humor. "After all, you'll need some company, won't you? You, a senior VP, consorting with strangers in your hotel room. Sure doesn't look good right before SynCorp goes public, does it?"
"I don't take kindly to blackmail," came Kinoshita's gruff reply.
"Too late for that now, isn't it?"
Takaba could almost see the sneer that accompanied that rhetorical question. He waited for more, his fingers unconsciously tapping on his camera, eager for action. But nothing was forthcoming. With great care, he opened the door a few inches and peered out.
Nothing. The space outside was deserted.
Damn!
Equipment in hand, Takaba moved swiftly. He headed straight for the front desk, and gave the girl behind the counter a sob story about a ruthless boss and missing the chance to take a picture of SynCorp's VP for his paper. With some award-winning acting and a dash of his own personal charm, he managed to get Kinoshita's room number from the girl. Throwing her a disarming smile, he thanked her and headed for the elevators. He noticed - with healthy dose of male pride - that her expression softened at his gesture, but he tempered down his conquest by focusing on his sudden news story.
The elevator took an eternity to get to the ground floor. When the blessed ding finally sounded, Takaba almost jumped for joy. But as he made his way through the opening doors, he felt himself being shoved in from behind.
Surprised, he turned to unleash some biting words at the offender, and stopped short. "Ki-Kirishima..."
Asami's assistant nodded a quick greeting as the elevator doors slid closed. "Takaba," he said in his low, business-like tone. "Your presence has been requested."
"Requested, huh?" Too late, the photographer realized that Kirishima had already pressed the floor number that they were to get off on. And unfortunately, it was four floors lower than where he wanted to go.
He cursed Asami again. Why was the man never around when he was needed, but always interfered when he wasn't? Sometimes, having the head of a criminal syndicate for a lover was highly overrated.
"Would it serve any purpose if I put up my token act of resistance, Kirishima?" Takaba sighed, slowly coming to terms with his exposé slipping away and hating Asami all the more for it.
"I would prefer if you didn't," came Kirishima's matter-of-fact reply. "It would make my job much easier tonight if I didn't have to chase after you." The overhead fluorescent lights reflected off his glasses as he turned his head to look at the floor numbers changing on the display panel. "I just had this suit dry-cleaned."
The photographer suppressed a smile at the assistant's deadpan remark. Out of deference for the man, Takaba didn't make any more protests or try to run away. But his magnanimous attitude quickly evaporated when he found himself being ushered down a corridor.
"Seriously, Kirishima? Does he really need to -"
The click of the key card on the lock shut him up, an ominous sound that Takaba knew didn't bode well for him. With a light push from the older man, he stumbled a few steps into the room. He felt the door close behind him, and he paused for a few seconds as his eyes accustomed themselves to the dimly lit space. When he could finally decipher the outlines of the furniture, his gaze easily sought out the dark figure sitting casually in an armchair on the far side of the suite.
Asami, all coiled grace and sinister intentions.
Takaba hated the way his traitorous body automatically responded to the other man very presence ... especially when he needed to be somewhere else. Maybe he could convince the bastard to let him go this one time. Just this once …
And then, Asami spoke, that silky rumble gliding along his skin and causing the hairs on his arms to stand on end. "Good evening, Takaba."
Shit.
End Chapter 1