Author's Note:
Hello!
Thanks for continuing to follow along with this story. I also wanted to say thank you for the comments left here as well. I don't know if I speak for other authors here when I say this, but I definitely do appreciate them. I dabble in fanfiction partly because I find it enjoyable, but also because I like the immediate feedback I get from readers. It's so tempting just to focus on original fiction that can be sent off to a publisher, so said immediate feedback from readers themselves make playing around in fanfiction a nice, fulfilling form of payment. So again, a heartfelt thank you! :)
Also, just reiterate the previous warning: there will continue to be a bit of time-jumping in this and upcoming chapters, so I apologize in advance if it is a bit confusing. But it'll start to come together in the later chapters! Promise!
Other than that, please enjoy!
Cheers,
Gwinne
(December 2012)
(***)
Ricochet
Chapter 2
(***)
Present ...
He still had it! After five months of captivity - voluntary and otherwise - he could still lose a tail as neatly as the next secret spy. In fact, slipping his guards had felt almost like riding a bike - a dormant skill he never lost. It was so easy to just fall back into old habits. It was familiar, comforting, safe ... and such a far cry from the gaping hole in his memory, that intrusive abyss he tried to ignore.
Takaba had managed to elude Asami's lackeys after the photo shoot earlier that day, and surprisingly, he continued to remain free of their dogged shadows still. He had even managed to grab a dinner of noodles and gossip with Kou and Takato at their favorite dive, minus his bodyguards' ever-looming presence. His friends were still in the dark about where he'd disappeared to all those months ago. They believed he'd gotten into an accident on assignment somewhere, and Takaba was content to leave it that way. His life had gotten complicated enough as it was. He didn't need to drag his friends into it too.
Rolling his shoulders to loosen the tension in his muscles, he looked around at the bustling Tokyo streets and grinned. Freedom … it tasted so damn sweet! And now, now that the city's many night revelers had finally come out to play, he just couldn't make himself part with it so soon. The blaring horns, the flashing lights, the hustle of the everyday … he had taken it all for granted so often. Breathing in another lungful of the blessedly polluted air, he readjusted the strap of his camera bag and quickened his pace. He cast a quick glance at his surroundings, got his bearings, and rounded the next corner toward one of his favorite camera shops. He knew it was closed by now. Still, he could easily window shop. Never mind that he didn't have any money to buy anything, but the very thought of being cooped up in Asami's penthouse held no appeal to him whatsoever.
It was like trading in one prison for another. Takaba didn't know where that thought came from, and he quickly brushed it away. He didn't want to dwell on whatever had happened to him, and he made a conscious effort to do so when that dark, depressing void threatened the edges of his memories.
Instead, he turned his focus to the completely drool-worthy display of DSLR cameras that greeted him when he stopped in front of his destination shop. His eyes darted like those of an over-excited child's from the newest models to the different lenses. He knew he wouldn't be able to afford any of these any time soon, but he figured that a man ought to have goals - the deep pockets of crime lord lovers aside.
The sense of uneasiness crept up on him from nowhere. An uncomfortable fluttering settled in his stomach and the hair on the back of his neck stood on end. He'd been in enough rough situations to know when to trust his instincts, and this was one of them. He knew he was being watched without turning around.
He gripped the cross-body strap of his bag, muscles ready to make a run for it if he needed. But he waited patiently for a group of students to walk past him, and quickly pivoted around to move along with the small crowd. He stayed with the group for a block, and when the opportunity came to slip around a corner, he took it, hoping he had lost whoever had been following him.
He moved swiftly down a quiet side street, his heart thudding in his ears even as he forced his stride to be measured and casual. He paused briefly at the next crosswalk, and let out a silent breath of relief when he didn't hear or see anyone behind him.
He'd lost the stalker.
Posture relaxing, he turned and started to cross the street … and swore vehemently when a sleek black town car pulled up right in front of him.
"Fucking idiot!" he yelled as he banged on the roof of the vehicle. "You almost killed me, asshole!"
The limo-tinted driver's side window slid down with a mechanical whir, revealing a suited man who gave Takaba a pointed look.
"Takaba Akihito?"
The photographer straightened. The driver seemed vaguely familiar. "Yes?" he said slowly.
"Please get in. The boss sent me to pick you up."
"The boss?" Takaba threw the man a skeptical look.
"Asami."
He recognized the driver now. He'd seen the man in passing when he'd spied in on one of Asami's many 'business' dealings. He was one of Asami's henchmen.
"Why? I've got things to do. I'll head back when I'm ready." He asserted his stubborn stance reflexively, as if the driver was a surrogate for Asami himself.
"Don't make this difficult. I've been sent to retrieve you and I'm just following orders."
Takaba crossed his arms, daring the man to challenge him. "Well, I don't. Follow orders, I mean." And then, something occurred to him. "Where's Suoh? Or Kirishima? Why did he send you?"
Dark eyes bore into him with no-nonsense intensity. "There was an incident tonight. They're busy so I was sent."
"Incident? What kind of incident? Did their 'meeting' start two minutes late and Kirishima declare it a national emergency?"
Not a single muscle twitched on the driver's face at Takaba's attempt at levity. "No. But Asami was shot. I suggest you do what I say so we can get back to the penthouse right now. You're too exposed out here."
Almost instantly, Takaba's attitude changed. Without another word, he hopped into the passenger's seat and pulled out his phone.
Shot? Asami? No one in their right mind - with the exception of slightly misguided Triad leaders with father and brother issues - shot at Asami.
Panic started to rise in his chest, but he managed to rein it in as he dialed Asami's number.
No answer.
He hung up and tried again with the same result. Next, he gave Kirishima's mobile a call, and got directed straight to voicemail. Frustrated, he turned to the driver. "How bad?"
The man didn't answer immediately as he negotiated a turn. "I don't know," he finally replied.
Takaba waited for more but all of Asami's henchmen obviously subscribed to the same 'less talk equals more intimidating' school of thought. "What happened?" he prodded.
The man remained silent for a moment, likely debating what - or if - he should reveal. Then, after catching a glance of Takaba's threatening glare, he spoke. "It was a double-cross. The other parties got tipped off with something and the boss ended up in the middle of an ambush."
Takaba bit his lower lip, his mind trying to recall the details he'd gleaned from his eavesdropping sessions on Asami's dealings. He knew there was a meeting tonight to delineate the boundaries of territory between the criminal powers. He'd managed to overhear that much. Although Asami owned most of the city, that didn't stop over-ambitious gangs from trying to test out how far their leashes extended. And based on the one-sided conversations he'd caught from Kirishima, the meeting tonight was supposed to have put Asami's biggest opponents in their place. What had happened?
The rest of the trip was spent in silence as Takaba mulled over his thoughts. They pulled into the parking garage in record time, even though it had felt like an eternity to the photographer. Once they stopped, he was out before the driver had a chance to speak. The elevator ride up was agonizingly slow, but he managed to keep his anxiousness at bay by focusing on what he would say to Asami for ruining his evening like this. All the scenarios that ran through his head involved his domineering lover glaring at him stoically, or impassively, or even indulgently as he gave the man a piece of his mind. He refused to entertain any thought of Asami being seriously injured ... or worse.
When the elevator finally arrived on the top floor, he dashed toward the penthouse and unlocked the door with fumbling fingers. He wasn't sure what he'd expected to find on the other side - the pandemonium he'd seen in medical dramas perhaps - but the calm scene that greeted him wasn't it. He stopped short. Kirishima had tucked himself in a corner, mutedly talking on his phone. Asami was standing in the living room, casually pulling on his shirt. And a stranger was bent over the coffee table, efficiently putting away gauze in his bag. A doctor, Takaba guessed as his eyes shifted over to glimpse briefly at the pristinely wrapped bandages around Asami's torso before it was covered up. If it wasn't for said doctor and the bloodied compresses on the floor, he would've thought this was just any other day.
"I'm home," he said belatedly, a little clueless now as to what he should say. So much for his pre-planned scenarios.
"Welcome back," Asami responded in his usual serious tone. He gave the physician a quick nod, effectively dismissing the man. Then, he turned to Takaba. "No trouble getting back?"
Still slightly stunned, the photographer shook his head. "N-no." Regaining some sense of himself, he added, "Though, you did interrupt my plans for the evening."
A familiar warning flashed through Asami's eyes, forcing Takaba to keep his insolence in check.
"What happened?" he decided to ask, his voice somber.
Asami moved toward him. "Later," he replied in a low tone and gave the younger man's shoulder a squeeze.
Ever since his return three months ago, Takaba had noticed that his usually emotionless lover had taken to touching him more. It wasn't obvious - a slight graze here, a random squeeze there - and he wasn't sure if even Asami realized it, but Takaba had picked up on it during his recovery but had refrained from commenting on it. In fact, he rather liked it.
Taking the cue from Asami, Takaba nodded and started toward the bedroom, deciding to leave his lover to handle his business with Kirishima. As he walked away, his gaze drifted over the doctor and the bloodied bandages littering the floor.
(***)
Seventeen weeks ago ...
The room came back into focus by varying degrees.
His head, like his vision, was fuzzy. Takaba blinked. And panic seized him.
Blood ... oh, God, there was so much blood!
Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck! What did he do? What was he supposed to do?
He pushed himself off the floor. Or tried to. His palm slipped and his right side fell back down onto the ground. He felt the dampness of the blood pool that had caused the slip soak into the fibers of his shirt.
He bit his lip to suppress a cry of dismay, only to have a pathetic whimper escape.
Fuck! He tried to rise again, and succeeded this time on unsteady legs. His eyes darted around the room. He felt them glazing over as hysteria threatened to claw through every cell within him.
Why? Why were there so many bodies? What was he doing here among them?
He backed up a few steps, and almost tripped over an outstretched arm. He looked down and met the glassy, vacant stare of one of the corpses. He waved his hands behind him, desperately searching for the wall. He couldn't stand without support right now.
A soft chuckle sounded from the other side of the room. Takaba's head whipped up and he looked, confused, at the man leaning oh-so-casually against the door frame. He knew this man.
Kitagawa.
"Takaba, Takaba, Takaba." Kitagawa shook his head in disapproval, condescension lacing his words. "This would've been so much easier if you'd cooperated with us. All these men, they're dead because of you."
Takaba opened his mouth to respond, but he couldn't string any coherent words together. He tried a few times, looking like a gaping fish. He gazed fixedly at the other man. Finally, he managed, "W-who are ... were they?"
Again, Kitagawa chuckled at his ignorance. He pushed himself off the door frame and cast a disdainful glance around the room. "People who've displeased me, or opposed me. Why do you think you're in here, Akihito?"
Takaba clenched his jaw, anger and disgust warring for dominance on his face. "Let me out of here," he ground out through his teeth.
A dark eyebrow rose in mock surprise. "You know I can't do that, my dear Akihito. You haven't been behaving, and I can't let that go unpunished. Asami may over-indulge your insolence, but I won't."
It took a moment before Takaba finally registered what the man was talking about. And the intent hit home when he saw Kitagawa step back and start to close the door.
"Y-you can't!" he shouted, pushing himself off the wall. "You fucking bastard! You can't lock me in here with all these bodies!" He started to shake, fear and panic wreaking havoc on his coordination. He stumbled frantically toward the exit, clumsily tripping over the limbs and torsos of the dead men as he did so. The door never seemed so far away.
Kitagawa paused. "Watch me." A gleam that bordered on maniacal entered the man's eyes. "Think of this as a character-building experience. You'll need this under your belt if you go back to Asami after this."
And with that, the door closed. The finality of the lock clicking had never sounded so damning.
Takaba stared at the thing, shocked. Then, he scrambled over, heedless of the bodies and blood he tripped and slipped on. He knew it was useless, knew that the door wouldn't be opened, but deep down, he harbored hope … hope that perhaps Kitagawa had a glimmer of mercy, or that one of his men would take pity on him, or even that Asami might find him. And so, he banged on the door. He banged and banged and banged until his knuckles were raw and until his voice went hoarse. And even then, in view of the unseeing eyes of the dead, he continued to bang.
(***)
Present ...
Takaba stepped out of the bathroom smelling of soap and shampoo, and feeling completely refreshed. He toweled his hair dry as he took a peek into the bedroom, and not finding Asami there, he padded into the living room.
He had behaved himself. After seeing Asami alive and well, he'd made himself scarce and let the man go about his business with Kirishima. Now that they were alone, however, he had every intention of grilling his lover about the events earlier that evening. But all his well-laid plans evaporated like the steam of his recent bath when he saw Asami.
The man sat shifting through a pile of papers on the coffee table, a recently poured drink placed just a short reach away. His attention was entirely focused on the papers, and errant strands of hair fell carelessly across his forehead, simply begging for Takaba to brush them back. The photographer's fingers twitched at the urge. He took in the dark magnetism of his lover, all coiled grace and sexual charm. He caught a flash of the white bandages between the gaps of Asami's partly buttoned shirt, and he was reminded of how close the man had come to death today.
For a fleeting moment, he imagined what his life would be like without Asami, without the constant threat of violence, without having to look over his shoulder at every shadow, ... without the unwanted nights of intense passion. And the thought, for some odd reason, scared the shit out of him.
Dropping his towel, he strode purposefully across the floor and forced himself between Asami and his papers. Without a sound, he straddled the older man's knees and bent down to claim a searing kiss.
It only took a millisecond for Asami to realize Takaba's intentions. He allowed the photographer to initiate and dictate the event, but after a brief moment, he took over, thrusting his tongue aggressively into his partner's mouth and stroking the interior with an expertise that caused Takaba's whole being to spasm.
The younger man laced his fingers through Asami's hair, pulling him closer and never wanting to let go. He savored the feel of the smooth strands in his hands and the intoxicating taste of scotch and Asami in his mouth. An unconscious moan sounded from his throat as a wave of delicious lightheadedness washed over him.
Asami let out a predatory growl, and before Takaba knew it, his whole world spun and he found himself laying on the couch looking up at his lover. An unreadable gleam reflected off the older man's eyes, and Takaba's arousal worsened at the intent they promised. He caught Asami's gaze and held it. There were no words between them. They didn't need words. Not now. Not when their breaths came heavy and their bodies pulsed with a need that only the other could fulfill.
Asami bent down and reclaimed his mouth, plundering and ravaging with an aggression that walked a fine line between pleasure and pain. Takaba wrapped his arms around Asami's neck, trying to soak in as much as he could. Eventually, he had to tilt his head back to get air, leaving Asami to trail his scalding lips along the exposed column of his throat.
God, the man was not human, Takaba thought. Asami didn't even pause to breathe. He worked tirelessly down to his neck, across his chest, and nipped teasingly at the hardened nipples through the fabric of his t-shirt.
Takaba writhed as shivers seized his body. Skilled fingers had worked down the elastic band of his boxers, and now expertly stroked him from hilt to tip. His breathing hitched and his spine arched off the sofa. The sadistic bastard did this so well, knew his body so thoroughly that Takaba bet his lover could bring him to climax without even breaking a sweat.
And he did. The cadence of Asami's stroking quickened into a blinding crescendo, and pushed Takaba beyond his breaking point. His vision blanked, and for one fleeting second, he existed in a universe of unending bliss where all pain, all worries, and all despair were as insubstantial as a wisp of smoke. But all that ended so quickly. Relief flooded his body as the tension slowly ebbed away, and he was suddenly thrust back into reality, feeling completely drained.
Reaching down, he pulled Asami up and gave him a quick kiss. "I'm all sticky now," he accused in a low tone. "And I just took a bath, you bastard."
Asami's expression remained impassive, but that was counteracted by his slightly swollen lips and the wicked light in his eyes. "I haven't. And it's my turn."
Takaba caught the double meaning immediately, and he inwardly relished the invitation. Outwardly, however, he played innocent. "Well, go then. I left some hot water for you."
Asami threw him a dangerous glare, and before Takaba could stop it, he was pulled off the couch and dragged ruthlessly into the bathroom.
(***)
Takaba awoke with a start. He didn't know what had jolted him from his sleep, but his heart was racing and his breathing was rapid. The images of the nightmare he'd just had danced on the edges of his consciousness, fading away like the distant memories of another life. For the last three months, it had been like this, and still, he could not figure out what his dreams were about.
He looked over at Asami's sleeping form. After a bout - or rather, three bouts - of furious sex, they'd fallen exhausted into bed. In his naïveté, Takaba had somehow thought the tiredness would keep the nightmares - whatever they were - away. He'd been wrong.
Shifting closer to Asami, he took comfort from his lover's presence and warmth. He hadn't told Asami about his dreams. He didn't want to. He was a grown man, and grown men did not let something as childish as a bad nightmare affect them. And so, he tried to fall back to sleep, his eyes lingering on his recently healed wrist and his ears echoing with the distant cries of pain from someplace best forgotten.
(***)
Twelve weeks ago ...
Takaba struggled to maintain his balance as the next punch sent him reeling. His teeth cut the inside of his cheek and he spent a few seconds spitting out a mixture of blood and saliva that tainted his mouth. He glared at his assailant through hooded eyes.
"Is that the best you can do, Kitagawa?"
A self-deprecating smirk was his immediate response. "Just getting started, Takaba."
Even seeing the next hit coming, it still stung like a bitch. Kitagawa's knuckles connected soundly with his right eye, whiting out his surroundings and temporarily blinding him. Sharp pokers of pain peppered his skull and he knew without a doubt that the last punch had done considerable damage.
Takaba smiled lopsidedly, his expression taunting. "You're enjoying this, aren't you?"
Kitagawa's next upper cut and bone-crushing roundhouse kick sent him to the ground. "Stupid question."
"Asami'll be here soon," he spat out through the discomfort and hugged his abused ribs. "Do your worst."
"My pleasure," the standing man growled. A series of kicks followed, sending Takaba into a world of indescribable, debilitating agony. His mind wandered away, scurrying from the reality of the moment in one last ditch effort for self-preservation. He saw himself from afar, a small pathetic thing rolling around as Kitagawa doled out attack after unrelenting attack. And from a distance, through the flurry of strikes, he watched Kitagawa stamp down hard on his wrist. The crack that resulted was deafening, but it was nothing compared to the spine-tingling scream that followed. It filled every crevice in the room, and shattered all belief that such a cry couldn't be caused by man, and man alone.
End Chapter 2
