Hello all,

Thank you for your interest and patience - please enjoy. I'm sorry in advance for what I've done to Fei Long x

Warnings: Swearing, Yaoi, murdery stuff.

- § -

Three AM.

Kouyama hisses as he stubs his toe for the umpteenth time, the halls too dark and too cluttered with various artefacts for his journey through the mansion to be a smooth one. It takes a good twenty minutes to reach the Takaba boys wing and a further ten to get to the specific room housing him.

Chloroform and rag in the pocket of his robe, he tip toes to the door and checks the handle - almost whooping out loud when he feels it turn smoothly, the door opening silently. This is too easy! He almost pities the poor boy quietly sleeping in the bed like an angel, bright hair mussed and lithe limbs sprawled. Well, hopefully he's having a good dream at least. The last he'll ever have…

He stifles a hearty laugh, shaking his head and thanking his long time friend Asami, for making this all possible as he loads up the rag with the distinctive smelling solution, the chloroform bottle fastened and getting placed back in his dressing-gown pocket again immediately after. Kouyama tiptoes toward the bed. His arm reaches out, toward that soft, beautiful face - not that he's fooled for a second - and he's so close, almost there when there's a small shuffle behind him.

Oh!

Oh, phew…it's only Asami's man, Kirishima, adjusting his glasses.

Kouyama sighs upon realising who it is. Asami must have, of course - sent this guy to help finish the kid off. He has been complaining to Asami for months about his poor back, after all.

He gives a short nod to the glorified Butler and turns back around when a soft, yet stern whisper stops him.

"Kouyama-san, I'll have to ask you to stop what you're doing and step aside, if you'd be so kind."

Eh?

Kouyama processes the information and visibly bristles, turning back around to see if the guys is actually serious. Weirdly, it seems like he is.

"Oh?" He whispers back, drawing up to his full height of five foot four and wearing his dressing gown and pyjamas, surprisingly, some how, not intimidating the suited, five foot ten Kirishima.

"And why would that be?"

Kirishima allows a small bow before continuing to explain, a courtesy he must show all of Asami-sama's guests, even the uh, less deserving ones.

"Asami-sama has deemed that Takaba-san is not to be harmed. Please return to your room immediately."

He gestures toward the door in the dark room, face passive and still polite. Waiting. Kouyama just stares for some time, a vein visibly throbbing on the side of the his fat forehead and this time he turns completely around to face the man, this rude, bespectacled upstart who's obviously having thoughts above his station! The politician wags a hairy finger in Kirishima's general direction, moonlight making the mans face seem a little foreboding though, sinister - but it only rattles Kouyama more - the man puffing up his chest and raising his voice slightly, making Akihito grumble in his sleep and slap a fluffy pillow over his head, shivering as the soft white sheets slip down his naked body a little more.

"Look here, you! - Asami and me, we had an agreement! -"

A flash of light as Kirishima's head turns sharply, the frame of his glasses catching the gloomy blue hue of the moonlight as it filters in through the large windows.

"Oh?" "Y-yes-!" Kouyama challenges, swallowing thickly as the observes the faint slither of light falling upon the taller mans stern features. He starts to question his resolve - but only for a moment. "Yes, we decided to get rid of, of this boy, we had it all figured out y'see…"

There's a pause as Kouyama holds his his breath - and Kirishima nods again, purely a social convention because well, facts are facts - and orders are orders. He does though, try to reason with the man one more time.

"Well, Kouyama-san. I'm afraid that even if that was the case, Asami-sama has changed his mind, as is his right. So, I ask you kindly, please return to your room immediately. I won't ask again."

There's another pause, Kouyama's chest puffing up like a pigeon in mating season as he takes a step away from the bed where Akihito still lay sleeping. The chloroform soaked rag still clutched in his sweaty hand. He falters under the hard, silent stare, a creeping sense of foreboding sending shivers down his spine - all the little hairs on his body standing to attention, some feeling of wrongness, danger, making him glance toward the door for escape.

His eyes dart back and forth, heart racing, hands sweating, he doesn't feel the cloth slip from his hand.

"….And…" He gulps. "And, if I don't?"

"…"

Kirishima merely smiles, still polite, still neutral as he adjusts his glasses slightly. Another small nod.

"Then, you will be removed."

Kouyama's breath quickens, pupils contracting - he feels ice cold as he sees those merciless eyes on him but there's something in this man's cool indifference, arrogance, that's really rubbing him the wrong way. But he has to moisten his mouth before he can speak again, the high timbre of his voice and slight tremor completely calling his bluff - his mind starts to insist he just throw something at the man and make a break for it.

"Well…." another gulp "….I'd, um….I'd like to see you, try."

Silence. Kirirshima's lip quirks.

"Very well."

- § -

" 'm coming-!"

Akihito rushes out of his suites' spacious bathroom, hastily pulling a large fluffy white towel around himself as he goes, the photographer having woken up much later than he had intended - but then again, this whole thing isn't off to the start he had intended either, after apparently getting wasted, leaving the dinner party early and waking up naked in the huge, luxury bed just moments ago but thankfully alone, because the worst thing is, he can barely remember anything from last night at all.

He reaches the door, opening it and clutching the towel to his still damp body as he comes face to face with a stony faced Kirishima, greeting the man with a small, surprised 'oh' as he wordlessly takes the crisply pressed pile of clothes that gets immediately passed to him.

"Um, what's-"

"There will be a clay pigeon shooting event this morning, please dress into the attire provided and join the other guests in the breakfast room in the East wing as soon as possible."

Akihito nods, looking down to the scratchy bundle of fabric in his arms and raising his chin to frown at the spectacled man a little - are his clothes that offensive that his host feels the need to dress him this whole weekend? Well fuck him! That posh, judgemental, snobby old - As if reading his mind, Kirishima smirks, adjusting his glasses to subtly cover it.

"Asami-sama has graciously provided all guests with attire for this mornings activity, to prevent any damages to guests own clothes - as we will be partaking in an outdoor activity and there was a light scattering of rain during the night. I would hope, that you won't make a fuss and offend your host."

The statement makes Akihito bristle slightly, the guy obviously assuming Akihito is some sort of spoilt brat who will make a scene over the smallest little thing, though to be fair the making a scene part is pretty much spot on as he probably would have, what with getting a free outfit pushed on him again like his own clothes aren't perfectly good-e-bloody-nough. But that - he supposes - is a fair point, there were rain drops clinging to the glass panes of his suites large windows this morning, so perhaps the grounds will be a little muddy after all. And he's always having to throw out his jeans and jackets because the grime never quite comes out from where he's been rolling around in the first trying to get the perfect scoop.

Ok, he'll go along with it - today. But this is the last time!

He nods, Kirishima seemingly satisfied with the response and handing him a tall pair of tall Wellington boots, letting the boy know to come down to the Dining room when ready. He turns and leaves down the corridor without waiting to be dismissed leaving Akihito to stare after him in silence. Wondering what's in store for him today. Last night had been in the least, weird. Akihito had woken up this morning feeling so relaxed, despite how drunk he had undoubtedly been and also, despite his foggy memories of those eyes, the champagne, soothing music and that groping hand at the table.

The photographer closes the door and heads to set the clothes and boots in the appropriate place to dress into in a moment, after finishing in the bathroom, from where he had been looking at a peculiar mark on his body. This mark had appeared over night, he supposes - because really, day to day Akihito can't really say that he spends that much time looking at his thighs, at the juncture between his hip and groin but the mark is such an angry red colour that it caught his eye, like lots of little capillaries had somehow just burst under the skin - oh, maybe he had knocked into something last night? Something that had hit him certainly too close for comfort, way too near his balls! Ouch.

But, now he puts the mysterious mark and the lack of recollection from last nights proceedings out of mind while he brushes his teeth, runs a quick hand through his almost dry hair and rushes to get changed into the tight fitting tweed suit provided for him and giving himself a quick once over in the mirror, supposing that he must look how he's supposed to and taking the new Wellington boots over to his bed to wrestle them onto his feet.

He takes a deep breath, taking the mini camera from it's place on the night stand - but noting how neatly he had coiled the cables and set it out it the night before even when he had been so obviously pissed as he threads it through todays outfit, and with that he's good to go.

But when Akihito arrives in the dining hall for breakfast, it seems that there's an undercurrent of tension throughout the guests at his arrival. Asami absent for now.

"…ugh, still here…"

" He should just go away…"

"…even doing here…..?"

"…such an eyesore…."

Akihito takes a seat at the head of the table, his place name in the same location as the night before, that much he remembers though now, the two places opposite him are empty, the two places that should be holding both Kouyama and his wife.

As the investigative journalist sits down the room seems to take notice and the energy transforms, the temperature seemingly dropping a few degrees as many eyes turn to him accusingly, suspiciously - whispers taking on an urgent, scandalised cadence until the doors open once more, hushing all in the spacious room.

"Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for your patience - Breakfast will be served now."

Kirishima bows as Asami strides past him into the room, looking suave, sharp and well rested with a small smile gracing his features, features that Akihito cant help but again feel he knows from somewhere. The man takes a seat next to Akihito as usual and gestures to his staff to immediately serve the food, platters and plates appearing as if from thin air and being set down on the table before the guests noiselessly, piping hot and fresh from the hotels Michelin standard kitchens.

Akihito's tummy rumbles as he takes in the sight, drawing the attention of the host - the other guests now cooing over the bountiful feast before them.

Asami leans on the table slightly, talking only to his favourite undercover photographer.

"Takaba, I trust you slept well - I hope the room is to your liking. It's our best, and most private, suite."

The photographer starts slightly at the peculiar phrasing as he spoons steaming scrambled eggs onto his plate, that molten voice stilling his movements and arresting his breathing for a moment. And is it hot in here, cold in here? Why does Akihito suddenly feel a shiver tingling it's way down his spine? As if he had been dreaming of that voice last night in all it's silky, seductive glory.

His eyes dart to Asami's own for a guilty moment, looking away before the elusive host has a chance to read Akihito's mutinous thoughts and he finds himself blushing, fumbling as he tongs some grilled meats onto his plate to avoid Asami's all-knowing eyes completely. What is it about this guy that makes him feel so out of sorts?

"Great thank you, and listen…." He says, darting a look to a mildly curious looking Asami, "sorry if I got, y'know, a little drunk last night - if I said anything weird at the party. I can't quite remember and uh, my friends well, they tell me I do the weirdest stuff-! So uh, yeah…sorry..."

The boy laughs, plucking up his cutlery and taking a generous bite of a juicy, salty piece of Gammon steak and guessing that apology would be enough to make amends for any dancing, singing, crying or stripping that may have possibly occurred last night. Unaware of how Asami is watching those cherry lips, those teeth tear into the pink meat, how a little dribble of fatty oil drips it's way down it and onto the boys chin. Begging to be lapped up.

He settles for reaching out, dragging a thumb painfully slowly over Akihito's lip, chin - catching the shiny oil and marvelling again the feel of that skin under his hand. The warm, thick liquid feeling almost, almost like blood under his thumb and he feels himself growing hard under the table.

"-wha-?"

Akihito jerks away after a moment of stunned silence, caught by the obscene, wild look in this mans eyes which makes his heart race, his blood pumping around his body and to his mortification - makes his belly throb too, jolt with a spike of unknown arousal, like nothing he's ever felt before.

He can't help but gasp when Asami withdraws his hand slowly, as cool as ever and licks the oil covered thumb and they stare at each other in silence, all sound once again escaping Akihito as the guests chat happily amongst themselves over their food, Asami's eyes boring right into his - the boy helpless to look anywhere but right back, getting sucked into the abyss once more.

He lets out a trembling breath, cutlery still held in shaky hands on either side of his plate - exhaling on a whimper -

"Asami-sama."

And the spell is broken, Kirishima appearing to Asami's left to announce that breakfast is over and the shooting party is about to begin on the East lawn. Akihito looks around, startled at the passage of time and at his own helpless reactions whilst in this mans presence and he can't help but drop his knife, fork and clutch the tweed of his trouser legs - trying to distance himself from the raging surge of adrenaline coursing through his system. He feels like he needs to leave, run - get the fuck out before something happens, something he feels that's inevitable. irreversible.

Asami and Kirishima have a hushed conversation beside Akihito, something about a phone call from the Prime minister though he's completely blind to it, only regaining his senses as the man rises and places his napkin on the table, slightly nodding to the guests.

"Ladies and gentlemen, if you'll excuse me some business has come to my attention that I must attend to. Kirishima will be escorting you to the grounds shortly."

And like that he's gone, leaving Akihito and many other guests to stare after him as he walks smoothly out of the room - most watching either those broad shoulders, that taught behind. Akihito just gaping at the back of the mans head as if trying to figure out the motives behind the past few minutes, what had happened at this very same table last night. He blindly rises from the table when Kirishima announces that it's time to go, though stopping short as the two empty places catch his eye again.

He hastily leaves the table, shoving past other guests to reach the glasses guy - desperate to find out where his target has gone.

"Hey -mr-!" It feels rude to shout 'glasses guy' so he settles for a silent, goofy smile as he approaches instead, accidentally tripping and knocking into the slightly taller long haired guy in front who immediately turns, outraged and glaring down at Akihito. He hears him mumble under his breath in some foreign language as he hastily apologises and finally turns to Kirishima.

"Hey um," he pauses, realising that it's actually none of his damn business what's happened to the old crook and his wife, so he just hopes this guy is in a good enough mood to tell him. "So, Kouyama and his wife um, it's a shame I haven't seen them this morning. Are they around?"

Kirishima doesn't miss a beat, nodding guests out the door as he answers Akihito succinctly, dismissively.

"They had something important come up, and are no longer with us…"

And he nods and bows, now ignoring the investigative journalist all together and leaving Akihito to stare up at him thoughtfully. He supposes if they're no longer at the hotel, then there's no point in him staying any longer.

"So they went back to the city then?"

There's a small pause. Kirishima's lip lifts, just slightly.

"Perhaps, perhaps not. I wouldn't know."

Akihito nods, eyes wide. not convinced.

"…Uh, huh…"

He backs away a few steps as Kirishima politely sees the rest of the guests out the room but gets jostled and herded along with them as they head outside, imagination running wild, his journalistic senses tingling. There's a story here - he knows it!

TBC