A/N: Hello! I thought I would post this before I head off on vacation. Heading down to Anaheim for a half-marathon, and then off to Machu Pichu! Strike another item off my bucket list! (Hiking the Incan Trail, that is, not the race). :)
Anyways, in deference to this site's rating policies, I've toned down and edited out the R-rated parts of this. Hope that's alright. Other than that, please enjoy!
Cheers,
G.
(***)
Trompe L'Oeil
Chapter 2
(***)
Takaba knew he was screwed the moment Asami opened his mouth. And even though he could sense that familiar fire begin to spread from his groin, he still had to try.
"Look, Asami, I don't have time for this," he said, his voice sounding remarkably calm in his own ears. He whipped around and headed for the door.
"I wouldn't do that if I were you."
Takaba froze at the sound of the subdued baritone, his hand gripping the door handle. "Suoh and Kirishima are right outside, aren't they?"
The photographer took the ensuing silence as an affirmative. No doubt those loyal employees had their guns on them and had been given permission to use them - within reason, of course. He let out a tired breath and ran an anxious hand through his hair. He hated these tumultuous emotions that warred for domination within him. At times, everything seemed clear. He had focus; he had a job he loved and that was that. But other times, that focus wavered and he felt like he could easily give it all up in a heartbeat for one man. And that scared him more than anything he could ever understand.
Swallowing, and trying to mask the uncertainty that bounced around in his head, Takaba turned and walked into the lavish suite. "Seriously," he grumbled, "I'm not your mistress or something like that. I have my own life. I should be able to go where I want, and do what I want. I don't make booty calls just because you 'requested' it."
"Can't I?" Asami rose, his very silhouette imposing. "Wherever you run, wherever you are, I will find you, Takaba. You belong to me. Remember that."
Takaba paused, his breath caught and his pulse beating a loud staccato in his ears. "Bastard," he managed to say.
The yakuza leader moved closer, each step slow and measured. The younger man caught a whiff of his companion's scent - an enticing scent of aftershave, cigarette smoke, and something uniquely Asami - and he fought hard not to lean into that comforting smell. "I have things to do," he stated, more so to convince himself than the other man. "I have a job to finish."
From this distance, Takaba could make out the habitual smirk that made its way onto his lover's face at his declaration. "You call what you were doing down there a job?"
The defensive attitude came by reflex to the photographer. "I'm just doing my editor a favor."
A low chuckle filled the room as Asami covered the distance between them. The nearness caused Takaba to back up unconsciously, so much so that his back hit the wall before he knew it. The room was suddenly very, very small. This close, he couldn't see, couldn't breathe, couldn't think of anything but his lover.
"A favor?" The camera he had in his hand disappeared before he could stop it. With those long, nimble fingers, the imposing yakuza leader turned the thing on. "You call taking pictures of me a favor?"
Takaba couldn't stop a smirk of his own from appearing on his lips. "No, that's just for me," he said with a dash of defiance.
A dark eyebrow rose. "For you?" Asami repeated, a hint of wry humor in his voice. "It's just insolence if you ask me."
By now, the older man had found the images he had been look for, and Takaba's brief show of rebellion disappeared when he saw the 'Delete' menu being pulled up on his camera. "Hey, don't -"
"And I've yet to decide how to repay you for that insolence."
A resounding beep confirmed the final deletion of the picture. Takaba could feel his hackles rise at the interference. Never mind that he'd planned a contingency for this. Just the fact that the arrogant bastard could tamper with his livelihood without any consideration for him made his blood boil. "Asami, you asshole! I - "
A flash of warning in the older man's eyes stilled the protesting photographer. The distant city lights that had penetrated through the panelled windows danced across the hard planes of that enigmatic face, playing with undue care over hard features that rarely ever softened. But Takaba knew better. He'd seen that mouth gasp in unabashed release. He'd seen those brows crease with undue concentration. And he'd seen those golden eyes, those fathomless golden eyes flare with unbridled passion and sometimes ... sometimes with something more.
Like now.
His breathing had become shallow and fast, his body yearning for something - anything - to break the tension between them. And he had always been an impulsive person. Without any more hesitation, he launched himself forward, capturing his lover's mouth in a flurry of need and clumsiness.
Asami staggered slightly at the sudden onslaught, but he adjusted quickly as his arms came up to steady the both of them. Takaba heard the dull thud of the camera falling onto the plush carpet, but it sounded so far away, so distant and inconsequential to what was happening right now.
Three weeks. Three weeks without this, without the intoxicating taste of this dominating man, and Takaba couldn't seem to get enough. He soaked in as much as he could, tongue darting out at first to explore, and then, gaining confidence, to devour. And Asami countered him easily, meeting him bite for bite, thrust for thrust.
A low satisfied groan filled the room and belatedly, Takaba realized that it was his own. His hands moved up clumsily, working frantically by feel to pull the fancy tux off his lover. Too many layers separated them, and he desperately wanted the other man's skin against his own.
With an impatient grunt, Asami broke their kiss and stopped his fingers from their task. Takaba almost cried out at the loss of contact, but he was somewhat mollified when the older man easily finished what he had started. Having made short work of his own shirt, Asami moved to his lover's.
A small, lopsided smile tugged on the yakuza leader's mouth. "That's my tie," he whispered in a passion-infused voice.
"You weren't using it." Takaba's words were spoken hoarsely.
That smile became slightly more sinister. "I am now."
In one deft motion, the tie that had been choking the photographer all night disappeared. And just as quickly, the smooth silk was tied tightly around his wrists. By habit, Takaba started to fight back at the callous action, and then at being undressed without blinking an eye, but he finally noticed the wicked tilt of his lover's lips and held back. He looped his arms around the taller man's neck to bring him closer, but Asami would not have any of it.
As the yakuza leader yanked his immobilized arms above his head, Takaba understood that without a shadow of a doubt that he was definitely not the aggressor tonight. Asami was, and to that, the young photographer gave in, allowing his lover to re-capture his mouth and letting himself be plundered.
But the older man wouldn't settle for that small victory. He wanted complete surrender, just as he always did. Without mercy, he moved on, nipping forcefully along the vulnerable column of the bound man's throat, travelling the distance down until his mouth clamped around a hardened nipple.
"Fuck, Asami," Takaba moaned. He wanted to bring his arms down, wanted to run his fingers through his lover's immaculate hair, wanted to pull him closer. But he couldn't. "Do it already!"
The patterns that skillful tongue made nearly pushed him over the edge. But when he felt his pants falling to his ankles and his painful erection being massaged, he was lost. Completely, and utterly lost. The world had become a haze. Nothing existed but what was here and now. The sweat-soaked skin, the heated breaths, the very scent of sex … they all played on his hypersensitive nerves, driving him into a sweet madness from which he never wanted to return.
(***)
"Did you book this room just now because you saw me downstairs?"
After what had been an intense and tiring bout of sex, lucidity was slowly returning to Takaba's muddled mind. They had somehow ended up on one of the sofa's in the spacious suite. And now that the young photographer was becoming more aware of his surroundings, he was taken aback that one whole wall of the suite was made of panelled windows overlooking the cityscape of Tokyo's night lights. The view was simply breathtaking.
"Perhaps."
Takaba rolled his eyes at the elusive answer, and shifted against the arm that had been draped around his shoulders. "Only you could book a luxury suite at a five-star hotel whenever you wanted."
The older man didn't respond, but the sated photographer did notice the slow circles being traced unconsciously on his upper bicep by his lover's finger. His lips quirked up into a small, knowing grin. "You missed me, didn't you?"
Again, no reply.
Feeling a little superior, Takaba settled more comfortable into the soft couch. "Three weeks is a long stretch to go without sex," he said innocently.
"Are you implying that you missed me then?"
A quiet chuckle escaped the younger man's throat. "No," he denied lightly. "I could've easily found someone else."
A sound of disbelief came from the yakuza leader.
"What? You think I wouldn't?" Takaba turned his head to get a better look at his companion. Why, oh, why did he always have this compulsion to bait the lion? "I could, you know."
"He'd be dead within minutes," was the curt answer. "Besides," Asami continued, "Would this hypothetical partner be able to do this?" Without warning, that hand that had been doodling on his arm moved and skirted over the tender skin of his inner thigh. Already, Takaba could feel the stirring of his cock, and he inhaled deeply. "I barely even touch you, and you're readying yourself for me again, my Akihito." The despicable man had lowered his head and whispered the observation near the photographer's ear, the sofly spoken words causing a shiver to run down his spine.
"Asshole," Takaba ground out through clenched teeth. "I-It's not my fault you're out of town all the time."
Those expert fingers flittered around his scrotum, and the younger man began to lose his grip on coherent thought.
"That's business."
"Okay, business," the photographer repeated mindlessly, closing his eyes and giving into the small, pleasurable spasms that were beginning to grip his lower half.
But something nagged at him, somewhere in the deep recesses of his mind. Something sane, something urgent… Business.
His eyes flew open. "Damn it," he hissed as he shot off the sofa, head frantically whipping side to side trying to locate his camera and discarded clothing.
"Takaba," Asami said in a warning tone.
But the photographer ignored it, as he was wont to do at times when Asami tried to control him. He was too busy hopping into his pants and check his camera for any damage. He felt those golden eyes trained on him, but he was more focused on getting out of the suite and tracking down his scoop than appeasing his lover at the moment. Asami would be around later. This, this potential scandal could disappear within minutes. Disheveled and arms full of is equipment and clothes, he quickly darted toward the exit without a second glance back.
(***)
'The elevator wasn't moving fast enough', Takaba thought as he buttoned up his shirt and leaned against the back wall. And to aggravate him further, he realized that in his clumsy exit, he'd forgotten his jacket in the suite. He tilted his head back and let out a tired sigh. How was it that when he was around Asami, all his priorities seemed to shift? Even now, a part of him wanted to go back down there into that room and finish off what they had started, despite what his rational mind was telling him. It went against all logic, even his standard of logic.
Luckily, the elevator doors slid open before he could dwell on it any longer. Resolved now, he adjusted his equipment bag across his shoulder, held tight to his camera, and strode into the corridor. Finding Kinoshita's room number wasn't easy. After numerous twists and turns, Takaba was getting a little disoriented himself, but he eventually found it.
As he approached the door, it occurred to him that he hadn't really formulated a plan of what to do when he arrived. Knock on the door and ask the man to say 'cheese'? Pretty unlikely. But his concerns disappeared and were replaced with something else when he was close enough to see that the room door had not been securely closed. An apprehensive fluttering in his stomach warned him that something wasn't right, that a room being used for an illicit affair wouldn't be so carelessly handled.
Stopping right before the entrance, he debated knocking. Normally, he would be stealthy, sneaking about without a sound, but that sense of uneasiness sat heavily in his gut, and he wasn't one to dismiss it so quickly. Turning his head to listen carefully, he gave the door a soft tap.
Nothing.
As loud as the warning bells were ringing in his head, his curiosity was also piqued. A surge of adrenaline coursed through his muscles, tensing them and honing them for whatever he might encounter should he enter the room.
And enter he did.
With a deep breath and a pounding heart, he pushed on the door and stepped in quietly. The suite was dark, its layout almost identical to the one that Asami had used. The scattering of Tokyo's lights blazed in the distance, illuminating each object in the suite with almost snobbish discretion. Takaba took a few steps in, and when he couldn't detect anything amiss in the space, he moved cautiously into one of the adjoining bedrooms. If he was going to walk in on any sordid affair, he was more likely to find something there. Gingerly, he eased the bedroom door open and slipped in.
The first thing that hit him was the smell - a metallic tang that couldn't be mistaken for anything else but blood. Having been near Asami as long as he had, and having witnessed everything he had, Takaba had thought that he would've gotten used to the sight of a dead man. But he hadn't. The casually sprawled body on the bed with its wide opened eyes caused bile to rise in his throat and an overwhelming urge to look away. On an academic level, he guessed that such a reaction was a good thing, that all his time with his criminal, cold-blooded lover hadn't completely stripped him of his humanity.
Tentatively, he walked around the bed. The rational voice in his head told him to run for help. But his journalist's instincts goaded him to investigate further. The gunshot wounds were what he saw first, multiple ones liberally placed through the chest and abdomen. Yet, from the shocked expression that was now forever frozen on Kinoshita's face, it was the bullet in his forehead he had probably seen too late that had ultimately killed him.
Takaba thought about taking a picture of the scene. As the first on site, he had the opportunity to take exclusive images of an undisturbed murder. But his sense of human decency prevented him from doing so outright. He could document evidence of corruption and scandals without any issues, but it just didn't seem right to benefit from someone else's death.
He turned to leave the room, trying not to touch anything for fear of contaminating them before the investigators got to it. But he didn't get very far before he felt a sharp prick in his neck. Instantly, the entire room began to spin, a whirl of light and dark, bloodstained sheets and shadowed crevices. And then, everything went blank.
(***)
Asami took a sip of his drink and turned away from the window. He looked over at Kirishima, expecting the ever-efficient secretary to report without being asked.
"There's been a murder in the hotel, Asami-sama," the man said succinctly.
That explained the commotion he saw down at street level. The tiny flashes of police lights and hustle of bodies appeared like a child's playthings from this height. "Who?"
"Kinoshita Eiichi."
At the name, Asami paused. He brought his glass up once more and took another sip. The scotch worked its way down his throat and settled warmly in his stomach. He had been wrong about Kinoshita, he realized. And he hated being wrong.
Kirishima shifted, drawing his attention back. The man had more to say, and Asami nodded for him to continue.
"It's Takaba, Asami-sama."
Instantly, the yakuza leader tensed. The idiot kid had just left the suite an hour ago. He'd even left his jacket - likely borrowed - behind. What trouble could he have gotten into this time? "What about him?"
Kirishima hesitated, as if trying to figure out the best way to phrase his words. "He's missing, sir. But that's not the most important thing. There's evidence that he's responsible for the murder. A girl at the front desk said he'd been asking about Kinoshita's room number earlier. And security cameras have Takaba being the last one to head out of the elevators on that floor, and walking toward that suite."
Asami didn't move as Kirishima explained the situation, his expression neutral and unreadable. But it was a survival mechanism he had perfected over the years. Never let them see you panic, never let them see you feel ... for that would be seen as a weakness, and he was not weak.
Yet, his mind was working a hundred miles a second, trying to process the scenario and formulate a solution. Takaba was going to be the death of him. If the troublesome photographer hadn't become so essential to him, he was certain he would've gotten rid of the kid himself.
"Call our contacts at the police station and the media," he finally ordered. "You know what to do."
Kirishima nodded. "I have, sir. But - "
Asami looked inquiringly at his secretary. He didn't have time for indirectness, and the secretary knew that. It was quite uncharacteristic of the man to not get to the heart of the issue quickly.
"But what?" he asked, a little more roughly than he'd intended.
"The security videos have been leaked online, Asami-sama. Some employee must've gotten a hold of it and posted it. Even if we used our people in the police department to make it disappear, they would be hard-pressed by the public not to do anything."
Asami's grip on his snifter tightened. He could read between the lines of his assistant's sentences. All his power and influence couldn't exonerate Takaba from this situation, but he certainly could.
"Shit," he growled with unexpected emotion, and promptly flung his glass at the nearest wall. The container shattered on impact and the scent of alcohol filled the room.
But that didn't do anything to temper Asami's mood. He swore again. They had been fucking earlier that night, which made him a material witness to the boy's whereabouts. But coming forward meant exposing himself ... and risking the whole shadowy empire that he'd spent his entire life building.
End Chapter 2