Title: Dire Consequences 04/??
Fandom: Viewfinder
Pairings: Mik/Fei, AsamixFei, AsamixAkihito
Disclaimer: I do not own Viewfinder or any of its characters. This is a fanfic and I am not making any profit from it.
Rating: R
Part 04
Click.
It took a long second for Feilong to process that the gun had not fired and that he was still alive. The rain still poured and the dogs still barked. The mind-numbing cold seeped in through his wet clothes and sank into his very flesh, right down to the marrow of his bones. The core of his being throbbed and the discomfort was so vast; it had long since morphed into overwhelming pain.
Click. Click. Click.
He pulled the trigger again, again and again, unable to believe the sheer extent of his bad luck and the raw cruelty of fate that had taken away even this; his last means of escape.
"No!" he screamed silently within himself. The sound of the empty barrel was both terrifying and infuriating; it was an echo of hopelessness, a monument to betrayal and a prelude to his shame. Even his weapon had given out on him, condemning him to his worst fears and to the ultimate humiliation that was sure to come at the hands of an enemy, who had no reason to feel anything for him but hatred and contempt.
Asami was not a forgiving man.
Desperate, Feilong glanced around, watching the shadows shift. He breathed hard, knowing that he had alerted them to his lack of bullets and that their attack was sure to come quickly, before he had the time to reload. He contemplated whether or not to try it anyway, but it was too late already. A shadow came at him, perilous and swift, and he barely gathered the speed and strength that he needed to repel the attack.
"Take care," he heard one of them issue the warning in Japanese. "The boss wants him alive!"
Feilong was a trained fighter and his desperation, his rage, gave him an edge that he wouldn't have normally had. He fought back like a cornered animal; like a man who no longer had anything to lose.
The heel of his foot struck a man's jaw and he had the satisfaction of feeling the bone crush under the force of the blow. His elbows and knees connected with soft bellies and groins. His lethal fists did not need fire and steel to kill, and they moved like vipers in the dark, striking with flawless precision where the damage was likely to be the worst.
But there were too many of them.
Feilong was raised as a killer. He was an assassin; an impeccably trained machine of destruction, but in his weakened state, he was no match for his enemies and he had known it all along. Asami picked his bodyguards for their competence and even though Feilong was a master in the art of unarmed combat, his opponents were not the kind of men that could be taken lightly, either. But worst of all, they were well rested and focused, whereas he was tired, injured and hurting.
He had never recovered his full strength after being shot by Asami in Japan and it had been too soon for him to go out on his own. The single advantage that he had had over his adversaries was his hopelessness, but even that was burning out fast, under their far superior leverage.
The dogs barked madly, distracting him. In motion, he could see the glint of their angry, evil eyes where they caught the dim light of the torches that were carried by their masters. There were six of them that he could count and the men held them firmly on a leash, keeping them from jumping forward and ripping him to bits. He almost wished that one of them would break loose and spare him the upcoming misery, but it was a loathsome thought. He did not fear death itself, but he definitely feared dying in that manner; at the mercy of a beast that he had feared his whole life.
The sheer horror of the thought was enough to make his concentration falter and that one, fleeting moment was all that his enemy needed to bring him down. He was struck hard and the intensity of the pain was numbing. The white, searing agony flared from his barely healed wound and he couldn't breathe from the overwhelming pain. Seeing red, he doubled over and gasped; unable to cry out. He couldn't summon the strength he needed to get up again and was barely aware of the man coming up swiftly behind him. His infallible instinct told him to duck and he just barely avoided the blow; but he was too slow, too wretched and too injured to react properly and avoid the next one. Something hard struck him on the back of his head and in a flash of agonizing pain, his world blacked out at last.
When he came to his senses again, he was disoriented and confused. It cost him serious effort to take in his surroundings and to his dismay, he realised that he was being dragged along the sludgy path towards the dark porch of the house. He recognized it immediately and in a bout of sheer panic, he struggled to get away, but there was no breaking free. He was held firmly by two men on his either side, each with an iron grip on one of his arms. His violence was answered with violence and one of them struck him hard over the face. He grunted in pain as his world spun out of control and he only barely managed to stay conscious while he was dragged inside.
The basement was dry and warm when compared to the storm outside, but Feilong still shivered miserably from the chronic cold that had taken over his entire system. They forced him into a bare, unlighted room with nothing in it; except the walls, the floor and a simple, wooden chair. A frail, yellow light streamed in from the hallway and before he could gather himself to understand what was going on, a sudden darkness fell over him.
He stopped struggling and twisted around to look. A tall, graceful man stood in the doorway, blocking out the sparse illumination with his back.
It was Asami and he was dangerous, beautiful and dark. He had a unique posture; a bearing that intimidated, that dominated, and Feilong did not fail to be affected, caught as he was, way outside of his domain. His face was hidden in the shadows and only his lean, sculpted jaw reflected the light; contrasting it, like a sketch on black paper made in white ink. The clear outline of his strong body was sharply defined by the brightness beyond and Feilong swallowed; awed as much as he was intimidated.
Asami wore only a pair of pants that hung loosely on his slender hips. He had not bothered with a belt, or the top button, revealing the snugly fitting elastic of his label underwear. The clean, sharply sculpted lines of his abdomen dipped under it; enticing and provoking with a cool, blatant sexuality that was untouchable under all the power and superiority surrounding him.
His feet were silent and bare. His chest was naked, except for the bandage across his shoulder and much to his eternal humiliation; Feilong could not suppress a stab of longing that pooled in his groin, making him stiffen in spite of his hatred, the dread and the shame.
There was a clear message in Asami's failure to dress. His immaculate perfection shielded him; it made him more than human under any circumstances and his failure to don his usual armour, his obvious choice to face Feilong so revealed, was a statement of how much he did not fear him and how little he thought of his coming. Just by standing in front of him so open and unprotected, he demeaned his enemy's presence and belittled him as a man.
Asami's subtle mocking did not fail to hit its mark and shamed by such a blatant display of power, Feilong swallowed the bile that rose to his throat.
"You were right, sir," Kirishima said, somewhat startled by his casual appearance and the dangerous mood that he was emanating. "We caught an intruder."
Asami cocked his head towards him and the light fell sharply on to his jaw; under his straight, narrow nose, accentuating his crisp, handsome features and stressing the lines of a face that seemed almost unreal in its overwhelming perfection. His full, shapely mouth quirk upward in a cold, passionless smirk and Feilong flushed with rage at the utter disdain that he saw reflected there.
His own appearance did him no favours and he knew what he looked like; wet, bedraggled and anonymous in the tight fitting black that had allowed him to sneak through the night unseen. His face was covered, but he did not doubt that Asami had known who he was from the moment he laid eyes on him.
Soundless on his bare feet; Asami strode forward, spreading an air of power and of malice. His evil, narrow eyes finally came into focus and with his head tilted to the side, he looked at his captive intently, measuring him from head to toe and letting him feel his contempt. Feilong breathed hard; burning from the obvious slight and humiliated by this play of superiority.
He shuddered to his core from Asami's proximity. The heat of the man's bare skin washed over him and he held his breath as he waited for him to make his move; barely managing to hold back a cry when the ski-mask was roughly wrenched off of his head.
Long, dark hair tumbled free in a wet, tangled mess and Feilong refused to lower his gaze as Asami smirked at him.
"Well, men," he said. "It seems like we have a snake in our midst."
