Disclaimer: Viewfinder belongs to Yamane Ayano
Note: Hi everyone thanks a lot for your comments and reviews! Woohoo sixth chapter! Please enjoy it as well. And tell me if the characters get too out of line, then I'll have to rein them in. Especially Asami, he's a toughie. I'm also going to try and add in different POV's, but for now Asami and Akihito will be taking the stage.
It wasn't until well into the evening that Asami checked on his pet. The room was drenched in the musty smell of sweat and sex. Nothing stirred except for a small buzzing sound that came from the bed.
Ah, I guess those batteries were fresh.
He carefully walked over to the bed and looked down at the deathly still form of the boy: head lolled down to the side, a once more purple bruise swelling up more than half that slender face. Ribbons of blue covered his neck. The boy's skin was profusely perspiring, as if he was continuing to sweat even though the temperature in the room had reached a relative cool. The only indication that he was alive was his soft yet raspy breath and the occasional sniffle.
He had been sobbing.
Asami reached over for the remote on the bed table and turned off the vibrator. He couldn't calm the remorse that slowly wormed its way into his chest the longer he stared at the prone body on the bed. He couldn't look away, either.
The amount of semen on the bed and the boy's body – globs of it – made Asami imagine every tortured cry that wrought out of Akihito each time he tried to ejaculate.
He slid the vibrator out and took off the cock ring and mouth gag. As he undid the bindings on the boy's wrists, congealed blood stained the rope, and severe rope burns wrapped themselves around thin wrists. They sliced deep into the delicate skin, and small rivulets of crimson trailed down his arms. Although the edges were crusted with dried blood, the center of the welts looked freshly wet. Yellow pus was already starting to fester.
When Asami began to take off the bindings on Akihito's legs, the boy groaned in pain as the rope was peeled off the skin. He tried to curl up in a fetal position, but as soon as his wrists lightly brushed against the silk bed sheets, Akihito's eyes shot open wide and a blood-curling scream broke from his lips. He tried to yank his leg up to his chest, but that movement too caused another piercing shot of pain, chaffing the already-slashed skin against the rope.
By the time Asami had freed both legs, Akihito was hysterically crying. The tears were flowing down his face in fat drops. He became a mindless mess that could feel nothing but the agony in his body.
Asami was frantic, more so than any other time in his life; and perhaps, for the first time in his life.
He came to see his enemies writhing in pain, dying by the torture he himself or his men had inflicted at almost a daily basis. There were no conflicting emotions that arose. Instead, Asami faced the men and women he tormented with a sort of inhumane detachment; it was just business.
But now, the ghastly sight of the boy suffering on the bed brought forth the small trickle of guilt he had felt earlier and made it gush into a geyser.
He snapped out of the momentary lack of movement and rushed over to scoop the boy into his arms. Akihito thrashed even more wildly, shouting, "NO! No…Please! ...no…don't hurt me anymore…please," all between sobs.
But Asami just held him tight while the boy cried, his salty tears soaking Asami's pristine white shirt. Asami whispered calming nonsensical words by Akihito's ears, fingers gentle through his tousled hair. After a while, the cries diminished into sniffles, reduced to whimpers, and then finally became chest-heaving hiccups. His flinging limbs debilitated, and his entire body laid limp to rest against Asami's chest.
Akihito had finally fallen to sleep.
….
Three hours later and at the hospital, Asami once again was watching the boy's slumbering face.
His rope burns have been salved and wrapped. The strain of what he had endured throughout the night and most of the day wiped away from his face by the drugs feeding into his I.V. What Asami had thought to be a heavily bruised cheekbone had turned out to be broken. The color was gradually returning to the boy's blanched skin. Morphine dripping into his system. Antibiotics given. Suppositories applied. Fever waiting to subside.
But the boy's mind? Asami could only hope for the best.
...
A month had passed since Asami had stuffed him full with the vibrator, tied him up, and left him there for god knows how long. But he hadn't forgotten. Lord knows how many nights he had dreamt about being strangled to death by relentless hands and not being able to cry out. The nights when he woke up with sweat drenching the sheets and he couldn't go back to sleep.
Almost every night.
No longer could he sleep without some sort of light on. It reminded him of those long hours in the dark that he felt would never end. And no longer could he set a foot near the master room down the hall that housed Asami's bed.
He was discharged after three days in the hospital. When he was chauffeured home by Asami's driver and accompanied by a hoard of bodyguards, Akihito tiredly limped to the bedroom to calm the nausea swimming around his brain from the car ride. He made it as far as the entrance, but when the door swung open to Asami's bedroom, and Akihito caught glimpse of the massive bed in the center of the room, cold sweat ran down his neck and he bolted.
The guards caught him before he could make it five feet out of the penthouse. Two muscled men in black suits dragged him back into the room as he kicked and screamed.
When they deposited him on the bed, Akihito felt as if he had lost his mind. He furiously fought to get out of their hold and scampered to the adjourning bathroom, where he locked the door shut and curled himself in a corner of the bathtub.
The guards left and the sound of footsteps receded.
Afterwards, when he was awoken by Mai-san, she had informed him that the guards had already brought a new bed into one of the guest rooms, and that he could stay there for the time being. Asami had already approved of it.
And finally, no longer did he see Asami. Not ever since that incident.
Akihito always made sure to go to bed before midnight, just in case Asami came home early. But he never did. There was no indication that the man ever came back to the penthouse at all; nothing except the lingering smell of smoke in the air.
But Akihito never dared to lock his door.
He was afraid of the consequences.
And he never dared to think about asking for anything ever again.
…
Midway into the second month since he was in the hospital, Akihito saw him.
He had awoken in the middle of the night with the sudden urge to relieve his bladder. The fluorescent lights overhead blinded him, but they drew back the shadowy dream he was trying to outrun. As he made his way back from the bathroom, his grogginess disappearing and head cleared, he heard the sounds of a woman keening and moaning down the hall, something that he had missed earlier.
It made him freeze in his tracks.
Her screeching got louder and louder and Akihito's heart beat faster and faster as he slowly made his way to the room that he had vowed to never enter again. His silent footsteps made not so much as a squeak on the hardwood floor.
Akihito cursed his meddlesome curiosity; it wouldn't allow him to go back to bed, not that he could sleep again after this. As he came within an inch of the door, which was slightly ajar, his fingers tingled as if they were gently pricked with small pins. Dark flashes of memories echoed in the back of his skull. He was shivering slightly, the frothy cool of the wee hours of the morning added to the adrenaline that was coursing through his veins.
As he slid his eye between the crack in the wall and door, Akihito gasped.
He couldn't stop it. It came out of his mouth as if a croaking frog had jumped out.
Asami was on top of a woman, doing her from behind. Her head was thrown back in ecstasy as he viciously pounded inside of her, sheen of perspiration on his back. Her long, curly hair was a tangled mane that blazed around her face, a handful twisted in his fist. Even in the dark, every angle and line stood out to him clearer than day.
Akihito gasped just as her shriek reached its all-time high. She was oblivious to his presence, but Asami wasn't.
He had stiffened in the middle of a thrust at the intruding sound, and turn around towards the hallway to see Akihito standing there aghast, the door blown wide open.
That was when Akihito bolted.
He didn't look back, so fast and at such a speed that even the lax guards outside were taken by surprise. This time, he got much further than pass the door. It wasn't until he had slid down the elevators until the main lobby and passed the concierge did he get caught. And just several steps away were the glass doors that lead out of the building.
Akihito stayed un-protesting as he was lightly hauled over a shoulder and carried back. He hadn't exercised more than walking around the penthouse, and the former track and field runner was greatly out of shape. What he would hardly consider a run before had left him panting for breath, his chest heaving. His hands came up over his eyes, and soon the heaving turned into sobs.
Somewhere deep inside of him he felt something break. Any thought that he had had towards breaking free had ceased long ago when Asami taught him what it was like to cross the man. And now, he felt no resolve to do anything at all. He could see nothing left in his path, as if the path, too, had been cut short when Asami entered his life.
The sense of anguish Akihito felt at the thought of how his life was in the hands of a cruel man who had never hesitated to hurt him made his mind travel to a place he had never ventured before.
It was the first time he had ever sought such a vicious, selfish control before; the desperate attempts of a stricken person. But before he could contemplate it any further, he was set upright and strong, familiar arms enveloped him.
It was Asami.
There was a shuffle of feet, the slam of a door; the guards had left. And then he was being carried to one of the overstuffed couches in the living room. Once again Asami was wearing a bath robe, and once again his hair was wet, just like the night it had happened.
He was remembering the little details so vividly now.
The water drops that slid down his cheek from Asami's damp hair and the close proximity of the man allowed Akihito just the faintest whiff of the perfume that came off his skin. The woman's perfume.
For some reason the scent made Akihito mad; incredibly mad. The anger boiled from somewhere deep inside of him that he didn't even know it was there until it simmered just below the surface, a cold anger that left him impartial to whatever was happening.
He wondered why was it that the woman could enjoy such an act with Asami? Why when all that he had ever gotten out from it was pain and a pleasure that humiliated him? The satisfaction on her face wouldn't disappear from his mind.
Akihito closed his eyes to ward off the image, and finally became aware of the hand in his hair, softly sifting through the winded strands. The nimblest of kisses, ones that barely touched his skin but only hovered over the surface, ghosted their way down from his face to the exposed skin on his shoulder and then back up again. Asami's free arm curled protectively, if the word could even be used to describe anything of him, around Akihito's waist.
It also took a while for Akihito to realize that he was sitting on Asami's lap. It was the first time in a frenzied string of first-times involving Asami that night. That, and the soothing words the man whispered in his ear.
"Shhh, Akihito, shhh. Don't cry." A kiss on the temple. "Talk to me please, why aren't you answering me?"
The worried tone in his words didn't match Asami's character. And when Akihito glanced up at the older man, even Asami's face had somehow taken on a softer glow. The usually impassive, stoic expression broke into a set of crinkles on the forehead and faint lines of concern appeared at the corners of his mouth.
It was something one definitely didn't see every day. Akihito deeply stared into his face, unmoving and silent as Asami gently shook him, pressing for some sort of response.
"That woman," Akihito finally replied after a while, trailing his words at the end. It was hardly the only thing on his mind, far from it, but it was the one that stood in the forefront.
The situation they were in was so uncharacteristic of both of them, so unbelieving; it was even laughable if someone were to see it. But Akihito was somewhere beyond caring of that.
"That woman, what about her?" Asami questioned, trying to peer into Akihito's face as if it held the answer.
"Nothing, I don't know!" Akihito yelled, trying to yank off the hand holding his arm and pulling away from his hold. But Asami tightened his grasp and secured him in place. Akihito was frustrated. The man was so bipolar; one minute he sends him flying with the force of his hand, and then the next he could whisper such sappy lines, looking like he cared. Akihito was tired of being subjected to his whims.
"Stop fighting me, Akihito," he warned. "Just tell me, what's wrong?"
"Everything! Everything's wrong! Because of you! I'm ruined because of you!" Akihito screamed, beating his fists against the man's study chest. "Why am I here?! Why am I with you?! You already have her, so why am I still here?!
He was doing just fine deceiving himself about what was going on in his life, or lack thereof, fine until the scene he witnessed sent him over the edge.
Akihito came to stand on his knees, his eyes staring straight ahead at Asami's face. He didn't even know he was crying until his vision became blurry and snot was dripping down his nose.
Asami buried his face into the boy's stomach. The sound of his voice reverberated through Akihito's body. "I thought you didn't want to see me. Or am I wrong?"
"No, you're right. I don't want to see you. But other than Mai-san, I don't get see anyone. She only comes once every two days, and stays just long enough to bring me food and clean. I can't live that way! I'm dying! But you don't care," Akihito accused venomously. "You just lock me up and leave. You even forget that I exist, leaving me here to rot while you fuck her brains out!"
He didn't care if Asami was going to kill him. He had nothing to live for, anyways. It was all over now.
But instead of raising his hand as usual, Asami painfully groaned against Akihito's stomach. The man lifted his head up, and Akihito saw something that he never thought he'd see: guilt.
"Listen very carefully to what I say Akihito, because I'll only say this once," Asami began. "I'm sorry for hitting you. I'm sorry that I had hurt you those two months ago." There was sincerity in his eyes.
Akihito's lower lip trembled.
Asami continued on.
"It was not my intention to do what I did. But you provoked me, Akihito. My temper is not to be trifled with. However, I will promise to you that I will never lay a hand on you again."
"W…What about the woman?" Akihito chocked out. Asami had promised.
"That woman is of no consequence to me," Asami waved off. "She was just a substitute. Forget what you saw."
"A substitute?"
"Yes." Asami gathered him in his arms again, this time meeting no resistance. "I was adamant about still keeping you. But I didn't want to take you against your will again, kicking and screaming as you did. So I left you alone. I didn't intend to neglect you, but it regrettably came out as so. Nevertheless, I apologize. You may choose not to forgive me, but at least know that I am not just the monster you set me out to be." He took each of Akihito's arms in his hands, gathered them to his mouth, and laid kisses on the scars that wrapped around his wrists.
And instead of ceasing his cries like Asami had hoped, for some reason Akihito's tears fell more freely than ever before.