Haha. I did something unnecessary. (Story of my life.) The outfits are on my Live Journal Page if anyone wants to see them since ffnet doesn't allow links. Ashida91 is my LJ pen name :)
The keys rattled in the door to Akihito's loft apartment as he unlocked it, the metallic noise rang out in the small stairwell, and it was always enough commotion to rouse his cat so that she was waiting at the entrance when he opened the door.
"She'll be so excited to see you, Fei." Akihito mocked as he pushed the door open and flicked a light on.
The look on his assistants face was distaste mixed with a small amount of affection, Akihito knew he secretly loved that cat – everyone loved his cat, everyone. If you didn't like his cat, then Akihito sure as fuck didn't like you.
Sure enough, before the Chinese even had time to respond, a coarse meow that sounded quite close to the sound of pure fucking evil echoed through the open living space.
Akihito felt his girl smooch around his legs in greeting, already purring like a boss and throwing herself at his feet in excitement.
"Tripod! Hello, my baby girl." Akihito crooned as he dropped all his shit by the door and leant to pick up his three-legged hairless cat. The bat eared sphinx had been a gift from Mikhail, the most bad ass cat at the adoption center, none of the other cats went near her because she was hella angry at everything, and no one wanted her because she was hairless and unusual, that was until Akihito spotted her in a local adoptathon advert while lying in bed with Misha one Sunday morning.
The next day he'd come home to a cherry Russian with scratches all over his hands and face, and this fucking hairless cat wandering around the loft with a black bow collar, acting as if her shit didn't stink, which it fucking did by the way.
It was hard to imagine his cozy place without her now, and fur free meant he never had to worry about cat hair on any of his things -because fuck that right in the ass with a dry broom handle – even if her meow sounded like a chainsaw starting up to massacre kittens and babies, even though she ripped up rolls of toilet paper and left snow confetti in the bathroom, even if she shredded all his paperwork when he never paid enough attention to her – he fucking adored his cat, more than he adored his limited addition Prada leather jacket.
He cradled her on her back, upside down as she kneaded the air in pure contentedness because fuck yeah dad's home, and kicked off his shoes – he really should go and put them in his walk in wardrobe, which was like the biggest room in his tiny loft, but he was too tired for that that much effort.
It was straight to the his suede chaise lounge – not the typical leather couch, hell no, leather was fucking uncomfortable, and you always stuck to it in the summer and it was always too cold to lay on in winter – where he sat down and stretched out against the arm rest to look at the sparkling view of Shinjuku from his industrial floor to ceiling windows.
The varnished wooden floors reflected the city lights from outside until Feilong drew the old venetian blinds, then it was to the kitchen which was only across the room, separated by an island bench with a polished concrete counter, to boil water for a much needed dose of caffeine and tolerance of life in general.
The walls of his loft were all grey brick, different colors and textures, some smooth to touch, and some rough enough to catch your clothing on, the pitched ceiling with rough wooden beams and hanging pendant lights completed his two bedroom abode on the top floor of an old industrial warehouse block that'd been converted into small businesses.
He'd actually been searching for a swag new place for Abyss headquarters and found this ultimate gem while he was looking, the next day he paid the tender in cash and stopped the renovations that were going to make it look new, unlived in and utterly fucking tasteless, and he'd left it as it was – fucking perfect if you asked him.
With Feilong's input, they'd decorated the place to the nines and had spent many nights on the couch gossiping, eating and crashing out after a fashion show, or working on projects through until morning or their eyes stopped working.
They had this routine down fucking pat, Akihito cuddled his demon cat and let her smooch his face with licks and dribble while his assistant's OCD took over and he cleaned up, first his dropped belongings by the door, next he stacked the dishwasher, and lastly hot coffee and dessert.
Finally, the Chinese sat down on the opposite end of the couch at last after tying his hair in a loose bun and changing into some of Akihito's sweat pants and a t-shirt, and threw his feet up to intertwine with Akihito's because that pretty bastard had nice long legs too – and his couch wasn't that big.
Akihito pulled the blanket down that hung on the lounger over top their legs, and within seconds Tripod was already squirming to get free, flailing on her back until she flipped over and was purr stalking her way to Feilong's lap across the couch.
"Traitor." Akihito pouted as the feline completely ignored him, Feilong tried to fend her off with a tired palm to her forehead, but the cat just kept purring, kneading the blanket and being too fucking cute for anyone to say no to. With a sigh the Chinese gave up and opened his long slender arms, where Tripod crawled into his lap with a victory yawn before curling against his chest to sleep.
Having lost to his feline nemesis yet again; Feilong carried on as if the buzzing bundle of adorableness wasn't in his lap.
"Leave nothing out." Fei said before a spoonful of his prized coconut sorbet.
Akihito had his confidant gasping in surprise into the night, blushing and cheering him on, because despite that sassy Feilong saying he could skip the details when it came to particular things, the designer knew he wanted every juicy morsel to mull over.
He explained the shitty ass deal he'd hashed out with the CEO, and his own ideas in relation to it, his musings on how he could manipulate it further to at least work in his advantage, because for fucks sake there was so way he was losing to that egotistical charmer who had every damn reason to be egotistical, and none not to be alluring and too damn hot.
He was going to wring Asami fucking Ryuichi for all he was worth at the contract negotiation on Monday, maybe literally too.
He wanted it all, he needed it all for his idea to truly be executed, for people to see the power in suits, to feel the intimidating presence of well cut lines and sharp intelligence, to be intimidated by swag and enthralled by complete fucking dominance. For that he didn't just need Asami, oh hell no, nothing said unstoppable, untouchable and out of your league like a man out on the prowl with his lads.
That's right, to create his Abyss Empire Akihito was going to use another, the Sion empire. Not only was he going to hook Asami; he was going to hook that Glasses guy and the Hottie Bodyguard as well.
As if sensing his owner's malicious intent, Tripod his ever-faithful girl got up from Fei's lap to make her way back over where she curled up on his thighs, purred in satisfaction as she got pats and listened to the pair hash out a strategy for Abyss' success.
The weekend passed too swiftly for Akihito, with too much to do and Tokyo Fashion week nagging at him like a whining significant other, he couldn't exactly afford a weekend working on a pet project, there were calls from the Fashion show organizers he needed to take to arrange his runway show, the catalogue company he needed to talk to so he could put together the final print outs for the runway show, and before all that he needed fucking photos of all models in his wears as previews to put in said damn catalogues.
He had all the lesser models he needed, ones that wore more casual suits, every day suits and salary man suits, but he was missing the linchpins, the models that screamed money, power, the models that were the bosses of those salary men and casual workers, he needed a boss that the was the motherfucking boss of all bosses, for that, he needed Asami Ryuichi and his entourage.
So he flagged all his priorities to work on the biggest one of all, and locked himself away in his loft and got to work on the visions that plagued him, worse than being jacked up on some half baked hallucinogenic – all he could see when he closed his eyes were flashes of gold eyes in Abyss, the burning embers of cigarettes and ambition, powerful shoulders with mesmerizing angles and muscular frames.
He'd come up with extra designs over the weekend, from ghost sketches to fleshing them out with colors and fabrics, if he didn't have so much shit eating at him Akihito would have called the weekend productive, and he was happy with it all until he got to the office with Feilong on the promised Monday.
He was on the phone all fucking day, fielding over due phone calls, re planning deadlines and generally just stressing the hell out because Fashion Week. Fei had come in at one point to say the appointment with Asami had been confirmed, but he'd been so up to his tits in paperwork to sign at the time that he was so distracted he hadn't actually remembered what time the Chinese said.
Fuck it all, he cracked on with the next order of business, and was soon sucked back into his work too much to notice when his assistant came back in late that afternoon to say that Asami and his men were in the house...
"Sorry, Asami san, he'll be with you in one moment." The easy on the eyes longhaired assistant reappeared from down the only hallway off the front room, and dipped his head mildly in apology. "Please take a seat. Tea?"
"If you could." Asami confirmed as he sat on the lounger along the wall opposite the distressed wooden desk. Kirishima and Suoh repositioned themselves either side of the couch and remained standing as Yoh appeared from parking the limo in a suitable place.
If the designer intended to play the game right from the beginning and make him wait, then he'd oblige with all the patience he had.
His own secretary 'tsked' under his breath, to which Suoh chuckled and Yoh smirked because he'd heard all about it from Suoh. Normally Kirishima didn't come to these sort of meetings, it was only Suoh or Yoh needed for initial security, however Kirshima insisted on coming this particular time to see that no insult was paid to his boss from that 'brat of a designer who didn't know his place'.
Suoh and Yoh claimed they couldn't miss the show down, and that's how Asami had wound up with an entourage larger than usual. It would be different from their usual group meetings if anything, so Asami had found himself looking forward to today, more than he thought if he was honest with himself.
Leaning back into the soft cushioned backing, Asami took in the interior to learn a little more about this odd designer with the seemingly unorthodox taste. This quaint place with painted brick walls adorned with band posters in the heart of the diverse Harajuku seemed to fit perfectly with him, upstairs from a coffee shop that played loud alternative music, the scribbled label 'Abyss' white on black sign was the only indication that a major fashion designer's studio was even there.
No advertisements, no girls outside with flyers and their high pitched nasally calls promoting anything, just that sign that spoke for itself, there wasn't even a contact number or opening hours. Takaba Akihito only needed his work to attract people, his shows and his clothing line, that sign was all that was necessary, because from the reports on his business Kirishima had given him, the street wear line of Abyss had given the designer a fair amount of revenue even though his running costs were high.
Abyss focused on keeping all jobs it created in Japan, right from when it came to his initial design down to when it hit the boutique shops. It was a noble idea, Asami had to give him that, and it gave him a popularity in the competitive Japanese fashion market, the other reason was the limited availability of his clothing. He made a set amount of each piece in each size, and once they were sold out, no matter the demand, no matter how much more money he stood to make; that was it. Asami remembered reading a particular quote from him in Japanese Vogue, 'Abyss will never be that label that has two people at one party with the same outfit.' He'd found himself smiling after that, because even though they dealt in different merchandise; that ideal of Akihito's was the same as his, and if that truly was the case then he could see himself getting along with the designer rather well. Which is why he found himself here, Asami Ryuichi coming to someone else's' business for a meeting was unheard of, and he was even being made to wait.
However a five-minute wait quickly turned into ten, which turned into twenty and he hoped that Takaba Akihito didn't intend to push the boundaries that were only half established, there was cheeky, and then there was rude, and Asami wouldn't say they were close enough to make the other wait half an hour, then there was the fact that no one made him wait at all, let alone this amount of time.
Kirishima checked his watch with an exasperated tap of his foot, and it looked like Suoh and Yoh were also growing impatient along with him, but before Asami could make the choice to leave and show Takaba who was really calling the shots, he heard the sounds of doors opening and heavy shoes thumping down the hall.
"No, I know there's a deadline, I don't give a shit, deadlines are made to be moved, so move it because you aren't getting my line up today." The sound of Akihito's uncouth irritation carried down the hall before the owner of the voice appeared, all pursed brows and adorable scowls, small stomping feet and a surprisingly angry demeanor.
With a phone held to his ear and a stack of paperwork in the other hand, he walked distractedly up to the desk of his assistant and handed the paperwork over with the phone away from his pretty mouth and a quick order for them to be faxed off.
He watched Akihito roll his eyes to whatever the person on the phone was saying, watched his mouth imitate the other person with sarcastic silent words, that was until the designer went rigid and his pupils blew out to envelop his hazel irises in visible ire at something said.
"Oi. Listen, that's my fucking runway allocation, I don't give a shit who's breathing down your throat or willing to gag on your hairless dick for it, it's mine, and I will finalize my fucking line up when I finalize it. Are we done?"
With something amusing to entertain him finally; Asami basked in the view, how he'd thought of Akihito as disheveled and void of class on their first meeting he didn't know, because even now in an oversized grey wool knit with inside out seams that hung off his lithe frame to show a teasing tip of collarbones, even now with tight black military jeans that had pockets at the thigh and matte black combat boots that hugged his calves nicely; he still carried himself with all the poise only the gifted had.
It was obvious now he wasn't playing the game just yet, he was truly busy, right now he looked like a person with too much things to do and not enough time to do it in, pressure. Some people thrived under pressure, and it looked like Takaba Akihito was one of those people. Instead of looking tired and worn down with weary eyes and slack shoulders, his hazel eyes were aglow with determination and stubborn will, his back straight and his steps full of intent.
The words that came out of his mouth as he beat the other person on the phone into submission were well spoken and accentuated despite the selection of vocabulary, high class sass with not a care given to what anyone thought, truly 'giving no fucks' as Takaba would call it.
The blonde leant against the desk as he dropped the phone with a sigh and a flick of his wrist, giving Asami a full view of his slim shoulders and tapering waistline, all the way down to his well-rounded ass and slender legs.
"I swear Fei, I am going to fucking shank the next person I have to deal with if they're even as half as difficult a newspaper brain teaser."
Before the secretary Feilong could point out who was waiting for him and had been for a while, before his own assistant Kirishima could sardonically cough out the breath of air he'd just inhaled for that reason; Asami cut them all off with a chuckle as he stood, "I'd like to see you try, Takaba Akihito."
A curse under his breath whirled the designer around, where he finally noticed who was waiting for him as they locked eyes, however instead of the cheeky greeting he expected; Takaba's demeanor shifted into something akin to formal as he bowed.
"Ah, sorry to keep you waiting, I hope it wasn't long." And Asami's intrigue piqued yet again as he realized that the Takaba Akihito now was all business, he was talking one party owner to another, all work and no play to be seen, and it wasn't an act, he was so serious, so committed to his work and his goals that he was truly apologetic for making Asami wait.
Maybe it was the lack of deception, perhaps it was the honesty in such an open apology and lowering of one's head, the realness of it all that had him saying. "It's no bother." When usually it really was bothersome, when usually he'd use such a slight to his advantage and gain the upper hand.
"Ah, thank fuck for that." and with one of his long fingered hands sighed and ran it through his wild blonde hair.
Or maybe it was the fact it was Takaba Akihito, another part of him voiced in the back of his head.
Kirishima was clearly speechless at the change of attitude, his mouth dropped for an instant to cut off whatever no doubt chiding remark he was going to make, Suoh and Yoh watched their colleague's reaction with their own amusement barely hidden.
And then, the business façade slipped when Takaba's face lit up as his hazel pair of eyes trailed across the room to land on Yoh with assessing scrutiny, calculating up and down before the designer stepped forward, "You'll do very nicely too, I think." He said to no one in particular. "Asami, if you'd come with me, we can get down to business. Your men too."
"Very well." Asami drawled as he made to follow, he wasn't sure what the designer was playing at now, though he knew he was playing at something, but he'd be surprised if he needed his men there for whatever it was.
Then again, the designer hadn't failed to surprise him yet.