Killing with a Smile.

This was either the beginning of the end, or the end of the beginning for Takaba Akihito and his label, Abyss, and damn it, he did indeed have a lot of fucks to give right now. In fact, he'd been saving them all for this occasion, he needed them more right now than he needed a lint roller when wearing a black shirt, which was fucking essential by the way.

He only had one plan, one option, and he needed it to work, or he'd be royally screwed up the ass, dry, with a broom handle. Ugh, no thanks.

He could feel his stupid nice, happy, normal person mask edging its way into his demeanor, cos when you wanted something, you had to play it nice to get it, right? No point in going full-fledged asshole just yet. Nerves and his temper in particular weren't the best combination, so he had to play it as cool as the cucumber and mint water he had in the fridge, maybe afterwards he'd have to add copious amounts of vodka to drown himself in his epic failure at life.

So all he could hope as he led that handsome face that he'd definitely like to fuck and his three smoking hot musketeers down the hall to his design room, was that the plan he and Fei had come up with over the weekend would be enough. Akihito had always been confident enough in his work to be able to win people over, but of course with a group like Asami and his men, something like that would be the last of their concerns, and fucking hell he hated people who could pull that off.

He had half of what he wanted at a huge cost already, a price he'd rather not pay if he were honest, sure, Asami would wear his suits to those snooty functions that everyone went to, to flaunt their fake power and useless money, but Akihito really didn't want to have to tag along. Fuck, how many social events did that guy go to anyway? Not to mention he had to custom make those suits himself, not that he didn't mind putting in the effort for something like that, he'd fucking love to swathe Asamin in Abyss as often as he could, but there was this little thing called time that he didn't exactly have. Man, he'd really put himself up shit creek with this one.

Akihito could see sleep deprivation in his near future, and a fuck ton of caffeine to beat that shit into submission. Oh well, he could put up with hard slogging if it meant getting what he really needed. Fei would just have to put up with the grumpy bum he'd inevitably become, and the best thing about Fei was that he'd do just exactly that. What he'd do without Fei, Akihito didn't actually know.

Now though, it was time to see if the weekend's worth of planning and designing was all for naught. He'd led them to his design cave where custom orders and runway pieces were all made by himself, mock ups for new ideas all came to life here, concepts were solidified before the final designs were sent to his small factory that Kou and Takato ran with a small team on the outskirts of the city.

His life might have been in permanent disarray, just like his hair, but everything in this room was always where he needed it to be. Design boards with sketches pinned in order of priority lined the walls of the room, bolts of fabric stored away in their racks according to color and texture, sewing benches with all the counter space he needed framed the room, adjustable mannequins stood ready and waiting next to those sewing stations. In the middle of this paradise was a concrete island bench that he used to measure fabric and cut cloth, he'd sit at that bench for hours on end on his wobbly stool staring at blank paper, or put a mannequin smack bang in the middle of it and look at a piece a and scrape his fucking brain in wonder at what was missing.

Akihito didn't often have visitors in this room, but he was pinning everything on the fact that he'd get this damn deal and be able to take measurements as soon as everything got the go ahead, no risk, no reward, he could risk letting strangers into his sanctuary this one time.

He gave the men the final once over as he bid them one by one into the room before him. In went the tall body guard, Suoh, the strong silent and secretly boss as fuck type, he had 'don't fuck with me' emblazoned in his very demeanor. Then there was Yoh, the one he'd just had the delightful pleasure of laying eyes on, he had the grace of an actual ninja, and hair straight out of a men's runway mag and the swag suit to go with it, truthfully, Akihito would be happy just to get this guy, cos fashion on a stick he was fucking smokin'.

Then came Kirishima, and his suit fit perfectly today, just like the other two, he knew why it fit better today too, but it still didn't stop the ceremonial itch in his fingers that wanted to fix the tie because it was still a dime too tight. This fucking Glasses Guy, he oozed sophistication and everything Akihito would never have, he reeked of class and intelligence so much it was almost disgusting, even looking at him was his face rubbed in it. Lucky he was handsome under the glasses to boot, he was exactly what he needed, so Akihito would keep his mouth zipped, for now.

Then came his centerpiece, Asami Ryuichi. He was all of the above and then some, the embodiment of swagger, the best fucking thing since skinny jeans and hair straighteners, he'd say it once and he would say it again, he was drop dead gorgeous.

Fuck, Akihito wanted this alright, wanted this and then some.

So he followed them in after leaving the door open, because Feilong had been insistent that Akihito leave the door open so he could eavesdrop on the conversation while he got other work done. Akihito could give him that much for being the one who got this idea rolling in the first place.

So it was now or nothing, Asami, as he fucking would, sat on the only stool at the island bench, leaving the three flanking him like this was some gangster business exchange and guns were gonna be pulled any second. It was a little bit exciting, because Akihito knew it wasn't too far fetched for these people, and that's what he was going to play on and hope like hell it was going to go in his favor.

So like the loner he was always labeled, Akihito took up a spot on the opposite site where he had 'unofficial' paper work already waiting. It was quiet in the room today, the café downstairs wasn't playing any alternative music to take the edge off, and the sound the pages made when they hissed as he slid them across the top of the workbench was audible to all.

Akihito chose not to say anything, because no doubt he'd end up saying something unfiltered and sarcastic to cover up this rare moment of nervousness, everyone looked on as Asami acknowledged the paperwork in front of him with only a moderate amount of interest.

Asami was smart, there was nothing on there that gave Akihito's offer away, but to someone as unconsciously smart as Asami it would be as obvious as a black stain on a white jacket.

"Ho?" and those oh so perfect-fucking lips turned up in a tease of a smirk, and Akihito knew then and there that Asami understood. Thank fucking Gucci for that.

"You know what you're getting yourself into, Takaba Akihito?" came the amused drawl as Asami handed the paper work back to Kirishima, who assessed it with less enthusiasm than what Asami had.

"Suits and guns are the perfect combo, yeah?" Akihito put in, trying to be as smooth as he could to hide his rapidly beating heart, because he'd just jumped off the deep end into a completely different world now, especially if Asami agreed.

"What do you want in return?" Asami leant forward now, hawk eyes piercing, all hint of playfulness gone, the room traitorously cold, his men behind him suddenly more alert than they should be in a damn sewing room. The sweat on the small of his back was unsympathetic.

Akihito had rehearsed what he was going to say right at this moment a million times, but those words were now gone, and so he racked his brain for something feasible today. He was asking for a lot, but he was also risking a lot. With an exhale, and a calming inhale, Akihito laid it down without one waver of his voice. "I want what I asked for, I want you, and the men behind you to front my label on the runway, I want you to sit in the studio and do as I say for photos, in return you can have use of everything on that list."

There, he said it. He'd offered to go into fucking business with Asami Ryuichi, he'd offered the use of his own shipping routes, the routes he used to transport fucking clothing not guns, but maybe guns too now.

He thought maybe Asami might end up going away to mull it over, he thought he might get a 'no' right off the bat, because what if what Akihito was offering wasn't really that good? He was offering routes to places where Asami didn't have trade already, or so Fei had said, the shoe fucking fit. It was perfect.

Thank the Gods of runway; it was. Before Glasses Guy could protest behind Asami, his breath half drawn to say something that Akihito would no doubt find quite irritating, Asami cut in with a raised hand, like he knew what Kirishima would say before he even thought it, and said:

"We have a deal."


"Strip." Akihito ordered, the nerves were gone, replaced by the sweet, sweet taste of victory, because of course with the deal made it meant he needed to get measurements! He'd already decided to save Asami until last, and of course Kirishima was first. Akihito ignored the protest that Kirishima could have his measurements sent by his own tailor, Akihito would have none of that shit. "Strip. I'm not taking the measurements above the fabric, we're all men here, get your kit off mate."

Behind him, Asami sat on the stool with a twinkle in his eye, and an amazingly straight face otherwise, the two behind him though, the big safety beef and the security ninja, they weren't hiding their amusement as well. Yoh had this wicked smirk on his lip, and Suoh couldn't smother his quiet chuckles.

And trust Kirishima to not back down from a challenge after all, one article of clothing after another, with methodical care; he took it off, and Akihito was right, there were no guns under his jacket today as there must have been on the day he first met him.

Akihito took an appraising step back once the secretary was down to his boxer briefs; today was indeed a good day. He set to work, careless of his cold tape measure and his equally cold hands. They wouldn't be cold soon, Akihito was gonna make sure of that.

There wasn't a shred of body fat, only smooth muscle big enough to full those briefs out perfectly in the butt, and what a booty it was. That guy definitely didn't skip the squats. That's where he started, not bothering to make it seem anything less than a grope.

With practiced hands he slid the tap around the man's waist, sliding his hand across Kirishima's ass as he did so, humming loud enough for the owner of said butt to hear. "Too hot." Akihito said off handedly, not expecting any one to get the reference.

He got more than he expected though, because then came "hot damn" from Yoh, intent on adding to his colleague's unfortunate situation.

Oh, this was fucking perfect alright.

Asami looked on while Akihito slowly rendered Kirishima's cheeks pink with a caress on the inside of his leg here, a splayed hand on his impressive chest there, and careless fingers brushing over abs again and again. The man really was a stunner, and because Akihito's filter was pretty much gone at this point, he ended up saying that last thought out loud. Whoops.

There was a split second stutter, a deepened hue of pink on those cheeks, and then it was replaced by a down right devious glimmer behind the lens of Kirishima's glasses, the taller secretary leant down, stroked Akihito's cheek with a gentle thumb, and said "Sorry, sweetheart, you're not my type."

The room fucking exploded, Yoh burst into hoots of laughter, slapping the bench because Akihito would think it was funny too if it hadn't happened to him, that fucking Glasses Guy. Suoh was doing no better at containing himself, and Asami allowed himself a quiet snicker as he gave Kirishima an appraising nod.

Assholes, the whole lot of them.

Pleased as fucking punch, Kirishima got dressed slowly, his poker face back on, and the scores back to zero.


Suoh was next, and unsurprisingly he had a gun holster underneath his suit jacket today, he took it off with care before he moved onto his shirt and the rest of his clothes, and even with it all off he was larger than life, he gave Akihito a cocky flex of his bicep that Akihito took full advantage of, this guy was serious fun, despite his intimidating appearances.

Once again Asami just sat and watched, his gaze hot, his expression unreadable, patient for his turn.

This was like his Christmases all come at once, and he made sure to appreciate the safety beef in full before moving on to Yoh.

Yoh and his recent laughter that was now a memory on the wind, was another story altogether, Yoh, who slung his jacket off with eyes locked on Akihito the entire time, even as he placed his weapons gently on the counter beside him to continue stripping.

His movements were graceful, hypnotizing even, and so was his smoking hot body underneath it all. Yoh stood there in near naked glory, as dangerous as a coiled snake, with scars crisscrossing his ribs that were no doubt meant to have taken his life.

He was quiet as Akihito approached, and for the first time in this encounter Akihito didn't feel %100 safe. Looking at Yoh was like looking at something wild. You wanted to touch, but at the first movement you'd be sure to whip your hand back as fast as you could.

So he took care, measured with gentle touches, not being able to stop his fingers from tracing scars as he found them. He could feel Yoh's eyes on him the entire time, feel the warm body lean into his hand, Akihito looked up at that, finding a now playful grin that said 'just kidding' and in the end all Akihito could do was laugh.

It didn't stop Yoh from leaning into the touches though, didn't stop him from inching closer as Akihito wound the tape about his hips, this guy was seriously suave.

"You're punching above your weight, Yoh." Came the drawl from behind, amusement tinged with a little something else.

Fuck, Akihito had gotten so caught up in this guy that he had actually managed to forget all about Asami for a split second. Yoh didn't even bother to look at his boss, his grin simply widened, "Can't help liking what I see, Asami sama." And he fucking winked as he stepped back to put his clothes on. He'd been winding his boss up, playing along with Akihito to get a reaction, and it'd bloody worked.

Asami was drumming his slender fingers on the worktop bench, the tiny display exposing his growing impatience. Before Yoh had shrugged his jacket back on, Asami was up, his eyes telling of the bad things that were about to happen, bad things that were actually probably good things to Akihito.

On some unspoken order, Kirishima, Suoh and Yoh made their way to the door, an ensemble of business once more as Asami said that he'd make his own way back. Akihito felt the temperature of his blood rise a few degrees at that, and before he let things get too out of control, because he wasn't fucking stupid, he knew that's what was going to happen, he bid Asami through the only other door in the room, it led into his office.

As keen as he was for this, and he was damn keen, he still wasn't going to desecrate his design space with sex. His office was a better place for it. Better yet his desk.

Asami and all his drop dead gorgeous grandeur took it in stride, he walked to the center of the room like he owned the place, like he owned the entire damn world, he took one look around at the white brick painted walls, his cluttered desk and the chair behind it that was no where near the size of the one Asami had at his office.

All that only took a split second, not nearly long enough for Akihito to gather his wits, he could gather thread faster than that at the moment, because this man was really in his office right now, and Akihito really had a tape measure to put to him.

Of course Asami wouldn't make it that easy though, he should have bloody known. Asami turned, his eyes ablaze with all the heat that Akihito felt, "Undress me." He challenged, his voice edged with danger and authority, with excitement and daring invitation.

With those words Akihito knew this was not going to be like the previous measurements he'd just done, far fucking from it.