STORY WARNINGS:
YaoiMale/Male.
Rating: Mature. ADULTS ONLY. Contains graphic violence, some coarse language, explicit sexual content both consensual/non-consensual, forced/willing submission, bondage, BDSM, edging, safewords, aftercare, adult themes, guilty pleasure fantasy where you want someone to be a bit too forceful.

A/N: Yay I managed an update this week! As much fun as their bedroom shenanigans are, there is a storyline behind this. Hope you enjoy this Xmas prezzie for y'all, ho ho ho. Hold onto your seats now! (^^)

~ Nyx ~

DISCLAIMER: The Finder series and all recognisable characters belong to Yamane Ayano sensei.


Click

Chapter 11

Akihito woke alone to the sound of the front door thudding shut.

Sex. Everything smelled of sex. His room. His bed. His skin. But seeped into him was also Asami – expensive sandalwood, Dunhill and that elusive, enticing, enthralling scent that could be nobody else...

How was it that Asami always managed to reduce him to some wanton manwhore? Akihito had fucked himself on the bastard, for crying out loud! Front and back! ...Sable and gold, velvet and steel, torment and ecstasy... Memories assailed him like fall leaves snatched up in a whirlwind and he groaned, swearing blind that the only reason for such a sound was because of the steady, relentless throb in his lower back and he was not getting hot just thinking about it all. He wasn't, damn it! He curled in on himself –

And stilled. He was clean. He knew what it felt like to fall asleep covered in his own spend, this wasn't it. What the hell, had Asami wiped him up? It was... so... personal... Akihito's face burned up and he dove into his pillow – the freaking chain under it was gone, thank fuck for small mercies – and wondered it if was possible to die from embarrassment.

But he had way, way more important things to worry about than mind-blowing, out-of-this-world sex. Like the video. And his sentencing judge seemingly reporting to Asami... How much did Asami already know? Asami had barely asked any questions, hadn't even tried to pump him for answers when he was delirious with arousal as he'd been expecting. What the hell was Asami's play? It was killing him. He had to leave before the bastard could deploy whatever dastardly scheme he had cooking. Because come on, this was Asami. There was bound to be one. He had to leave now, even if the red LED numbers next to his bed read 04:06 and the night still withheld the sun's first rays over Tokyo. Not just placements but the city. Maybe even the country.

But first things first. The duvet in the corner wafting of sex and making his cock twitch had to go.

The bedroom door was closed, edged with shafts of light from the living room. He groaned upright and slid off the bed, cursing as every movement felt like someone had taken a sledgehammer up his ass, which actually wasn't far off. He grimaced with the first step, then found with the second step that the left side hurt marginally less.

"Stupid bastard," he grumbled as he hobbled along. "With your stupid perfect face and your stupid giant dick..."

He yanked the door open and squeezed his eyes shut as he was whitewashed by the bright light in the living room. He blindly headed for the bathroom where his laundry bag lived, dragging the duvet with him as he limped his usual arced path that would take him clear of the plastic drawers pushed against the wall between the bedroom and bathroom doors –

His thighs smacked solidly into something, sending his upper body and the bed covers toppling over something solid but soft, bouncing and tumbling in a heap to the floor with a surprised yelp.

He lay there winded, blinking in a daze, adjusting to the bright light. And found himself staring at a pair of legs. Suit trouser legs, to be precise. And he knew who they belonged to even before he followed the legs up to the white shirt with the two buttons undone at the top and higher still to the lips twitching with amusement and sharp golden eyes...

Asami sat on one side, where Akihito hadn't tumbled over, of a two-seater settee, a black leather upholstered number that most certainly hadn't been there the night before. Neither had the solid walnut table where Asami rested an iPad and swiped through it as though it was perfectly normal for him to be doing so in Akihito's tiny living room...

"If I knew sex was going to make you this clumsy, I would have warned you that I was bringing extra items in here."

Not only had Asami not left, but he'd brought furniture? Brain still fogged from sleep and sex, Akihito couldn't get a handle on it and it didn't even occur to him to be mad about the implication that sex made him a klutz.

"But..." He glanced numbly at the front door.

"Oh, that? My men just left, they moved the furniture in."

"Why?"

Asami became more serious, although the gleam of amusement still remained. "Why not? We still have things to discuss and we don't have to be uncomfortable discussing it."

Akihito was about to retort something when the slight flicker of Asami's eyes, and the twitch of a smile on his lips, suddenly brought a horrifying realization.

With an undignified shriek that did nothing for his pride, Akihito scrambled off the floor and stumbled around the sofa in nothing but his birthday suit, chased all the way into the bedroom by the laughter that Asami could no longer contain.

Surely, now, Akihito would die of embarrassment!


Akihito didn't look at Asami as he marched back into the living room, stomping with as much outrage as his aching back would allow. At least he had clothes on again now, some old sweatpants and a tank top. He grabbed the bed covers and resumed his earlier mission, hauling them over to the bathroom and stuffing them into his laundry bag.

He limped over to the kitchenette. "I can't believe you had furniture moved in here. Isn't that a bit excessive?"

Asami shrugged, leaning on his knee with an elbow as his other hand skimmed across the iPad. "This is more comfortable."

"Oh, right, what was I thinking? Why put up with being uncomfortable when you're richer than God and can simply have furniture delivered at the drop of a hat?"

He poured a glass of water for himself and knocked back some painkillers. He hesitated, hating himself for it, but he couldn't help mumble – "Do you want a drink?"

Asami half smirked. "I helped myself earlier."

Akihito eyed the glass on the draining rack. "Right."

Asami clicked the iPad to sleep and reclined on the settee, stretching an arm out over the back. "Come here."

Akihito couldn't very well start packing to leave now but he fully intended to go back to sleep. He rounded the countertop to head back to his bedroom. "You should hurry up and finish what you're doing."

"Come here, Akihito."

Akihito carried on ignoring him. "And I'm not making you breakfast so you can see yourself out."

"Are you inviting me back to bed with you?"

Akihito stopped in his tracks. Fuming and scowling furiously, he turned in the bedroom doorway and limped back, wondering if he could just hover... But Asami wasn't having any of it. He tapped the sofa back with his arm stretched out over it.

"Sit."

Akihito folded his arms. "I'm fine right here."

"Sit. Or be tied up. Your choice."

Akihito gaped, shaking his head. "Would you give it a rest already? You're obsessed with tying me up! Perverted bastard..." He nonetheless lowered himself cautiously on the edge of the sofa, not doubting the bastard's threats for a moment.

"I'd originally intended to make you talk when you were begging for me to let you cum –" Akihito flushed and almost choked as Asami continued regardless – "but you made me hard with all your delicious moaning and writhing –"

"Would you stop?" Akihito's cheeks were dusted pink.

Asami might have smirked if he wasn't so set on finishing this conversation this time. "As soon as you tell me why you really left Sion."

Normal. Be normal, Akihito told himself. "Look, you want to know why I left? Because every time, it's like this. You won't leave me alone! That's why I left Sion, I was trying to get away from you."

Asami was silent, regarding him with narrowed eyes, the air about him becoming cold. Akihito fought the urge to fidget, determined to act perfectly normal...

"So that's it, is it?" Asami murmured.

Akihito returned the stare as levelly as he could.

"And," Asami continued casually, "it has nothing to do with the hard disc you looked at for me?" He calmly regarded Akihito's frozen expression. "Because it confused us, you see. One of my men weighed the pieces before disposing of it, just to be sure, and there was a deficiency that he couldn't account for. Now, I can't help but think that you might have kept a piece all this time."

No amount of mental preparation to act as normal as possible could have prepared Akihito for this bombshell. He paled, fear washing over his face, horrified hazel eyes colliding with golden dragon eyes.

But there was one thing Akihito was adamant about. "I- I didn't... try... to keep –"

Before he could finish, everything went pear shaped.

Asami's head snapped to the front door an instant before it exploded inwards and a black-clad intruder dive-rolled into the living room. Powerful legs propelled Asami over the back of the settee, grabbing and taking Akihito with him.

It was said that the first moment when you looked at a clock was when the second hand moved the slowest. Sailing backwards, in that eternal first moment, Akihito glimpsed the assailant raising what might have been a semi-automatic, crouching, taking aim. Asami's arm trailed like a comet in their wake, a gun clasped in the large hand seemingly out of nowhere, firing a single shot that reverberated through Akihito's ear drums and sent the intruder hurtling backwards. The two of them dropped –

And time finally caught up as they crash-landed. Gunfire erupted from more assailants following the first. Akihito landed heavily on his shoulder, Asami barrel-rolling more smoothly before he shoved them both flush against the back of the sofa. Asami ducked down over the blond head as bullets thudded all around them, jetting splinters of plaster and wood and plastic and computer fragments everywhere under what felt like a hundred bullets in five seconds. But then abruptly there was the briefest lull, an eerie quiet filled with clicks of reloading, and Asami surged to his feet – bang bang bang! – rapid fire, three shots. Followed by three heavy, dull thuds.

Akihito stared up mutely at Asami, the fearless sentinel against unidentified assailants. No Kevlar, no guards, just Asami with his rolled up sleeves, the corded muscles on his forearm casting shadows, and the lethal dull silver barrel of his handgun.

Where were his men? What nightmare of this crime lord had Akihito stumbled into?

Multiple pairs of boots thudded closer down the walkway outside and Akihito's fear notched up to new heights. He probably would have stayed uselessly frozen if Asami hadn't grabbed his arm and thrown him into the bedroom, slinging him behind the broad back against the wall as they took cover from the front door.

"Where are you?" Asami demanded quietly, briskly.

Akihito didn't know how Asami kept doing these things. The gun, for starters. And now a phone. Things kept appearing in the man's hands.

"Four down, more incoming –"

Akihito's unintelligible half scream cut across Asami as the window shattered and two more black-clad assailants abseiled in amidst a spray of glass.

The first fell to a bullet before he even hit the floor. Asami was on the second in an instant, slipping under a swinging arm and knocking up the firing arm that sunk a bullet into the wall above Akihito's head. The assailant was so massive that Asami looked almost small in comparison. He blocked his head, kicked out, elbowed and took a blow to the ribs before he dodged aside and pistol-whipped the guy's balaclava-covered head. The assailant spun with it, throwing more frenzied attacks in their messy close-quarter fighting.

Akihito jolted as gunshots ripped through the open doorway from the living room, six shots that sent Asami ducking away and that the beefy opponent exploited to pin him to the wall, bashing a massive fist into Asami's hold and sending Asami's gun clattering away.

Even for Akihito who'd never handled a gun in his life there was no mistaking the empty clicks that followed the gunshots, echoes of the hammer hitting an empty chamber that resounded louder than his thumping heartbeat. Reloading took no time at all and then the unseen assailant was firing from the living room again, the slugs burying into the wall by Asami's head...

Asami!

It overrode everything else. He didn't give a flying rat's ass about the crossfire. Akihito leaped across the doorway as bullets flew, tumbled into the opposite wall and slammed the door closed. They were thrown into near darkness as another bullet bolted through the thin plywood, but then the assailant in the living room stopped firing, unable to see his target.

Street lights and lights from neighbouring buildings transformed the world into shades of tinted grey. Gluing himself to the wall to keep out of the way, Akihito watched helplessly as Asami twisted away his opponent's tight grip pinning his wrist and the two of them careened into the door just as the intruder in the living room tried to open it. There was a startled yelp as the door was forcibly slammed shut again. Asami smashed the much larger opponent's beefy head into it for good measure and wrestled him in a neck lock.

Another big dark blur sailed in through the jagged window, disconnecting from black ropes in mid air before he'd even landed in a light crouch that belied his weight. He took one glance at the other assailant in a tight spot and charged immediately at Akihito.

Did these fuckers never stop coming? Akihito was panicked and scrappy, aiming for soft spots – between the legs, the eyes behind the balaclava, the throat. Well he tried, at least. But the intruder easily out-manoeuvred him and deflected all his attempts, wrapping a thick arm around Akihito's neck from behind and dragging him aside out of line of the doorway.

The body at his back felt all wrong, bulkier and shorter than Asami, the contours and ridges in all the wrong places. It was in his choked silence that Akihito heard a heaved grunt from across his bedroom followed by a sickening crack that resonated horrifically in his skull.

Asami rose fluidly, reclaiming his gun as he dropped the limp body of the giant he'd been battling. The thick stranglehold eased just enough and Akihito could breathe easier again, but his relief died young – all of a sudden there was the all-too-familiar press of cold hard metal...

It surged like the incoming tide. The phantoms that had pestered his sleep the past week, the ghosts that had clawed at his shadow as he fled his dreams – only now they swarmed into monsters and the gun against his temple became entirely too real.

Yet again his existence teetered on the trifling squeeze of a trigger, everything boiling down to a single, indiscriminate bullet.

Akihito's soul bled. It took long harrowing moments to realize he was staring down the barrel of Asami's gun.

"Freeze! Move and he dies!" The yell right beside his ear almost deafened him.

Why the fuck was this happening all over again? Paralysed with terror, Akihito stared numbly as Asami faced down the assailant with the same cold detachment as he had all the rest.

The attacker suddenly gasped, a soft sound right beside Akihito's ear as he drew back a little. "A- Asami?"

Did Akihito imagine it, or was that fear that he detected in the assailant's sudden recognition?

But as Asami narrowed his arctic gaze and his gun remained locked unwaveringly at the covered head right next to Akihito's, the moment passed. The grip strengthened around Akihito's neck, making him choke again.

"Ugh –"

"Asami-sama," the assailant assured, his voice much more reserved now. "This is all a misunderstanding. It's not you –" He paused at the distinct click, the smack seating a new magazine and the loading sling shot, his eyes flickering infinitesimally to the bedroom door –

And that was that. Asami buried a bullet straight between the balaclava eye holes.

The grip eased around Akihito's neck, loosening, slipping, before falling away entirely. The body fell with a domino drum as the assailant toppled to the floor. His face bled of all colour, Akihito swayed –

Asami charged. Bullets slammed into and through the door as Asami shoved Akihito into the wall. Asami snagged another magazine from his ankle and shielded the smaller man with his own body against the wall as he reloaded over Akihito's head and dumped a few rounds of his own into the door. The recoil reverberated through the larger body into Akihito where they were pressed together.

The return fire seemed to discourage the assailants in the living room. Silence fell, screaming in the abrupt halt of gunfire. Akihito trembled, completely leaning against Asami, relying on the solid warmth to hold himself together.

Asami's gun never once wavered. "Anyone else who comes through the door is dead," he promised, cold and deadly, target locked.

There was a long pause before one of the assailants called back through the closed door.

"Identify yourself."

"You first," Asami threw back, totally fearless, his control absolute. "And state your business."

Muted debate followed. "We're after Takaba Akihito. Hand him over and you'll come to no harm."

...Wait, what? They were after him? Akihito had assumed that these men had come for the crime lord! And so had Asami, judging by the golden eyes that zeroed down on him all of a sudden. But then those piercing eyes dropped to Akihito's arm. Asami reached for it with his free hand, fingers wrapping around the upper arm and his thumb brushing across the bicep –

Akihito flinched at the sharp burn, surprised to see the dark bleeding gash as though he'd been cut. Or grazed by a bullet. Huh. Was that why it had been throbbing?

There was something in Asami's gaze, something weighted and significant that added colour to his cold lethality, before he refocused. "What's your business with Takaba?"

"That's none of your concern. All you have to do is hand him over."

"Then we're at a stalemate," Asami observed mildly as though he was used to fitting in a gunfight before breakfast every day, his attentive gaze flickering regularly to the window as well as the door. "You'll have to go through me first."

Asami's offhanded rejection prompted heated whispers in the living room.

Akihito was vaguely aware of staring. Why was Asami protecting him? Had Asami not tormented him enough, was that it? But such a lethal confrontation seemed a high price for mere carnal pleasure, unless Asami was so confident in his ability to protect himself that he didn't see much risk. Though to be fair, the guy had taken down seven men single-handedly so far while protecting Akihito's useless ass... Akihito could only stare up at that sharp jaw turned towards the door, close enough to tip his forehead against it if he leaned forwards, anchoring himself on Asami's solidity pressing him into the wall.

Suddenly there was a distant cacophony of cries and yells from the apartment and the walkway beyond.

"Incoming!"

"Behind you!"

"Hands up!"

"Hold fire!"

"Who are you!"

"Don't fire!"

"Shit, you're –"

"Stand down! Stand down you idiots! They're Asami's men!"

"What? Asami? Asami?!"

Asami smirked at the horrified yell even though he still kept his weapon trained on the doorway. They listened as Asami's men took control of the rest of the apartment and relieved the assailants of their weapons.

A voice called out, "Clear, boss!"

"Roger," Asami confirmed.

Only then did he lower his gun although he kept it hanging by his side. He turned to Akihito, grasping his jaw and turning his face up, piercing deep into the questioning, mystified, speechless hazel eyes as though searching for the younger man's state of mind.

Asami took a step – and was pulled back. They both looked down to find Akihito's hands fisted white on Asami's shirt.

Asami didn't rush him. He remained still as Akihito forced his hands to let go. The younger man looked even more vulnerable then, fear rising and shimmering in the hazel eyes, robbing him of his usual spark. Asami considered him for a long moment before he caught the slender jaw again and closed his lips over Akihito's.

There was no fighting back. All defences already flayed apart, Akihito relinquished control as Asami took the kiss. But in the brief, deep, sweeping kiss, Akihito also took his measure. This was Asami. And they were alive. They were ok.

Asami drew back to see the life beginning to spark back in the hazel eyes. He gave his signature smirk, deliberately piling on the arrogance, knowing it would wind the brat up. Akihito didn't disappoint – his brow ridged, his eyes hardening as he glared. Ruffling his hair, Asami turned and strode out of the bedroom.

He left a vacuum in his wake, the comfort of his formidable aura whooshing away from Akihito who was left standing there in confusion. Was it his imagination or was Asami trying to help him? He certainly didn't feel like such a damsel in distress anymore... Daring a lingering, nerve-wracking glance at the sea of glass, at the bodies crumbled on a bed of diamond shards, he followed after the bastard who confused the hell out of him.


His tiny apartment was a mess. Bullet holes were everywhere, peppered into the walls and floor, the plastic drawers of computing equipment smashed to bits, the new settee vomiting white stuffing and the table was a mass of wooden splinters, the floor covered in debris. Four more bodies lay in unnatural heaps on the floor between the legs of three assailants being held at gunpoint by three of Asami's men. It was beyond crowded.

One of Asami's men was a blond giant. The blond giant.

All of the assailants had closely cropped hair and wore black suits, de-masked now, clearly members of a particular type of organization. They all bowed – from the waist, head low, no skimping on the respect.

"Asami-sama," one of them greeted, the first to straighten. A jagged scar ran down his cheek and through his lip, his cold, heartless eyes were plain creepy. He looked more than a little unhinged.

Asami barely nodded in acknowledgement. "Wakajima." No title, no honorific, and yet the man only bowed his head again.

"You killed four of our men," Wakajima noted, although he sounded more offended than upset.

"Seven, actually. But what did you expect? You dared to open fire on me, be grateful you're not all dead."

The yakuza were bowing again. Akihito glanced at Asami, wondering at the glaring power disparity. Just who the hell was this man to whom the yakuza showed deference like this?

"Our sincere apologies, Asami-sama. You have our solemn assurance that we had no knowledge of your being here."

"Who gave the kill order for Takaba?"

Wakajima hesitated.

"Who?" Asami demanded harshly. Even Akihito flinched.

"The Oyabun [head] of the Nishizuma Group, Nishizuma Kato."

And with that one revelation, Akihito's world came crashing down.

With startling clarity Akihito knew why they had come. Asami would find out his worst secret. As though standing on the tracks ahead of an oncoming train, he could only stare on helplessly as his saviour of moments earlier became his executioner.


The golden gaze cut across to him, seeing the recognition – and death – in Akihito's eyes, aimed not at the yakuza but at Asami.

The air turned to winter. "And what spurred your boss to send such a large kill squad after one boy?"

"Takaba is the reason the Oyabun was jailed."

"Explain." Asami's tone gave nothing away.

Wakajima gave a small bow of acknowledgement. "You may be aware that Nishizuma-sama was jailed because of a hacker who published incriminating evidence. The same hacker nearly sunk the Sato group, triggered investigations on nearly a dozen cops on the take, and tipped off the police about the two Diet members who were securing the Mugen-Gumi's Taiwan–Hong Kong route. These are only a few examples of the work of a single online investigative journalist, the blight of so many of us brothers trying to earn a living despite the persecution of the law." Wakajima's gleeful eyes slid over to the terrified young man. "Zama Miro, more commonly known as Takaba Akihito."

Akihito was shaking softly as Asami loomed closer. Asami's mask was unreadable, his aura terrifying, mesmerising, consuming. Akihito couldn't formulate any words or plan or any reaction at all. The death sentence was already signed and sealed. He'd damned himself.

The cold barrel of the gun that had saved him earlier now trailed along Akihito's cheek. He shivered violently but could put up no resistance as the gun slid around to the back of his head, a solid, lethal hardness that drew him close into the broad chest in a pseudo embrace. Asami's own kiss of death, just for him. That familiar warmth and scent was a cruel mockery of comfort, its earlier protection already a distant memory, now a harbinger of his execution.

Asami's breath was warm in his ear, his voice frigid with icy authority.

"You brought this on yourself, Akihito. Remember that."

It was a delayed reaction before Akihito's brain could grasp that Asami had let go. Not only that, but turned his back. And stepped away. Facing Scarface.

"You will rescind the order, Shateigashira [Second Lieutenant] Wakajima. Takaba Akihito is under my protection."

Silence greeted Asami's decree. Wakajima's psychotic delight morphed into disbelief. Even Asami's own men paused, glancing at their boss before managing to mask their surprise.

It had taken this long for Akihito to realize that Asami wasn't about to bury a bullet in his brain. And with it came a shuddering breath.

It shattered the stillness, snapping them from their shocked stupor. Wakajima furiously tried to make his case, Asami remaining indifferent. Akihito's mind stuttered, fumbling and unable to grasp what was going on. He didn't even know why that statement had made everyone do a double take, until Wakajima's incredulous words alluded to the gravity of Asami's choice of words.

"You would go to war? Over him?"

"I would go to war to protect what's mine," Asami snarled. "I'll grant you one hour to straighten yourselves out. Fail, and I will annihilate the pitiful remnants of the Nishizuma Group, starting with you."

Mine...? Akihito stared, stupefied. War...?

Wakajima was fuming but this was Asami. He had little choice. He inclined his head in capitulation, before glaring at the silent blond.

"You might be hiding in Asami's favour now, Takaba, but your luck will run out one of these days. And then you'll be fucked right over. I promise you that."

Akihito might have been floundering getting his head around the enigma that was Asami but that was between him and Asami and nobody else. He temporarily shoved it all aside as this weasel's insults kindled his backbone back into life.

He snapped his focus on the scarred yakuza, all of a sudden determined and fierce. "Who was your source? Who told you it was me?"

Wakazaki was taken aback at this transformation in the hitherto shaking leaf but he soon frowned and glared back. "Like I'd tell you, you dumb fuck."

V1P3R. It had to be. "As I thought, you don't know. Let me guess, some anonymous tip, right?" Akihito's lips slanted into a humourless grin. "But lemme tell you something. Ten guns against little old me armed with a laptop? Not cool, man. Reeks of desperation."

"Why you –" Wakajima flinched as Asami's giant blond guard jabbed him in the ribs. In the lull that followed, they registered sirens in the distance, approaching rapidly.

"Grab them!" Wakajima snapped to the other two yakuza, waving at the bodies.

"Leave them," Asami countermanded.

"But –"

"You can collect their bodies from the morgue." As the yakuza still hesitated, Asami challenged, "Would you prefer to contest the police, or me?"

Apparently the police was the less daunting option and the three yakuza beat a hasty retreat with a final grudging bow to Asami.

The sirens were getting nearer. Akihito finally looked at Asami, shrinking back under the arctic glare, his brief spurt of bravado vanishing like morning mist in the abrupt shift in dynamics. Asami knew. About him being Z4m4 M1r0, about the last shard from the bullet-riddled hard drive, he knew it all. Had Asami only saved him so he could deal with Akihito himself?

Asami turned to his men. "Where were you?" His irritation was obvious as he checked over his gun.

"I'm sorry, boss," Blond Tank replied. "We were ambushed."

"Casualties?"

"Only one of theirs, just knocked out." The big guard took the gun when it was handed to him.

Asami pointed to places around the flat and to the bodies. "Suoh, you took that one out first, took cover behind the settee, then two, three, four. Retreated to the bedroom. Three through the window. Shot five, cervical fracture on six, centre T-shot on seven."

"Yes, sir," Suoh acknowledged before turning to the other two, not missing a beat. "You two dealt with the ambush as it happened. Sagano, you were in lead."

The other two bowed.

"Do the transfer from six," Asami ordered.

"Yes, sir."

The big guard made fast work of checking over the gun, swapping it into his holster for one of his own which was relegated to an empty holster under his trouser leg. He checked out the different kill angles, patting dust and other debris onto his clothes and hair, ticking off the forensic boxes...

Seconds. Mere seconds to concoct a version of events where Asami hadn't fired a single shot. Akihito's eyes flickered between them, mouth slightly agape. He'd never felt so conflicted in his life as Asami committed perjury right before his eyes. But Asami had only killed the men in self-defence, saving Akihito...

"Sir."

One of the guards approached Asami with his shoes. He brushed off his socks, stepped into them and crouched to tie the laces.

"Get Akihito's as well."

"Yes, sir."

Akihito shouldn't have seen it. Any of it. Not the shooting, not the parley with the yakuza, not the set up. Not Suoh returning and placing an arm about Asami's back and holding his arm as though in support, shifting his hold several times, even smudging blood until Asami nodded – the 'transfer', the plausible reason for Asami being covered with the big bad's DNA. Akihito had witnessed too much, he knew he'd long surpassed any margin for leniency.

Akihito could only stare transfixed as Asami advanced amidst the wailing sirens that now surrounded the apartment building.

"Are your feet alright?"

That wasn't what Akihito had expected. Tipping his head down, he stared numbly at the small splodges of blood where he stood amidst the small fragments and debris. A dull ache on his soles registered somewhere in the back of his mind, mingling with the throbbing originating from his arm.

"Here."

Akihito's shoes were pressed into his hands. He stood there uncertainly for several moments before gingerly slipping his bleeding feet into his shoes.

Long fingers sifted through his hair, a reassuring gesture until the hand abruptly fisted, forcing his head back sharply while also drawing him flush against Asami. Intimacy and warning rolled into one. A gasp rushed between Akihito's lips, the sudden jolt of fear dumping enough adrenaline in his blood to penetrate the numb haze that had been fogging his brain.

An elevator pinged somewhere in the background, almost lost amidst the police sirens.

Blistering gold captured Akihito's entire focus. "We will talk later, and you will tell me everything," came the dark promise. Asami's lips pressed warm against his ear, practically growling his warning. "Don't make me regret this."

Asami released him and stepped past. Swaying faintly, it was all Akihito could do to remain standing.

The elevator dinged again, much closer this time, multiple pairs of boots thudded in the corridor, and mayhem descended as the police charged in amongst the carnage.