STORY WARNINGS:
YaoiMale/Male.
Rating: Mature. ADULTS ONLY. Contains graphic violence, torture, 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: So it wasn't writer's block. It just turned out to be over-enthusiastic plot bunnies for another Asami/Akihito arc that wouldn't let me focus on this story until I'd typed a load out. Downside, this was delayed, but on the plus side there might be a different one-shot or short story coming at some point. No promises though, I'm trying to keep focused on Click!

I have pretentiously entitled this 'Asami Ryuichi', resulting from my own quest for insight into this enigmatic man. Perhaps there's something to be said for maintaining the air of mystery but I'm going for it anyway! ;P tee hee. (I just hope it's not what the manga's going to cover with the next chapter due out in 2 days! XD)

Because my chronically long chapters seem to be getting longer still (partly because I changed my mind and decided to properly write out a scene I'd only alluded to in my first draft and so now we include a character I said I wouldn't include at the start!), so hey ho we have another split into two. Easier to handle, though they're still around 9K each! I promise I'll stop talking about chapter lengths at some point... (^^)

WARNING FOR TORTURE: I've added a Torture warning. I don't think it's too hideous, but it's all relative and subjective so please proceed with caution if it's something you know you struggle with.

So here we go, Asami Ryuichi part 1. Part 2 will follow in a day or two, just needs a bit more editing.
~ Nyx ~

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


Click

Chapter 21. Asami Ryuichi – part 1

Tuesday, dead of night.

"Have they talked?"

"Not yet, sir."

An Arctic tempest, the fires of hell not far below. Asami smiled, if it could be called that. It promised only judgement and death. "Good."

Perhaps Sagano might have stirred some pity for their guests except for one fact. They'd come after Takaba.

It had taken Sagano a bit of time to see it, that young man's quality. An uncommon sincerity when it came to people, selfless to the extreme, the most unassuming person Sagano had ever met. A rare gem in the rough who laughed off his bumpy edges and required no polishing. Asami must have seen it from the start.

Then there was Suoh's absence. In the vicinity but not overseeing 'guest accommodations', charged instead with protection duty. The significance wasn't lost on any of the inner cadre of Asami's sworn men. Change was in the air.

Pity received no welcome tonight, only honour-bound inevitability. Passing the outer guard, Sagano followed Asami and Kirishima back down the concrete stairs to the soundproofed steel doors. Down to hell.


Akihito's taste still lingered – his skin, his saliva, his semen. It was enough to stay Asami from lighting up as was his wont. Instead he savoured the intoxicating flavour on his tongue, keeping the brat close, fuelling the reservoir of darkness. The only drawback was that he lacked a convenient cigarette to extinguish on one of their filthy faces in greeting.

Barefoot and stripped from the waist up, the two 'guests' were secured to metal chairs, arms bound behind, the chairs placed side by side and four paces apart. Lash marks already striped their torsos, numerous tiny abrasions dribbling blood courtesy of the cat o' nine, each tail tipped with sharp metal. The guards had now withdrawn a step behind each of the guests. Underground, they were buffered from the worst of the cold night on the cusp of winter, but there was no heating in the bare concrete bunker. The guests were shivering.

This wasn't the night for a lengthy interview. Thoroughness would have to come with speed tonight. Suoh had clearly deduced that too, Asami knew, simply from the men's legs being left untied. A break from protocol, it wasn't something Sagano would have done without Suoh's direct order. A psychological play, a premeditated oversight. Sometimes it was the simplest things that made all the difference. Asami wondered if either of the hitmen were skilled enough to exploit it.

Asami took it all in with one sweeping glance as he stepped into the large bunker.

Recognition was instant. So was the fear that swept over the house guests.

"Asami! I – I knew it was only a matter of time before you showed your face, you sewage scum!" the one on the left yelled.

Asami took his measure in all of a second – a burly skinhead, muscles developed more in the gym than through real-life application, the bluster exaggerated, too much whites of the eyes, sweating despite the cold. More bark than bite. This one, Asami would break.

The one on the right wasn't so good at masking his dread, something rattling with every breath – or so it was meant to appear. He was of slighter build but Asami's practised eye noted the lean toughness about him that hinted at a spine, a deceptive strength. Playing up vulnerabilities, making opponents underestimate him. Not just tougher, but smarter too. This one was going to be a harder nut to crack.

Asami already had an initial marker on them, a little conversation would give him the rest. He ignored them for a moment, however.

"Was it your decision to keep them together?" he asked Sagano, half turning away to look over the metal table over on the side. Showcased was a fine array of knives and other paraphernalia for the deadly arts. Standard fare really, Asami didn't need to look to know what was there. Rather his purpose was at his back. He kept track out of his peripheral vision and as expected, movement resumed from the smarter guest on the right, a subtle shift of the shoulders as he struggled with his bound arms behind the chair back. Asami hid a smile.

"I confirmed with the Chief, sir."

Sagano's first time seeing to their 'guests', he had taken no chances and rightly so. Company was a fickle impetus in these situations. It could just as easily expedite proceedings as toughen up the subjects and make everything drag, though of course both cases had their purposes. Controlling the outcome required a skilled interrogator, one who could fine tune proceedings to manipulate the subjects' temperament and bonds and drivers to suit best purpose. Sagano may have been inclined to separate them but Suoh would have known to leave Asami to have at them as he wished.

"Good call," Asami confirmed. Sagano bowed briefly.

"You think we're just gonna shit ourselves and talk if you ignore us? You stupid dumbass!"

Asami sneered. Crapmouth was going to sing like a lark in more ways than one. Asami would permit only one person to run their mouth off at him, the same one Asami was being kept from because these ill-mannered rats had seen fit to interrupt their private evening. The same one who must also be rubbing off on him if he was starting to give monikers like the brat did.

Pokerface was still silent, shaking just a little, staring and barely blinking. He was good. Asami was better.

"Good evening, gentlemen," he said conversationally. "I see my men have seen to your comfort. Are you nicely warmed up? We'll skip the introductions, shall we. No need for anything so tedious when we all know who we are."

Crapmouth stilled at that.

"I applaud you for withholding your names but really, it was all a wasted effort. Come now, did you think I'd be ignorant of which professionals are operating on my soil?" Asami smiled as Crapmouth tried to glare. "Now the other questions put to you, that's a different matter. I will have your answers and I should warn you, if you're not forthcoming, things may start becoming a touch uncomfortable."

"Why should we talk?" Crapmouth spat. "You'll just kill us as soon as we tell you anything anyway!"

Asami held back on his dam of fury with some effort. Not yet. "Of course you'll die here," he told them with zero sympathy. "Your lives were forfeit the moment you went after Takaba. Your remains will be found burned or electrified through or perhaps melted with acid. Only a DNA test will identify you. The only matter you need concern yourselves with is whether you'd prefer to be alive or dead when we arrange that."

Pokerface's face was pure fear. It was a good mask. But the unseen cogs were still turning.

Crapmouth wasn't looking so boisterous now. His nostrils flared as he fought for oxygen. "J-just to teach us a lesson? So you're just a petty shitbag, just like everyone else." His attempted ridicule was laughable.

"What use are lessons for the dead, Noguchi-san? No, you'll act as my messengers to the world, to demonstrate the consequences of touching what belongs to me."

Crapmouth appeared to be frantically scrabbling for an out.

"Tell me who posted the bounty on Takaba." Asami smiled thinly. "Or are you so reluctant to leave my hospitality you'd rather withhold answers?"

"Your hospitality's fucking lame," Crapmouth tried to hiss fearlessly. He failed. "Come back to my place and I'll show you real hospitality."

Asami's smiled broadened. It was a chilling sight. "See, now we're making progress. Like for like is only fair, after all. Seeing as you paid us a visit, tell me, who is back home in Nagano, Noguchi-san?" He cast a token glance at Pokerface. "Or abroad, Ichiji-san?"

There was a break in the rhythm of Pokerface's breathing. Just a fraction of a second of perfect stillness, blending into the frightened rattling again almost before Asami could register it. But even as he conversed with Crapmouth, it was Pokerface that Asami was tracking unerringly, the more challenging target.

Crapmouth scoffed. "Home? That's not like for like. But who am I to judge if this shitty concrete decor is actually your notion of home. To each their own."

The guard behind Pokerface finally noticed the prisoner's furtive actions. He was about to step in but Asami curtailed any preventive measures with a sharp look and a question that didn't need to be directed at him.

"Remind me, Genji?"

The guard remained on the spot, registering the unspoken order. Pokerface ceased his subtle motions.

"Where did we encounter our guests?" Asami asked.

"At your home, sir," Genji supplied.

Pokerface was still shivering, masking things he'd rather keep hidden, expertly done.

Crapmouth threw a mocking laugh. "By all means, visit my home. I've a whiny bitch who'll spread her legs for anyone with a nice face. Maybe you'd like a turn."

Asami stilled. The temperature about him plunged sub-zero.

Crapmouth didn't notice. "Her mouth isn't half bad either. Only way to shut her up is to keep it busy another way, if you get my drift."

"You'd use your woman to buy your life?" Asami whispered. If Crapmouth had had any chance at mercy before, he'd blown it now. "Sounds like your home is hardly the hospitality to boast of."

He shrugged off his coat. Kirishima caught it fluidly and draped it out of the way over one of the metal chairs by the door.

"I meant my dungeon, fucktard." Crapmouth grinned maniacally, his eyes over-bright with terror as they tracked Asami's movements, the tremor in his voice audible now. "I'd cane you till you fainted from blood loss. I bet you'd be beautiful all naked and strung up and screaming."

Asami almost laughed. The psychology was well documented. Having already tried bribery and failed, the pathetic shit was now deliberately inciting Asami's temper in an attempt to earn a quick bullet instead of a death worse than death itself. Asami's reputation in the underworld wasn't for nought, after all.

The guard behind Crapmouth flared, tensing as though to step in, but Asami waved him down. He calmly removed his suit jacket, which was taken by an equally calm Kirishima.

"Surely it's difficult to scream when you're unconscious from blood loss?" Asami puzzled as though the question warranted due consideration. Kirishima handed him a pair of gloves. Leisurely sliding them on, Asami stepped over the grilled drain cover in the middle of the floor and sauntered over to Crapmouth, who seemed incapable of deciding whether to stare at Asami's face or the hands encased in black leather or the gun holstered against the waistcoat. "How can you scream when your world is already black from pain? When you're not aware that your wounds won't close, and your blood drips and drips and drips?" Putting his back to Pokerface, Asami trailed his gloved fingers through the thin rivulets of blood across Crapmouth's chest. "When every heartbeat –" Asami trailed a fingertip along a jagged tear – "kills you –" he dug his finger in – "that bit more?"

Crapmouth looked like he was about to crap himself. It was amazing how quickly that false bluster could crumble.

That was when Pokerface leaped.

Hope. It was a strange creature. Powerful enough, that it took root in an instant and gripped you in fevered anticipation if you allowed it in. But so easily crushed, plunging you into the worst despair just as fast.

It flared in Crapmouth's face as he saw Pokerface free of his bindings over Asami's shoulder. Kirishima, having long anticipated his boss's intent, was already holding out a hand to stand down the guards. Asami reared about, his head whipping around to sight his target, his hand shooting out to seize Pokerface's neck before the bloody arm could snake around Asami's neck. Asami drove through the momentum from his turn and smashed his palm up into the windpipe. Pokerface doubled over his neck with a sickly throttling sound, whiplashing forwards with his head and body still sailing towards Asami for another moment longer, before inertia registered the abrupt change of direction and Asami swung him around and smashed him to the floor.

Hope flared and killed, in two seconds flat. Crapmouth emitted a choked gasp as though he'd been the one with his throat bashed in. Perfect.

Pokerface wheezed, his throat muscles spasming, his windpipe seizing up, choking off air. His limbs flapped like a beached squid, death imminent. There was a streak of anxiety in Pokerface's wide eyes, but what was notable was the relief instead of fear.

Asami confirmed his initial markers. Crapmouth would break easily, with a little more application on the right pressure points. Pokerface was made of sterner stuff and he'd require different incentive to relinquish the information Asami wanted in the limited time he had. Not only that, but he was clearly also running another agenda.

"I applaud the effort, Ichiji-san," Asami said sincerely.

Still pinning Pokerface down, he held out his free hand over his shoulder. Kirishima handed him a length of clear plastic, the hollow outer tube of a ballpoint pen, with holes at both ends. Kirishima crouched on the other side, wearing gloves of his own. He wedged the handle of a 7-inch knife between the back of Pokerface's teeth to keep them wide. Asami forced the jaw up to straighten the throat, and jammed the tube down the windpipe with anatomical precision.

Air whooshed into the lungs with a rasping hiss.

Snagging the knife free, Asami stepped back. Two guards grabbed the gasping man and tossed him back in the chair.

Sagano grabbed coils of rope from the table, throwing one to Genji to secure Pokerface while he went to secure Crapmouth's legs. Crapmouth started kicking out, frantic with desperation. Asami stepped across with the knife and dug the razor-sharp point against Crapmouth's crotch.

"I have no desire to see your puny dick but if you don't hold still, I'll slice it off and feed it to you."

White as a ghost, Crapmouth held still as Sagano lashed his lower legs to the chair legs. Beating would have accomplished the same result but Crapmouth's greater weakness was psychological and Asami utilized it to the full.

"A-Asami-sama, listen, please! I already told your men, I honestly don't know anything!" Crapmouth was starting to live up to his name. "I never had any contact with the sponsor!"

Finished with the legs, Sagano tightened the bindings on Crapmouth's arms. Kirishima was monitoring Pokerface, making sure he was still breathing, checking his throat muscles had relaxed enough before removing the tube.

Asami trailed a gloved finger along the flat of the blade. "Then how did you come by the job?"

"It's an open market! Everyone knows about the bounty!"

"Just as everyone knows that Takaba Akihito is under my personal protection?"

In Crapmouth's terrified silence, Asami's cellphone rang. Waving Sagano over to Pokerface, Kirishima went over to his boss' jacket, removing his gloves on the way.

Asami raised a sceptical brow at Crapmouth. "You pursued this job, knowing you would incite my vengeance, without a guarantor for the payment? I can't imagine the incredible faith you must have in this sponsor to cough up when they won't even give you their name, Noguchi-san," Asami mocked. "Or perhaps you're just incredibly stupid?" His voice went ice soft. "Or perhaps, just perhaps, you're lying to me?"

It wouldn't take much longer. The sweat beading on the shaven head, the unhealthy pallor. Crapmouth was cracking.

Kirishima stepped up beside him. "Sir." He was holding out the phone, the call already connected.

Asami glanced at it. The caller ID further splintered the dam holding back his fury. There could only be two reasons for the call, neither of them good.

Rage lit Asami's features as he turned back to Crapmouth. "Hold this."

He flicked the knife airborne, caught the handle blade down, and slammed it into Crapmouth's thigh with a well-timed savage twist to tear muscle fibre and grind the blade against the femur.

The scream rent the air. A damp patch spread across Crapmouth's crotch and down his legs, bigger than the dark wetness that appeared around the buried knife.

Asami slipped off his gloves and swapped them for the phone.

"Yes, Suoh?" He missed the response what with all the screaming. "One second," he said as Genji stuffed a filthy rag into the noisy mouth and tied it off with a length of rope around the head. "Go ahead," Asami said when things were muted to a more tolerable level.

"He's awake, sir," Suoh said quietly.

Not ideal but preferable to an attack which was the alternative. Turning his back to the guests, Asami took directionless steps away. "When?"

"A few minutes ago. I... heard him, sir."

Nightmare again. It wasn't surprising considering the attempted strike earlier that evening but Akihito had been free of them for a few days.

Asami gripped the phone tighter. "Is he still...?"

"He's quiet now, sir, but he hasn't left the bedroom so I couldn't say any further," Suoh supplied, still in an undertone as though trying not to be overheard. "He was distressed for two minutes that I could hear. Considering the cause, I believed my sudden entry to the bedroom would be detrimental rather than helpful and so I did not offer assistance."

The report, clipped and to the point, didn't fool Asami any. Suoh had been worried. Asami wouldn't soon forget the way Akihito had scrabbled awake in terror. Feeling for Asami, climbing over Asami to check that the gun was still under the pillow but leaving it there, as though all he needed to know was that Asami was there and could get to the gun to reassure himself that he was safe.

Behind him, Crapmouth was sweating, stinking, and bleeding. Not nearly enough for Asami's liking.

"Stay in the living room. Send him a text message, tell him you're there and that all is secure."

"Yes, sir." Suoh still lingered.

"What else?" Asami prompted, the rising pressure behind his control making him short.

"... He was calling for you, sir, before he woke."

Asami!

Akihito's voice rang in his ear as clear as day. Then the unexpected happened. It hit Asami like a bullet, and an unfamiliar one at that. I should have been there.

Decisions were calculations. Weighing pros and cons, analysing and anticipating tangled spaghetti jumbles of consequences to the next world and then some, planning for every conceivable outcome and human variable, setting contingencies. Calculations on top of calculations. Adverse results were simply to be dealt with, lessons to be drawn and henceforth applied. Rarely were they wrong. But this? Suoh could have ran this interrogation, except Asami's own need for vengeance had blinkered him to handling it personally. He'd adjusted insofar as to ensure Akihito's safety but he'd overlooked the need for reassurance, for proximity. This was no mere adverse outcome, Asami fully considered it an error in judgement. A rarity in itself, but the unpleasant weight that twisted in his gut was a complete novelty. Was this what they called regret? All he knew for certain was that he wanted to redo the moment he'd left a slumbering Akihito in his bed with death already on his mind.

"Tell him I'll be back within the hour," Asami all but snarled. Kirishima was there to catch the phone when he threw it, silently handing him his gloves back.

Asami wore death like a shroud as he turned back to his 'guests'. They were staring at him, one terrified and in pain, the other wheezing but still with an iron will not easily broken. Darkness emanated from Asami like visible tendrils.

"Unfortunately for you, we're on the clock now. You're going to tell me everything you know about who ordered the hit on Takaba Akihito."


As predicted, it didn't take long for Crapmouth to break.

Asami waved for Genji to remove the gag. "Did you know, Takaba is having nightmares because of you? Not that he'd appreciate my telling you," he said as he strolled over.

He drew out the knife from Crapmouth's leg, turning the blade cruelly, renewing the screams echoing around the concrete walls.

He waited until Crapmouth subsided into blubbering sobs. "Like for like, didn't we say? I'll show you your nightmares, Noguchi-san. But to do that, you need to close your eyes."

Crapmouth stared with terror-white eyes.

Asami held up the knife. "Allow me to help."

Crapmouth struggled uselessly in his binds, straining all the more as the knife came closer. Asami touched the sharp tip to the skin beneath the right eye –

"Broker!" Crapmouth yelled.

Asami pulled the knife back. Just an inch. Still very much in line of sight.

"I went through a broker! Worked with them for years, they've always come through so I didn't ask any questions. I don't know who the actual sponsor is, I swear! I fucking swear! Please, please, I don't know who the sponsor is..." His continued begging was lost amidst more sobbing.

Asami flicked the knife, enough to refocus Crapmouth's attention.

"Name?" Asami demanded.

"Two Shot! That's all I got, I swear! Could be a man or woman, we've never spoken..."

But Asami had already tuned out the senseless babbling. He'd turned to Pokerface, his certainty absolute.

"It seems we have something of importance to discuss, Ichiji-san," Asami said, radiating dark smugness, "or should I say, Two Shot?"


"Is this an unprofessional break in your rules, Ichiji-san? Or do I warrant an exception? Since when do you personally involve yourself in the deals you arrange?"

Pokerface still maintained his mask, the fearful confusion. He tried to speak which lead to a load of coughing instead.

"Get him some water," Asami said over his shoulder.

Sagano produced a metal cup from somewhere and helped Pokerface drink.

"Please!" Crapmouth wailed. "Please, I told you everything I know! You have to let –"

"Don't fret," Asami interrupted. "You'll feel the full weight of retribution soon enough." He signalled with a tilt of his head.

Kirishima was already there. A squeeze on a particular spot on the man's shoulder and Crapmouth's eyes rolled back, out cold.

"Better?" Asami asked Pokerface with fake sympathy after he'd drank.

"I don't know... what you're talking about..." Pokerface rasped slowly.

That settled it. Just the subtlest waver of the gaze, a flicker in the otherwise flawless mask. In actuality Asami had only been acting on years of conjecture and a list of a dozen possible identities of the one who operated by the alias Two Shot, but Pokerface didn't need to know that.

Asami considered his approach. He took his time heading over to the exit and dragging a chair back. He plonked it down in front of Pokerface and sat down.

"I'm going to be forthcoming with you. It's a shame, really. You have integrity, inner strength. Under different circumstances I might have tried to convince you to come and work for me. But you went after someone under my protection. That's not something I can pardon – not in my eyes, not in the eyes of the world." Asami tilted his head. "But you already knew that, didn't you?"

Some of the feigned veneer of weakness was receding. Pokerface made a cautious nod.

"Two Shot, the crack-shot information broker operating mainly out of Shanghai, who took out a twelve-strong Triad cell that went rogue – expending only two shots, if the stories are to be believed, thus earning you the name. Now involved in this hit guaranteed to earn death. And then missing the shot."

Pokerface's face was entirely blank now.

"I can only surmise your intention was never to kill Takaba. Which means you meant to be caught, and you meant to die, but without it appearing to be by choice. The question is why."

Pokerface was pokerfaced, only his hoarse breathing betraying any strain.

"But alas," Asami went on, "I need to get back to Takaba, which means I don't have the time to break a man of your talents, which means I need to convince you to talk another way. I'm not an unnecessarily cruel man, Ichiji-san," he leaned on his elbows, his voice dropping, "but you know perfectly well I will stop at nothing to protect what's mine. You're going to tell me who sponsored the hit for Takaba. Or you'll force me to send for your family."

The poker mask fell away. Ichiji was perfectly aware there were no empty threats here. "I... have no family," he rasped.

Without taking his eyes off Pokerface, Asami half turned over his shoulder.

Kirishima obliged, pulling out a file from his case by the door. "Banqiaozhen, Tianjin, China. Female, 41, girl, 16."

There was no surprise that Asami had that information. Ichiji studied Asami for a long time, weighing options. He wasn't left with many, lashed bleeding to the metal chair as he was. "Leave them out of this."

"Then talk."

Ichiji's eyes slid closed. "You threaten. They threaten. What would you do?"

Asami leaned back in the chair. "I see." His mind rapidly joined the dots that were half-forming before him. "Is that why you needed an unwitting executioner?"

Even with years upon years of practised masquerade, Ichiji's pain was clear. His face was grey, his laboured voice barely audible. "Once a year. For fifteen years. I've been allowed to see them once a year. And all the while, they might be killed any second if I step out of line. That's no life for them."

"Who threatens you?"

Ichiji said nothing.

"Your patron?"

Ichiji hesitated, then nodded.

"Anyone I can deal with?"

Ichiji studied Asami closely. "Possibly," he said eventually. "Possibly not."

Asami sighed. He already knew where this was all leading. But he had to be certain. "Tell me who it is, and short of putting mine or my business in jeopardy, I'll do what I can to protect your family."

"How do I know I can trust you?"

"Have you ever known of me to break my word?" Asami leaned close. "Because I promise you this. If you don't speak now, I will paint you with the blood of your family. Do you believe that?"

Ichiji's face was a convoluted mix of rage and pain and resignation and determination. "... You'll protect them? My wife and daughter?"

"As far as I am able, I give you my word. Who ordered the hit on Takaba, Ichiji-san?"

Ichiji released a wheezing breath. "Whoever originated the bounty, they're keeping themselves well hidden. But I can tell you who instructed me to broker the hit. My patron, Liu Fei Long."


Akihito was only two steps away when something stopped him. Asami loomed as still and silent as the tomb, his shadow tainted with death.

Akihito stood there just inside the bedroom doorway. Not running away. Quite the opposite. Needing to touch, to assure himself physically that Asami was still in one piece. Because an hour might have passed since he woke up but his mind was still haunted by bloody carnage. Because this time, it hadn't been Akihito who'd been gunned down in his dream.

"Five minutes," Asami murmured.

He slipped past, carefully not touching, leaving the tang of copper sharp in Akihito's nose.

Akihito was a motionless bundle in the bed when Asami emerged from the bathroom in his sleep joggers, his hair damp. Hazel eyes tracked him across the room as Asami approached and checked the gun, installing it under his pillow.

Sliding into the bed, Asami turned to regard the uncharacteristically still form watching him. He didn't push Akihito, wondering if the brat would pull away. There was a world of difference between knowing what Asami did and knowing he'd just been doing it.

Neither said anything for a while.

"Did you get any leads?" Akihito could see the pensive, cautious way Asami was watching him.

"Yes."

Akihito waited. "But?"

Asami stared at the featureless ceiling, put out. "It's bothersome."

"As in, a misdirection? A trap?"

"Not in that way. Oh, I wouldn't be surprised that he is involved, but not with any seriousness. He'd only be looking to cause mischief, inconvenience me for his amusement. He's not V1P3R."

"Some mischief," Akihito scoffed. "Who is it?"

There was a long, long pause. "An acquaintance," Asami said heavily.

It was impressive how two words could imply so much history. "Wow. That's quite the step up from 'associate'."

Asami glanced at him again. "Come here."

Akihito frowned, burrowing deeper into the pillow. "I am here."

"Come here," Asami repeated.

"You come here."

Smirking at the childish comeback, Asami did exactly that. He loomed over Akihito, pushing the smaller man flat on his back with his shoulder as he shifted them chest to chest.

Akihito opened his mouth, held his breath, then he huffed it on a grumpy exhale that flittered through Asami's hair flopped over his brow. "I walked right into that."

Shadows lingered on Akihito's face, the harrowing vestiges keeping him awake. Asami lowered his head into the crook of Akihito's neck but then remained there, just breathing softly.

He was there for so long, not moving, that Akihito's hands fluttered unsurely around him. "Asami?"

"Are you alright?"

Akihito stilled at the question against his neck, sensing the apology. But there was nothing to apologize for, Asami was keeping him alive and investigating the hitmen after all. What was he apologizing about?

Akihito dared to tighten his arms around the broad ribs, mostly healed from that awful bruising. "I am now." He meant it, too.

Asami breathed against his neck for a while longer before he rolled back, pulling Akihito with him over his chest.

Cushioned by Asami's warmth and scent, Akihito managed to get back to sleep.


Wednesday.

Suits in garment bags. Immaculately pressed and folded shirts. A pile of underwear and socks strewn with belts and silk ties, dotted with small black rectangular boxes. Toiletries. Standard fare for a business trip.

Akihito entirely blamed Asami for not being able to look at the ties without feeling a warm flutter. Sitting cross-legged on the bed, he plucked up one of the small boxes. "Off somewhere?" He clicked it open. A pair of cufflinks glinted up at him. Jet black onyx.

"I'll be out of town tonight," Asami said, emerging from the walk-in wardrobe. He dropped a metal case on the bed alongside everything else. Opening it, he checked the two guns within, the cartridges and a spare holster...

Akihito watched with growing alarm. "Oh I know, it's Pacific Crime Lords Anonymous right?"

Asami smirked. "Are you suggesting I need to be cured of Crime Lordism?"

"That's not even a word," Akihito mumbled, fiddling with the box of cufflinks.

Asami grabbed a black carry-all case from the wardrobe and started piling everything in. The ties ended up at the bottom.

Akihito half smiled. "Sure you don't need Glasses to pack for you?"

"I can manage my own packing, Akihito."

Akihito could only make a noncommittal sound. He was feeling more and more jittery by the second. Suddenly Asami was in front of him, long fingers running through his hair.

"I'll be back first thing tomorrow."

Akihito frowned, ducking his head. "You don't need to rush on my account." He tossed the box into the carry-all.

Asami ignored the prickly defensiveness. "I wouldn't go at all," he explained, "except this acquaintance can be... sensitive. He may take exception if I tell him to back off over a phone call, and he wields enough power to be potentially dangerous if he decides to get serious. I need to clear this up before it becomes an issue."

"Slap on the wrist?"

"Something like that. Suoh will stay with you, you won't be alone."

That only worried Akihito more. "What about you?"

Asami blinked, taken aback by Akihito's open agitation. "Why, are you worried for me?" he tried to tease.

Akihito couldn't rise to the bait. He was too rattled, his nightmare still too fresh. "If the guy's that dangerous –"

"Hey," Asami murmured, sliding a hand along Akihito's jaw. "I've made this trip a dozen times before. We have an understanding. If I see him in person, there won't be a problem."

Was that true or was Asami just reassuring him? Akihito was still searching Asami's face, chasing for answers, when Kirishima walked in.

"Good morning, sir, Takaba-san." Glasses strode towards the walk-in closet, only to do a double take at the full bag on the bed. His jaw dropped a little bit. "You're... packed, sir?"

The tension spilled over and Akihito collapsed into helpless laughter.


Asami paused beside Suoh in passing. For just a few seconds he dropped all formality, no distinction of rank, just the underlying closeness developed over long years fighting through thick and thin together. This was no order to a subordinate. It was entirely personal.

"Kazumi," Asami started quietly, then hesitated again. His gaze was fixed on the far side of the living room where Akihito laughed at some joke, or perhaps it was simply at Kirishima's blank-as-stone expression. The brat was a burst of sunshine that Asami couldn't turn away from.

Suoh understood. With the rarest, smallest smile, he gripped Asami's shoulder. "With my life, Ryuichi," he swore.


"I bet you usually do all his packing, don't you?"

"Asami-sama is perfectly capable of doing his own packing," Kirishima hedged, his eyes fixed on a message on his phone.

"Right," Akihito grinned. "You might wanna check though, unless he's going for the bed-slept look. He threw in his shoes on top of his shirts on top of his ties."

Kirishima cleared his throat. "They've been rearranged."

Akihito chortled as Glasses valiantly maintained a straight face. "They have, have they?"

Kirishima clearly found his messages more worth his time and made to walk away.

"Uh, hey, wait! You're going with him, right?"

The serious tone made Kirishima look at him. "Yes?"

Akihito gnawed on his lip, glancing over where Asami seemed to be having some tête-à-tête with Blond Tank, Suoh's hand on Asami's shoulder. "You'll... keep him out of trouble, right? I mean, he says it'll be safe and all but he also said this acquaintance or whoever it is can be dangerous and he's not gonna have the big guy with him and I wasn't sure if he really meant it'll be ok or if he just didn't want me to worry or –"

"Takaba-san?" Kirishima cut in, not unkindly.

Akihito clamped down on his rambling. "... Yeah?"

Kirishima was watching him with a strange look on his face, as though seeing something that surprised him. "I have his back. I always do."

Akihito tried to smile. "Yeah. I know."


It had to be the one in a million occurrence when Akihito was actually relieved that Asami was filthy rich. 'Cos normal rich would've meant being stuck with the limo. But filthy rich meant choices and Akihito could go for the most unassuming vehicle to hand – which was still a sleek black luxury sedan that screamed loaded – and shady, to be honest – but at least it wasn't the limo. 'Cos seriously! Fat chance was Akihito going to ride in that by himself! It was so laughable it wasn't even funny. Akihito said as much. He knew Blond Tank was still laughing at him, in that silent, stoic way of his.

Akihito would've hopped on the train again but Suoh refused to let him out in the open. The two hitmen apprehended outside last night had elevated the risk factor. The elevator down from the condo deposited them on a secure underground parking level. The sedan had bullet-proof windows and doors. Akihito got with the program and let himself be bundled into the vehicle, then out underground again at Sion HQ.

The morning rushed by in its usual chaotic frenzy. Mitarai stirred up crap and got into an elastic band slingshot battle with Akihito that got pretty hairy with a stapler at one point. Ogawa only half attempted to quieten them down. Akihito worked on security patches and met with the EverEye project team to put a proposal on VR education tuition under the microscope which left him with an excited buzz.

He geeked out with Yumi during lunch which was pretty cool. It felt good to laugh, swapping stories about the craziest accidental hacking discoveries they'd made. He was pretty sure he'd buried this particular hatchet with Asami but just in case, he sat diagonally opposite her to avoid any accidental touching. The barnacle called Mitarai was still adhered to her and he sat with them looking like he was sucking on lemons. Yumi was kinder than Akihito was, explaining some of the context to Mitarai when she wasn't too busy laughing, but Akihito deliberately kept to hacking lingo ("Best ever? Gotta be the 0CTF final at DEF CON last year! Binary exploit to subvert the C program, clinched the top five out of a thou. Pwned it!). He unashamedly delighted in Mitarai's grouch.

Sagano and Nakatani only needed one reminder that sometimes it was perfectly ok – necessary, in fact! – to be two doors away ("You are not going to stand there listening to me tinkle!") but otherwise Akihito was starting to get used to their quiet shadows.


It was always the thick waft of roasted duck and oyster sauce that hit him first, the fish guts and chicken innards, the rich concoction of various organic foodstuffs mixing with traffic fumes all as integral here as the humid air of the South China Sea. Asami knew some who swore to the olfactory assault as proof of life thriving and untameable under changing sovereigns. All he knew was that it wasn't Japan. Even as he remained alert to his surroundings, there was a stray thought in the back of his mind – Akihito would have ribbed him about an old dog set in his ways...

In Asami's opinion they were situated too close to the state-of-the-art skyscrapers of Central across the bay for privacy, with its packed street stalls and tight wedge of apartment blocks and houses in between, backed by the lush green vegetation of the mountains. But this was where Feilong wanted to operate. The privately owned airfield, while officially contracted by the military, was controlled by Baishe.

Asami ducked out of the doorway of his private jet and paused at the top of the boarding stairs. A gleaming limo awaited him, escorted by two SUVs both front and behind. The asphalt stretched out to the back of the military base, fighter jets and chinooks on the far side, quick-marching squads of military personnel in camouflage.

Asami descended with Kirishima. Yoh waited with two others in between Asami's men lining the path. Everyone in black, everyone sombre. Akihito would've cracked some ridiculous remark to break them out of funeral mode – Asami suppressed a smirk and any further thought of the brat. Distractions like that could get him killed.

"You shouldn't have," Yoh remarked, drawling apathetically. A pause, before he cleared his throat. "Is Feilong-sama's greeting." He bowed, hands pointed respectfully inwards on his thighs. "Welcome to Hong Kong, Asami-sama."

As he straightened, his right hand moved first, just fractionally ahead of his left hand before they both moved back to his sides. All clear.

"Yoh," Asami simply nodded.

"Allow me to escort you to accommodations or entertainment until Feilong-sama is available."

Asami studied his deadpan face. "Indisposed again?"

"Regretfully. Feilong-sama will welcome you at his convenience."

Asami strode ahead to the limo, everyone leaping to follow. "You can tell him he has until 2 before I encourage his convenience by dunking him in ice."


The imposing convoy pulled away.

The pilot taxied the private jet to the allocated hangar. At the nearest point to an auxiliary airfield checkpoint, six men in nondescript business suits descended from beside the rear wheel carriage and dashed for the exit barriers. A quick check through security and they disappeared into the thick of Hong Kong.

They split off into groups of two and four and headed off in different directions.


By mid-afternoon Akihito had rambled off some apology to Ogawa and was on his way back to the condo. Asami was off to god-knows-where to get some of the heat off Akihito's back. It was impossible to just sit tight. Snakes left trails, slithering tended to do that. And they also happened to be prey when they encountered talons and Akihito had talons aplenty. This H4wk was so gonna have V1P3R for breakfast!

Determined to leave no stone unturned, Akihito rechecked all his previous searches from the beginning. It was nobody else's business if he helped himself to Spotlight's traffic logs. He wrote mini-programs for trailing V1P3R's forum posts through jacked IP addresses and zombie proxy reroutes, chasing breadcrumbs, crumbs of breadcrumbs really, painstakingly narrowing down to a handful of backdoor shell exploits. He widened the net with the signature specifics, which churned up a barrage more vague patterns that he meticulously demolished one code, one software, one reroute at a time. Fortunately for Akihito the sick fuck didn't seem to know about bridge relays which would've made them impossible to pursue through the dark web. But unfortunately the dots were still too few and far between and tossed in with a bunch of dead-end leads. V1P3R was also laying low so there were no fresh trails to follow. Akihito couldn't make a positive ID yet. Drawing all the constellations in the night sky would've been a walk in the park next to this.

But he wasn't empty handed. He had signature markers and he had reroute patterns, coding languages and third party programs used. There was more than one way to catch a snake.


Feilong always leaned towards the theatrical. Silk robes billowed, long hair swirled as he gestured his arms wide. "Welcome."

"Finally lucid?"

Through the ornate carved red doors the establishment was just as opulent as Asami had expected, seeped with incense. Typical Baishe. Or perhaps typical of this head of Baishe.

"I'm always lucid," Feilong said in his lyrical voice, carrying only a faint accent. "Although my outward expression of it may vary."

"Is that what you call being stoned these days?"

"And what do you call your whiskey haze?"

Their tones carried no real bite. Neither took offence.

"I wish you'd given me more notice," Feilong sighed. "I'm most ashamed at this paltry welcome. To what do I owe the honour of a personal visit from the great Asami Ryuichi himself?"

"You already know," Asami said coolly as they settled on silk-embroidered recliners.

He appeared perfectly at ease but Feilong was the real master at this particular art. He lounged back against the ornate roll supports looking every inch the alluring, deadly beauty that he was. Asami could never be quite sure whether Feilong did this deliberately or if seduction was hardcoded into his DNA.

"I couldn't even begin to guess."

"Then I'll break the news," Asami offered mildly. "I heard that the Japanese police came across an information broker from Shanghai, in the company of a freelance contractor."

Feilong smiled. "Oh? Sounds fascinating."

"The police were certainly intrigued, according to the reports. It's not everyday that they respond to a tip-off concerning an infamous underground figure and stumble across bodies scorched beyond recognition."

"Bodies?" Eyes as sharp as a shark, Feilong absorbed, recalculated, replotted. "How unfortunate. Anyone we know?"

"Just an independent hitman. Oh, and someone who operated under the alias Two Shot, I believe."

"Really?" Feilong drawled.

"He seems to have had some last words."

"Did he now?" That half amused, half sneering smile never left Feilong's face.

Asami smirked back. "Something about the last job he brokered, for some figure in Hong Kong overreaching for something in Japan he had no place trifling with. Or so the rumour goes."

"I knew this was going to be interesting."

Asami pinned Feilong with a look that left no room for ambiguity. "Such risky business. It could start a war."

"War? Risky indeed." Feilong met his gaze straight on, two powerhouses of the Asian underworld sizing each other up. "It's also an overreaction considering the circumstances. Hypothetically speaking, of course."

"And what circumstances might those be? Hypothetically?"

"Perhaps this figure in Hong Kong was merely feeling out the..." Feilong waved vaguely with a willowy grace, "extent of intent?"

"By infringing on property already claimed?"

"It's not always easy to tell how serious a certain Japanese party is. Provocation is sometimes the clearest determinant."

"Even if said Japanese party had explicitly declared his protection?"

"It's a dangerous thing, to declare protection. Placing such importance on someone is liable to make them more of a target. Enough to tempt certain figures in Hong Kong to play mischief when a bounty happens to land in his lap, for example."

"Is that what it was?"

"Hypothetically," Feilong emphasized.

Asami's thin smile held no warmth. "Hypothetically."

"Perhaps this Japanese figure shouldn't have declared protection in the first place."

"Perhaps the target was already fixed and protection was the only way to stave execution."

"I see." Feilong tilted his head, the cascade of his hair shifting over his shoulders. "Well it was certainly enlightening. Enough to drive this Japanese party to hurtle headlong onto foreign turf to threaten war. It's almost as if they've taken leave of their senses."

Asami smirked. "It certainly appears that way, doesn't it?" He remained unfazed as Feilong's gaze became increasingly suspicious. And with it, all pretence at hypothetical speaking faded away.

"What have you done?"

Asami let the Baishe leader sweat while he seemingly considered his reply. "How is Tao doing these days?" he asked coolly.

Feilong didn't move. "What. Have. You. Done?" He was a hair-trigger away from blowing up at Asami.

"Nothing at all. Why would you assume that I have?" Asami banked his fury, arranged his face into perfect calm. "It's not as if you're going after anything of mine. Are you?"

The air froze solid as they bore holes into each other with their eyes alone. The slightest wrong move and the whole restaurant would have disintegrated into a warzone.

It was Feilong who eventually wet-blanketed the volatile tension, just a hint of a smile delivered on a huff, before he eased himself back onto the cushions. He gestured a summons over his shoulder without looking.

Yoh was there in moments from the other side of the room.

"Call everything off Goldilocks," Feilong ordered.

Yoh nodded acknowledgement and withdrew, placing a call. It was short and followed by another. Which was followed by a third.

"So touchy," Feilong disparaged as though his reaction had been any milder. "I should've known when you didn't have your pet giant with you. He's with the boy, I take it?"

Asami arched a brow. "Goldilocks?"

"He's blond, isn't he?" Feilong muttered. He looked over as Yoh hung up and put his phone away, nodding confirmation. "Well?" Feilong prompted.

One glance from Asami and Kirishima made the corresponding call, pulling their four men back from Feilong's residence.

"What a lot of fuss," Feilong grumbled, pulling himself out of the seat. "I'd be tempted to go on the offensive while you're squarely on my turf but this is just too pitiful. You're wrapping the ball and chain around your own neck." He loped over to the bar and poured himself a strong one. "Asami Ryuichi, who'd have guessed? All I have to do is sit back and watch you implode." He drained the plum wine before pausing thoughtfully. "Or is he really as enticing as the surveillance photos I saw? There was a particularly touching one of the two of you on what looked to be a date."

Asami's gaze narrowed with a dangerous glint.

Feilong tilted his beautiful head. "Perhaps I should meet him."

Asami was perfectly tempted to shoot him on the spot. "Go anywhere near Takaba and I'll bury you in the ashes of Baishe."

Feilong's eyes widened. "My, my. You are serious." He chuckled as Asami's glare darkened even further. "Message received. He will be as safe from me as Tao is from you. Do we have a deal?"

Asami had no intention of actually harming Tao, at most taking him away for a short while if Feilong was reluctant to be reasonable, but he didn't have to know that. "Who's posting the bounty?"

"I can give you a name but nothing else. V1P3R. That's with a one and a three because apparently they're too cool for vowels."

"It's leetspeak."

"Pardon?"

This was Akihito's domain. Asami wasn't about to get into all that with Feilong. "I want everything you know."

"You have it. All I have is a name. Look I'm already bored of this, there's no reason for me to hold anything back – even if I should, seeing as you robbed me of one of my best information brokers."

"You shouldn't have involved yourself in my business, the blame is entirely yours. In fact I should be the one demanding recompense for your violating terms of protection."

Feilong raised his hands placatingly at the accusation. "No need to evoke any tedious codes. I had one anonymous email from someone calling themselves V1P3R but my men couldn't trace anything back. If I was to tell you anything else, it's that they're very competent at covering their tracks. That's really everything."

"And Two Shot?"

"What about Two Shot?"

"You'll leave his family in peace?"

Feilong regarded him narrowly as Asami revealed his hand. For Asami to even know about the threat was proof that Two Shot had had an underlying agenda. The head of Baishe bristled, knowing full well that there was little merit in insisting on reprisals against a dead man that nobody knew that he'd sworn, knowing that Asami had played the card this way knowing precisely that.

"Fine." Feilong's voice was hard. "Do we have a deal?"

Asami inclined his head graciously as though he hadn't just manoeuvred the Baishe leader into this very corner. "If you insist. We have a deal."

It was always this way with Feilong, dancing around each other with wary respect, exchanging currencies of threats and counter threats and tightrope walking the delicate balance in between. More than business rivals, but not quite enemies, not quite friends either.

Feilong brought over two glasses of plum wine for them to seal the deal. They knocked them back together. It was a particularly dry variety, Asami noted. Feilong knew his dislike of sweet drinks.

"This is far too entertaining. We should go into business," Feilong said, his voice lilting lightly again as he settled back amongst the cushions.

"I have no need for opiates in Japan," Asami dismissed coolly.

"You're far too uptight," Feilong smirked.

"Unlike you, you mean?" Asami spared him a glance. "You give a glowing endorsement of your own product. Half of Japan would grind to a halt."

"All the better for Hong Kong," Feilong chuckled. "Mores the pity that I can't persuade you. But well, now that business is done, shall we call for entertainment? Oh calm down," he waved, "not that kind. Artisans, they're called. Harmless music and dancing, nothing to infringe on your conscience regarding your boy toy." He gave a sidelong glance. "I will meet him one of these days, Asami."

"When the sun rises in the West, Feilong."


Akihito was alone that evening, save for Blond Tank guarding the genkan. The big guy had appeared late in the afternoon, replacing Sagano and Nakatani.

Fighting an unsettling sense of disquiet, Akihito drifted by the front entrance on the pretext of getting the big guy a drink. Suoh politely declined. Akihito's anxiety wasn't about the door though, not exactly. True, he was mindful of it, and there was a lingering uneasiness, but logically he knew that Suoh and the guards had it covered and no one was going to come bursting in. Rather his thoughts converged elsewhere. Was Asami ok? Where was he? What was he doing? Was he engaged in a shootout somewhere? Did he have enough guards with him? He had Glasses with him but was he safe without Blond Tank?

Akihito offered snacks the second time. Suoh declined again.

Akihito steered clear of Kou and Takato, wanting to avoid probing questions. He dug out the card with the bouncing bunnies and called Ai-chan. Her excitement to hear from him made him smile even before she started nattering about society events she'd attended and how she was starting to get out more again. They carefully skirted anything heavy, but it was heartening to have a kindred spirit in her. Both battling demons, both trying to stay strong.

The third time around the donut condo Akihito asked straight out, "Is Asami ok?"

Suoh disclosed no details whatsoever but he was full of reassurances that Asami-sama was safe and well.

Akihito sorely needed a distraction before he started climbing the walls. With his hunt there was little else left to do. Akihito would know the moment V1P3R so much as scratched his digital nose but until then, he could only sit and wait.

So naturally, being alone, it was the perfect opportunity to read up on a certain activity that a significant someone clearly had a great interest in but of which Akihito had little understanding. He typed in his first online search: bondage.

Which was why he 100 percent blamed Asami for his rosy cheeks when Suoh appeared in the doorway half an hour later asking if he was up for a visitor. Never mind the awkwardness of receiving a guest in Asami's condo as though he belonged there. With impressions of a dizzying array of cuffs and restraints fresh in his mind, and feeling warm in too many ways from his newfound understanding of aftercare and how Asami had been doing it all along, Akihito distinctly felt like he'd been caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

Oda Hazumi tilted her head, her smile beautiful and knowing. "Did I interrupt something?"