"…conditioned to it by…torture."
Akihito woke with a start. Sunlight was streaming through the dirty windowpanes, single, dust specked beams highlighting his dishevelled small flat. He looked about himself.
They were all asleep. Takato was sprawled on a floor cushion beside him, Pjotr, who should have stayed awake as the last one on watch shift, was sitting propped against a bunched up jacket beside the book shelve overlooking the mattress, his head lolling on one shoulder, also softly snoring.
Apprehensively, the host of this strange overnight party lowered his gaze. He didn't know what he had expected - someone gone, someone dead - but for the moment, the scene was peaceful enough.
Alexej was sleeping, unperturbed. He had taken over the first shift, as he had already slept a bit. Akihito recalled being roused apologetically by him - "sorry, you're Akihito, yes? can't seem to get Pjotr or our splendid doctor here awake. But all's cool - our sexy patient hasn't stirred." Of course, he (and Mikhail!) knew nothing of Akihito's revelations…the heavyset dark haired Russian (might have been a boxer) gracefully stepped over the two entwined bodies on the mattress, coolly resuming his place next to the wall in spite of everything he had seen. He even grabbed a corner of Akihito's blanket, which he must have thrown over Mikhail and Fei earlier.
They were still lying like that, both Mikhail and Alexej turned into Fei, as if guarding him. Fei himself, still naked beneath the blanket, lay curled against Mikhail, an almost disturbing look of trust on his slightly upturned face.
So this was who had been on Asami's mind all those years…Akihito involuntarily narrowed his eyes. Whatever had happened between them? Asami was never a great talker, not even after the hottest, most depraved scenes - Akihito shivered, fighting down his morning bone - but something about this beautiful young mafia leader was still eating at his hero…a mangled love affair? Fei's behaviour in the pub would certainly suggest that. But Asami was not sentimental, or was he? Akihito couldn't tell if (beside the bona fide political issues) it was mainly jealousy bothering him so about Liu Fei Long. That was what Pjotr, the cheeky youngest of the Russian trio, had insinuated…and Pjotr had certainly been on to him in that other assumption….was he that obvious…? heat flooded Akihito. Nobody must know of this - it would make him completely non-credible in the circles he moved in.
Sunken in his reveries, he startled up to see wide dark eyes watching him.
He fell into that gaze. He had quite forgotten what a presence the Chinese had, having witnessed him mostly agitated, in pain, drugged, during psychotic flashbacks, wild animal sex or asleep up till now.
"Where am I?" he also hadn't often heard him use an ordinary voice - first teasing the Russian, then attacking Asami…then moaning. The little child voice that had uttered such horrifying things…the confused breathless Japanese when he had called Akihito his long lost brother…and later, moans and gasps again, of another kind.
His baritone was a little higher, and far softer, smoother than that of Asami, but sexy too, in another way. Akihito pulled his sweatshirt over his lap.
"You're awake?"
Fei Long nodded, sitting up, beginning to look about himself. Colour flooded his face, too, when his gaze fell over the sleeping blonde Russian.
"Where are my clothes?" now he averted his eyes, slinging his sculpted arms around his knees, noticing the iv still installed in his right wrist. When he looked up again Akihito couldn't help feeling exactly what he had cautioned the others not to do. He indicated the small, neat heap of mostly ruined garments. "Your jacket and your boots are ok…"
"Tao's picture?" at first, Akihito did not know what he meant.
"Oh, the young child? Pjotr saved it for you…"
Now Fei's gaze fell on the other of his classmates, from Pjotr to Takato to Alexej…and again, on Mikhail, who was beginning to turn restlessly, looking troubled in his sleep.
"What happened…?" he whispered, barely audible.
"You don't remember anything?"
Fei lowered his head, curling up in a ball, his long hair falling about his body, almost covering his nakedness.
In this moment even the seasoned young investigative photographer found it extremely difficult to believe what he knew without a doubt, that this was a powerful and feared Mafia leader.
"Someone drugged you..."
But Fei was already recovering himself, looking up with determination.
"Can you give me something to wear? I'll make up for all expenses…"
I'm sure you will, thought Akihito, but aloud he said: "We dressed you in Mikhail's" - Fei reddened slightly - "jumper, he is about your size."
None of them made any comment as to why Fei wasn't wearing the garment any more. "You could have something of mine, but I'm smaller…"
Fei hesitated only the shortest of moments. Then he grabbed the pullover and pulled it over his head. He raised tantalizingly arched dark eyebrows.
"And Alexej here," the burly Russian had just turned over with a snore, "he lent you his trousers." Akihito stood up, discreetly turning away, beginning to rummage in his graffiti covered wardrobe. When he turned around, the Chinese was standing in front of the mattress, towering over him quite a bit, holding up the wide pants with one hand. "Here, I thought you might need that", he handed over a braided string belt in red, yellow and green.
When Fei took the belt, their hands met briefly. Akihito's pupils contracted.
"Oh, Rasta colours", Fei smiled. "I love reggae…"
Akihito looked up, astonished. "Want the matching cap?" he teased, surprising himself. "You wore it yesterday…"
Fei was looking at him with a strange expression.
"Did I wrong you in any way?" he asked, in Japanese. "I can't remember ever having met you, but if there is something I can put right, please tell me."
- to be continued -