Shot?

Asami was still smiling in that rather scary, sinister way that made Akira feel more than just uncomfortable. They were on their way to the warehouse to prepare the bulky Russian for the exchange.



The ever-present phone rang. After seeing the number on the display Asami choose to pick up after the fifth ring.



“Asami speaking.”



“It seems you are not so eager anymore to talk to me. Enjoying my little gift yet?”



“What do you want, bastard?”



“It might have escaped your attention, but I am well aware of my descent and I can assure you, my parents were definitely legally married.”



“Did you call me to waste my time with trivia or was there anything you wanted?”



“I just called to inform you that I am back in Tokyo and would be able to accommodate your wish for an appointment with me tonight. I really can’t fit you in any sooner; I do have an important meeting this afternoon. I’m sure you understand. I’ll be staying at the Ritz-Carlton, so why don’t you drop by later tonight? Maybe, if you’re being good, I’ll even invite you for dinner.”



“I’ll be there.” He hung up. What a conceited, ill-bred, wannabe blackguard the Chinese bitch was. But today was the day he would pay up…



He flipped the phone open again.



“Yoh? Is everything ready?”



“Yes, Asami-sama. Just as you wished.”



“Good. Make sure Arbatov is ready for the exchange by two o’clock.”



This would show Feilong. Of course he knew about the meeting this afternoon. There really wasn’t anything going down in Tokyo, if not all of Japan, that he wasn’t aware of. Feilong was so delusional he thought he could set up a meeting with the Yamaken-gumi without Asami knowing about it. Sloppy. And delusional. He shook his head. Yoshinori had called him as soon as Feilong got in touch with him. Even though they operated out of Kobe, the relatively powerful group did seek out his approval for a connection with Baishe. He had given them his okay to let the Chinese set up an outpost at Kobe. It wouldn’t hurt to have another station of Baishe under his surveillance.



He dialed again.



“Asami here.”



“Asami-sama, thank you for taking the time to call me. What can I do for you?”



“Yoshinori, I want you to be prepared for a slight disturbance during your meeting. Baishe has displeased me. You might not be able to conduct your business today.”



“Thank you for informing me, Asami-sama. I’m always glad to receive your guidance in these matters.”



“You’re welcome. I’m sorry that this will have to happen, but the Baishe needs to know his status here in Tokyo.”



“I trust you to do whatever is necessary, Asami-sama. I’m looking forward to our meeting tomorrow.”



“As do I, Yoshinori. Thank you for your time.”



He hung up. He really liked the young leader of the Yamaken-clan. He tried to stay within the law and had had a really rough time at first to weed out the more traditional Yakuza in his family who were dead set against his reforms. But all in all, he had done a good job with transforming the criminal organization into a halfway legal business. One had to admire the energy of the kid. He reminded him of a certain other youth… Nope. No time to go there. His pet was sleeping at home, safely tucked away in his bed where he belonged.

They pulled up at the warehouse, next to Yoh’s car. The tall, dark-haired man was waiting in front of the building, rushing to open the door for his boss.



“Yoh?”



“The doctor just left. Everything went according to your instructions.” There was a certain grim satisfaction in the otherwise melodious voice of his most trusted man. Yoh had been with him for years, had proven his loyalty over and over again. He even went to prison for years to keep an eye on Feilong for him and after that stayed with the long-haired Ice-princess to spy on him.



Asami sighed. He had expected Yoh to fall for Feilong sooner or later. The almost ethereal beauty of the Chinese man was hard to resist. He thought of his spunky little wild-cat at home and sighed again. He really would have preferred to be engaged in more entertaining activities right now than being here. With Akihito being so pliant under the influence of the pain-meds, he would be able to get away with almost anything. It was such a turn-on having this unrestrained package of pure sex under him, completely uninhibited, moaning and pleading for more with every breath, begging him for release, finding his true calling in being taken by him again and again. Shit. He felt himself getting hard. He concentrated on recalling the inventory-lists of Sion, silently reciting them in his head. It wouldn’t do to face the Russian mobster with his pants tenting out. He sometimes cursed his eidetic memory but in instances like this one he really was glad to have it. It took him only a couple of breaths to will himself back into a presentable stage.



“Okay, let’s do this.”



They walked into the semi-dark warehouse, only the sunlight coming in through the dirty windows illuminating it.



Akira was anxious what the devious mind of his boss had come up with while he was forced to stay home with Aki-chan, uke-sitting the young man. What he saw left him speechless. The sight presented to him was… hideous. Ghastly and atrocious. He never had seen anything like it before.



“Arbatov, I trust you were being taken care of?”



“I. Will. Fucking. Kill. You.”



“My, my. Such strong words for someone wearing… a dress?” Asami gave him his trademark

smirk. And really, it was hard to not laugh out loud at the bulky Russian who had been forced into a skimpy French-maid’s dress. His men had done an admirable job of dressing the guy up. He personally thought the wrapping was rather appropriate for the occasion. Long fishnet-stockings, a short skirt, fluffed out by frilly petticoats, low cut at the top showing off the non-existent cleavage, black lacy garters clearly visible, the whole dress barely covering his genitals.



“Why don’t we sit down and talk some more? Oh, sorry. I almost forgot – sitting down is

not an option for you right now. It really hurts to get shot in the ass, doesn’t it?”



Every word was dripping with sarcasm. The young Russian upstart had been privileged to receive a rather valuable lesson from him. Retaliation.



Yoh was clearly reveling at the sight of the miserable figure standing in the middle of the storeroom, hands cuffed in front of him, his face red from the humiliating treatment he had received. It had been more than enjoyable to shoot at the Russian bastard and leave a long gash on his ass. Dr. Yamaguchi had been called immediately in to take care of the injury which he had done without as much as raising a brow. He knew better than to question Asami. So now, Arbatov was standing there, seething with rage and a numb ass. Personally, Yoh thought he should have been thankful that he still was under strict orders from Asami. If he would have had been given free run of the show, Arbatov would be dead now. Very dead. How dare the unrefined Gaijin even look at the object of his affection? Feilong was his and his alone. Even Asami respected that.



“Well, Arbatov? Anything you want to tell me before Feilong gets his hands on you?”



“You. Are. A. Dead. Man.”



“Tststs… Manners, Arbatov, manners. This should teach you not to try messing with the big boys. You are not anywhere close to playing in our league.”



Asami lit a cigarette, slowly exhaling the smoke while mustering the furious young man. Of course he had talked the little lesson over with Arbatov senior, making sure the man understood the precarious position his son had created for himself. Both men had agreed a lesson was in order and the older Mafia-leader had promised Asami to keep his boy out of trouble for a long time, he would send him to oversee his farming operations in Siberia as soon as Feilong released him.



“It seems like there is nothing more to talk about. If you are ready, we can go.”



He signaled his men to cover the bulky Russian with a long trench-coat. He would definitely not be seen with this failed attempt at cross-dressing in public. Yoh briskly shoved the blond man towards the waiting cars, ready to take them to Feilong’s hotel.

Asami waited until the Russian was roughly shoved into the second limousine before he got into his own. The only one allowed to share the back of his car was the kitten. He looked so absolutely delectable against the dark leather. His skin always seemed to glow in the dim interior of the car, and when he started to moan while rubbing his heated flesh against the seats… This really had to stop. The pet was home and there would be time later to play with the boy.



He tapped at the window to signal Akira that he was ready to face down Feilong.



*****



Akihito slowly came out of his drug induced sleep, slightly disoriented at first, only waking up because his stomach growled. He found himself alone in the oversized bed, propped up in the most humiliating way over some type of foam pillow, his ass high up in the air. With a groan he rolled off the offending device and kicked it away from him.

Where was that bastard? The perverted creep who had changed his wonderful life into this miserable farce. The asshole who forced him to endure endless hours of mind-blowing sex. Wait. No, make that the asshole who forced him to endure endless hours of rape. Against his will. Definitely against his will. It was not his fault that his will did not include his body.



His face lit up. Yep, that was it. Asami had drugged him with something weird that made him crave sex with him. After all, the guy had money to buy anything he wanted, so he probably forced some poor genius scientist into developing an Asami-drug. It had to be. Asami had made him addicted to do this. He had never thought about having sex with a man before, so this was the only reasonable explanation. No one in his clear mind would want to be tied up by that arrogant prick or even fantasize about getting spanked by him. It was the drug. It had poisoned his mind and body, making him want to be fucked by the other constantly, taken roughly in every possible position and in a few impossible ones. He needed to detox. Fast.



He groaned as he got up to go to the bathroom on still wobbly feet. His body ached, the throbbing pain in his lower back reminding him of their last bout of heated sex, making him blush furiously at the memory. Slowly he opened the door when it hit him. Husband? What the hell had the bastard been talking about? Did he mean…? Nope, he wouldn’t. He shook his head, trying to get the weird thought out of his head. He must have misunderstood, he really had been tired. Grabbing the too large robe and tying it around him he made his way to the living-room. He opened the door silently, finding it empty except for the blond bodyguard. Keita, yes that was his name.



Keita was still sitting on his bar-stool, the millionth cup of steaming coffee in front of him, contemplating suicide. He was muttering to himself, trying to come up with a way to explain to his master’s wife that that was what he was: the master’s wife.



“… how does he think I’m gonna do that? Just go up and say: By the way, you are now Mrs. Asami? Or something like: Your husband wants you to know that you are his wife now?”



He took another swallow of the dark, rich brew. Hell, he needed something stronger than that. Although, considering his situation there probably was nothing strong enough to make this easier.



“… he can’t seriously expect me to tell him that I am now a wife-sitter instead of an uke-sitter.” He snorted his displeasure at the word. It used to amuse him and Akira whenever they were ordered to keep an eye on the far too careless photographer. It had always been good for a joke to be sent on uke-sitter duty. Now it had come back to bite him in the ass.



“What the hell are you talking about?” The words came out, barely a whisper. He had heard everything. Every single word.



“Akihito-kun? Oh, you’re awake. Let me order you something to eat.” It took only a moment for Keita to catch himself after he had shot around to face the irate young man.



“What the hell were you talking about?” Akihito carefully took a few more steps towards the Blonde who had soundlessly slid off the high chair.



After one look at the youth, the seasoned bodyguard decided to take cover behind the breakfast-bar.



“You really should eat something, Akihito-kun. You look a bit haggard. Asami-sama is very concerned about you not eating enough.”



“Concerned? ConcerNED?” No longer speechless, his voice was increasing little by little.



“Care to tell me what else that bastard is concerned about?” He was definitely getting louder.



“He is very concerned about your health, Akihito-kun.”



“And stop calling me that. Will you tell me now or do I have to beat it out of you?” Not caring how ridiculous he sounded he advanced on the Blonde trying to hide behind the counter.



“Now, Akihito-kun, I’m very sure that it is not very helpful for your recovery to get this excited. You need to calm down now and eat. Or…”



“OR WHAT?” He was yelling at the top of his lungs now. He had the taller man cornered in the kitchenette, standing in front of him, red face, shaking with anger.



Keita tried to retreat some more but the wall pretty much prevented it. Shit. This was so not going well. Never taking his eyes off the photographer he backed into the wall. Crap. Or better: crap-a-de-crap. Why did shit like that always happen to him? He sighed and decided to try again; maybe a sterner tone would work.



“Akihito-kun! I really think you need to sit down and let me order your food. The boss will not be pleased if you don’t follow orders.” He took a tentative step towards the young man, pointing to the chair he had vacated previously.



“DO I CARE? DO I LOOK LIKE I FUCKING CARE? I AM NOT ONE OF HIS MINIONS SO HE CAN TAKE HIS FUCKING ORDER AND SHOVE IT!!!!”



“Now, that’s not the way to talk about your husband…” Ups!



“MY WHAT?”



There was no way around it now. What a shitty day…



“Your husband. The man you are married to.” He watched the color drain out of the face in front of him and decided to add an: “Asami-sama, your husband”, just for good measure.



“That can’t… but I’m a… the bastard wouldn’t… How…?” Akihito started shaking, his brain refusing to process the words he had just heard. This couldn’t be. He couldn’t be married. Not to the bastard. The living nightmare haunting him. The pervert who molested him as soon as he saw him.



Pressure was building up inside of him, causing him see red. Literally. It seemed like all of his blood had suddenly decided to go right to his head. He needed to vent. Fast.

Sweeping the innocent porcelain cup off the counter seemed like a good start. He almost fell from the forceful move, still too much pent up anger inside of him. But the sound of the breaking porcelain did seem like the right background-music to his ears. Frantically he looked around in the small kitchen area, he needed more. He tore into the cabinets, grabbed some expensive looking plates and let them shatter on the marble floor. It felt good. The drawer below the just cleaned out cabinet held such an extensive assortment of kitchen-knifes that it made Akihito pause for a second.



His smile turned positively evil when he took two of the largest ones out, holding them up, light reflecting off the dangerously sharp blades.



“Now see here, Akihito-kun. I think you should put these down. They are really sharp, you know. So why don’t you put them back into the drawer and take these here instead.”



Holding up two crystal glasses, Keita slowly inched out of his corner towards the raging young man. He debated whether to take the knives away from the photographer by force and decided against it. In all truth he had always let Akira handle the fragile looking man in the past, not putting a hand on him himself. Akira had asked him once about the reason and he had gruffly dismissed the question, not able to admit that he was plain scared to break the youngster. The kid was delicate and fragile looking and he was such a huge, hulking brute in comparison.



Watching the kid, he sighed. His day had just gone to hell in a hand-basket. With a rather unsuccessful attempt at smiling he waved the two glasses again, hoping the boy would take the bait before he hurt himself. But of course, all he achieved was drawing the photographer’s attention onto himself.



“You knew about this. You helped him do this.” Each sentence accentuated by a step towards the larger man, poking the sharp knives in his direction.



There was no choice now; he would have to take the knives away from the kid. Sighing again he carefully approached Akihito, he really didn’t want to spook the guy.

“Give me those knives please.” His voice sounded stern and steady.



Somehow the voice made Akihito aware of exactly who he was dealing with. It was the ‘Hulk’. Not a hulk, but ‘the Hulk’. That impossibly huge guy who always hovered behind Asami. And the Hulk wanted his knives. The only protection he had left. He swallowed audibly.



“Listen, Keita. I really don’t want to hurt you, so stay away from me, you hear?” He took a step back. The giant kept advancing.



“You don’t want to do this, Keita. Really. I will hurt you if you don’t stay right where you are.” Another retreating step. Another follow-up.



“I… you… Keita… listen… I… AAARRRGGGHHH!!!!” Screaming in frustration, Akihito turned and

fled into the large living-room area, getting the large couch between himself and the Hulk.



“I’m not giving you the knives.”



“You will.”



“Will not.”



They both slowly circled the couch, never taking their eyes of each other, trying to foretell the next move.



“You will and you know it.”



“I know nothing. And I will not give you the knives.”



“Oh yes, you will.”



“The hell I will.”



“You’ll wish yourself in hell when I get a hold of you.”



“Gotta catch me first, slowpoke.”



“You’ll pay for every insult hurled at me, when I catch you.”



“But you won’t, bonehead.”



“Trust me I will.”



“Never, old fart.”



“Wanna bet?”



“There is no fun in betting when I know I’ll win, nitwit.”



Akihito was really getting into it. It did make him feel a bit better, even though it was just childish name-calling. Then again, there hasn’t been an insult-match he had lost until now. Feeling evidently pleased with himself, he strutted around the corner-seat again, not paying close enough attention to the carpet. He stumbled over the corner, pushing his hands out in front of him, planning on breaking his imminent fall with them.



That was all Keita needed to lunge over the couch, planning on wrenching the cutting-tools away from the boy. Just when he was about to reach him, Akihito twisted his body to the side, following the movement of his torso with his hands, not realizing that they still held the knives.



“No…” He desperately screamed when he saw the knives moving towards his own upper body, unable to stop the move. All he could do was close his eyes and wait for the blades to penetrate his body and the pain that would come with it when he fell right into them.



*****