Shot?

“... You. Do. Not. Ever. Touch. What’s. Mine.”



Slam! The tall Blonde was roughly shoved into the wall again.



“Never. Touch. My. Boy. Again.” Each word accentuated with the powerful punch of a fist. It felt good.



With a satisfied smirk on his face, Asami finally let go of the Russian Mobster.



“So, would you now care to enlighten me what all of this is about? Or do you need more incentives to cooperate?” Another kick to the torso. He really hoped he broke at least some of his ribs.



Mikhail Arbatov presented a rather pitiful picture, crouched on the floor; trying to protect himself from more injuries than those Asami had already chosen to inflict on him. He was panting for breath, his arms clutched around his middle, indicating that Asami indeed had gotten a full hit on his rib-cage.



For the first time in weeks, Asami almost felt pleased with himself. He had worked off some of his anger, reached some understanding with the Chinese Ice-Princess and Akihito was back where he belonged. And was shot. And of all places he had to get shot there. Stupid brat. At least he would be able to make Feilong suffer the same way he was.

He groaned in frustration and returned his attention to the man on the floor.



“So, anything you wanted to tell me?”



“If… If you kill me there will be a war…” Arbatov managed out in a raspy voice. He really didn’t sound too good.



“Oh, I am not the one who will kill you. I’ll leave that particular pleasure to others. Until then - you may be assured of that - I will take exceptionally good care of you.”



“You never intended to give the deed to Feilong.” The Russian slowly pulled himself up in a sitting position. Blood was running down his face and his left eye started to swell shut. The princess would definitely throw a hissy-fit about the damage to Arbatov’s face. Well, it couldn’t be helped. He would just make sure not to be anywhere too close to him when the Russian was delivered to the Triad Leader. After all, there was a reason why some called him dragon.



“My dealings with Baishe are of no concern to you. And now that you mentioned it… Wouldn’t it be better if you start worrying about your fate instead of Feilong?”



“We have a deal with the White Snake. We protect our assets.” Icy blue eyes stared at him.



“And taking my pet would benefit this deal… how again? I don’t think so. Hisato, make sure he is in a more cooperative mood when I return.”



He turned away without another glance and briskly walked back to the black BMW parked in front of the warehouse. Hisako would make sure that the Russian knew his place when he came back tomorrow. Or maybe he should tell Yoh where to find his rival for the affection of Feilong…



“Where to, Asami-sama? The hospital?” Keita held the door open for his boss.



Everything inside of him screamed ‘yes’ but he knew his lower body couldn’t take more abuse today.



“No. To the club.” He might as well get some of the work done that had been neglected over the past weeks. His phone rang. A quick check of the number on the display and a sigh of relief. Not from the hospital; that meant Akihito was doing fine.



“Asami speaking.”



“I don’t give a rat’s ass about your schedule! If you don’t hand him over now, I’ll start a war unlike any you have ever seen. We had a deal!”



“I’m really getting tired of your yelling, Feilong. Don’t call me if you can’t control yourself.” He hung up with a satisfied grin on his face. It was just too easy to rile the princess up.



He relaxed into the soft leather of his seat and closed his eyes, thinking about how easy it was to rile up his pet. The way his eyes flashed indignantly when he teased him. How he seemed to vibrate from some unknown energy source that had his whole body in motion. How he never seemed to be still, except when he slept. How he curled up in bed after the endless seeming sessions of sex. How he trembled when his hands mapped out every inch of his sweaty skin, making him moan deep in his throat. The desperate sounds he made when he thrust into the soft heat of his body, betraying his need.



With a groan he turned a switch, watching the glass slide close to give him the privacy he needed. He opened his pants to free his raging hard-on from the restricting confines of his pants and started to stroke himself. Slowly at first, his hand moved up and down his shaft savoring the feel of his own silky skin, stretched taut over throbbing flesh. He imagined soft lips wrapping themselves around his manhood, leisurely moving down, taking him deeper and deeper into the moist cavern that was Akihito’s mouth. He groaned again and forced himself to take his hands away. He had made a promise and he would stand by it, even if it killed him. Could one die of pent-up sexual frustration?



A deep sigh. He filled a glass with whiskey and took a long swallow. He was about to turn into an alcoholic just because he couldn’t play with his favorite toy. Setting the glass aside he regretfully put himself back in his pants and lit a cigarette. This was what it had come to: whiskey and cigarettes. He, the all powerful ruler of Tokyo was reduced to drinking and smoking because of one boy. He shook his head in denial. It couldn’t be that he, Asami Ryouichi had fallen for a brat. A dirty, annoying, wild-tempered back-alley cat. No, make that a kitten. A shaggy, untamed but undeniably cute kitten. The way he purred when stroked in the right places…



He had to stop thinking about that. His thoughts went back to the second week after Akihito was taken. When Keita had called to inform him that Akihito’s landlord was about to evict him for not paying rent. He had taken care of the problem and as soon as he was allowed to walk with a cane he had his men take him to Takaba’s apartment. He struggled his way upstairs to the worn out door and went inside in hopes to feel closer to his boy. For the first time he took the time to really look around. His eyes took the old worn couch in, his lips slightly curving upward in memory of all the things he had done to his pet on it. He had moved towards the table on which his men had put Akihito’s precious camera, the one he had lost when Feilong’s men had taken him. He remembered all the conflicting emotions cursing through him upon realizing that the worldly possessions of his lover would fit in four moving boxes. He had almost spent two hours in the small flat, limping around, touching everything Akihito had touched before. And he made a decision. A quick call and his men came up and packed everything up. His precious cameras, the tasteless clothes -he would dispose of them later, the chipped mugs from the kitchenette and of course, the secret stash of photos Akihito had taken of him from under the warped floor-board.



He smiled again. He still didn’t know how the boy had managed to take these pictures, but he would definitely enjoy the … interrogation his pet would have to submit to, to find out. Upps. Don’t go there.



Thinking about how he had all of Takaba’s possessions brought to the penthouse put him in a mellow mood, the time he spent unpacking each box and putting the contents away; not caring that not a single item fit in with his sophisticated taste. It didn’t matter. The mugs found their place between his elegant dishes, a small space in his closet was filled with hideously colored t-shirts and the annoying boxers went into his dresser. He did throw the used toothbrush away and replaced it with a bright pink one which had bunny as a handle. Akihito would hate it. He loved it.



When they found Takaba’s secret treasure, Akira had helped him find a guy who was able to repair the two old broken cameras Akihito had packed away at the bottom of the closet. Even broken, he was told, they were very valuable and rare. So he had them fixed in hopes to make his boy happy when he returned. And return he did. Injured. In the hospital.



Stupid brat.