Rating: NC-17

Pairing: Asami/Akihito

Contains: Asami's pov, sexual situations, references to explicit violence and gore (nothing too graphic)

Disclaimer: These characters belong to Yamane Ayano, not me.

Author's Note: A few people mentioned that they wouldn't mind seeing this from Asami's POV, so I finally ended up writing it. This is really, truly the final chapter. I was inspired by Feel it in My Bones by Tegan and Sara. It's a great song! So thanks to those who encouraged me to write this. :)

No one could have known from the impassive expression that overlaid that coldly sculpted face the force of sweeping fury that ignited every base instinct held within the man known as Asami Ryuichi. He spoke into the phone, quietly, calmly, his words terse and efficient. Only the slightest drawing together of his brows indicated anything other than perfect composure.

He let it burn, welcoming the cleansing heat that served to consume a dirtier, chilling emotion that sent an icy pick into his gut and clouded his perceptions with useless and irrational thoughts. His fingers curled around his smoking cigarette, and he resisted the impulse to crush the slender cylinder between them. His informant answered his questions with equally to the point efficiency, the low voice urgent and authoritative.

Once again, Asami had cause to appreciate his foresight in creating and placing moles within a variety of potentially volatile situations. It wasn't so difficult to obtain unswerving loyalty from certain men, not when you unearthed their true motivations, not when you could do them a service that anyone else could not or would not do. He had chosen carefully and well. Most of them, he never called on except for routine exchanges of information. But now and then, his careful maneuverings, such as those in Hong Kong, were more than rewarded.

Kirishima was already on full alert by the time Asami ended the call, exuding a tension that expressed both expectance and competence. His loyalty and dedication were unquestioned, his mind as sharp as any Asami had known, and his ties to Asami went far back. His solid back would handle the extra burden about to be placed on it, and there would be no complaints.

"Call Suoh in."

Kirishima's murmured acquiescence barely registered as Asami leaned back in his chair, his mind working to analyze the situation at hand with precise and intuitive analysis. He brought the cigarette to his lips and inhaled deeply. his eyes narrowing to slits as the beginnings of a plan began to form.

"Asami-sama, Suoh is on his way."

Asami pulled out his phone and, with a few curt words, discovered the current whereabouts of Takaba Akihito. He stood, crushing the cigarette into pulp before buttoning his suit jacket. Logically, he knew he had more time. The boy was safe for now. Regardless, he would see empirical proof of that before those roused base instincts would be soothed for the time being.

Akihito's surprise at the sudden appearance of Asami at his stakeout was exceeded only by his bluster.

"What the hell, Asami! You can't just show up like this!" His lapels were gripped as Akihito tried to tug him past a row of dumpsters into an alleyway between a disreputable-looking pachinko parlor and a redolent curry shop. "You're gonna blow my cover!"

Asami indulged him by taking two steps in that direction while gazing down at Akihito's frantic expression, currently a mixture of anger and surprise. He ignored the surge of his own emotions those blazing eyes evoked.

"Hiding behind a garbage receptacle is your cover?"

"Listen, jerk, I'm working here! I've got a target to capture." He brandished his camera like a weapon, though Asami knew Akihito would sooner cut off his own hand than risk damaging one of his precious cameras. "And if you don't get lost right n-"

"Would your target be Hanazawa Jun by any chance? Because he won't be showing up tonight."

"What?" Akihito's eyes widened. "How did you know about-" He growled. "Do you have something to do with him not showing up?"

"I have better things to do with my time than worrying about a Diet member frequenting an establishment that caters to men with a predilection for underage girls. I've already got enough of that sort in my pocket."

"Then how do you know he won't show up?" Akihito challenged.

"I contacted your magazine to find out what you were working on tonight, then I used my sources to determine the whereabouts of your so-called target. I was informed he was called into an emergency meeting likely to go on well into the morning."

That caused Akihito to deflate slightly, wariness and curiosity warring in the flicker of his eyes. "Don't be contacting my work out of the blue like that!" When Asami didn't respond Akihito asked grudgingly, "So why are you here anyway?"

The answer prickled across his tongue and pressed up behind his closed lips, but it wasn't released, efficiently contained by the guard of teeth that pressed together with the slightest more force than necessary. His jaw felt tight, and his fingers itched to show Akihito the real truth. The desire to bruise and ravage beat strongly in his pulse, and he had to slide his itching fingers into the pockets of his slacks.

If he touched Akihito now, he wasn't sure he would be successful, despite their surroundings, in reining in the impulse to prove to himself-to Akihito-the physical reality of his possession of the boy. The relief at seeing Akihito well and brash and every bit his normal self, though he had known he would find him so, served to drain his control. His desire to utterly consume and simultaneously preserve Akihito's rich and unabashed vibrancy was dangerously powerful. It was those conflicting desires that drove him constantly, it seemed, these days.

Only a tenuous hold on his vaunted discipline allowed him to step away from Akihito, whose expression changed to one of confusion. He followed, as Asami knew he would, like a little duckling that had imprinted on the first thing he saw out of his egg.

"Hey! I asked you a question."

"Come," Asami said with a nonchalance sure to irritate his hot-headed follower. "I'm taking you to dinner."

He could imagine the confusion on Akihito's face, the softening of his eyes within that searching look, the tiny uplift of his lips that he would try so hard to hide, lashing out to cover up his own discomfiting feelings. A small smile crossed his own lips as Akihito retorted, "Did you ever think about asking? Anyway, it's ten o'clock. Why are you out of work so early?"

Of course, Akihito still trotted obediently behind him. The boy never would refuse food.

"I set my own hours," Asami stated with cool condescension.

"Big shot crime lord," Akihito mumbled under his breath. "Hmph, so do I."

Asami resisted the urge to chuckle, but not the urge to finally shove the boy up against the side of the limo where Kirishima was already standing with the door open. He didn't savage those pale, soft lips that parted in a startled gasp. Not yet. His eyes bore into Akihito's while the boy stared back half in wonder and half with a brimming cockiness, always ready to boil over into a fight.

The sum of all of Akihito's parts added up to answer that Asami didn't fully understand. He only knew that it was indispensable to his current reality, that he was responsible for the cocky little punk before him who had no idea, even after everything, how fragile his bright existence in the world really was.

No matter. He would take responsibility. For this boy, he always would.

Only the barest edge of his lust had been slaked by that short encounter with Akihito in the hidden room. Just thinking of Akihito bound and needy and writhing at his touch, creamy skin and dark leather contrasting beautifully while Akihito willingly, more or less, submitted to his erotic control made Asami harden again, even as Akihito tossed a final saucy look over his shoulder.

"Don't wait up, old man!"

That couldn't go unpunished, and he enjoyed the shocked gasp (the boy never did learn) as Akihito's back hit the door and Asami's mouth covered his. He didn't let him go until Akihito's lips were swollen and shiny and red, and he looked kissed within an inch of his life. Heat glazing his eyes, Akihito stared dazedly up at him, and Asami's cock throbbed in response.

He knew he could take Akihito right now, up against the door, with his men waiting on the outside, probably hearing everything, and Akihito knowing that, but he just wouldn't care, or, rather, it wouldn't matter if he did, because in this thing, they were the same-the angles and curves of their desire fitting into a seamless, preordained pattern. But he wouldn't. He would bide his time. However...

Tugging Akihito's shirt to the side, Asami bit into the exposed flesh above his collar bone, eliciting a sharp cry from Akihito. He wasn't gentle, needing to feel the grind of flesh between his teeth, but he licked away the pain and sucked a moan free from Akihito's lips. Slender fingers twined into Asami's hair while Akihito rocked against the thigh Asami slipped between his legs. Akihito's hands only reluctantly pulled free as Asami moved away.

Akihito was a picture of seduction, all flushed cheeks and dilated pupils, quick, pink tongue darting out to wet that biteable lower lip. If he only knew the blatant invitation that he was, in essence, offering up. His eyes were bright with innocent lust, practically begging Asami to take and fuck and pleasure him until he couldn't remember his own name.

His hot little lover who would go to the grave rather than admit out loud to even half of that. Asami's lips curled as he ruthlessly clamped down on his own arousal.

"Have fun, kid."

The smirk jolted Akihito back into action. His buttons were so much fun to press. Glaring all the while, Akihito tugged his collar over the fresh mark, knowing it for the brand it was. The door slammed, and Asami ran his fingers through his hair, smoothing out what Akihito had ruffled.

He released a low laugh. How flat his days must have been before this. He could hardly recall now what it had been like before Akihito had zoomed into his life like an annoying little mosquito that should have been swatted on sight.

But he hadn't done that. He'd indulged him like no one else. And, yes, he'd hurt him too, taught him a lesson that would have made so many crumble, but not Akihito. Akihito was a relentless force of nature, full of life and recklessness and optimism.

His smile slowly faded to be replaced with cool purpose. Asami knew better than anyone how swiftly and easily even that kind of vitality could be snuffed out. His focus tonight was to eliminate one such threat to it.

From his pocket, he withdrew the tracking device that received the signals coming from the various transmitters placed on Akihito: the one around the neck that he knew about, and the ones in his phone and sneakers that he didn't. Asami was more than certain those would come in handy in the future.

The cursor on the screen flashed reassuringly at him. He could admit, in the furthest reaches of his mind, that it was a security blanket meant only to soothe himself. He doubted the heads of all nations combined had better protection than his Akihito this evening. No, the outcome of his plan was a foregone conclusion, but Asami didn't get where he was by not planning for all contingencies.

The device went back into his pocket, and Asami turned his mind to the task at hand as he opened the door to his men. They bowed, Asami's cold smile awakening an answering sort of ruthlessness in their own eyes and bearing. They were, after all, what they were. They followed him after him without a word.

The smell of blood was thick in the air. It was only a man's nose, broken and bleeding profusely; an opening sally-crude, but satisfying. It did something to Asami, invigorated him. He was careful, though, mostly, when placing his punches to keep to the soft places: deep to the gut, over the kidneys. The evidence of his devotion to Akihito's cause was better left hidden from the one his exertions were meant to protect. Akihito would never know what happened in this room.

His kicks had freer rein. They connected with both flesh and bone, and he loosed the primal animal within himself; the one so many failed to see beneath his veneer of urbanity and wealth and looks. An electric charge built in the air, between him and his men as they moved in wordless accord.

When the thuds and crunches began to lose their charm, his men bound the two men into more accessible positions. Suoh, in shirt sleeves rolled up past his elbows, his forearms bulging, hefted them up and secured their chained wrists to a hanging link.

"Warmup's over." Asami's smile stirred even his own ranks to avid, restless expectancy. "Now we can have some fun."

He walked to a precisely laid out collection of keen-edged implements-Kirishima's work no doubt-and picked up the scalpel. The shiny surface of its blade reflected the light from the overhead fluorescents as Asami turned it in his fingers.

"Not many people know this about me," Asami offered conversationally, stepping close to the first man, the one whose orders set this in motion, who began to gibber and beg with pathetic incoherence. "But my mother always hoped I would become a doctor."

The blade rested against the man's cheekbone, a thin line of blood beginning to flow and run down the man's face, dripping onto his shoulder from his jaw line.

"Though my interests and talents went in other directions, at University I took a course in anatomy purely for...personal edification. Human dissection is a fascinating study."

Asami raised his voice to be heard over the increased sobbing of the man before him,"But then, you know all about that, don't you?" His gaze went to the man hanging next to his broken companion. The assassin stared back at him, eyes still bright with malice and fight. Good. He would be saved for last, and given the pleasure of Asami's full and creative abilities.

Perhaps it was irrational, the special hatred that ignited Asami's blood when his eyes lit on the one who had intended to kill his lover. He was, after all, a hired gun, so to speak. However, his notoriety preceded him. And though he would have died in any case, the fact that he had, as a matter of course, made detailed plans for Asami's own bright Akihito, had documented them with such explicit detail, creating what he intended to become a grisly memorial of his planned conquest, mixing Akihito's likeness in a range of pictures-happy, laughing, working, playing-with descriptions of the sort that made even Asami and his most hardened men experience an innate soul-deep disgust and taint that couldn't be entirely erased from conscious thought, had sealed the path to his fate.

Asami didn't enjoy torture. Killing was something he resorted to as a last resort-usually. But unavoidable situations would arise. His mind flashed back to the traitor in Feilong's employ, and he recalled the profound release emptying his gun into that pathetic lackey had given him. That had merely been collateral damage.

This, though-he would enjoy this.

Later, hours maybe, it was a few murmured words from Kirishima that brought him out of the blood haze. It only took the one word to recall him back to the plane of existence where the world, after a shower and change of clothes, would welcome his presence with open arms. Akihito. Yes, he would see him now. It was his reward.

A widening circle of sticky red radiating out from the latest wound he had personally inflicted sluggishly halted just before it reached the toes of his shoes. The metallic tang of it couldn't quite hide the underlying pungent stench of urine and shit.

Despite the hours he and his men had been in this room with these two things that once were, in appearance at least, human, Asami's own blood still sang. But it was enough.

Two bodies moved feebly. Like giant grubs wriggling blindly in the dirt, they wallowed in their own filth.

Asami held out a hand, and a gun was pressed into his palm. Two shots rang out. Blood and sweat came away as he wiped his forehead, then dropped the gun, cleaners already at work. The remains would be strategically placed as a warning to others.

He moved, going through the motions with Kirishima's assistance, on autopilot: showered, refreshed, dressed to kill, always. His mouth curved at the private joke, his blood still beating out a rhythm that drove him toward his boy. His lover. Akihito. Safe once again. Always his. Only his.

His palm against the glass that vibrated with the muted percussion of the club speakers and the incessant pounding of the crowd on the polished surface of the main floor, Asami eyes roved over the sea of bodies. It wasn't hard to find his target. The crowd eddied and swirled, but Asami could see only him, his unmistakable spark and energy calling to Asami with irresistible force.

The boy's flushed face shone with exertion and something like ecstasy. What was he thinking of with that look on his face? It was entirely Akihito's own fault that his time with his friends would be cut short. His erotic expression combined with those supple, suggestive movements were a red cape before Asami, and without the slightest guilt he spoke into his phone, not taking his eyes once from the effortless grace of Akihito's dance.

Such a talent-a pleasure-he had overlooked, but he would have it in front of him now. Akihito would dance for him, show only him that face of longing and desire.

Transfixed, he watched as the music segued into another beat. Akihito rolled his head back and breathed deep, his damp shirt pulled away from that lithe, well-defined torso and then popping back to cling lovingly to slick skin. Asami could almost taste the salt he knew he would lick from the boy soon.

The sight of Akihito's rounded ass moving within the confines of tight denim as he ran up the stairs to join his friends reminded Asami of what Akihito was wearing for him that night. A slow smirk spread over his face, and he wondered how Akihito was bearing his fate.

His ever present instinct to possess flared hotter remembering the way Akihito had looked in leather and metal, the steel rings caging his cock as Akihito took to the new sensation with all the protests and fascinated lust that each new sexual experience always evoked in him; Akihito's mouth saying one thing, his eyes and his body telling an entirely different story.

Kirishima entered the room behind him. Asami kept his eyes on Akihito, who laughed with his friends across the span of the club, until Kirishima was beside him. Their eyes met and Kirishima nodded.

"It is done. Suoh is returning now."

"Good."

"And someone has been dispatched to retrieve him."

They both turned to watch Akihito look up as the messenger appeared. After a moment, Akihito rose and followed after him with apparent trust.

"Sometimes, I wonder if he has any survival instincts." His remark was flippant, a whistling in the dark, warding off the dark truth: everything could have played out in so many different ways, none of them good. They both understood this. It was part and parcel of their world, and it was a truth he hoped Akihito never fully understood. No matter what, he knew that he would never give Akihito up. He wouldn't hate himself for that. It was too late anyway. They were both in too deep and the only choice was to descend together.

A small smile passed Kirishima's lips. "He has proven resourceful on occasion."

"Yes. And some say God watches out for fools, drunks, and children."

They shared an amused glance, and Asami nodded once. "You've done good work, and you've borne the brunt of the increased responsibilities these past several weeks. I think you can safely take the rest of the night off considering we've enough men here to take over a small country."

"If you need-"

"No. Go home."

Kirishima bowed. "Goodnight, Asami-sama."

He was almost to the door when Asami's voice forestalled him.

"Kirishima. Thank you."

He felt the surprise, but only a second's silence ticked by before Kirishima replied with sincere graciousness. "Asami-sama, it was my pleasure."

When Asami finally allowed Akihito release for the first time that night, he was desperate, exhausted, wound to a high-tension pitch of blind need that ripped raw sounds from his throat as his come splattered onto glass. It was a cruel and exquisite reward for his humbling of Asami's pride, the surpassing of his expectations. Asami shuddered himself, spilling into Akihito with an upthrust that lifted him to his toes.

The desire, the physical heat, hadn't surprised him. But the way Akihito had seemed to look within his soul-not to the center, that was too dark and feral a place for even Akihito to enter, but near-and then had offered up his acceptance, with words and without, he had earned the prolonged erotic torture that Asami doled out with infinite patience and skill.

I belong to you.

By his own admission, Akihito was his. Asami thrust again just to hear Akihito moan, holding the weakened boy against the cold press of glass with his own body, his heart beating against Akihito's back. Akihito's pulse fluttered like a caged butterfly beneath his lips as he pressed them to the curve of Akihito's throat, insatiably craving the physical proof of his being.

But this wasn't nearly enough, not even close. If the boy was so willing to flay him open with his looks and words and unspoken promises then Asami would repay the favor. He would mar with his teeth and fingers that exquisitely fine skin that just begged to be bruised. He would choke that sweet mouth with poisonous kisses. He would fill his tight hole with his own length and seed, measuring their commitment in each deliberate thrust while he watched Akihito come undone.

He would take Akihito's admission and use it just as he knew Akihito had always feared he would-to bind the boy to him tighter still, to ensure that he could never leave. He would have all of him. He would imprint his mark down to the molecular level until Akihito very cells vibrated with the truth of his possession.

If Akihito knew the real truth of what he was, of what he was capable of, Asami had no doubt that he would flee, and with few regrets. But that could never happen. He wouldn't allow it. He would protect Akihito from the world, and from himself.

His hands strayed tenderly up Akihito's stomach, tracing up the fine line of hair that led to his navel, one fingertip dipping in. A soft gasp from Akihito as his body jerked, ticklish there, and Asami smiled tenderly against the back of his neck.

He would give him everything, anything, even the illusion of freedom that he needed.