Chapter Text
No life is static. Moment by moment, it changes. Change is, ironically, one of the world’s few constants.
Slowly, bit by bit everything shifts. Slowly.
At least it is usually slow.
Sometimes, however, world shifts beneath your feet — your own personal earthquake. The foundations of your life crack and shift and nothing will ever be quite the same again. Leaving you to pick up the pieces afterward and assess what can be salvaged and what is beyond repair.
These moments are usually catastrophic. Not something as simple as meeting someone's eyes.
After all, every day you see dozens of unfamiliar people. Faces you don't recognized, expressions you can't read. For someone living in a city as large as Tokyo, seeing one more stranger shouldn't have mattered. It happened all the time, every day.
This was different.
The foundations Akihito had carefully built his life on didn't simply crack. So much of it, far too much, turned out to have been nonexistent to begin with. Nothing but figments of his imagination, made up of his own persistent denial and stubborn will... all dissolving into nothing beneath his feet.
More than anything, it was the look in the young man's eyes that scared Akihito. This was a complete stranger and yet he saw his own dawning realization and horror in the eyes that met his own.
Because this person shouldn't have been a stranger.
Takaba Akihito hadn’t fallen so much as dropped into the deep and dreamless sleep of utter exhaustion sometime in the yearly hours of the morning. His last memory had been of staring with bleary appreciation at the lights of Tokyo spread out beneath him, like stars brought to earth under a sky left empty and dark by their fall.
Sometime during the night the curtains had been drawn over the floor to ceiling windows of the hotel room, blocking out the morning and leaving the room in semi-darkness. Only the edges of the curtains and the small crack where the bedroom door wasn't quite closed showed that it was actually morning, and a bright one at that. Another clear and sunny summer day. Probably too hot already if the previous week was anything to go by. In the twilight of the bedroom, however, it was still dim and cool.
The mingled scents of coffee and cigarette smoke wafted into the bedroom from the bright morning beyond. The soft drone of the television turned low, occasionally interspersed with a low voice, the silence between the comments indicative of a telephone conversation. Usual, expected sounds that seemed to define the quiet rather than interrupt it.
Akihito had buried his face in the pillow, not really wanting to get up and face it all yet. He was still tired and frankly he hurt. But a glance at the clock warned him that it was already after nine. He was assisting on a photo shoot at two and had another less legitimate shoot — at least on the part of those he planned to take pictures of — planned for later that night. He couldn't afford to spend all morning hiding under the covers no matter how good that sounded right about now.
So, with a soft groan he'd rolled out of bed and stumbled blearily toward the bathroom and consciousness.
He hadn’t been thinking of anything in particular as he blinked against sudden the brightness of the bathroom lights glinting off black marble and copper fixtures. He drew himself a bath, forgoing his more usual morning shower. He was simply too sore and stiff. This morning he needed a hot soak if he was going to get his body limber enough for the day ahead.
The hot water stung in more than a few places as he sank into it. He welcomed it just the same, turning on the jets the enormous tub came equipped with to work some of the worst of the knots out of his shoulders and neck. He took his time getting clean. For once, allowing himself to indulge in the luxury of wallowing in truly deep hot water.
When he finally emerged he was wrinkled and waterlogged but feeling human again and awake enough to begin seriously considering the day ahead. He absently grabbed a towel from the heated rack beside the tub and hit the switch that turned on the fans to clear the steam from the room.
The air cleared quickly, a testament to the efficiency of everything in this place. Still, Akihito was dry and toweling furiously at his hair by the time the mirrors finally began to clear.
The scent of food was now creeping in from the outer room and his traitorous stomach growled even while Akihito scowed with annoyance. For once he would have liked to order his own damn breakfast. It wasn't, of course, that he was likely to dislike what was offered and the food here was always excellent. But that wasn't the point, dammit! It was the principle of the thing.
The foundations of this particular morning’s argument having been laid, what was likely to be said on both sides was already beginning to take shape in the back of Akihito's mind while he mentally cataloged how much film he'd need for the afternoon’s shoot and which of his lenses would be best for the one later that night.
He was so absorbed in his routine morning thoughts that when he turned to see the young man by the door he was momentarily startled. It was only his reflection, of course. The full-length mirror by the door had cleared of steam faster than the one over the sink, that was all. A laugh began to form at his uncharacteristic jumpiness...
A laugh that never emerged, dying as he met his own eyes in the mirror.
It was only a mirror.
It was only his own reflection.
Except...
Except somehow it wasn't. Or rather, it shouldn't have been.
It wasn't the bruises that littered his body that made the reflection unrecognizable. Nor was it the raw skin on wrists, ankles, and thighs from where he'd fought restraints the night before. It wasn't the deep bite mark on his shoulder or the other on his hip.
It wasn't the even the surroundings, though the bathroom was nearly the size of his flat. The bath mat he stood on, soft enough to be used as a bedroll. The towel that slipped from his fingers to pool at his feet, thick and warm enough to be a blanket. The bed he'd woken in, large enough for five people and softer than a cloud.
It should have been these things. It would have been so much better if it had been.
True, all of that was part of it. But only a very small part.
The young man before him had stumbled through his morning without even noticing the opulence that surrounded him.
The Takaba Akihito of only eight months ago would have been starting around himself in awe at the sumptuousness of these rooms. He would have marveled at the softness of the towels and have been wondering if anyone would notice if he stole a couple.
This Takaba Akithito was almost used to it all on some level.
The young man he'd been a few months ago had been no child and had not been exactly innocent, no matter was some person insisted. In theory he'd known a great deal about luxury. He'd seen movies, watched television, read books. He'd been involved in a few shoots that took place in hotels far outside his meager price range and he'd always taken the opportunity to snoop around, to marvel, and yes — to make off with the occasional towel or bar of scented soap.
It may not have been his world, but it didn't mean he was ignorant of it any more than he was unaware of alliterative lifestyles.
He had several gay friends and it never bothered him in the least that they preferred their own sex. He knew that there were those who preferred the kiss of a lash to that of lips. He couldn't claim to understand it, but as long as it was between two consenting adults he didn't see a problem. He knew several people who were involved with partners considerably older or younger than themselves. But again as long as both partners were happy and it was all legal, who cared? He'd never been one to judge.
On the other hand, Akihito had been perfectly happy with the few girls of his own age he'd dated during university. And he'd certainly had no complaints with, what he even he was willing to admit, was the decidedly conventional sex they'd had. In fact, he'd been more than happy with it. Not that there had been all that many girls. He's life had been centered on his classes then and since graduation he'd been focused to the point of obsession with getting his career as a photojournalist off the ground. Besides, he had nowhere to develop his film other than in his tiny one room flat. So, no matter what he did his clothes always smelled of the chemicals he used. Not exactly the greatest of colognes. It also meant that few girls were willing to spend enough time in his chemical laden flat to actually have sex.
Still, he was by no means no virgin and he'd always assumed that someday, when his career was fully launched, he'd have the time to focus on that area of his life. He'd meet some nice — and he had to admit, very patient — young woman and settle down. Well, maybe not settle down as such. He wasn't going to give up running after stories, it was what he did. But settle down in the sense of having someone to come home to. Maybe they’d even have kids.
He'd been honestly content with the prospect of that kind of future, as dull as some may have found it. He'd certainly never been interested in experimenting with anything too extreme. He'd never felt any attraction for another man, never been interested in bondage, and had certainly never liked pain any more than he'd ever lived in palatial surroundings.
The Takaba Akihito of only eight months before had been entirely unfamiliar with the feel of arms and shoulders sore from being bound over his head for hours at a time. He wouldn't have known how skin chafed by leather bindings felt. Nor would he know how to stretch himself out enough to walk straight after been taken by another man too hard, too many times in one night.
The stranger standing naked in the mirror before him now, though…
Yes, all of that was all part of it. Part of what made him different than he had been. Part of what made the battered young man in the opulent bathroom a stranger.
But it wasn't all.
It wasn't even the worst part.
It wasn’t what scared him as he looked into the reflection of his own eyes.
Eight months ago, Akihito had received a tip that put him in a position to get pictures of an illegal transaction taking place outside of a high class club in Shinjuku. Someone with considerable clout stepped in, and those pictures had never seen the light of day. That hadn't stopped the police from taking the opportunity to search Sion, the club in question. A club owned by one Asami Ryuichi.
That should have been the end of it, at least as far as Akihito was concerned. Should have. But Asami was not the legitimate businessman he appeared on the surface, though no one had ever been able to prove him to be the Yakuza he undoubtedly was.
He had come after Akihito himself to learn who exactly had given him that tip. It wasn’t the first time the young photographer had run afoul of someone with less than legitimate business dealings to protect. He hadn’t known when he bad escaped — by jumping off a building no less — that this time wouldn’t be like the others. Hadn’t known that his defiance would only intrigue Asami. He’d escaped that day unaware of the endless game of cat and mouse he had begun.
He'd been caught for the first time only days later.
Akihito may not have been interested in the sharper, rougher side of sex but he’d believed he’d known something about it. Books, television, movies, and — yeah, okay — porn. It wasn’t like he was entirely ignorant on the subject.
He'd known nothing.
Bound and gagged, at the mercy of a man who seemed to have none to give; he'd at first thought that he was going to be tortured for the information Asami wanted. But there had been no questions. And there were times when Akihito felt that simply being tortured might have been better, cleaner somehow. Instead Asami had played with him. He’d used ways beyond counting to both hurt and arouse. He’d braided the two sensations together until it seemed one could not exist without the other; mixing agony and ecstasy until they became one in the same. Over and over until nothing existed for Akihito beyond that room and no one existed but himself and the man who took him without mercy. Until when Akihito had finally been allowed to callapse after his… what had it been, third? Forth orgasm? Fifth? He honestly hadn’t known any more, had been beyond caring. He had felt broken, emptied of everything.
Never forget the pain you received from me today... and the pleasure.
God help him, but he'd tried.
He'd felt hollowed out after, empty and confused. Almost as though Asami had taken some part of Akihito's soul when he'd taken his body.
He was fine, he insisted to himself. Or at least he would be fine. To allow what had happened to change him in any way was to let the bastard win. So, Akihito had thrown himself back into his work convinced that with time the memories would fade and the dreams would stop. The sad fact was that many, men and women alike, were violated every day. It wasn't easy, but they picked up the pieces and went on with their lives. All he needed was time and the memory of the pleasure would fade just as the bruises Asami had inflicted on him had.
It might even have worked. Maybe with time and distance Akihito could have reclaimed that part of himself he'd lost and have been able to go back to the way he'd been before, or at least remake himself into someone similar. Eventually he may have been able to persuade himself that the dreams of Asami were all nightmares and that what had happened had all been about pain. Maybe he’d be able to forget how strangely peaceful he’d felt it when it was all over, when he could no longer think and his body was too heavy to move. Perhaps someday he'd be able to tell some girlfriend or wife what had happened to him and they'd help to sooth away the last of the jagged pieces Asami had left behind.
Maybe.
He'd never know because he wasn't given that time. It had been less than two months later that he'd been pulled back into Asami's world. Those seven weeks would remain the longest time after meeting Asami that he would remain free of the shadow the man cast over his life.
It seemed that once drawn into Asami's orbit Akihito couldn't escape it. No matter how many times he ran, how many times he managed to allude Asami or his men, no matter how many times he decided that this time he really would never speak to the man again…
Not always getting my own way is part of what makes it so enjoyable.
Standing naked in the bathroom, unable to look away from his own reflection, Akihito shivered. He wasn’t cold. The night Asami had said those words rose up like a ghost. The punishment Akihito had received for disobeying the man haunting him as much as the memory of the soft, deep sound of his voice and the way the older man had looked at him, into him, and through him all at once.
There had always been something about Asami's eyes, something about how he looked at Akihito that both frightened and drew him. And damn, he hated being frightened of anything. It infuriated him and aroused him in equal amounts. So, he lashed out in every way possible.
He knew he was downright childish at times in his never ending battles with Asami. But he'd be damned if he'd give in.
At least, that was what he insisted to both Asami and to himself.
Except, the truth was, that they both knew that he long ago had. Which was why he was standing in this damn bathroom to begin with, staring at the reflection before him.
Nothing with Asami could be called routine exactly, but a pattern had developed nonetheless. Asami would contact him or have one of his subordinates do so, telling Akihito to be at a certain place at a certain time. Sometimes, he’d simply turn up and demand things. Rarely — almost never in fact — would Akihito do as he was bid. Which was, they both knew, more or less the point of the order in the first place. For thus would begin a new phase of their twisted game. Asami would send people to fetch him, of course, but Akihito knew how to evade capture. Sometimes he could even get away from Asami himself, as he had the first time they'd met.
Eventually, though, he'd slip up and be caught or saunter into one of Asami’s clubs on his own just to rub it in the bastard’s face that he'd been unable to anticipate Akihito’s next move. Akihito liked nothing better than to be unpredictable. Then... then he'd pay.
Never forget — you belong to me.
He tried to forget. Tried to deny it. Tried so damn hard to make it untrue. He hated what Asami did to him. He did. Loathed the man for touching him, hurting him — hated him so much more for giving him pleasure he didn't want, for making him crave it. The man had raped him for God's sake. And yet he'd been unable to stop him from doing so again and again and again...
Except, not even in the depths of his deepest denial could he call all of it rape.
In a horrible way, none of it was. He just hadn’t known what he’d wanted, until Asami showed him.
Eight months ago, Akihito had received a tip that put him in a position to get pictures of an illegal transaction taking place outside of a high class club in Shinjuku. Someone with considerable clout stepped in, and those pictures had never seen the light of day. That hadn't stopped the police from taking the opportunity to search Sion, the club in question. A club owned by one Asami Ryuichi.
That should have been the end of it, at least as far as Akihito was concerned. Should have. But Asami was not the legitimate businessman he appeared on the surface, though no one had ever been able to prove him to be the Yakuza he undoubtedly was.
He had come after Akihito himself to learn who exactly had given him that tip. It wasn’t the first time the young photographer had run afoul of someone with less than legitimate business dealings to protect. He hadn’t known when he bad escaped — by jumping off a building no less — that this time wouldn’t be like the others. Hadn’t known that his defiance would only intrigue Asami. He’d escaped that day unaware of the endless game of cat and mouse he had begun.
He'd been caught for the first time only days later.
Akihito may not have been interested in the sharper, rougher side of sex but he’d believed he’d known something about it. Books, television, movies, and — yeah, okay — porn. It wasn’t like he was entirely ignorant on the subject.
He'd known nothing.
Bound and gagged, at the mercy of a man who seemed to have none to give; he'd at first thought that he was going to be tortured for the information Asami wanted. But there had been no questions. And there were times when Akihito felt that simply being tortured might have been better, cleaner somehow. Instead Asami had played with him. He’d used ways beyond counting to both hurt and arouse. He’d braided the two sensations together until it seemed one could not exist without the other; mixing agony and ecstasy until they became one in the same. Over and over until nothing existed for Akihito beyond that room and no one existed but himself and the man who took him without mercy. Until when Akihito had finally been allowed to callapse after his… what had it been, third? Forth orgasm? Fifth? He honestly hadn’t known any more, had been beyond caring. He had felt broken, emptied of everything.
Never forget the pain you received from me today... and the pleasure.
God help him, but he'd tried.
He'd felt hollowed out after, empty and confused. Almost as though Asami had taken some part of Akihito's soul when he'd taken his body.
He was fine, he insisted to himself. Or at least he would be fine. To allow what had happened to change him in any way was to let the bastard win. So, Akihito had thrown himself back into his work convinced that with time the memories would fade and the dreams would stop. The sad fact was that many, men and women alike, were violated every day. It wasn't easy, but they picked up the pieces and went on with their lives. All he needed was time and the memory of the pleasure would fade just as the bruises Asami had inflicted on him had.
It might even have worked. Maybe with time and distance Akihito could have reclaimed that part of himself he'd lost and have been able to go back to the way he'd been before, or at least remake himself into someone similar. Eventually he may have been able to persuade himself that the dreams of Asami were all nightmares and that what had happened had all been about pain. Maybe he’d be able to forget how strangely peaceful he’d felt it when it was all over, when he could no longer think and his body was too heavy to move. Perhaps someday he'd be able to tell some girlfriend or wife what had happened to him and they'd help to sooth away the last of the jagged pieces Asami had left behind.
Maybe.
He'd never know because he wasn't given that time. It had been less than two months later that he'd been pulled back into Asami's world. Those seven weeks would remain the longest time after meeting Asami that he would remain free of the shadow the man cast over his life.
It seemed that once drawn into Asami's orbit Akihito couldn't escape it. No matter how many times he ran, how many times he managed to allude Asami or his men, no matter how many times he decided that this time he really would never speak to the man again…
Not always getting my own way is part of what makes it so enjoyable.
Standing naked in the bathroom, unable to look away from his own reflection, Akihito shivered. He wasn’t cold. The night Asami had said those words rose up like a ghost. The punishment Akihito had received for disobeying the man haunting him as much as the memory of the soft, deep sound of his voice and the way the older man had looked at him, into him, and through him all at once.
There had always been something about Asami's eyes, something about how he looked at Akihito that both frightened and drew him. And damn, he hated being frightened of anything. It infuriated him and aroused him in equal amounts. So, he lashed out in every way possible.
He knew he was downright childish at times in his never ending battles with Asami. But he'd be damned if he'd give in.
At least, that was what he insisted to both Asami and to himself.
Except, the truth was, that they both knew that he long ago had. Which was why he was standing in this damn bathroom to begin with, staring at the reflection before him.
Nothing with Asami could be called routine exactly, but a pattern had developed nonetheless. Asami would contact him or have one of his subordinates do so, telling Akihito to be at a certain place at a certain time. Sometimes, he’d simply turn up and demand things. Rarely — almost never in fact — would Akihito do as he was bid. Which was, they both knew, more or less the point of the order in the first place. For thus would begin a new phase of their twisted game. Asami would send people to fetch him, of course, but Akihito knew how to evade capture. Sometimes he could even get away from Asami himself, as he had the first time they'd met.
Eventually, though, he'd slip up and be caught or saunter into one of Asami’s clubs on his own just to rub it in the bastard’s face that he'd been unable to anticipate Akihito’s next move. Akihito liked nothing better than to be unpredictable. Then... then he'd pay.
Never forget — you belong to me.
He tried to forget. Tried to deny it. Tried so damn hard to make it untrue. He hated what Asami did to him. He did. Loathed the man for touching him, hurting him — hated him so much more for giving him pleasure he didn't want, for making him crave it. The man had raped him for God's sake. And yet he'd been unable to stop him from doing so again and again and again...
Except, not even in the depths of his deepest denial could he call all of it rape.
In a horrible way, none of it was. He just hadn’t known what he’d wanted, until Asami showed him.
Turning reflexively away from the mirror and wrapping his arms tightly around himself, Akihito fought to stop the sudden shaking he couldn't seem to control. He didn't want to see the stranger reflected in that glass. Didn't want to face the truth he saw there. Even here, alone in the bathroom with no one to know but him, he didn't want to even think it.
The real reason — the dark, horrible reason — that he no longer knew his own reflection.
Knowledge.
Asami had sent one of his men to collect Akihito after a shoot almost a week ago. It had taken quick thinking to allude the man but Akihito had done it. He remembered running, unable to keep the grin off his face when he'd known he'd truly left the man behind. The exhilaration of it making him laugh in spite of his breathlessness.
So, the cat and mouse game had begun again. The taste of danger making Akihito's heart beat faster, adding a new flavor to every free breath he took.
The dreams had started three days ago. He'd told himself they were nightmares. Insisted that it was only sweat that left his sheets dampened in the morning. Tried to tell himself it was disgust rather than aching unfulfillment that followed him up out of those dreams.
Nonetheless, when the text had arrived the night before with only the number in it, he'd packed up an overnight bag and gone. This hotel was a place they'd met before. He'd recognized the number as the room Asami always took when he stayed here. A room he'd been in too many times now to remember to be awed by the luxury of it anymore.
"I have a shoot tomorrow at two," he'd said without preamble when Asami let him in. He knew it was probably unnecessary though. Asami always seemed to know his schedule better than he himself did. "I damn well had better be able to get there."
He'd dropped his bag just inside the door and kicked off his shoes, replacing them with the hotel's complimentary house slippers without a thought, too used to their being there to think about it.
He hadn't kept the house slippers on for long.
It was a hand ghosting over his shoulder that first told Akihito that he was no longer alone. He couldn't stop the shudder that coursed through him, partly at the touch and partly at the cooler air invading from the bedroom beyond.
He turned his face away, screwing his eyes shut. He hated that he couldn't seem to stop trembling; hated showing any weakness in front of Asami, no matter how many times the man had stripped him of all clothing and control.
"Tell me what’s wrong." The order was given softly, almost gently.
Akihito shook his head, wrapping his arms all the tighter around himself as he felt the warmth of one of the hotel's robes settle over his shoulders.
"Tell me." Fingers gripped his chin, trying for force it up. Akihito jerked himself free of the grip but was unable to step back as hands closed over his shoulders and pulled him forward into Asami's arms.
Asami bent his head and his breath stirred Akihito's hair as he spoke into his ear. "I know what was done and what was not. There was nothing last night that should have left you like this. So tell me what’s wrong."
He felt solid and warm and Akihito hated the part of himself that wanted to lean into the warmth, to take some comfort from Asami's strength. He pressed his lips together.
“You know I can get it out of you one way or another.” Voice still almost gentle, Asami's words only made the trembling worse.
Hands stroked up and down his back in a horrible parody of comfort. Or possibly it only seemed that way to Akihito as he fought a sudden urge to cry. This was wrong, it was all wrong. If only Asami would be cruel, hurtful. But the man was capable of gentleness and when he used that care it was somehow worse than blows would have been. Because then there was nothing to fight.
A pause, a moment where hands stilled their movement.
"Ah," Asami said, sounding satisfied. "Of course.”
The hands slid up to Akihito's face cupping it in a gentle but inescapable grip. Asami turned Akihito's face upward. Unable to move, trembling harder than ever, all Akihito could do to maintain some small measure of control was to keep his eyes closed.
“I must admit that it took longer than I would have guessed.” Feather kisses swept over his tightly closed eyes.
"Tell me." The voice was little more than a whisper of breath that ghosted over Akihito's skin. "I want to hear you say it."
Akihito bit his tongue though there were no words to hold back. He couldn't say it, couldn't speak aloud the shameful knowledge that squirmed inside him.
The young man in the mirror had known.
He'd walked into this suite of rooms last night knowing there would be bruises and pain come morning. He'd entered of his own free will knowing what kind of things he'd endure there; had known that he'd be reduced to tears and broken sobs long before the end. And he'd known that that end would be a very, very long time in coming. He'd been well aware that despite his best effort to retain control of himself, he would be systematically taken apart until he was left broken and lost and pleading — though whether he was begging more or for it to stop he would be beyond knowing. He would have no pretenses to hide behind. Everything he was would be open to Asami’s perusal.
He had known all that, every bit. Had experienced it before.
And still he had walked in of his own volition.
But worse, far worse than all the rest, was knowing why he did it.
Everything that had been done to him, every base act that Asami performed upon him. Every bit of painful pleasure and exquisite agony. Every punishment meted out on his vulnerable flesh. He had wanted it. He had wanted Asami to take him, force him. He had wanted to be used for Asami's pleasure. He didn't refuse Asami's summonses out of pride, no matter what he tried to tell himself. He didn’t do it because he didn’t want what Asami would do to him. He ran because he knew the longer he held out the more intense the discipline that would be his reward.
It wasn’t the bruises decorating his skin that made him a stranger to himself, but the fact that each one had been the fulfillment of his own desires. His.
He didn’t put up with Asami’s perversions, as he always claimed. He shared them. Yeah, that would seem obvious, but he’d been fighting that one thought so hard for so long… Even if he'd wanted to, which he absolutely did not, Akihito could never have admitted that simple fact aloud. Even to himself in the confines of his own mind he couldn't bare the thought of it.
"It's alright," Asami said softly, his thumbs stroking Akihito's face. "It will be better when you've said it. When you've stopped fighting."
The gentleness of the touch threatened to break his control, and he was horrified to feel the threat of tears.
"I have no idea what your talking about," he spat, jerking himself back and out of Asami's grasp.
He glared up at the man before him. Short, perfectly cut hair falling just right in the way only a really expensive hair cut could achieve. Already Asami was dressed for the day an a suit that probably cost more than Akihito's entire wardrobe and the flat he kept it in combined. All that money had been spent to frame a coldly handsome face and a broad shouldered, well-muscled body. There was no softness anywhere to the man before him.
The fact that there was almost a kind of gentleness in his expressive eyes at that moment was oh so much worse.
Akihito nearly ran from the bathroom, shoving the softness of the robe off him as he went. The last thing he wanted was any kind of care from Asami of all people. He needed to keep pretending to himself that he was nothing but a monster, a cruel man who cared nothing to for Akihito and only wanted to use him for his own twisted reasons. He needed to hold on to his view of the man as a nemesis, someone he could hate with no qualms.
He needed that.
The air conditioning in bedroom felt chill on his skin and raised gooseflesh where rivulets of water still ran down his neck from his hair.
Clothes, he thought. He spotted his shirt laying near the door and one of his socks just under the bed. Where were his underwear?
Strong hands grabbed him, and before he could turn to fight he was flung face-forward onto the bed. He swore, trying to get his hands and legs under him, but a weight bore him down before he could. His wrists were grabbed and he winced as fingers dug into fresh bruises from the bindings of the night before.
Asami was larger than he was and though somewhat less agile than Akihito, he was still very much the stronger. The man’s suit scratched against his bare back and legs, the buttons were chilly where they dug into him. Akihito tried to twist out of his grasp but he knew he was well and truly caught.
“Stop,” Asami said calmly. The asshole didn’t even have the grace to sound winded.
“Get off me, you bastard,” Akihito growled.
Asami bent his head, speaking softly into Akihito’s ear again, still collected and in control. Always so damn controlled.
“Only you are this stubborn,” he said. “I can guess what has you so upset this morning. What has changed. With anyone else this would have happened months ago. But you, my sweet Akihito, you still fight it even now. Still fight both me and yourself.”
It was everything Akihito could do to repress the shudder that tried to go through him. Asami knew. Humiliation rose inside along with bile in his throat. But of course he knew, had always known. He played Akihito too well not to be fully aware of what drove him again and again into Asami’s arms.
“Say it.” Asami’s voice was barely more than a whisper. “I want to hear you speak the words.”
Hell no!
Akihito started struggling again. “Get off of me! Don’t you have clubs for other old, sick perverts to run?”
“And several for young, sick perverts,” Asami agreed without rancor. “They can get by without me for a few hours yet.”
“Yeah, well I have a photo shoot that can’t get by without me!”
Asami chuckled, his breath warm on the skin that was dry and cool on that which was still damp. This time Akihito couldn’t entirely suppress the shudder.
“There is time,” Asami told him. “Do you need me to force you to say it? Would it be easier if you didn’t have to make the choice?”
Akihito bit his lip, trying to hold back the almost shocking stab of arousal while conflicting desires warred within. He wanted to run, needed to get away from this, while that same horrible part of him wanted exactly what the dark tone in Asami’s soft voice promised.
Asami shifted, transferring both Akihito’s wrists to one hand. Akihito took the opportunity to fight again and managed to get one hand free. It did him little good as a moment later Asami’s tie was being wrapped around the wrist Asami still held.
The man knew how to tie someone up, was an expert at it. Using his forearms to keep Akihito’s own arms pined he managed to recapture Akihito’s other hand. In moments both wrists were bound to each other by the length of indigo silk.
Akihito swore, an edge of real panic lending strength to his renewed fighting, even while he knew damn well he’d already lost. A knowledge that began to send blood southwards.
The problem was that there were too many of the toys Asami had used on him the night before in evidence around the room. Asami had yet to collect them. So it was easy for him to just reach out and grab a length of rope to tie it around the cloth that bound Akihito’s wrists and tie that in turn to the post at the foot of the bed.
Only then did Asami rise from his position pinning Akihito down. The younger man twisted and fought the restraints but it was just for show and they both knew it. The cloth dug into the bruised and raw flesh of his wrists. Pain that reminded him of the night before and of what was likely to come. Pain part of him wanted. A part that had him fighting all the harder to feel more of it.
Asami grabbed his ankles and cuffed them together before attaching them to something, Akihito couldn’t see just what from his prone position. He lay across the bed with his head toward the foot and bound feet hanging off the side.
A hand gently stroked him up his leg from ankle to ass.
“Last chance to speak of your own freewill,” Asami said softly.
“Go to hell.”
“Of course,” Asami said and Akihito could hear the smile in his voice. “Nothing with you could ever be so easy.” Asami leaned over Akihito to again murmer softly in his ear. “It’s why I will never let you go.”
Akihito closed his eyes tightly, trying to will down the arousal building inside.
“I have a photoshoot,” he blurted out and felt his face heat. He’d sounded almost pleading.
“We have three hours until you have to leave,” Asami informed him before reaching down to fist Akihito’s hair and pull his head up.
Akihito’s back arched as he was forced to look up at Asami. The man’s expression was still unusually gentle and that was almost more frightening than his anger would have been.
“I know why you are fighting this,” Asami said. “I’m not surprised that you prefer to have it forced from you.” A slight smile quirked the man’s lips. “In fact, I think I would have been disappointed if I didn’t have to fight you to have you admit to your own desires.”
Akihito could feel his face flush while the rest of him went cold. Of course, Asami knew. He wasn’t stupid enough to think that the man didn’t. But to have it spoken of aloud like that. He felt sicked by the hardening of his cock against the bedspread, because he knew that before this ended he would admit to the truth. That for all his pride, he didn’t speak now because he wanted to be forced into the admission. He wanted to be tied down and hurt, wanted the admission to be paid for with tears and pleading for mercy he’d never truly desire.
“Why couldn’t you leave me alone?” he muttered into the blankets as Asami let his head drop. “I was fine, before.”
Akihito physically bit his tongue to stop himself from saying more. He’d already said too much. Too many times he’d flung the accusation at Asami that he’d be fine before he met him and would be even better if he’d leave him the fuck alone! That he hated him, hated being touched by him, hated everything the man was.
He’d been happy eight months ago, hadn’t he? Simply, uncomplicatedly. There hadn’t been dark desires that scared him, that made him unable to trust himself. He hadn’t been caught between the conflicting needs to hide something, and have it physically forced from him at the same time. And he hadn’t needed to hate someone as the cornerstone of his fucking identity.
The Akihito of eight months ago had been fine. Why couldn’t he have stayed like that?
Asami walked out of his line of sight. It was a matter of pride — his damn pride — that Akihito didn’t strain his neck to try and keep an eye on him.
A hand touched his left ankle and slide gently up to his hip.
“How many times have you been arrested?”
The question was softly asked, as the hand trailed back down his leg again.
When Akihito, of course, failed to answer the hand disappeared.
There was no warning before the strike of a hand, hard against his ass, right over the bruises from where he’d used a flogger the night before.
It drew a shocked cry from Akihito. Two more blows followed in quick succession, that had Akihito biting his lip to hold back a whimper.
“You’re fucking sick, you pervert,” Akihito spat, breath already coming in quick gasps. “Seriously.”
“How many times have you been arrested?” Asami asked again, voice unchanged.
He asked the question twice more, three succesively harder blows after every time he failed to receive an answer.
The pain was singing through Akihito, making the gentle sweep of fingers over his skin in between blows all the more intense. And it was good. He fought the restraints and flung insults and…
Everything stopped and the hands closed hard on his hips.
“None of that,” Asami told him.
It took a moment for Akihito’s mind to clear enough to realize with horrified humiliation that he’d begun unconsciously thrusting into the bed beneath him.
It a display of strength that was slightly scary, Asami flipped Akihito over so that he lay on his back arms still bound over his head, ankles still bound together.
Akihito gasped for breath as he stared up at the other man. Asami reached down and casually stroked Akihito from base to tip in a way that had his spine arching as he pressed himself into the touch, unable to stop the moan.
He’d removed his suit coat and rolled up his sleeves, but otherwise Asami looked no different than if he were overseeing a board meeting. He looked entirely cool and unruffled, and there was no mercy in the smile that curved his lips.
“I’d say you were enjoying that a bit too much, wouldn’t you?” he asked, before giving him a second firm stroke before removing his hand.
“Bastard,” Akihito gasped, fighting to control his breathing. “You’re sick.” It was weak, redundant. It was all he could come up with.
Asami leaned over him to stroke gently down his cheek and Akihito tried to pull away.
“If I’m sick, what does it say about you that my perverted actions have you this hard already?”
Akihito shut his eyes, not wanting to see the knowing smirk. Humiliated by his own body’s betrayal. Every time, every fucking time Asami touched him it was like his body was no longer his own. And he wanted more.
Asami knew what he was doing and he had all his… toys, right there. Well, not all of them, Akihito knew the man had others he hadn’t brought with him this time. But enough.
Within less time than he’d have liked to admit, Akihito had been trussed up like a turkey. Arms still secured to the bed over his head. Leather had been wrapped around his thighs and attached to the bed over his arms, holding his legs up and spread. Leaving him entirely exposed.
For once, Asami didn’t fasten the collar around his neck, merely held it in his hands as he stood back to observe his work.
“How many times have you been arrested?” he asked.
Akihito blinked, he was still on about that?
“I don’t know,” he snapped. “What does it matter?”
Akihito wasn’t sure where this was going, but knew he didn’t want to go there.
Asami didn’t respond, only reached over onto the bedside table where he’d placed several toys. What he picked up was one of Akihto’s least favorites. A vibrator too thin to feel like anything but a tease inside him, but that was powerful enough that when pressed against his prostate could reduce him to begging very quickly. It felt so good, while not being anything like thick enough to satisfy.
He’d been opened very thoroughly the night before and the vibrator wasn’t too thick. So, Asami didn’t bother with any prep besides the liberal application of lube on the toy before he shoved it, none to gently, inside.
Akihito hissed, unable to do anything but take the intrusion. It had been just long enough that the stretch of the toy inside him stung just a little. A hint of pain that wasn’t nearly enough to counter act the press of the blunt end of the toy against his prostate a moment later.
Then Asami pressed the button that turned it on.
Akihito’s head was flung back into the pillows as his mouth opened in a cry he couldn’t begin to hold back. It pressed hard, circling his prostate…
Then the vibrator was gone. Withdrawn and pulled out.
His eyes snapped open as Akihito gasped for breath.
“How many times have you been arrested?” Asami’s voice was still calm, as unhurried as he had been the first time he had asked the question.
“I don’t know,” Akihito gasped after another all too short use of the toy on him. “I honestly don’t remember! What does it matter anyway?”
The tone, earned him the toy again, and it was so good… and not nearly enough.
Still, he wanted to scream when Asami pulled it out of him again.
He put it down on the bedside table and picked up a slightly larger plug, liberally coated it with lube and pushed it in, without any further preparation. Not as big as Asami’s cock, not by a long shot. But big enough that it stung more than a little as it was forced in passed the ring of muscle. It wasn’t enough.
Akihito flung curses and insults as he was fucked in four hard thrusts that hurt and didn’t hurt enough before the plug was lodged firmly inside him, deep enough to rest against his prostate but not nearly enough to press into it.
Then Asami stepped back and waited while Akihito struggled and cursed, demanded to be let go and secretly wanted more. Between his legs, his painfully hard cock bobbed obscenely.
He’d been tied down, hurt, used… and he was so fucking hard he thought he’d die of it.
“Do you know why that matters?” Asami asked him calmly.
“No,” Akihito snapped, sounding as much like a bratty child as he could. Because he could. Here, he could be as childish as he wanted, say every awful thing that came into his mind. He had Asami’s complete and undivided attention. He didn’t have to fight to stand out from all the other photographers. And he didn’t have to impress him, so he didn’t have to fight to be taken seriously, to be seen as a professional despite his age. Despite looking even younger than his age.
Asami gave a single hard tap to the plug, which gave a single sharp buzz inside him that made Akihito’s toes curl. After a second, Asami gave the plug a second tap and the toy buzzed again, right against his prostate sending shutters up and down his spine.
“It matters,” Asami said.
Akihito struggled to pull his thoughts back.
“Do you want me to tell you why?”
The question was asked so condescendingly that it had Akihito’s eyes snapping open to glare. He hadn’t even realized he’d closed them.
“Can I stop you telling me?” Akihito asked.
In a moment the plug had been pulled from his body, leaving Akihito feeling empty. Asami’s smirk vanished, and he leaned over him, staring into him.
“Tell me you want this,” he said softly, seriously. “Tell me you want me take you apart and I’ll fuck you into the mattress now. I’ll give you everything we both know you want.”
For a second, it was like Akihito couldn’t breath. Aches in his body, from last night and this morning, the burn of the fabric around his wrists as he twisted them, arousal twisting inside until he wanted to scream.
For the first time, some part of him felt the words there inside. Felt the admission, the surrender, echo in his own mind. He did want this. He wanted more, he wanted… wanted….
It was a moment before he could get his voice to work.
“Go to hell.” Voice barely more than a whisper, there was no force behind it. Then he steeled himself, pulling determination from somewhere. He met Asami’s eyes and… it was though he felt something inside cave in. Some weight that he hadn’t even realized he’d been carrying seemed to drop off.
He twisted his wrists again, in order to feel the burn of Asami’s tie against his skin.
Akihito had wanted to play, he could admit that. He hadn’t wanted to actually tell Asami what Asami wanted to know, didn’t even want to admit it in his own mind.
Now, he couldn’t stop it from echoing in his head. Pleas for more, pleas for Asami to take him, do anything he wanted with him.
It was there, and now part of him did want to say it.
He licked his lips, and spoke carefully.
“I won’t give you anything.”
There was a darkening in Asami’s eyes that told him he’d understood. A satisfaction, that told him he’d understood it all. He’d won, not that there had ever been any question of that. But Akihito didn’t want to say it of his own volition. Asami had been right, more than anything, he wanted the admission forced from him.