…to be honest, he’s wondering why Asami isn’t stoned insensible ...
Takaba finds himself feeling strangely betrayed and slighted when Asami invites photographers into Sion to cover his birthday celebration. He feels betrayed because up until now, Takaba has been the only photographer to get into the club and then out again on his own two feet and slighted because there is an invitation for Takaba to mingle with those sell out photographers at the party.
He ignores the invitation of course. For one, Takaba hates to be predictable. For another, he has more important things to do than spend the night snapping photos of Japan's rich, corrupt and elite: stars, politicians, businessmen and crooks.
On the night, a Thursday night, Takaba was at the other end of the city, in a dirty little bar, trying to get information on a drug deal. At the end of the night, he's empty handed and goes home sober and wide awake with nothing on film. He stumbles into his apartment at 4.15am, Friday and is surprised to find Asami sitting on the floor and looking through a pile of photos.
It's an almost comical picture; Asami with no jacket or tie, sitting on the floor, one knee bent under him, the other supporting his arm and looking deceptively harmless.
Takaba doesn't bother asking how he got in, as there are more pressing questions, such as 'why'.
...to be honest, he's wondering why Asami isn't stoned insensible and in bed with a model or two. Maybe the party wasn't that great...
So he swallows the initial desire to lash out and shout and scream, demanding Asami remove his person from the apartment and settles for watching the man wearily, waiting for an explanation.
"I was expecting you. You didn't show." There's just a hint of something in Asami's voice that makes Takaba sit up and pay attention and note the equally disturbing edge to those sharp eyes.
"I was busy." He snaps defensively.
"Drinking at a bar." Asami says, picking up a new pile of photos to go through. "So I heard."
It's enough to make Takaba's anger flare and surface, that arrogant, all knowing tone. The audacity of the man to dare imply-
"How the hell-."
Asami waves a dismissive hand. "I had you followed."
"You had me /WHAT/?"
"These are nice photos. You should get them in to a publisher. Stop running around with the street rats." Asami suggests, putting the photos to the side in three neat piles. Probably in the right order too, Takaba presumes. He stands up, no longer deceptively harmless and looks down at Takaba with that dangerous gleam in his eyes.
"I don't appreciate being stood up, Akihito."
The very concept of Akihito standing Asami up, is so hilarious, so very ridiculous and utterly absurd it chews through Akihito's already frayed nerves and with his self control questionable at best (just take a look at the antique cameras he can't stop himself from collecting) and fleeting under the circumstances, Takaba decides to panic.
"Dammit Asami, if you think-." He begins, lifting his shoulders and trying to look dangerous, prepared to fight the older man tooth and nail every step of the way. But he's stopped mid-sentence when Asami grabs hold of his chin and presses their mouths together none-too-gently.
It's enough to make Takaba freeze, enough for him to stop struggling, just for a moment but that's more than enough time for Asami to have him pressed against the wall, arms trapped above his head and a thigh between his legs. There's a hand cradled in his hair, the thumb rubbing soothingly against his temple until he's calmed down and beginning to feel the first tingles of the pleasure he knows Asami will drag out of him before this is over.
He wakes up in the morning, feeling strangely distorted. It's Saturday, though he wouldn't be surprised to find it's Sunday, late morning, but he's still in bed, body decidedly sore with a heavy, warm presence against his back. The air that brushes his cheeks is cold and Takaba realises that he must have forgotten to turn on his heater last night, thought it's pleasantly toasty warm under his covers...
"Awake already, Akihito?" There's no malice in Asami's voice. No danger and yet Takaba can't suppress the shudder that runs through him at the tone and the warm lips that press against his neck. There's a hand already snaking its way over Takaba's body to rub over his stomach and lower...
Takaba groans, makes a half-hearted attempt at getting away, but settles for whining. "Asami! Stop it, that's enough damn you, I'm still so so...Ahh." Then gives up and moans; needy and wanton and everything else Asami has taught him to be.
"Next time," Asami whispers in Takaba's ear, barely audible above his pulse and their heavy breathing, "Just do as you're told. It might even be to your benefit."