Blood in the Viewfinder (making it real hard to take pictures)

Entrepreneur Asami Ryuichi studied the photographs in front of him carefully, while taking a deep drag off his cigarette. He had been going through about two-packs a day, but now it was close to three-packs. And his right hand man, Kirishima Kei, noticed because nothing escaped his watchful eye. He was 20/20. With his glasses, that is. He needed new ones though; since these always slipped down his nose went he bent over, which was unfortunate since he tended to bow a lot.

"You're smoking a great deal, Asami-sama, would you care for your filter?" His secretary said, carefully dancing around the subject, bracing for Asami's sharp as knife wit. It wasn't a subject he brought up often, but he was worried about his boss's increase in his consumption of nicotine. He knew the reason, though, one Takaba Akihito. His boss's lover was on his mind. Another part of Asami's anatomy took over when Asami's actual brain was occupied elsewhere.

"No, and thank you for the observation, mother hen." He snapped sharply, his eyes not leaving the photographs in front of him. "Akihito's really digging himself deep this time." He would dig himself all the way to China if he wasn't careful, since China wasn't that far from Tokyo.

After being rescued from Hong Kong and the pervy clutches of Feilong, Akihito decided he was going to "get his life back." Whatever that entailed, and threw himself into his work, highly motivated, thanks to a seminar from a motivational speaker, to make his name known as a criminal photographer, just to spite Asami's wishes, warnings and threats. Asami thought of Akihito as more than a rent-an-ass, but Akihito wasn't ready to accept his help nor his bed nor his more-than-subtle suggestions to stay out of trouble. Because he was kind of dumb like that.

Now, every felon in town was gunning for him, a bulls-eye on his back, an unwilling pawn in this dark game. Asami was slowly coming to realize he could no longer effectively protect the boy, without sacrificing Akihito's freedom. Every two-bit hood knew of or suspected their relationship, something he tried to keep secret.

Actually, they didn't try very hard. How many times had they kissed in front of his men? Groped at each other even before the limo door had closed? A heated word, an intimate touch was all it took for people to gossip, because they had nothing else to do. It didn't take long for Asami and Akihito to show up on the "Who's Gay" list, as if it mattered what they did in the privacy of their bedroom (limo, kitchen, boat, underground soundproofed industrial building). So now Akihito was getting targeted from both sides, from his job and his relationship with Asami. Double whammy.

I should have locked you in a cage when I had the chance.

In the photo, two men were meeting, in secret, it seemed. Who would meet at the docks at two in the morning? Certainly not anyone law abiding, that was for sure. One man was offering what looked like a boat load of money in a plain brown brief case. Who did that anymore? Most payoffs were under-the-radar wire transfers through off-shore accounts; otherwise, you would have to pay taxes on the bribe money. The scene was almost comical, as if the men were playing Mystery Theater, complete with black gloves and a handlebar moustache.

The one man making the bribe, the one he recognized, was Diet member Hakatora Chikaza, a very vocal and angry House associate. Hakatora was a walking heart attack, because he wouldn't watch his cholesterol, very dangerous, politically speaking and someone you didn't cross if you could help it. So, early in Hakatora's career, Asami had bought him off with pocket change, well, to Asami it was pocket change. He always kept an extra million yen in his pocket, just in case he needed to buy gum. He didn't need an enemy like that, so he decided to make him an ally, a decision he'd never regretted, not that Asami ever regretted anything anyway.

So why was this government lackey offering a bribe in a suitcase, and not even a nice suitcase? Why wasn't he informed about it? The photos actually were proof that Hakatora was up to no good, or had gone off the deep end, or both and something would have to be done about it. Asami smoked his cigarette to the end, pondering on such things as murder, how to get away with murder, and why murder was most foul. Because this kind of behavior annoyed him.

And when Asami was annoyed, people died.

Asami had stopped the publication of the photos as usual, because truthfully, he had no other job but to butt into Akihito's life, emphasis on the word butt. Akihito was spotted that night and chased down by his lackey's bodyguard. Asami almost wished he could bottle Akihito's endorphins when he chased a scoop, or the scoop chased him. He would make a killing in the drug market, not that he wasn't already.

How many times had Akihito been kidnapped, held for ransom, shot at, beaten, chased, injured, drugged, groped, and even raped since they had met? (Not counting the time that Akihito was raped by Asami). After the 5th time, he stopped counting because he ran out of fingers. Asami wasn't Superman, even though he sometimes looked that way to Akihito when he kicked in the door with guns blazing, eyes fierce, ready to take revenge on anyone that touched his Akihito. And when he did, Akihito would look up and say, "about time you got here," with a smirk that rivaled his own.

That night, Asami couldn't come rescue him. He was in the Bat Cave plotting to take over the world with Kirishima and members of another faction or something like that. He couldn't remember. When he found out, he was royally pissed. To be royally pissed is the same as really mad, but you get to use a scepter instead of your fists to hit people with. And you get to wear a really cool crown on your head.

Luckily, Asami's own men had created a diversion so that Akihito could get away. It was pure luck they were there, as Akihito had dodged his bodyguard earlier in the day, again. If the Olympics had "bodyguard dodging" as a sport, Akihito would get the gold.

But one of these days, Akihito's luck would run out. It wasn't a matter of "if" it was a matter of when. Luck was one those things, you couldn't push it, you couldn't hoard it, and when it ran out, you were screwed, royally. Royally screwed meant that…well, never mind.

And it bothered him, nagged at him, made him see red every time Akihito would strap on his camera bag and say See you later, I have a job, with that self-satisfied smile that told Asami that he was going to, yet again, something rash and stupid. Asami stubbed out his cigarette and took out another. He was a chain smoker after all, and the chain was long and had little handcuffs at the end. "Where is he?" Asami asked Kirishima because Kirishima always knew where the boy was. He had Akihito radar recently installed.

"He's out with his friends, drinking." Kirishima answered.

"Again? This is the fourth night this week. The boy's a drunk." He turned his gold eyes to face his 2nd in command and frowned.

"He's not the one drinking. He just sips on juice and laughs with his friends." Kirishima reported to his boss. "Akihito is working almost every day, not that he has much to show for it. He's a busy man."

"I wish he'd pick another profession. My personal maid would be nice." He grinned like a mad dog in heat. Asami didn't believe in spaying or neutering.

Kirishima shuddered at the thought of Akihito in a maid's outfit. Inwardly he knew his boss's wishes would never come true. Not that his boss would ever wish for anything. What he wanted, he bought. What he desired, he threatened. And what he needed, he took. But because Akihito was an actual person and not a thing, even though Asami might have thought otherwise, his lover would never bend to Asami's requests. He'd bend in other ways, but just not like that. Akihito didn't seem to fear death or pain. It was the reason Asami liked the boy in the first place. So asking your lover to change the thing that you love most about them….well, that was one of those things that Dr. Phil said never to do.

Akihito's stubbornness was most likely going to get him killed. And it wouldn't be an easy death. He'd probably end up fish food in Tokyo Bay (Tokyo Bay had more bodies than fish), or shot so full of holes, you could have an anatomy lesson. Kirishima knew it, Asami knew it, but it seemed that Akihito was the clueless one. Akihito's life could end and Kirishima felt sorry for the boy with the iron will (he also had an iron ass). If Akihito was killed, Asami would have no choice but to retaliate, turning the Tokyo underworld into a graveyard. And he would too, Kirishima was sure of it. He was kind of crazy like that.

After all, you shouldn't wake a sleeping lion, you will get eaten.

Asami rose and turned the globe on his desk, watching it spin. The world keeps on turning, Asami thought, with or without you. From the look on his face, Kirishima realized he had come to a decision. Something had to be done about the photographer. "I can't ask anymore of him, Kirishima. He's not willing to follow my orders. I want to lock him in a cage, but I can't." The stoic man said suddenly. "Akihito really has a lot of growing up to do. It's time he leaves my side so he can grow. With me, he will wither and die." Suddenly Asami knew everything about growing plants, but not people.

"I know, Asami-sama," agreed Kirishima, sadly.

"I've fallen into a bad habit, one of many." He flicked his cigarette butt into the ashtray. "So if I ask for him, I will allow you tell me 'no.'" Asami said. "I refuse to make the skies over Tokyo rain blood unless I have to."

"I will, Asami-sama." Kirishima responded. He made a mental note to stock up on cigarettes, whiskey, condoms, porn, fireworks, bullets, and maybe some ice cream. Oh wait, that was his grocery list.

"If he comes looking for me, which I'm sure he will, don't let him near me. It's better this way." He said. "Keep the guard on him in the meantime. It will take some time for the underworld to realize he no longer holds my interest." He took a long drag of his cigarette and blew out the rich heady flavor of his Dunhill, imported of course. "Spread a rumor that he's been dumped." He chuckled slightly in irony, coincidence or coincidental irony. "I guess it won't be a rumor." He knew he was being a major asshole (or Rear Admiral asshole), but it couldn't be helped. If he contacted the young photographer and told him why they could no longer see each other, there would be an argument, then the boy would cry, then they'd fuck. Lather, rinse, repeat.

"And his job?" Asked Kirishima.

"I won't control the jobs he's offered." He looked sorrowful for a moment, but it passed quickly because it was a requirement to not show your emotions if you were a tough mob boss. It was one of those classes you took in tough mob boss school.

"I understand Asami-sama." His boss's words, to some people, well most people with morals, would have been seen as cruel. But Kirishima had been around the man for 20 years, making Kirishima about 80 years old, give or take. His boss's feelings would never bubble to the surface. His emotions would erupt like a volcano, burying those around him, like Vesuvius buried Pompeii. He had only seen it once. The time when Akihito went missing on the cruise ship in Hong Kong and Asami emptied his gun into a messenger's body and kept firing even after the chamber was empty. He had looked at the face of utter despair then and he hoped he'd never have to see it again, because it was a really scary, scary face.

It was for the best.

Kirishima went about his duties, not questioning what had just occurred because if he did, he would end up in Tokyo Bay, the favorite dumping grounds of all Yakuza. You almost had to make a reservation to dump bodies there. But inwardly, he knew that his boss's heart, if he had one, was breaking and there was nothing he could do but sweep up the pieces, as the maid had just been let go.

I'd said I give you anything you want, Akihito, except your freedom. Well, now I've given you your freedom. What will you do with it? Will you become a man, your dreams realized? Or will you die with regret, having not really lived at all?

Put on your Nikes and go live. I will still be here waiting for you to find your way home.