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“Shit.” Fuma cursed, growling in frustration as across from him Hokuto smiled, his gaze gleeful and sharp. He leaned across the table, scooping up the bills and coins in the center while Fuma slapped his cards down on the wooden surface. He should know better than to play poker with Hokuto. He always came away with a lighter wallet than he started. Still, he found himself contemplating if one more game would be okay. If he was smart he’d walk away, but being an intellectual was something he was rarely accused of.
“Wanna go again?” Hokuto asked, as if having read Fuma’s mind, his fingers counting through his winnings, sorting the bills and dividing them by type as he glanced across the table at Fuma. Fuma crossed his arms and pursed his lips, sending a surly glare Hokuto’s way. He knew that he was gonna cave in, but he wanted to make Hokuto work for it.
“Find someone else to swindle, Matsumura.” A voice said from the door, and Fuma turned to see Fujigaya Taisuke standing in the doorway, Fuma’s blood running cold as the man fixed him with a stare. Fujigaya was not someone who’s attention Fuma craved. He preferred to stay out of the older man’s path, having seen just how unpredictable he could be, and how much damage that unpredictability could cause. Now Fujigaya was looking at him, his face blank, his eyes giving Fuma a proper once over, before saying
“The Boss wants to see you, Kikuchi.”
“Shit.” Hokuto muttered, his eyes wide, and Fuma felt his heart jump a little, tension washing through him. He nodded, getting to his feet and running a hand through his blond hair, trying to make it look like maybe he’d brushed it this morning. At that motion Fujigaya smirked, but he didn’t say anything, instead turning from the room. Fuma followed him in silence, his heart pounding, anticipation curling in his stomach. He was bewildered, taken completely off guard.
Fuma had only had a few interactions with the Boss, and their leader instilled equal parts of both fear and admiration in him, and as he followed Fujigaya through the building he found himself going over recent events, wondering if he’d done something that could warrant attention from the man. He stared down at his hands, trying to think of any mistakes he had made. He was already missing most of his left pinky finger; penance for his last mistake. After that he’d been careful, not keen on losing his right.
He was deposited at the Boss’ door, Fujigaya leaving him alone, and Fuma could feel his heart in his throat as he stared at the wood of the door for a long moment, trying to fight his pulse into something normal and failing, before deciding fuck it, and stepping in, immediately folding into a bow and saying
“Sir!”
“Ah, Kikuchi. You finally decided to join me.” Fuma felt an embarrassed blush rise on his cheeks, feeling stupid for having loitered outside the door. But when he raised his head Sakurai Sho had a small smile on his lips, his eyes twinkling in amusement, and it was a little reassuring. Fuma nodded, taking a deep breath. If the Boss was smiling, then he probably wouldn’t be removing any more of his digits today.
“Please, sit. I have something important I’d like to discuss with you.” Sakurai said, gesturing to a chair on the outside of his desk, and Fuma hastened to comply, feeling rather self conscious in baggy jeans and a tee shirt while the other man was in a perfectly pressed suit, the diminished distance only making him feel more out of place as he fell into a plush chair and looked his leader in the eyes.
“Now Kikuchi, I’m sure you’re aware that elections for the upper house are coming up in a few weeks.” Fuma nodded, mind racing. He’d seen posters for the political candidates scattered around the city, plastered on buildings and in train stations, but he hadn’t been paying close attention. “One candidate looking to get elected is Mr. Nakajima.” Sakurai said, leaning across his desk and presenting Fuma with a photograph of the man. He was rather unremarkable, looking like a standard middle aged law abiding citizen, and Fuma glanced at the picture as his boss continued.
“Mr. Nakajima is a member of the Democratic Party for the People, and he is determined to win. We got in touch with him shortly after he announced his candidacy, and he has agreed to help our group with our agenda if we help him with his.” Fuma tried not to let his surprise show on his face. He really didn’t know much at all about politics, but he’d thought that the Liberal Democratic Party were the party that the yakuza took interest in, the more conservative politicians known for being more willing to take bribes from gangsters.
“Things have been going well up until very recently. Mr. Nakajima has received a couple of donations from our shell corporations, and he is on track to win the election. However, a few days ago he received a threat from the Akimoto Group.” At the name Fuma found himself bristling on reflex. Sakurai sighed, folding his hands in front of him on the desk. “There was an attempted break in at the Nakajima residence last night. Fortunately, the Nakajimas’ home security is one of the best, and no one even made it further than the front lawn. The Akimoto Group are believed to be behind it. They appear to be targeting Mr. Nakajima’s son.”
“His son?” Fuma asked, and Sakurai nodded.
“Yes. The men that were arrested had pictures of him in their phones, amongst other things. We believe it to be an intimidation tactic. Mr. Nakajima only has one child, and he is by all reports coveted by his parents.” Fuma nodded, understanding. His leader fixed him with a look, sitting up straight and eyeing Fuma in a way that made his hair stand on end. He stared back at the man, his breathing shallow, unsure as to why he was being scrutinized. After a few moments Sakurai opened his mouth to speak once more.
“Now Kikuchi, I am telling you all of this because we have agreed to supply a personal bodyguard for Mr. Nakajima’s son, and I have decided that you would be the perfect candidate.” He let those words hang in the air between them for a long moment, Fuma numb with surprise. Sakurai seemed to sense his shock. “You are roughly the same age as Mr. Nakajima’s son, so the two of you being seen together won’t seem suspicious. To any passerby you could be presumed to be friends. ” He reasoned.
“You have managed to escape jail time, and have no serious convictions on your record. Plus, you have always been a strong fighter. And I know that you have no qualms about ending lives if that means you will accomplish your mission. That resolve is what I need in this situation.”
Sakurai kept his gaze on Fuma, sharp enough to cut with just a look, and Fuma knew there was only one response to this proposition. He nodded, and said
“Yes sir.” Sakurai nodded back, leaning back in his chair and reaching into a desk drawer, pulling out a pistol and a piece of paper, setting them both in front of Fuma.
“I have had arrangements made to prepare you for this job, Kikuchi. You know how to use this?” He gestured to the gun, and Fuma looked it over, recognizing the model immediately. A Sig Sauer P226. He nodded. He’d been rather fond of his own Sig Sauer, back before he’d fucked up. Back when he’d had all of his fingers. He hadn’t thought he’d be trusted with a gun again, not after last time. Sakurai gestured for him to take it; he did, and the cold weight of the gun sent a thrill through him. He tucked it into his waistband, adjusting his jacket to cover the bulge of the weapon as his leader continued speaking.
“You have appointments scheduled for the next two days Kikuchi. You will need to blend in with the politician’s family, and as such there will need to be some...changes. ” He gave Fuma a measured once over, his eyes taking in the earring, blond hair, baggy clothes, and missing finger. “Your first one is in an hour. A driver is waiting outside, and he will take you.” Fuma recognized the dismissal, and he took the paper from Sakurai’s desk, standing and bowing lowly before excusing himself. His mind was reeling as he made his way to the estate entrance, finding a car waiting for him, just as his boss had said there would be. He immediately got in, only looking at the paper once he was in the back and the car was on the road.
It was a list of all of the appointments he was to be attending the next few days, meetings with tailors and prosthesis technicians and a hairdresser. Then, at the bottom of the list his eyes landed on the words ‘meeting with the Nakajima family’ . He felt a nervous churning in his stomach as he read those words. This job was a second chance to get in his boss’ good books. He had to succeed. Determination settled in his chest as the car stopped in front of a hair salon, and it was with a fierce resolve that he opened the door. He would not fail. He could not fail.
Over the next two days the physical transformation Fuma went through was jarring, and by the time his meeting with the Nakajimas rolled around he barely recognized himself in the mirror. His unruly blond hair had been dyed black and permed straight, cut shorter than it had been since he was a child, his bangs just barely falling in his eyes if he tilted his head. His tattooed torso was hidden under a perfectly tailored suit, his gun hidden in a holster under his jacket, undetectable unless he undressed, and the stump of his left pinky had been capped by an expertly made prosthesis that blended in with his skin almost perfectly.
He looked straight-laced and well off. Like the type of guy that would hang out with a politician’s son. It made him a little uncomfortable. The whole presentation was a mask, and he didn’t quite feel like himself as he got into the car that the organization had sent to his apartment to pick him up. He was drawn out of that train of thought quickly when he ducked into the back of the now familiar vehicle and found that he wasn’t alone, another man already in the car. He froze, his eyes on the man’s face, but the stranger just smiled, and said
“Kikuchi, isn’t it?” Fuma nodded, getting into his seat properly, the door of the car shutting with finality behind him, as the other man said “I’m Kato Shigeaki, I’m our representative in charge of liaisons with Mr. Nakajima and his family.” Fuma looked the man over, bewildered. This man was a yakuza? He looked immensely bland. Kato seemed to understand the thinking behind the look, and he chuckled.
“You don’t have to be flashy to be a yakuza. The Nakajimas wouldn’t be so keen on meeting with me if I was blond and covered in tattoos.” Fuma nodded, his own appearance backing up that statement, and Kato nodded back, offering “I’m here to introduce you to the Nakajima family, and ensure that they accept you. They are anticipating our arrival, but I’m the only person from our organization that they have had any contact with up until today. We can’t afford any room for error.” Fuma nodded, anxiety beginning to buzz under his skin. He really couldn’t fuck this up.
The ride to the Nakajima family home was a quick one, though when the driver came to a stop Fuma found that the house was really more of a mansion, and he gaped open mouthed at it for a moment, the expanse of the building lit up in the falling dusk, and he was only dragged from his disbelief by the driver of the car offering him his luggage. Kato seemed unaffected by the display of wealth, and he led Fuma through an automatic gate, and past a sprawling lawn, up some steps to the front door, the door opening as their feet touched the landing, and Kato smiled at the middle aged couple standing just inside, looking at them expectantly. Fuma straightened his back a little as he recognized the politician from his picture, as Kato said
“Mr. Nakajima, Mrs. Nakajima, what a pleasure.”
“Please, come in.” Mrs. Nakajima smiled warmly at Kato, and Fuma blinked in surprise at the apparent trust and affection, and he followed Kato inside the house, slipping off his shoes and setting his bag down by the door, trying not to ogle the lavish interior too much as he went inside. The ceilings were high, and there was a crystal chandelier hanging in the entryway, a curved staircase with a banister visible, and lavish carpets covered rich hardwood floors. He was quickly introduced to the two, and they led him further into their home. He followed behind the politician and his wife, not really listening to the pleasantries being exchanged, too caught up in the house, until the group entered a lounge, and his focus was immediately drawn.
There was a young man in the room, and he had to be the Nakajimas’ one and only son. The son Fuma was supposed to be protecting for the next few weeks. He had been standing with his back to them, looking down at his phone, but when they’d entered the room he’d turned, slipping his phone into his pocket, and Fuma immediately felt his mouth go dry. This guy was beautiful. Fuma had been expecting some bespectacled nerd with a bad haircut. Not plump, pink, pouty lips and thick eyelashes that framed wide soulful eyes. He was just standing there, looking disconcertingly sexy in a casual suit, and Kato turned to him, greeting him with a small smile, and saying
“I’m glad to see you in good health, sir.” The young man nodded and thanked him, and then his eyes moved to Fuma, and Fuma felt his stomach swoop for a moment as he was scrutinized. Kato noticed the look, gesturing to Fuma and offering “This is my colleague, Kikuchi Fuma. He’s been assigned to look after you until the recent unpleasantness is resolved.” At that the man raised his eyebrows, giving Fuma a long, deliberate up and down look, before saying
“I wasn’t expecting you to be so young.” Fuma shrugged, not sure how to respond to that, and Kato instead turned his attention to Fuma, offering
“As you may have gathered, this is Nakajima Kento, your charge for the foreseeable future.” Fuma nodded, and Mr. Nakajima offered
“Kento, why don’t you show Mr. Kikuchi his living accommodations while your mother and I take care of business with Mr. Kato?” Kento nodded, and Fuma quickly bowed to the politician and his wife before following the young man as he left the room. As soon as the door was shut Kento seemed to relax a little. He glanced over at Fuma, and his plush lips curled into a small smile, and he said
“Fuma, wasn’t it? Let me show you where you’ll be staying.” The casual tone threw Fuma for a loop, but he nodded, following behind the other man as he led Fuma down some hallways and up to the second story. As he did he spoke, glancing back over his shoulder to make sure Fuma was following him. “You’ll be taking my butler’s room. He’s been relocated to the guest room for the time being. It’s not very big, but it is right next door to my room, so you’ll be right there if I need protecting. Ah, here it is.”
He threw open a door, walking inside, and Fuma tried not to stare too much. The room was large, with hardwood dressers and a four poster bed taking up one side of the space. The other side had a couch and a coffee table, with a full tea set and snack tray lain out, a nice looking stereo sitting next to it. Fuma’s luggage had already been brought up, and it sat by the foot of the bed. If this was what Kento thought a small room looked like, he wondered what size Kento’s room was. He barely had time for that thought to flash through his mind before he felt a hand on his arm and he jumped, turning his attention back to Nakajima Kento, who was looking at Fuma with wide eyes.
“It’s been difficult, these last few days.” Kento said, his hand still on Fuma’s bicep. Fuma nodded. He tried to think of something nice and proper to say. Kento’s hand slid slowly down his arm. “It’s not fun, you know. Being the damsel in distress, and not having a knight that will be there to protect me.” Kento worried his plush bottom lip between his teeth, and god damn he was disconcertingly beautiful.
“I was worried when they said I’d be getting a body guard that you’d be some brute, but you don’t look much different than me.” At that Fuma almost snorted in laughter. If only Kento knew just how different the two of them were. He’d probably be running away in fear. Kento glanced down, then back up, eyes on Fuma’s own as he asked
“You’ll be my knight though, won’t you?” Fuma stared; Kento had to know what he was doing, right? He blinked, not sure how the hell he was supposed to respond to that, and after a long pause Kento finally let go of his arm, saying “I’ll let you get settled in. If you need anything, my room is right next door.” He pointed at the wall, his eyes on Fuma’s face, and then he left. Fuma watched him go, unable to keep from giving him an appreciative glance as he walked out. As soon as the door was closed however, Fuma collapsed onto the sofa, throwing his head back and groaning, a few choice curse words falling from his lips.
He wasn’t sure what the hell he’d gotten himself into. Nakajima Kento was not at all what he’d been expecting, and he wasn’t sure what to make of him. He was absolutely gorgeous, and he seemed to know it. Fuma didn’t think he’d ever been hit on so blatantly, or so soon after an introduction in his life. Just the thought of ripping that suit off of Kento like Kento seemed to want him to was getting him rather hot and bothered, and he cursed again, loosening his tie and trying to think of something else. Now was not the time to be contemplating the wiles of Nakajima Kento. He just needed to keep the guy alive, and keep his dick in his pants. Fuma sighed. It was going to be a long next few weeks.
The days that followed settled into a routine. Fuma woke before Kento did, and he bonded with Kento’s butler; a young man named Shori, who was tasked with getting Kento up and ready in the mornings. He showered quickly, getting dressed in a suit and double checking to make sure his prosthetic finger was on before joining the Nakajimas for breakfast, their butlers serving them all as the family discussed the upcoming day’s events. Then he proceeded to follow Kento around wherever he went, whether he was glad handing people that had donated to his father’s campaign, or he was making speeches in the streets, Fuma followed behind him like a dog, keeping his mouth shut and his eyes open.
Kento would chatter to him when they had moments of privacy, the words often full of flirtation and double entendre, and he’d touch Fuma, running his hands down Fuma’s arms or leaning into his side, little, unnecessary things that he paired with sultry stares and pouty lips. It was infuriating, Fuma had never been so sexually frustrated in his life, and as soon as they were back in the Nakajima mansion Fuma would deposit Kento at his bedroom door and bolt, removing himself from pawing hands with the reminder that he was here to do a job, not to mess around, and that he couldn’t fuck this up.
Despite the flirtation when they were alone, whenever Kento was in the public it was as though he had flipped a switch. He was highly professional, charming, and smooth talking. He knew when to laugh and when to smile, when to joke and when to flatter to get people to like him, and it was amazing watching him work. He was better than some of the con artists Fuma knew, and it was that skill, combined with his undeniable beauty, that would make Fuma wonder late at night just what part of the whole thing was an act. Was it his behavior around his father, or was it his flirtation with Fuma? The whole thing was distracting, and even when they were out, Fuma would occasionally find his eyes drawn to Kento, contemplating the person underneath the beautiful exterior.
That wasn’t to say that Fuma wasn’t doing his job. He was quick to discover that Mr. Nakajima’s concerns for his son’s safety were far from unfounded. On multiple occasions he caught glimpses of faces he recognized as members of the Akimoto Group in the crowds, or walking just across the street, or sitting in restaurants nearby, a few of them becoming disconcertingly familiar—most notably one guy with a scar over his eye and another with a skull tattoo. But every time they were too far away to do anything other than watch, and whenever he tried to catch their eyes they’d look away. Despite Fuma’s constant unease, none of them had done anything yet, and the weapons he kept on his person remained in their holsters or in his pockets, untouched.
It wasn’t until two weeks into these observations that Fuma began to get seriously concerned. It was a Saturday night, and Kento had insisted that he and Fuma deserved to blow off some steam, directing his driver to take them to a karaoke place, despite Fuma’s protests. Fuma just wanted to go back to the Nakajima’s mansion, take a long hot shower, jack off, and go to bed. Kento had been nearly insufferable today, batting his eyelashes and pursing his lips, blushing and smiling for wealthy women and sending sultry looks Fuma’s way when no one was looking, and Fuma wasn’t sure if he wanted to punch Kento or kiss him. Mostly he just wanted to get away from him, and maybe gain some composure.
He fought the decision to go to karaoke, not wanting to be left alone in a dark private room with Kento. Not trusting himself not to get a little drunk and forget that he’d decided that he was not going to fuck Nakajima Kento, no matter where his thoughts strayed when he was in the shower. He was just going to keep him alive. Fuma tried to play the ‘for your safety’ card to convince Kento to just go home, but Kento wasn’t hearing it, making some cheesy remark about how if Fuma was there then there was nothing to worry about, and when that didn’t work in the end he simply fell back on a casual
“I’m going to karaoke. I cannot make you come, but I suppose if you’re to do your job, you'll just have to follow me.” Fuma gritted his teeth, but said nothing. This was going to be a long night.
Things started off surprisingly harmless. As it turned out Kento really did want to go to karaoke to sing, and he wasn’t even half bad, although the cheesy, super cliche pop songs he chose made Fuma roll his eyes. He tried to get Fuma to sing too, to sing with him, and Fuma refused, not liking how isolated Kento had made them. Anyone could come through the door to their little karaoke room and have them immediately cornered. His hand reached for his gun whenever the staff came in to deliver the drinks Kento ordered, his whole body tensing up every time the door opened.
This happened quite frequently, Kento ordering one alcoholic drink after another, trying to coax Fuma to drink with him at least, if he wasn’t going to sing. It was in the middle of AKB48’s Heavy Rotation that Kento pressed himself into Fuma, his eyes searching Fuma’s face, lids hooded and cheeks flushed pink, and he whined a little, the fingers of one hand curled around the microphone as he sang, his gaze never leaving Fuma’s face. He was drunk. But he truly was beautiful, all plush lips and smooth skin, the lines of his face startlingly perfect in the bright glare from the television screen, and Fuma was so wrapped up in just how close Kento’s face was to him that he wasn’t expecting the hand on his thigh.
He jumped, and cursed, glancing down to see that the hand Kento wasn’t using to hold his microphone was running its way slowly up his leg. He glanced back over at Kento in surprise. He’d rather started to think that perhaps Kento was just a tease, but the hand slowly sliding closer and closer to his dick seemed to indicate otherwise. Arousal shuddered through him, and he wanted to just lean in let things play out, images of Kento on his knees, his plush lips wrapped around Fuma’s dick making his skin crawl with want. Kento leaned in, pressing a wet, open mouthed kiss to Fuma’s jaw, his fingertips brushing Fuma’s half hard dick through his slacks, and Fuma cursed again, hating himself as he pulled away.
“Let’s get you home.” He said, standing, and Kento frowned. Fuma sighed, eyeing the glasses littering the table. Kento had been drinking much more than he’d thought, too wrapped up in wanting to be ready for an attack that he hadn’t been focusing on just how many cocktails Kento had ingested. “C’mon. You’re drunk.” Kento let the mic he was holding hit the pleather bench he was sitting on with a thud, his hand falling as he whined
“I’m not drunk. Come back.” He reached out for Fuma, arms outstretched, and Fuma sighed, grabbing one of Kento’s outstretched hands, and pulling, yanking him to his feet.
“C’mon. We’re leaving.” He said, and Kento let out a few more whiny words of protest, but despite them he plodded along after Fuma, trailing behind him without any real resistance. Instead, as soon as Fuma let go of his hand he fell further and further behind, his feet dragging as they made their way down the hall, and Fuma turned back to see Kento’s eyelids drooping even more now, and he said
“I’m tired. I don’t wanna go. I want to go back to our room. I had...I had a plan. You need to go back to the room.” He tugged on Fuma’s hand, the grip not all that strong, which was no surprise considering the quantity of alcohol he’d consumed, and Fuma didn’t budge, Kento stumbling again, his cheeks flushed pink from the drink, and this time he stumbled right into Fuma, pressing himself into Fuma’s chest, and he sighed, his breath hot on Fuma’s shoulder. He blinked up at Fuma, and it was almost cute, his long eyelashes framing big round eyes.
He was looking right into Fuma’s eyes, his gaze completely trusting. It had been a long time since anyone had looked at him like that. Even his own family didn’t look at him with such pure confidence and trust. Fuma wondered momentarily if Kento would look at him like that if he knew what Fuma looked like, what Fuma truly was, under this proper exterior. Still, Kento’s gaze tampered some of the annoyance that had been bubbling up inside of him, and he wrapped an arm around Kento’s waist, slinging Kento’s own arm over his shoulders, and he said
“C’mon; let's get you home.” He half led, half carried Kento down to the karaoke place’s lobby, paying with one of Kento’s credit cards, trying to act as professional as possible, despite Kento’s lips on his neck, before stepping out into the night, knowing that Kento’s driver was parked right around the corner, waiting for them. He glanced around as soon as they got outside, and in an instant his blood ran cold.
There was a guy standing not even half a meter from them, leaning up against the exterior wall of the karaoke place. He was smoking a cigarette, and the hand he raised to pluck it from his lips was covered in a large skull tattoo. It was a man Fuma had seen earlier in the week, watching them from a cafe as Kento gave a speech in the local plaza. And again when they’d been leaving a representative’s house. And now he was here, and when he caught Fuma staring at him this time he stared right back, his eyes sharp and cruel, and a wry grin curled his lips in something too cold to be mistaken for anything but a threat.
Fuma tried to reach for his gun, shifting his grip on Kento, the other man’s weight forcing him off balance as he moved. His heart was in his throat, the panic pounding in his veins as the guy pushed himself off of the building, his eyes not leaving Fuma’s face as he dropped his cigarette butt to the pavement, and turned, walking away. Fuma just stood there, watching the guy’s back until he disappeared into the crowd. He felt helpless, unable to draw his gun while surrounded by so many people. They were too exposed here, the enemy too close by. Kento was being tracked, hunted like an animal, and it had just been made abundantly clear that the Akimoto Group was simply waiting for the perfect moment to strike.
Kento whined in his ear about going back inside, pressing a kiss to his skin, and Fuma tried to push down the urge to snap at him and bolt after the guy, knowing that for now he wouldn’t be doing Kento any good by leaving him alone. Not when he was inebreiated; not when there could be more Akimoto guys just out of sight, waiting for him to slip up and do something stupid. And so he adjusted his grip on Kento's waist, and said
“C’mon. Let’s get you in bed.” At the mention of his bed Kento seemed to perk up a little, and mumbled something about ‘get you in bed’, as Fuma steered them in the direction of Kento’s car. It didn’t take long to spot the vehicle, and Fuma waved it closer as soon as he caught sight of it, his heart still pounding in his chest, his mind still racing, eyes flitting over his shoulder every few seconds, looking for the threat. Looking for an ambush, or a gun. The driver stepped out to help Fuma get Kento into the vehicle, and Fuma snapped at the man to ‘get back in the car and drive’, all pretense at politeness dropped in his panic. The driver blanched, and fumbled to do as Fuma had said, Fuma slumping Kento into the seat and throwing himself in after him, slamming the door shut as the driver’s foot hit the gas.
He watched out the window as the city passed by, looking for the Akimoto guy, eyes darting from face to face as they passed by. But the car sped up, and he felt a tug on his sleeve, and he told himself to let it go, that there was nothing more he could do tonight, and he turned his attention away from the window and instead focused on Kento, who had pulled himself into a sitting position, his fingers wrapped around Fuma’s sleeve, his head resting on the top of the bench, his eyes on Fuma’s face.
“You’re worried.” He said, and Fuma sighed, fingers running over the lines of his handgun through his suit jacket, just to reassure himself that the weapon was there. Kento scooted closer to him, pressing his body up against Fuma’s and letting his head loll onto Fuma’s shoulder, as he said “You should relax. It’s okay. Don’t worry about anything.” He pressed his lips to Fuma’s throat, and an involuntary shiver ran down Fuma’s spine. Nakajima Kento had to be the most frustrating creature he’d ever encountered. He pushed the other man away from him, and he could feel his heart pounding in his chest, though whether it was from fear or arousal he wasn’t sure, and he growled out
“Just, stop it.” Kento frowned, and for a moment Fuma thought the other man was going to cry, but instead he just let his eyes flutter shut, snuggling his way back into Fuma’s chest, and almost instantly falling asleep. Fuma didn’t make a move to wake him, letting one hand rest on Kento’s shoulders, as he set his eyes on the world passing by, his mind racing. He had to come up with a plan, a way to keep Kento safe. He had to protect this man.
He carded his fingers through Kento’s hair, his prosthetic pinky catching on a tangle and tugging. Kento’s breathing was even and slow, his body soft and relaxed against Fuma’s own, and it was amazing, just how trusting he was. He was beautiful, his face lit up in the lights of passing cars and buildings, and Fuma found that he was even more afraid to fail his assignment than he had been expecting.
Because he’d grown to like Nakajima Kento. Over the past few weeks of standing at the other man’s shoulder watching him and listening to his words, Fuma had found that he did, truly, like the man for more than his pretty face. He was immensely smart, and while he seemed to know how to charm an audience, he never said anything that he didn’t mean. It was an honesty that was unexpected, something not often found with a smooth talker. He was captivating, enamoring, and wildly fascinating. He had wormed his way into Fuma’s thoughts and wouldn’t let go. And after tonight Fuma was inclined to think that Kento was fully aware of what he was doing. Now, if Fuma failed, it wouldn’t just mean that he’d have failed his boss, he would have failed this man. This charming, trusting, beautiful man. And he knew that if Nakajima Kento died on his watch he would regret it for the rest of his life.
When the car pulled up in front of the Nakajima estate Fuma felt a sense of relief. He shook Kento awake, the other man not really conscious, just coherent enough to let Fuma drag him up the stairs and throw him into his decadently large bed. He stood there for a moment, watching Kento sleep, emotionally exhausted but still wired, paranoid about the threat. He paced the room for a few minutes, checking and rechecking the locks on the windows, his eyes flicking back to Kento as he moved, ensuring that he was still breathing. He eventually moved to sit on a chair across the room, jittery but so fucking tired. It wasn’t until Shori came in, the butler smiling gently at Fuma and assuring him that he would take charge of ‘Master Nakajima’ for the rest of the night, that Fuma retired to his own room.
Fuma woke up in the morning with a plan. He needed to get Kento far from the Akimoto Group’s territory. Far from the reaches of any yakuza that would be familiar with him. He needed to whisk him away somewhere that he could be safe until this election was over. Or at least until his Kumi-cho could arrange a pointed warning to the Akimoto Group. Mind set, he peeked in on Kento, relieved to find the other man asleep in bed but still very much alive, before he went down to the dining room, finding Kento’s father sitting up, reading the newspaper and drinking a mug of coffee.
When Fuma came in the politician’s eyes flicked over to him, a greeting on his lips. But something of Fuma’s concerns must have shown on his face because he frowned, setting his paper aside, and he asked
“What? Did something happen?” Worry and panic flashed across his face. “Kento! Did something happen to Kento?!” Fuma glanced down at the tabletop for a moment, trying to figure out how best to explain the situation to this man.
“Nothing has happened to your son. Not yet.” Fuma finally said, sitting down on the chair closest to himself, and pursing his lips. “But we need to talk.” He outlined his concerns, skimming over the details, just explaining enough to convey the gravity of the situation, and by the end of it Mr. Nakajima was pale, his eyes wide with fear, and he was regarding Fuma with an almost ugly desperation. “I want to take Kento far from here. Somewhere secluded, out of the Akimoto’s reach. A secret place.” Fuma told him, and Mr. Nakajima treated him with a long stare.
“I am trusting you with my son’s life, Kikuchi.” Fuma swallowed, a knot in his stomach.
“I know.”
“I have an old friend from my school days that runs a little onsen in the Oita Prefecture. It’s very private. If I call him he won’t refuse me.”
“Make the call.” Fuma said, and the man reached for his pocket, pulling out his cell phone, while Fuma stood up and went to the kitchen, finding Kento’s butler preparing breakfast. Shori treated him to a small smile, and offered Fuma a cup of coffee. He drank in silence, watching the butler as he cooked, his mind already on travel routes and safety precautions, and he was only broken out of his thoughts when Mr. Nakajima appeared in the doorway, his eyes on Fuma, his phone in his hand, as he said
“I have reserved the entire inn for you for the next week. No one but trusted staff will be there.” Fuma nodded.
“I’ll go and wake your son. He has some packing to do.”
Waking Kento was difficult. His hangover seemed determined to keep him, but Fuma’s will won out in the end. Fuma was in the process of rolling a half asleep Kento off of his bed and onto the floor when his butler entered, carrying a tray with a large breakfast, and told Fuma to go and pack for himself, assuring him that he would ‘take care of Master Nakajima’s needs’. After promising that Kento would have a bag packed and would be ready to go in an hour, Shori ushered Fuma out the door. Fuma didn’t have much packing to do, throwing what little belongings he had into a bag and cleaning his handgun. He slipped the weapon into the holster hidden under his jacket just as there was a knock on his door.
Kento peeked his head in, looking far more awake than the last time Fuma had seen him, and he had the decency to look rather embarrassed as he said
“Good morning.”
“Hey.” Fuma got to his feet, picking his suitcase up by the handle as he stood, and making his way toward the door. “Did Shori explain everything to you?” He asked, and Kento nodded, his eyes on Fuma, as Fuma drew closer to him. “Are you ready to go? We’ve got a long day ahead of us.” He reached the doorway, and had expected Kento to step back to allow him to pass, but Kento hadn’t moved, and Fuma now found himself nose to nose with the other man, Kento’s long lashes and plush lips so close it was jarring, Fuma trying hard not to notice how pink said lips were; Kento looking into his eyes as he said
“Are you going to whisk me away and hide me from those that want to do me harm, fair knight?” Fuma snorted, and he raised an eyebrow, asking
“How the hell do you have the energy for flirting after last night?”
“Why? Last night is all a blur.” Kento seemed suddenly much more focused. “Did you tire me out last night? Is there something I should know?” The entendre was not lost on Fuma, and the thought of what precisely Kento was insinuating flashed through his mind, infuriatingly.
“No. Now get out of my way.” He said, shoving past Kento, trying to clear his thoughts and focus on the plan, and not on the image of Kento on his back, knees up by Fuma’s ears as Fuma pounded into him, his full lips open, chest heaving, eyes on Fuma as wanton moans fell from his mouth. Fuck. Fuma growled, walking quickly toward the front door, reminding himself of his job. Of why he was here. Of what had happened last time. There was no room for distractions.
He didn’t talk to Kento any more than necessary on the way to the onsen. Kento seemed to notice, but he didn’t comment, seeming to accept Fuma’s silence for once, and contenting himself with looking out windows or occasionally gazing at Fuma’s face, something Fuma did his best to ignore. It took most of the day, the two of them going from a car to a train to a plane, and then they took another train to a bus station. It was dark out by the time they reached their destination, both of them weary, and they were greeted at the entrance by the owner, smiling and saying something about Kento’s father as he ushered them inside. As soon as they were shown to their room at the onsen—a large, private thing that just reeked of money in a way that Fuma found jarring—Kento fell into bed, asleep almost as soon as his head hit the pillow.
Fuma stayed up, debating whether it would be better to do a sweep of the premises, or to stay by Kento’s side. He ended up sitting on his futon, his knife resting balanced on his thigh as he took his gun apart and put it back together, the actions calming, easy, mindless work. He looked down at Kento, and in the moonlight shining in through the translucent doors leading to their private garden he could so easily stare, the dappled shadows from moonlight hitting the trees splaying across Kento’s throat and chest like blood. Like failure. Fuma could feel himself growing uneasy, second guessing. He’d thought this would be safer. But there was no one to call for help if Fuma failed. Here, they were all alone.
He snapped the last piece of his Sig Sauer together with the nearly silent sound of metal on metal, loading the magazine, still finding himself unable to look away from Kento’s face. But he settled in, gripping the gun in his hand, thumb playing on the hammer, body tired but mind wide awake, contemplating the trusting man sleeping next to him, and what failure would mean. He sighed, stomach churning and eyes burning. It was going to be a long night.
Fuma didn’t remember dozing off, but he must have, because the next thing he knew the room was flooded with light and Kento was sitting up in bed, his eyes wide, staring at Fuma as he asked
“Is that...is it a real gun?” Fuma sat up, the words jolting through him like an electric current, and it took him a moment to realize that Kento was talking about the gun in his hands, and not an unseen threat. At the sudden movement Kento flung himself backwards, putting a little distance between them, apprehension on his face. Fuma’s eyes zipped around the room, as he spent the time collecting himself, inspecting the space for threats, and he took a deep breath, sighing, trying to calm his pounding heart. He caught sight of Kento’s face, and he looked down at the pistol in his hands, double checking it to make sure that it was decocked, before he said
“Yeah.” He opened his hand, lying the gun out on his palm, and Kento sat up, leaning in closely to look at the weapon. He didn’t look afraid anymore, the only thing that seemed to have scared him Fuma’s own fear. He instead seemed curious, and he inspected the gun for a long time, before asking
“Where have you been keeping that?” Fuma snorted, bemused by the innocent question, and he pulled his suit jacket off, showing the holster hidden along his belt, and Kento blinked in surprise, asking mildly “So...you’ve always had it with you?” Fuma nodded, clearing his throat and setting the gun down to rub at his face.
“Yeah. I’m supposed to protect you, you know.”
“You really are my knight.” Kento said quietly, the cheesy words spoken as if they were a realization, not a flirtation, and the honest way it was said made Fuma feel more embarrassed than any of the sexual innuendo ever had.
“I’m no knight.” He said, pulling himself to his feet and stuffing the gun back into the holster, before offering Kento his hand to help him stand up, hoping that the fake finger wouldn’t be too noticeable. Kento took it graciously, and he smiled at Fuma, saying
“Breakfast, and then maybe a bath? The onsen is wonderful.” Fuma frowned, not sure how he felt about the idea. He wouldn’t risk leaving his gun here, and going to the onsen without it, but that would mean leaving it exposed, out in the open. It would mean making himself vulnerable. Kento had to have pieced together precisely what it is that Fuma was—if he hadn’t known from the start—but there was a difference in knowing, and seeing. And Fuma wasn’t sure how Kento would react to his tattoos and his missing finger. Part of him was afraid to find out. Kento seemed to sense this indecisiveness, and he made for the door, tossing a knowing glance over his shoulder as he declared
“I’m hungry, and I’m going to breakfast. So if you’re going to protect me, you're just going to have to tag along.” Fuma raised his brows at that, but he didn’t comment, instead choosing to follow along after Kento, first to breakfast, and then to the baths. They talked lightly throughout, Kento asking some questions about what Fuma thought about the onsen, and his breakfast. Easy chatter and some light teasing flowing between the two of them until they shut the door to the bathing area, and Kento turned to look at Fuma, staring as his fingers played along his own skin as he pulled his shirt up and over his head. Fuma found that he couldn’t keep from asking
“Is this some ploy to seduce me?” Kento blinked, his dark lashes fluttering in an almost mockish fashion, and he said
“That depends. Is it working?” Fuma snorted at that, torn between wanting to laugh and wanting to push Kento up against a wall and kiss that ridiculous look off his face. He did neither, the realization that he was expected to take his own clothes off too draining him of any frivolous notions of flirtation. Instead he found himself seized by insecurity. And so he stood there, watching, as Kento peeled off the rest of his clothing. Kento stood there, a blush dusting his cheeks a warm pink, and he asked
“Are you going to join me?” Fuma cursed. He grabbed at his rumpled suit jacket, muttering about how this whole thing was dumb, and about how he didn’t know why he’d agreed to this anyway as he moved. He turned away from Kento, not looking at his face, his heart pounding in his chest as he unbuttoned his shirt, and with a deep breath he ripped it from his shoulders, listening for a reaction.
He didn’t hear anything however, and he slowly turned around, feeling a little sick with anxiety. He’d never met anyone outside of the group that had seen his tattoos and responded with anything but repulsion, but Kento’s face was unreadable, just staring at the ink running down Fuma’s shoulders and across his chest. His eyes traveled the lines scrutinizingly, and after a long silence he said
“It’s pretty.”
“It’s not supposed to be pretty.” The words were out of Fuma’s mouth before he had time to register them, defensive. But Kento didn’t seem to mind, instead just asking earnestly.
“What is it supposed to be then?” Fuma snorted.
“Scary.”
“I’m not afraid of you.” Kento said, and the words made something deep inside of Fuma shudder. He glared at Kento, feeling as though he needed to prove to him that he was wrong. That he was afraid. He shoved the rest of his clothes off in a rush, and then he tossed his gun on top of the pile, and grabbed at his prosthetic finger, twisting it off. He gauged Kento for a reaction, and when the digit pulled away Kento’s eyes went wide, flicking from Fuma’s hands to his face a few times. But there wasn’t much fear, and after a moment Kento just turned toward the bathing area, asking lightly “Are you coming?”
Fuma’s heart was pounding in his chest, and he wasn’t sure what type of reaction he’d been expecting, but no reaction at all definitely wasn’t it. He trailed along after Kento like a puppy after its owner, and they cleaned themselves in relative silence, Fuma not sure how to proceed, or what to say, not quite sure of just how Kento was feeling about him, and by the time they were walking out to the hot springs he was feeling a little sick with dread about just what Kento must think of him.
They got in together, but Fuma pointedly moved to the far side, keeping himself away from Kento while his eyes took in the area, looking for any potential threats, trying to locate the best escape routes if something were to happen. Out here all he could protect Kento with was his body, and that realization added an extra level of stress to his thoughts. When he turned his attention back to Kento he found his charge staring at him, face unreadable, and after a long moment Kento asked delicately
“Can I see?” He held out his hand, and Fuma found himself completely blindsided by the request, staring back for a few long moments while Kento moved closer, before he nodded, extending his hand toward Kento, allowing the other man to take it into his own. Kento delicately ran his fingers over Fuma’s palm, not touching the stump of his pinky finger but holding it up close so he could really look at it, twisting and turning his hand to see it properly. He glanced up at Fuma’s face, both hands holding Fuma’s one, and Fuma just watched him.
“What happened?” Kento finally asked, fingers still playing across Fuma’s skin, and Fuma could feel his defenses rising at the question, but he said
“I cut it off.” Kento nodded, looking at Fuma expectantly, as if waiting for more information. Fuma could feel the regret and discomfort churning in his stomach. “I made a mistake, and I had to pay for my actions.” Kento kept staring, and Fuma almost growled in frustration, but he couldn’t deny Kento, and he felt the words fall bitterly from his mouth, harsh and rough, as if dragged from him. This would do it. This would be the last straw; the thing that would send Kento running.
“I was supposed to be staking out a home, a hit on a rival. He had a wife and son. They were supposed to be gone. No more casualties than absolutely necessary. Clean. That’s how the boss likes it.” Kento’s grip was tight on his hand, his eyes fixed on Fuma’s face, and Fuma found himself looking away as he continued.
“It was messy. Things went south fast. She and the kid both died. Loudly. Then our mark went on the offensive. He took out three of our own before I finally took care of him. Blood was everywhere, and the gunshots alerted the cops much sooner than we’d been anticipating. I barely got out before they got there. The boss was furious. Five dead that shouldn’t have been. And if I’d just done my job properly, they’d all have been alive. We don’t kill kids.”
“And so he asked for your finger?” Kento asked softly. Fuma shrugged, still finding himself unable to look at Kento, the nauseating regret in his stomach making him feel as if he was going to be sick.
“I thought he was going to ask for my life. A finger is nothing.”
A silence settled over the two of them for a moment, Fuma waiting for harsh words of fear or disgust or both, but instead after a long pause Kento said
“You really are very brave.” Those words had Fuma’s eyes going to Kento’s face despite himself. Brave? After that? He almost thought it was a cruel joke, but Kento seemed nothing but sincere, his big eyes on Fuma’s face, and he moved closer to Fuma, dropping his hand to instead reach out for Fuma’s torso, wrapping his arms around him in a hug that made Fuma freeze.
“No. I’m a fuck up.” He told Kento, but Kento just shook his head, hands running down Fuma’s bare back making Fuma shiver, his body reacting involuntarily to Kento being so close to him.
“You didn’t run away, you repented. And you’re protecting me. You’re brave.” Kento insisted, hands trailing down to Fuma’s lower back distractingly as he murmured “My knight.” He leaned in, pressing his lips to Fuma’s own, and Fuma just stood there for a moment, frozen in surprise, the sudden upheaval of emotions in his chest as he registered just what was happening taking a moment for him to process. Fuma’s hesitation seemed to be sensed by Kento, and he pulled away for a moment, looking more unsure than he ever had, and it was that look that snapped Fuma into action, and he reached up, cupping Kento’s face with both hands as he leaned in and kissed him back.
Kento sighed into the kiss, his body pressing closer, arms wrapping around Fuma’s waist, and Fuma kissed him fiercely, taking Kento’s thick bottom lip between his teeth, Kento letting out a whine, fingers digging into Fuma’s back. The sound sent a rush of warm arousal through Fuma’s body, and he clung to Kento, every dirty thought he’d ever had so close to being realized that it was intoxicating. Kento’s acceptance of him, and his plush lips and warm hands, his bare skin fueling Fuma on. He’d been trying to control himself ever since he laid eyes on Kento, but with him naked and willing in Fuma’s arms the last remnants of that control were gone.
He felt Kento’s arousal bump against his thigh, Kento letting out a keening whine, breathing labored in Fuma’s ear, and Fuma pressed his thigh between Kento’s own, grinding involuntarily against Kento’s hip, as one hand found Kento’s ass. Kento held onto Fuma tighter, rolling his hips against Fuma, kisses getting sloppier and more frenzied, and Fuma trailed his lips down Kento’s jaw, leaving a hot, wet trail down his throat as he backed them up, pinning Kento to the nearest wall, his hands on Kento’s hips.
“Wait.” Kento groaned, and Fuma froze, suddenly afraid that despite everything, somehow he had misread the situation. But when Fuma pulled away Kento was staring at him with eyes half lidded and pupils blown wide with arousal, and he said “I have supplies in my bag. In our room.” Fuma nodded, realizing that Kento had planned for this, and he tried to regain some composure, when all he wanted to do was grab Kento and just run for their room. Kento smiled at him, all wet and naked and seeming content and aroused, and Fuma leaned in again, kissing him.
It took a while before they got their act together enough to get out of the hot spring, foregoing proper clothing and instead just taking robes from the locker room, Fuma shoving his weapons and prosthetic finger into the big fluffy pockets of his, Kento barely able to keep his hands off of him as they made their way through the halls, less careful about displays of affection than they would be if there had been any other guests at the onsen. Fuma’s heart was racing, thoughts mostly on the feeling of Kento’s lips on his and his body pressed against Fuma’s own as they pushed into their room.
The door was barely closed before Kento’s robe was on the floor, and he turned around, grabbing the tie around Fuma’s waist, tugging on it and slipping his hands under the fabric, running them down Fuma’s chest, his lips finding Fuma’s in a kiss, a small groan rising from his throat. Fuma vaguely thought about seeing if Kento would be willing to fulfill one of his many fantasies involving Kento’s lips around his dick when Kento turned around, heading for the closet and presumably his bag.
Fuma pushed himself off of the wall, hand digging into his pocket, pulling his weapons back out, intending on setting them by the futon when Kento opened the closet and fell backwards, a sharp yell falling from his lips. Fuma looked up to see the man from the karaoke place step out of the shadows of the closet, a blade glinting in his hand, blood spattered across the skin the skull tattoo. He’d cut Kento. Fuma couldn’t tell where, or how badly just yet, but that was Kento’s blood on their attacker’s blade.
Fuma’s blood ran cold and he yelled, panic rising in his chest. He threw himself across the room as the man lunged at Kento, his blade coming down in an arc. Kento rolled over, smearing blood on the floor, throwing himself out of the way as best he could from where he was sprawled on the ground, and Fuma tackled the guy, feeling the knife slice across one of his own arms with a sharp sting.
He slammed the attacker into the floor with a roar, fist connecting with the man’s face, blood smearing across his hands as the man’s nose broke under his knuckles. He stood hunched over the guy, and while he was still disoriented Fuma stomped on the hand holding the knife, the blade cutting into his bare foot a little, while he fumbled for his gun. The attacker cursed, kicking Fuma in the chest, sending Fuma stumbling backwards, and his eyes searched wildly for Kento, hands going back to his pocket for his gun.
Kento was standing on the far side of the room, but his chest was covered in blood and he was crying, his eyes wide with fear, glued on Fuma, and seeing him breathing was reassuring.
“Run!” Fuma yelled, but Kento seemed to be frozen there, and Fuma growled in frustration, his hands slippery with blood as he pulled the Sig Sauer from his pocket, decocking it as the man with the knife lunged for Kento again, cursing wildly. Fuma cocked the pistol, fear choking him in its thickness, panic nauseating him, and he could taste blood and death on his tongue as he trained his weapon on their attacker, finger squeezing the trigger rapid fire, the noise ear shattering, as he lodged three bullets into the guy.
He crumpled to Kento’s feet like a puppet that had been cut from it’s strings, collapsing dead. Kento screamed, Fuma’s ears unable to hear the sound, head ringing from the blast of his gun, but he could see it, and he moved closer, his pistol still trained on their attacker, his heart still pounding in his throat. Kento looked up at him from where he had been staring at the dead man at his feet that up until a few moments ago had been trying to kill him, and Fuma was afraid for a moment that Kento was going to run away from him. The whole situation finally too much, with both of them naked and covered in blood, Fuma having just murdered a man in front of his eyes.
But then Kento reached out for Fuma, stumbling toward him, and Fuma decocked his gun just in time to wrap his arms around the other man, feeling Kento trembling, and he asked
“How badly are you hurt?” Kento shook his head, clinging tighter, and Fuma let him for a moment, trying to get his breathing and his pulse under control, adrenaline still coursing through him. But he could feel warm sticky blood smearing across his skin, Kento’s own blood, and knowing that his charge was hurt prompted him to pull away, saying
“Let me see where he got you. I need to patch you up.” Kento sat back for a moment, and Fuma got a chance to look at the long cut running across Kento’s chest. To his relief, while it was quite long, it wasn’t deep, and he felt some tension drain away.
He moved to check the rest of the room, to secure the premises, and maybe find a first aid kit, but Kento grabbed his arm, and he said
“Please, don’t go.”
“I’m not, I just have to—”
“Hold me, for a little bit longer.” Kento said, and Fuma knew he shouldn’t. He knew that he should make sure that the Akimoto Group only sent one assassin; but Kento was looking up at him with wide, watery eyes, covered in blood, and trembling, and Fuma couldn’t find it in himself to refuse. He sat them both onto the closest futon and settled into Kento’s side, holding him close and pressing a kiss to his temple, and Kento murmured
“Don’t leave me.” Fuma swallowed back tears, licked his lips and tasted blood on them, and he nodded, his cheek brushing Kento’s head, and he promised
“I won’t go anywhere.” Some tension left Kento’s body at that promise, and Fuma held him tighter, thinking that if he had his way, he wouldn’t leave Kento’s side for a long time.