Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/5716075.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Finder_no_Hyouteki_|_Finder_Series
  Relationship:
      Asami_Ryuichi/Takaba_Akihito
  Character:
      Asami_Ryuichi, Takaba_Akihito
  Additional Tags:
      Alternate_Universe_-_Celebrity, Alternate_Universe_-_Bodyguard,
      Bodyguard, Singer_Akihito, Protective_Asami, Possessive_Behavior, Older
      Man/Younger_Man
  Stats:
      Published: 2016-01-14 Updated: 2016-04-04 Chapters: 3/? Words: 9470
****** The BodyGuard ******
by Amelita
Summary
     In submission, there is freedom. In domination, there is
     responsibility. In both, there is love.
***** Chapter 1 *****
Have you ever seen a young plant grow towards the light, bending and twisting
its stalk under the weight of its own desire as it strains towards the warmth
of the sun?
That was how it happened, like gravity falling. There was no decision or
reasoning behind it. One might say it was natural, inevitable, pre-ordained or
even ‘meant-to-be’.
That didn’t make what happened ‘right’, of course, Asami acknowledged that. In
the eyes of societal morality, it had been wrong, on any number of levels. But
no one can tell a tree how to grow. Many will grow straight and tall without
any kind of guidance, but some, even under the best of circumstances, will
grow… crooked.
And their relationship certainly didn’t form under the best of circumstances.
Asami was thirty four when he became Takaba’s lead bodyguard. He was an ex
Special Forces operative with advanced training in everything from tactical
driving to IED detection. He was old enough to have seen the very worst of
mankind, he was mean as a snake, sharp as a razor and he trusted no one. Takaba
was seventeen, wet behind the ears and as naive as they came. Like most
seventeen year old boys, he was a mass of hormones, sexual tension, bad
decisions and angst. Loads of angst. Unlike most seventeen year old boys,
however, he was a popstar with an annual income somewhere in the billions,
hundreds of stalkers and thousands upon thousands of rabid fans; any number of
which could cross the line from enthusiastic to violent at any moment. Asami
had protected presidents, leaders of state, ambassadors, dignitaries and yes,
even dictators, and none of those assignments had adequately prepared him for
the challenge of guarding Takaba Akihito.
His days consisted of anything from escorting the young star to dinner,
business meetings, music video sets, shopping excursions, awards ceremonies,
concerts. Each occasion had its own set of dangers and the truth was that a day
at the mall required just as much prep work as a concert hall packed with
thousands of screaming fans.
It was an enormous endeavor that took an entire team of ex military men, all of
which had been hand selected by Asami himself. His two right hand men were
Kirishima, a specialist in crowd screening and control, who performed
background checks and researched each and every person Takaba might come into
contact with and Suoh, a giant whose enormous physique only supported his
incredible skill in physical defense. Together they formed an enormous
protective bubble around Takaba, policed by different layers of security
professionals, all focusing on different things to ensure the team had complete
control of the young boy’s safety.
The key, of course, was ensuring that Takaba, himself, did not realize this.
What made Asami and his team so coveted among thousands of private bodyguards 
for hire was that they understood their purpose was not simply to protect their
principal, but also to protect his or her freedom….. Or at least, to protect
the illusion of it. The life of any public figure is that of a bird in a cage,
with the public encroaching on them from all sides, watching their every move.
Keeping him safe would be easy if Asami were willing to sacrifice his freedom
and lock him away in an ivory tower, but that was not the purpose of a
bodyguard. A bodyguard’s role is simply to protect life, not only the red, wet,
pulsing heart of it, but also the intangible, ephemeral aspects of living, day
to day. Asami’s goal was to allow Takaba to live his life to the fullest, to be
normal in every way possible, in essence, to be free, in the way all human
beings deserve.
Their job was to simple; to ward off the bullies; the greedy paparazzi, the
psychotic fans, the unbalanced stalkers, and all the thousands of people who
simply wanted a piece of the most famous musician in the world. And everyone
wanted a piece of Takaba Akihito. It wasn’t just about his fame or money. It
was easy for Asami to see how the boy had captured the world. There wasn’t a
man or woman in the world immune to a sideways glance from those wide-lashed
blue eyes. Takaba was beauty and innocence personified. There was nothing false
or artificial about him. He was simply himself, at all times, whether out with
his friends or being interviewed on TV. He was funny and irreverent, genuine
and unguarded and warm and approachable. His voice was incredible, his songs
and lyrics always catchy and his dancing body was practically hypnotic, but he
also had that ‘something else’, that all of the truly great stars do. He had
the ability to make people, near and far, feel as if they knew him, as if the
songs were written about their lives and that Takaba somehow understood them in
a way others didn’t. Most loved him, some hated him, but everyone knew him and
everyone wanted him.
Asami included.
But the bodyguard was a professional, and he was good at compartmentalizing.
His job was to protect the client, no matter whether the the client was an
aging dignitary with a potbelly and the personality of drywall or a gorgeous,
vibrant young boy with a smile like the sun and the most perfect ass Asami had
ever seen.
His job was to be a wall; strong, protective, solid, imposing. Asami was all of
those things, assisted by a large build and piercing golden eyes. He and his
team were invisible, yet ever present in the corners of  Takaba’s world. In
every tabloid photo of the teen, even the ones carefully cropped, an army of
men dressed in black with bulging biceps stood in the foreground, between
Takaba and the cameras, reminding the world that the boy was not an object
available for their consumption, that he was his own. There was no celebrity in
the world as well protected as Asami’s boy.
And he was Asami’s boy.
All the denial in the world hadn’t prevented the inevitable from happening,
even despite the bodyguard’s best intentions.
It all started on a day like any other.
Asami had been working for Takaba for a few months, more than long enough to
have proven his worth and competence. The older man waited patiently in the
office Takaba had built for him in his penthouse apartment. It gave Asami
somewhere to work quietly while still being on hand should the boy require his
services. Takaba said it kept him from being underfoot all the time. Which was,
admittedly, true.
He checked his watch again. It was nearly ten in the morning. Asami had been up
since seven. For all his many fine attributes, the boy was not a morning
person. Takaba was more of a night owl. Asami had simply adapted, for when the
client was awake, he was awake. Fortunately, due to the popstar’s youth, he
required far more sleep than Asami did, which left the bodyguard considerable
time every morning to check and recheck every venue, every location, every
route and every person they would encounter that day. Even before Takaba met
them, Asami would know the background and personal histories of everyone from
his back-up dancers to the janitor who mopped the bathroom floor. He would use
that knowledge as well as body language and interpersonal cues to assess
whether an approaching person was going to be a threat to Takaba. And if he
determined them to be a threat, well God help them then. His golden eyes
darkened in memory. Last week one of Takaba’s more frightening stalkers had
sent him a message about desiring to see his ‘insides’. He had included graphic
descriptions of the horrific ways he wanted to dismember the young boy.
Naturally, Takaba had never seen that letter. The security team intercepted all
of his mail, making sure to carefully sort the fan mail from the hatemail. Most
of the latter went straight into the waste bin but those that Kirishima deemed
a potential threat were reviewed by Asami personally. It hadn’t taken him long
to trace the fingerprints to a mailing address that matched the zipcode the
letter had been mailed from. It had been close, too close for comfort and
belonged to a convicted sexual predator with a history of violent charges. None
had held up in court due to the absence of bodies. That hadn’t mattered to
Asami. He had tried and convicted him in the court of his mind and that was
enough. Sometimes, protecting the client was about eliminating threats before
they could materialize.
Strategic assassinations and body disposal were only a few of the bodyguard’s
talents that he had left off on his professional resume.
Asami leaned back in his office chair and cracked his knuckles in satisfaction.
His golden eyes glimmered with warmth and interest as he heard the sound of the
shower running in Takaba’s bath. He would be up soon. Asami stood then and
finished dressing for work. He wore black tailored slacks, shined shoes, and a
tight black shirt. Leather gun holsters crossed his giant back and muscled
chest. He concealed them with a deceptively tailored black suitcoat. Slicked
back hair, a radio-set in his ear and a pair of ubiquitous mirrored aviators
completed the look, though he slipped those in his breast pocket for now.
When Takaba emerged from his bedroom, his blond hair tousled, his pretty blue
eyes sleepy, clad only in a pair of loose lounge pants, he was greeted by the
sight of his bodyguard, dressed and ready for duty.
He padded down the hall as if still half asleep. A smile ghosted across his
perfect pink lips as he spoke shyly, “G’morning Asami.”
Asami bowed low and kept his eyes firmly away from those perky pink nipples and
the silky softness of the boy’s pale stomach. He held out a piece of paper,
“Sir, your daily schedule.”
The boy squinted sleepily at it and then smiled, “Oh! I forgot about the
charity concert tonight!” He rocked excitedly on his toes and then back to his
heels, grinning all the while. Asami watched him fondly, wondering how many
musicians got more excited about free concerts than the ones they were paid to
do. Takaba’s thoughtless generosity was only one of a million reasons Asami
admired and respected the talented teen.
“Shall we discuss the day while you have breakfast? I can order whatever you
like.”
Takaba’s bright smile reminded Asami of the sun breaking over the horizon and
it took his breath away for a moment. Takaba didn’t seem to notice. “Pancakes!”
he enthused, turning on a dime and heading to the kitchen.
Asami already had his cellphone out and was dialing the caterer as he followed,
“I’ll have them ordered.”
“No, I can make them! Won’t take me but a minute.” He already had a large
mixing bowl out, milk and his adorable pink tongue hung out of his mouth as he
began messily measuring ingredients for the batter. Asami sighed, far too
professional to let an indulgent smile cross his lips, as the boy spilled sugar
across the marble countertop and then licked it off his fingers. He could hire
any chef in the country and yet preferred to cook for himself. Takaba was as
happy with a bologna sandwich as he was with the finest beef bolognese. Utterly
unspoilt.
As Takaba cooked, he listened to Asami’s recitation of his daily schedule,
followed by reminders and then messages received. Most were tedious, things
from his accountant, his manager, his trainer but there was one message Asami
would have preferred to throw in the trash. It was from Takaba’s estranged
mother. While she had been one of the primary drivers of his early career and
probably the one most responsible for pushing him into the spotlight, she had
also taken unscrupulous advantage of his success, spending Takaba’s money just
as fast as the young boy made it. When Takaba was sixteen, at the urging of his
financial advisors, he had undergone legal emancipation to protect his wealth
from his mother's ‘mismanagement’ (ie. straight up appropriation) of it. Though
she had still not forgiven him for it, she certainly had no problem putting her
palm out. The woman’s passive-aggressive, manipulative behavior towards her son
was cruel, and borderline abusive and if Asami had had his way, he would
protect Takaba from her just as zealously as he did from everyone else. But she
was his mother and Asami had his orders.
He cleared his throat uncomfortably, “Your mother sends a reminder that it is
her birthday next week.”
Takaba’s eyes flew up to meet Asami’s steady gaze, “What does she want?”
“I’m sure you can guess.”
The young boy’s slender shoulders slumped and his eyes fell disappointedly,
“Oh.”
They were silent for a while as Takaba expertly flipped a pancake off the
griddle and then poured another one. He made it in the shape of a Mickey Mouse.
It reminded Asami of how very much a child Takaba still was. He worried his lip
as he tried to decide what to do. Asami could see the stress building inside
him and decided to cut it off at the pass, even if it meant overstepping his
bounds.
Asami spoke firmly, “You’ll give her a day at her favorite spa. I’ll have it
arranged. If you wish you can accompany her for lunch.”
Takaba’s eyebrows rose in surprise, "But she wants-"
Asami cut him off, “What she wants is irrelevant. More money, is the last thing
that your mother needs, though I doubt she will see it that way.”
“You think?” Takaba asked uncertainly.
“You are her child Takaba. It is not your job to support her and by doing so,
you deprive her of a chance to find her own independence, autonomy and purpose.
Your mother needs to get a job, and a life, other than using guilt to milk
money out of her son. Sometimes when you love a person, you have to make the
hard decisions, when they can’t.”
The boy pressed his lips together firmly and then nodded slowly. Relief crept
into his countenance though and Asami was not blind to it. Love was also
protecting someone, when they were not capable of protecting themselves. The
thought came to his mind before he realized and it jolted him awake. He brushed
it to the side brusquely. There was nothing wrong with caring for his client.
It would only make him a better protector.
Takaba smiled shyly as he nudged a plate towards Asami, “Pancake?”
Asami shook his head. His impressive physique was maintained by a strict
workout routine and a regimented diet of protein, protein and more protein.
Two gorgeous pools of azure blue fixed on Asami’s face and pleaded, “Please?
Just one?”
And of course, before Asami could think, because he was incapable of telling
Takaba ‘No’ when the boy looked at him like that, he was nodding his head.
Takaba grinned in triumph and Asami winced as he drenched the hotcake in
rivulets of maple syrup before passing it to him. He beamed over his own
mountain of steaming hot pancakes, “So good right?”
Asami managed a pained smile as he took a small bite of the overly sweet food,
“Mmm, very good.”
“Hey maybe someday I can have my own restaurant!”
Asami froze at the horrifying thought. Any restaurant of Takabas would serve
only sugar, on top of sugar, on top of more sugar. It was pretty much the only
food group Takaba recognized. Which reminded him, “You have a dental
appointment tomorrow.”
Takaba dropped his golden head and groaned into his breakfast. It wasn’t
Asami’s job technically to make sure Takaba got to the dentist, but his vow to
protect the boy was all-inclusive and one had to adapt to their circumstances.
Which meant that sometimes, his job included make dental appointments, playing
interference with greedy mothers and forcing himself to eat overly sweetened
pancakes. He took two more tiny bites before laying down his fork with a fake,
satisfied grunt, “Delicious. Thank you.”
The boy opened his mouth to protest and Asami distracted him. He tapped his
watch twice, “We are going to be late to rehearsals, Sleeping Beauty, wrap it
up.”
The popstar grinned cheekily, “I think they’ll wait for me.”
Asami smiled in response. He liked those rare occasions when Takaba remembered
who he was and how important he was in the scheme of things. The teen dumped
his dishes in the sink, rinsed them and sashayed back to his room, slender hips
swaying, sleep pants clinging precariously to curvaceous hips. Asami swallowed
and then turned his attention back to the job at hand. He pressed the radio in
his ear with the knowledge that Suoh and Kirishima were standing by, “The
client will be leaving momentarily. Have the limo ready. ETA to garage in under
ten minutes.”
It was more than ten minutes because Asami took one look at Takaba’s outfit and
ordered him back inside to change.
Ordered.
He had never in his life given one of his clients a direct order. He had urged
them, persuaded them, made strong recommendations, but never had he ordered. In
the end, a client’s life was theirs to live… and theirs to risk, if they so
chose. He had been protective of all of them, but never had a client ever
roused the possessive, predatory instincts that Takaba so effortlessly did.
His boy came out wearing a white singlet, with giant armholes, which exposed
the fragile ladder of his ribs and when he turned to the side, the pretty pink
of his nipples. The torn skinny jeans molded to every curve of his luscious ass
and exposed stripes of his soft white thighs for all those greedy eyes to see.
Asami wondered if everyone could see what he saw; that elusive quality in
Takaba that drove him mad; how exquisitely fresh and tender the boy was, his
skin so supple and smooth it looked like it might bruise under the lightest
pressure, like a ripe peach. Asami knew that fine, fair skin would feel the
same under his teeth. It would be taut and smooth, covered with the finest of
hair and sweet on his tongue when it popped open. Takaba was so new. So fresh.
He was tender, like ripe fruit ready to be picked. But he was young, too young;
a forbidden fruit that had to be protected, because anyone who saw it would be
driven mad with the desire to take a bite. All that fresh, creamy skin…..
“Change. Now.”
The words come from Asami’s throat, unbidden, guttural and sharp, spoken with
his eyes fixed and masseters twitching.
Takaba’s eyes flew wide at Asami’s outburst and he startled for a moment, but
then obeyed instantly and without a word of protest. It was unusual for him.
Asami well knew that Takaba was no pushover. His stubbornness in the
entertainment industry was practically legendary. It made his unexpected
submission all the more surprising. Asami knew Takaba would not have submitted
to just anyone….. But just like that, the boy had submitted to him.
And just like that, Asami was captivated. It was only the barest taste of what
was to come, but like pure heroin, was more than enough to get him addicted.
-
Inspirational_Art:_Bodyguard_Asami_and_Popstar_Akihito
Music:_Beneath_Your_Beautiful
 
***** Chapter 2 *****
The ride to the concert hall was quiet. Kirishima and Suoh rode up front, Asami
and Takaba rode in the back. Asami reviewed schematics. Takaba fiddled with his
new tablet. Every now and then the bodyguard felt the boy’s eyes on him,
curious, questioning. Asami never looked up. Takaba said nothing about his
outburst.
The limo pulled up at the back entrance and Takaba peeked out the windows. He
pointed out with an almost childish excitement, “Asami check it out! Its an old
church!”
That it was. With a giant steeple and a bell tower, a choir loft and multiple
entrances and exits. It was a security nightmare. Asami wanted to kill whoever
had booked the venue. It was a church, designed for the parishioners, clergy
and choir to all interact and come and go freely. To make it completely secure,
the entire thing would have to be practically rebuilt, with barricades to
separate the audience from the performer. The problem of course being that any
barricade tall and strong enough to be secure, would also have to be tall
enough that the first several rows would have almost no view of the performer.
Asami preferred concert halls with orchestra pits between the stage and the
audience. He also preferred locations where the audience was easier to monitor.
The church had dozens of balconies to the side and front. There was even
belfry, but those would be practically right over Takaba’s head. No way was he
letting anyone up there. Asami would have the stairs blocked off.
The boy’s eyes went big as he 'oohed' and 'aahed' excitedly over the gorgeous
hundred year old church. Asami scowled angrily as he looked at it. Sure it was
beautiful, but he was going to need at least twenty more men on crowd control
as well as dozens of temporary barricades. If most venues were like trying to
keep water out of a boat with a cracked hull, this was going to be like trying
to keep water out of a sieve. Hard, but not impossible. Not for him.
Despite his misgivings, the corner of Asami’s mouth tugged upwards as Takaba
ran forward and shouted up into the bell tower, “Hello!!!”
‘HellHellohellohellohe-’ echoed back down to his smiling face. His smile grew
even more radiant as he spun around, “This is awesome! This is like the coolest
place ever!”
Asami sighed and nodded but then a frown broke out across Takaba’s face, “The
acoustics are amazing, but they are all wrong for the setup we’ve got planned.
All wrong! Hey guys!” His voice faded as he turned and walked away towards the
sound techs. Within minutes he was fully engrossed in conversation. His entire
body was a part of it, from his expressive face to his hand gestures. Asami
turned to Kirishima. He swore under his breath, “This place is a fucking
nightmare. We need two dozen additional men and an extra hundred feet of
barricades. Get on it right away, have Suoh keep eyes on Takaba at all times.
Radios on. Im going to tour the facility.”
Kirishima was already dialing. He nodded as he put the phone to his ear, “Yes,
sir.”
Asami turned heel. The first floor was easy. It was clear of any obstructions
apart from the enormous stone pillars the supported the arched ceiling. The
pulpit was about four feet off the floor at the front of the church. The second
floor of the church was open except for rows of balconies that lined each side.
The views from all but the very closest balconies weren’t good. Asami had to
lean far out to see the whole stage. It was fine for listening to a preacher,
in which case a sleepy congregation might prefer to sit out of sight of the
clergyman but for a concert, these would definitely be the cheap seats. Asami
didn’t like it. A person could hide out of sight, with a gun and…. The
bodyguard’s jaw clenched. Any one of these balconies was a perfect sniper’s
perch. No one was coming up here during the concert. No one who truly wanted
the watch the concert would even want to.
Asami touched his earbud and spoke rapidly into it. There were multiple
entrances and exits to the balcony seating. They would all be locked, men
stationed at every access point. It would inherently block off the third floor,
but still. Asami walked down to the end of the balconies. There were two doors.
One swung open freely, it led back down to the floor level. The other was
difficult to open, the wood wedged in the frame from years of sitting. It was
obvious no one had been up there for a long time. He broke the handle trying to
get it open and then simply took the hinges off.
Dust floated in the shadows as he made his way up rickety wooden stairs. This
was not where the parishioners were meant to go. It lacked the beauty and
polish of the previous levels. This was simply the attic. Asami turned on heel
as he rotated slowly, scanning the room. There was something…. something not
right about it. The dust was thick, thick enough that whoever had come before
him had left footprints in it. And yet the door had been wedged shut. Sharp
golden eyes quickly assessed the attic space for other access points. There
were none.
Careful not to disturb the others footprints, he followed the steps to the
wall. There was a loose slat in the floor. Asami slid in carefully out of
place. He was looking down over the stage. He had a clear view of everything
from behind. The audience, the choir loft, the entire floor. Except for the
balconies, there was nothing out of view. This was the perfect sniper’s nest.
And that’s exactly what it was. The hairs prickled on the back of his neck and
he wheeled around. There was nothing. No one. But there had been. Someone had
been here. Someone who had been smoking. He caught the briefest hint of
nicotine in his nostrils as he moved.
Perhaps that was all it had been, a teen sneaking off to take a smoke break,
but it didn’t feel that way, and Asami always trusted his gut. He would have
Suoh patrol this room again, before the concert and post someone in front of
this door during. No one would go in or out without him knowing about it.
Takaba would be safe. He would make sure of it. The boy depended on him.
The bodyguard continued his tour of the building. The steps curved up and
around and around until he reached a large open belfry. The bell to call
parishioners into church sat long disused, but the view of the city was
incredible. On the lower levels, if he leaned in the right directions, he could
see the stage. This area would also be cordoned off. There was no reason for
anyone to be up here while Takaba was onstage. Barriers wouldn’t be enough.
They were movable, penetrable. He needed more men. Asami radioed the order to
Kirishima. He moved to sit in the back row of the choir loft. The sound
engineers were set up all around him, testing their equipment while one of the
back tracks to one of Takaba’s most popular songs played. The dancers moved in
sync with the gorgeous blond boy in the front. There were only four of them,
unlike his bigger concerts where there could twenty or more dancers, but Asami
recognized them as Takaba’s four favorites. There were three boys and one girl
named Momohara Ai. She did all the partner dances with Takaba. Asami watched
them sway together to the beat. Both were slender, blond, with big blue eyes,
delicate features. They looked enough alike that one might think they were
brother and sister if not for the sensuous way their legs interlocked. She was
a professional dancer, had been since she was a child and even though Takaba
was not, she made him look better than he was.
As the song climaxed, Takaba dipped the slender girl expertly, dropping her
nearly to the floor before pulling her back, spinning, into his arms. The other
three boys performed an energetic step dance behind them.
Golden eyes fixed on the boy’s face as he smiled radiantly, triumphant over his
mastery of a difficult dance move. The older man's gaze locked on the sway of
his hips like a bloodhound catching a scent. Even despite the somewhat more
modest clothing he had changed into, the jeans he wore still molded to his
bottom sinfully. Asami’s jaw flexed and unflexed as his hands did the same,
imagining soft skin and plump flesh rolling beneath his fingertips. He was old
enough to be the boy's father, but that did little to stop him from imagining
all the filthy things he wanted to do to Takaba's perfect body and luscious
mouth.
His radioset buzzed in his ear, jolting him from his lustful thoughts. It was
Kirishima letting him know that he had acquired an additional seventeen
security guards. Asami mentally counted all the access points. Seventeen plus
the twelve he had already, plus the three of them. It was enough to cover every
entrance and exit, plus to station four in the balconies, one in the belfry,
one in the attic space, leaving Kirishima, Suoh and Asami to patrol the stage.
Suoh would be in front of the stage, Kirishima and himself on either sides. He
would never be more than four paces from Takaba’s side. Two seconds. But then,
anything could happen in two seconds.
Anything at all.
Asami rolled his left shoulder in memory and felt the ache of an old bullet
wound as he stood to his full height.
Takaba’s eyes caught on him like a snag in fabric and he stopped for a moment.
Innocent, open blue gazed into a wall of impenetrable amber. Seconds ticked by,
until one of the dancers moved in between them and they jolted apart. Takaba
turned away as if it had never happened, smoothly continuing a conversation
with one of the sound techs. Asami walked to the side of the stage, turned,
paced it off to confirm his previous assessment of the width and then vaulted
down to stand next to Kirishima.
The bespectacled man looked between Asami and the popstar before speaking low,
“What was that?”
Asami jerked his head as though a fly had buzzed his ear and shook it, “Nothing
of importance.”
“Hmm.”
He didn’t sound convinced. Asami looked at him sharply and his righthand man
was smart enough to change the subject.
“The event starts at nine tonight. Doors open at eight for a buffet beforehand.
Afterwards, to open the concert, there will be a speech by the head of the
Children’s Hospital thanking Takaba and the donors. $10,000 a head, its what
they are charging to get in the door.”
The bodyguard's dark brows arched in surprise. Kirishima shrugged, “Its a tax
write-off. Plus, after the concert, Takaba is giving autographs and taking
pictures with all the attendees. People want to see him, they want to get close
to him.”
Asami knew the feeling. He nodded, “How many tickets have been sold?”
“Around a hundred and fifty. Its a small venue. But like all concerts, the
names of the ticket purchasers were automatically compiled into a ledger and
run against criminal databases.”
“Anything?”
“No. Nothing of note. Its all wealthy donors. I’m assuming a bunch of rich
housewives and prep school brats. A few personal bodyguards requested clearance
but I denied it. We handle security in the event, they can handle it outside.”
Asami grunted in agreement. The last thing they needed was a novice with a
pistol and a self-inflated view of their own abilities getting excited and
causing a panic. With the growth of a culture of celebrity worship, it had
become less of an ugly necessity and more a status symbol to have a bodyguard.
There were dozens of firms specializing in nothing more than renting out
statuesque men to follow suburban housewives around while they did their
shopping. There was a lot more to being a bodyguard though, than nicely filling
out a three piece suit. Asami squared his broad shoulders irritably. Damn
rookies were more likely to get their clients shot than keep them from being
shot.
His eyes gravitated back to his own client. The boy had his head thrown back,
laughing joyfully.
One might say protecting a popstar was less important, in the scheme of things,
than protecting a President. Perhaps they were right. But there was no
politician in the world as DESERVING of protection as Takaba was. He was
innocent in the way men of power never were. There was always blood on their
hands, even if it often looked only like ink on their fingers. Those who wanted
to kill them often had reasons, good ones, for trying. There were some clients
that Asami himself had even questioned whether he should be protecting them
from the public, or handing them over.
Not Takaba. Not him. He was pure. That merited the most zealous protection. If
Asami died taking a bullet for him, he would be proud to do so. Honored.
The rest of the afternoon was spent watching Takaba and his dancers rehearse.
They were at it until noonish, had a break for pizza and then Takaba spent
another two hours tweaking the sound to adjust to the unique acoustics of the
old cathedral. Asami and his men were simply shadows in the background. Ever
watchful, but ever silent.
One of the things Hollywood forgot to mention about being a bodyguard is that
largely, it was incredibly boring. Most of his time was spent idle. It was a
lot like being an anesthesiologist sitting in the corner of the operating room
just watching the action and listening to a heartbeat. Thud-thud-thud in your
ear. Deadly dull. When things went right, he was just about as useful as heart
surgeon in a crematorium. Of course, in that small sliver of time, when things
go wrong, there was no one more important in the room, and no one else you
wanted to have at your side. When the steady walk of a thud-thud-thud turned
into a pitter-patter of a run or worse, radio silence, that was when 99% of an
anesthesiologist’s skills came into play. The bulk of their training was only
needed 1% of the time. But in that moment, they were the only ones that
mattered in the operating room at all.
The importance of listening to that heartbeat though, was paramount, like
having your fingers on the pulse point. You were the first to know when things
began to go wrong. Being a bodyguard, a shadow on the wall, in the back of a
room, paying attention to everything, was just like that.
Which is why, incidentally, Asami was always the first to notice when Akihito
yawned. When his voice cracked. When his steps stumbled.
The boy was tired. He needed to rest.
Asami stood, smoothed his suit coat and stepped out of the shadows. He walked
calmly to the front of the stage and stood there expectantly with his hands
folded in front of him. Takaba moved towards him like he was drawn by a magnet
and then flopped down, dangling his long legs over the side of the stage.
“Whats up big guy?”
His voice sounded scratchy. Asami turned, picked up a water bottle and handed
it to him. Takaba’s eyes lit up and he drank thirstily, spilling a bead of
water that trickled down the column of his pale neck to rest in the hollow of
his collarbone. Asami wanted to lick it off.
He looked pointedly forward, “You’re tired. You need to rest in order to be at
your best for tonight. I’ll have the limo pulled around.”
He left no room for argument. It was effective. Takaba looked confused and
bewildered, then nodded shyly, “Ok.”
Asami confirmed, “Ok.”
He stood with his legs braced wide as Takaba wrapped things up and then,
without thinking, held up his hand to help the boy down off the stage. His skin
was soft, warm and moist against Asami’s when he allowed the bodyguard to take
some of his weight as he jumped down to the floor. It left an imprint on his
fingers. Asami rubbed them together, savoring it, as he and Kirishima flanked
the boy. Suoh followed them from behind, covering him from all angles as they
crossed a narrow strip of open air and sunlight on their way to the car.
Kirishima opened the door, Asami protected his back as he slipped into the limo
behind him. They were in motion moments later and the bodyguard’s large body
slowly uncoiled
Takaba yawned beside him and flopped down sideways on the leather. His jeans
rode low, baring his back and the swell of his bottom. Asami averted his eyes
to the street.
The boy yawned once and then again and his eyelids drifted closed as he
murmured, “You were right, I am tired. You’re always right. Why is that?”
“Because I pay attention to you.”
The last two words were unintentional. He hadn’t meant to say them. He
swallowed hard, as if trying to swallow them back, but it was too late.
Takaba smiled sleepily, “Thank you Asami.”
The professional response would have been to say, ‘Its my job,’ but that would
have erected a barrier between them and reminded Takaba of the inherent wall
between an employer and an employee. Asami was an expert at erecting walls. But
in this case, with this boy, he wanted them around him, but not between them.
Yes, all around Takaba, high, safe, impenetrable, keeping him in and everyone
else out.... Everyone, except Asami.
So the bodyguard swallowed the safe response and said instead, the truth.
“Its my pleasure.”
-
Satellite
***** Chapter 3 *****
Asami allowed Kirishima and Suoh to handle the briefing of the other security
guards. He made sure they understood the liability of the second floor, attic
space and belfry. All access points had to be secure.
Asami stayed with Takaba, watching over him as he slept. Not literally, as much
as he would have enjoyed it, but figuratively, from his office. Takaba had
approved security cameras to be installed everywhere but his bedroom. So all
Asami could do was watching the empty security feeds and imagine Takaba
stripped down to his tight little boxers, his lithe body spread out on the bed,
limp, helpless, sleeping. Hnnh. Asami palmed the growing bulge in his suitpants
and stood.
He worked out then, sweated out his stress and his lust, and was almost feeling
mellow when Takaba finally emerged around seven.
The boy stretched languidly, arched his back and clapped his hands, “I am so
pumped! This is going to be so much fun!”
Asami smiled at his enthusiasm even as he felt his vessels constrict with the
tension of war. And it was war; him versus the World. His guns were oiled and
loaded, resting heavy at his sides under his uniform. The three piece suits
were certainly more stylish than military fatigues but they served the same
purpose; to help him blend in. He wore black to blend into the shadows. Takaba
wore white to stand out. His golden hair gleamed like a halo as the night
around them exploded in a firework of flashbulbs, with the paparazzi screaming
questions and the fans just plain screaming.
“Aki-chan! Aki-chan!!!”
Asami’s eyes narrowed at the overly familiar way they chanted Takaba’s name,
like they thought they knew him, but no one could see the anger behind his
mirrored shades. Mirrored, but not tinted, the shades he wore weren’t
sunglasses. They were tools to prevent hostiles from knowing where he was
looking and served to give him the upper hand. Sometimes an extra second or two
meant everything.
Takaba, to his credit, smiled and waved cheerfully. There was a bit of a
tenseness to his smile though, that only one who spent his life watching him
would pick up on. It was too loud out here. Too much. He needed to get the boy
out of this clusterfuck and into the safety of the cathedral. He spoke low into
his headset and then he and his men then pulled the noose tight, closing Takaba
in, protecting him from the crowd, thwarting the paparazzi and herding him into
back of the church. Asami pulled the door closed behind them and locked it.
It was quiet in there and the boy visibly relaxed the moment he saw his crew
waiting for him; his dancers, his audio techs, his friends Kou and Takato.
Suddenly the young boy was gone and the popstar was ready to perform. A few
last minute checks and he was on his way. His lean legs pumped him up the steps
and onto the stage, followed by his crew.
“Hello everybody! You ready to hear some music?!!!”
The crowd screamed and Takaba held the mic out to let them pick the songs. It
was a trick he did on smaller venues, not quite honest, but not really a lie
either. They already had the set picked out but inevitably, the someone in the
crowd would scream out the next song and Takaba would go with it like the
audience was the one picking the music. It was a game they played and it made
the smaller concerts feel even that much more intimate. It was smart. He was a
good entertainer.
Asami stood in the shadows at the side of the stage. Kirishima stood on the
other side. Suoh was at the front. Asami was closest.
He was always closest.
The truth was, as much as he trusted the other bodyguards, he didn’t fully
trust anyone who wasn’t himself. In the end, human beings were animals and the
purest, most base desire of every animal was to live. When it came down to it,
Asami didn’t trust anyone to run into the line of fire instead of away.
He didn’t trust anyone else to be as careful as he was with his boy and he
certainly didn’t trust anyone else to take a bullet for him.
So he stood in the shadows, just four paces away, and he watched, and he
waited, in case Takaba needed him.
The music was loud and pulsing. Takaba’s voice was powerful, beautiful and it
washed over them all like pure, ocean waves. He was one of very few singers
that sounded just as good live as he did on a record. The audience screamed and
reached for him, but they couldn't get to him. They couldn’t touch him. Asami
had made sure of that. Asami decided who touched him and who didn’t.
Behind mirrored lenses he watched them. He saw faces of pain and joy and
ecstasy, but what he was looking for was anger. He saw none of that. He could
see the security forces moving in the the dark shadows of the balconies. He
knew them by the bright yellow lettering on their shirts. Unlike himself, they
weren’t meant to blend in. They were meant to stand out and remind unruly
crowds to play nice. His mind drifted back to the attic space and the scent of
nicotine and the loose panel. It would have been back behind them a bit, just
overhead. The bodyguard’s eyes drifted behind mirrored lenses and he had to
shift slightly to see, but there it was; a dark patch in the ceiling where a
board should have been, but wasn’t.
Asami frowned in concentration, he had put the slat back in position, hadn’t
he? He couldn’t remember. It certainly wasn’t there now.
There was something else there now. Something that glittered. Something that
reflected light. Something metallic.
Like the barrel of a gun.
Asami was moving well before the shots were fired.
Bullets sprayed across the stage, striking the dancers. Their screams were
loud, but then so was the music.
The large bodyguard hit Takaba with all the force of a linebacker taking down a
running back.
He knocked the breath out of him, caring nothing about his comfort and
everything about his survival. They fell through the air with Asami twisting to
end up with the boy’s body pinned beneath him and the floor. Takaba’s eyes were
wide with shock as he gasped painfully from being hit by Asami’s body but then
more air was stolen from him by the impact of the bullets hitting Asami’s back.
They felt them in tandem, their bodies so close as to be one as the impact of
the repeated shots jarred them. THUD-THUD-THUD. Asami grunted in pain with each
shot as he tucked his head and pressed Takaba beneath him, encasing him fully
with his own large frame.
It was like being beaten with a baseball bat swung at full speed at his ribs.
The Kevlar body armor he was wearing prevented the bullets from penetrating by
dissipating the force over a larger area, but every bit of their momentum was
still absorbed by Asami’s bones. He could feel his ribs crack from the force
and the pain was like fire, but his brain filed it away as information to be
reviewed later when the epinephrine wore off.
Now, the only thing Asami was focused on was getting Takaba to safety. Keeping
his much larger torso between the tiny blond and the shooter, he hauled the boy
up into his arms and ran forward in a full sprint towards the cover of the
stairs. He was vaguely aware of screaming and additional shots being fired.
The wet sound of some of those shots connecting with human flesh.
A woman’s muffled cry of pain.
The smell of gunpowder.
Blood spraying as bodies fell.
But it was all overridden by the feeling of Takaba trembling in his arms.
Swinging down into the safety of the dark stairwell, he placed him on the
ground. Takaba’s face was pale. There were streaks of blood on his cheek. Asami
frantically felt his face, his forehead, pulling his hair forward and checking
the back of his skull, his temples, his neck. Takaba let Asami pull and jerk on
him like a doll, squeezing his arms and legs and yanking his shirt off to make
sure the blood that covered him was not his. Takaba was fine. He was unhurt. He
was bruised and shaken, but he hadn’t been hit by a single bullet. He was
alive.
Takaba was panting, his chest heaving as his teeth juddered inside his skull,
“As-Asami. Momo. Momo. She-” His voice broke and Asami suddenly realized whose
blood covered the boy’s delicate features. He held him close, pressing the
boy’s face into his shoulder and rocking him slowly, “I know. I know. I know.
Just breathe.”
He barked into his headset, “Kirishima! Suoh! Report!”
“Suspect surrounded. Cornered. Preparing to apprehend.”
Asami’s teeth ground, “No.”
Kirishima sounded confused, “No?”
“No trial. No circus. End it.”
His subordinate understood the hidden order instantly, “Yes sir.”
Asami held the boy in his arms as he waited for his orders to be carried out.
This was war. There were no trials in war. No interviews, no press, no curious
spectators turning violence into a sport and reporters trying to dissect
whatever hate-filled reason the man had for opening fire in a crowded concert
hall. If the shooter was arrested, the trial would consist of months of Takaba
being forced to relive the terror of this night over and over. No. It would be
an easy, simple thing for Kirishima to say that the shooter pointed his gun at
him.
Easy to pull the trigger and end it here and now. To do his job and in war, the
job didn’t end until the bad guys were dead. He never understood the concept of
letting the villain see another day. He never respected so-called heros who let
their enemies walk away in handcuffs. Evil was never defeated until its blood
was wiped from the face of the earth.
The bodyguard buried his nose in soft blond hair. It smelled like mint. He had
to take slow, shallow breaths. His ribs were on fire. He ignored it. Takaba was
beginning to hyperventilate. His trembling was increasing. He was going into
shock. Asami tipped his head back and forced Takaba to make eye contact with
him. His large hands cupped his cheeks and his fingers dug into the back of his
skull as he held his head in his hands. Blue eyes were filled with tears,
glimmering in the low light like diamonds as they shuddered and began to roll
down his white cheeks. Takaba clutched as him, wanting comfort and softness
from Asami.
But Takaba was softness.
He was soft and sweet and kind and gentle. He was like a kitten that rolled to
show you its soft little belly without any concept of the harm you could do to
it should you so chose. No, what Takaba needed was not more softness to wrap
around his own. What Takaba needed was hardness to push against, something to
shield and protect him. He needed steel and stone.
Asami gritted his teeth as the boy choked and sobbed, barely able to breathe
for his shock and grief. “Stop crying,” the bodyguard growled angrily.
The boy jolted, his wet lashes flew wide and he immediately stopped breathing.
His eyes fluttered as he struggled to gain control of himself. His chest
rippled but failed to take in air.
“Breathe,” Asami ordered.
Takaba’s body shuddered and then did as Asami bid it. He took one deep breath,
but then stopped with it inside him.
“You are going to take deep breaths, one after another, and then you are going
to stand up. Do you understand me?”
His tone was harsh and left no room for argument. Takaba’s head jerked in the
pantomime of a nod as he obeyed. He began to breath again, slow and steady, his
eyes never drifting from Asami’s face as he searched for confirmation that he
was doing well. He stood then, when Asami’s help and on his order, put one foot
in front of the other. He was like a puppet, with Asami pulling the strings.
Asami led him to the exit, but before leading him outside, he took the boy’s
face and wiped every trace of a tear off of it. He’d be damned if tomorrow’s
headline featured a picture of Takaba’s shattered expression, his face covered
with tears.
“Clench your jaw,” he ordered him and Takaba immediately did as he asked.
“Brows down.”
The boy immediately frowned. Now his face look hard, angry, determined and
unbeaten. Yes, Asami thought in satisfaction, thats it.
He threw his suitcoat over the boy’s head as added precaution then opened the
door, to the bright flaring lights of cameras and photographers screaming for
answers. Like sharks, they smelled blood in the water and knew a story was
close at hand.
His arm tucked solidly around Takaba’s back, his coat thrown over the boy’s
head, the giant bodyguard pressed them both out into the night. His free hand
he kept outstretched to push the photographers and reporters out of his path.
One overly exuberant paparazzi rushed in front of them, his camera angled up so
that he could flash the bulb right in Takaba’s face. All he caught was Asami’s
massive fist as it moved to grab his camera and crush it into pieces. Asami
shoved his mangled camera back in his face as they brushed past and Asami
pushed Takaba’s head down into the limo. It was doubtful any of the
photographers had caught a glimpse of his face from the way Asami had bundled
him up and rushed past, but even if they had, Takaba still held the stony
expression Asami had ordered him to.
“Good boy,” he praised as the limo began to roll and Takaba’s mask finally
broke. His face crumpled then and he gasped as he threw himself into Asami’s
chest. The big man was uncomfortable but he did not push him away. His arm
closed about the boy’s slender shoulders, wrapping about his trembling body as
a reminder of the hardness that stood between him and the world. Asami was
there and he wasn’t going anywhere.
“W-why? Why? Who would- I don’t understand, why?”
Asami looked down at him dispassionately, “There is no reason. Birds fly, fish
swim, rabid dogs bite. Killers kill. There doesn’t have to be a reason.”
“But it goes against, everything… to kill innocent people…”
“Animals get sick Takaba, in their minds and bodies. Human beings are just
animals in the end. Sometimes, like rabid dogs, they need to be put down, for
the good of everyone else. He’s been put down, you don’t need to think about
him anymore.”
“How, do you know that?”
The boy’s eyes were wide, the irises dark, the whites shiny as Asami looked
calmly down into them, “I just do.”
He didn’t elaborate and Takaba didn’t press. He answered phone call after phone
call from his men as they cleaned up the mess and handled the police. The
investigators wanted to speak with Takaba himself, but Asami was having none of
it. They said nothing more until Takaba was tucked safely away in the
penthouse. Asami took him to the bedroom and sat him down on the bed. He
shrugged off his suitcoat, but left his shoulder holsters on. His guns gleamed
in the low lights. Takaba stared at him, desolately hopeful, as if unsure
whether Asami himself was a savior or a killer.
Asami left him sitting there. He moved to his office and pulled a bottle of
whiskey from the lower drawer along with two shot glasses. When he returned,
Takaba was just as he had left him, siting like a doll with the strings cut.
The older man poured two fingers full of whiskey into the glasses, he handed
one to Takaba.
“Drink it.”
The boy protested then. He hated hard liquor. Asami didn’t particularly care.
“No, I don’t want it-”
“Drink it.”
Takaba hesitated for but a moment and then tossed the shot back. Asami watched
as his pale throat struggled with the fiery liquid. The boy gasped then,
holding trembling fingers to his mouth as the empty glass rattled in his other
hand. Asami replaced it with the second shot glass.
“Another,” Asami ordered.
The boy did as he was told. The second shot seemed a bit easier. Takaba
clutched at his belly when it was done. Asami knew it ached and burned with the
whiskey inside. It would soon fade and be replaced by soothing, sleepy
numbness.
“Take your clothes off Takaba.”
The boy stood then. He removed his jewelry first, the necklace with a metal
cross heated from his skin. He laid it by his bedside table, shrugged off his
shirt, his pants and then his boxers, without a thought. His backside was a
pale, perfect heart, the skin above and below tanned. He turned and the
bodyguard could see his cock, small, flaccid and pink between soft white
thighs. He looked at Asami, unconscious of his own naked beauty as he waited to
be told what to do. Asami cleared his throat, “Get in bed.”
The boy did as he was bid. Asami moved to loom over him. He fixed his intense,
amber eyes on the boy, “You will to go to sleep now. You won’t wake. You won’t
have nightmares.”
He would be obeyed, he would stay to make sure. He flicked the light off,
plunging the room into darkness before the Takaba could say a word. He settled
himself across the room in a large leather armchair with a table set before it.
He tapped out a cigarette, lit the end, and took a long inhale, before a slow
exhale. His ribcage burned as he removed his Kevlar vest. The porcelain plates
were broken and it was possible that some of his ribs were too. They burned
like fire with every breath, but Asami knew there was nothing for it but time.
He could sense the boy’s silent confusion. He didn’t have to wait long.
“Y-you aren’t leaving?”
“No.”
“You’ll stay? All night?”
“Yes.”
“You won’t leave me?”
“Never.”
On that, the boy was silenced. Asami settled his cigarette between his lips and
removed both guns from his shoulder holsters, the one from his back, the one
from his ankle. Confident of his weapons, even in the dark, he cleared the
chambers and took them apart. He cleaned and oiled them gently, lovingly, as a
Master cares for the things he values most.
Asami’s presence was heavy and enormous and comforting, he kept the room too
full for demons to enter. Takaba fell asleep with the soothing scent of
Dunhills in his nose, and the sound of metal sliding past metal; the
bodyguard's lullaby.
-
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