For better or for worse, Asami had

For better or for worse, Asami had had to tighten the reins on his pawns for six months. Control. It was all about control. Or so he had thought.

Had he been wrong? Did the leash he kept on Akihito snap from the tension, Akihito pulling to hard to one side, he to the other?

Asami chuckled at himself as the car rolled out of the mansion driveway.

Maybe that leash had gone the other way. The collar around him, control in Akihito's hand. Maybe Akihito had simply let go.

Asami leaned back and closed his eyes; no doubt he still craved Akihito. Akihito was a drug to him and still he suffered from withdrawal. He yearned to brush his hand through that chestnut hair, to caress the ivory skin, savor the smell of fixer and soap that mingled exquisitely.

Takaba sat at the edge of Gyles' bed, the mug warm in his cold hands. He watched the tea leaves stuck to the bottom of the empty cup, frozen in their dance as vapor still rose from it and swirled then disintegrated into the air, living its short lived existence.

Gyles was turning the empty pill bottle over and over in his hand with his thumb and index. A chair was pulled up so that he could sit face to face with Takaba. The silence was heavy and thick, dripping nervously like molasses.

He finally broke the silence with a dreaded question.

"When did it start?"

Takaba couldn't bring himself to face Gyles, too ashamed. "About… two years ago…" he licked his dry and cracked lips with the tip of his wet tongue, expecting some sort of blow-out from Gyles, but it didn't come.

"When you moved, right? To here, to London."

A subtle nod.

"And… the insomnia? Have you sleeping well lately?"

How… Takaba's eyes widened in shock as he raised his head. How had he known?

"Didn't think I would notice?"

He shook his head slowly…I never thought you'd be looking…

"I can't help but look at you, watch you. Everything subtle becomes frighteningly clear when you look as look as hard and as intensely as I do," he reached out and caressed Takaba's cheek, "and when I watch you dying from the inside like this… I can't…I can't just let it go…"

Dying from the inside… am I still dying? Didn't I do that a long time ago? No, Gyles… this is decay. I've been dead for so long…

"Just get some rest for now, alright?" Gyles stood up and put the chair back to its place.

Takaba didn't move from his position, the mug still clutched in his hand. "Gyles?"

"Yes?"

"Kiss me."

He turned abruptly to see a pair of intense, fiery intense eyes looking up at him. They were too serious, too honest, too genuine to ignore.

"Sei…" he kneeled with one knee before Takaba and held him gingerly by the arms as if they might bruise if he held on too hard, "You don't have to-"

That's not it. I need to know for myself, Gyles… that I might have even the slightest chance of forgetting him…Revive me… bring me back…

"Kiss me. I want to know…"

If that's what you wish…Gyles' hand crept up behind Takaba's neck into the black strands of hair.

"As you wish, my love."

The empty mug dropped with a dull thud onto the wooden floor, rolling away to a slow stop.

The view outside of London was such a contrast to Tokyo's. The gray clouds had sunk and settled over the city, looming ominously over the white roof tops and unused chimneys, letting down a thin layer of white puffy flakes. Looking down, he could only see the tops of people's heads, brown, black, blond, red, and an occasional man rushing down the street with a briefcase, running like the rabbit in Alice's Wonderland, undoubtedly late for some important event.

Even in this weather, the view, the juxtaposition of the new and the old structures was breathtaking. Here, concrete monsters did not compete for height; it was not a civilized rainforest, each and every steel and glassy structure striving toward the canopy for superiority and sunlight, overshadowing all else. Here, buildings were a function of both aesthetics and function.

From where he stood near the balcony, a trail of watery footsteps could be traced back to the bathroom. A large white towel was wrapped around his waist, revealing a body that was sculpted beyond perfection. Michelangelo would have risen from his grave to see this particular specimen. The deltoids of his shoulders, the triceps and the biceps of his arms, his pectorals of his chest, the obliques and even the ridges across his abdomen, they were all defined, firm, and taut, steel cables disguised under human skin.

Asami finished what was left of his conversation and hung up, wiping the cellphone, which was wet from his ears, on the towel wrapped around his waist.

Tokyo was still Tokyo; minor events could be handled with or without his presence. He trusted his men to be capable enough.

He took one last look at the view outside before tossing the phone onto the plush bed. The covers were twisted and tangled, evidence of a hectic sleeping pattern. And to think that he used to sleep so well before. Nowadays Asami forced himself to sleep, inducing it with heavy exercise during the day. He refused to resort to "unnatural" means, as he liked to call them.

The suite was decorated in the heavy Louis XVI style, antique furniture with gold leaves and embroidered yellow and peach curtains that hung lavishly, held aside with plaited cords. He wasn't particularly fond of such traditional luxuries (they cluttered the room in his opinion), leaning more toward the modern, contemporary styles, but it didn't really matter. It was the service, the staff per guest ratio, that counted. Sometimes, it was having the right men under you that mattered.

Asami walked into the closet. Some of the clothes were hanging in plastic bags on wooden hangers, unopened since its arrival from the dry-cleaners. He picked out a pair of clean, pressed black pants, no need to look fancy for the photograph exhibit in the afternoon. He pulled the leather belt through the loops, almost missing the loop behind his back but catching before he made a fool of himself. It would not do to ridicule himself with such trivial matters.

There was not a single wrinkle on the clean white shirt, the collars stiff and straight as he buttoned it downwards. Meanwhile, he went through the day's plan. First, he had a morning conference with two high ranking members of the Met; it was always useful to have allies in the police force. At noon, he had lunch with some up and coming politician who had influence over some of the back and forth movement between England and Spain. Afterwards, he would head to the photo gallery. It wasn't a hectic schedule, much more relaxed than in Tokyo. To Asami, this could very well be considered more of a vacation than a business trip.