Title: Deviation
By: write_error

Characters: Asami, Takaba (and Takaba's denial). Set before Hong Kong.

Rating: M, because anything with Asami in it probably should be M - even moreso if it's Asami from Takaba's perspective.

Warnings/Spoilers: No real spoilers, high crack content, all the warnings one might assume when dealing with these two.

Disclaimer: I obviously don't own anything, characters belong to Yamane-sensei.


When Takaba opened the door, Asami was standing in the hall wearing a white lab-coat. A stethoscope hung from around his neck.

It took a moment for Takaba's brain to put the image together with the concept, because every cell in his body struggled with denial. He could absorb the facts separately: Asami was at his door, check. A doctor was at his door, check. But when the two facts attempted to coalesce into a single idea - into "Dr. Asami is at my door" - something inside Takaba's soul emitted a tiny whimper and then succumbed to a painful death.

"No. No fucking way," Akihito groaned, head aching as he moved to close the door - he had to block out the terrifying image. "Please leave. There is no such thing as a door-to-door doctor." He coughed, weakly. Just when he'd thought it wasn't possible to feel any worse...

Asami raised an eyebrow before placing his hand on the doorframe. He leaned in, close enough for Takaba to smell his aftershave.

"You have the wrong apartment," Takaba persisted as he tried to maintain a protective distance. "No such number." He grit his teeth. "No speeku Japanesu," he enunciated in careful pidgin. Any second now and the door would be closed, without making any sudden movements. . .

Too late. Asami caught the door just before it clicked shut. Takaba cursed softly under his breath, wishing his muscles would work properly so he could actually hold the damned thing closed.

"Idiot. You've heard of house-calls, haven't you? You're sick," Asami drawled. He wedged the door open with his expensive shoe. "I'm here to diagnose you." He crossed his arms as he surveyed a wilting Takaba, wearing equally wilted pyjamas.

"Drop your pants," Asami commanded, almost as an afterthought.

Takaba's jaw dropped instead. No sound escaped.

There was something distinctly weird about the situation, and Takaba knew it could have nothing to do with him. He was normal, after all. A completely normal guy, who would have been sniffling under the covers in a completely normal way, If it weren't for the seriously disturbing man who was currently backing him into his apartment.

It was Asami. Big, scary Asami was bad enough under normal circumstances - but whatever he was trying to pull now was completely outside of Takaba's frame of reference. Being Asami, Takaba suspected that there were plans to put something up his ass that ought not to be there.

Takaba eyed the stethoscope warily, but then noticed with some horror that Asami was actually carrying a large leather doctor's bag. It was the size of a carry-on. His blood ran cold at the thought of what might be inside.

If Asami pulled on a pair of latex gloves with loud snapping noises, this would officially be the worst day of Akihito's life thus far.

"No. Oh, hell no-" Takaba managed to utter through his mounting panic. Then, Asami planted a palm on his chest and pushed him slowly into the apartment. Already a bit dizzy, Takaba lost his balance and landed on his rear on the floor, breath knocked out of him. He gasped and then doubled over in a paroxysm of coughing.

"You're coughing," Asami observed, like some kind of diagnostic genius. He locked the door behind him and removed his shoes.

"Gee, thanks!" Takaba exploded, confusion rapidly evolving into anger. He sat up, and glared at Asami with blood-shot eyes. "That's what happens when people have colds!"

Asami smirked. "Let me take care of you."

Takaba paled at the sound of that too-smooth voice. "You're not a doctor - you put people in the hospital. Ugh!" He grabbed his head in both hands, and tried really hard not to feel sorry for himself.

"Of course I'm a doctor," Asami informed Takaba, slinging him over his shoulder and heading to the bedroom. "I can show you my certification. It's from the University of Bermuda. It even has a seal with a snake wrapped around a staff. You know, the snake is kind of cute - and it's position reminds me of what you're usually doing when you're trying to tell me you're not hungry for my-"

"What about the hippocampal oath!" Takaba yelled suddenly, eager to interrupt whatever horrible image Asami was about to share. His feet kicked wildly behind him as he tried to catch Asami in the face with his heel. "You're harming me - it's against the rules!"

"Ah." Asami was amused... at least, he sounded that way. Takaba's field of vision was filled with the back of Asami's white coat, so he couldn't get visual confirmation. "I think you mean the Hippocratic oath. With my qualifications, I can tell you that the hippocampus is unrelated to the oath thing."

"For the love of - you know the one I mean! There are ethics when you're a doctor. You may have heard of them, even if you don't have any. It's that oath-"

"I prefer to think of it as a loose guideline. No one likes a pedant, Akihito." Takaba yelped as Asami's palm met his bottom in a sharp smack.

"I -hate- you," Takaba uttered choppily as Asami's shoulder dug into his diaphragm with each step. He was still trying to figure out how he came to be upside down, and next, why he was suddenly flying through the air.

And landing on his bed.

Oh, shit, he thought to himself foggily as he sat up. Asami + self + bed = Serious situation. This was not good.

The sound of a zipper opening jolted Takaba away from this realization, and he could only sit there silently as those narrow, unknowable eyes trapped his.

Asami stood at the side of the bed where Takaba was sitting. His hot fingers slid into Takaba's hair, and the slick metal of the cold belt buckle slid down against Takaba's cheek.

"Now, let's examine your throat," Asami said, tugging himself free of his perfectly cut trousers. His voice had become a dark rumble that Takaba could feel down to his bones. It was almost hypnotic.

"But-"

"If you behave, I'll take your temperature later." The smile in Asami's voice made alarm bells go off in Takaba's head. "The proper way. We both know you love that."

"Oh my god," Takaba's eyes widened. His face felt like it was on fire. "What the-"

"Shush," Asami murmured. His fingers traced over Akihito's cheekbones, before pulling his face closer, easing a thumb between his lips.

Akihito felt dizzy and confused, and hell if he could figure out why he was drawing Asami's thumb into his mouth and sucking the salt off of his skin. He closed his eyes, and the thumb was gone. Now, his lips now pressed against something far hotter. He found himself nuzzling that heavy warmth against all his better judgement. Takaba's breath quickened.

"Mm," Asami murmured, cradling Takaba's head in one hand. "Now open wide, and say 'Aaaaah.'"

Takaba moaned as Asami's heat parted his lips, and slid against his tongue. He let out a muffled sound as Asami eased inexorably forward, filling his mouth to discomfort with hard, overheated flesh, before slowly pulling back. His fingers clenched in Akihito's hair to prevent him from following.

Takaba moaned, seemingly unable to stop himself. Slowly, he slipped out of his loose-fitting pajama bottoms and kicked them off the bed. Then he shoved Asami's restraining hand away, and leaned forward, knees spread. The cool cotton sheets stroked up the length of his own sex as he leaned further, rubbing his face against Asami's cock.

Takaba felt his fever rise by several degrees.

He gave his own penis one firm stroke before releasing it to brace his palm against the mattress, steadying himself with the other hand on Asami's hip. He rubbed himself once more against the rapidly warming sheet beneath him, lips parted, tongue seeking, his head full of the man's scent...

Takaba figured that the fever and the weird behaviour could only mean one thing: he was seriously ill, so this didn't count as anything at all. And Asami, he decided, was a total bastard who would definitely, without compunction, take advantage of someone's weakened state as they struggled against some viral contagion.

Asami's fingers curled approvingly against his scalp as Takaba's damp mouth slid up the underside of his erection. Takaba lingered, feeling the pulsing warmth with his sensitive lips, getting the silky skin quite thoroughly wet. His eyes fluttered shut again as he extended his tongue to tease and lap at the head, still gleaming with his saliva. A clear drop of lubrication filled his mouth with Asami's flavour. He moaned and changed his angle of approach, sucking briefly at the hard ridge of the underside, teeth grazing, tongue licking. His hips were moving without his conscious will, grinding his needy cock into the mattress...

Definitely. Seriously. Ill.

"Mmm. You can be such a good boy," Asami rumbled. His firm hand moved to the base of Takaba's skull. "If baby's going to be this well-behaved..."

Akihito's breath caught in his throat. Asami now gripped the base of his thick erection, and was rubbing it slowly over the sweat-dampened skin of Takaba's cheek - over his wet, quivering lips.

"And if you take every bit of your medicine without complaint..."

Akihito moaned. Oh god I am so sick and I cannot be blamed, he thought through his delirium. Gimme.

"Doctor will let you have a nice milkshake afterwards." That dark-edged growl made Akihito's cock twitch. "You'd like that, wouldn't you?"

Akihito swallowed, and then Asami's fingers were on his jaw, easing his mouth open, pressing the head of his arousal against the flat of Akihito's tongue. Too big - was he always this big? Akihito panicked, even as his cheeks hollowed, tongue flattening against the underside of Asami's cock.

"Now, open up wide for me," Asami hissed through his teeth, pressing forward. "You have to take all of this."

Helpless with desire, Akihito closed his eyes, relaxed his jaw, and did exactly as his doctor ordered.


"AAAGGGHGHH!"

Takaba jolts upright in his bed before he's even stopped yelling. He's soaked to the skin in his own cooling sweat, and his head feels like it's five times its normal size. Any attempts to move it are met with extreme pain.

But it's really not the pain that Takaba's worrying about at that particular moment in time. It's the fact that, no matter how he squints at the sheets in front of him, there is no denying it. He's pitching a tent.

A tent that's almost... at the point where it ceases to be a tent.

And it's all because of some scary-ass dream in which Asami is playing doctor, carrying a bag of possible torture equipment, and coercing Takaba into sucking him off...

Not that it really took much coercion...

"Nooo," he whimpers, flopping back into his damp sheets with an expression of sheer disbelief. He's not sure whether to be irritated that he woke up right when it was getting... even more wrong, or if he should be terrified that such a thing manifested out of his own mind in the first place. "What the - that was so... So..."

So Asami, he thinks darkly.

And at that thought, he can't seem to stop his hand from sliding the covers down and squeezing his pulsing erection - and it feels too damned good. He can't stop the groan of relief at the contact. Can't stop himself from moving his other hand down, smearing the slippery wetness down the shaft, and then jerking it for real, because he needs to get off. Right. Now.

And as he does, he imagines himself sprawled in Asami's lap, sucking Asami's fingers into his mouth, feeling full to the point of pain as Asami fucks him from below, using his weight to work it in deep, filling him with liquid heat and leaving bruises on his hips. And when Akihito thinks about that, thinks about that moment when Asami loses control...

Akihito...

"Fuck yeah," Takaba hisses through his teeth. His grip tightens. "Say my name, just like that..."

And then he can't keep himself from coming. Violently.

Afterwards, Akihito just lies there, feeling dizzy, sleepy, and actually sort of good. So good, in fact, that it takes longer than usual - approximately 3.7 seconds - for the shame to set in, at which point he starts to feel dirty. He seems to have bit his lip, because it tastes bloody. He's covered with sweat.

I just jerked off while fantasizing about Asami, Takaba realises with more disappointment than surprise. Again.

"Fuck," Akihito mutters to himself as he ponders his dilemma. "I need to watch some therapeutic porn. Asami's... a dude. A scary man. One who keeps getting me involved with other scary dudes who want to kill me. He is not wank-bank material."

Takaba's even more annoyed when he notices that his previous adventures, along with the clamminess of his illness, have led to a desperate need to change his sheets.

He resolves to do so.

At least, as soon as he regains control of his limbs.


"I'm sick," Takaba mutters to himself a while later as he towels himself off from the shower. "It's the fever. It's cooking my brain. Making me think of weird stuff, and making me talk to myself in a really disturbing way." He opens the bathroom door and kicks the pile of sheets he stripped off the bed a little while ago. It's a convenient blame-receptacle.

"There is just no fucking way I got all... like that over that fucking kinky bastard. It's because I can't think properly, I'm dehydrat-"

Something's different. He stops, and blinks blearily. "Oh no."

Asami is there. He's pranced right into Takaba's apartment... okay, maybe 'prance' isn't the best way to put it, because Takaba is momentarily stricken with terror at the mental picture of Asami doing that - but anyway, Asami is sitting on Takaba's bed, on Takaba's fresh sheets, wearing a particularly amused expression on his goddamn smug hateful face.

"Hm?" Asami asks, slowly arching a brow. "Was that you muttering to yourself? Who's this kinky bastard who turns you on?" He pauses, eyes narrowing, but that twist to his lips makes it clear it's a rhetorical question.

"Go away," Takaba mumbles, taking a step back.

"You look like shit," Asami observes casually, reaching into the pocket of the jacket he's dropped by the side of the bed.

"I have a cold," Takaba bristles.

For some reason, it's so much worse coming from Asami in his perfectly cut clothing. Even with his shirtsleeves rolled up and reclining in someone else's bed, he looks like some renegade GQ model from an evil dimension. It must be the cheekbones. And the eyes. And the intense fucking evil yet stylish aura the guy emits at all times.

At any rate, he's distinctly out of place in Takaba's dingy apartment, and must leave soon, lest the balance of the universe be irreversibly shifted.

Asami shakes a cigarette out of the box in his hand, and lights it.

"What the hell?" Takaba explodes. "I have a cold! And you can't smoke in my bed... a-and if I look like shit, that's just fine. All the better. Just wait right there while I find my t-shirt with the fruit-punch stain on it. And the hypercolor shorts. And... and while I eat enough butter to gain 200 pounds."

At that, Asami smirks.

Takaba curses internally. He always forgets about the fact that provoking Asami invariably ends in a situation where he's utterly boned. Asami sometimes thinks it's funny, and when he does, he casually picks his temper apart with statements that are both completely rational and yet, at the same time, completely insane (thus rendering Akihito figuratively boned). At all other times, Asami - being a total freak - just gets turned on by it. This is exactly the reaction Takaba needs to avoid - because when Asami starts to have fun, it never ends well for certain up-and-coming photojournalists.

"Ah, so cute - come here," the nexus of evil murmurs, shifting aside to make room for Takaba on the mattress. He pats the sheet next to him. It's almost as if he actually expects Takaba to sit there.

Takaba crosses his arms, eyes narrowed. Asami honestly seems to think he'll fall for it. That's kind of insulting, but mostly annoying.

The standoff continues. Akihito watches in silent fury as a chunk of ash lands on the formerly pristine white cotton, and the irritation builds up until he is forced to break the silence.

"Go home. Please. My whole body aches, and I need to sleep - without your second-hand smoke filling my lungs."

Asami exhales slowly, like he's dealing with a stubborn child, and drops his cigarette into the tumbler on Takaba's bed-side table. There is a faint fizzling sound as a pristine glass of the finest local tap-water is ruined. "There. All better. Come here."

Takaba glares from the bathroom doorway, not quite knowing whether to be frightened or confused by that indulgent tone of voice. Eventually, Asami gets up, picks a flinching Takaba up from where he's standing - despite his valiant attempts to hold onto the doorframe - and drops him onto the mattress.

This is all starting to feel a little familiar, and Takaba blames his renewing excitement on the fact that he still has a fever. Illness does weird things to people's bodies. Clearly, head-colds make Takaba horny. And... a little kinky. Live and learn.

Biology is certainly mysterious, but that doesn't mean it has to win.

Takaba grabs the edge of the coverlet, and rolls across the mattress with it until he's wrapped in a three-ply protective tube of material. He glares in what he believes to be Asami's direction. "Don't touch me."

Asami settles in next to him and rests a hand on Takaba's still-damp head of hair - the only part of him left vulnerable by the protective blanket-roll. "You didn't even dry your hair. And didn't you take anything for your cold? You little..."

Takaba sneezes, then blinks drowsily as lucidity starts to slip away from him. He knows he was mad about something, but now he feels soothed against his will by the warmth of the hand on his forehead. He's already too sleepy to muster up any resentment. "Huh?"

Asami sighs. "You're sick. Haven't you bought any medicine?"

"Mnh?" Takaba mumbles. "Quit nagging me. I'll get better on my own. That stuff's for babies."

"Your point?"

Takaba refuses to rise to that one. Almost. "Babies, and old men whose immune systems have given out from years of smoking," is his mumbled rejoinder. His voice is muffled by his attempt to become a human egg-roll. He yawns so widely that his jaw makes a popping sound. "Piss off, I want to sleep. And by 'sleep', I mean 'avoid being sexually assaulted while in a weakened state.'" Despite that remark, he emits a tiny sigh as Asami's fingers comb through his hair. He hopes he doesn't sound as comfortable as he feels.

"Brat," Asami replies calmly, that panic-inducing smile lacing his voice. He smacks the blankets somewhere in the vicinity of Akihito's butt. Akihito flinches away, and then realizes he has reached the edge of the bed. He has pinned his arms to himself so thoroughly that he is a moment away from doing a header right into the floor.

"Yeeek!"

Asami wraps an arm around the younger man's midsection and rolls him a couple of inches away from the edge, planting him firmly against his side.

Takaba freezes with realization, trapped in his comfy bindings. Typical. I'm in a bed. Asami's nearby. I'm completely immobilized and can't get away - and this time, I did it to myself. God, I must have done some seriously bad shit in a previous life. Takaba sniffles.

There's a rustle of paper, and some movement of air against his hair. He peeks up and watches as Asami removes a folder out of his briefcase flips through it, and starts to read.

Akihito is a little surprised to finally see some evidence that Asami actually works. Up to this point, he has had the impression that Asami spent his work day lounging behind his desk with a glass of bourbon, yelling at peons, violating passers-by... or perhaps rubbing his hands together in megalomaniacal satisfaction and posing for evil GQ on slower days.

Eventually, Akihito relaxes when there has been no attempt to dislodge the blankets. Asami clicks a ball-point pen and starts to make notes on the margin of some kind of bar graph thingie. Akihito figures he's safe since both the evil hands are occupied.

He's asleep before he knows it.


When Takaba wakes up, his head feels a little clearer. Asami has disappeared, much to his relief. On the bedside table, there's a white paper bag with a little bottle of capsules inside.

Takaba squints at the bottle label a bit. He has the cap half off the bottle before he remembers previous experiences with Asami and drugs. He's feeling better anyway, so he decides to skip the mystery pills.

Asami, he thinks to himself in disbelief. For a second, his muddled mind wonders why Asami showed up in a lab-coat. Oh, right - fever dream.

And, freaky as that dream is, it's actually the part after he woke up that seems weirder.

Just to make sure, Takaba wiggles experimentally. His ass isn't the slightest bit sore. He peers over the edge of the bed, and doesn't see anything suspicious in the trashcan either.

Bizarre. Asami showed up, and they didn't end up fucking. Granted, he is sick as a dog, and Asami doesn't seem twisted enough to enjoy snot-rockets. Regardless, Takaba is still slightly disturbed by this weird new scenario.

Then, it occurs to him that he didn't have sex with Asami, and that the idea of not having had sex with Asami disturbs him. That realization, in turn, disturbs Takaba even more. It bothers him so much, in fact, that he spends a good ten seconds closely resembling Edvard Munch's The Scream - only without the bridge, and the sky, and the melting face.

Having a tiny mental breakdown is thirsty work. Takaba automatically pokes one arm out of his loosening blanket-roll, reaches for his glass of water, wriggles until he is semi-upright, and tips his head back to take a big, refreshing gulp...

Only to enjoy the sensation of a slimy, waterlogged cigarette disintegrating in his mouth.

"PTEH!" he gasps, spitting the foul thing out, and then trying to scrub the bloated tobacco bits off his tongue. "Asami, you fucking bastard!"

Somewhere on the other side of the city, Asami sneezes, and then begins to cough.

Idly, he wonders what Akihito would do if a nurse outfit was delivered to his door.

Probably something hilarious, Asami muses.

He tugs his phone out of his pocket, and smiles.

===== End =====


AN: Ahahahahah! I wrote VF fic! It seems so pointless, yet so fun. Anyway, the original version of this was written for a time-challenge on vf_scribbles lj-comm (now defunct). Yes, it really is that old. I still think this is quite funny, so I porned it up a bit, gave it a scrubbing and here it is. Thanks also to the ladies at vf writers for the feedback and being my sounding board - this would have been dragged down by a subsequent pile of yecchhh if it weren't for sunflower in particular. Yey!