xantissa: (Cloud FF7)
[personal profile] xantissa

It’s not a fic, barely a prologue to a series of vaguely connected ficelets


Title: The Edge.

Author: xantissa

Fandom: Viewfinder

Pairing: Asami/Akihito implied

Rating: PG

Word Count: 404
Disclaimer: Not mine, so don't sue
Full archive of my stories is here and here



The Edge


Akihito sat in one of the uncomfortable, plastic, airport chairs for what seemed like hours. His backpack and the camera case was the only luggage he took with him.


Hurt and anger were emotions he often felt when thinking about Asami, just as love and want was. He was honest enough to know that he felt that too.


He sighed and looked at the darkening sky outside the glass wall. Asami would kill him if he knew where Akihito was planning on going.


Maybe the other man needed a wake up call, too.


Takaba was tired, so very tired of swallowing his hurt, his pride for Asami all the time. He wanted that man, needed him, loved him even. However, being a pet was not enough now. It was barely enough when he met Asami; now he was twenty five and it was no longer acceptable.


He was tired and angry, on the verge of loosing himself. He didn’t even realize how close he was to the edge until three days ago when he woke up, sore and hung over from more than alcohol.




It was the first time he took them willingly. And it sobered him up like nothing else.


Asami’s constant control, domination and simultaneous distance were destroying his soul piece by piece.


It was high time to stop it. Either fix it or break it. He spent years trying it Asami’s way. Now it was time to change tactics. If only because he wasn’t sure just how much of Asami’s power games he would be able to stand any more.


The older man had his own issues, his little wars, and he kept dragging Akihito into them. Well, it was time to end one of them.


He got up from the chair and stretched his sore muscles. Finding a taxi was easy. He got into the yellow car and ignored the jabbering of the driver. He didn’t know the language, but he didn’t need to in order to get where he wanted.


He pulled one of his fingerless gloves off, exposing the old tattoo, and showed it to the driver.


“Fei Long.” Was all he said.


The man’s eyes widened and he nodded frantically. Who would have thought that after so many years he would willingly use Fei Long’s mark of ownership? To get a free taxi ride, no less. The world had a habit of being completely unreasonable with him…





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March 2010

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