On the Run

by Jet Mykles

  On the Run

  Jet Mykles

  – SUSPICIOUS DATA –

  Ken was warm and happy. Happier than he’d been for a long time. Content. He snuggled down closer into the body he was wrapped around. Smaller, but firmly packed in all the right places.

  Ken smiled. Omi.

  He nuzzled the younger man’s neck, letting Omi’s sweet, vanilla smell lull him back to sleep. Omi wiggled back into the bend of Ken’s body, pressing that sweet little ass against…

  Now Ken was awake. His eyes snapped open, immediately full of the blurry vision of hair streaked three different shades of blond and soft neck. Wondering if Omi was fully awake, he let one of his hands trail down a smoothly muscled chest. He’d just check to see if Omi had morning wood.

  Omi hummed and wiggled again when Ken’s exploration found a semi-hard cock.

  Ken smiled and set to wake the blond up further. Perhaps this morning they could try what they’d never gotten to the previous night. Just the thought of being inside Omi had Ken hard as a rock. He pressed the length of his erection against the crack of Omi’s ass, mind whirling with possibilities.

  "Oh shit!"

  Instinct drove Ken to his knees when Omi shot up. Even without the bugnuks, Ken’s fists were ready for the danger that Omi had sensed.

  Except there wasn’t any. Omi scrambled out of bed, grabbed the jeans that had been discarded on the floor the night before and practically jumped into them.

  "Uh, Omi…" Ken’s heart clenched. Was Omi upset about what had happened last night? "What’s wrong?"

  Jeans on but unbuttoned, Omi dropped to his knees before Ken on the mattress. Quickly, he framed the brunet’s face with his hands an planted a firm kiss on his lips. He pulled back and grinned. "I forgot to send the mission report last night." With that, he was up and off the bed, fastening his jeans as he raced out the door.

  Oh. That was okay then. Relieved, Ken sank back onto the bed—Omi’s bed—and stared up at the ceiling. A quick glance told him that it was 5 AM. The start of a new day. A day after sleeping with Omi. Well, mostly.

  –*–

  Yohji woke halfway at the sound of Omi rushing from his room. Both he and Aya tensed. No call of alarm was sounded and no Omi slid into the room to warn them of intruders.

  Aya relaxed first, sinking back into the pillows and shutting his eyes.

  A split second later, Yohji followed his example and lay his head back down on the back of Aya’s shoulder. The redhead was warm, his skin was amazingly soft, the bed was inviting and the sex from the previous night had completely worn Yohji out. Plus

  it was to fucking early. He was more than content to go back to sleep.

  –*–

  Ken woke from a doze at 8 AM. He was still alone in Omi’s room. What the hell?

  He got out of bed and put his shorts on. The t-shirt he pulled on as he quietly exited the room. He paused, glancing across the hall at Yohji’s closed door then down the hall at Aya’s cracked door. They must be together.

  A small pang of jealousy propelled Ken down the stairs to find his own company.

  Predictably, Omi perched before laptop he had setup on the desk in the corner of the main room downstairs. He sent a guilty look Ken’s way when Ken rounded through the door. "Sorry, Ken. I got distracted."

  Ken ran a hand through his hair. "That’s okay. Something wrong?"

  Omi frowned. "I don’t think so but…"

  "’But’?"

  "That data we took last night is kind of weird."

  "Weird how?"

  "I don’t know. It’s encoded and really vague. But something about it…"

  Ken had to smile. Omi looked so damn cute, chewing on his bottom lip as he stared at the computer screen. The blue cast of the screen in a partially lit room made his skin look like porcelain, except for the lip, red where he’d been chewing. Those long,

  slim fingers flew over the keyboard.

  Ken crossed the room and stood behind Omi’s chair. Quite deliberately, he leaned in to kiss Omi’s bare shoulder.

  The fingers on the keyboard stalled.

  "Did you send the data to Krittiker?" he murmured over smooth skin.

  "Yes."

  He smiled at Omi’s breathless tone. "That’s all you were supposed to do." He slid a hand into Omi’s hair and used it to tilt his head to the side, exposing more neck to nuzzle. "Let Krittiker take care of the rest."

  "But…"

  Ken tasted the soft skin just behind Omi’s ear. He traced the fragile curve of that ear with his tongue. "Turn off the laptop, Omi."

  "Huh?"

  He laughed and took it upon himself to lean in and reach forward toward the mouse.

  Omi figured out what he was doing and snatched it away before he could close anything. "Wait! Hold on."

  Ken grinned. If Omi was doing research for a mission, Ken was sure he wouldn’t be doing this. But since the mission was over, all was fair. He straightened, grabbed the back of the chair and pulled.

  Omi yelped, clutching the seat of the straight-backed chair as Ken turned it a quarter circle. "Ken, what are you…?"

  Ken dropped to his knees, hands on Omi’s knees to spread them so he could wedge closer. Willing his smile to be seductive, he slid his arms around Omi’s waist and pulled him forward.

  Omi’s surprise melded into a warm, smile that made Ken’s heart ache. Slim arms lifted to surround Ken’s neck, clever fingers spearing through his hair.

  Their lips met in a kiss full of promise. A certainty that the previous night hadn’t been a one-off thing. Ken knew, from this kiss, that Omi did really want him. He moaned, sucking Omi’s tongue into his mouth, swallowing the taste of him as he slid his hands over Omi’s smooth, bare back. How had he missed doing this for years? Well, okay, the last year that Omi was legal.

  Impatient with desire, Ken pulled his hands between them and tugged at the button holding Omi’s jeans closed. He wanted to taste more of Omi, a particular part of Omi. As he recalled, that part tasted really good. A taste he could grow addicted to.

  Omi’s slim hand landed on his, squeezing his fingers before he could properly get them inside of the fly. "Wait, Ken," he gasped against Ken’s lips, "we shouldn’t do this."

  Ken dropped his mouth to kiss the flesh over Omi’s rapidly beating heart, trying to shake Omi’s hold on his hands. "Why not?"

  "Yohji and Aya…"

  Ken froze. "Oh yeah." He sat down on his heels, grimacing. "Right."

  Omi laughed softly. He bent down to catch Ken’s face with both hands, turning it up toward him. His blue eyes shone with affection. Love? "I don’t care if they know, Kenken, but I don’t think they need to see."

  Ken matched his grin, rising up closer to that beautiful face. "We could go back to your room."

  Omi rubbed the tip of his nose on Ken’s. "Good idea. Just let me…"

  Ken tilted his head and pushed in, having to taste those lips again. Omi sighed into the kiss, eagerly playing tongue-tag with Ken. His slim, strong legs wrapped loosely around Ken, ankles hooking around his knees.

  "How utterly sweet."

  They froze, both pairs of eyes going wide and staring at each other at the sound of the third voice. A terribly familiar voice.

  "I told you, Yohji," said a fourth voice, also quite familiar.

  Slowly, Ken and Omi turned to see Yohji and Aya lounging in the doorway, each leaning a shoulder against a side of the doorjamb. Loose drawstring pants nearly fell from Yohji’s slim hips and a green robe—Yohji’s robe—embraced Aya’s lean frame,

  a gaping V in front exposing his pale chest.

  Yohji’s grin was wide enough to split his face. "I’m so proud of you, Ken."

  Ken felt the blush flame his face. He pulled away from Omi, sitting back
on his heels. "Fuck you, Yohji," he grumbled.

  The tall assassin laughed. "How rude. To say such thing in the arms of your lover. Pay him no mind, Omi."

  "Stop it, Yohji," Omi muttered.

  Ken glanced up to see Omi wearing a matching blush as he turned back to the laptop.

  Ken grimaced, hopping to his feet. "Yeah, knock it off, Yohji."

  Yohji opened his mouth but stopped when Aya hooked a hand around his elbow and tugged. "Come, Yotan. Let’s eat."

  "But I’d rather…"

  "Oh shit!"

  All levity died at the tone in Omi’s voice. Ken spun toward the youngest assassin. The two in the doorway sped toward them.

  "What is it?" Aya demanded.

  Omi’s hands flew over the keyboard as his three teammates leaned over his shoulder. "It’s us! This data is all about us." He pointed at the screen. Most of what was there was encoded gibberish, but when he pointed it out they could see the bits and pieces. "It’s mostly medical and psychological reports, I think, but I finally saw names." His finger indicated Fujimiya, Hidaka and Kudoh in different places across the screen. The only reference he could find to himself was a Takatori. quot;Why is this about us?"

  Ken looked at Aya. "Who were the targets last night?"

  Aya shook his head, red hair brushing the shoulders of the robe. "No target. It was a normal office building. An assessor’s office."

  "A cover," Yohji declared, eyes still on the laptop. "Is there any information about our location?"

  "No," Omi confirmed. "Well, not that I see. But there’s a lot that I haven’t decoded. So far there’s nothing to even indicate that we’re still alive. Just a lot of data." He shook his head. "What does it mean?"

  Yohji’s head snapped up and he met Aya’s gaze. Ken watched them as they seemed to share a thought.

  Aya finally nodded. "We need to get out of here."

  – LEAVING –

  It was inevitable, of course. Any assassin would know that. One couldn’t stay in one place too long or one got caught.

  Killed.

  Aya told himself that as he packed the bag that was always half full. His other bag was still packed from the previous night, still sitting downstairs where Omi had left it. He’d known that they probably wouldn’t be able to stay where they were for long but… But this time he’d allowed himself to hope, to think that maybe things would calm down enough for him to enjoy life a little.

  Ha! Not in the cards for Ran Fujimiya.

  He ran through plans in his head as he rushed down the stairs. Money wasn’t an issue. They each had at least four IDs with passports and two off-shore banking accounts. Through force of habit and self-preservation, he had at least two stockpiles of cash hidden away off-site and was confident that the others had their own stashes. They would leave their cell phones. They’d have to contact Krittiker through different means.

  He met Ken in the main room. The athlete was bent over his own bags, green sweatshirt tied about his slim waist and beat-up leather jacket over his t-shirt. His goggles lay hung like a necklace from his throat. “Are we going overboard?” Ken asked calmly, brown eyes level and serious.

  “Maybe. You willing to risk it?”

  Ridiculous question. Ken didn’t bother to answer it.

  Omi and Yohji appeared at the same time, nearly silent as they rushed down the stairs. During the past few months, all four of them had grown careless, walking and moving around like normal people. Aya was gratified to see that it didn’t take much to pick up old habits.

  Yohji carried a wad of paper towels, indicating that he, like the rest of them, would have wiped down most of the available surfaces of his bedroom. “I’m going to miss this place.” He sighed, dumping the towels in the wastebasket by the door. His long, mission coat was draped over one arm. Black jeans and a black midriff hugged his lean frame, the only mar in the lines being the pack of cigarettes and the lighter stashed in one front pocket. The watch that was much more encircled his slim wrist.

  “No help for it,” Aya said, shouldering his bags and holding tight to his katana. He tossed his keys to Ken. “You and Omi take the Porshe. Ditch it when you can.”

  Ken caught them, but frowned. “I was going to take the bike.”

  “Fine, then Omi should take the car. You two will need it.” At their twin frowns, he sighed. “I assume you are going together?”

  Unbelievably, that thought seemed to just dawn on them. Fine. He didn’t wish to take the time to sort out their affair. He shook his head and turned to Yohji. A moment of sheer panic threatened to blind him as looked up into those emerald green eyes. It was entirely possible that Yohji wouldn’t stick with him. Yohji was perfectly capable of taking care of himself, of seeing to his own needs. Perhaps more capable than Aya in the long run. They didn’t have to leave together. But Aya couldn’t fathom being without the blond.

  Reassurance came in the form of a suggestive smile on those gorgeous lips as Yohji lowered his familiar glasses to cover green eyes. “And we’re taking the Seven, I assume?”

  Aya beat down his own grin, determined to remain cool. He nodded. “But we have to get rid of it as soon as possible.”

  Yohji sighed, tossing his coat over his shoulder and bending to pick up his two bags. “I know. I was so hoping to keep this one though.”

  “Baka,” Aya grumbled, turning for the back door.

  Yohji was only a few steps behind him. “We’ll be in touch in a week, yeah?” he called to the other two.

  Aya glanced back to seem them nod then pushed out the door.

  –*–

  Omi watched Aya leave with Yohji at his heels, each of them glowing briefly as they passed through a square of morning light streaming across the kitchen. Horrible foreboding told him that he might not see them again. He bit his lip.

  A comforting arm slid around his shoulders. He gave in to the luxury of folding himself in Ken’s arms.

  “It’s okay, Omi. We’re probably taking this way too seriously.”

  Omi nodded.

  Ken pressed the keys to Aya’s Porshe into Omi’s hands. “We should get going.”

  Omi stared at the keys. It made sense. His little car wouldn’t have the pickup to speed them away if necessary. But he was supposed to drive alone? Panic speared his heart. “Ken.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Come with me in the car.”

  Ken frowned, shoving his bag up on his shoulder. “But the Yamaha…”

  “Please, Ken. I don’t think it’s a good idea that we’re separated.”

  “Why not?”

  Frustrated, scared, Omi gathered the lapels of Ken’s leather jacket in his hands and hauled the taller assassin to him. “I just got you, Ken. I couldn’t stand it if I lost you.”

  Ken’s arms went around him, a reassuring smile curving his lips. “You’re not going to lose me. I’ll be right there with you.”

  Omi shook his head. “Please, Ken.”

  Ken swallowed.

  Outside, the Seven roared to life. They stared into each other’s eyes, listening to their companions drive off into the morning.

  Finally, Ken reached up to brush a single tear from Omi’s cheek. A tear he hadn’t felt shedding.

  Ken smiled. “Okay, Omi. Whatever you say.”

  – IN THE WOODS –

  Omi tried to hide his smile as he stood on the ridge keeping watch. It really did just figure that Ken’s emergency stash was buried in the woods. How very Ken.

  Omi glanced down the slope but couldn’t see Ken through the heavy bushes. But he could hear him. Obviously Ken wasn’t concerned with being overheard. Not surprisingly. Other than the occasional passing car, there should be other people within miles.

  Nonetheless, Omi kept his gaze down the road, leaning on the trunk of a tree just off the pavement. Shiny tree sap threatened the shoulder of his sports jacket, but he didn’t mind too much. The Porshe was hidden down near where Ken was scrabbling around. Omi just wanted to make sure that no one w
as following them. So far, it seemed, no one was.

  “Omi.”

  “What?”

  “You see anything?”

  “Just pavement, trees and a few birds.”

  “Good. Could you come down here?”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing. I found it.” The car door shut.

  Omi turned from the trunk, taking his hands out of his jacket pockets and descended into the bushes and trees.

  Ken was leaning against the trunk of the car, arms over his chest, ankles crossed. His head tilted to the side, glossy brown hair lifted in the faint breeze as he watched Omi with a small grin.

  “What?”

  Ken held out a hand. A hand free of gloves, free of bugnuks. “Come here.”

  Omi’s heart soared at the dark promise in Ken’s voice. He made himself stop five paces away from that oh-so-tempting body lovingly hugged in comfortable old jeans, an equally worn t-shirt and that favored, battered leather jacket. “Ken we don’t have time for this.”

  “For what?”

  Omi pointed at him. “Don’t give me that innocent look, you. We’ve got to get out of here.”

  “Were we followed?”

  “Well, no…”

  Ken pushed from the car, stepping ominously toward Omi. “Then what does it matter?”

  Omi backed a step as Ken took another. “Hold on, Ken.”

  Ken hunched over a bit. Brown eyes narrowed and his grin took on an evil tilt.

  Omi’s eyed widened. He knew that look, that preparation. He had a split second to see it, then turn and run.

  It was hopeless, really. He was fast. He was really fast. Ken was simply faster. The man was built like a wolf, all compact muscle built for speed and endurance. Instinctively, Omi used most of his wiles, jumping over bushes and dodging through the trees. It was the only reason, he was sure, that he evaded Ken for as long as he did. But there were too many trees and bushes and Ken was familiar with the landscape where he wasn’t. He rounded a tree trunk then cried out a gasp as Ken tackled him to the leafy ground.

  “Ken, really!” he gasped, a goofy smile on his face despite himself. “We shouldn’t…”

  Ken flipped him onto his back, pinning his wrists to the ground beside his shoulders. Brown eyes bored into his, steamy, heady intent painfully obvious in their gleam. “We should.”