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Daigo picks up his phone on the third ring.

"The mind wipe is complete, sir," says the soldier on the other end. "Doc said you'd want to know."

"Good man," Daigo says. "Thank you." He hangs up and pockets his phone, giving himself a moment to just feel.

Tokunaga Shoudai was an excellent operative for G-Hawk, smart and fearless and capable. He led some of their most successful efforts. And he was a traitor.

Daigo makes his way back down to the command center's basement, where problems like Shoudai are dealt with. He lets himself into the interrogation room; the guards come to attention.

Shoudai is right where Daigo left him earlier, chained to a chair in the middle of the room, one eye swollen shut and his lip split and bloodied. But where he looked sullen and defiant last time, now he looks frightened and confused.

It's a good look for him.

"You can go," Daigo says. "I'd like to have a private conversation with our guest."

He watches the naked panic cross Shoudai's face, the fear and the desperate attempt to remember who he is and what he might want. He smiles, waiting as his soldiers leave.

"Please," Shoudai says then, not a trace of the dangerous operative he was. "Whatever I did, I'm sorry."

"Are you telling me you don't know?" Daigo asks. He threads his fingers into Shoudai's hair, pulls his head back. "Really?"

The interrogation lights are clearly hurting Shoudai's eyes as he squints up at Daigo nervously. "I'm sorry," he says again. "I know that sounds bullshit, I just. I don't know who you are. I can't remember anything."

"Hmph." Daigo shakes his head. "I expected a better excuse from you, of all people."

Shoudai swallows hard, and the movement of his bare throat is beautiful. "What does that mean?"

Daigo makes a decision. "Of all the people to claim not to know me," he says sadly, "I think you're the only one who could really hurt me that way."

"It's true," Shoudai says. He flinches when Daigo's thumb traces the ridge of his eyebrow, and then he picks up the cue, realization dawning visibly on his face. "Were we... lovers?"

Oh, that's much more than he'd hoped for. Daigo tries to make himself look crushed. "You really don't remember." A wistful smile. "Lovers. Warriors. Partners in crime." He goes down on one knee beside the chair, lets his free hand come to rest on Shoudai's thigh. "I thought you were the man I could trust more than anything."

He watches the confused storm of emotions play across Shoudai's face and wonders if he'll get away with this. He doesn't know if Shoudai is even attracted to men. He lets his fingertips trace absent circles up the inside of Shoudai's thigh.

"What happened?" Shoudai asks. His voice sounds very small.

Daigo narrows his eyes. "You betrayed us. You betrayed all of us to the corrupt government we're fighting." He shakes his head, looking away. "So many good people died."

"No," Shoudai says, miserably, helplessly. "I didn't—I wouldn't—"

"Don't you know how much I want that to be true?" Daigo grabs Shoudai by the shirtfront, hauls him as close as his chains will allow. "Don't you know how much I want to believe in you?"

Shoudai lunges for him and kisses him hard, bloody lip and all. Daigo doesn't even have to think about being startled, freezing up for a moment before he kisses back. Shoudai's mouth tastes bright copper, like the bare wires of a half-built bomb, and the comparison makes Daigo shiver with pleasure. Right now he has no focus, nothing to set him off, but if he's molded correctly from here he'll be so gloriously dangerous.

"You have to be wrong," Shoudai says desperately, breathing the words against Daigo's mouth. "I'm. I'm not like that."

Daigo cups his face in both hands, gently, careful of the bruising. "How can you be so sure? I thought I knew you that well....."

"You did," Shoudai says. "What if—what if you were right about me? And I was framed?"

Daigo closes his eyes and shakes his head. "Shoudai...." Seeming emotionally tormented buys him crucial time to plan his next move. This is going much better than he would have expected; at his core, apparently, Shoudai is a man who desperately needs something to be loyal to. This time that something will be Daigo.

"Please," Shoudai says. He turns his head and kisses Daigo's palm, a touchingly sweet gesture. "Please give me a chance to prove myself."

"I want to," Daigo says softly. He hesitates, wondering how much Shoudai will volunteer if he keeps holding out. The more Shoudai commits to now, the more he'll feel compelled by later.

Shoudai mouths at his palm and the pads of his fingers, and Daigo licks his lips. Shoudai's split lip has started to bleed again, trickling down his chin. He looks so broken.

"Are you trying to seduce me?" Finding the right tone of voice takes careful balance: incredulous, but hopeful; suspicious, but wavering.

"You loved me," Shoudai says, and Daigo has the presence of mind to flinch at the past tense. "You saw something in me you could believe in."

"I can't just..." Daigo trails off, leaving it ambiguous just what he's almost at the point of surrendering.

"Please," Shoudai says again.

Daigo looks down, smiling sadly. "That's not fair," he says. "I never could resist the way you beg."

"I'm not—I swear I'm not trying to mess with you," Shoudai says. He's precious. "I want to make this right."

"Fuck," Daigo whispers. "I believe you." He looks up to let Shoudai see his face full of guilt and need. "God help me, I do."

Shoudai pulls at his chains. "Come here. Please, I don't want to see you look like that, come here."

Daigo leans in close, wrapping his arms around Shoudai as best he can, burying his face in the hollow of Shoudai's throat. He lets himself tremble just a little.

"I'm sorry," Shoudai murmurs. He rattles his chains again. "God, I'm sorry I can't hold you."

"I'd let you out if I had the keys," Daigo lies. He kisses the hammering pulse in Shoudai's throat and feels the hitch in Shoudai's breath where they're pressed close together. With his memories stripped away, Shoudai's core is beautiful, bare yearning and devotion ready to be touched. When Daigo raises his head he finds Shoudai ready to meet him in another kiss.

This time he's expecting it, and he kisses as if they really were lovers: deep, thorough, hungry, claiming Shoudai's mouth. Shoudai groans, sucking on his tongue. Daigo decides to let himself be seduced.

He slips one hand under Shoudai's shirt, avoiding the bruised ribs he knows are there on the right side. Shoudai arches toward the touch, like he honestly craves this. Daigo sobs. "I want you."

"Take me," Shoudai says without hesitation, picking up his cue perfectly. And then, because he's better than a fucking traitor has any right to be, he adds, "Help me remember you."

Daigo shudders. He fumbles at the waistband of Shoudai's pants, and if his hands are clumsy with urgency, well, that suits the role he's playing. Shoudai lifts his hips to make it easier for Daigo to pull his pants down; he's not hard yet but his cock twitches when Daigo looks at it and that's a promising sign.

The chains around Shoudai's ankles are clipped shut, not locked, so undoing them is simple enough. There are bruises on his legs, too; probably there are bruises all over him, and pulling off his shirt would reveal more, a map of mottled purples and blues. It doesn't take any effort to look hungry for this.

"Come on," he says, his voice soft and ragged.

"Just a second," Daigo says. "Let me see if I can find something to use." He knows exactly what he's looking for, and it only takes a moment to find it—the tube of conductive gel tucked next to the electrodes for the shock box should do just fine. It's thick and gooey on his fingers, grossly slick. When he turns back to the chair, Shoudai is watching him, legs spread, cock and balls on display. So vulnerable, so easy to hurt.

Or so easy to break, without hurting him at all. Daigo kneels in front of the chair, between Shoudai's spread thighs. "I missed you," he says.

"I'm sorry," Shoudai answers. "I'm sorry I made you worry."

Daigo kisses him again, reaching down at the same time to slip his fingers up between Shoudai's legs. There's a little resistance, Shoudai's breath hitching as Daigo's fingers press into him, but with the amount of more serious discomfort he must be feeling right now this is a minor addition. And he doesn't fight it, arching toward Daigo's hand instead of away. His thighs tremble and he whimpers into Daigo's mouth, defenseless and lost.

He's hard by the time Daigo pulls back, and there's a faint flush to his cheeks, just visible in the harsh light. "My Shoudai," Daigo says fondly, and he smiles.

"Do it," he says. "I want you to."

"A demand I've never been able to refuse," Daigo says.

It takes a little effort to get into position, to lift Shoudai off the seat of the chair enough that Daigo can slide in under him, knees on either side of the chair back, Shoudai's weight resting on his thighs. There's a beautiful line of strain in Shoudai's shoulders from pulling against the chains. But he doesn't complain about it, and when he sinks down onto Daigo's cock he groans in surrender.

He's tight, unable to really relax like this, and the little tremors that run through him feel wonderful. Daigo wraps a hand around his cock and thrusts up into him steadily, treasuring his every shaky breath. "My beloved," Daigo murmurs, and Shoudai leans toward him for a kiss.

The sweetness is almost unbearable, and only long-practiced control keeps the laughter from spilling free. This is triumph, as much as any disrupted public event, as much as any carefully planned assassination. Victory starts in hearts and minds, after all, and those are Daigo's now. Shoudai will never belong to the police force again.

Daigo rocks upward and Shoudai moans for him, used and broken and totally unaware of it. The tight heat of his ass is good and the helpless way he trembles is better, but knowing how thoroughly he's been ruined for anything but Daigo's purposes is the best of all. He's exhausted and hurting and still hard for this, giving Daigo everything he has and everything he is.

Everything: Daigo holds out, pacing himself, until he can coax Shoudai into a weak and shivery orgasm, the best his wrung-out body can manage. God, there are tear tracks through the blood on his face. He's perfect.

"Hang in there," Daigo says. "I'm right behind you." He takes hold of Shoudai's hips with both hands and fucks up into him hard, savoring everything he's managed to wring out of this encounter—punishment and triumph and change, a small victory that will lead to much greater ones. He thinks it's that knowledge as much as the tight heat of Shoudai's hole that brings him to climax, his cock pulsing, his nerves flooded with golden light.

"Oh," Shoudai says, lost and needy. "Oh."

Daigo kisses him again, as he thinks he would for a lover. He cups Shoudai's face in one hand, strokes the line of his brow, lets his fingertips linger. "I want to give you another chance," he says. "I… I can't believe you'd really betray me."

Shoudai smiles at him shakily. "I'll prove it to you."

"I know you will." Another kiss, just a brief brush of lips. "I'll talk to the others. Get you out of here. We'll make this right." Maybe it won't really be this easy. Maybe this pliant faith won't last. But maybe it will, and he'll have won himself a ferociously devoted right-hand man at the cost of a single botched operation. That's an exciting possibility.

And if this doesn't work out in the long term, well. There's always the death game.