UWAKUCHIBIRU NI AMAI DOKU ~ SWEET POISON ON YOUR UPPER LIPS
Written by Playgirl Eugene
Author's Note : Hi, all. This is the new, revised version of the story Grace of Stealth ~ Killing Me Softly, now Kuchibiru ni Amai Doku ~ Sweet Poison on Your Lips. I realized that my older stories contain plenty of grammar mistakes, event mistakes, and many other errors. So, I decided to repost everything all over again. I hope with this, my old readers will continue to support me and I will attract some new readers as I tried to improve my writing style and grammar.
Standard Disclaimer : The Prince of Tennis and all of the characters, including the original plot and situations, is created and owned by Konomi Takeshi-sensei. I own nothing of it and I do not earn profit of any kind from this and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. This disclaimer stands firm for the whole of the story. Furthermore, if I use any material that needs to be disclaimed, there will be individual credit where due.
Summary : Play me gently on your tender upper lips; feed me with the poison of your conceited, cowardice, ill-fated kiss. As your cool finger beckons me, I will trace each of my scars.
Rating : M/NC – 18/R
Warning(s) : Slash/yaoi/male x male, cussing, mentions of alcohol/drugs, very graphic sexual situations/acts (hetero/homo), dub-consensual, non-consensual/attempted, sexual fetishes (bloody play, sadism/masochism, NCS, BDSM and voyeurism), self-harm, descriptive violence and gory, possible character death. If any of the aforementioned warnings offends you, I suggest you turn back now. I will not appreciate anyone flaming me just because they didn't read this.
Setting and Timeline : Utterly AU and has absolutely no connection with the cannon except for the borrowed characters and faint similarities of their original relationship in the Prince of Tennis.
Character Setting : Fuji/Ryoma, OC/Ryoma, Fuji/OC, others for later
Chapter Details : None in particular.
-- Prologue --
"… Die."
For centuries long, in this world, there existed organizations with power beyond our recognition and our imagination. It was a power that controlled the peace, the authority, and even the concept of existence itself.
They operated in the shadow of the night, silently and unnoticed by the humans as the shadows blended smoothly into their unsuspecting lives.
Their code of honour was simple, to kill or be killed. For them, it was to live embracing the honour, or to die in the shadows. It was their choice, an obvious choice.
Powerful like the law and government, and even more secretive than any secret service known to the people, they were assigned by the higher authority of the United Nations to use whatever means necessary in order to preserve the harmony of nations, races, and people.
They were given the power to decide the king, the living, and the dead.
In short, they were to deal with the dirty work and pretend to not exist in order to create a pristine white image for the ruling regime, destroying all obstacles without leaving a proof, and when the regime turned into tyranny; their job would be to get rid of the ruler in order for a new era to begin.
They didn't ask question, they didn't play fair.
On their blood, birth and heritage, they swore on loyalty for the organization's well-being, ideals and world peace.
They were the Spear of Judgment, and they who served them named themselves as the 'Delegates'.
-:- -:- -:- -:- -:-
With an urgent and hasty clumsiness, they stumbled out of the elaborate looking elevator, pressed so closely together that it almost appeared as if they were a two beings moulded into a single entity.
Lips meshed together in sloppy, wet kiss as the brunet slammed the dark haired woman against the wall along the empty corridor of the five-star hotel. His elegant and pale hand snaked beneath frilly yet poetic, dark blue velvet top. Brushing the smooth skin of her hips suggestively with his fingertips, he elicited an appreciative moan from the dark haired female donned in expensive getup.
In response, the woman buried her finely manicured hands into the man's brown hair. She eagerly threaded through the soft brown lock, fisting and unclenching her hands rhythmically before wrapping her arms around him, melting against him in wanton surrender.
The deep red of her lipstick smeared the patch of skin around his mouth as thin trail of saliva dribbled down their chins. She shifted her head slightly, presenting even more access to that skilful, warm tongue and invited it to delve even deeper into the wet recess of her mouth.
Without breaking contact, the tall yet slender male proficiently manoeuvred his enthusiastic female companion, guiding with his hands for her to wrap a slender leg around his firm waist.
The silken material of her ankle length flowing skirt slid against her skin like ink black liquid; the exceedingly high split on her left side exposing a proper amount of pale flesh covered with black silk lacy stoking at the movement. Delicate garters with golden clasps went down her thighs a few inches, attached to her stocking.
With certain difficulties to manoeuvre their movements around, while trying to maintain their non-existent proximity and grounding their lower halves together through the material of their clothes, they fumbled and groped around until they reached the dark brown cherry wood door with a golden plate of room 1604.
Impatiently dipping her right hand into the waistband of her skirt, she fished out the card key she slipped there and struggled to hold the card properly by the slot with her trembling hand.
With a bit of help from more composed male, she managed to unlock the door before she impatiently launched herself at the brunet, latching onto his figure with renewed vigour as if the brief moment of separation had been too much for her.
Twisting their body in one fluid motion, the man smoothly directed them inside. After kicking the door shut with a slam, he turned to press the female against the door.
The woman, with blue black hair spilled just an inch above her shoulders in gentle waves and eyes like cocoa rimmed jet black mascara, hissed as she felt a hand boldly squeezing her left buttock cheek.
Impatiently, she grabbed the other hand from her waist and guided them to her breast. Panting erratically, she flung her head to the back in one fluid motion as she felt that wonderful, wonderful hand unclasping her lacy black bra and pushing it out of his prowling tongue before he started to knead her left breast and rubbing the nipples with his thumb through the material of her top.
He leaned down to suck sensually on her neck, lapping and nipping as the hand on her lower back yanked her hips forward to meet the sharp, powerful thrust of his pelvis.
The force of domination and superior control that he displayed despite his almost fragile appearance excited her, and she decided that she couldn't wait to feel him pounding into her as she felt the heated pressure of his hardness pressing insistently against her thigh.
Her lewd thoughts were cut short when she felt a warm, wet appendage teasing and dipping playfully into the deep slope of her cleavage, flicking temptingly on the skin there as he continued his hand's ministration on her full breast.
Her hands slipped beneath his undershirt, climbing up and raking her nails on his smooth back, digging harshly into soft skin.
The man groaned as she drew small amount of blood and in retaliation, he unbuttoned the front of her shirt and started to suck hard on her pink nipple, causing her to arch and convulse in his arms with strained gasps. He nipped and licked her pebbled right nipple until it was red and tender under his ministration, while pinching and rolling its twin between his long fingers.
He bucked his hips violently, banging the woman against the door and causing her to gasp frantically as she felt her skin rubbed against solid surface. She rolled the back of her head against the wooden door as she laughed drunkenly, obviously high from the sexual tension and alcohol.
At his silent prompting, she wrapped both of her legs around him, supporting herself by clinging onto his neck as the brunet did by holding her bottom.
With renewed intensity, he began to do unspeakable things to her ample breasts, lavishing them with lewd attention. As the relentless, angry lust continued to enflame them, aching moans echoed throughout the room.
Impatiently, she began to undo the buttons of his shirt and nearly ripping them apart. Her eager hands then roamed and caressed the lean, firm muscles of his bare chest, scrapping against dusky nipples. He hissed and murmured sultrily at her ear, lowering her to the carpeted floor only to tug and dump her on the king sized bed, eliciting an excited giggle from the aroused female, before crawling on top of her like a predator coming down on its prey.
He unzipped the fly of his jeans and pressed his right hand on the mattress at the side of her head, nudging his bulging hardness against her face in wordless order.
Eyes widening in admiration at the semi-hard cock that was perfect, thick and long flesh nestled in the thatch of soft black curls along with its heavy balls, she didn't need any further motivation as she licked her own upper lip before she started to feast on the impressive phallus with the fervor a starved glutton.
Like the throbbing, aching wetness between her legs somewhere down there, her mouth was just as wet as she began to suck on the angry red mushroom head, taking it into down her throat as far as she could without gagging while hollowing her cheeks to taste the whole sanity texture with her every inch of her orifice.
Her eyes were half-lidded and hazy as she feasted on his exquisite taste. Reaching between her own legs, she shoved two fingers into her own body and moaned around the scorching member at the sensation.
The man's hand joined hers, nearly ripping her panties in the process.
She breathed heavily through her nostrils, holding back tears that glazed her eyes as she barely managed to control her gag reflex from choking on the member pushing persistently down her throat.
Finally, the intruding and swollen appendage pulled away.
The older female wheezed, clenching her eyes shut as she raced to fill her lungs with precious air. She barely had enough time to regulate her breathings when the man suddenly flipped her on all four and slammed into her with a brutal thrust. He didn't give her any time to adjust before he set a jagged, frantic pace that had her clawing about and convulsing as the bed creaked noisily when it banged against the wall.
In this humiliating position, she could feel nothing but the hot appendage sliding in and out of her body with a powerful, staggering pace. She could see nothing but a screen of blinding white as the man angled for a better thrust, abusing her sweet spot purposely, eliciting keening wails of pleasure spilling from her mouth.
She titled her chin upward, panting like an animal in heat as saliva trickling down her thought she would explode at any given moment, right into flame, as the warmth seeped like molten lava that coiled in her belly like an overheated furnace. And she shuddered violently as she felt another brush against her sweet spot again, her thighs stiffening around the powerful waist, and her body jerked under the onslaught of her first orgasm.
With a cryptic smile and a strange gleam in his eyes, he pulled out of her completely, earning him a disappointed groan from the frivolous woman. But then, he manoeuvred her to sit on his laps with her back pressing against his hard chest. Impatient and feverish, she began to impale herself against his turgid cock, as he used his hands to bounce her powerfully on his member, occasionally rocking her body against his.
Alluring blue eyes stared into the older woman's darkened honey brown pair, as if they were seeing through her layer of clothing that he didn't bother to shed, stripping her mentally with raw sensuality.
Those eyes were so dangerous, so blunt, and so incredibly sexual. She wanted to squirm under his intense gaze, wanting to drown in the blueness that promised so much, so very much it was almost too much.
If she didn't know any better, she would've said that it was almost like love at first sight, although in reality she never realized that she never did understand that sexual pursuit and love weren't synonym, and that they never meant to be the same.
All she knew was that she was mesmerized by the handsome although eerily strange young man she saw sitting alone by the bar with a shot glass of Vodka in his hand.
His searing blue eyes were unnatural and arcane, whilst the way he held her gaze with an intensity that sent shudders throughout her whole body. Something about this man screamed of danger, her rationale was telling her to stay away from him.
When he smiled at her though, all commonsense and thoughts fled from her, leaving her with only fascination and curiosity.
He was so mysterious, so alluring.
When those sinful lips parted into a coy smile, she ignored her instinct and approached him with a smile of her own as a sudden wave of lust gripped her with no apparent rhyme, nor reason.
Even his voice was as intoxicating, a sweet and deep purr of velvet, which made her skin tingle pleasantly.
Enthralled by this beautiful stranger, she didn't see it coming.
The enticing pain of white hot pleasure was replaced with a sharp jolt of real throbbing pain in her lower abdomen. For a moment, she felt a dull ache pulsated and reverberated throughout her whole body before realization dawned on her like a sharp awareness, not unlike the plunge of hot knife on her flesh.
Hot, hot, hurt.
"Y-you… you…" she said with eyes wide in disbelief, her voice that was hoarse from her passionate screaming was now trembling with fear and blatant horror. With trembling hands, she gripped the male's elegant hand that was holding the dagger he had drove into her flesh, dripping with fresh hot blood. She gasped excruciatingly when he twisted the knife, wrenching her wound further.
Her blood.
The gentle smile on his fair face slowly morphed into a dangerously malicious leer. Gone was the handsome passionate escort that melted her whole body like liquid flame, and in his stead was a murderer with eyes like a demon in a bloodlust for innocent, unsuspecting victims.
"You're… you bast—!"
The words couldn't leave her lips; her mind completely blank like a white nothingness, plagued with the glaringly cold terror of impending death as the man lowered her to the bed and turned her body to him.
He bent down to plant a soft kiss, almost like a mocking parody of innocence, on her lips once before pulling the intricately designed dagger away. Watching in quiet amusement, he stared down at the woman beneath him with sinisterly laughing eyes.
Precious, warm red liquid of life rapidly escaped the woman's body; each drop wasted away along with her awareness and life.
She gasped loudly, trying to fill her lungs as blood soaked the sheets. With a seductive smile, he titled his head an leaned down to whisper almost too gently in her ears, as if they were lovers sharing a secret, and her whole body trembled once more.
"… Die."
His voice was soft, a pure unadulterated seduction; promising her death to be swift, but painful still much like his love making.
Her cocoa brown eyes, that had been sparkling with life and darkened by pleasure not a few minutes ago, were now wide and lifeless. Blood, saliva and cum oozed as if leisurely from the corner of her gaping mouth.
As life gradually left her body, her jerky movements started to recede and without another sound, she stilled stiffly like a mechanic doll robbed of its battery.
All the while, he was enjoying the scene with leisure as he leaned back, momentarily contemplating the staining crimson on his slender fingers before he started to unhurriedly lick the red evidence. He had always liked watching people dying before his own eyes, as it gave him a sense of morbid satisfaction and intense, blinding high similar to the sensation of exquisite drug.
Each time he felt the heartbeat of his victims fluttered in a frantic beat for life, he'd feel his own contract in response, savouring it with a delighted sigh; his eyes rolling to the back of his head and a giggle would escape him.
It was an alarmingly glorious sensation, almost better than sex.
Contentment, heat, desire, control and power shrouded his mind and he couldn't imagine his life without it.
It was almost erotic, the scene of death was. Metaphorically speaking, it served like first-rate porn for hormone charged and curious pre-teens.
The thrill of the hunt, the discreet seduction, the smell of fear and death swirled into a heady mixture not unlike the sweet, red nectar that slide thickly down his throat, a roaring heat that set his body aflame with alertness, life and power.
He hummed lightly to himself as he stared down dispassionately at the lifeless mortal Eve at his feet.
She had executed her feminine charm on him, fully intending to seduce the mysterious man and completely oblivious to the fact that she had sold his souls to the devil the moment she returned that inviting smile, one that was surreptitious and almost like a lover. Her death had become inevitable then, as she made a trade her life for momentary pleasure.
Her pursuit of worldly pleasure to sate her profligacy had led her to a tragic death that somehow befitted her frivolous nature.
The intemperance she practiced made everything so much easier for him. He didn't have to dangle the deceptively innocent looking forbidden fruit of temptation to lure her into the traditional trap of sin he had fabricated to ensnare her under his complete mercy. As if she was a willing lamb of sacrifice ready to be slaughtered for the delusional occultists to their god who was actually a devil, she had presented herself on the altar, baring her defenceless self for him, a demon in angelic disguise, to do as he pleased.
The woman was quite beautiful for someone in the middle of her thirtieth, to be honest. Apparently, she couldn't accept the fact that time would degrade her appeal once she passed twenty-five. Her beauty was almost too immaculate; too flawless like the continuous and expensive plastic surgeries she had done repeatedly in her attempts to maintain her artificial youth.
But her body couldn't betray the fact that she was no longer young and supple. She had long lost the tightness and her vigour. She tasted rotten like the Rotten Sherry she favoured and she smelled too much like floral perfume, it was almost sickening.
He made a mental note to take a hot bath the moment he got back to the base. Her strong smell and the sticky liquids, glaring evidence of their earlier activity, stained his expensive clothing. It made him uncomfortable.
Grabbing his shirt tossed haphazardly by the edge of the bed, he slipped on it and fastened three of the lower silver buckles and zipped his pants. Using his fingers to comb his messy brown hair and wiping away the smeared lipstick around his mouth, he stood and vainly dusted his shirt before he sauntered across the richly decorated room with soundless, deadly graceful movements that spoke of fatal poise and lethal aplomb. An almost indolent smirk stretched on his full lips, reflecting the glacial menace of his blue eyes.
He gave a searching look around the room, pulling a pair of new, flesh coloured rubber gloves and slipped on them. Searching and rummaging in the room, all the while caring not to mess anything unnecessarily.
With sharp precision and critical eyes, like he was on a scavenger hunt, he searched through the expensive clothes and polished shoes, even through her fancy lingerie. Not finding what he was looking for, he headed for the ornamental looking vanity mirror lined with make-ups, opulent jewelleries and expensive perfumes.
Recalling and making quick analysis on the woman he knew for no more than three hours, he tapped on his chin thoughtfully as his mind came out with several possibilities. He pulled the first drawer, finding it empty like the second and third. He headed for the bedside tables and looked through the drawer, patting and probing here and there.
Then he found it.
Smiling to himself, he reached for the palm-sized velvet box, and Fuji flipped it open. Inside was a heavy, impressive necklace with twelve coin sized diamonds.
According to the information that was given to him by the 'Patron', she seemed to be quite attached to this piece of jewellery that she had with her wherever she went. Admittedly, it was an exquisite piece that couldn't have cost less than a few million dollars but the 'Patron' had suspected and then confirmed that there was something more to that velvet box than what met the eyes. He suspected that she kept something else inside, something even more valuable than the necklace as he had almost caught her tampering with it at one occasion although he wasn't entirely sure.
After inspecting the box for half a minute, Fuji had figured out how it was tampered and with a flick of his finger, he peeled away the upper lid and found a small plain disc sitting innocently in the middle of the hard padding hidden underneath the velvet cushion of the necklace.
'Phase two, retrieving the Holy Scroll, completed.'
Placing a kiss on the disc and pulling out a small case to safe keep disc before slipping it into the inside pocket of his shirt, he placed the necklace back into its former position, making sure that it didn't look like it had been tampered.
Turning around, sparing not even a glance at the body, he left the room.
Walking in the mostly deserted hallway, he wore decorative reading glasses on the bridge of his nose and shoved both of his hands into the side pockets of his slacks. Putting on a nonchalant air, he casually passed and ignored two men in black that happened to be the bodyguards of his now former target.
Like any other standard bodyguards that one would see in mafia movies, the both of them wore immaculate suit with shades covering their eyes. One of them stopped and stared curiously at Fuji's direction, recognizing the man as the same one that left with the mistress earlier on.
They had quickly assumed that the brunet was perhaps a high-class hustler or male escort of sort, considering his elegant and composed conduct, refined language and the sophisticatedly tasteful ensembles he donned himself in.
It was none of their business what and who was their boss lady did as their only job was to secure her safety and carry her shopping bags. Thus, they immediately backed away, leaving the woman with her man of choice for the night. Apparently, that hustler she picked up was either very good to have exhaust her this fast or he was kicked out of the room for not being satisfying enough.
Shrugging, they headed for the room and politely knocked on the door as they called her name. But when no reply came, they exchanged glances and started to knock harder. Shouting for the lady, they came to a swift decision and tackled the door open using their shoulders. What greeted them after was the sight of the lifeless, cold body stained with sanguine blood.
Quick in taking assumptions, they both rushed outside, with their handguns in hands as the scanned the area for the man that had been last seen with their lady boss. The evil doer wasn't hard to find. In fact, the devil himself was leaning casually against the closed doors of the elevator. With both of his hands shoved inside the pocket of his slacks and his legs crossed, he looked so careless that it was provocative. The smile on his face couldn't be mistaken for anything but a mock as he raised a hand, waving cheerfully and innocently.
Aww, Fuji mentally cooed with amusement, they knew already.
But the game had just started and the King had yet to be checkmated. In contrast, the thrill of hunt had just begun, and it wouldn't be fun otherwise. The chase and the danger of his missions always pumped his adrenalin hormone to rush in his blood, so hot and fast, and it rang in his ears; the more dangerous it got, the better. It set his whole system aflame, scorching his skin.
The brunet smirked, with an odd childlike mischief gleaming in his blue eyes that almost appeared to be out of place with its twisted characteristic.
Just as the two men aimed for his head, the elevator doors were opened and Fuji took two swift steps backwards and ducked in the nick of time as the bullets passed the air where his head had been and planted themselves in two smoky dents on the elevator's wall. And when they opened fire again, this time the elevator's door closed shut and shielded the assassin, prompting strings of profanity from the two men. Immediately, they contacted their fellow bodyguards through a small cuff-like transmitter fastened like badge on their collars with urgent and pressing tone.
With professional speed, they headed for the elevator, pressing the down button repetitiously as they tried to get the same or other elevator to stop. It was too slow, and they knew the assassin would have slipped away before they could do anything at this rate. So breaking into a run, they headed for the emergency staircases.
Almost in a panicked frenzy, thirty men in black searched the whole hotel building for the assassin. It was a male no older in his twentieth, dressed smartly with pale skin and brown hair by the length of his shoulders. He was quite tall and slender, easy to miss among the crowd but quite noticeable. They had fumbled about to no avail, forgetting the possibility of the assassin returning to the scene of crime.
To their credit though, five of them spotted the brunet and had charged at him, making a move to notify the others.
'Maa, maa… that's fast.'
Sensing that he was short on time, he merely smiled and began to formulate a plan of escape.
As he narrowly missed a bullet grazing not a centimetre away from his left cheek by jumping to the side, he rolled on the carpeted floor swiftly and situated himself to lean while squatting against one of the marble pillars. Taking a deep breath, he shut his eyes for one second before snapping them open; pleasure and excitement were burning, fuelled by bloodlust.
'Saa, come and get me then…'
Fuji threw his body weight to the side, letting himself drop to the carpeted floor in almost a slow motion as he aimed his gun and managed to knock down three men in the five shot he released. Using his hand, he pushed himself into a crouching position before his body hit the floor and then he made a leap at his assailants with springy agility. One of the bodyguards tried to grab him, only to find out that the smaller man was actually strong enough to shoulder drop him.
As Fuji ducked from another gunshot, he pulled out a small pocket knife slipped behind his low cut boots and threw it with acute precision at the shooter's neck, causing the man to stumble back and shout in pain.
Wasting no time, Fuji whirled around, finding two men charging at him as they continued to rain him with bullet. Fuji ran in full circle, skilfully dodging the bullets tailing behind him and ended up burying themselves in the walls. Pulling his dagger, Fuji rushed for the red one of the two and plunged it through his shoulder, severing a nerve and causing the man to drop his gun with a clatter.
Blood splattered across the marbled surface of the wall as Fuji pulled a nearby man as his shield when an avalanche of bullets rained down on him. His shield groaned and jerked with pain before he became nothing more than a dead weight above Fuji. Shoving the now lifeless man away, Fuji did a somersault, sending a quick knee jab when one of the men approached him.
Whipping around, he landed a smooth, calculated jump kick with his right foot and at the same time, delivering a jaw punch the moment his feet barely touched the floor. He crouched down, pressing both of his hands against the carpet, bending his right knee whilst his left swept across in a near circular motion, tripping a man in the process. Feeling more than seeing that someone was running his way from behind him, Fuji made a quick move to stand and whirl around, flipping once before using his leg's power to propel himself up and kicking the side of his face.
Slipping the dagger back on its holster, he pulled out his silver sterling gun once more, aiming at the head and vital points of the last surviving four men.
He landed in one graceful stance, on one knee and unruffled, while his pursuers sprawled all over and bloody, some dead while the other incoherent and fatally hurt. Looking around, he almost sighed in mock disappointment.
'No challenge again today,'
Although it was rather conceited of him to say it, but the tensai couldn't help but feel that he was getting bored really fast by the predictable arrangement.
Alas, he spoke too soon. One of the men, which that he presumed to be dead, was actually still alive. He couldn't do much in his situation, as he had seen death smiling at him, not unlike this mysterious assassin. Summoning the last of his stubborn strength, he raised a shaking hand and fired the last bullet of the gun, before complete dropping dead.
Head snapping upward in surprise, Fuji wrenched out of harm's way just in time. Unfortunately, he wasn't prepared for another open fire aimed at him. With his flexibility, he was able to somehow make sure that the bullet released did not injure any of his vital organs, but it still grazed the skin of his lower abdomen, tearing through the flesh and spilling blood, nestling rather shallowly on his flesh. Pain shot through him, but his tolerance of it enabled him not to pass out from the shock of sudden blood loss.
Hissing as he pressed his hands on the wound, he searched for the invisible assailant, quickly scanning for the source of his attack. Apparently, the bullet went through the glass panel in one clean breach. There was a hole in the middle of the pane, crusted by cracks. Narrowing his eyes, he squinted and caught the glimpse of a human sliding down the building three-hundred metre across the hotel using a rescue reel. Immediately, Fuji made a connection.
'They have a sniper… I got careless.'
Cursing for his lack of vigilance inwardly, he quickly made a run for the end of the hallway and brought himself over the arched window wall by the end of the hallway. Finding it securely tight although not too thick in girth, he took two steps back and threw his slender yet strong leg upward in a finely aimed kick that shattered the glass successfully under the sudden impact of his low heeled leather boots.
With a loud clamour, the uneven chucks of glass scattered across the royal blue carpet. Fuji then took out a pair of fingerless leather gloves from his pocket and slipped it on before he laced them together and used the inner side of his joined fist to break the lower part of the window that still stood jaggedly on the windowsill.
Dusting the smaller remains of glass in one move, he placed his hands against the ledge and used it as leverage to flip his whole body weight on the other side of the window. Pressing the tip of his shoes against the polished wall of the hotel building, he slowly but agilely lowered himself until he found footing against the narrow outcropping with precarious vigilance. Carefully threading what little space he was given, Fuji flailed and roamed precariously until he found himself hanging just underneath the balcony of one of the ballrooms.
He slipped his hands to his waistband, feeling for another hidden pocket that hit a small string-launcher with an intricate hook attached on the mouth of the launcher. He aimed for one of the metal, concrete railings with acute accuracy. The hook shot off, following it was a black wire firmer than even piano string. It danced like a snake in the air before the hook caught on the railing, not budging the slightest even as Fuji tested it by pulling on it using a proper amount of power.
Fuji thought that it was rather risky, but he couldn't waste anymore time. His wound wasn't giving him plenty of options and those persistent bodyguards were swarming the place and it would only be a matter of time before they found him this way.
Twirling the wire once around his palm and fisting the other, he took the advantage of his light weight and shifted his fist so that his back was now supported by the wire. Then, he coordinated his feet to press against the flat of the wall, kicking his weight and extending the wire down skilfully as he slid slowly down.
It was exhausting and Fuji didn't think that he could make it down from the thirtieth floor in such a fashion. He nearly missed a step and was just in time to reach for one of the fifteenth floor's balcony. He nearly missed a heartbeat, realizing how close he was to death, and how nauseating the sensation was once more.
He peered inside the suite through the glass panel that exposed the dark, quiet room on the other side. Fuji made an assumption that it was either empty or was left by its lodgers. Taking the chances, he pushed himself against his own physical limit, skilfully though rather ungracefully manoeuvred himself by using his hands to flip his body over the railings. Using the ledge, he rolled over and landed on his knee on the terrace. Standing, Fuji peered inside, confirming that it was indeed vacant, before he pressed his hands against the glass and pushed to the left slightly. Apparently, it was left unlocked.
His movements were like that of a cat; quiet and pre-emptive like a cat. Fuji prepared his dagger, the Gate Keeper of Hecatoncheires, at hand as safeguard against the unexpected. He would've used Hakuryu, but he might need it for later as a mean for escape, should he be cornered by the ones tracking him down like overzealous dogs on a meat hunt. While he should've bought more ammunition, there was only so much one could hide on a human's body without appearing suspicious, especially when his approach was direct contact seduction.
He hated to think that they could very well surrounded him and forced him to the last resort, which was not at all impossible because he was wounded and exhausted, that was the inevitable self-destruction if he was to land in the worst of situations and got caught. It was a part of his duty to bring the secret of the organization to his grave, and since there was no escaping both the organization and the humiliation other than death when a Delegate failed his mission or betrayed his loyalty, it became also a part of their nature.
As he slipped into the room, he tiptoed across the room as soundless as his profession demanded of him. Still, Fuji couldn't help the sudden wave of throbbing pain that settled on his lower abdomen as a gripping migraine assaulted his head. The pain made him lightheaded and weak, and he cursed as he ran his hand through his hair as he fought the urge to wince.
To him, it didn't make any difference between fatal injuries or otherwise. Even the smallest would inflicted reflected his skill and his dexterity, his worth in the echelon of assassins. It was unforgivable, because it could decide his life and death.
He suspected his sudden clumsiness and sloppy movements must be due to the tranquiliser they injected inside those bullets. Much as it blew his pride, he had to admit that he was careless this time. He hated vulnerability and weakness. Most of all, he hated mistakes, especially ones that he shouldn't have made.
Fuji had always been hailed as the tensai, turning him into a perfectionist to a fault at times, unforgiving and intolerant even to himself for doing even the slightest margin of error. His life depended on each of the decision he made and every move he made, so he couldn't afford to make even a single faux pas.
So this lack of discretion was unpardonable, completely inexcusable. He was not a yesterday evening's amateur, he was a professional assassin. And to think he made such a novice slip-up, he was ashamed with himself. He was sure that Sanada-san would definitely punish him for this blunder like the tyrant he was, and he made a mental note to train even harder once he got back. If he could help it, there would never be a second time.
He needed something to change out of his blood stained coat first. After all, one would blend in crowd a lot easier without looking like he had just bathed with blood, which he could take on quite literally trained eyes quickly adapted to the lack of lighting quickly scanned his dark surrounding for something, anything. He saw the vague outline of some clothes draped haphazardly over the back of the leather chaise lounge. Grinning to himself, he quietly moved to grab a tasteful looking hooded coat, appreciatively admiring the cool, smooth material that slid like silk against his skin for a second.
"You know, that's my favourite…"
Blue eyes snapped open suddenly as he felt more than see that the lights were turned on and he nearly froze before he forced himself to move out of pure, sharpened instinct alone.
Fuji's blue eyes widened as he sharply whirled around, so fast that the coat he was holding billowed noisily as he draped it over his shoulder, holding his dagger close to his chest whilst pressing against his bleeding wound with his left hand. His stance was defensive and predatory, despite the fact that his sight was blurring and the lack of lighting was not exactly helping.
He first saw boots, high heeled and intricately laced leather ones that extended past knees and it led to the full picture of a young teen, a boy that couldn't have been older than eighteen in age.
Like a doll, the boy was kneeling on the king sized bed with his knees pressed together in front of him and his legs spread casually. His eyes were bleary and half lidded with sleepiness, as he used his left fist to rub his eye.
Apparently, he had just woken up and turned on the lights from the controller on the bedside table.
As if finding a wounded man with a dagger and torn, bloodied clothing jumping inside the room from a window on the twentieth floor of a five-star hotel in the middle of the night as a normal occurrence, the dark haired teen merely cocked his head to one side curiously when he had lowered his hands.
He was petite and delicate, with longish dark hair fluttered over a symmetric, finely featured face. Red lips, full and ambrosial, parted to show a glimpse of perfect teeth and a small pink tongue. The gentle slope of his forehead led to a nose that was small, pert and narrow. Long and thick lashes rimmed over smoky golden eyes, slightly mismatched in colour under his thin, arched eyebrows.
Donned in nothing but a wet, and mostly unbuttoned, oversized shirt that reached his mid-thigh, Fuji could clearly see through his slightly impaired vision that his pale skin practically littered with bruises and glaring bright bite marks.
Both of his hands were still tied loosely by a black satin rope, obviously the cause of bruises and scrapes on his wrists; whilst something that looked suspiciously like the cable swayed precariously between his legs.
A black dog collar with silver clasps encircled the fragile looking neck, along with a rather long leash dangled from its buckle, and a pair of cat ears band adorned the top of his head.
Despite the glaringly disadvantageous situation, Fuji couldn't bring himself not to notice as erect pink nipples stood against the soft looking skin teasingly through the almost see-through shirt, red and looking as if abused like the rest of his body.
His tousled hair and scantily clad lissom body were completely damp, as if someone had dumped a bucket of water on him, causing the already thin material to cling to his soft looking skin and emphasized on the shape of his teasingly tight and rounded buttocks but hid just enough for the imagination to run wild.
From his lips swollen red and wet trails of thick, milky fluid that continued to trickle down his creamy thighs from between his long legs, it was clear what he had been doing not a few minutes ago.
Despite his condition, the young teen stood there with no trace of shame or modesty in his strangely vacant look.
Although he appeared to be complete unarmed and unguarded by his careless and languid stance, Fuji didn't let his guard down.
Fuji cursed inwardly, biting his lips to maintain his slipping consciousness. He couldn't believe that he was so careless. But he was sure that he didn't saw anyone in this room a minute ago, and besides, he didn't hear anything until just now.
The boy's face was calm, almost a mask of passive boredom and nonchalance, as he gave Fuji a searching look. There was no trace of surprise or fear in his eyes, something that Fuji found very peculiar.
A sudden sound of from the general direction of the bathroom startled Fuji and his eyes widened slightly as he turned his gaze to the young teen sitting at the bed again. He even more surprised when the said teen pointed at the door with his forefinger, still gazing at him with those strange eyes.
"Go," he whispered, smoky eyes commanding and cold.
Fuji didn't see much choice but to take the chance before the situation turned anymore disadvantageous for him. He nodded, not understanding why he was helped as he took long, hurried strides to the door while slipping the coat onto his body.
When he had reached the door handle with his blood free hand, he whipped his head around to see the boy was still staring at him. He contemplated thanking the other male but found that he had nothing to say. Nodding simply in wordless gratitude, he slipped out of the room quietly like a cat.
While usually the one of the organization's first ten rules was to never implicate anyone outside the mission or inflict any harm on civilians, but there were exceptions in cases where they had to take drastic measures to silence people in order to protect the confidentiality of the organization. The boy had seen him in the middle of his mission and he did not come up with a viable reason to convince the boy of something other than reality. He had fallen into the twenty-fourth condition of possible disadvantageous situation during escape and would have to be silenced when found possessing the potential to jeopardize the mission.
Fuji was one of them who never hesitated in getting rid of anyone with the thread of jeopardizing his mission and he was never one to leave witnesses or evidence either that the 'Sweepers' couldn't erase for them either.
However, something about that teen just now though stopped him from doing it. He had seriously contemplated about killing him, but there was a voice in the back of his head that whispered it wouldn't be done so easily, something that told him that the boy wouldn't talk.
And then, there was the deadness of those eyes reminded him of something that he couldn't place, but one thing that he knew had very dear and important to him, an unfamiliar emotion because after his first kill, nothing had been above his mission and the organization's order for him.
But even as an assassin, Fuji was never one to ignore his instinct.
Faintly, he recalled the tempting teen; he wondered if he was hustler. It was a little bit of a… waste, if that was the case.
-
-
After Fuji left the room, with almost too languorous movements, the practically half nude boy crawled off the bed. Slowly, he headed for the balcony, almost dragging himself while at it. He was holding a cell phone in his hand, one that had been ringing for two minutes.
Languidly, he slid it open and raised it to his ear.
"It's me…" Ryoma answered as he leaned his weight against the railing, his sharp eyes following the assassin that just slipped out of the hotel building, blending in the crowd smoothly. His eyes narrowed slightly, as a glimpse of vivid clarity and sharp knowingness dispersed the smoky haze of his sleepy eyes for a fleeting second.
"… Yeah, I know. I'll finish it up soon,"
With that, Ryoma lowered his phone, sliding shut at the same time the door was opened. He didn't take his eyes off the night scenery of the hotel's Zen garden, not even feeling the thick fluid leaking from between his legs.
A tall man, older with short dark red hair and grey eyes, stepped inside. He was wearing a tight green sweater topped by a brown coat. Physically, he was quite handsome for a man in his late twentieth, young looking and presumably quite intelligent by the gaze of his eyes.
Isegawa Hiroki, a rich and sly young man, paused on the doorway as he took in the glorious backside of the delicate male standing by the window.
"So you're awake…" Isegawa leered as he took in the sight of those fine, rounded buttocks. "I didn't think you'd be awake so soon, whore."
He received no response, but he hadn't been expecting one either. When he picked this delicate looking hustler from the back alley way of the nightclub, one clad in tight leather shorts, flimsy white shirt that revealed a proper amount of pale flesh and a pair of laced leather boots, he had decided to make the almost innocent looking whore scream and beg for him like a slut in heat. He managed it, but still, the boy refused to speak almost like he was a mute or an idiot.
Since he didn't give him a name, Isegawa decided to name him whore, seeing how he spread his legs like a jaded nightwalker.
But Isegawa never thought that such elusive, delicate looking creature could turn into such a feisty, voracious savage. He never even thought about half of what they had done earlier in the span of three hours, and he was never more satisfied. The boy had agreed to obnoxious and outrageous things he could only fantasized before, every move and sound he made fuelled Isegawa's insane lust. His endurance and tolerance of pain were astonishing, whilst his body was to die for.
Shaking his head, he wondered if he could keep this boy for a while as a pet. He didn't talk much so he shouldn't be too much of a problem like the rest of the little whores he used to have. Besides, this one was like an exceptional delight, rare and enticing. He wouldn't find another one like this so easily and it might be a while before he got bored of him.
He shrugged out of his coat, draping them over the leather chaise. Inwardly, he cursed his superiors for the sudden call of duty when he was in the middle of being sucked off by that beautiful mouth. Maybe he should make the boy do it again, he thought with a sneer on his face and impatient lust in his eyes, as he unclasped his Rolex and walked over to the cupboard where a medium sized safety box was kept.
He entered the five digit code and pulled the lid, only to drop his Rolex. His gun, the one he had put on the upper tray of the safety box there was gone. Strangely enough, his two million dollars seemed untouched while the recorder he kept along was gone.
'It couldn't be…'
No one knew where he was staying; no one knew the code of his safety box. He had made sure of it.
'That back alley whore…!'
He stiffened when he heard the familiar click of gun safety being unlocked, his suspicion confirmed though his bafflement did not.
"Are you… looking for this, Isegawa Hiroki?"
Isegawa whirled around, eyes wide and face pale with evident panic, and he saw the supposed hustler twirling a gun, his, playfully with one hand. For a minute, they simply stared at one another. Then, when those full, plump lips curled into a smirk, Isegawa immediately leaped at him for the gun.
The situation took a drastic turn of events from there. Using his small, agile body, Ryoma twisted around and manoeuvred around his assailant easily, effectively pining him down with strength that belied his petite frame. Before Isegawa could move, he found himself sprawled on the carpet, with the younger male hovering above him on his knees and one hand.
"You shouldn't keep so many things inside hotels' safety box. Didn't you know that they're the easiest to tamper?"
"You fucking bitch—!"
It happened almost too fast and Isegawa couldn't process the fact that he, a professional member of a mafia group, was so easily subdued by a hustler half his size no less.
"Now you're going to tell me, Hiro-kun, what I want to know…" Ryoma whispered almost seductively as he ran his tongue against his upper lip, pressing the mouth of the silver gun harder against Isegawa's jaw, causing the taller male to flinch and grit his teeth together in surpassed defiance. "Who is the 'Blue Crane' mentioned in that recorder?"
Had he have any doubt before, it was gone now. Obviously, this hustler was not who he appeared to be. Shit, he thought, he shouldn't have left the recorder. It was his very life quite literally, he could say. He was too foolish, leaving this boy alone in the room for half an hour, thinking that he was simply a dumb whore who spread his legs for fifty dollars a night.
Better yet, he shouldn't have taken this whore when he saw him.
He seethed inside, damning the fact that he couldn't keep his dick in his pants and realizing how he had been played and fooled by this small boy. Out of fury and defiance, he spat on the pretty face, causing those sultry, bedroom eyes to narrow dangerously at him.
"Stubborn, aren't you…?" hummed Ryoma with a thoughtful look, before he took steps backward to the puddle of his own clothes, never once taking his eyes of the other male. Holding the gun steady, he reached for his pants, fishing out a small syringe filled with clear, crystalline liquid. "Well, let's see if that's going to last…"
Isegawa felt his stomach tightened as several guesses about what was the liquid popped out in his head; depressant, hallucinogenic, tranquilizer?
With a coy smile, Ryoma walked back at him. He raised his right leg and pressed it against the bed, exposing a generous portion of his long. Running a hand seductively up his unblemished thigh, he leered at the man who was staring at him warily. Using his legs, he pushed Isegawa down to the bed, pinning him there as he made a move to stand on the bed, with the older man's body between his legs as he kept the mouth of the gun aimed on Isegawa's head.
Biting the syringe between his teeth, his gun-free hand reached between his legs from behind his back, and he moaned slightly as he slipped his own fingers through his anus, groping around for and pulling the two vibrators slipped inside. It was much more pleasurable and painful like that rather than pulling it by the cord.
Isegawa could only watch as Ryoma threw his back, emitting an erotic sound. He swallowed, unable to deny the fact that this creature before him was indeed arousing.
As Ryoma dropped the wet vibrators carelessly to the carpeted floor, he dropped himself to straddle Isegawa's hips, grounding harshly against him and eliciting a surprised gasp. With the hand that he had used to pleasure himself, Ryoma pulled the syringe, grasping its cylindrical tube with his fist like how one would when holding a dagger with the needle hovering dangerously close to the side of Isegawa's neck. His thumb was rubbing the plunger, poised like he was ready to pump it any second.
Ryoma titled his head to the back a little as if to shake his hair away, and peered down again while cocking it to the side. His eyes were emotionless, betraying nothing and completely unreadable.
Isegawa wasn't exactly ready when Ryoma suddenly jabbed the needle to his skin, extracting a yelp of pain from the man. In contrast, the young model simply smirked as he slowly, oh so slowly, began to pump the liquid into Isegawa's body in one smooth motion.
Initially, the grey eyed man didn't feel anything but the pain of the stab and a rather numbing sensation running through his whole system, like his mind and consciousness were detached from his body and he was floating. His body felt hot like his blood was boiling, suffocated and almost too sensitive. This was… this was…
"Are you feeling it yet?" Ryoma whispered breathlessly, sending shivers down Isegawa's spine as that delicate hand ghosted over his now hardening erection. Those bright, cat-like eyes were wide and almost deceptively curious as he stared at the rather impressive length that swelled through the fabric of the slacks.
Isegawa couldn't help but feel utterly embarrassed as he felt those crafty fingers caressing his bulge and applying pressure at some swollen nerves. He bucked into that hand; wanting more friction, craving more contact.
"Hnn, this stuff works better than I thought…" the dark haired teen murmured as he, almost like a curious child with a peculiar toy, poked the engorging member. Using the heel of his palm, he started to rub Isegawa through the cloth, almost robbing a choked sob from the stimulated man.
Deliberately and knowingly, Ryoma moved his hand and fingers, causing Isegawa to trash around in frenzy for release. He pulled one of the blindfold Isegawa had made him wore not an hour ago and tied it around the older man's mouth, effectively muffling every single sound emitted. Like how the older man had done to him before, he used a black leather belt to bind Isegawa's hands together to the bedpost, restricting his jerky movements and causing him to squirm even more.
With an insane glint in his eyes and a touch of sadistic satisfaction on his lips, he stopped to undo the black, fitting slack Isegawa was wearing and flung it to the floor before he made a move to stand over the taut and tense body, letting Isegawa cried in distress and heat that contradicted his earlier aloofness.
Then suddenly, he pressed his leather clad leg on the angry red, pulsating member and before Isegawa could even start to guess what he was going to do, Ryoma suddenly ground the sole of his boot against the turgid cock, causing the older man to cry out loud, yelling incoherently as pain and pleasure, both sharp and glaring, shot through his juddering body.
Vaguely, through what little sanity he still maintained, Isegawa realized how humiliating it was to be treated like this. However, he couldn't do much but groan through the gag as he felt his already sensitized member being abused as such.
The red haired man curled on his side on the carpeted floor and Ryoma used the tip of his heeled leather boot to probe his manhood, mercilessly rubbing and drilling against the weeping cock with vigorous viciousness to increase the friction he knew Isegawa craved like his very life depended on it.
Ryoma's full lips slowly curled into a malicious smirk as he dug the heels of his boot against Isegawa's heavy balls, purposely rolling and adding pressure to his foot, prompting a choked whimper from the older man.
Saliva dribbled down Isegawa's chin messily, mimicking his weeping cock as the pressure between his legs continued to mount higher and higher, whilst pitiful tears started to gather at the corner of his light grey eyes.
As the man continued to gasp for air under his ministration, Ryoma reached for his cell phone and activated the video recording feature. With lazy and slightly sloppy movements, the young model started to record the writhing male. Watching Isegawa through the narrow, shaky screen of his cell phone, Ryoma let out a sinister laugh that touched the delicate border on insanity, managing to send sharp chill down Isegawa's spine despite his painful arousal and lack of coherency of his drugged mind.
"You're such a good boy," Ryoma cooed mockingly as he laughed again, shifting his foot and dug his heels into that spot between Isegawa's heavy sacs and anus, causing the red haired man to scream and convulse violently on the floor. "So who's the slut now, huh?" Ryoma giggled again as he continued to record the man trashing and bucking wildly like an animal in heat under the mercy of his lewd sadism, "Look at you… so wet, so pathetic with just this!"
Licking his lips seductively as he cast a sultry gaze on Isegawa over his phone, he ran the fore and middle fingers of his free hand against his lower lip and relished the delicious thrill that strummed his adrenalin, feeling slightly giddy high over the complete power and domination that caused his blood to sing in utter delight.
Suddenly he stopped, causing Isegawa to convulse at the sudden wave of emotions when he suddenly paused in his ministrations; relief, need, pleasure, pain, everything that he couldn't name.
Ryoma simply stared down at the older man contemplatively, before coming to a decision.
The young model bent his upper body a little, producing two almost invisible cords of sharpened piano strings from between the straps of his boot. He leaned even lower that his chest was aligned with his shapely thigh and stretched the strings with both hands with a resounding snap. With an unreadable expression etched on his aloof face, he whispered as if wondering out loud to himself.
"Now, what am I going to do with you…?"
Suddenly leering predatorily like a voracious marauder on a thrill hunt, his bright right eye that was uncovered by the dark bangs gleamed with a vicious, crazed gleam as his tongue flicked out to lick his upper lip salaciously.
Oh, yes.
-
-
Fuji panted as he felt himself getting wearier by the minute, as his consciousness slipped away little by little, fading in and out like a blurred dream of black and breathings were irregular as he tried to stay focussed, listening very carefully to the slightest sound, taking in possibility of his pursuers finding him even though he was sure that he had lost them quite successfully three blocks from the hotel. While usually normal human wouldn't make it through even half the distance in his condition, but he was by no mean normal.
He found himself stumbling, nearly doubling over if he hadn't grabbed the nearby lamppost by the puffed roadside with his overly reactive reflexes. He could feel his head throbbing as he fought to maintain his consciousness despite the amount of tranquilizer running in his veins, but he was slowly failing.
Fuji plunged his upper teeth into his lower lip as an attempt to stay awake, all the while breathing hard.
Just as he was about to collapse though, a sleek Mercedes Benz broke into an abrupt stop from an abnormal speed right next to Fuji. The tyres squealed and squeaked, as the car swivelled slightly in one smooth, fluid motion.
Fuji stared at the car with an impassive look before he averted his face again and heaved a sigh as he heard the driver's door being opened. Stepping out of the black car was a tall man clad in immaculate, formal clothing with broad shoulders and a slim face obscured by square glasses that hid his eyes completely.
The bespectacled man headed for the tensai with equally efficient movements, though not quite as elegant as the brunet's.
Instinctively as he heard the man entering the five feet radius of proximity, Fuji revealed his blue eyes, one of his secret weapons in intimidation. His slightly trembling body immediately stiffening in a defensive posture, tense and rigid as he fought to keep coherency and his dagger still, he glared up at the man with blatant suspicion and a wordless threat that he would not hesitate to attack if the man either intruded on his private space any further without permission or when he deemed that there was any suspicious movements at all.
He might have known the man, but it could've been anyone else in disguise and thus, no one was to be trusted. After all, his safety was always to be prioritized at any occasion. He wasn't about to take any more chances after everything that happened that night.
The man simply stared at him, the weight of his critical gaze obvious despite the fact that his eyes were concealed behind the thick lenses. Suddenly, he produced a slim, green leather bound notebook and flipped it open before he started to scribble, mumbling one thing and another every now and then.
"… uncharacteristically wounded… agility and reaction speed decreased by approximately seven percent, but cautiousness increased by eighty seven point three percent, and power might increase by two times compared to the usual… data gathering done." He clapped the book close again, raising his gleaming spectacles that reflected the little light of the streetlamp to address the panting brunet who was still glaring daggers at him, never once dropping his guard.
The sight of a comrade wounded didn't deter him, as he was used to the cold deaths that surrounded them as assassins, and it certainly didn't stop him from taking valuable data about the ever mysterious tensai, as he was very difficult to analyze and because he was rarely so… vulnerable. Practical and efficient were his nature after all.
"Good evening, Number XIII. I am here under the direct order from Number II to bring you back to the headquarters," the spiky haired man continued as he gave a brief nod, pushing his glasses unnecessarily up the bridge of his nose.
Despite the fact that his face had been drained of nearly all of its colours, he still managed to make himself appeared intimidating as he continued to regard the man with cautiousness that could only have bred out of living under extreme conditions of precarious balance between life and death situations for years.
"Identify yourself."
"Number VI, Code Name Doctor."
Eyes still narrowed although not quite as harsh as before as hesitant relief tinted the dark shadows of his irises, the brunet appraised him with a slow nod and finally hissed, "What is the Clown's favourite colour?"
"Red," came the almost immediate answer as the bespectacled man raised an eyebrow at Fuji with bland amusement, "Come now, Fuji. Not recognizing me already? They didn't get you that bad, did they?"
Fuji trained his stony gaze on the bespectacled man for another five seconds before he sighed and slid his eyes shut, before he raised his face and smiled at him with that sleepy expression on his face again.
"You sure took your time there, Inui."
"It couldn't be helped. Number I didn't allow me to track you until we received positive confirmation that the target was eradicated. I was to be reinforcement and take over the mission and resumed operation should you fail… which you didn't, I see. Pity, it could've been a good data."
Inui clarified, an undertone of mild disappointment in his monotonous voice was detected by Fuji's sharp ears. Fuji smiled; it was simply like Inui to treat everything as a ground to test theory and experiment, advocating his mind opinion with brutal honesty. Inui made a move to help the brunet to the backseat before returning to the driver's seat and wordlessly restarted the car. As they launched into the empty, dark streets, Fuji didn't even bother to look back to the way of his pursuers and leaned back on the comfortable leather seats.
With slightly trembling hands, he grabbed for the skin at the curve of his neck, pulling it in one smooth motion as Fuji snapped his neck to a side. Plastic mask had always been uncomfortable to use, even if it was one of such thin and breathable material made to follow the contour of his bone structure like second skin. Underneath the mask of the generally handsome young man was an even more refined, attractive face constructed by patrician, almost delicate Asian features.
Flexing his jaw and loosening the tight muscles of his face, Fuji dropped the mask carelessly on the backseat of the car and reached into his pocket for a small and thin sachet with no labels. Tearing it open using his teeth, Fuji hovered it above his wound and sprinkled the white powder, closing his eyes when he felt the sharp pain soared through his body as the emergency disinfectant powder did its job.
After almost ten minutes of absolute silence, Inui finally decided to break it.
"What is the matter? You seemed to be pretty… sloppy back there." He threw a glance at the brunet's reflection by the driver's mirror through the upper rim of his glasses, speaking in monotonous tone. "It's untypical of you."
Fuji was still staring pass the window to his right side; his right hand applying pressure against his wounded left abdomen to help stop the bleeding. "Yes, I guess I am a bit… distracted…"
"Distracted." Inui echoed, as he quirked an eyebrow at the brunet. "It's rather unbecoming of you, tensai. You were never distracted before,"
Fuji let out an eerily light chuckle, sinister and dark in its nature. He never tore his eyes away from the rapidly shifting scene outside the window.
"I'm feeling slightly… moody. Maybe I'm lacking in calcium,"
It disturbed him, that one possibility of him getting killed by a faceless, anonymous bodyguard. It's just too much, too ridiculous for one of the finest assassins to be killed in such dreadful fashion. After all, the whispers of his genius followed him wherever he went.
How was it that humans, the superior of creations, were so susceptible? So very vulnerable that even he, the prodigy child, could be so puny in the face of reality of his mortality and limitations?
Even he could've died just as easily as any other human. So, even the tensai was helpless against the death?
Not if he could help it. If he couldn't win against it, at least he'd cheat it like he had so many times before.
He was aware that an assassin's life had always been cursed, as they lived with honour in the shadow and die with mockery of stealth. They had no existence, no rose framed reality, no identity, knowing no freedom, no loyalty; only a will to live, bitter and brutal truth, conspiracy, betrayal and duties.
Of course, as an assassin, he was supposed to be ready for anything; even death and the worse of torture, when it came down to his duty and, most importantly, his loyalty to the organization. It was his oath and commitment when he had first taken up his dagger and his tattoo, knowing exactly what to risk and what was involved.
He was an assassin, born and raised to be one. So nothing would ever change the faith and code he held second only to his life. Not death, not fear, not emotions, nothing.
"You know that we can't afford to be, as you dubbed it, moody."Inui said as passionately as one would when conversing about the weather, "Because we are the Numbers. We stake our lives on the line with every single breath, and mood swings are proven to be quite a hindrance. You're supposed to know that more than anyone, Number XIII. After all, you're the tensai."
"Ah, I know…" Fuji whispered, more to himself than anyone else as he slid his eyes shut and leaned his forehead against the fogged window, as his breathings calmed down to a point where he almost appeared to be sleeping when he was not.
"… I know."
Inui didn't say anything else, knowing that his comrade was in need of rest. It was well known that assassins never really fell asleep because they had to be vigilant and prepared even in their sleep, so they simply entered a state that was similar to sleeping but not quite the same.
Most importantly, Fuji would have to submit his report first thing the moment they reached the base as it was one of their rules. He would need all the rest he could get, every single one of them did when they were about to face the Japan's top two Numbers, for tiring reasons completely differed from one and the other.
The rest of the journey back was quiet and cold.
End Note : Err, right… it's been too long since I last write this. Well, let's see… you do notice that I switch some roles for the characters, right? It felt righter this way anyway. So Yukimura, the one I planned to be the bad guy, will not end up as a bad guy… Well, not really anyway. The storyline completely changed from how I imagined it first. But do you like the first one better, or this one? I know that this one is, err… more graphic and maybe a little… darker?
If any of you read the Reversed, I, and Hormones, oh Hormones and the rewritten Gakuen Story ~ Sensei Hours, now titled Imadoki no Shishunki ~ Awakening Puberty, and The Grace of Stealth ~ Killing Me Softly, now titled Kuchibiru ni Amai Doku ~ Sweet Poison on Your Lips, the following OCs – Odagiri Minoru, Hidaka Hatsuharu, Takamiya Kouki, Mizuno Shinya, and Shiina Hiromi – would reappear.
From this point onward, the number of reviews is going to decide the story updates. The most number of reviews will vote the story as the fastest one to update and the rest will follow in order.