Assassain For Hire
By Ryuuen
Warnings: Citrus, shounen-ai, yaoi, language, death theme. LIME.
A/N: Another of the prototypes I wrote for Weiss Timbitz's fanfiction contest. Around May I'll choose one to send in. This one is much darker than even "No Need" (the "Diamonds Are Forever" songfic) and includes a side of Omi no one would guess existed. This is a slightly older, post-series Omi, and it all takes place after even Verbrechen~Strafe. This is Omi... as you've never seen him before. Song is "The Man With the Golden Gun" by Lulu.
NOTE: All strangeness and dark themes can be attributed to listening to the WeiB Kreuz Songs Collection waaaaay too much, especially "The Last Supper" and "Instant Karma".. -_-;;;
NOTE2: This is my first even vaguely citrus fic! Are you proud of me? ^_^ I like it, even if it doesn't deal with the act too much.. I don't know if I did a good job, I've seen much, much better.. so please let me know, okay?
ASSASSAIN FOR HIRE
----------------------------
~"He has a powerful weapon, he charges a million a shot; an assassain that's second to none, the man with the golden gun."~
"This is the place?" The innocence of that voice were deceptive, but the intent was well-hidden. The tall man beside him nodded once, smiling widely.
Well, the boy thought coldly, he'll get what he wants.. but then I get what I want.
The man gestured to a staircase, his deep voice commanding, telling him to follow him, and the boy complied, all the while feeling the comforting weight of his small, sharp weapons in their place, knowing that even if he had to give himself to this monster, that monster wouldn't live to see the light of day again.
Thus reassuring himself, Omi allowed himself to be led to the bedroom, all the while knowing the man's intent.
~"Lurking in some darkened doorway, or crouched on a rooftop somewhere, in the next room, or this very one, the man with the golden gun."~
Hands ran down his slim, naked body: admiring, feeling, touching. He allowed himself a soft moan, let the man think he was enjoying himself. Felt the man's hand linger in his more private areas, felt his own hand on the man's waist, an attempt to make the man think he was innocent, pure, untouched, inexperianced. He wasn't, but he knew that it was what this man wanted: something pure, so he could stain it. It made him sick to think of it.
He could feel the man's sick ecstasy in the air, an emotion as palpable to Omi as fear, and about as alien. More alien than fear; happiness. He had never felt it, couldn't describe it. The closest he had ever come was with his friends, but they were gone now, though they still lived together, they were back to living normal lives while he continued killing for Kritiker, continued being WeiB, just as he had been before Ken came, before Yohji, before Aya came, too. He had been WeiB as long as he could remember; he would continue being WeiB until some mission gone wrong got him struck down in an alley somewhere.
He tried to concentrate on what he was doing; tried to imagine that the man wasn't who he was, roughly touching him in places he didn't want to be touched, but rather the one he really cared for, but found it impossible. The one he truly cared for would never touch him in such a manner: so roughly, hungrily, aiming only for his own satisfaction and not Omi's. The one he loved, he thought, would be gentle, innocent like flowers, untouched by even Omi's blood-stained hands. He would be kind to him, not rough and rushing like the people who touched him at times like this.
It'll be over soon, he thought to himself. And someday... someday I won't have to do this anymore..
The next thought that crossed his mind almost scared him, but in another way made him glad:
Someday soon I'll be dead...
~"Love is required whenever he's hired, it comes just before the kill. No one can catch him, no hitman can match him for his million dollar skill."~
It was easy enough to excite his body for this, all he had to do was imagine that it was his love who touched him, though he couldn't really believe that his love would touch him, he was so dirty. He had been ravaged like this so many times, someone as pure as the one he loved wouldn't go near him. Wouldn't touch him with a ten-foot pole.
So he let the man take him, giving the appropriate moans and going through the appropriate motions, letting his base bodily instincts control him so that he wouldn't cry. He never cried anymore.
The man's sweaty body fell, exhausted, next to Omi, who smirked in the darkness.
His sharp-tipped dart imbedded itself noiselessly in the man's hot neck, and still Omi smiled.
"Oyasumi."
~"One golden shot means another poor victim has come to a glittering end. For a price, he'll erase anyone, the man with the golden gun."~
"I'm tired, Ken-kun.. onegai, leave off.." Omi pleaded, eyes cloudy and tired, his hands by his side. His friend faced him, looking stern, wanting to know where Omi had been, they had been worried about him. He certainly looked worried, although Omi couldn't fathom why he would be worried about him.
"Omi." Ken commanded quietly, putting a hand on the younger's shoulder. "Where were you? Tell me, please."
"I had a mission, okay?" Omi asked, indignant. "You guys might not be WeiB anymore, but I am, so lay off!"
With that, the tired, sweaty youth ran down the hall to his room, the door slamming loudly behind him, an oak-on-oak sound that made Yohji poke his head out of his room.
"What was that all about?" The blonde asked. Ken shrugged.
I wish I knew, Yohji.
~"His eye may be on you or me. Who will he bang? We shall see. Oh yeah!"~
"Omi..." Ken began, his eyes trained on his younger friend. "Omi.. you go on these missions all the time, but you never tell us about them. What happens on these missions? Why are you so afraid to tell us?"
Omi didn't answer: they didn't need to know. They would feel sorry for him, ask why he did it, why didn't he just quit?, and no matter what he said, they wouldn't take it as an answer. It didn't matter if they knew. He didn't care. He was the emotionless soldier with a smile on his face even as he killed, the perfect assassain, the kind that people wrote books about. He didn't care about anything, or at least, he wasn't supposed to.
"Omi?" Ken inquired again. Omi shook his head slightly, just once.
"It doesn't matter." He replied after a long moment, looking up at Ken with eyes that hid any emotion, and a smile on his face despite whatever he was feeling. "It doesn't matter anyway, Ken-kun.. it doesn't matter at all."
It doesn't matter.. he repeated in his mind. It doesn't matter at all.
~"Love is required whenever he's hired, it comes just before the kill. No one can catch him, no hitman can match him, for his million dollar skill."~
Another clean kill, another night's work. Another smile and another soft "oyasumi". How many times had he done this? Sex, kill, leave. It was what he did. These sick businessmen had a way of overlooking the fact that he was underage, instead seeing his lithe, perfect body, his big blue eyes that radiated innocence even though there was none. Another night of coming home past midnight, explaining in a harried rush to Ken or Yohji that he had had a mission, he was going to bed, sorry for making you worry. Another night of hurrying out of the room so that he wouldn't slip and say too much.
His mission reports were filed to Kritiker and told of how he had seduced the unfortunate victim, led them away, had sex with them and then killed them, leaving behind him only their body and his symbol, a freesia, lying on the bedside table or the pillow where he had lain. Never did the flower touch the victim. That would have been blasphemy.
He never cared to follow up on his victims in the news, on TV, or to revisit the sites. These were things the police looked for. He was glad he was careful, never letting himself leave any traces besides the freesia, which, being devoid of fingerprints, wasn't much to go on. And Kritiker practically owned the police force anyway, so it didn't matter much.
And so he hid his feelings for Ken deep inside, lest they escape and ruin him. He didn't want to defile his secret angel, so he never laid a hand on him unless he had to, never touched him with love, no matter how much he wanted to. He was a murderer, a killer without a conscience, who smiled as death came to his victims, and left behind freesias, a pathetic mockery of the innocence he portrayed during the day.
He could never tell anyone, and so it was his secret. He knew someday they would find out, but he made a point of never thinking about the future outside of a week.
Even Ken could see the sadness in his eyes that he struggled not to show, but no one could do anything. Omi just went on being Omi, with his peculiar schedule and somewhat obsessive-compulsive habits. He didn't care anymore, couldn't care about anything. Then why did it all bother him so much? Why, then, did he love Ken?
It doesn't matter, he reminded himself. It doesn't matter at all.
~"One golden shot means another poor victim, has come to a glittering end. If you want to get rid of someone, the man with the golden gun will get it done. He'll shoot anyone with his golden gun."~
~owari~
By Ryuuen
Warnings: Citrus, shounen-ai, yaoi, language, death theme. LIME.
A/N: Another of the prototypes I wrote for Weiss Timbitz's fanfiction contest. Around May I'll choose one to send in. This one is much darker than even "No Need" (the "Diamonds Are Forever" songfic) and includes a side of Omi no one would guess existed. This is a slightly older, post-series Omi, and it all takes place after even Verbrechen~Strafe. This is Omi... as you've never seen him before. Song is "The Man With the Golden Gun" by Lulu.
NOTE: All strangeness and dark themes can be attributed to listening to the WeiB Kreuz Songs Collection waaaaay too much, especially "The Last Supper" and "Instant Karma".. -_-;;;
NOTE2: This is my first even vaguely citrus fic! Are you proud of me? ^_^ I like it, even if it doesn't deal with the act too much.. I don't know if I did a good job, I've seen much, much better.. so please let me know, okay?
ASSASSAIN FOR HIRE
----------------------------
~"He has a powerful weapon, he charges a million a shot; an assassain that's second to none, the man with the golden gun."~
"This is the place?" The innocence of that voice were deceptive, but the intent was well-hidden. The tall man beside him nodded once, smiling widely.
Well, the boy thought coldly, he'll get what he wants.. but then I get what I want.
The man gestured to a staircase, his deep voice commanding, telling him to follow him, and the boy complied, all the while feeling the comforting weight of his small, sharp weapons in their place, knowing that even if he had to give himself to this monster, that monster wouldn't live to see the light of day again.
Thus reassuring himself, Omi allowed himself to be led to the bedroom, all the while knowing the man's intent.
~"Lurking in some darkened doorway, or crouched on a rooftop somewhere, in the next room, or this very one, the man with the golden gun."~
Hands ran down his slim, naked body: admiring, feeling, touching. He allowed himself a soft moan, let the man think he was enjoying himself. Felt the man's hand linger in his more private areas, felt his own hand on the man's waist, an attempt to make the man think he was innocent, pure, untouched, inexperianced. He wasn't, but he knew that it was what this man wanted: something pure, so he could stain it. It made him sick to think of it.
He could feel the man's sick ecstasy in the air, an emotion as palpable to Omi as fear, and about as alien. More alien than fear; happiness. He had never felt it, couldn't describe it. The closest he had ever come was with his friends, but they were gone now, though they still lived together, they were back to living normal lives while he continued killing for Kritiker, continued being WeiB, just as he had been before Ken came, before Yohji, before Aya came, too. He had been WeiB as long as he could remember; he would continue being WeiB until some mission gone wrong got him struck down in an alley somewhere.
He tried to concentrate on what he was doing; tried to imagine that the man wasn't who he was, roughly touching him in places he didn't want to be touched, but rather the one he really cared for, but found it impossible. The one he truly cared for would never touch him in such a manner: so roughly, hungrily, aiming only for his own satisfaction and not Omi's. The one he loved, he thought, would be gentle, innocent like flowers, untouched by even Omi's blood-stained hands. He would be kind to him, not rough and rushing like the people who touched him at times like this.
It'll be over soon, he thought to himself. And someday... someday I won't have to do this anymore..
The next thought that crossed his mind almost scared him, but in another way made him glad:
Someday soon I'll be dead...
~"Love is required whenever he's hired, it comes just before the kill. No one can catch him, no hitman can match him for his million dollar skill."~
It was easy enough to excite his body for this, all he had to do was imagine that it was his love who touched him, though he couldn't really believe that his love would touch him, he was so dirty. He had been ravaged like this so many times, someone as pure as the one he loved wouldn't go near him. Wouldn't touch him with a ten-foot pole.
So he let the man take him, giving the appropriate moans and going through the appropriate motions, letting his base bodily instincts control him so that he wouldn't cry. He never cried anymore.
The man's sweaty body fell, exhausted, next to Omi, who smirked in the darkness.
His sharp-tipped dart imbedded itself noiselessly in the man's hot neck, and still Omi smiled.
"Oyasumi."
~"One golden shot means another poor victim has come to a glittering end. For a price, he'll erase anyone, the man with the golden gun."~
"I'm tired, Ken-kun.. onegai, leave off.." Omi pleaded, eyes cloudy and tired, his hands by his side. His friend faced him, looking stern, wanting to know where Omi had been, they had been worried about him. He certainly looked worried, although Omi couldn't fathom why he would be worried about him.
"Omi." Ken commanded quietly, putting a hand on the younger's shoulder. "Where were you? Tell me, please."
"I had a mission, okay?" Omi asked, indignant. "You guys might not be WeiB anymore, but I am, so lay off!"
With that, the tired, sweaty youth ran down the hall to his room, the door slamming loudly behind him, an oak-on-oak sound that made Yohji poke his head out of his room.
"What was that all about?" The blonde asked. Ken shrugged.
I wish I knew, Yohji.
~"His eye may be on you or me. Who will he bang? We shall see. Oh yeah!"~
"Omi..." Ken began, his eyes trained on his younger friend. "Omi.. you go on these missions all the time, but you never tell us about them. What happens on these missions? Why are you so afraid to tell us?"
Omi didn't answer: they didn't need to know. They would feel sorry for him, ask why he did it, why didn't he just quit?, and no matter what he said, they wouldn't take it as an answer. It didn't matter if they knew. He didn't care. He was the emotionless soldier with a smile on his face even as he killed, the perfect assassain, the kind that people wrote books about. He didn't care about anything, or at least, he wasn't supposed to.
"Omi?" Ken inquired again. Omi shook his head slightly, just once.
"It doesn't matter." He replied after a long moment, looking up at Ken with eyes that hid any emotion, and a smile on his face despite whatever he was feeling. "It doesn't matter anyway, Ken-kun.. it doesn't matter at all."
It doesn't matter.. he repeated in his mind. It doesn't matter at all.
~"Love is required whenever he's hired, it comes just before the kill. No one can catch him, no hitman can match him, for his million dollar skill."~
Another clean kill, another night's work. Another smile and another soft "oyasumi". How many times had he done this? Sex, kill, leave. It was what he did. These sick businessmen had a way of overlooking the fact that he was underage, instead seeing his lithe, perfect body, his big blue eyes that radiated innocence even though there was none. Another night of coming home past midnight, explaining in a harried rush to Ken or Yohji that he had had a mission, he was going to bed, sorry for making you worry. Another night of hurrying out of the room so that he wouldn't slip and say too much.
His mission reports were filed to Kritiker and told of how he had seduced the unfortunate victim, led them away, had sex with them and then killed them, leaving behind him only their body and his symbol, a freesia, lying on the bedside table or the pillow where he had lain. Never did the flower touch the victim. That would have been blasphemy.
He never cared to follow up on his victims in the news, on TV, or to revisit the sites. These were things the police looked for. He was glad he was careful, never letting himself leave any traces besides the freesia, which, being devoid of fingerprints, wasn't much to go on. And Kritiker practically owned the police force anyway, so it didn't matter much.
And so he hid his feelings for Ken deep inside, lest they escape and ruin him. He didn't want to defile his secret angel, so he never laid a hand on him unless he had to, never touched him with love, no matter how much he wanted to. He was a murderer, a killer without a conscience, who smiled as death came to his victims, and left behind freesias, a pathetic mockery of the innocence he portrayed during the day.
He could never tell anyone, and so it was his secret. He knew someday they would find out, but he made a point of never thinking about the future outside of a week.
Even Ken could see the sadness in his eyes that he struggled not to show, but no one could do anything. Omi just went on being Omi, with his peculiar schedule and somewhat obsessive-compulsive habits. He didn't care anymore, couldn't care about anything. Then why did it all bother him so much? Why, then, did he love Ken?
It doesn't matter, he reminded himself. It doesn't matter at all.
~"One golden shot means another poor victim, has come to a glittering end. If you want to get rid of someone, the man with the golden gun will get it done. He'll shoot anyone with his golden gun."~
~owari~