WARNING(S): Blood play and erotic asphyxiation. The usual.

Horticulture

06.

Festival Time

Hisoka stared at the photograph Illumi presented him. A woman stuck out in a crowd of blurred strangers. She hid her gaze under a black baseball cap, but the camera angle offered an unobstructed view of her face—a square-shaped jaw with strong cheekbones and eyes that were a lime green shade. She was in the middle of hiking the collar of her jacket up over her lower face when the image was snapped.

"And this is?" asked Hisoka, holding the picture between two fingers.

"Have you seen her around Selene?" asked Illumi.

"New job?"

Illumi nodded. "Medora killed another Meljanac this week."

Hisoka delighted in the idea of tagging along with Illumi if it meant encountering a strong fighter.

Illumi fixed his gaze on Hisoka and deadpanned, "She costs more alive."

Hisoka shrugged. "Well, I haven't seen anyone hanging around Selene. Ah, no, I'm wrong, there is one girl. Athena, I believe her name was."

"Just Athena? No third person?"

"No. Why? You think Medora is hanging around one of them."

"Unlikely. Medora travels with two others." Illumi fixed his gaze on Hisoka as if he knew that his intentions were to follow along. "To challenge her, you have to kill them first. It won't be easy."

Hisoka smirked. "I'm honored, you sound worried."

"Medora and her brothers are the strongest assassins in the Meljanac family."

"How exciting."

"If you want to kill her, you can," said Illumi, pausing, "after I've turned her over to her family."

Hisoka kept his eyes peeled for Medora but returned to Deene City for Pandora. Illumi had informed him that Medora took advantage of Festival—an archaic practice of the Meljanacs to weed out their weakest links—to pick off the rest of her enemies. Their unnecessary drama was a result of Medora's love of attention. The fact that the head of the Meljanac family put a hit out on Medora meant that she succeeded in stirring chaos. Pandora was among the names in Medora's hitlist and Hisoka didn't plan to miss out on the opportunity of adding more prey to his collection.

Pandora mingled with a crowd of elites, remaining in Hisoka's line of sight. He didn't blend well with the others, but nobody approached him. He leaned casually in deep concentration, following her every move, observing her every gesture, breathing every breath she took, and feeling the distorted prickle of her nen shuddering out of her body—a beacon in a scattering blackness. This was the easiest way to track her. It was when she was arguably at the peak of her strength. This wasn't meant to communicate like he initially believed, it was to bait the weaklings for Festival.

Hisoka spotted Pandora's prey enter the hall from the left entrance. Pandora turned away from that direction, offering her current man the flute of champagne she held. Hisoka read the excuse on Pandora's lips before she glided towards the opposite entrance.

The bathroom. Typical.

Hisoka followed the girl skulking after Pandora across the hall and out the double doors. The empty corridor echoed with the slowing clicks of Pandora's heels. Pandora reached the end of the hallway, pausing at the entrance of the adjacent venue and Hisoka stayed by the doors to the private soiree they left. Between them, the young girl with the dagger peeking out from the loose sleeve of her dress, stood enveloped in protective aura. A neophyte. Not worth the fight.

Pandora's eyes shone bright like sun-infused gems when she registered the young assassin's identity. "Carpo! Did they finally let you leave the island unsupervised?"

Carpo tsked. "I don't need a shadow like you, let alone three."

Pandora held out her arms. "I'm surprised you've survived this long. Has Dio been protecting you?"

Carpo ground her teeth. "You think you're safe because you came out on top again? You're a target, too, and the prize is your position."

She laughed boisterously as if the girl had told the world's funniest joke, and Hisoka's lips tugged upward at the ends. She was playing with Carpo.

Infuriated, Carpo launched her dagger at Pandora's head, but it stabbed into the wall. Carpo's distraction meant to give her the upper hand, but her inexperience in battle was a glaring fault. She hadn't even learned nen properly.

"Where is our dear brother?" asked Pandora, intercepting Carpo's path and took her face.

Carpo kicked her leg up with a growl, missing Pandora. "I won't let you near Dio!"

Pandora shoved her and the inexperienced assassin lost her footing, rolling onto her back and returning to her feet swiftly. Pandora was faster.

The thrill etched on Pandora's face made his desire peak. He saw no benefit in preying on a weakling, but the savagery that shadowed her expression, the terse hallway atmosphere crowded with her bloodlust, and the fluid execution of every movement—everything a calculation in her sparkling eyes, no move wasted—made his knees weak and his cock hard for her. She never fought him with this level of precision, knowing that she could fueled his interest.

Pandora broke Carpo's legs when she caught her midair and slammed her to the ground, leaving the assassin agonizing on the floor curling into herself as she brought her hands to the protruding bone.

Pandora made eye contact with him, her gaze narrowed—dark and bloodthirsty, no amount of death would satisfy her. He swallowed thickly, his dry throat aching and his cock throbbing. A shudder went through him, numbing his quivering skin. This was what it felt like to be threatened by Pandora, to taste the force of her cold hatred. His urge to fuck and fight her to death overlapped. He battled his own instinct to attack her, anticipating that if he did, he would receive the challenge he wanted, but this wasn't even the peak of her ability. She wasn't ready for him to sink his teeth into.

This was like a drop of water in the humid summers of his childhood. His feelings had not changed from then to now. He wanted more and he didn't care how he got it. He would drink in all of her hatred like that old man knelt before her in worship if that meant ensuring that she hated only him, that she looked at him with the same eyes—the promise to obliterate him until the wind scattered his ashes.

Hisoka lodged a card so far into Carpo's head that it came out her forehead. He caught a flash of metal in his periphery and evaded the swipe of the dagger, but the kick caught him in the abdomen, hurling him through the wall. His body destroyed three bathroom stalls and his landing shattered the monochromatic tiling.

He chuckled when the weight of her body settled on his, the sharp point of Carpo's dagger pierced the skin of his neck. A pipe bent and burst above them and showed them with a spray of water as the dust settled, stones clattered into place among the wreckage.

Pandora's eyes were alive and in them, he noticed green in her irises peeking through a flood.

Hisoka ground her ass against his aching erection. She hurled her weapon away and kissed him. He tore at the flimsy fabric of her narrow dress and she ripped the shirt off him. He thrust hard into her and she cried out, her voice a beautiful echo. Her nails pinched into his shoulder as he fisted a hand in her hair. She exhaled and he felt it around his cock.

She took him in deep. He groaned, her soft sweltering heat wrapped around him tight. She covered his body with her own, pressing her lips to his ear, her shoulder flushed, and whispered, "Fuck me, tear me apart."

He buried his nails into her hips. He wanted nothing more than to oblige her, but as she started to shake her wanton hips, a shrill scream disrupted them. The witness sprang away crying murder.

Pandora removed him from inside her, flinching. She tied the loose pieces of her skirt together to keep the bottom half of her dress closed. She licked her bruised lips and headed out the hole in the wall. She left him lying on the broken tiles of the bathroom, soaked to the marrow, with a raging boner. He pushed his painful erection back inside his pants and exited.

This was all the confirmation that he needed to determine she warred against her true nature. Killing to Pandora was an art form. Whether the reason was a natural affinity for it or years of devoted practice was the furthest thing from Hisoka's mind. Trivial information. He wasn't interested in her life story. He wanted her present, but he desired her whole, not the withering remnant she presented herself as. That Pandora was boring. He disliked her, but he liked the feral version of her that killed calculatedly.

Hisoka forced his way into Pandora's penthouse. She had simmered down since their encounter three hours ago and stood in a bathrobe with the tips of her damp hair shuddering droplets of water. The towel she held to dry her hair slapped onto the floor. No words passed between them. He advanced and she backed away until he pinned her body against the wall. He slid his right hand under her robe and his left pawed at her breasts—pinching and tugging at her nipples. He opened his mouth against hers and swallowed her pleasure, the vibrations of her moans inside him tingled.

Between kisses they shed clothing, leaving a trail of crumpled fabric on their way to her bed.

Hisoka pushed her down and straddled her legs, electrified by restraining her hands to the side of her head.

Again, they were at one another, sex another battle waged between them. The harder one fought against the other, the rougher the response. Wordless discussion on what was enjoyed and what was barred from presentation happened through trial and error, resulting in the realization that submission wasn't impossible for either of them. If she bested him, she took the lead and he relished in the sight of her body bouncing on his cock and the ache of his bruises. If he won a bout, he drilled into her until she squirmed and he, blinded by desire, enclosed his hand over her neck at her urging, testing the amount of pressure he needed to have her clamp around him. He discovered it and held on. Gasping for air, Pandora shuddered through the last wave of the orgasm.

She punched him when clarity seeped into her and he retaliated the same, eliciting a laugh out of her and he savored her delight. She brought him down into a bloody kiss, the sour metallic taste thick in their twining tongues. He raised her leg up over his shoulder and reentered her.

She flinched, breaking apart from him, her sweaty forehead pressed against his, eyes up, meeting his, the center of them greener than the last recalled and shining.

"Slow," she told him, her voice a flutter against his lips.

He thrust hard and she cried out, her fisted hand pounding on his shoulder.

"Okay, I'll be nice."

He licked his fingers and she sighed as he removed them from his mouth to run them down her collarbone to one of her breasts, tracing a pointed nail around her erect nipple.

"Prove it," she said, grabbing his ass to guide him inside her slowly and made him groan. She licked his lips.

He deepened their kiss.

The ding of the elevator reached him, but Pandora didn't throw him off. She wrapped around him, her nails biting into his back.

"Are you here, Piper?"

The older man's voice carried over to them through the airy hallways and the opened door.

Pandora begged for more. Her body weak to his measured thrusts, her hips moving to meet his, and her kisses sloppy.

She cried out as he filled her, her voice bounced off the walls. The approaching footsteps halted.

Hisoka looked to the entrance of the door, the old man stood with his eyes wide and his jaw slack. Hisoka smiled at the stranger as he continued to pleasure his woman, stirring her up. He wanted to watch him agonize in place and began to exude bloodlust, paralyzing the man mid-word. The panic in the old man doubled when he couldn't move, could scarcely breathe.

Pandora arched and Hisoka stopped mid-thrust, palm pushed against her quivering body. "Kill him."

She shook her head. She was close.

He pulled out, sitting back, painfully erect, but eager to watch her do it. Would she accept? He caught her foot when she tried to kick him for ignoring her.

"Well?"

Pandora rolled out of bed. She would never admit it. She was too pigheaded to admit she was chasing a useless dream.

"Any requests?"

"Surprise me."

She grinned. She flicked her hair off her shoulder and approached the man. She called to him as one would a child, cooing while her hand met his cheek to caress him as a lover might. It was so loving, it was nauseating.

Hisoka was unable to contain himself.

Pandora's ren chilled the room and stilled Hisoka's movements as she stalked over from the dresser to produce a dagger. She brought it up to eye level, the blade reflecting the green seeping through the blue of her eyes. She returned to the man, promised him that it wouldn't hurt. Not much, she said with a teasing smile.

She undressed him, slow in removing every button from a slit and tugging at his tie until she transferred it to her neck. She uncovered the tremulous swell of his belly before unbuckling the belt to unbutton his pants. She ran the knife over the surface of his skin as he squealed, mouth flapping without a sound.

Nothing stood between him and death.

Pandora tore into him with a surgeon's precision and yanked hard on the bloody intestine that spilled first as the agonizing man re-experienced the tragedy of his life. She wrapped the organ snug around his neck, pulling until she dropped him to the ground. She steadied his squirming body with a foot and tugged until his breathing turned into a disturbing gurgle. His face went from white to purple. Blood pooled at Pandora's feet, an offering.

Pandora wiped her chin with the back of her hand, but her face had been splashed, like a canvas dripping red paint.

Hisoka stepped up behind her, one hand wrapped around the hand that held the dagger and the left smeared the red across her stomach.

The assassin in her was the one he wanted to obliterate. His hand wrapped around her slender neck, his mouth pressed against her ear. The room stank of blood, guts, and the fading strawberry wash on her skin. His grip tightened and she remained still, trusting but all wrapped up in him, her breathing transitioning to panting, her desire alight again that she was wet, a drop rolling down her thigh mixing with blood and sweat. He didn't recognize her.

He wanted to kill her as he fucked her, ripping her apart—feel her blood thick in his hands and the film of her skin sliding underneath his fingertips. He killed worthy opponents for the morbid look in their eyes when they faced a humiliating death. He thrived on that fleeting moment, relished it, existed for it almost exclusively.

It was almost the same as watching Pandora kill her prey—stalk and toy with them, confident because she was powerful. This is wonderful.

Hisoka guided the knife to her navel and pierced her skin, a bead of blood emerged from the small incision.

One of her hands threaded through his hair and she turned her head, taking his mouth. He dropped the dagger to hoist her up into his arms. He slammed her back into the nearest wall and opened her, pushing into her. The sound of her breath hitched. They were frozen, staring into one another's eyes, their chests rising and falling simultaneously before their lips met.

"I told you," she whispered against his bloody lips, a smile curved hers into a smirk, "there wasn't a man I fucked that didn't want to be mine."