------
Two
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"Ken might as well have given me a fucking neon sign," Youji grumbled after he brushed off the third guy to hit on him that night. He'd carefully chosen his ensemble: tight hip-hugging pleather pants, cropped shirt, eyeliner making his eyes look even rounder. Apparently their target wasn't the only man in the club with an eye for young men with western looks.
Lazily, keeping in character as a prostitute waiting to pick up his evening's company, Youji looked out over the crowd. Ken sat in a booth in the corner, nursing a beer and watching the door for any sign of their man. When Ken combed a hand through his hair, his thumb lingered over his ear, and Youji knew he was getting info from Omi, sitting out in the car watching the front of the club while Aya loitered around the back door.
Youji's radio was switched off. He'd talked to Aya after they'd set the mission parameters. If he had to take this ruse as far as he feared he'd have to, he couldn't do it with the other three listening in. It was a last minute change, but nothing that should cause any problems; when the mission was accomplished, he'd switch his radio back on and give the all clear.
The crowd parted as someone pressed through, waving off the few scantily clad boys and girls who tried to offer up whatever they could as he sauntered past, not even pausing. Youji's target was a fairly large man, muscular, hiding his bulk in a well-cut dark gray jacket over a black tee shirt and black pants. Another man, just as burly, trailed not too far behind. Youji expected that. Their information said the target never traveled without protection.
"Hey handsome," Youji drawled when the target sidled up to the bar. "Buy you a drink?"
The stare he was given in reply made Youji want to go take a shower. "Not a drink," the man smirked.
Youji winked, though his stomach was churning at the thought of what was most likely to come. "How about buying me one?" he gestured to the empty shot glass in front of him, the one and only shot he'd allowed himself for the evening. Any more and Aya would kick his ass, but he'd needed something to steel his resolve.
With that same smirk on his face, the man waved at the bartender. Youji tossed the shot back, the warmth filling and spreading through his stomach. At the target's nod, Youji slid off the barstool he'd occupied for the better part of an hour and led the man toward the back of the club where Omi had said the rooms were. Rooms that were intended for exactly what the target was expecting. Youji was rather ferverently hoping that it wouldn't come down to that.
The door was ajar, signaling its vacancy. Youji slipped inside, getting a look at the contents for the first time. A chair, a threadbare mattress laid out on the floor, flush against the wall, that was all. He turned, what he hoped was an alluring smile on his face, and saw the bodyguard closing the door as he stepped inside the room.
Shit, Youji thought. His stomach started to churn with revulsion at what had to happen next. His plan had been to get the guy in the room and kill him, quick and easy, but the bodyguard's presence made that a little more difficult. The instant he tossed out his wire, the guard would pull the gun that Youji was sure was tucked securely in a holster hidden beneath the well cut suit jacket.
Not good, not good, the thought ran through Youji's head as the guard settled against the wall, arms folded over his chest as he took on a blank stare, seeing but not watching what was happening.
With a disgusting leer, the target unzipped his pants and settled into the chair in the room, his directions clear to Youji, who was desperately trying to keep the whiskey from making a repeat appearance. Not feeling the smile he pasted on his face, Youji took two steps forward and knelt at eye level with the target's exposed cock.
Pretend he's Aya, Youji thought, pretend he's anyone else. You can do this, he started up a mental litany to occupy his thoughts as he leaned forward, taking a deep breath. The man smelled like a man, musk and sweat and something else that was probably unique to him.
Unsure what to do with his hands, Youji settled them lightly on the man's thighs, giving himself something to hang onto for balance. You don't care, he chanted to himself. You're a whore, this is just another trick for you. You don't care, you do this all the time.
Youji hoped the man didn't feel him gag as he took the half-hard member into his mouth, closing his eyes and pretending the man was anyone else. He ran his tongue around the rapidly filling erection, his stomach roiling, the slight buzz from what little alcohol he'd ingested long gone.
You're a whore, you don't care. You're a whore, you do this all the time. Whores don't gag. You can have a shower when this is over. But for now you have to do this. You have to pretend you don't mind. Just pretend it's someone else. Youji kept up the mental dialogue as he began to suck lightly. He had to time it right. A whore wouldn't take it slow like a lover, but wouldn't rush it for fear of not being paid.
Somewhere in the midst of his mental chanting, Youji was dimly aware of a knock on the door. The target's hands clenched painfully in his hair, using his grip to pull Youji closer.
The assassin heard the click of the door closing and opened his eyes briefly. The guard was gone. But Youji knew he couldn't just stop. The man he was knelt in front of weighed easily twice what Youji did, and the blonde had no doubt that he knew how to use that musculature.
Hands tightened in his hair again, a breathy moan coming from above him. Youji risked a glance upwards. The target's head was thrown back, light sheen of sweat on his face, his breath coming in quickened gasps.
Don't swallow, don't swallow, Youji chanted, whores don't swallow. Youji opened his mouth, wanting to retch as the bitter fluid passed along his tongue. He pulled away as the target started to come in his mouth, letting most of it run down his chin and over his face. He had never really liked the taste of another man's seed, particularly someone he'd never met and was going to have to kill. He turned his head and spat, at the same instant reaching for the trigger for his wire.
While the target was still basking in his afterglow, Youji stood and looped his wire around the man's massive neck and pulled it taut, breaking his neck.
Mission accomplished, he thought sourly, once more pushing down the urge to vomit. He moved to toggle his radio back on, but the sound of the door made him switch to his wire.
Two
------
"Ken might as well have given me a fucking neon sign," Youji grumbled after he brushed off the third guy to hit on him that night. He'd carefully chosen his ensemble: tight hip-hugging pleather pants, cropped shirt, eyeliner making his eyes look even rounder. Apparently their target wasn't the only man in the club with an eye for young men with western looks.
Lazily, keeping in character as a prostitute waiting to pick up his evening's company, Youji looked out over the crowd. Ken sat in a booth in the corner, nursing a beer and watching the door for any sign of their man. When Ken combed a hand through his hair, his thumb lingered over his ear, and Youji knew he was getting info from Omi, sitting out in the car watching the front of the club while Aya loitered around the back door.
Youji's radio was switched off. He'd talked to Aya after they'd set the mission parameters. If he had to take this ruse as far as he feared he'd have to, he couldn't do it with the other three listening in. It was a last minute change, but nothing that should cause any problems; when the mission was accomplished, he'd switch his radio back on and give the all clear.
The crowd parted as someone pressed through, waving off the few scantily clad boys and girls who tried to offer up whatever they could as he sauntered past, not even pausing. Youji's target was a fairly large man, muscular, hiding his bulk in a well-cut dark gray jacket over a black tee shirt and black pants. Another man, just as burly, trailed not too far behind. Youji expected that. Their information said the target never traveled without protection.
"Hey handsome," Youji drawled when the target sidled up to the bar. "Buy you a drink?"
The stare he was given in reply made Youji want to go take a shower. "Not a drink," the man smirked.
Youji winked, though his stomach was churning at the thought of what was most likely to come. "How about buying me one?" he gestured to the empty shot glass in front of him, the one and only shot he'd allowed himself for the evening. Any more and Aya would kick his ass, but he'd needed something to steel his resolve.
With that same smirk on his face, the man waved at the bartender. Youji tossed the shot back, the warmth filling and spreading through his stomach. At the target's nod, Youji slid off the barstool he'd occupied for the better part of an hour and led the man toward the back of the club where Omi had said the rooms were. Rooms that were intended for exactly what the target was expecting. Youji was rather ferverently hoping that it wouldn't come down to that.
The door was ajar, signaling its vacancy. Youji slipped inside, getting a look at the contents for the first time. A chair, a threadbare mattress laid out on the floor, flush against the wall, that was all. He turned, what he hoped was an alluring smile on his face, and saw the bodyguard closing the door as he stepped inside the room.
Shit, Youji thought. His stomach started to churn with revulsion at what had to happen next. His plan had been to get the guy in the room and kill him, quick and easy, but the bodyguard's presence made that a little more difficult. The instant he tossed out his wire, the guard would pull the gun that Youji was sure was tucked securely in a holster hidden beneath the well cut suit jacket.
Not good, not good, the thought ran through Youji's head as the guard settled against the wall, arms folded over his chest as he took on a blank stare, seeing but not watching what was happening.
With a disgusting leer, the target unzipped his pants and settled into the chair in the room, his directions clear to Youji, who was desperately trying to keep the whiskey from making a repeat appearance. Not feeling the smile he pasted on his face, Youji took two steps forward and knelt at eye level with the target's exposed cock.
Pretend he's Aya, Youji thought, pretend he's anyone else. You can do this, he started up a mental litany to occupy his thoughts as he leaned forward, taking a deep breath. The man smelled like a man, musk and sweat and something else that was probably unique to him.
Unsure what to do with his hands, Youji settled them lightly on the man's thighs, giving himself something to hang onto for balance. You don't care, he chanted to himself. You're a whore, this is just another trick for you. You don't care, you do this all the time.
Youji hoped the man didn't feel him gag as he took the half-hard member into his mouth, closing his eyes and pretending the man was anyone else. He ran his tongue around the rapidly filling erection, his stomach roiling, the slight buzz from what little alcohol he'd ingested long gone.
You're a whore, you don't care. You're a whore, you do this all the time. Whores don't gag. You can have a shower when this is over. But for now you have to do this. You have to pretend you don't mind. Just pretend it's someone else. Youji kept up the mental dialogue as he began to suck lightly. He had to time it right. A whore wouldn't take it slow like a lover, but wouldn't rush it for fear of not being paid.
Somewhere in the midst of his mental chanting, Youji was dimly aware of a knock on the door. The target's hands clenched painfully in his hair, using his grip to pull Youji closer.
The assassin heard the click of the door closing and opened his eyes briefly. The guard was gone. But Youji knew he couldn't just stop. The man he was knelt in front of weighed easily twice what Youji did, and the blonde had no doubt that he knew how to use that musculature.
Hands tightened in his hair again, a breathy moan coming from above him. Youji risked a glance upwards. The target's head was thrown back, light sheen of sweat on his face, his breath coming in quickened gasps.
Don't swallow, don't swallow, Youji chanted, whores don't swallow. Youji opened his mouth, wanting to retch as the bitter fluid passed along his tongue. He pulled away as the target started to come in his mouth, letting most of it run down his chin and over his face. He had never really liked the taste of another man's seed, particularly someone he'd never met and was going to have to kill. He turned his head and spat, at the same instant reaching for the trigger for his wire.
While the target was still basking in his afterglow, Youji stood and looped his wire around the man's massive neck and pulled it taut, breaking his neck.
Mission accomplished, he thought sourly, once more pushing down the urge to vomit. He moved to toggle his radio back on, but the sound of the door made him switch to his wire.