A/N: This is the sequel to A Series of Politically Inappropriate Happenings. This story will be a little different from the previous two (which were quite different from the first installment of The Series). It was inspired by two things: first, a desire to try a slightly different genre other than Humour (a more serious one, one might say) and second, the criticism that Kuroro's relationship with Midoya is a little too perfect. So, this story took a while to come out.
Truthfully, I considered not publishing it because the more serious genres of Angst/Tragedy etc are not quite familiar to me and I'm not sure how my dear readers will take to it. However, I decided to just go for it, and hope I don't let you down.
Disclaimer:I do not own Hunter X Hunter and all the characters affiliated with the manga/anime. All OCs are mine and mine alone. The views stated by the characters do not always reflect the views of the author either.
Of Brothels and Killers
Just around the time Shalnark was thinking deep philosophical and anxiety-ridden thoughts about 'trust', Kuroro, Kikita and Midoya were busy discussing far more practical logistical issues about killing people. After all, it was one thing to have gotten the invite that they were looking for. It was another to crash the party without arousing any form of suspicion. To make things far more difficult, there were presented with a set of rules that were beyond their control.
"A guest plus one," Kikita read out-loud as she waved the invite around carelessly. "That means only two of us will be going."
"Exactly," Midoya replied softly. "The third person will have to find another way in."
"Assuming we don't find something else for the third person to do," Kuroro added. "Midoya, you're the most familiar with these events. What do you suggest?"
"Good question," Midoya replied and she brought her drink to her lips almost absently, her lips seeking out the straw even as her eyes unfocused with thought. Knowing that she wouldn't answer until she had sorted out her thoughts properly, Kuroro took the chance to look around the pretty café they were sitting in. Initially, they had intended to find Kikita at her house to discuss their plans for the ball. Unfortunately, John Smith had been present as well, having taken leave from work so he could take his wife's guests on a tour around Agocchi. Since they didn't really have time to take a tour around Agocchi, Kikita had lied and told John Smith that she had reservations for three at a masquerade café. It helped explain their disguises, which John Smith had openly stared at when they turned up at the house.
"I'm a 1950s housewife," Midoya, who was still wearing the wig, had explained.
"I'm going as… a Poacher Hunter," Kikita, who was dressed in her own clothes, had explained lamely.
"I am… a man who like turtles," Kuroro, still wearing the blue shirt, had explained lamely, and failed.
Fortunately, instead of some masquerade café, which would have been, undoubtedly, filled with strange people in disguises doing explicitly sexual things to each other, Kikita had led them to an airy café with plenty of natural light, mint tea and excellent spiced biscuits. The tables were also spaced far apart and all the seats faced the entrance of the café. In Kuroro's studied opinion, the few people occupying the seats looked nothing like outstanding lawful citizens of Agocchi either. If anything, he guessed that they were a mixture of Mafioso and Hunters.
"This café is neutral ground," Kikita, who had noticed his surreptitious glances, told him. "In here, anyone who starts a fight will be fucked up his ass for the rest of his life, no matter if they are Hunter, mafia or normal civilian."
"A delightful image," Kuroro replied wryly. "Midoya?" She glanced at him, her lips still wrapped around her straw. "So what do you think?" he repeated.
"Kuroro, you are definitely going," Midoya said finally. "It will be too unusual for two women to turn up together. The Mafia is still a largely heterosexual, patriarchal, capitalistic structure, and so we will stand out less if we go as a heterosexual couple."
"Ah, the System, which I am sure you normally do your best to undermine," Kuroro guessed with, he was sure, great accuracy. His Midoya was not one to let some silly bigots keep her down.
"You should see the videos of her on the Net," Kikita chuckled. "You wouldn't believe the kind of shit she can come up with."
"I'm sure it will be educational," Kuroro replied and made a point to look them up as soon as he could.
"Between Kikita and I," Midoya continued, ignoring their banter, "I obviously have more insider knowledge of how these events work, but there is a chance I might be recognised even in disguise. Kikita, on the other hand, does subterfuge the same way the Ryodan does mercy, kindness and love, so there's a pretty decent chance she'll blow it worse than I ever will."
"Hey! That is not true! I can do subterfuge as well as you can!"
"Oh? Remember the Republic of Edinth and the seduction of the prime minster?" Midoya smiled sweetly.
"That was… that was…" Kikita spluttered, looking more flustered than Kuroro had ever seen her. "It's not my fault the prime minster was a fucking asshole and… and…"
"It's better if I go," Midoya concluded, casually sipping her drink. "At least I know how to blend in."
Kikita's mouth opened to complain, but a surprisingly contemplative look spread over her face and she shut her mouth. "You're right," she agreed reluctantly. "But that doesn't mean I'm not going to bitch-slap you for that comment."
"Save for it later, children," Kuroro said patiently though he wasn't truly annoyed. This was almost like being with the Ryodan. It felt like home.
"You really shouldn't call me a child given what we do together at night," Midoya said to him, smiling.
"It's fucking accurate though," Kikita grumbled. "What was it Netero liked to call you? A genius Blacklist Hunter with the self-control of a baby?"
"She's only kidding, she adores me," Midoya quipped, biting daintily into a biscuit.
"Only sometimes," Kikita replied grumpily. "And only when you share good stuff with me."
Ah, just like the Ryodan. How pleasant this conversation was.
"Anyway, what we have left to do," Midoya continued, smiling faintly, "is collect information."
"Armando Basilio," Kuroro agreed. "I want to see his purported army of One Star Hunters. Not only will we have to fight them if we attack Basilio, they are probably the ones who have been briefed on what Basilio intends to do with this ball of his. If the Infinity Gem really is in Basilio's hands by now, they would know it."
"Good thinking," Midoya murmured. "Kikita, since this is your turf, what do you suggest?"
"Well," Kikita said, sniffing with disapproval, "since you're talking about a bunch of animal-slaughtering, misogynistic mercenaries at the beck and call of a similarly foul boss who isn't present at the moment, but who will be back in two days' time, we're talking about a group that's gonna wanna go wild before they have to go back to duty twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. There is really only one place they could be."
"Ah," Midoya said knowingly.
"And where would that be?" Kuroro asked, feeling quite ignorant of the ways of animal-slaughtering misogynistic mercenaries.
"Where else?" Kikita asked wryly. "A brothel, of course."
It said something, Kuroro mused, that he was a man aged nearer-to-thirty-than-twenty and he had never stepped into a brothel before. Worse (or better, some would argue), he had never even thought about doing so before. Perhaps it was because he had come from Meteor City, and was aware how many desperate women ended up in brothels just to escape the slow death of poverty. Perhaps he didn't appreciate the fake smiles and bad acting so many of these abused women had. Or perhaps, like all Genei Ryodan members, he disliked actually having to use money to buy things (a real libido-killer that one).
Still, it was weird for him in particular, given how his partner was the owner of fifty-something brothels in York Shin City. One would imagine he would have at least visited her at her work place once. It was probably a testament to Midoya's phenomenal ability to compartmentalise her life that he hadn't ever met her on friendly terms when she was June Kito.
"Don't you think?" Kuroro mused to Kikita who was driving him to the brothel Armando Basilio's One Star Hunters were presumably infesting. Midoya had not gone along on the basis that she might be recognised and that a single male would have a better chance infiltrating a brothel.
"You're asking me if I think it's weird that you haven't visited a brothel belonging to your powerful, scary, dangerous girlfriend, and enjoyed the services there that are, quite significantly, not from her?" Kikita demanded incredulously as they stopped at a traffic light.
"Well, when you put it that way…" Kuroro shrugged. "I wasn't always with Midoya, you know? Besides, I've only recently discovered that we do not have a unanimous view on the degree of fidelity we should hold for each other. I'm still unsure if I want to give in to my possessiveness and kill any man who has touched Midoya or whether I prefer not to risk Midoya's wrath and just let things be. I may just seek her permission to exterminate all her lovers, just the current ones I mean, since I am given to understand that she has taken care of her past lovers herself. In that case, I can soothe my possessiveness without incurring her wrath. Quite the ideal plan, I feel."
Kikita openly gawked at him. "You are as fucked up as Kito," she said, shaking her head. "No wonder the two of you get along so well."
"She also gets along with my Ryodan," Kuroro told her, feeling almost embarrassingly proud of the fact that his Ryodan, never known for their ability to socialise, could actually get along with somebody from relatively normal society. "She taught Feitan, my resident torturer, some new techniques recently, though I must say, he hasn't quite gotten them right yet. And she tried to introduce a friend to Shalnark, my resident no-longer-a-virgin. It would have been an ideal match too, if it didn't turn out that Midoya's friend has no idea what online gaming is. Shalnark has high standards when it comes to finding a life partner."
"Uh huh," Kikita snorted knowingly. "Those nerds are all the same." The traffic light turned green and she started the car again.
"Yes," Kuroro agreed. "Your brother, Pepeka, and Shalnark are online gaming friends. They play together sometimes. If either of them were gay, it would have been the perfect partnership. Unfortunately, as we all know, Pepeka is madly in love with Midoya and Shalnark is quite heterosexual, as far as I know at least, so that's not going to work out."
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Kikita open her mouth to comment then close it again. "I didn't know Pepeka hung out with the Ryodan," she said finally, and there was a tone in her voice that told Kuroro she wasn't terribly happy to hear about it.
"He doesn't," Kuroro said soothingly. "They only meet online to play games."
"Hell, I didn't know Pepeka would enjoy hanging out with the Ryodan at all," Kikita went on, as if he hadn't spoken. "He's quite… sensitive."
"Oh, I think the time Midoya almost got killed by the Association cured him of that," Kuroro said brightly. "I believe some of my men gave Pepeka a very valuable lesson on revenge and funeral arrangements." To his surprise, Kikita greeted his good tidings with a steady look that told him how much she wanted to hit him on the head but wouldn't because they were on a mission and she was a fucking professional.
"That's nice," she said calmly and Kuroro felt his confusion deepen.
Rather than risk annoying her any further, Kuroro decided to change the subject and asked, "Do you know how many hunters are in Basilio's mercenary army?"
"Ten," Kikita told him. "But there's only one Hunter you need to worry about."
"Oh?" Kuroro questioned, and conveniently didn't mention that he hadn't actually been worrying about the Hunters at all. He just liked knowing about his enemy's forces in advance. Was it not Confucius who said 'Know thy enemy, know thyself, and you shall win every war you fight'?
"He goes by the name Decimal," Kikita told him. "And he's probably powerful enough to be a Two Star Hunter. The main reason he isn't is because all the things he does are evil and immoral and all the shit the Association generally frowns upon."
"Ah." Kuroro paused as a memory resurfaced in his mind. "Decimal… you are referring to the Decimal killer who killed fifty-seven prostitutes world-wide before he was arrested, during which he escaped by slaughtering the entire squad of Blacklist Hunters who had arrested him?"
"Exactly," Kikita said cheerfully.
"That doesn't sound too bad," Kuroro mused. In his expert opinion, if you can actually count how many people you've killed, you're just not quite there yet.
"Oh really?" Kikita gave him a smirk. "One of the prostitutes he killed belonged to Midoya. She has been hunting him for five years and hasn't managed to kill him yet."
"Oh." Kuroro rubbed his chin. Well, so much for his expert opinion. "That… changes things. He is a cause for concern."
"Yup, and he's now your cause for concern!" Kikita beamed. "We're here."
Kuroro glanced out at the window, taking note of how Agocchi's cheery, well-lit streets have turned into flashing neon signs and scantily-dressed women trying to decide by the look of his clothes how much money he had on him. "How… nice," he said, for lack of anything else to say. It has been a while since anyone had tried to put a monetary value to him like that, and he wasn't sure he liked it.
"Glad you like it. Now get the fuck out before my non-whore presence draws any attention."
Since that was excellent advice, Kuroro climbed out of the car, barely managing to close the door before Kikita sped off in a puff of exhaust fumes. Immediately, he felt pairs of heavily made-up eyes focus on him. To his heightened, alert senses, they felt like laser beams on his skin. It was enough to make the bandit in him feel uncomfortable. So, taking a note from Midoya, he held his head high and strode for the brothel, inappropriately named 'Pussy Party' (he had no idea what cats had to do with prostitution). Somewhere in the depths of his mind, he hoped Midoya's brothels had more class than this and that their names at least made sense. What ever happened to honest advertising? Not that he had the right to preach about 'honesty' given his occupation.
"Hey handsome," a too bright voice said. "You like this?" Hands with painted nails lifted a top that was more lace than cloth to reveal a naked, distinctly female torso.
"Yes, your breasts are very nice," Kuroro replied politely, since he knew that it was always best to compliment a woman when she asks about her appearances. "Please excuse me." He made to move around her, but the torso turned to follow him.
"Uh… wait a minute. You…" The lacy top descended over the torso, covering the breasts Kuroro had just complimented. "Wait a minute. Come on… sir…?"
Surprised at being hailed like that, Kuroro looked more closely at the speaker and found himself looking at a young woman. He supposed she could be considered pretty, with large hazel eyes and full red lips, but she was pretty the way dolls were pretty: pleasant on the eyes but soulless. Her bright smile did not reach her eyes, which were blank and empty like a corpse's. (It occurred to him that others had said the same thing about his smile before, and he idly wondered if he should be concerned that he apparently smiled like a whore.) "Yes?" he asked finally, since the young woman didn't seem inclined to continue her sentence.
"You looking for a good time?" she asked, tilting her body to show off the kind of curves that told Kuroro she was probably barely of legal age. "I can give you a real good time."
"Actually," Kuroro told her, "I am looking to go into Pussy Party. So if you will excuse me…"
"Oh, I work at Pussy Party," the young woman said with desperate eagerness. "I'm Pretty Kitty. I'll show you a real good time."
Kuroro opened his mouth to reject her then closed it again. It would look weird if he walked into a brothel without a woman with him. "Alright," he said finally, inwardly cringing when he realised he had just bought a prostitute (Midoya was going to laugh herself senseless at him). "Let's go in."
"You not gonna ask my rates?" Pretty Kitty asked incredulously.
Taking the hint, Kuroro obediently asked, "What are your rates?"
"Depends on what you want, handsome, and for how long," Pretty Kitty said, fluttering her false eyelashes at him. It looked like something she had done so often it had become habit.
What did he want? That was a good question. Kuroro had no idea what kind of sexual favours people normally asked from prostitutes. Did everyone just ask for plain, simple sex? Was it considered impolite to request certain positions or types of sexual acts? Was it even necessary to come up with such an elaborate lie when he was probably not going to end up in bed with this woman anyway? It might blow his cover if his lie wasn't good enough. "Uh. I'm not sure what I want yet," he said slowly, deciding to play the indecisive rookie. "But I would like your company for an hour."
"That's five hundred dollars," Pretty Kitty said with a straight face.
Well, that was surprisingly expensive. He had no idea sex was worth that much money. "Alright," he said with a shrug. It wasn't like he couldn't afford it anyway.
The young woman stared at him. "Really?" she asked uncertainly, suddenly sounding a lot younger than she had previously. "Well. Great!" she exclaimed, brightening up. "Come on, daddy. You'll love what I do for you."
"I'm certain, as long as you don't call me 'daddy', please. Fatherhood, whether in reality or role-play, has never appealed to me," Kuroro said wryly. "Now, if we can go inside…?"
"Sure, da… honey," Pretty Kitty said, eager to please now that she had snagged him. "Come on in!"
Grabbing his arm, she all but dragged him in. The moment they stepped inside, dimly-lit darkness closed in around them. Kuroro stood still, blinking as he tried to get used to the change in lighting. Ever since that incident with the chain-user, he had become somewhat wary of dark places. It was fortunate he had fairly decent night vision, even if it always took a couple of seconds for him to get used to changes in lighting. Eventually, his eyes adjusted and he made out a sleazy-looking bar, a large open space on the floor where a crowd of young, female bodies were twined together sensually, and a group of men sitting in a corner watching the show and Kuroro, who had just walked in.
The moment the eyes fixed on him, he felt himself being evaluated based on physical strength and Nen. Eyes went to his pockets, his belt and under his arms, areas where a weapon would normally be kept. It took everything in Kuroro to keep his Nen looking as raw and untrained as possible under the combined gazes of the men.
Well, well, well. It seemed he had found his Hunters.
"Rooms are upstairs," Pretty Kitty was saying in his ear, her hands rubbing him in areas normally only Midoya would ever touch. Midoya or Hisoka, that is, though only the former had his permission to do so.
"I want a drink first," Kuroro told her, resisting the urge to rub at his ear. Her breath was ticklish and he had a feeling she had smeared lipstick on his ear.
"That counts to your hour."
"I expect it would," Kuroro said dryly and patted her hand gently in an attempt to look like a sleazy frequent visitor of brothels. "Shall we go to the bar?" Deliberately ignoring the hunters, Kuroro walked up to said bar and sat down.
"What ya want, boss?" the bartender, an obese, sweaty man grounded out with a solicitous smile on his face.
Kuroro stared at the array of identical bottles behind the man and thought that was quite a dumb question. "Beer," he said, since that was the only thing being sold here. He dropped some money on the counter as the man gave him a bottle of beer that was, thank goodness, cold and mostly clean. Taking a sip of the beer, he glanced around at the Hunters, while pretending to be watching the show on the floor. In the dim light, he could only get a brief glimpse of them. No matter, he could do this all night, stealing swift glances at them, slowly extracting details from his quick observations, until he had a full picture of the men present.
"Not to rush you or anything," Pretty Kitty said, flopping down next to him, "but your time is running out."
"No matter," Kuroro answered honestly. "I sometimes prefer conversation to sex."
From the look on Pretty Kitty's face, that was a line she had never heard before. "Whoa," she said bluntly, "are you like impotent or something?" Realising what she had just said, she added lamely, "Erm. No matter if you are. We got pills for that here. They'll cost you though."
"I'm fine, thank you," Kuroro told her. Casually, he glanced over his shoulder again. This time he got a clearer look at the Hunters. They seemed to be mostly burly, thug-like men, all with their arms slung around mostly-naked women. Turning back, he took a calm sip of his beer and tried to decide if using Gyo to look at them would be too obvious in this place. It might be worth the try. Due to the nature of this place, the energy level in this room was abnormally high, and a spike in his Nen might not be noticeable.
"So, where you from?" Pretty Kitty asked, starting to sound bored. "You're not from Agocchi, are you? You don't sound right."
"York Shin," Kuroro lied, since he was pretty good at imitating Midoya's accent. Besides, York Shin, being a large city, had a large enough migrant population for him to pass off as a new arrival if his accent was off.
"Ooh," Pretty Kitty cooed, looking more interested. "Are you like rich or something? I heard everyone in York Shin is rich."
"Perhaps," Kuroro replied, knowing she would take that as a positive response. "Where are you from, Pretty Kitty?"
Wariness now filled the face. Ironically, the apprehension added enough life to her face to make her look genuinely pretty. "Why you asking that?" she demanded, and he saw her reach into her purse and grip what must be a weapon of some sort.
"Just curious." Kuroro turned on the bar stool to face her thus giving him a direct view of the Hunters. "Did I offend you?" he smiled at her for the first time, the same charming smile that had gotten Neon Nostrad to trust him.
"No," Pretty Kitty said, apparently mollified given by how she let go of the item in her purse. "No one's ever asked before, is all." A pause. "I'm Agocchi born and bred, but not from the nice parts," she muttered, avoiding his eyes. "Born from dirt and all that shit. Not that you would know about that. Your jeans maybe cost as much as my trailer, even with all its holes and stuff."
If Pretty Kitty had been a normal girl, Kuroro would have gone for a sympathetic pat on the shoulder just to gain her trust. In this place, that would only look weird. So he gave her what she expected: a careless shrug. "If your trailer costs two hundred dollars then yes," he said calmly. Did distressed jeans cost that much? He really had no idea. It had never occurred to him to ask Midoya since he hadn't anticipated being quizzed on the price of his jeans.
She smiled at that, her mask snapping into place, but not before Kuroro saw the flash of rage in her eyes. Taking that as a break in the conversation, Kuroro glanced at the Hunters again. This time, his eyes singled out one person who stood out. He was a tall man with broad shoulders and a lean waist. His hair was brown and wavy, and ruffled in a way that made him look rakish and boyish at the same time. His eyes were a deep brown, and his face looked young and lively. He was also, Kuroro noted with some surprise, the only man at the table without a woman sitting on his lap.
The Nen around the man though, was dense, smooth and obviously very powerful, much more so than anyone else at the table. If Kikita was right, Kuroro would say he had found Decimal.
Casually, he turned back to his beer and took a longer drink, trying to decide how to play this.
"What you looking at?" Pretty Kitty asked curiously, turning around to glance behind her, and Kuroro contemplated knocking her out before she blew his cover. Her passing out would have only drawn more attention though, so Kuroro let her look and hoped her glance wouldn't alert the hunters.
"The ladies on the floor," Kuroro lied easily, his mind still focused on planning.
"I'm prettier than the ladies on the floor," Pretty Kitty snorted.
"But of course," Kuroro agreed, which wasn't exactly a lie; he couldn't see the women on the floor clearly enough to judge if any of them were prettier than Pretty Kitty.
Pretty Kitty smiled an almost-genuine smile at that. "You ready to go up yet?" she asked, running a finger down his arm.
"I'm not done with my beer," Kuroro pointed out mildly.
"You can drink upstairs." Pretty Kitty sniffed. "I got to work, you know? If not, the boss will think I'm scamming you. You know I'm not scamming you, right?"
"I do," Kuroro told her soothingly. "Just five minutes more." He was about to look up at the Hunters again when he felt a presence at his back: dense, smooth and powerful.
"Hi," a friendly male voice said. "Are you new here?"
Slowly, deliberately taking his time, Kuroro glanced up at the man standing behind him. It was the same man Kuroro had singled out from the crowd of Hunters. "Yes, I am," he said with distant politeness. "Hi."
A hand was offered, strong and covered with callouses. "I'm Decker," the man said, smiling.
A fake name? If so, it was incredibly rude. Well, two can play the game. "Cain," Kuroro replied, taking the hand. Ah, that was some Nen. Just touching it made Kuroro feel like he was trying to grip a hand made of solid rock. Still smiling, Kuroro forced his Nen to not react to the man's Nen. "Have a seat."
"Why, thank you." The man sat down on the bar stool next to Kuroro and leaned against the counter, still smiling. "I hope you don't mind if I steal you from your date."
"Not at all," Kuroro said, wondering what was going on. Had the man noticed him observing them? Was his cover blown?
"I saw you looking at me," the man said bluntly.
Ah, that answered his question. "Is that so?" Kuroro asked, still being polite. "What is that to you?"
The man's smile widened and he slowly looked Kuroro up and down before looking up to meet Kuroro's eyes. Then he wetted his lips with an innocently suggestive flick of his tongue.
Oh. That explained… a lot.
"Was I wrong?" the man asked whimsically, dimpling as he smiled. "Was I imagining your eyes on me? Were you not undressing me in your mind? Were you not thinking of me taking you in my mouth and sucking you off?"
Next to him, Pretty Kitty rolled her eyes. Ignoring her, Kuroro eyed the man in front of him as he considered his options. He could deny it; could deny that he had been watching the man, take Pretty Kitty upstairs and disappear out of a window. Or… he could string this man along, win his trust, perhaps gain some information… and take care of the problem that was the Decimal Killer now.
Meeting the brown eyes watching him, Kuroro smiled faintly and replied, "You wouldn't be wrong to think that."
"Figures," Pretty Kitty sighed.
The man grinned. He had one of those contagious, whiter-than-white smiles that looked like it belonged on an advert. "Let's find another place," he said, getting to his feet, "somewhere with better beer and quieter rooms."
That suited Kuroro just fine, so he got to his feet as well. As he did, a hand gripped his sleeve and pulled hard. "You still got to pay me," Pretty Kitty protested. "You have to, or the boss's gonna whip me."
"Of course." It was easier parting with money when he thought of it as charity, so Kuroro passed the money to her with a few kind words on how best to endure torture and followed the man out of the brothel and into the cool night air outside. Then he paused, perhaps because he really wanted to get his money's worth, and walked back to Pretty Kitty who stared up at him.
"Just one more thing," Kuroro said, smiling charmingly at her.
"Yeah?" she demanded, all rudeness now that she had gotten the money.
"A question." Tilting his head curiously, Kuroro asked, "Just what do cats have to do with brothels anyway?"
The night breeze was cool as it flowed in through the window. Taking in a deep breath of air that smelt like incoming rain and city life, Midoya leaned back against the head of the bed, glass of red wine in one hand and fluffy bathrobe wrapped comfortably around her body. The television was switched on, the volume set low, but Midoya hardly glanced at it. There wasn't much on anyway. Some news about celebrities she didn't care about having babies she cared even less about. There had been a brief news flash about the 'Missing Heiress June Kito', and she had watched that idly for a while. Soon that lost its appeal though. She knew exactly what it would say, because she had written the script herself, so to speak. The only thing she got out of it was that as far as the general public was concerned, she was still mysteriously missing, some foul play was suspected though there was no evidence, and no one really gave a damn. All according to plan.
Sighing softly, Midoya closed her eyes and sipped her red wine. At this moment, Kuroro would be out roaming the night-life of Agocchi, finding out all there was to know about the wicked henchmen of Armando Basilio. Given a chance, she wouldn't have minded accompanying him on that mission, but the excuse she had given held true. If she went along, there was a chance her cover would be blown. That would be bad in all sorts of ways. Besides, Kuroro was extremely intelligent, extremely patient and extremely good at explaining things to people. She had no doubt that he would be fully capable of letting her know if there was anything she needed to take note of.
Besides, even if she could have gone with him with some sort of assurance that she wouldn't be recognised, she wouldn't have anyway. She had a date with someone else, someone who was five minutes late and climbing in through the window.
There was a rustle of clothing against the window frame and a quiet little flare of Nen. The breeze now carried the scent of blood, masculine musk and roses.
"Hello, my dear Midoya-chan," a dangerous, sensual voice purred.
Opening her eyes, Midoya smiled at the man standing on the window frame, feeling the slight buzz of alcohol and hoping she wasn't as drunk as she thought she was. It really wouldn't be a good idea to face this man inebriated. So few people in the world were as dangerous as him. Not even she would claim to be as dangerous as him.
Holding out a hand, she allowed him to bend over it and kiss it with a flourish.
"It's good to see you again," she replied, looking straight into feral eyes, "Hisoka."
His shirt was on the floor and his bare back was pressed against a wall. A strong arm was wrapped around him, pinning him to the wall. Hot breath ghosted over his skin as lips and teeth tugged at his skin. His jeans were unbuttoned and a rough, male hand was down his pants.
All in a day of the life of the Dancho of the Genei Ryodan.
Staring at the blank, somewhat cracked wall of the modest motel they had ended up in, Kuroro leaned his head against the wall and wondered exactly how he was going to get any information out of this man other than the fact that the man found him 'fucking hot' (as he kept muttering). He supposed it was meant to be complimentary, but he couldn't help cringing every time Decker said that. It just made him feel self-conscious about his body when people wouldn't stop talking about it. One thing he liked about Midoya was that she never felt the need to gush about how good looking he was. In fact, when in bed, the conversation was almost always geared towards turning him on rather than making him notice the shape of his cheekbones or the strength in his limbs or whatever it is people find attractive about him.
Teeth dug into his skin, hard enough to make him jerk in the powerful embrace. Belatedly, Kuroro realised he was supposed to show some appreciation for the attention he was being given, so he gave a perfunctory moan. If things continued as they were, he was going to get nothing out of this encounter but sex with an admittedly rather attractive man who, unfortunately, suffered from inane verbal diarrhoea during intimate moments. Not a pleasant image. He should have tried to initiate some form of conversation beforehand, but this man who claimed he was named 'Decker' hadn't really given him a chance to do so. Apparently, getting to know each other wasn't a pre-requisite to violent sex in a roadside motel.
Well, it was never too late to start. He still had to figure out if this was the Decimal Killer.
"Where are you from, Decker?" Kuroro asked as the man sucked his neck hard enough to bruise. He wondered if Midoya would mind, and decided that she wouldn't, so he put that thought out of his mind.
"Can't talk," Decker panted and kissed him hard. Ouch. Was it really necessary to be so rough? "Touch me."
Ah. In theory, Kuroro had some knowledge of how sex between men was supposed to work but he had no practical knowledge in that area. Well, he supposed something quite innocuous would do. Since the man hadn't specified where Kuroro should touch him, Kuroro settled for rubbing his sides in what he hoped was a somewhat sensual way. "You sound like you travel a lot," he noted idly. "Your accent is quite a mix."
"Yeah. Travel a lot," Decker mumbled, biting him hard.
"Business?" Kuroro asked, trying to strike that balance between casualness and flirtatiousness. He had never flirted with a man before; he wondered if it worked the same way with women. Did men like being told they have beautiful breasts too?
"Yeah. Business."
Kuroro frowned. How much of this was truth and how much of it was the man simply patronising him? It was hard to tell. "What sort of business?" he asked.
"Oh shut the fuck up, will you? I'm trying to fuck you here." the man growled and bit him again, drawing blood this time. Oh darn. He hoped this man didn't have some sort of infectious, inconvenient disease that would give Midoya every reason to laugh herself sick at his expense. Kuroro almost sighed wearily at that image before he realised a normal person, unused to the pain of battle, would react more to a wound like that, so he gasped and shied away from the teeth digging into his skin.
Decker eyes snapped up to his and they widened until his brown irises were surrounded by white. The look on the man's face was familiar to Kuroro; he had seen it often enough on Feitan's face or Hisoka's face. It was the look of a person who enjoyed inflicting pain on others, who got off making others scream.
Even though he knew what to expect, Kuroro still winced when the man bit him even harder, drawing more blood. "Hey," Kuroro protested, doing what he felt was a pretty decent imitation of Pepeka whining. "That hurts."
"If you don't want it to hurt then shut the fuck up," Decker growled, but his face was alight with malicious delight and arousal.
Right. This wasn't working. As the man went back to leaving ugly bruises on his skin, Kuroro stared at a water stain on the ceiling thoughtfully. Well, since the good-old interrogation tactic wasn't working, it was time to change tactics.
Closing his eyes, Kuroro leaned his head back and moaned softly. Against all his instincts, he bared his already sore throat even more to this dangerous man with an obvious violent streak. Sensually, he rolled his hips against the man's hand and moaned again. The reaction was almost immediate: the kisses got even more painful, the pants and groans got louder, and the hand in his pants got rougher. Ouch. Sensitive bits and violence really do not go hand-in-hand with each other, especially during sex.
Still, Kuroro had achieved his purpose. As Decker growled distractedly against his skin, Kuroro leaned over, pressing his lips against the man's ears and whispered, "Don't stop, Decimal. Don't stop."
"Oh fuck," the rough, male voice groaned with pleasure. Then the man's entire body snapped to a halt, large brown eyes fixed on Kuroro's face. "What did you call me?" he asked, stunned.
Instead of answering, Kuroro took the opportunity to leap away from the man, darting to the other end of the room so the man's hands were no longer wrapped around a very delicate part of his anatomy. Nonchalantly, Kuroro buttoned up his jeans again, never letting his eyes leave the shocked man staring at him (it would be awkward if his jeans dropped during a fight). "You are Decimal, aren't you?" he asked. "The Decimal Killer. One Star Hunter in the employment of Armando Basilio."
Brown eyes narrowed with a rage that was filled with equal degrees of lust. "How did you know that?" he snarled. "Who are you?" Ah, how nice of him to admit so readily.
"Just a man out looking for some fun and perhaps hoping to find some answers," Kuroro replied with a cold smile.
"Like what?" Nen was flooding the man's body now, lighting up like bursts of fireworks in the tiny motel room.
"Like about the pretty little stone Armando Basilio intends to showcase at his upcoming ball." Decimal had a good poker face. If Kuroro hadn't been looking out for it, he wouldn't have seen the twitch in the man's face.
"I have no idea what you're talking about," Decimal said, but the Nen starting to gather in his hands vibrated and hummed with nerves.
Kuroro smiled and took another gamble. "The Infinity Gem," he said deliberately and saw the man twitch again.
Confirmation received, Kuroro allowed his smile to widen slightly in victory. "So Armando Basilio is hosting the ball to announce his possession of the Infinity Gem," Kuroro said, pleased. "That is excellent news. It would be nice to see the gem that has gotten these mafia bosses desperate enough to want to murder us."
"Murder… us?" Realisation flashed through Decimal's face and the remains of whatever lust he had felt vanished entirely to be replaced by fear. "Genei Ryodan," he hissed accusingly.
"Correct." It was always a relief to be able to shed a charade and be himself again. Given that his natural expression was a blank look, his facial muscles got so much more rest when he was just being himself. "Now there is only one other thing I need from you," Kuroro said softly and Decimal tensed up even more. The shadows in the room started to move oddly, flowing, separating and merging like pools of black oil. Kuroro watched them even as he pretended to ignore them. "What do you think I want?" he asked, casually materialising his book. "What do you think I need from you, Decimal?"
"I'm hoping you're going to say a hand job, but I doubt that's the case," Decimal said coldly as shadows started to climb up his legs.
"Unfortunately, you are quite right." The Nen Fish sprang to life around him just as the shadows covered Decimal entirely. "My source tells me you are the most powerful of Basilio's mercenary army," Kuroro said as the carnivorous fish swooped around him. "Let's fight. Fighting you should tell me what I should expect from the rest of your men."
By now, Decimal was nothing but a human-shaped shadow, hovering in front of Kuroro like a wraith. A white circle appeared in the shadowy figure before him and spread into a thin crescent of a smile. "You think you can defeat me?" Decimal whispered, his voice hollow and eerie. "You think you can survive this, Spider?"
Interesting question. Kuroro smiled coldly in reply and slid into a fighting stance. There was only one way to find out…
A/N: Yay for another chapter! Just a few things I wanted to say here. Firstly, as one very smart reviewer noted, 'Agocchi' is an anagram for 'Chicago'. The name of the city was inspired by York Shin (which translates directly to York New, if we take 'Shin' as Japanese for 'New' i.e. New York). Since I have never been to Chicago before, I decided to just use the name but reinvent the city based on the vibe I wanted it to have. Sorry to all the people from Chicago and kudos to the reviewer who took note of it!
Secondly, I have to admit that Kuroro is slightly OC in this story (and will be even more so in the sequel). The reason for this is that I detected (or perhaps, imagined) a slight hint of naivety or child-likeness in the 'Kuroro' from the manga, and I thought amplifying that would make for some decent comedy. So, yes, Kuroro will come across as somewhat oblivious to certain social cues and norms in my stories (or at least this story and the next); you have been warned! Sorry yet again to all the readers who prefer Kuroro's original personality! I probably should have said this in the beginning of the story, but I hope it's not too late! I hope you can accept this slight reinvention of my portrayal of Kuroro just for the sake of comedy. In subsequent stories, my portrayal of him will probably change again, though I will definitely keep the core characteristics of cold rationality and merciless practicality quite constant.
Thirdly, it is unlikely Pepeka will appear in the main body of this story, but he will appear in the sequel! For those of you who miss him, here's a gift for you in the trivial!
Trivial: Though this was the first time Kuroro had willingly stepped into a brothel, he still considered himself a man of the world, well-versed in the dark side of society. Perhaps he wasn't as experienced as someone like Midoya, but surely he was by no means as naïve and ignorant as someone like Pepeka Timbal, for example.
Given his rather low opinion of Pepeka, Kuroro would have been shocked to know that Pepeka, though closer to twenty than thirty, had visited a brothel before.
That fateful day, Pepeka had been on his way to meet Midoya. Since he was late, he had taken a shortcut through the sleazier parts of York Shin. As he was plodding along, keeping his head down and thinking of sensei, a woman had stepped directly into his path and hailed him loudly.
"Hey handsome," she had said in greeting, "I have a problem here. Wanna help me with it?"
Startled out of his thoughts, Pepeka had looked up to see a pretty, rather scantily-dressed woman, standing before him and cupping her breasts in her hands. Since chivalry was not just a personality trait but a reflex for him, Pepeka had immediately said, "Sure. What is your problem?" From the way the woman was standing, with her hips and chest jutted out at odd angles, Pepeka thought she might have sprained her back from a fall. It wouldn't be a surprise with the height of the heels she was wearing.
"The problem's right here, baby," the woman had purred, bouncing her breasts.
Then she had probably been hit in the chest, Pepeka concluded. "What do you need me to help you do?" he asked seriously, wondering if he should bring her to the hospital. The nearest one was a good half hour away, and he wasn't sure if she could take the travelling even if she didn't appear to be in any pain. It was always dangerous to move people who have hurt their backs.
The woman had smiled with him and beckoned him over with a crook of her finger. "Go in here, baby, and you'll find out," she purred, pointing to a dilapidated building.
Obediently, Pepeka had trailed into the building after her, wondering if she needed help carrying something.
Five minutes later, Pepeka had exited the same way he had come. Only this time, he was running as fast as his could, his face a brilliant red with sweat pouring down it. He didn't stop running until he had reached his destination, five miles away, where Midoya, having heard his story, laughed so hard she couldn't speak for almost an hour.
Till this date, Pepeka had never ventured back into that part of town ever again.