First chapter in the hizzay! Okily dokily, one thing before I start. I have a horrible memory and a deleting problem. So, I was gonna say that I wanted to thank the first person who put me in their alerts but I forgot the user name because I deleted the message. - Erm... Thanks anyway though. Your review made me want to write. Sooo... I guess this one's for you. Sorry if it's shit.

My relationship with Kakuzu started almost six months ago. We never had anything special to begin with and I'm not even sure if we have anything special now.

Of course, it obviously doesn't help when your partner pays no attention to you. Yes, I will have to admit, the first month we were together seemed like I was walking on clouds. But of course, I had to face reality. Step down on the next cumulus, find out it was actually cirrus and fall straight down. Down to a nice earth pie in my face.

I can't complain though. I'm fed and sheltered. Don't have to worry about paying with money when I pay enough with my body. The sex was better at the beginning of our time together. It was exhilerating. Exploring something you havn't before. Especially since it was actually my first time with a guy.

I had never questioned my sexuality before, but when tall, tan, and toned walked through the door of Bass, I was certainly beginning to wonder.

He walked through the doors of the club and my straw literally fell from my lips and landed into my glass with the loudest sound I've ever heard, even over the pop songs that were remixed into that deep, rave, techno bass.

My eyes had scanned his body and sure enough, when my fuchsia ones got to his oddly colored black and green, they were scanning me too. My sister had always said that if you got it, flaunt it, and I certainly flaunted it. I wasn't trying to attract men to my flaunting of course. Or maybe I was? Curiosity scares the shit out of me, but I've always been too much of an ass to admit it, so that's why I had faced my fears, lifted a hand in the air, and summoned the man closer to me with my index finger.

I couldn't see his face all too well. The club was dark like all the others except for the flashing colored lights on the dance floor, and the black light that hung over the bar, making the girls' white bras shine underneath their thin tank tops.

Oddly enough, the guy obliged and walked over to the bar. As he came closer, I saw dark, shagged hair and a stitched mouth. Anyone would think that this ensemble would be a little odd, especially when you mix those fucked up eyes with it, but frankly, I felt as though I was sitting to close to the grill on the otherside of the bar.

He sat in the stool next to me, his face looking intrigued, and the first thing he said to me (I'll never forget even to this day), "Hope you're buying."

Right then I could tell this bastard was fucking loaded, and I'm sure he could tell that I wasn't poor, but I certainly wasn't as financially stable as what I hoped when landing in New York.

I tried to think gay, which I had never done except for when I got pulled over and got landed with the nervous cop, fresh out of the academy. I've always had the slightest tint of more feminine vurses masculine, so I could easily get by with a bat of the eyelashes and some innocent talk.

This guy probably wouldn't be easily fooled. I cleared my throat, suddenly regretting calling him over. Try to think gay...gay...

"I'm broke."

Way to work it smooth. Luckily, he chuckled, set some money on the counter, and ordered this strong shit that reminded me of Novocaine. The name is a blur in my mind, but I remember the numbing burn in my throat as I tried to gulp it down. He laughed at me when my face contorted into awkward puckering.

I knew he was trying to get me on my ass (or more on my belly), but oddly enough, I didn't care. I had always shied away when I knew a guy was coming on to me, but in this case, I was leaning closer, accepting the next fiery glass of whatever the hell I was drinking.

We talked. About nothing I could remember. After the third glass, my mind was blank. I remember leaving the bar, feeling like I was stumbling up stairs, and then, I remember brick wall being pushed on my back. Or maybe my back was being pushed on brick wall?

Either way, I felt the hard stone grinding against the back of my neck and through my light shirt, digging into my back, while something (or someone) was grinding my front. The something wasn't brick. The something was warm, muscular. Ah, a person. I opened my eyes. Ah, tall, tan, and toned with the Novocaine drink.

I felt his hands feeling up my shirt. Wait. Up my shirt? I didn't have a shirt on. Well I did, but now it was discarded on the floor. I felt that my belt and buttons were already undone. I wonder if the guy knew I had never fucked a dude. If he did, would he want me more or less?

The next thing I knew, my jeans were around my ankles and I was being lifted off the ground, pressing into the brick even more. My pants were tugged off roughly and joined my shirt. Might I announce that I wasn't wearing underwear that particular night.

I was shaking, but I wasn't sure if it was anxiety or a side affect from the Novocaine drink.

He happened to have all his clothes on, but his pants were open in the front and his boxers were down just enough to reveal, "Holy fucking god..." My slur was almost a whisper.

He must not have had anytime for either a condom or lubricant, because the next thing I remember, was a sharp pain, making me gasp and tense my body, which wasn't any better.

Black.

No, I didn't pass out, but I certainly do not remember anything else. I did remember feeling more fire, but not down my throat and not in a burning, "Ow, get me some water," kind of way. The fire was a fire that I wouldn't mind being thrown into every night. All I wanted was more. More fire in my body, and I wanted the fire harder even though it was already pushing hard enough.

I woke up the next day in my own apartment. My head throbbed and my thighs felt sore. I was in the same clothes as last night, only my shirt was gone. Fuck, that was an expensive shirt.

I sat up, groaning when my brain pounded in protest against my skull. However, when I let my hand fall next to me, I heard the crackle of paper. I looked down to find a small note. There were seven numbers on the small sheet.

Then I began to worry. Was I good enough? I was too drunk to remember my performance. Fuck, I was too drunk then to even think of a performance. Whatever I did (if anything at all) must have pleased the man, because even without a name, I knew that this number belonged to Novocaine man.

Yeah, sorry. It's lame. But hey, I was supposed to be asleep an hour ago so I was pretty fucking tired. In the next chapter, It's going to be the same scene, but in Kakuzu's point of view since he wasn't shit face smashed. Don't know when I'l update. But y'all will live. Review pwease. ;-;