Chapter Text
Prisoner Of The Night
Chapter One
“You’re obsessed.”
Heero didn’t even deign the statement with a response, not even a sidelong glance. He knew he was obsessed; he didn’t need anyone telling him what was obvious. He’d been obsessed since that first fateful meeting in a bathroom stall, haunted by amethyst eyes that twinkled with a mirth Heero didn’t quite understand. What inside joke did that man know that Heero wasn’t privy to? What made those pouty lips twist into a wickedly sinful grin and tease him in all the right ways?
They were questions he wanted answered—along with what did he sound like in the throes of passion? What did he look like spreadeagle on a bed, writhing beneath him? What was his age? What was his profession? What was his name?
All he had to go by was the name Shinigami.
And there was damn near nothing about the man. He’d looked into it as much as he could without endangering his job, but Shinigami was a name many people feared and fewer still were willing to speak. Death clung to the name and made people whisper it more like an oath or a curse than the name of a person, Heero even saw some cross themselves and offer up a plea for protection against Shinigami as if he were some vengeful spirit that would take their lives at the mere mention of his name.
“I’m telling you, you’re better off not taking this any further,” the private investigator Heero hired said with a sigh that told him she knew he wouldn’t listen. He looked across the table at the poised young woman as she lifted her cup with refinement to her perfectly painted lips. Dorothy Catalonia looked nothing like what he expected a private investigator to look like, but she was known for being like a dog with a bone once she accepted an assignment and her connections to high and low society gave her an edge no one else had.
“I’ve already paid you for your services,” Heero said, keeping his voice neutral so as to not belie the panic he felt at being so close to what he had sought for the past six months and possibly losing it. “Backing out would be breaking our contract and you would be responsible for paying the penalty as well as returning my funds.”
“I’m not backing out,” Dorothy retorted with a catty smile as she set her teacup down, “the information is yours to do what you want with it, I’m just warning you—If you foolishly chase after Shinigami, it’s your funeral that I won’t be attending.”
He frowned, thinking back to the beautiful man who had danced with him and fit their bodies together as if they were perfectly made for each other. Sure, there was a mysterious aura around the man who had teased him until he came right there in the middle of the dance floor, but he hadn’t seemed dangerous. If anything, the man he took to calling Shiniko for lack of a name, seemed more like he was constantly running from trouble than causing it. “He can’t be that dangerous.”
“There’s a reason he’s called Shinigami,” she intoned, nails tapping the table rhythmically, “a harbinger of death, Mr. Yuy. He’s very good at his job, and very good at covering his tracks. It won’t just be your neck on the line if something goes wrong,” her lips twisted into a cruel smile, “though it won’t be mine.”
“Of course not,” Heero snorted, watching the poised woman guardedly. One thing he had learned quite well in the months he had been working with Dorothy was to never trust her. Oh, she certainly finished whatever job she accepted—her business wouldn’t survive long if she couldn’t deliver—but her saccharine words always held a venomous bite and she always acted upon whatever benefitted her the most. He wouldn’t put it past her to double-cross her client if it meant she got paid double in the end, but even if she pulled that with him, he couldn’t walk away knowing Shiniko was finally within his reach.
Dorothy reached across and patted his hand in a pitiable way, tutting softly as she stood up. “Do give me a call if you survive, but I certainly won’t be waiting for it.” She reached into the folds of her dress and then slid a single business card across the table to Heero, “Go there tonight and you’ll meet Shinigami. There won’t be another chance, so don’t ask me to set up a second meeting if you don’t arrive in time, it was hard enough to get this one. I can’t promise your safety, but I know you’re too obsessed to listen to reason.”
“Hn,” he grunted, listening to the clack of her heels as she walked away. If he could meet with the man once again, then the thousands that Dorothy cost would be worth it. It had been nearly six months since he last saw him. Trowa was beginning to worry with how much time he spent at bars and clubs, searching for a man with violet eyes and a three-foot braid, but he also knew that once Heero set his mind to a task, there was no stopping him. It was only thanks to Trowa’s boyfriend, Quatre, that he was even able to get in contact with Dorothy, the woman might be well-known, but she only took the jobs she was in pursuing—and only from those who could afford her exorbitant rates.
Heero might not be rich, but he had been studious in saving for years and so could easily afford Ms. Catalonia’s services. And now he held the ticket to seeing him again in his hands. He cast a furtive glance around him to make sure no one was watching him before he picked up the white card embossed with red—Dorothy’s own business card—and turned it over. Scrawled on the back in an elegant penmanship was a time and place, there was no date or any other information that would give away just what it meant, but Heero didn’t need that anyway.
His savings account might be almost drained, but at least now he had a time and place—and he wasn’t about to miss it for the world.
Heero glanced around the dingy room for the tenth time and wrinkled his nose. The rundown motel was on the fringes of the slummiest part of the city, even calling it a motel was stretching the word, and it wasn’t a place that Heero would ever step into willingly in any other circumstance. But he wasn’t about to pass up the opportunity to meet Shinigami, to see if the moniker really belonged to the ghost he’d been chasing after all these months.
The listed meeting time was still two hours from now, but he’d arrived nearly six hours ago just to make sure nothing would make him miss it. He wasn’t going to waste this chance and if the person who arrived wasn’t his Shiniko, then he’d just be telling Dorothy she was chasing after the wrong person. He dreaded the thought of having to spend There wasn’t much to the room—just an old bed with a rusted metal headboard that probably looked fancy at one point in its life, a nightstand, and a small table with only one chair. There was no television or anything else to entertain him as he waited, and he certainly wasn’t going to step foot in the grimy bathroom that was an all-in-one shower/toilet/sink.
Sitting in the ramshackle room at the scratched and battered table with a single dim-lit lamp in the corner of the room made him shudder to think of what he couldn’t see. He was apprehensive, nervously tapping his foot as he waited for Shinigami’s arrival. At least the bed looked clean from what he saw, the sheets worn and thin, but they looked like they had recently been washed. He’d made sure not to bring his wallet this time, leaving it safely in his car—though he was beginning to second guess whether it was safe there, his wallet might end up stolen right along with his car this time.
Still, the thought of missing this meeting even though he had two more hours before the designated time kept him firmly in the room. It would be just his luck that Shinigami would arrive while he wasn’t in the room, or that he’d find himself in some kind of trouble with some of the city’s more unsavory people at this time of night. Not that he couldn’t handle himself, he had every confidence in himself to be able to defend himself against at most five or six people at once, but it would take time and if the police were called… Well, he wasn’t going to take the chance.
Heero checked the card again, verifying he was in the right room for the sixth time, and then glued his eyes to the door once again. He reached down to his pocket, touching the handcuffs he’d brought with him through the fabric, and then sighed, leaning back in the chair a little. He was planning to make sure Shinigami didn’t get away from him this time, not until he got a real name and hopefully a phone number, and if it meant playing dirty, then he was going to do it.
Shiniko had said he liked it rough…
He felt his cock swell at just the thought of seeing the alluring man again, hearing that rasping voice whisper his name, and tasting every inch of the man until Heero heard every single sound he could make. It certainly wasn’t the first time he had fantasized about taking the minx of a man, he had filled many a lonely night with thoughts of how tight he would be, whether he was always prepared to be fucked like he claimed to be or not, and what his hair would look like spread out around him like some kind of fan. How it would feel to sink into the heat of his ass, pound it with abandon until he came, how easily his skin would mark, how beautifully erotic he’d look riding him, cock—
“An’ here I thought I was getting here early,” a familiar voice drawled from behind him, the deep rasp of his voice making Heero’s mouth go dry.
Heero swiftly stood up and turned toward the voice. He greedily drank in the sight before him, the man dressed in all black framed in the window and bathed in the light of the streetlights outside. Those striking violet eyes that had haunted him were hidden by a fringe of bangs, but Heero knew it was his Shiniko in the flesh, there was no mistaking the thick braid that slithered over his shoulder to cascade down his chest. “Shinigami,” he murmured as the man slipped into the room.
“The one and only,” he quipped, flashing that impish grin that went straight to Heero’s groin.
It didn’t look like the man recognized him, not in the dim light of the room, which Shinigami probably chose specifically to help retain his anonymity, but the fact he didn’t irked Heero. He knew that his obsession was one-sided, but it still stung his pride to see it so blatantly. The man could’ve found him at any point considering he’d filched not just one, but two of his wallets. He had everything, including his license which had his address on it, and so if their feelings were in any way reciprocal, Shinigami could’ve shown up at any time. He wouldn’t have had to spend thousands of dollars tracking him down or wait nearly six months to see the svelte man again.
“Anxious, are we?” Shinigami moved closer but still out of reach as he tilted his head to get a look at Heero’s face, but the dim light meant he’d have to get even closer for that. He slowly circled around Heero, body taut and ready to leap away at a moment’s notice, though Heero had no doubt that if the man was truly an assassin, then he carried at least one weapon on him for self-defense.
“Hn,” he noncommittedly grunted, keeping his eyes downcast and watching how the shadows moved to discern the right time to pounce. Whether Shinigami would run or not once he recognized him, he didn’t know, but he wasn’t about to take that chance. Dorothy warned him there wouldn’t be a second meeting if something went wrong, so this was his only chance. He couldn’t screw it up.
Black boots stopped in front of him, only a foot away. “So, who’s the target? Ex-wife? Loan shark? Work rival?”
“You,” he said, meeting violet eyes for a split second before Heero darted forward, catching Shiniko off guard, and slammed him hard into the closest wall. It was hard enough to make the man’s head hit the wall with a loud crack and for a moment, Heero was worried he had been too rough, but the elbow to his chin proved otherwise. As he predicted, Shinigami was quick and skilled, but his years of training in Judo worked in his favor as he grappled for anything he could—a limb, clothes, hair.
“Hey, hands off my fuckin’ hair!” he hollered as Heero yanked him back into his grasp by the tail end of his braid. It had to sting after just having his head slammed into the wall, but the man gave no signs of pain as he tried to fight against Heero. It was to no avail though, every time he gained a bit of distance, Heero closed it and continued to yank him back away from either the door or the window. He’d have bruises to show for it in the morning, but he didn’t care in the slightest.
Heero threw him down onto the bed, using the bulk of his body to keep the lithe man immobile, and watched as a cacophony of emotions flitted across Shiniko’s face before settling on surprised recollection.
“Well, well, well,” he sneered as Heero settled his weight onto the man’s chest and trapped his hands above his head, “if it ain’t Mr. Blue Eyes. Come to collect your things? Sorry, but I sold ‘em months ago.”
“I don’t care,” Heero answered, holding both thin wrists in one hand as he grabbed the handcuffs with the other. He quickly cuffed one hand before weaving the cuffs between the headboard slats and cuffing the other.
Violet eyes widened, jangling the cuffs before looking at Heero indignantly, “What the fuck, man?!”
It had been easier to capture the elusive man than he thought, and while he had tried to plan everything out, it still went much smoother than he had imagined it would. He had expected to fight him tooth and nail, to even possibly have to knock him out, but while Shiniko did land some solid punches, it wasn’t enough to hinder Heero’s plans. Maybe that blow to the head had stunned him more than he thought it had.
“Why are you cuffing me to the bed?” The handcuffs rattled as Shiniko yanked at them, violet eyes wide as he stared at Heero. “If th’ wallet meant that much to ya, I can track it back down for ya. There’s no need to involve the police in this.”
“I told you I don’t care about that.” He allowed his gaze to wander, taking in the fit body beneath him and the way his captive almost bucked him off. He might look slight, but an assassin had to pack some muscle to be effective and Heero itched with impatience to explore the body beneath him.
He looked ready to spit in Heero’s face, those gorgeous eyes turning thunderously dark as he snapped, “Then what the hell do you want?”
“I already to you—you.”
“You want me.” There was a threat in his voice, but Heero caught the hint of curiosity as Shiniko tilted his head.
“You’re a hard man to track down,” Heero murmured as he ran a hand down the black button-up shirt the other man was wearing, fingertips teasingly dipping between the buttons. How he wanted to undo them right now and riddle the man’s chest with bites and marks, but he wasn’t about to rush things. While he might falsely imprison him, he wasn’t about to rape the person he wanted as his lover, he didn’t want to make an enemy of Shinigami.
He snorted, a cocky grin pulling at his lips, “I gave you a name.”
“You gave me a title,” he retorted flatly, “one that no one wanted to speak about. I don’t want to know your title, I want to know your name.”
Despite the handcuffs hindering him, he pulled his body up a few inches and craned his neck toward Heero, a manic gleam in his eyes, “You do understand what it is I do, don’t’cha?”
“You’re a for-hire assassin.”
“And that doesn’t bother you, that I kill people?”
Heero shrugged, it was a question he had asked himself ever since Dorothy had told him. To say it didn’t bother him at all would be a lie, but when he weighed it against his desire—his obsession—he couldn’t care less what profession the man had as long as he could have some sort of relationship with him. “Everyone has blood on their hands one way or another.”
“You’re a strange one,” he said, collapsing back onto the bed, “Heero.”
Hearing his name on those delectable lips sent a shiver down his spine and his cock twitched. “You still remember my name.”
“I’ll show you how much more I remember about you if you take these off,” he crooned sultrily, jerking his hands to make the cuffs clink against the headboard.
It was tempting, but he wasn’t about to take any chances now that he had his quarry before him. One wrong move and he had no doubt Shinigami would disappear out that window and out of his life forever. If he didn’t leave an indelible mark on the man tonight, he knew he’d never find out his real name or see him again. “I’m sure your body can show me how much you remember just like this,” Heero said, slipping his fingers beneath the hem of Shiniko’s shirt and splaying it across flat abdominals.
“If all ya want is my body,” he retorted, the rough accent back, “then go ahead and take it.”
“I want more than your body, Shiniko,” Heero murmured, slowly unbuttoning the man’s shirt and exposing beautiful, fair skin inch by inch. “I want your name so I can say it, I want your phone number so I can call it, and I want your heart so I can say you’re mine.”
Shiniko licked his lips, momentarily taken aback by Heero’s words, before softly saying, “That’s a tall order.”
“We can start with your name then.” He pulled the shirt back, letting it fall loosely around Shiniko, and raised a brow at the leather holster that wrapped around each shoulder and connected below the man’s chest. Two knives were strapped tightly to each side, the handles flat with rounded edges so as to not dig uncomfortably into his armpits, and they looked wickedly sharp to not be in some kind of sheath.
“Sheaths slow me down,” he said, as if reading Heero’s mind. “And when the difference between life and death is sometimes mere seconds, I’ll shave ‘em off anywhere I can.”
He gently ran his fingers over soft, alabaster skin, “You don’t injure yourself?”
“Can’t say never, but most o’ my scars are from those on the receivin’ end o’ my services.”
The chill that colored his words wasn’t something he’d heard before, but really, it just reminded him that he knew next to nothing about the man he’d been obsessed with for months on end. Other than his looks, his oral skills, and his title, Heero knew nothing about the man called Shinigami. He might call him his Shiniko—his little death—but it was Shiniko who knew more about him than the other way around, hell, he had already seen Heero’s dick within the first five minutes of meeting.
“You are one hell of a freaky guy, aren’tcha?” Shinigami snickered, lids lowering sultrily. “Does the thought of me gutting some prick get your prick rising?”
Heero frowned, uncertain of what the man meant until he followed his gaze to the obvious tent in his pants. He flushed, but he didn’t try to hide his erection, what was the point when Shiniko had already seen it? He cleared his throat, focusing instead on removing the knives and setting them on the small nightstand beside the bed.
“Come on, Heero,” he rolled the r tauntingly, “tell me, what part turns you on? The thought of me penetrating another man like you want me to penetrate you? Or do you want to penetrate me? Fuck me so deep, it’s as if you’re stabbing me in the gut?” Heero bit back a moan, his cock growing harder at the insidious teasing. “Or is it the thought of me killing another person? Of being someone so feared they pray to their gods at just the mere mention of my name? I’m the best there is, does that make you hard, knowing you’ve got the best of the best beneath you? Or is it that you pictured me covered in blood? Does blood turn you on, Heero?”
“You turn me on,” he said, voice rough with lust even as his blush deepened. He never considered blood arousing, but everything about the man aroused him. And while he was sure Shikino said it to disgust him, Heero had no doubt he’d look absolutely stunning with blood splattered across his body. Bright red against alabaster white, he’d be ethereal bathed in moonlight and blood alike.
“Oh yeah?” He stared hard at the bulge in Heero’s pants. “So much you’re about to bust a nut before I’ve even touched you? Though, you did come untouched on the dance floor last time, is my voice that good?”
“You had kissed me,” Heero retorted petulantly, it wasn’t much of an argument though because that rasping, seductive voice had echoed in his head on many a lonely night. It had brought him to orgasm more times than he could count, so it really was that good.
Shinigami laughed, eyes dancing mirthfully as he grinned up at Heero, “Don’t tell me you’re a virgin, man. If getting kissed is enough to make you come, you’re never gonna make it t’ fucking.”
“I’m not a virgin.”
“No? Gonna prove it?” He bucked his hips, pressing their groins together and grinding against Heero’s erection. “I remember what you’re packing, an’ I wouldn’t mind getting’ another taste.”
He gasped at the sudden friction, the man was a damn tease, “That isn’t what I came for.”
“It ain’t?” he asked incredulously, his face expressively matching his tone. “You mean t’a tell me that you’ve got me handcuffed to a bed,” he rattled the cuffs, “an’ my shirt undone while sporting a raging boner and you don’t wanna fuck me?”
“I want to fuck you,” Heero answered, guttural and with such need it was palpable, “but I’ve been searching for you for over six months and I don’t want this to be a one-time thing.”
“Six months?”
He couldn’t resist running his hands over Shiniko’s exposed body, pushing his erection into his thigh with a groan. He wasn’t lying that he hadn’t come here for sex, but if the man was offering, he wasn’t going to refuse him. “I went back to that bar almost nightly, I frequented the dance club looking for you, I searched nearby bars and clubs and asked around, trying to find you, but months passed without even a sighting.” He brushed his thumbs over pert nipples, enjoying the libidinous moan that Shiniko didn’t even try to stifle. “I spent six months dreaming about you, reliving the few moments together we had and thinking about all the things I wanted to do to you once you were mine.”
“Fuck, you’re crazy, aren’t you?” Shinigami asked, a little breathlessly as he looked at Heero as if for the first time.
“I prefer the term obsessed,” he deadpanned.
But instead of looking frightened or revulsed at the depths of Heero’s infatuation, he flashed a wide, almost maniacal, grin at Heero and jutted forward to press their lips together in a quick, fervid kiss. “I think I like you, ‘ro.”
Dhampir
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5/11/2024