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"Well, that's rather rude now, isn't it? " comes a soft voice from the corner of the hallway. Fulgur stiffens, readying the revolver in his hand once again, a finger discreetly turning the barrel into the next available round. Fulgur dislikes needing to do clean-up, but if it is necessary...
A soft click of a heel against the marble floor, and before Fulgur can raise the gun in his hand in the direction of the sound, he hears a dagger fly by his ear. The blade barely misses his face by a few tiny millimetres as it embeds itself into the wall behind him. From the periphery of his vision, he spots the purple glint of the dagger's hilt.
There is only one individual he knows that carries blades (yes, plural) with an amethyst-encrusted hilt. Fulgur lowers his gun.
"Mr Violeta. A pleasure to see you here tonight." Fulgur greets, tilting his head politely. Uki trudges right past him, completely disregarding the dead body on the ground and elegantly side-stepping past the spreading pool of blood to retrieve his beloved dagger next to Fulgur's head. One may think he missed, of course, but Fulgur is far too acquainted with the enigma that was Uki Violeta to underestimate his aim. Uki had most definitely intended to just barely nick him. A few inches further and the blade would have embedded itself in his forehead. Some go so far as to call him a psychic, with his uncanny ability to predict where his target would be at in less than a second's notice, before sending a knife in that specific spot. That was what Uki specialized in after all: clean, ranged assassination.
"Must you always steal my marks, Mr Ovid? Here I was, just waiting for his drink to kick in." Uki asks rather forlornly, a pout on his lips. Ah, yes. He also possesses a particular fondness for poisons. Fulgur was more for quick, if not old-fashioned methods. A bullet in their head or in their heart, whichever is more accessible, at close range; no one needs to know about his preference to watch the light leave the eyes of his marks.
(Fulgur rarely feels guilty about his work. He chooses his assignments, and makes it a hobby to dig into the dark, dirty secrets of his potential marks before committing to them.)
After sheathing his dagger into its appropriate holster - this one, Uki keeps close to his heart, under his arm, hence its more decorative nature (but no less deadly, of course), whereas his more inconspicuous blades were stored in more directly accessible areas - Uki finally steps up right next to Fulgur, above the body, and wrinkles his nose. "Then again, I suppose this works too, if not...messy."
Messy, says the man who has the capabilities to paint an entire wall with gory blood spray if he wants to.
"It's not stealing if he was my mark too. Consider it payback for what happened in Cairo."
A playful smile blooms on Uki's expression at the mention of Cairo, and Fulgur feels his facial muscles twitching to match at the memory. Cairo was fun. That was their last meeting, several months ago, when they both, again, shared identical marks. Honestly, with all the people they were hired to kill, it was genuinely hard to say that they didn't deserve to be killed. After all, one had to do a lot of bad things to accumulate enough enemies that wanted them dead. After all, contractors don't double book assassins - they are costly.
A warm palm cups his lower jaw, and guides Fulgur's face ever so slightly to the side. Fulgur instinctively tilts his head down, enough to clear distance between them and their lips meet. It is a soft greeting. They haven't seen each other since Cairo, but Uki is still wearing the same perfume that he did that night - cassis and rosemary, this time additionally laced with the smell of iron in the air, and his lips caress Fulgur's in the same delicate manner that has Fulgur sighing through his nose. Fulgur wraps an arm around his waist to hold Uki closer, and Uki lets himself be pulled forward, releasing his own happy little sigh. Ah yes, nothing screams romantic reunion more than being alone in a hallway with nothing more than a dead body as witness to their kiss.
"I was wondering when I'd see you again." Uki breathes into the air between them. "Did you miss me?"
"Well..." Fulgur lets his voice trail, feigning a thought and adding the necessary, theatrical hum to the pause. "I certainly don't miss having my marks taken out by you, I must say."
"Well, I despise my marks being taken out by you as well."
"Our contractors should really make a group chat and compromise on who'd they like dead, yes. An excellent idea."
A roll of his eyes, a caress of Fulgur's cheek, and Uki steps back, already lifting red-spotted fingers to his mouth to lick at the blood on his fingertips. Fulgur raises his own hand to his cheek, and grins sharply at the mild sting. It doesn't bother Fulgur (although consuming someone else's blood is rather unhygienic, goddamnit, Uki), if only because he knows that it is a sort-of payback for stealing Uki's thunder. Sort of.
(Look, they are assassins. They can indulge in whatever strange likes and dislikes as they want. Who is to tell them 'no'? Not someone with a sense of self-preservation, one thinks.)
"I won't tell your contractors if you don't tell mine." Uki offers cheekily, as if this is the first time that they've had this conversation. If one of them kills the shared mark before the other, neither will snitch about the presence of the other assassin, because hey, they get paid as long as the mark ends up dead, and contractors don't typically care as long as the job gets done (well, no, they'd care if their hired assassin didn't do the kill, because then why would they pay? But semantics.)
The words slip out of his mouth before Fulgur even realizes it - "What if I require my silence to be paid for?" and he grins roguishly as Uki (taking zero offense), pouts, and glances up at Fulgur with an expression of amused disdain.
"Testing dangerous waters here tonight, are we?" Uki replied placidly as he steps forward once again, into Fulgur's space. His arm lazily wraps around the back of Fulgur's neck to rest just slight offset, under his jaw. The engraved rings Uki wears on his fingers are cool, and press into the side of his neck just over the rhythmic pulse of his carotid artery, as if they are about to begin an incredibly intimate tango. Not saying that they won't, but perhaps a different type of tango over a horizontal surface?
Fulgur offhandedly wonders if Uki's rings have a built-in injection mechanism to introduce chemicals - poisons, sedative, the like - into Uki's unwitting prey. Some of them, Fulgur knows by prior conversation and because Fulgur has actually seen them, plain silver and gold that held memories in its dents, are keepsakes from Uki's previous life. But there are especially elaborate ones which Fulgur frequently sees him wearing to assignments... Yeah, knowing Uki, the likelihood of him weaponizing his jewellery is probably very high. He is very sneaky like that. (And boy, does Fulgur find that part of him exceedingly attractive.)
"I'm always testing dangerous waters, sweetheart. I am an assassin - it's in the job description." He goads, as if he doesn't suddenly feel the cool bite of one of Uki's blade suddenly pressing very precariously in the space between his legs. Ah, that shouldn't be as equally hot and terrifying as it is, but... what can Fulgur say?
(Fulgur isn't even reaching for his gun. He doesn't need to. For one, he's in a distinct disadvantage, since any type of movement from his part to secure self-defence would be useless, given that Uki will only require less than a second to fully incapacitate him. Secondly, Uki isn't going to cut off that part of Fulgur. He'll be the one pouting about its loss afterwards... or at least, that is what Fulgur thinks. He could also be extremely wrong. If so, then the joke is on him, but damn, he may or may not be getting turned on by this, because what a way to go if so.)
Uki sighs, sounding all together rather exasperated and amused. Fulgur considers it a win on his part. "You do love to press my buttons."
"I would press all your buttons if you'd let me."
"If 'I' let you?" Uki laughs, a soft sound that encompasses only the two of them. The hand holding his dagger doesn't even slip. "My, such a gentleman you are, Mr Ovid."
"Perhaps if I'm polite enough, you might reconsider the position of your dagger...?" Fulgur suggests. His voice may have cracked just a little bit. Just a little, he's also just a little turned on, but can anyone blame him?
Certainly not the cooling dead body not too far from them, no. They should probably leave the scene of said crime very soon. Preferably to a hotel room or some sort.
"Oh? This little thing?" Based on what Fulgur is feeling, aforementioned dagger is anything but little - especially not when Uki begins to stroke the tip against the inside of his thigh with just a feather's touch. Not even enough force to catch any clothing fibres, but sufficient to remind Fulgur of its existence and how Uki can most definitely slice him down there if he wanted to. A teasing kiss is pressed to the edge of his lips. Fulgur doesn't even dare chase it - on wrong move could turn into a whoops, oh dear, there it goes∼ situation and he’d like to retain possession of said body part if he’s going to have an enjoyable night today. Preferably, with the menace in front of him.
"Don't worry, babe. I just sharpened the edge this morning." Uki breathes into Fulgur's ear. His breath is damp and warm, sending imperceptible shivers down the length of Fulgur’s spine. "You wouldn't feel a thing."
"How kind of you." Fulgur rumbles back in return.
"Only for you, Fuufuu-chan." The nickname rolls off Uki's lips in a teasing manner, and okay, he's a big, bad assassin and only Uki would find a way to address him by such a cutesy nickname. After a moment, Uki retracts his dagger, and hums, as if in thought; he does not sheathe said dagger, but instead holds it loosely in his hand. Fulgur continues to watch it warily regardless (he has a sense of self-preservation, thank you very much). "But then again, I much prefer it intact and, on your person, so maybe, I could reward with something else...?"
Reward? Why is he talking about a – Fulgur has nearly forgotten what they had been going on about in the first place, despite him being the original instigator of this teasing. That clearly did not work out the way he intended, and Fulgur feels only momentarily embarrassed, because if one has to deal with the reckoning that is an Uki Violeta (plus be threatened to have their genitals cut off in a rather seductive fashion), one will lose their train of thought.
Clearing his throat, Fulgur composes himself, and offers, "I'd be delighted to have you for the rest of the evening, if you don't mind sharing it with me."
Uki breaks into a smile. In a smooth motion, he returns to the corpse, squatting down next to it and nudging the head aside with the hilt of his dagger to reveal the hole left behind by the round Fulgur fired into their head. Right, Fulgur was just about to retrieve the bullet before he had been not-so-rudely interrupted, so he should preferably do it now before they took their exit—
With a quick flick of Uki's wrist, the thin blade of the dagger digs into the wound, and the round is clinking onto the tiles next to Fulgur's feet. Uki lightly stands, and pulls the maroon silk kerchief from Fulgur's suit pocket to wipe the blood off the blade. Uki's expression is completely serene as it meets Fulgur's raised brows.
"Throw in tomorrow morning as well, and we have a deal."
--
Their lips are on each other's as soon as they step through the door. The heavy door slams behind Uki as Fulgur pins his wrists against the cool surface, and he feels Uki purr as he trails his lips down the side of his jaw to wetly mouth his neck. Uki's skin tastes like a mixture of his perfume and whatever lingered from the shower he likely took before proceeding with the kill attempt, because that’s what he prefers to do – a shower before, a shower after the kill, unless in this situation, his post-kill shower will most definitely be delayed by a different type of activity.
Fulgur feels suddenly ravenous as he breathes in the intoxicating mix of florals that wafts from Uki’s neck – there was the light notes of cassis and rosemary, but there were the traces of violets and the fragrance of lily-of-the-valleys weaved in as well, like a fruity, floral cocktail that Fulgur will be enjoying tonight. Uki blooms under his touch and tongue – perfectly manicured nails dig into Fulgur’s suit as his lips find a particularly sensitive spot; or rather, rediscovers the same spot he’s found for a quite a few times now, but Uki’s response will never get old, never boring, and will always be hot as hell.
“F-fuufuu-chan—” Uki sighs into his ear, “are you planning on fucking me against the door or will we eventually get to the bed?”
“Do you have a preference?” He asks, jokingly, and is answered by a fierce bite to the meat of his neck; he lets out a low, warning half-moan, half-growl at the sudden jolt of pain. God, his neck was going to be a mess in the morning, as it always was when he spent his evening with Uki.
“You know I really don’t give a fuck as long as I end up with your cock in me.” As if to reiterate his point, Uki grinds their hips together, and they both simultaneously release sounds of want. Yeah, Fulgur can get on with that plan.
He releases Uki’s wrists from his hold, does the latch on the door (because he hasn’t forgotten) and sweeps Uki deeper into the room with a guiding arm around his waist, leaving behind a trail of shoes, socks and suit blazers. The process of undressing always comes to a halt once they get to this point, where they’re merely standing in front of one another, and want and desire eggs at them and their distinctively hard arousals to just get to the fucking point already. Instead of acting on said desires like their body really wants to, it’s almost traditional for them now to practice self-restraint for this particular aspect of their foreplay.
It is the particular act of undressing each other. Or rather, de-weaponizing each other, that requires far more patience and restraint. It has nothing to do with the fact that any one of Uki’s blades can sever a major artery or five if they aren’t simply careful enough with the way they are removed from his person, or that simply throwing a gun to the floor can be exceeding hazardous; rather, it is the recognition that they were two individuals who relied heavily upon their weapons for work, and self-defence. Their weapons are not simply tools of the trade, but indelible companions they spent more time with than another human individual, and here they are, helping each other shed all their existing protections in an ultimate form of physical and emotional vulnerability.
I trust you, is what is relayed to Fulgur when Uki looks up at him softly, his scintillating heterochromatic eyes dazed but so open as he guides Fulgur’s hands to undoing the straps and hidden sheathes on his person: his beloved amethyst-encrusted dagger, the one stored in his shoulder sheath, goes to the bedside cabinet rather than above the dresser, as does Fulgur’s beloved revolver, because some form of self-defence is still required for the two of them (not against each other, but for anyone foolish, enemies or the like, who might come in the night. The two of them have many enemies, it is a fact of life).
After several whispered instructions, Uki lets Fulgur do his own exploring, hands already well-practiced in their paths from their previous shared nights – the throwing knives on his arms, two on either side, as well as the bracer that they were on; then the two smaller blades that were hidden, flush against his belt, and then one on either side of his calves. It wouldn’t be a surprise to Fulgur if there isn’t one hidden in Uki’s shoe. And then there are the several small mint-sized tins that were tucked into numerous pockets or strapped alongside the knife sheaths; these ones, Fulgur sets aside more delicately, knowing they likely held needles tipped with things one does not want to get pricked with.
Those are just the ones he kept above his clothes. Fulgur leans forwards to hungrily mouth the exposed clavicle as soon as he finishes unbuttoning Uki’s silk shirt. He one-handedly pushes the cool fabric off Uki’s shoulders, and chuckles as he finds an additional short-dagger sheathed under his arm, opposite to where Uki’s beloved amethyst dagger was located. “Symmetry, really?” He comments as he undoes that as well and rests it on the dresser.
“No one is going to tell me I can’t.”
An excellent point. Fulgur hums wordlessly and allows their lips to meet once again as he rests his hands on Uki’s bare shoulders. Trailing them down the length of Uki’s arms, Fulgur swallows the soft hitches in Uki’s breath when his fingers trace the numerous scars on his arms, all of varying ages, but thankfully nothing new from the last time they’ve done this. When his hands reach Uki’s fingers, he parts long enough to pluck the more elaborate rings off of Uki’s fingers and drops them next to the dagger on the bedside cabinet. The plainer bands – there are two of them, in gold and silver, he leaves them as is on Uki’s left and right index fingers, knowing that that was where they belonged to.
“Any chance those rings are weaponized?” He asks curiously while gesturing to the ones on the dresser.
Uki lets out a short wheezing laugh. “No, They’re just pretty accessories.”
“Mmmm, yeah, you’re pretty too.” Fulgur says absentmindedly, and Uki lightly whacks his arm. “Could make a pretty one with a hidden blade or microneedle in the centrepiece, one you could tip with something. Put some tanzanite and amethyst settings around it…”
“Sounds like it’d have to be a commissioned piece, but it does sound beautiful. Beautiful, but deadly…”
“Just like you.” Fulgur finishes with a cheeky grin, and adds, “I might know someone who could make it though.”
“Fuufuu-chan, are you offering to put a ring on me?” Uki asks breathlessly, although his hands are already busy doing something else – undoing the straps of Fulgur’s belt and shoulder gun holsters and dropping them – very gently, slowly – onto the floor next to them, ways away from bed. His fingers are steady as they unbutton Fulgur’s shirt, focused on his task of clearly getting both of them naked as soon as physically possible while still maintaining this consistent, natural banter.
“Would you wear it if I do?”
Fingers pause. “I’ll never take it off. Left, ring finger? It can stay there forever—”
Fulgur laughs, and makes a mental note to actually get one commissioned once he got back from this assignment. “No weapons in bed, remember?”
There is a tiny pause where Uki, genuinely thinks about that little rule they made up way back when, then, “…You’re mean, Fuufuu-chan. But I’ll accept that.”
And then Uki rests his palms on Fulgur’s bare chest and pushes him backwards firmly. Fulgur lets himself fall onto his back atop the covers of the hotel bed, and there’s a foil packet and a sachet of lubricant that is being tossed next to his head, retrieved from who knows where; then Uki’s climbing on top of him, his own belt undone and reaching for the buckle of Fulgur’s own.
--
The sheets under his back feel cool relative to the dampness of his skin, and the searing body that is on top of Fulgur, and around him. They’ve been going at it for a while now, and he knows that Uki’s stamina has to run out sometime soon, because Fulgur himself is approaching his limit, and they’ve always been pretty good at keeping up with each other’s energy levels despite Uki’s tendency of being completely insatiable whenever they meet like this. Then again, Fulgur is aware that he’s been letting Uki take charge for most of tonight, so he will likely need to step in soon to finish them both off, else Uki is going to try to do this all night long.
While Fulgur really, really liked it when Uki took charge like this, bouncing on his lap and his own bottom lip caught between his tongue in great focus while Uki simply used Fulgur for his own pleasure – and Fulgur has zero qualms about that, yes, it is exceedingly hot and he could most definitely just get off on the thought of using him like that – which therein lies the problem, because Uki will most definitely maim him if Fulgur left him hanging.
(Of course, Fulgur wouldn’t want to live him hanging, he has manners, thank you very much, but the sight in front of him would make anyone weak—)
So Fulgur let out shaky exhale-in-a-groan, especially when Uki grounds into him just right and fuck he is literally so hot and perfect around him, and he looks beautiful – sweat-damp hair curling in some small ringlets around his face, and expression contorting in pleasure as he lets out the quiet string of whines and ‘ah’s with every drop of his hips onto Fulgur.
“That’s it, baby. Keep hopping like that – you’re so hot like this.” He praises while rubbing Uki’s thigh, “so fucking hot I could come from just looking at you.”
“Come before I do, and I'll cut you." Uki snaps, and Fulgur grins in spite of himself, hitching his hips in a slightly different angle and – Uki whines loudly before catching himself.
“Let me hear you, baby.”
Fulgur takes in Uki's flushed form; His movements have begun to stutter, the rhythm of the rise and fall of his hips onto Fulgur’s is no longer a smooth motion, instead punctuated with distinct irregular pauses and barely repressed whines as the angle allows Fulgur to strike Uki directly where he wants to the most. Then Fulgur tightly grips Uki’s hips to halt all movement, Uki practically snarls at him, frustrated and body as tense as a snake about to strike.
"Why aren't you fucking movi—"
Before Uki could vocalise the rest of his complaint, Fulgur steadied his trembling body, then slams into him with none of the gentleness that neither of them wants. The moan the motion draws out of Uki is loud and completely unhindered, unprepared, and Fulgur takes advantage of that surprise; he sits up - this is what all his abdominal muscles are for, yes - Uki still in his lap, and his arms strains as Fulgur continues to bounce him up and down the length of his cock in a rapid pace. Uki keens at the sudden change in angle and pace, and reaches out desperately to wrap his arms over Fulgur's shoulders, their warm, damp-with-sweat skins leaving trails of searing warmth. "Fuck, fucking - keep doing that—"
"Is this what you w-wanted?" Fulgur half-groans, half-growls into Uki's ear. A hand claws into his hair and tugs his head to the side forcefully. The sudden pain causes him to hiss surprise, but he moans as Uki promptly sinks his teeth into the fleshy part of his shoulder, adding more carnage onto Fulgur’s skins because, fucking goddamnit Uki, this fucking demanding, "Minx, you minx and menace and—"
"Save the wordsmith-ing for later." Uki snaps, and arches back with a sharp whine as Fulgur snaps his hips up, hard and deep into Uki in retaliation. "Fuck, you're so good, right t-there— fuck, you're so big and hot in me, Fuufuu-chan – so good and –”
"Goddamn it, Uki." Fulgur curses – and raises a hand to weave his fingers into Uki’s hair, the pretty violet-phlox strands spilling into his hand, he can never see shades of purple the same way again, and tugs.
Uki buries his face into the crook of Fulgur’s shoulder, and muffles his cry of pleasure into the damp skin as he spills heat between them. Fulgur feels Uki’s teeth graze his skin (not biting down for once), and he too, gives in.
--
An assassin's life is for the most part, lonely.
You choose assignments, marks, you dabble in a bit of guilty pleasure here and there, but settling down, getting a normal job... quitting murder? That isn't a thing normal people did.
No, you quit being an assassin when you die. Typically, when someone else kills you. Because the work is dangerous, the people you mingle with are dangerous, and associating with other individuals run the high risk of betrayal. Betrayal equals death.
It is, for the lack of a better word, a chosen lifestyle. Correction: the lifestyle, occupation, is rarely voluntary. The choice lies in whether one wishes to continue living, period. It's not too terrible most of the time, the occupation; excellent pay, a lot of travelling, frequent serotonin and adrenaline highs for one's inner daredevil... a life of luxury coupled with danger, it is indeed one of the more special ways to live one's life. The only downside is loneliness. Temporary intimate encounters are not uncommon, but that's all they are. Temporary encounters. A hello-goodbye, the latter frequently left unsaid in the silence of the night, or in rarer cases, comes in sound of a throat gurgling as they drown in their own blood.
Assassins aren't supposed to form attachments. They led to either pain or death, sometimes both. Don't form attachments to your marks - that rule is easy to follow, because Fulgur never lets himself get close enough to them anyway. He prefers to draw them out to a quiet corner – shoot, then leave.
Don't form attachments to non-marks - this one, is far harder to follow. Normal humans don't survive being attached to assassins for too long either.
But now that Fulgur has had some time to think about it, no one has ever said not to form attachments to other assassins.
He walks back into his bedroom with a mug of tea in hand – their shared mark had been local (or rather, local enough that it was too easy for Fulgur to suggest going back to his place directly for the night) this time, and pauses to lean against the door frame while he watches Uki trace the platinum casted rose that hid a surgical-grade-steel needle. Getting the band inlayed with purple turquoise had been an excellent idea, and Uki had demonstrated his appreciation all night long.
Not that that was the point of Fulgur getting Uki the promised ring. No, he is satisfied with seeing Uki gaze at the ring with that silly smile on his face for the umpteenth time, and wondered to himself what exactly is this life he is in right now. He, a cold-blooded assassin, ostensibly not meant to form attachments to anyone, is watching the man he has spent multiple nights with fawn over a weaponized ring that Fulgur had to commissioned to be made, all while still more-or-less naked in his bed with only the sheets hiding the evidence (read: bites and bruises) from the night before.
He sips on his tea, and raps his knuckles on the wall right next to the door of the bedroom to alert Uki of his return.
Uki turns his attention away from the ring and towards Fulgur, his smile soft with sleep. "Fuufuu-chan. Good morning." He greets, voice still slightly hoarse from either last night’s activities or just having woken up.
"Hey, Ukiki.” Fulgur walks over to the bedside and perches himself next to Uki, who slowly sits up and drapes him on Fulgur’s back in a lazy, morning hug. Uki steals his mug of tea without even asking, and Fulgur lets him. “Slept well?"
"Mmmhmmm." Uki hums, and returns the mug to Fulgur, before nuzzling the side of his head into Fulgur’s neck, much like a very deadly cat with poison-tipped claws. “Very well. Did you have things to do today?”
“Nope… How about you?”
Uki opens one eye, and lightly bats at his shirt teasingly. “Is that you offering to do me, or asking me if I had things to do today? Because the answer is yes and maybe, if you’re really offering.”
Well, Fulgur did walk himself right into that one. “I guess I kinda did offer, huh?” He chuckles to himself as he sets his mug on the cabinet, and lets himself be pulled into a kiss.
No one has ever said not to form attachments to other assassins…but Fulgur isn’t daft enough to not realize that being attached – open, vulnerable – to someone who can very well kill you in your sleep is in fact a very dangerous, deadly thing to be doing. But he lets himself bask in it anyway. If there’s anyone he doesn’t mind being murdered by, it will most certainly be Uki Violeta anyway.