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Give Me What I Thirst

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The blindfold was snug over Mamoru's eyes. "I assume you're not going to kill me," he said, trying his best to sound bored. "But I still don't quite understand why you're going to this level of secrecy."

"I told you," Nagi said, not bothering to hide his irritation. "Just wait and you'll understand." He had his hand on the small of Mamoru's back, guiding him. They were in a basement, or parking garage; a lot of concrete, sound echoing off the walls.

"I'm not good at waiting," Mamoru said. "At least not with a clear goal."

"You're in charge of Kritiker now," Nagi said. "Not a flunky. Flunkies get clear orders. Bosses get carefully managed surprises."

Mamoru rolled his eyes and then remembered Nagi couldn't see. Maybe he could sense it with his telekinesis. At any rate, the moment had passed.

"All right," Nagi said. "Now. Remember this. You're still with the three men you met for drinks. We've made sure they've had a bit too much to drink, and their recollection will be a bit blurry, but fortunately there will be video evidence to prove that the four of you drank together late into the night." He stopped. "Do you remember the assignment you gave Weiss last week?"

"Of course," he said. An English diplomat. Immunity meant that the government couldn't touch him without going to significant trouble, and he'd been using it to his full advantage. Rumor had it he'd been taken from his last assignment because he'd had too much of an eye for children, but the transfer to Japan seemed to have done nothing to change his habits. Rumor had it he had blackmail material on someone very high up in the United Kingdom, which was what had rendered them unwilling or unable to deal with the problem on their own soil.

Mamoru hadn't much cared about the causes. Kritiker had come to the obvious conclusion, and he'd given the order.

Nagi pulled the blindfold from Nagi’s eyes.

There was a man in the center of the room. He was handcuffed, blindfolded, gagged.

Roger Parks.

"Surprise," Nagi murmured, close to his ear. "He's all yours."

Oh. Mamoru felt the skin prickle on the back of his neck. "Layout?"

"Three ways out. All blocked off, but there's places to hide."

"Weapons?"

Nagi slowly, deliberately, drew his finger up the side of Mamoru's arm. "If he can find them."

"You've got an alibi?" It wouldn’t do much good for Mamoru to have one if his second-in-command was compromised.

"I will," Nagi said. "It's under control. I thought a three-minute head start would make a decent challenge. Well?"

"Can he hear me?"

"He can."

"Three minutes," Mamoru said, in careful English. "After he lets you go, you have a three minute head start. You might be able to hide. You probably won't be able to get out. But you'll run, right? Because you're a coward. That's why you came to this country. That's why you're going to die here." He walked over and pulled off the blindfold. "Do you understand?"

The man nodded.

It wasn't as good as a real hunt. Of course it wasn't. But that wasn't who Mamoru was any more. He couldn't be seen chasing criminals down alleyways.

This was private. Clean. Undetectable.

It wasn't as good, but his heart was still pounding, his senses more alive. Nagi put the crossbow in his hands. “On your signal,” he said.

"Go ahead," he told Nagi. "Let him run."

 

Parks wasn't in bad shape for his age or profession, and he had sharp eyes. But he didn't know how to use a gun, and his form with a knife was laughable.

He went down with a bolt in his throat, sputtering, and Mamoru said, "It's better than you deserve."

"Lot of blood," Nagi said, as he came out from whatever shadow he'd retreated to while Mamoru hunted.

"Yeah," Mamoru said. Fuck. It wasn't enough, but it sure as hell wasn't bad. Enough to satisfy the itch he pretended he didn’t get. Enough to get him hard. But of course, Nagi already knew that.

Nagi pulled Mamoru's shirttail loose. "You want to--"

"You know I do," he said, and dropped to his knees. There was blood on his left hand, the one closer to the body. He'd hit the carotid artery.

Nagi pulled Mamoru's shirt over his head, pulled it off, dropped it to the ground. "Hands and knees," he said. "And don't talk."

Fuck. Now Mamoru was hard. The concrete was hard and cold, even through the fabric of his trousers, but the blood was warm on his hands. "What if I talk?" he said.

Nagi slapped his ass through his suit pants. Shit. That was better still.

Mamoru bit at his lower lip. Not too much at once. Too much would push him over too soon. He stayed still while Nagi undid his belt and pants, fought with his fly.

"I like watching you aim," Nagi said, his voice low and intense. "Like watching you pull the trigger."

Mamoru moaned.

"Your eyes get--" Nagi stroked his hip; Mamoru shuddered. "You're so fucking focused." Nagi pulled Mamoru's pants off his ass. They got stuck at his knees. Nagi grunted in annoyance and ripped them in half with his power. He used his hands to spread Mamoru's cheeks apart. "Fuck," he said. "You're so fucking hot."

"Don't just--" Mamoru said, and was interrupted by a second slap to his ass, sharper now, skin on skin. Mamoru bit his lip again, harder. He was going to lose it before Nagi even got his dick wet.

"I told you," Nagi said, his voice gaining intensity. "Don't talk."

"But--"

Another smack, harder, better. Nagi reached forward and teased at Mamoru's nipple. Those were hard too, from the cool air, from how fucking turned on he was at this point. "I told you don't talk."

Mamoru opened his legs further. He was so fucking hard, aching, needy.

He was ready for Nagi's dick, but it was his mouth that made contact first, Nagi’s tongue down Mamoru's crack, wet and warm. Mamoru whined a little, pushing back against Nagi's face. Fuck. Fuck he wanted this. The blood was drying around his fingers now. The concrete was cold, scratchy. He wondered if he’d bruise.

Shit. Nagi slid a slick finger in, and Mamoru felt Nagi's power opening his further. Fuck. The stretch was good, right, just the right side of pain. "Please," he said, so Nagi would slap him again. When the blow struck, he closed his eyes with the pleasure of it, the want filling him. He was ready to explode.

"That's good," Nagi said. "Just stay right there and--"

"Just fuck me already," Mamoru said, and the slap was good, and Nagi's cock sliding into his body was better.

"So fucking pushy," Nagi said. "Fuck, you feel good, though. Fuck."

Nagi tilted his hips to hit the sweet spot, and Mamoru moaned again, his fingers scrabbling against the floor to keep his balance. That seemed quiet enough for Nagi, or maybe Nagi was just past caring. It was hard to keep steady on the concrete, though the drying blood helped. He thought about opening his eyes, giving himself a focal point, but the touch mattered more. The pleasure mattered more.

"I'll fuck you again when we get home," Nagi gasped. "Shower. Wash you down--"

Too much, too fucking much, and Mamoru shouted out as he came, Nagi reaching down to jerk him through the last of his orgasm, finishing himself with a few hard, quick thrusts.

Nagi pulled Mamoru back, into his lap, the two of them still joined together, and pressed his lips to Mamoru's shoulder. "Good?" he asked.

"You know," Mamoru said, a little breathlessly.

Nagi's laugh was low, back in his throat. "Good," he said. "Happy birthday."

"It's not really my birthday," Mamoru objected. It wouldn't even be March until tomorrow.

"That's just because you only have one every four years." Nagi slid out of him. "You saw the bathroom? You clean up in there, there's clean clothes. We'll burn all this shit."

The cold was starting to get to Mamoru now, creeping up from his legs into the rest of his body. Nagi was the only warm thing left in the space. "I don't want to get up yet."

Nagi kissed him again. "It's not going to get any warmer. Besides, your knees are a mess."

"You can't even see."

"I picked this place, I know." He slapped Mamoru's ass affectionately, nothing like what he'd done earlier. "Go."

Mamoru groaned a complaint, but he got up. "You're sure you've--"

"I called in a favor," Nagi said, getting up and pulling his pants back together. "I've got an alibi, you've got an alibi. This dick--" He nudged at the body with his shoe-- "will never be seen again. So stop."

"I'll stop," Mamoru said. Everything was starting to ache, and his hands were sticky. Nagi had ripped at his shirt, too, at one point, so he pulled the remnants off. "Shoes?"

"Bathroom," Nagi said, stretching. "Hurry up, it's cold as shit down here."

"What was this place?"

"Warehouse." Nagi looked back down at the body. "Going to get demolished in two days, top to sub-basement. They're going to put apartments up."

That probably meant that Roger Parks would never leave. Well. He'd had a quick death, and that was more than he deserved. Much more.

"You'll blindfold me on the way back up, I assume?"

Nagi's smile was a promise. "What kind of professional do you take me for?"