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The bar was full of wealthy patrons who mingled pleasantly in the belly of the club. A live band played sultry jazz music, and an angelic woman dressed in all white sang, her voice an old-timey melody that made it feel as if they really were back in Paris in the 80s. The low orange-toned lights danced like dim firelight across the leather seats and auburn accents of the bar's interior. Well-aged alcohol sat on rows behind the bar, a decoration as much as a testament to the bartender's craft. The air smelled of rich alcohol and the finest vintage- Francois had pulled out all the stops tonight, and—by the rising frequency from which they saw pleased smirks and empty glasses—it was well worth the effort.
Ryusui leaned against the polished chestnut surface of the bar, sipping his vintage and watching Francois with a wide grin that spoke more to admiration than appraisal. They were resplendent like this- completely in their element. Their blond hair was curled perfectly, two longer strands of it twirling by their neck, while the rest of it was done up on the crown of their head in golden loops that glittered beneath the lights. Their lithe form moved effortlessly behind the bar, each movement elegant and done with a kind of flair that only helped build the atmosphere. And it wasn't just for show. This was how they were about these kinds of things; serving people, with drinks they mixed by hand, a few clever words, and a familiar face. It was their foremost joy. Apart from serving him–Ryusui liked to think.
They caught his gaze with a small smile, those pink lips curved into a perfect bow as they tilted their head and poured a freshly mixed cocktail, as if inviting him to speak without even a word. Ryusui chuckled, half turning toward them, setting his glass on the finely polished counter.
“Quite the turnout tonight, mon trésor. You've outdone yourself.”
Francois glided over to where Ryusui stood, the pleasant aroma of bourbon and buttermilk mixing with the woodsy accents of the bar and his drink. They set down the cocktail they had been preparing, their slim, gloved fingers curling enticingly around the stem.
“Merci beaucoup, Monsieur Nanami. I'm delighted you find the evening to your liking.” Their voice, though soft, carried easily over the jazz music and low chatter of the crowd. Ryusui liked to think that he’d be able to hear their voice even in the busiest port on the windiest day. Their eyes traced up the lines of his crimson suit, lingering on the golden broach they had placed themselves. “I do enjoy seeing our esteemed guests appreciating the fruits of my labor.” The slight emphasis on labor hinted at the immense effort put into every detail.
Francois leaned in slightly, close enough for Ryusui alone to hear. The movement made the sapphire earring dangling from their ear swing in time with a lock of their hair, the scent of their perfume carrying over the alcohol, even more intoxicating.
“I trust everything is going smoothly for you?” They asked, watching Ryusui's eyes lock onto that earring, then travel down the column of their bare neck to the delicate collar bone shimmering with a slight dusting of glitter, and down further to where the navy blue dress hung off their thin frame.
They had dressed up for him.
Ryusui's eyes darkened with appreciation, satisfaction swirling warm within him as he took in every exquisite detail and committed it to memory. He reached out to trail a finger along that jewel of an earring and down their neck, touch feather-light, yet burning.
“Magnifique, as always, mon trésor. Je te veux.”
His deep voice was a low rumble, meant for Francois' ears alone.
The possessive curl of his voice and the sweet name might have looked odd to anyone who didn't know them well, but Ryusui quite liked the feeling of jealous eyes watching him adore his lover, claiming them in front of all the patrons as if to say—look at what you can't have.
Francois shivered almost imperceptibly at Ryusui's touch, their pale skin prickling with goosebumps despite the warmth of the room. They tilted their head ever so slightly into his caress, a submissive gesture belied by the sharp intelligence gleaming in their eyes that warned, I know exactly what I’m doing. When they spoke again, their voice was a breathy whisper, warm with affection and desire.
“Flattery will get you everywhere, mon maître. But we mustn't forget our duties, hmm?”
Despite their words, Francois made no move to pull away from Ryusui's touch, instead letting their gloved fingers linger over the back of his hand, a teasing ask to go lower, over the lines of their chest.
Across the room, a spectator studied the intimate dance. Mauz, who had been lounging casually in a lavish armchair by a well-kept fire, perked up at the rather seductive display between the two little lovebirds. He chuckled, taking a final sip of his drink and savoring the rich flavor before standing and undoing his tie.
“Ah, what have we here?” He drawled as he strolled up to the bar, now properly drunk but still in his mind enough to orchestrate some entertainment. He grinned and slid his empty glass across the polished countertop, a silent demand for a refill. He made sure to lean over the bar slightly, using his height to impose on the happy couple with a gaze tinged with both amusement and hunger. “Tell me, Francois, does your master always handle you so publicly? Or am I just lucky enough to catch a rare glimpse?
Francois turned to Mauz, their expression smooth and unruffled despite the interruption. They plucked his glass from the bar, already knowing his preferred poison, and addressed him with a cool smile.
“Ah, Monsieur Mauz. Always a pleasure.” There was a subtle edge to their tone, a reminder they are not one to be trifled with, lest he earn the wrath of every dangerous patron in this underground establishment. Unperturbed, Francois continued as they mixed the strong alcohol. “I’m afraid I’m not fond of explaining things unworthy of elaboration. I do so hate catering to those without common sense or decency.” They slid the fresh drink back to him, condensation already beading on the crystal.” But I’m sure a man of your particular expertise understands the sentiment.”
Ryusui chuckled, his grip tightening on his glass. However, he maintained his relaxed posture, leaning back against the bar with a lazy smirk.
“Now, now, Mauz. No need to be crude.” He appeased, his implacable accent thick and rich like honey. “We're all friends here, aren't we? No reason to sully such a wonderful atmosphere with such vulgar insinuations.”
The bar between them separated Ryusui from pulling Francois any closer, and he knew better than to distract from their work—though a darker part of him ached to pull them in and kiss them dizzy, smear that succulent pink poison across their mouth until their eyes were glassy and their body was flush with arousal. Ryusui sipped another mouthful of liquor, the electric burn down his throat pulling him from his temptations as another man approached the bar.
Francois straightened up. “Monsieur Hyoga, it's a pleasure to see you again.” They greeted him with a warmer smile, their earlier iciness melting away at the familiar face.
Hyoga gave them a nod as he approached, shooting Mauz a glare, apparently having heard the tail end of his remarks.
“Mauz, must you ruin the night with such improper overtures?” The assassin asked, on a level of familiarity with this dangerous fellow, it seemed. If Francois recalled, the pair of them often took on hits when there were multiple targets or locations.
The shorter assassin sighed heavily, sitting at the bar and loosening his tie over the black vest he must have thrown on to poorly conceal the blood splatter on the center of his white shirt. He rolled up the cuffs of his sleeves, adjusting his mask and nodding to them in greeting
“Francois, Nanami. I hope your evening has gone smoother than mine.”
Francois' gaze softened, a glimmer of something akin to relief passing through their eyes at the sight of him unharmed. He had previously come to them inquiring about a rather difficult hit, and they had given him the information along with a warning not to let his guard down.
“I recommend trying our nightly special- a blend of whiskey, absinthe, and a few other spices that will certainly do wonders for that stiffness in your shoulders.” There was a playful lilt to their tone, an invitation to enjoy the offered respite from whatever demons might haunt him tonight.
Mauz leaned back in his chair with a grin. “Ah, Hyoga, always so prim and proper. For an assassin, anyway.” He jeered, giving the man a tempered cheer with his glass before taking another long swig of his bourbon. “So, my masked friend, how was the hunt? Catch anything juicy?”
Hyoga sighed, momentarily ignoring Mauz.
“I’ll have that special. Make it a double, if you would.” He said, stretching with a groan before finally answering Mauz. “The hunt was eventful. The target proved more challenging than I had anticipated, but it was nothing I couldn’t handle.” He said, his gaze shifting to Mauz with a hint of warning. “I always land my mark eventually. One way or another…”
He accepted the drink from Francois with a polite thanks, inhaling its aroma deeply before taking a sip. Loosening up a bit—metaphorically and literally—he rolled his shoulders and leaned back, adding, “Ah, but I don’t suppose I’ll be taking on another job like that any time soon. The pay certainly wasn't worth it. But,” he sighed, slipping his mask down to let his scars breathe as he tipped his head back, silver hair glinting in the low bar lights. “I do charity work every now and then, as any proper man should.”
Ryusui laughed. “Ah, what a gentleman.” He said, only half teasing. Francois had a small smile on their lips. Hyoga wasn't one to take on a job not worth the money. If Francois was right, he had taken it on because it was in a town where he grew up. The hit was a particularly nasty cereal murderer who had thus far evaded police capture. It was, shall they say, personal.
But Francois didn’t feel the particular need, nor urge, to share that information aloud.
Mauz barked out a laugh at Hyoga’s comment, slapping him on the shoulder in amusement.
“Not worth the pay? My friend, I thought you were made of sterner stuff!” He leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a whisper that—likely due to the alcohol Francois had poured a bit stronger this time—wasn’t very secretive at all. “Tell me, did this target have a pretty face? Maybe that's why you took the job. Couldn't resist a chance to get up and close with some beauty, hmm?”
“Wrong.” Hyoga said flatly, pushing the nosy man away with a hand.
Mauz didn’t seem bothered. Instead, he perked up, a mischievous glint in his eye as he made a show of looking around the bar before turning back to Francois. “Speaking of which, I seem to recall hearing a rumor about a certain blonde military beauty making an appearance tonight. Any truth to that, Francois?” He asked, leaning in, a smirk curling his lips.
Francois arched a sharp brow at the question, a flicker of annoyance masking the curiosity crossing their features. Oh? Who told him? They continued polishing a glass with meticulous care, the motion almost hypnotic in its precision as they took their time to answer.
“I’m afraid I wouldn’t know anything about that, Monsieur Mauz.” They said, voice cool and dismissive. “As you can imagine, I have far more pressing matters to attend to than keeping tabs on the comings and goings of every patron here.” A blatant lie, not unknown. Keeping tabs on patrons and targets alike was their other livelihood, after all.
They set the polished glass aside and began mixing another drink, the movements fluid and practiced. “Besides,” they added, a note of scolding to their tone. “Even if I did have such information, I would not share it so freely. Discretion is, after all, a cornerstone of service here at Bar Francois.”
Ryusui, who had been idly listening until then, broke into the conversation with a curious lilt to his voice.
“A military beauty? Mauz, your insatiable appetite for gossip never ceases to amaze me.” He said, though he too was curious about a potential new player in town, as was proven when his gaze flickered to Francois, who gave him an endlessly blank blink as if to say; I’m not telling you either. No special privileges!
Ah, well…
However, lady luck had always smiled down on Ryusui, and so his lingering questions did not go unanswered for more than a few rounds of drinks and the adjustment from song to song as the smooth jazz and sultry voice of the lady in white transitioned seamlessly.
Ryusui looked up when that lovely pearl voice halted mid note, and the instrumentals shortly followed. The chatter of the bar lulled into a heavy silence, matched only by the grin spreading across Ryusui’s face. Francois repressed a sigh, taking out two clean crystal glasses and setting them on the bar table.
“Welcome, gentleman, to Bar Francois. Might I get you something to drink?”
Francois welcome, though frosty, set the room at ease as if they’d cast a spell. The patrons relaxed and resumed their chatter (gossip), and when Ryusui waved a hand, the band began playing once more, though the woman in white seemed to cater every movement toward the taller of the two newcomers, flaunting her hips and large breasts jeweled with pearls.
Xeno, a man of relatively mid-stature and lean frame, walked up to the bar as though he were a dignitary. His hair was polished back in a neat pompadour that glinted under the warm lights like a bald head in the sun. His eyes locked onto the familiar face of Francois, a businessman-like smile on his face as he approached. On the outside, he didn’t look particularly dangerous. In fact, the black trench coat billowing slightly behind him almost made him seem cartoonishly devious, though any skilled perceptionist could read the competent air of danger undercut by his youthful face. Contradictorily, the man behind him reeked of bloodlust. It was a quiet sort of scent, one like the shadows of an exotic jungle at night. Whereas the white haired man would have been a small, brightly colored, poisoned frog, this man would embody the black jaguar slinking through the trees—both dangerous in their own right, though in different ways.
“Ah, if it isn’t my new favorite tradesman.” The poison frog drawled, elbows perched on the polished bar counter directly opposite to Francois. “I was told to swing by this place the next time I was in town, and I must say, I’m glad I did.”
Francois accepted the man’s verbal ticket-in with a nod. The club was invite-only, but they supposed it was alright if the man had a special invitation from a member of their elite team; an overworked mentalist named Gen, a chemist named Senku and his apprentice Chrome, a craftsman named Kasaki, and one of Ryusui’s special craftsman, Joel. If Francois had to guess, it wasn’t any of the usual members who brought in customers, but someone else—someone with a less… active role, who tended to invite those with footsteps into the more shadowy parts of the upper class. This person's name was, of course, Ukyo.
Francois mixed the men a drink.
The pompadour frog turned to Mauz with an equally enchanting smile. “I hope you gentlemen don't mind the interruption, but I simply couldn’t resist coming to see what all the fuss was about!”
His smile slid to the right side of his face, morphing from enigmatic to sly as he clasped his gloved hands in front of him like an altar boy. “Especially since I heard about your success last week. Mauz, right? You can call me Doctor X, or Xeno, if you prefer.” He said, extending a gloved hand tipped with silver claws that were undoubtedly poisonous.
Mauz laughed, clearly unshaken despite the strange newcomers. He readily accepted the handshake, unbothered by the poison in his fingertips. Francois could see the strength of his grip, yet Xeno remained unfazed.
“A doctor, huh?” Mauz mused, his voice sly and baritone. “I think I’ve heard of you. People say you’re quite the mad genius.” His eyes slid to the blond man guarding Xeno’s back. “And you’ve brought a pretty sidekick with you, too. How fun.”
Xeno chuckled, a slightly guilty smile flashing across his thin lips before he stepped aside and gestured to the blond shadow behind him.
“Ah, how rude of me! This is my partner, Stanley.”
Stanley… Snider? The name was familiar to Francois, who had since heard rumors of the doctor and his envoy traveling eastward. Snider was a retired military veteran, a Marine, and was known to have taken more bullets than shots missed. His accuracy earned him the code name angel of death in some parts. In others, he was a renowned war hero, with his own Purple Heart and various other military awards, before an honorable discharge about two years ago.
“Ah, thank you, dear.” Xeno purred, accepting a drink from Francois. A brand of spiced bourbon mixed with the sweetness of fermented ginger and a sharp twist of lemon on the rim.
Mauz smirked, turning toward Francois with those unsettling eyes once more.
“Mmm, so Francois, I was right.” His eyes slid back to Stanley, who frowned at him and placed a hand on Xeno’s lower back. Mauz chuckled, chewing on a toothpick. “Gotta say, I’m a bit disappointed by this ‘military beauty’. I was hoping for a woman.”
Yes, Mauz. We all knew that was what you hoped. Francois thought, but rather than voice it aloud, they kept their professional composure and did not give him the whack on the knuckles he deserved. They gave him another frosty glare as they wiped down the small rings of condensation on the bar where the drink had been mixed, setting about fixing one for Mr Snider.
“I believe I said I wouldn’t know anything about that, Monsieur Mauz.” Their voice was cool, almost clipped. “And I meant it.”
Forcing their features to relax, they offered a convincing enough smile to the pair of newcomers.
“Doctor, it’s a pleasure to finally meet at last. I trust your latest endeavors are proceeding satisfactorily?” They stole a glance at Stanley, a flicker of curiosity and appraisal in their eyes before returning to Xeno, the chatty one.
Xeno drew a sip of the booze, holding it on his tongue before swallowing with a satisfied hum.
“Ah, yes, much smoother now, thanks to you and Mr Mauz here.” At the man's curious hum, the doctor elaborated. “That bastard Heighammen you took out just the other day. He was a complete baboon in the way of my research, and I really must thank you for dispelling such a ghastly thorn in my side.” Xeno said, clinking his glass against the mildly surprised assassins that hovered near his lips.
“I see...” Mauz replied at length, a smirk spreading across his lips. “Well, color me flattered, Doctor. Glad I could be of help; the pretty price was well worth it, too. Let me know if there are any other thorns in your side I might be able to help with.” He said, not so generously.
Ryusui gave Mauz a thorough glare at his leering gaze, drawing a step closer to Francois, who had moved, almost subconsciously, down the bar toward him and away from the tall assassin.
“Well, Doctor, it seems you’re quite the friendly type,” Ryusui observed, though not unkindly. “Can’t say the same for your guardian angel here, though.” He added with a glance at the taller man and a sip of his drink. “Care to share the reason for the sudden visit? Surely you didn’t come all this way just to thank Mauz for his… services?”
Xeno’s lips curled into a smirk at Ryusui’s question, giving the man a long gaze, clearly sizing up the patriarch and his otherwise rather unorthodox appearance at an establishment like this. Though few knew it, Ryusui had a knack for charming even the most evil of people to get what he wanted from them. For a man of insatiable greed such as him, no pair of hands was too stained with blood so long as there was a way to use them.
Xeno took a slow sip of his drink, as if ruminating on the question before responding.
“Ah, Mr Nanami, I’m afraid the details of my work are rather sensitive. Suffice it to say, Heighammen’s removal was a necessary evil for the advancement of science, and I can’t say anything more than that.” He waved a hand dismissively.” Perhaps, if you wish to discuss more sensitive details, we might do so over a drink some other time? Otherwise, I’m simply dying to show my dear Stanley here how talented our bartender is!” The doctor's eyes gleamed with delight as he looked up at his lover, who had otherwise remained steadfast, but looked intrigued by the uncommon praise.
Francois observed the chemistry between the pair of assassins carefully, noting how Xeno said Stanley's name, how his eyes naturally flickered up and his lashes lowered at Stanley who frowned a bit in exasperation at the tone of endearment, and—if Francois wasn’t mistaken, blushed just a little, easily dismissable as the warming temperature as a keeper threw another log into the fire. A bashful lad, hmm?
Francois was indeed intrigued by Xeno’s suggestion. They inclined their head, a small smile gracing their lips as they slid a finished drink across the bar to the military beauty with a familiar flare.
“For you, Monsieur Snider. I hope it meets your approval.” They said before turning back to the doctor. “As for my talents… Yes, I have many. Is there a particular one you had in mind?”
Xeno’s pupils dilated some as he leaned closer to the bar, his voice lowering to a low murmur. “Oh, I have no doubt your talents are extensive, Marquise. I was thinking perhaps a demonstration of your abilities to handle… unusual requests?” He quirked a bushy white brow, reaching into his coat to produce a capped test-tube vial filled with a deeply hued liquid, like that of blueberry wine aged in Peru. He held it before them like it was the fountain of youth.
“This is a rare elixir, distilled from the tears of a mother sloth and the pollen of ten dozen lab-grown poppies. I’d be most curious to see how you might incorporate it into a cocktail.” His eyes, rings so dark they melted into his pupils, stared Francois down with a mixture of expectation and challenge—a combination that was as exciting as it was off-putting. Yet it only served to entice Francois more, ambition growing a tangled ball inside of them, eager to be let out.
They leaned in closer, their voice lowering to match Xeno’s tone. Their eyes, refined sapphires, sparkled with greed in the low lights of their bar, well matching the doctor's trade.
“A sloth tear and poppy elixir? My, my, Doctor. You certainly don't deal in half measures, do you?” They murmured, fingers landing on top of the doctor's gloved ones holding the vial. “Incorporating such potent ingredients will require a delicate touch. We’d need to strike the perfect balance, lest we overwhelm the palate entirely.” A slow smile spread across their face. “However, I do pride myself on my ability to handle… unusual challenges, as you’ve so put it.”
They took the vial and held it to the light, a villainous smirk curling the corners of their pink lips.
“Yes, this will be an excruciatingly wonderful breuvage.”
Ryusui watched the exchange with rapt attention, his eyes fixing on the euphoric bloom on Francois's sharp features as they regarded the shimmering liquid in their thin fingers. Their face, though angelic and relaxed, was hungry with a kind of greed that set his blood on fire. It made Ryusui shudder, and he had to drain the rest of his drink to quench the sudden thirst that dried his palate.
“It seems we have quite the pair of alchemists among us.” He said, voice rough from the sudden pour of alcohol that did nothing to lessen the heat that curled darkly within him upon seeing his lover indulge in their craft. Bewitching. “Say, doctor, your taste in ingredients is as exotic as your reputation suggests.” He said with a raised brow. “What sorry aristocrat will have the pleasure of tasting this fine delicacy?”
Xeno’s lips curled into a devilish smirk at the question. He half turned to Stanley, placing a hand on the taller man’s thigh in a gesture both covetous and affectionate.
“Why, I thought that would be obvious, my dear baron.” He purred, his voice low and seductive and not at all meant for Ryusui. “This exquisite concoction is a gift for my darling Stanley, of course. After all, he deserves nothing less than the finest nectars this world has to offer.” His hand slid higher up Stanley’s body, curling beneath the man's defined chin. “Don't you agree, my love? Isn't it exactly like you asked?” Xeno looked up at him like a man obsessed, as if no response Stanley gave could break his delusions. What those delusions were, however, was probably best left to the imagination.
Stanley's eyes widened slightly at Xeno's bold public display of affection, a faint blush rising to his fair pallor. He cleared his throat, trying to maintain his composure despite the obvious heat building under his skin at Xeno's wandering touch. When he spoke, his deep voice was tinged with a mix of embarrassment and reluctance.
“Xeno, please…” he murmured, glancing around the bar to see if anyone had been watching their intimate moment. Finding none other than the singer across the room, who had given up on attracting his attention when she saw the intimacy, he relaxed slightly. “You know I don't need fancy drinks or grand gestures. Your company alone is more than enough for me.”
In lieu of his words, there was a sickening fondness in his gaze as he looked at Xeno, his hand coming to rest over the doctor's on his hip, giving it a gentle squeeze. “Besides, I'm sure a fancy poison isn't all you had in mind when we discussed anniversary gifts.” He smirked, voice lower now. “It certainly wasn't what I had in mind…”
Francois had been busy gathering various bottles and tools, their movements precise and purposeful as they set about creating the special cocktail. They couldn't help but overhear the charged exchange between Xeno and Stanley, a part of them fascinated by the raw intimacy and unspoken promises. As they worked, their mind wandered to the nature of such relationships - the power dynamics, the trust required, the thrill of such dubious activity that had obviously been a part of their lives since before the men were well established in their prominent public careers. One secret, one word to the press, and all of it could come crashing down around them in a beautifully shattered display of raining glass and droplets of blood. Francois wondered how it might taste—love mixed with betrayal… Quite the elixir indeed.
A few moments later, Francois presented the finished product with a flourish. The drink was a mesmerizing blend of deep orchid hues and shimmering gold, swirling hypnotically in the glass. The rim had been frosted with honey crystals for an extra flavor, and the glass was a slender, stemless crystal that refracted the light and shimmered with soft beads of condensation. They slid it towards Stanley, their voice low and velvety.
“There you are, Monsieur Snider. A toast to the occasion that has brought you two here tonight.” They offered him a knowing look. “One sip won't kill you, but I'd advise against more than a teaspoon. Any more and it will be fatal, even for a man such as yourself.” The rims of Stanley’s eyes dipped just a fraction, the only hint of his surprise. Triumph shaped inside of them. “Please let me know if you'd like any adjustments.”
Xeno's eyes gleamed with wicked delight as he watched Francois present the lethal concoction. He turned to the bartender, almost giddy with excitement.
“You've outdone yourself, Francois. A true masterpiece, worthy of the finest poisons in history!” He lifted the glass, examining the mesmerizing swirl of colors. “Tell me, what other hidden talents might you be hiding behind that impeccable facade?”
Francois let their lips curve into an enigmatic smile at the question. They leaned in closer, their voice lowering as they curled a hand beneath their chin, bejeweled earring swinging lightly with the motion.
“Oh, Doctor, if I revealed all my secrets, that would kill the business." They held his gaze with an intensity that bordered on challenging. “Let's just say that years of serving in the household of Monsieur Nanami have taught me many... valuable skills. Some of which may surprise even a man of your considerable talents.” They straightened up, brushing their fingertips meaningfully along the slender chain of sapphires dripping down their neck. “But I'm afraid those particular abilities are best left to those who know them.” Francois added with a showman's wink.
Bar Francois. While it was an underground meeting place for high-profile assassins, it was also their counter for information brokering. Francois indeed had many talents; bartending akin to alchemy, the memory of a vast library of information able to be called on with just a blink, and a precarious mix of other spy-worthy skills that made them a silent enigma of information gathering and efficiency. If they were to take on a request from any man of any motivation in any language, they had no doubt that they would be able to fulfill whatever it might be to 100% satisfaction, and more if the price was right.
Xeno, licking his lips after sampling a small taste of the poison, gave them a conceding nod.
“Very well, Marquise. I’ll accept that, for now.” The way he said it left little to be believed. Francois assumed that upon the turning of his back, this man would be sending orders to all of the filthy ends of his spider legs that reached the darkest parts of this lively city—digging up old grudges from where they festered beneath the soil, poking rabies-crazed animals just to have an excuse to stare into their open jaws before a mercy killing. It was all very pretentious, but Francois let him believe he was smart enough to come out unscathed. There was no arguing with a genius who drew his own conclusions.
But… Francois wondered as they stared at the lining of the man's obviously handmade coat. Would that be enough?
“Yes, doctor, I’m afraid some things are meant to be kept behind closed doors.” Francois acquiesced, lashes lowering to regard him with all the sharpness of a queen sitting high on her throne. “But perhaps, if you’d be so kind as to drop by every now and then, we might be able to discuss things more in depth. I do love a familiar face.”
Xeno did poorly to hide the flush creeping up his neck or the obvious excitement stirring within him. Francois felt their mental hackles rise as his bloodlust washed over them, even as an irresistible smile curled their lips.
Ah, it always did feel good when things went according to plan. Wrapping men around their fingers like spider-thin threads, they wove through every block in this city and beyond. There was a reason, after all, people called them the Enchantress.
Stanley, apparently jealous that his lover was focusing said bloodlust on anyone else, ran his hand down the man's slim back, drawing a curious look.
“Xe, don’t you think it's time we get out of here? I know how much you hate to be off schedule.”
Xeno swayed into the sultry murmur for a moment, buzzed, before nodding and collecting himself, running his sweaty palms down the lapels of his black trench coat. It must be warm in here for him. Francois had no problem with that, as of this moment.
“Ah, ever the responsible one, aren’t you darling?” Xeno relented. “Very well. We can't stay and pick Francois' brain all night, as tempting as that might be.” He finally turned back to the bartender, a friendly grin spreading across his face, making him appear much more youthful than his outdated hairstyle and proper English made him out to be. “It truly was a splendid evening, Marquise. My highest compliments to you and your staff.” Xeno gave them a funny little bow that raised Francois's opinion of him only slightly. “Bonsoir, mes amis!”
“Bonsois, doctor, and Stanley,” Francois replied with a soft laugh of amusement. But before the doctor could turn to go, Francois called him back.
“Oh, doctor, before you go, might I offer you a word?” They reached out across the bar to fix his tie, lowering their voice. He smelled of chemicals and window cleaner, the faintest hint of leftover cologne blown away by the chilled winds outside, and perhaps the barest notes of cigarette smoke. Franocois brought their lips to his ear. “While you're in the area, pay a visit to a man named Ibarra for me. I’m sure you won’t have much trouble finding him. He’s quite fond of paper lanterns in the springtime.” They placed a chaste kiss on the bone of his cheek, lightly patting his fixed tie twice, where they had slipped a small folded piece of paper into the clip, and pulled back with a sharp smile. “Au revoir, Monsieur. Take care.”
As the pair departed, Ryusui’s grip on his glass had tightened enough to thread small cracks in a spiderweb across the cup's thicker bottom. Francois traced their fingertips down his wrist in an effort to bring him back—he was scowling at the poison frog’s back as the men walked away.
The baron took a breath, releasing the glass enough that Francois could take it before it shattered completely. Ah, perhaps they’d overdone it.
Ryusui pinched the bridge of his nose. “What—and why?” He all but demanded, looking to all hell like he couldn’t figure it out. It wasn’t unlike Francois to set honey traps, nor be flirty for posterity or gain, but the request had been somewhat odd, and used a very unpleasant name Ryusui had not heard for some odd years now, and would have been perfectly content to never hear again.
Francois tilted their head, their expression serene despite the intensity of his reaction. When they spoke, their voice was low and soothing, carefully measured to calm the tempest brewing in Ryusui’s eyes.
“Oh, Mamour, no need to be so suspicious. That was merely a small favor, nothing more. A token of goodwill for the toxin I delivered.” They traced their thumb across the line of his jaw, letting all the familiar hunger and desire they had for this man seep into their gaze. “You know I am yours, completely and utterly. No mere chemist, no matter the poisons, could ever change that.”
“No one else?” Mauz’s unwanted voice split the charged air between them, prompting a scowl to tug at the bartender's lips, though they refrained from letting it show. “I can’t say I’m pleased to hear that, Francois.” The assassin purred, setting his empty glass down before the bartender with an unflattering grin. “I was hoping I might get lucky one of these days. Tell me, what do I have to do to earn your favor? Though I do enjoy those cold eyes of yours as well.” The flirty wink he sent their way was enough to make them throw up in their mouth a little.
Francois turned to face Mauz, their expression remaining cool and composed despite the overtures. They retrieved his glass, their fingers brushing against his deliberately as they refilled it with a generous pour of amber liquid—one quite strong, even for a man of Mauz's build. Hopefully, it would be enough to shut him up till morning.
Leaning forward slightly, they fixed Mauz with a penetrating stare, their blue eyes seeming to bore into his very (drunken) soul.
“Oh, Monsieur Mauz.” They began, their voice a silky purr, finger tracing the rim of the glass. “You mistake my professional courtesy for something more... personal.” A damn seductive smile tugged at their lips, and he drew ever closer, like a sexually starved moth to a flame. “I'm afraid my affections are not so easily earned. Or given away, for that matter.” Despite their words, they took a sip of the freshly poured drink, licking their lips as they met his gaze. “Enjoy.” They murmured, sliding the glass over to him. A small kiss of its rim was stained by their lip gloss, and Mauz grinned as if he’d just bested a particularly difficult opponent.
He grabbed the drink with a confident laugh and threw back the strong whiskey in one big gulp, seeming to relish the burn as it slid down his throat as if it were Francois' very own two hands strangling him. A tempting proposition indeed. He set the glass down with a satisfying thunk, a low groan of appreciation rumbling in his chest. His eyes, dark and intense, never left Francois' face, drinking in every detail of their expression—though probably not able to memorize it at all.
“Mmmm, you tease.” He growled softly, leaning in closer, his broad shoulders blocking out the rest of the bar. “But I like that. Makes the chase all the more... exciting.” His large hand came to rest on the polished wood of the bar, mere inches from Francois', close enough that they could feel the heat radiating from his skin. “Tell me…” he murmured, his voice a deep sound that grew quieter as he talked. “How to t-youuw…” His tongue, suddenly too heavy to talk, hit the bar before the rest of his face, and he slumped down onto it—the deceptively strong alcohol Francois had poured finally catching up with him and knocking him out in a drunken stupor. They made a mental note to disinfect that spot with particular vigor later.
Hyoga, who had been watching the uncomfortable situation unfold while nursing his second drink, only shook his head with a rueful smile.
“Quite the performance, Francois.” He remarked, his tone carrying a hint of regretful amusement. “Manipulating men like puppets on a string. It's almost admirable.” He stood, leaning in closer, his height allowing him to loom over the bar rather imposingly, though he couldn’t have been much taller than Ryusui. “Almost.” Hyoga laid a collection of several sizable bills onto the polished surface of the bar—more than enough to cover both his and Mauz’s drinks—and pulled back with a soft sigh, cracking his knuckles. “Thanks for the drinks, Francois. I suppose I'll get this fool out of your hair before someone else decides to. Come on, Mauz.” He said with exasperation, tossing the drunken man's arm over his shoulders and heaving him up.
Mauz stumbled, drooling considerably, with a red nose and a completely blissed-out look to his eyes that made Francois somehow both disgusted and slightly jealous.
“Awww pfffhanks buddy. You're the bessssst!” He slurred, stumbling after the other assassin as they took their leave.
Francois watched impassively as Hyoga hauled the thoroughly intoxicated Mauz out of the bar. Ryusui gave the pair a tradeworthy smirk and drank the remainder of his cup. Francois pocketed the generous tip with a quick motion that would have made Gen proud, tucking it away without even glancing at the amount. Money meant little to them compared to the far more valuable currency of information and influence they’d cultivated—though it was very much still appreciated. Alcohol wasn’t cheap, and Francois prided on having only the very best.
Once the two assassins were out of sight, Francois turned their attention back to the remaining patrons, their demeanor shifting seamlessly into the picture of a consummate host. They moved with purpose along the length of the bar, mixing cocktails, pouring glasses, and engaging in light, meaningless chatter that always ended with several jobs completed and even more assigned to the mental to-do list in their mind. Sometimes, they felt like a teacher grading and giving out homework assignments.
As the night wore on and the crowd began to thin, Ryusui remained by Francois' side, his earlier irritation soon forgotten in the face of their effortless charm and poise. He leaned against the bar, drinking water with lemon now, and watching them work with a mixture of admiration and barely concealed desire. When there was finally a lull in the stream of customers, Ryusui reached out to catch Francois' wrist, gently but firmly halting their movements.
“Enough for tonight, mon trésor.” He murmured, his voice low and husky with arousal and pent-up longing. “You've worked hard enough to satisfy even my exacting standards.” He tugged lightly, urging Francois to come around the bar and stand before him. His free hand came up to cradle their cheek, thumb brushing over the delicate arch of their cheekbone. “I want to take you home now.”
Francois chuckled breathlessly in that way that always made Ryusui’s heart stutter. They slipped around the bar, slender legs even more tantalizing up close now that they were no longer hidden by the chestnut wood. Francois's hands slid up his chest, arms looping around his shoulders as their fingers came to tangle in the long golden tresses at his nape.
“Home already, Monsieur? I can only hope you aren’t too tired yet.” They tilted their head. “The night’s only just begun, don't you think?”
Ryusui let go of a slightly airy sound, cheeks pink, and not just from the alcohol. His hands landed on their thin waist, thumbs stroking along the indents of their ribs.
“Damn right.”
Francois laughed again, and up close like this, Ryusui could see the light dusting of blue eyeshadow and the way their eyes crinkled with the small sound—it filled his heart until he felt it might grow too large for his chest.
“I take it you liked the dress?” Francois teased, though in that small way that secretly asked for validation, for praise—words that never would be spoken aloud unless Ryusui had done his job properly and gotten them good and malleable for him, inhabitants lowered in a way no drug, alcohol, or poison ever could.
Ryusui grinned, pulling them closer still until they were flush against him.
“Like it? Non, mon amour. I adore it.” He growled, one hand wandering lower to knead the plumpness of their ass that fit so perfectly in his hand. “It's like something out of a dream—a walking treasure trove just for me.” He leaned in, placing a soft kiss to their pulse while giving that sapphire chain earring a small tug, as if reminding them of his claim. “But I think it's time I divested you of it, hmm? Wrapped you up in nothing but my name in gold, until everyone knows exactly who you belong to.” His fingers ghosted along the zipper that ran down their back, prompting a shiver. He let his voice turn more pleading, lips brushing their ear. “Come home with me. Please.”
Francois pulled back suddenly, fingers gripping his jaw. He needn't ask what they were doing, for a second later their lips crashed together in a poor failure to hide the needy moan that escaped them. Ryusui tightened his grip on that slender form, writhing and hot against him.
When they broke apart, Francois was panting lightly, cheeks flushed and sapphire eyes dazed, focused only on him. Their thumb came up to smudge away the stain of their lip gloss from his mouth, but Ryusui only nipped at the imposing digit, quite pleased at the thought of the essence of their kiss lingering like a visible brand.
Francois's mouth parted, eyes widening slightly before focusing on him.
“Yes, Monsieur. Please. Take me home.”
Ryusui grinned, swept them into his arms, and proceeded to do exactly that.