Poison [Part One]
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Notes:
Weiss Kreuz is property of Koyasu Takehito, Kyoko Tsuchiya, Marine Entertainment, and Project Weiss.

- White Kiss [formerly Rina Garet]
03/15/02, 1:38 pm

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Smoke.

Sharp, hot smoke.

Watching him fire a gun is better than smoking a cigarette. They're both death.

They're both poison.

Bullet finds its target. Blood splatters, but he's far enough away not to get any on his immaculate cream-white suit. Death: pristine and perfect.

He replaces the gun in its shoulder holster, underneath his suit jacket. Straightens that tie that never ever needs straightening.

I can't wait. Before he knows it, I'm purring at his shoulder. Nagi smiles a little and turns away, and Farfarello is enraptured with watching the fallen target's blood pulse and slow to notice at all.

All the better for me.

I get his autoresponse. "Not here..." It's always the same, whenever I paw at him in public.

How public is a room with only two of your teammates and a corpse?

I can fix that...

I'm grinning wickedly, face pressed into his shoulder so he can't see. I can feel the gun's radiating warmth underneath, from being recently fired.

"Nagi, Farfarello, go take care of him," I order, lifting my head and pointing at the corpse. Farfarello does as he's told, and Nagi gives me a little sideways, knowing glance. I smirk at him. He follows Farfarello, the body between them, off to dispose of our 'evidence'.

// Thanks, brat. //

He's standing, cold as a statue. I turn back to him and wrap my arms loosely around his neck.

"We're alo~one." Face-splitting grin on my lips. Hint of a smirk on his as he looks down at me.

Oh yes, that's it.

Cold-blooded killer. Hot-blooded lover. It's all right there, in his eyes.

He is a killer. He looks like a businessman. Death and taxes.

I almost giggle.

He sees the corners of my mouth quirk and raises an eyebrow. I sigh and press in closer, hold my arms around his neck tighter.

"Alllllll alone..." I breathe into his ear. Like he doesn't know. I just like saying it.

Tiny office. One door. Nagi and Farfarello waiting outside.

Perfect.

He grips my chin. Wrenches my face up.

"Shut up."

Lips on mine. Hard, rough. Tongue brushing mine. Hard, rough.

Exactly what I wanted.

Bloodlust and want and adrenaline run through him like ice, run through me like fire.

Kiss me. Kill me. Take me, all of me.

Just do it now.

Clawing at his suit, ripping off his tie. I stop, letting him take his gun out of the holster to put it aside. He draws it with almost loving affection. His fingers brush across the cooling metal, slide down the barrel, slip into place around the finger grip.

He looks right at me, in my eyes, and runs the gun barrel down my cheek, over the line of my jaw. Without breaking himself from my eyes, he lets it fall and tosses it to the floor. I sigh as his fingers replace the feel of cold metal that bit at me only moments before.

So soft. Teasingly soft. Torturously soft.

Feather light fingers on my face. Slow. Gentle.

Then he snags my hair up in one hand and twists, painfully. A gasp, a cry, a moan, and he covers my mouth with his, shutting me up.

Few things are more erotic than having the man you want more than anything in the world kiss you, devour you in a small, enclosed room, while the air around you is thick and heavy with the scent of blood, sweat, and death.

Very few things.

One of those being the fact that the man is none other than Bradley Crawford.

No matter how much of him I have, I want more.

I want all of him.

He can touch me, take me, hurt me, crush me.

As long as I'm his.

He's mine.

And I don't care who knows it.