Dynamite-y Aphrodite


The music blared. Lights flared in spiraling, twisting spindles around the small club.

She reapplied her Rogue Dior and pressed her lips together, reveling in the feel of the fresh coat of red. He had told her she looked best in red, after all. And while she wasn't going to let him win their little game completely, she figured that the concession of her lips would prove effective in the long run (rule 1: a man prefers a woman who is practiced in the art of compromise.)

Of course, she thought with a half smile, she was wearing her favorite bright red lingerie underneath the short silver-sequined shift and leather jacket.

As she sunk into her favorite chair at the bar, she pulled out her cell phone and started texting (rule 2: a woman should never appear too interested in her target) Usagi about how chilly it was that night. The content really didn't matter; only the temporary reflection of the screen's light on her features.

"Hello Aino-san." She pushed aside the urge to smile broadly at him before jumping over the bar and fucking him right there (rule 3: a woman should exert some self control or run the risk of appearing too needy or slutty.)

"I'll have the usual, love."

He nodded and reached for the already-prepared icy concoction behind him. She raised a blond eyebrow. "How many rufees did you stuff into the blender?"

He chuckled. "Four. You're pretty stubborn," he replied, sliding the chilled shot over to her. "You always come in at 6 after 9. I figured I'd save you the trouble of waiting to get drunk."

"How gentlemanly of you. L'chaim," she saluted before pressing her Rouge Dior lips to the cold glass and tossing the contents back. Her eyes rolled back in pleasure as the creamy liquor mixture slid down her throat. "Gets me everytime." An understatement, of course, but she wasn't about to give him the satisfaction of knowing that he alone had these powers over her.

He stared at her with unreadable gray eyes as she wiped off some of the remnants from the corner of her mouth. "Aino-san, can I talk to you outside for a moment?"

She furrowed her brow (rule 4: a woman should never let frivolous banter lead to serious discourse early in the game) and shrugged. "Shouldn't you be manning your territory?"

Something flashed in his eyes for a moment before he grinned. "Morimoto-san can take care of things for a couple of minutes."

"Alright, I guess. But only a few minutes. It's ungodly out there."

She watched him walk around the bar with wary eyes and felt a quiver of desire flutter in her abdomen as she followed him out into the elements. The rain had turned to sleet, and she had to tuck her arms under each other to keep warm. Of course, he appeared completely unfazed by the chill and simply leaned against the wall near the door.

"Minako-san... I think we need to talk about last night..."

"What's there to talk about?" she asked quickly. He frowned. "We had sex. It didn't mean anything. Can we go back inside?"

She turned around but his strong, large hand clasped her wrist gently. Her eyes ventured a glance at his and found the most conflicted, aching yearning reflected in the gray and green. She only hoped she was doing a better job masking the thrill she felt at his touch than he was. Her hair was starting to stick to her face and lips, but all she could really think was let go let go let go as he pulled her back to him. "Minako, for once, stop playing your little game and just listen to me!"

Unfortunately, all she knew how to do was play games. "Hisoka-san, I'm not playi-"

He leaned closer to her. "Don't lie to me," he whispered, and she felt her body shudder in longing.

And she fixed her blue eyes on him, realizing that games and lies and silly red lingerie were so... superficial. This need she felt was almost cellular. Ensconced in her DNA. So tiny, so microscopic, that she was amazed at how overwhelming it was. It was galactic, universal... stellar...
"Never," she gasped before snaking her arms around neck and pulling him into her, immersing herself in this timeless throbbing. Before she pressed her lips against his, however, the rules flooded back to her (rule 5: a woman should never give up without a fight) and Minako bit her lip. "I... I think I need a drink."

Hisoka caressed her cheek with his callused hands and shook his head. Her wet hair tangled beneath his fingers and as she sensed that miserable, dull stinging in her eyes that always preceded tears, she watched him lean away from her. "This isn't you. You aren't some stupid whore who gets hammered because she has nothing better to do."

She scoffed. "How do you know? You don't even know me!"

The green in his eyes flared, as if to say, "I know you better than you know yourself." She felt her abdomen clench. "I know that you aren't like the girls who come here. You have a career, you're going to be somebody... I don't understand why you see the need to throw it all away in some dark club night after night!"

The sleet came down in sheets above them. For a great many moments, only the sound of icy rain slamming against the pavement accompanied their silent duet. And then, Minako remembered the final rule. Rule 6: don't follow the fucking rules.

"Who... are you?" she breathed as the first tear slipped down her rosy cheek. It moistened the drying Rogue Dior, but the salty taste triggered a wave of nausea.

"I'm a very, very terrible person, Minako," he warned, a hint of world weariness coloring his voice.

She inched closer to him, blue eyes desperately searching his cold gray-green ones for... anything. "I don't believe you," she murmured through a tight throat. "You're so full of goodness, it hurts me to touch you..." Her fingers trailed down his face to his cracked lips. "But I can't stop. Everything in me, every cell in my body, screams at me when you're near, telling me that I know you."

"We are both bound by our duties." Her brow furrowed... how did he know? "Perhaps the bond you feel is simply empathy?"

A second tear tumbled from her eye. "That's not true."

"Listen to me: you do not know me. This is for the best." His eyes, however, said otherwise, as he bent down to kiss her. At the moment their lips touched, she lost control. All she needed was this and the rain and and her fingers journeying through his curls and their dancing tongues and his roaming hands and her body flush against his and the moaning and their stumbling as they bumped against the bar wall behind them and the searing agony inside of her body as she begged for more and more and more.

And as suddenly as it had started, it ended. He shook his head, wiped the lipstick off of his mouth and walked back through the door.

And in her finest silver-sequins and red lingerie, she left the wall to gossip behind her back, sobbing.

A/N: Naka Hisoka = Kunzite's current incarnation, fyi.