Assassin Lover, First Encounter

Ray had been standing in front of a mirror for maybe 5 minutes now. Or a half hour, but who was counting? He had gone to the opulent bathroom with the intent of smoothing out his hair. Now his tie was in the trash, his shirt was untucked, and his head was dripping wet. He went back to the bar, drank scotch until he couldn't taste it anymore, bought the biggest bottle of the darkest wine they would sell him, and shambled towards his room with shame and regret weighing him down like prison chains. He didn't really lift his feet so much as he dragged the tips as he walked, and he stumbled at least twice on the way to his room, slamming painfully into walls both times. At least he didn't hit the ground, because if he did, he wasn't sure he'd bother to get up again

Ray waved his key card in the general direction of the door and failed to notice that it was already ajar. He was too lost in his bog of self pity and self loathing to really care about the real world. What had his sister said? Show someone the big bed or something? Yeah right. The best he could do was a bottle of wine, and he wouldn't be surprised if it ran out the door screaming. It wasn't like he was ugly, as far as he could tell, and somehow he managed to lose his virginity before his dad's second marriage. Yet, here he was, totally alone. He wasn't against having a relationship, it was just that he'd never felt passionate for someone. He never met someone he wanted to stay with, and now that he was the step son of a Dutchess, he felt even more sure that he'd never find that passion; that someone special. His whole life had changed, and with it any surety of a genuine connection without ulterior motives. Not that he made any connections to begin with. Maybe he'd get lucky and be part of a political marriage or something. An arranged one, that way they'd have a reason to stay. At least then he'd actually contribute something to the world. Do they even have political gay marriages? No, that would be a scandal, not a resolution. God he felt pathetic.

Ray reached for the light switch, only to finally notice that the lights were already on. He didn't remember turning them on when he woke up. No, he couldn't have; there wasn't any time to. If he did, he wouldn't have ran into that conference room looking like a disaster. He scanned the room, but nothing was out of place. Or maybe it was, and he was too tipsy to remember. The room was quiet and still, probably. His vision was a little unsteady, but he could still feel the danger. He should leave. Leave, and go where? Back to the lobby, where he'd look like a psychotic drunk? If only he wasn't so pathetic. If only someone else was here to solve this mystery for him. No, he needed to focus. If there was someone, or something, in there with him, he needed to be ready for it. There was a wall between him and the bedroom area blocking his line of sight. A perfect place to ambush from. If anyone was hiding, that's where they had to be. Ray crouched low, slinking towards the corner, slowly, silently.

Then his shoe caught on the ground, and he fell flat on his face. The bottle rolled out of his hand, and Ray watched it disappear under the couch. For a second, he felt overwhelming misery at yet another stroke of bad luck. Then he remembered why he was sneaking to begin with. He turned his head towards the bedroom, slowly getting to his knees, and saw... no one. The bed was perfectly made, save for one loose pillow. Now that he thought about it, he didn't have time to put the "do not disturb" sign up. So that's what happened. Housekeeping came and forgot to turn the light off when they left. An honest mistake, and one that everyone makes now and again. Of course there wasn't a sadistic, demented, blood thirsty serial killer waiting to claim yet another gruesome victim lurking in the shadows of his hotel room, he was just being paranoid. Ray sighed and got to his feet, only to feel a chill run down his neck.

"Care for a drink?" A deep voice asked from behind.

Shaking, Ray slowly twisted his body until he could see a man holding his lost wine bottle in one hand and a pistol in the other.

"Don't worry, you won't be thirsty for long," he said with narrow, hard eyes.

There wasn't a trace of emotion on the killer's face. His face.... His face was... Was gorgeous. Not just his face, everything about him was entrancing. He was wearing an expensive looking business suit that would've blended in perfectly with the rest of the attendees, but unlike everyone else, the body underneath, straining against the shirt, was something out of Greek mythology. He had the kind of muscle most guys could only dream of; the type of toned physique that could only come from religious dedication. His skin was the color of warm chocolate, and his hair, cut short on the sides and slicked back on top, looked like polished jet stone. And his eyes.... Ray couldn't quite place them, but he'd seen those gorgeous pale blue eyes somewhere before. In the crowd, most likely. Yeah, that had to be where he saw those eyes. Those hauntingly beautiful eyes.

"I'll be taking this bottle with me. Be a shame to leave it here and let it go to waste. Now, you'll do as I say, and you'll do it quietly. Turn 'round and keep your hands behind your back," the killer commanded.

Ray obeyed without hesitation, then felt zip ties cinch around his wrists. He always thought those plastic handcuffs cops use on TV looked pretty flimsy, but in reality they were just as good as the metal one, if not tighter.

"Good, now go sit on the bed," the killer told Ray, giving him a soft push forward.

Ray walked to the edge of the massive bed and hopped on with some difficulty. He felt like a fish, writhing around until he was upright, and the thought was inexplicably embarrassing. At some point in all his flailing, he knocked the stray pillow off and onto the ground, and, for some reason, almost apologized. The killer tossed the bottle on the bed, then retrieved the pillow to set it back to where it was. Ray, still too shocked to comprehend the situation, thought he smelled cologne as the killer passed by. It was a quite nice aroma, truth be told. Heavy, but not smothering. The older guys at the conference all wore something a little more oily, but this was different. More traditionally masculine, yet still very natural. Cologne was never in Ray's taste, but it paired well with his-

"Right," the killer's voice snapped Ray out of his ruminations, "Now here's what's about to happen. I was hired to put a bullet through your head. I'm waiting on the money transfer, and once it's done, I'll kill you. So now's your chance for some last words. No begging, though. I hate whiners."

So the killer was an assassin. A man of myster- wait. Last words? As in, last-last words? Oh God, Ray really was about to die here. No, that was impossible. Couldn't happen. He'd never bothered anyone in his life! Not enough for this! If he was being held for ransom, that'd make sense, but an assassination? Who could he have-... oh. That guy, Donald something. The thing at the conference, and then at the bar. But those weren't good enough reasons, were they? Were they!?

Ray spoke as fast as he could, "Tell him I'm sorry! Tell Donald I- I was just a little- a little distracted! I was late because I overslept, that's all! I'll call my sister if he wants to talk to her! I can get her down in an hour! O-or right now, if he wants! You don't have to kill me, right? I can give you money! Or... or..."

Ray ran out of words, and all they seemed to do was agitate his killer. The Assassin bared his teeth in a snarl and looked like he was about to snap. Ray flinched away, but when he looked back, the anger had dissipated into resignation. The Assassin exhaled and ran his fingers through his dark hair.

"Donald? Like the duck? Wait, no. You mean that white haired bloke you ran in on. I'll tell him what you said, but I'm not working for him."

A ping came from The Assassin's phone, and Ray knew it was all over. He closed his eyes, for all the good that would do. He was dead, the trigger just hadn't been pulled yet. And what had he done? Nothing. His whole life he'd done nothing. Even when the unending opportunities that only wealth and privilege could provide were dropped into his lap over a decade ago, he'd chosen to be afraid. He let others rule him; intimidate him without a word. No, that wasn't true. No one was ruling him. No one had forced him into a life of reclusion and self pity. He had done that himself. Now, right at the very end, he finally understood that he and he alone had ruined his life. What a horrible thought to die with. He opened his eyes again and watched The Assassin as he paced back and forth, still reading his phone. His eyes were so beautiful and familiar, like a pleasant memory. If only he could've seen more of those eyes before he died.

"Bloody hell," The Assassin swore, "What am I supposed to do with this?"

He was definitely still agitated, but now it was directed at his phone. Maybe he was getting tired of waiting. Except, he wasn't watching Ray anymore. His gun wasn't gripped as tightly, either. There was the single, quiet click of the safety lock being reengaged as all the fierceness disappeared from those beautiful eyes.

"W-with what?" Ray stammered.

"The hit's been called off," The Assassin groaned.

"It-it's been called off?"

"Yea. Just my luck, too."

The Assassin took a seat on the bed next to Ray and let his head hang loose as he hunched over.

Ray could barely bring himself to ask, "Y-your not still-..."

"Huh? Oh, no. I'm not going to kill you," he said, putting his gun away, "You know, I've been spying on you since you arrived, and truth be told, I didn't think you were the right man. You don't seem like a serial rapist, but I'm not paid to ask questions, now am I?"

"I du- I don- you- you've been stalking m-me?" Ray's shaky voice asked as he clung to the first bit of comprehensional information his disoriented mind managed to grab.

"It's part of the job," The Assassin explained, sounding a little forlorn, "Follow the target 'round, gather intel; standard affair, really. What a waste of time. Why would they go and call it off?"

Ray, still lost in the upheaval of normality, had to ask again, "So you're gonna... not... kill... me?"

"What's that? Oh, right. I should cut you loose, shouldn't I?"

In a deft move, The Assassin grabbed Ray by the shoulder, spun him around, and pushed him face down into the bed. What was happening? Was he going to suffocate him? Ray tried to breathe, but the cotton sheets blocked his mouth and nose. But he said he was free to go! And he believed it? Ray would've felt so stupid for trusting a murderer if his heart wasn't racing and his head was a little less dizzy. Then suddenly, he was free. The hand holding him down had gone away, and the ties had disappeared too. He rolled over and started gulping down air.

"Don't be a child," The Assassin chided, giving him a soft, dismissive shove as he stood, "Right, well, I hope to never see you again, Ramone," he casually walked to the door, not even looking at Ray as he bid farewell, "Do what you'd like. Call 999 if it suits you. Fair warning, it won't do you any good. I'm a ghost, after all."

A ghost...

Without thinking, Ray lurched forward and shouted,"Wait! Don't go!"

And to Ray's surprise, the Assassin stopped. What more, he turned those cold blue eyes, the exact same color as the first light Ray had seen that morning and couldn't get out of his head, to look straight into his own. He was totally unprepared for his shotgun plea to actually work, and now he had no choice but to follow through. He frantically patted the bed around him until he found the bottle of wine.

He held it out and asked, "Care for a drink?"

"And then this man starts runnin', yeah? Bangs 'is head on the bar! He's on the floor, out cold, rollin' like a sausage, and I hadn't even got up yet! HAHAHA!" The Assassin's laugh was just as rich as his voice, though much more powerful and a little less sexy.

Ray laughed too, if not at the insane escapades of the man sitting across from him, then at the way he seemed to crack himself up telling them, losing a quarter of the story to his own interruptions as he went. He had accepted the awkward invitation to Ray's bewilderment, yet didn't seem bothered at all. If this had never happened to The Assassin before, he was hiding it well.

"Aah, you should'a seen it. Don't think I've ever had a better laugh in my life, "The Assassin said, taking another gulp of wine, "So what about you, then? Any good stories you'd like to share?"

He grabbed the bottle and poured himself his third, generous glass of the night. Ray hadn't even finished his first glass, only drinking enough to keep a comfortable buzz alive after he was almost scared sober, but he was glad someone was enjoying it.

"No, not really. I... don't go out much," Ray was sad to admit, "Though, I could tell you about this one time I was almost shot."

"That sounds as good a-... oh. You could, couldn't you?" The Assassin set down his glass to rub his neck, "I'm sorry about all that. Had I gotten to know you, at least as much as I do now, I wouldn've come to begin with."

"I guess I'm happy to just be alive," Ray said into his nearly empty glass, "Actually, I want to say thank you. It's strange, but I feel different now. In a good way, I mean."

Ray drank what little Pinot Noir he still had and picked up the bottle, only to find it was empty. This night had gone from the worst he'd ever had to the best, and it seemed to only get better. He didn't want it to end; he wanted to stay here forever. Ray got up and walked to the mini bar across the room to look for more drinks, anything strong enough to keep the mood alive a while longer.

"How's that?" The Assassin asked, picking up his glass again.

Ray crouched down to examine the sparse selection of overpriced booze.

"It's just... I didn't really want to be here. I don't really fit in with these rich guys. I don't fit in, period. At least, that's what I keep telling myself. I guess I... I always stop myself from doing anything with my life. I get in my own way and talk myself out of trying anything new. I tell myself that I'd only make my life worse if I tried to change. Even if it's just the little stuff, like what to eat, what to do, who to talk to. After what you did, though, I think I had... it sounds stupid to say it out loud, but I came to realize that that's my biggest regret. I'm not really sure how to say it, but I don't want to die knowing that I spent my life afraid. That I was so scared of what might happen, I stopped doing anything at all. I let life pass me by, and I only ever remember the bad things so I can blame my shitty life on anything but myself. I don't want to be like that. Be that kind of person anymore."

"Yea," The Assassin said softly, "Almost dying has a funny way of changing things."

"Yeah, I guess it does," Ray chuckled as he turned over a can of beer, considering, "Still, it doesn't change the fact that I'm just... I'm not where I'm supposed to be. I always feel like I'm behind everyone else, or I'm reading a different book all together, if that makes any sense. My dad, he fit in here so fast. In England, I mean, though I guess he fits in everywhere. Well, not exactly 'fits in' as much as he carves himself a place, social norms be damned. He's always putting respect and acceptance first; that's just the kind of guy he is. He holds everyone accountable for the littlest things, and people listen because they either fear him or respect him. He works in global politics, so he has to be that way just to keep from being drowned out by the noise, but still. He rises above everyone, commands the room, impressive stuff like that. But I'm nothing like him. I don't know, I just... sometimes it feels like everyone I meet just... doesn't like me."

Suddenly, there was a hand on his shoulder. A strong hand that squeezed gently.

"That's not true," The Assassin said, "I like you, Ramone."

Ray rose, and the hand slid down with the motion. Now it was on the small of his back, and there was barely a gap between them.

"I-" Ray started to say, but he didn't get to finish.

He was pulled in against The Assassin's chest and surprised with a kiss. The strong man's soft lips were as warm as the heat coming off his body, and for a breath the rest of the world ceased to exist. Ray felt his eyes flutter closed as the kiss lingered on and on. Then The Assassin pulled away, and the two were staring into each other again.

"I- I'm so sorry, Ramone. I don't-," The Assassin started to say.

Ray cut him off this time with a kiss of his own, and it was passionately reciprocated. He felt along the tight muscles of The Assassin's back, down to his waist and under his pants. At the same time, The Assassin's strong hands started to move along Ray's body, exploring every inch. It felt like they were in the middle of a lightning storm, relentlessly being struck by bolts of euphoric electricity. Clothes fell as fast as they could manage, then the two were pressed together on the bed, skin against hot skin. Ramone could feel every molecule of his body tingle with excitement as The Assassin moved the kiss from his lips to his neck, chest, navel, hips, slowly venturing further down. Every place the lips touched burned with ceaseless ecstasy, drawing out soft sounds of pleasure. Ray gasped, high and sharp, as he felt The Assassin's soft, wet lips wrap around his shaft. The gentle up and down motion was enough to make Ray squirm in anticipation. Two wet fingers slipped between and inside his hole while he was still distracted, rubbing and pressing his weak spot, bringing him to his limit.

The fingers and lips retreated so the Assassin could ask, "Do you have one?"

It took Ray a second to figure out what he wanted before he replied, "In my bag, over there. Lube, too. It should all be together."

Ray had packed those things with the tiny, delusional shred of hope that his step-sister would be right, though he never actually believed she could be. Now, for the first time, his tendency towards overthinking actually helped.

He got to his knees to watch the dark stranger walk over to the suitcase in the corner. He admired his naked physique as he squatted down to rummage around inside. This couldn't be real. A gorgeous man like that actually sleeping with a loser like him? Maybe he had hit his head while swimming that first night, and all of this was just a pleasant coma dream as he drowned in the pool. If it was, he hoped no one would rescue him. The Assassin took out a condom, and Ray watched intently as he slid it on. It was all so hypnotising, so unbelievably perfect. When The Assassin began walking back, squeeze bottle in hand, Ray shuffled around and bent over, grabbing a pillow to wrap in his arms.

Rubbing Ray's back with one hand, The Assassin asked in his deep, rich voice, "Are you ready?"

Ray buried his face in the pillow and tried to relax. First came the cold lube, then fingers to coat his insides. That alone was almost enough to make him finish, and he felt his own cock pulsing in anticipation. Then he felt the tip press in, and he bit down while the sharp sting ran up his body. Soon the pain faded, giving way to unending pleasure. The Assassin drew slowly back before thrusting hard, and again, and again. He sped up and pressed harder on every return, rattling the bed and likely waking all the other rooms up. Ray didn't care anymore. It wasn't like they liked him anyways. All that mattered was the euphoric feeling coursing through his veins. Ray's first time, his only time, was nothing like this. It was soft, naive, and unsure. This sex was the apex of sensation; a drug without equal The Assassin's strength and stamina, his thick cock, and the intoxicating aroma of his cologne drove out any thoughts other than lustful desire and a craving for more. Endorphins, oxytocin, adrenaline, and every other aphrodisiatic chemical his body could produce mixed into sweet ambrosia and flooded his mind.

The Assassin shouted, "Ramone, you feel so- damn- good!"

He tightened his grip and went even faster as Ray begged for more. Time seemed to melt as they went on, fucking harder and harder, passion consuming every speck of their being, until Ray felt The Assassin slow. His thrusts became arrhythmic, then he pulled Ray in and squeezed as they both finished. Ray felt something swell in his guts; squishy and hot. The Assassin pulled out, taking the squishy object with him as his cock slid free. It popped out of his hole, leaving an empty feeling behind Ray wanted to fill again. Ray rolled himself over to look up at his lover as they both panted hot and heavy breaths.

"I don't know about you," The Assassin said to him, slipping the heavy condom of his twitching shaft, "But I don't want this to end just yet. I thought I saw two more rubbers in there. Fancy another round?"

They went on and on until they couldn't hold themselves up anymore. They collapsed on the bed, their naked bodies now wet and sticky. The room had a new, musky scent to it, and the temperature had risen high enough to fog every smooth surface around them.

"That was," The Assassin said through heavy breaths, "Fwoow, that was- unbelievable. God, I needed that. Was it good for you?"

Ray couldn't reply, so much of his body was numb from the tide of chemicals released by his brain, but a smile crossed his face.

"Shoulda- shoulda laid out a towel," The Assassin said as he patted his hand down on the sheets with a slight squelch, "Ah, well, I suppose we still have the sofa. Unless you want me to leave?"

Ray shook his head.

The Assassin chuckled, "Thought not. Now, let's get you cleaned up."

The Assassin may be a killer, but he was also a perfect gentleman. Well, maybe not perfect, considering a few things they did. Still, he cared enough to help Ray into the shower with him, and to keep him standing as they washed their bodies clean again. With those big arms wrapped tightly around him, Ray felt like he was in a fairytale. A story where the lonely peasant gets swept away by the handsome knight into happily ever after.

The fancy couch was just big enough to fit them if they laid close together. Ray curled into The Assassin, feeling his broad chest rise and fall and his heart beat in a steady rhythm. It was a comfort unlike anything he had ever known. His vision dimmed as his eyes closed, and the world just drifted away.

He woke up to see The Assassin leaning against the sill of the large open windows across the room, half dressed with a packet of cigarettes in his hand. The brand was unfamiliar; teal and white with a silver trim. The Assassin took one in his mouth and sparked a lighter wrapped in worn leather, cupping the flame against the breeze. He turned back with a smile that reached all the way to those hauntingly beautiful eyes Ray had fallen in love with. Not just the eyes, he loved his voice, his laugh, his passion, the beat of his heart, and every little detail that made up this man. A man he finally felt connected to. A man who was sent to kill him by persons unknown, now his one true love. But that could only ever be a fantasy. The Assassin left without telling Ray his name, and the ghost disappeared, leaving the picture incomplete once more.