Start words from here.
warning for mentions of violence and torture, but nothing graphic written.
The success of his mission revolved largely around how fast Watanabe could talk this guy up to the hotel room without making him suspicious. If he pressed too hard, the mark would move on, but if he was too slow, Miyadate would show up to make sure nothing had gone wrong and then even the stupidest marks could hardly miss the feeling of Miyadate glaring daggers into the back of their heads.
Fortunately, Watanabe was having no trouble with this one at all. Smiling around the cherry stem, Watanabe gave the man another slow blink as he swirled his tongue around the cherry in his mouth, and then bit down. He knew he looked good, tousled perm and v-neck showing off his collarbones, and this guy sure knew it too, judging from the way his eyes tracked the movement of Watanabe pulling the cherry stem out of his mouth.
"Want another drink?" he asked, sliding an arm over the back of Watanabe's chair; Watanabe resisted the urge to shrug him off.
"That's not what I want," he said, low enough that the man had to lean in a little to hear over the noise of the bar. He'd only been drinking a Shirley Temple anyway, not that this guy had any clue. "What do you say we take this upstairs to my room?"
Truthfully, Watanabe hadn't pegged this guy as into boys when he'd first seen him, looking almost aggressively hetersexual, but as usual Sakuma's intuition about these sorts of things was dead on. They were barely through the door when the man was all over Watanabe, hands rough as they slid under his shirt. Watanabe twisted, too smart to keep his back to this creep, walking backwards until his knees bumped the edge of the hotel bed. He let the guy push him down onto his back and crawl on top, not bothering to hide his grunt of displeasure when the guy kneed his thighs apart roughly, too much of his weight bearing down on Watanabe's chest. Usually guys like that liked it if they had to force you a little, Watanabe knew from distasteful experience. He certainly seemed into it, face flushed and leering as he loomed over Watanabe.
The distinct sound of a gun cocking ruined his good time.
"Finally," Watanabe said, taking immense pleasure in the look of surprise on this creep's flushed face. He knew Miyadate would have the barrel of the gun pressed against the back of his skull, so there was no mistaking what it was. "Took your sweet time."
"You're one to talk," Miyadate growled, his voice making Watanabe shiver pleasantly. Jealous Miyadate was hot. "Letting this guy touch you all over."
"Who—" the man started.
"Sorry, honey," Watanabe said, grinning. "My boyfriend's jealous type, you know."
It was hardly any work at all for the two of them to get the man tied to the desk chair, wrists zip-tied behind his back. He wasn't even the real target, just someone on a ladder that they needed to climb over to get to more important people, and it showed when it barely took Miyadate any time at all to getting him blubbering out all the information that he had.
It wasn't that Watanabe enjoyed torture, he wasn't a sociopath. But there was something fascinating to watch about the fact that Miyadate barely had to touch them at all to be absolutely terrifying.
"It's funny how much more scared of knives than guns people are," Miyadate said reflectively as they were cleaning up, washing his hands in the sink.
"Funny," Watanabe repeated dubiously. He didn't have a speck of blood on him, but he was stripping naked anyway, anxious to shower off the feel of that guy's hands. He glanced over his shoulder to wink at Miyadate. "Come on, get in with me. You know what the boss says about doing a thorough clean up job."
It wasn't like the guy in the other room was in a big hurry. He had all the time in the world to be dead.
"You are shameless," Miyadate accused, but his hands were already undoing the buttons of his shirt, letting it slide down off his shoulders. Watanabe hummed appreciation at the sight of Miyadate's tanned skin over his toned muscles; he'd been serious about his workouts again lately. "But I guess we did pay for another hour, so we might as well get our money's worth."