Fuck You, Pay Me!

21. Fire Meet Gasoline

His quick-witted and cunning nature. 

His ability to adjust and adapt to almost any situation. 

His seemingly innate talent for murder. 

The CIA had declared him a prodigy by the age of seventeen and Hitoshi was more than willing to simply go along for the ride. 

As he's gotten older, however, he's begun to accept that the term 'different' may just be his father's roundabout way of saying that Hiroshi is, in fact, a fucking psychopath. 

And maybe a little bit of a narcissist to boot. 

[Alright, fine. He's a massive narc. Quit typing, you snarky little fucks.]

The only thing that he's still unsure of is whether or not he has always been this way or if he's simply grown to be this way after the several years he's spent being an indiscriminate executioner for hire. His motivation for taking jobs became less and less about the money and more about how much he could make his targets beg for mercy before he granted them release in the form of glorious bloodshed. 

It got his heart racing just thinking about it. 

He's not an inherently evil bastard—he swears. In fact, he's learned that he cannot bring himself to knowingly harm an innocent person, no matter how hard he tries. He supposes that the policy of anonymity he's given to his clients has helped with relinquishing any sort of guilt he could have possibly managed to muster up about doing his job. No details. Just a name and a face to put it to. Typically corrupt politicians and government officials or—on occasion—their cheating wives or mistresses. He's found some solace in that, at the very least. 

No, this feeling was derived from something else entirely—drunk on the feeling of power. 

The act of playing God. 

He's willing to admit that his arrogance is unattractively grotesque. He chooses who lives and who dies by his hand—and as far as he knows, he's never allowed any of them to live. The adrenaline rush that he receives whenever he nails a target is even better than snorting a line of coke from a hooker's ass cheeks—take his word for it. 

A sparking and tingling type of euphoric rush. 

The feeling of being invincible. 

…

Yup. 

Complete fucking psychopath. 

That being said, it shouldn't have come as a surprise to him that after pulling off a job like the one he'd just done tonight, he'd be rolling around on the pillowy tits of cloud nine.

And, as a result of such, he's got the most inconvenient boner in the entirety of his already unfortunate life.

Inconvenient, mostly, because his cute boyfriend was already fast asleep. 

And unfortunate, ironically, because that exact same cutie is pressed flush against Hitoshi's raging erection. 

His initial plan was simply to ignore it. He's no stranger to enduring discomfort, having been trained by the CIA in his earlier years of contracting to be able to withstand most common forms of torture. If he could endure having his fingernails ripped off for the sake of keeping the government's dirty secrets, then surely he could endure a persistent erection for the sake of letting Katsuki get a decent night's rest before they're on the road again.