The Porsche screeched off. Distance stretched between it and the building set ablaze, but her mind was still in that forsaken room. The touches and faked moans she wished not to remember carved at the back of her eyelids and it was painful every time her eyes shut. She blinked away the visions, and the throbbing on her left cheek, in vain.

She had mocked the man next to her for robbing souls, and tonight fate laughed down on her for it. She wanted to scrape the drying blood on her palms, but she only managed to stare emptily at them down her lap while she steadied her breaths.

Gin shifted into neutral at a red light, unfazed by the building on an inferno from his own command.

"Don't make that kind of face, you'll get used to it." He muttered, the lit-up cigarette between his teeth glowing in the area lacking illumination.

She squinted at him. "Of course you would say that. You're a full-time murderer."

He shot her a warning glance. She knew what he meant. Tonight had turned her one, but she was still in denial.

"I knew it was planned, Gin. Stop acting like I did it out of choice." She was half shocked and half thankful to death that she had glimpsed a handgun under the bedside table right after she doubled over from the slap that threw her to the floor. Vodka, she thought.

"Yet you complied. And you always have choices. That was your choice to blow his head off before he did it first to you."

"Oh? like how you deliberately chose this for me despite having some power over the Organization orders? She rolled her eyes. The top-tier assassin obviously had some, even though they directly came from the boss.

Gin sewed his lips closed.

The black Porsche purred through the freeway. "It's done for, Sherry. You know you'll gain a lot from this." He said. To him, this hit was a tiny puzzle piece for a 1000-piece jigsaw set.

Fuck you.

Sherry eyed his coat pocket, which held the USB she obtained from the target in its confines. She wondered how much power the information had to go to this length. And now she was no different than the assassin next to her in eradicating the wrong hands that the information fell into. A year from now, would she still feel the same?

"Whatever. I just want to go home."


Exasperated, she ignored the man's existence just as their feet stepped into her abode, not wanting anything more than ducking into a cold shower in hopes of drowning the memories of the night and dying inside.

She scrubbed away dried blood on her palms, but it was unsuccessful in washing away the fact that she figuratively still had blood on her hands.

Wrapping her hair in a towel she briefly remembered Akemi, and how she would not be proud of her successful mission tonight if she was to tell her this story on their next day out. She knew they were opposites in personality since they were kids, and this would bridge it even further.

Trudging to her couch she sat heavily. The cold shower did so little in helping her loosen up.

"Why are you wearing that?" Gin sneered, himself already in a black T-shirt with the same black pants he wore earlier. He conquered a spot near the armrest and turned the news on, unperturbed with the midnight breaking news and a havoc of firefighters, police cars and TV broadcast stations caused by himself.

"Shower." She said, face deadpanned. "Don't you do this too? Or your hair is magically done for you."

He lit up a cigarette, sucking a long breath. Smoke intruded her nostrils and made her fan away the grey clouds in front of her face.

"I have my ways."

"Stop ruining my furniture, Gin. My couch will turn grey from the smoke." She grunted. The habit was so infuriatingly trivial to him that he didn't think once as to ask if he could smoke the first time he came to her apartment.

He glanced impossibly at her and shut the TV off. "Here I thought you would be more worried over my lungs than your couch. Well, I'll get you a new couch, then."

She tsked, kneeling across the couch to reach the glowing cigarette on his fingers. "That's not the point!" His actions that would pass as normal were getting on her nerves tonight, and deep down she wanted to blame him for her conflicted emotions, although in his own twisted ways, he was right - she was the one who pulled the trigger.

He brought his arms over the armrest, away from the couch, and before she realized it, she was wobbling on his lap. The man took the opportunity to grip on her towel. "Take it off, it doesn't look good on you" He rumbled.

Alarmed at yet another physical contact for the night, she swatted his hands. She yearned most for comfort, for someone to take her fragile hand, smile and say it's okay, Shiho, everything will be okay, and she failed to find any correlation between that and Gin. Still, she often yielded under his presence.

The towel had slightly come loose, and Sherry pulled it down with a small smile. Not big, not wide. It didn't reach the corners of her eyes. She gazed down on broad shoulders which she held onto while a piece of her resilience crumbled.

He was a killer with no guilt, no conscience, only uncompromisable loyalty. She wondered, if one day she would end up at the receiving end of it. Would she run away or fight? Will it come to a point where her life will be in his hands?

Gin had learned to read her silence. He took in her delicate facade, that may fool anyone but a sharp observer of hers that he was. He noted conflict contoured on her skin, misery parting the rosy lips, noted constraint etched on tender fingertips. He swept damp brick-red strands to the back of her ear, a gesture that was probably too intimate, even for Gin. But intimacy was something she had sought in him despite his nature. Intimacy was something she could not afford in her life. And now, it was laid down before her very eyes.

Her eyelids shut as if she was falling asleep, and to her surprise the searing pain of Mr. Baker's ghost had vanished as he pulled her waist onto him and clasped her parted lips with his own. The warmth of her cheekbones caressed his thumb, a violent contrast to the cold ridges on his Baretta. Her breaths were inconsistent on his skin - as if her lungs were hurting - and he brought an arm on her waist to still her.

It felt like he was mopping away the dead's man traces on her, like scrubbing off dust before you pour a bucket of water, and honestly, she admitted to herself that it felt damn good. Inevitably, she melted. His kiss was an escape that pulled her in until all sense of directions were lost under his touch. His force was undeniable no matter how hard she restrained herself. His hands moved down her buttocks, grazing shorts that suddenly felt so irritatingly constricting as heat grew on her skin.

"Are you afraid I would pull a gun trick on you again?" She said. Her voice was a hush whisper, inaudible if not for their close proximity.

He huffed through a grin. "We both know that's the last thing you want to do tonight."

"Really? I can have one in the cushions right now waiting for me to grab it."

He briefly considered her words, though his instincts confirmed that there was nothing beneath the cushions. He shifted to stand up. "In that case, that's really a shame. I was hoping to do something else tonight."

"Wait, where do you think you're going?" Sherry scolded, pushing him down with all her weight but he countered the force and flung her sideways so she fell across the couch under him.

From the impact, and from the possibility that she might have crossed a line, worry flashed on her face. For a moment, her gaze dared to search his amidst the darkness, before it dropped to his lips. He was staring at hers too, she noticed, though he kept the silence until she kissed him in a sloppy fashion. Only then he reacted with her, while the last standing walls of her resistance tumbled.

The heat where their mouth connected caused desire to twist in her belly. Gin sneaked his cold palms underneath her top and slid them on her sides, and she yelped out of the stark temperature difference. His mouth traveled down her neck and expertly found a sensitive spot which he abused until her sighs turned ragged. Pleasure raked up her spine and she naturally bent her knees, allowing him to settle in between her legs.

She cursed internally, hypnotized by the scent of tobacco and gunpowder she knew well yet was badly so. Verbally, it was easy to resist his presence and words, until his touches fueled her with an appetite she swore couldn't have existed within her. Such as how she secretly liked the solid but gentle pressure on her breasts, how skillful those hands unclasped her bra and the remaining of her clothes. The fair crimson on her cheek deepened a darker shade as he too, sat up to remove his own.

He allowed her to resume their previous position, and she was half-surprised by the lack of dominance he usually asserted on her. Perhaps that was the irony she was mistakenly attracted to, she thought as she busied herself with his belt until he sighed a relief.

Clutching on his shoulders, she knew what was coming next. He guided her down by the waist. It was almost humiliating how she engulfed him with not so much difficulties, and the moans that they both let out. There was no going back after this point.

She did not remember who had moved first among them, but the next thing she noticed were her own gasps next to his ear as she rode him and the couch shaking. She was lost in the heat, overwhelmed by his wandering lips on her breast and a hand in her hair. His skin felt feverish, almost comfortably warm for someone with a frosty attitude, yet he was anything but frosty when he was inside her.

Gin fisted her hair and yanked it, purposefully forcing her to arch. She had studied enough biology to anticipate the electric current that licked up her body soon after, and she shivered. He smirked at the sight and thrusted up to meet her rhythm. Pride had mattered the least in the midst of pleasure, as her breast bounced and their skin slapped with every thrust that got her closer to the edge.

Eye contact was tense in this position, especially in the dark, and it felt as if she was slowly being swallowed by the intensity in his gaze that glowed possessiveness, although she was the one controlling the pace. It was a mutual balance of control they silently understood, like the come-and-go of powerful ocean tides.

Toes curling under his thighs, she pushed on his chest for leverage, himself plonking lower as she sank deeper. The couch whined under them, and sweat was sure to stain the fabric. Still, another thing that didn't matter when her muscles were clenching from the pressure building low in her tummy.

"Clearly someone is enjoying the view from up there." He growled. His hands are adamant on her hips, playing some part in slamming her body down on his length.

Her fingernails dug into his neck. "If you stop now, I'll kill you." She panted.

It seemed to encourage him as he held her hips still and began to pound mercilessly. The rough rhythm slapped her clit against his skin and sent her jolting, a twitching mess as electric pulses from her pelvis zapped through her body. He leaned forward to capture a nipple in his mouth, and she let out a desperate moan. Overridden with delicious contractions that felt almost too much for her, and just as she thought she couldn't take the tension any further she had cried out uncontrollably and released. Her body rattled before sweaty arms coiled around her and he started thrusting again. She knew it wouldn't take long to get him off, as she contracted and squeezed his length periodically until a hoarse moan escaped his lips. He was always quiet when he came, save for a few whines of 'ah' and 'hnng' that sounded like achievement to her ears.

Their foreheads met as their chest heaved. His eyes were deprived from the hostility they always bore, and she too was stripped down to her core. Traces of the night's memories were long gone yet some guilt remained in her honest self as the lust slowly dissipated. If tonight was a successful mission on her part, she thought, certainly she would be called in again, and will this happen more often? She shook her head, before the man could see it on her face.

She coughed then, realizing the current state of undress. "Well, thanks to you I'm starving." Stealing his shirt while he buckled his pants up, she took a step before a hand snatched her wrist and pulled her back.

He kissed her, and if the hair-tucking gesture was too intimate coming from the man, this kiss had ultimately broken the record. She wanted to believe the flutter in her heart was due from a surge of oxytocin. She couldn't push her feelings further even as he held her jaw with impossible softness she quietly craved.

"Go and get me some too." He muttered.

"Is this what you mentioned you wanted to do?" She eye rolled him despite her emotions.

He let out a light grin in return. He loosened her wrist hesitantly so, and she blamed it on the state of exhaustion he must have been in. He's just tired.

A few minutes passed as she brought food scavenged from the kitchen, only to be met with his dozing figure. His head had lolled a little bit off the backrest, and Sherry cupped his face to kiss him again.

She had fallen into the devil's lair, yet she was not so innocent herself.

This might or might not happen in canon, but let me have my day because I love them.