Shiro lit a cigarette in the dark room and took a drag to calm his nerves. The blonde he picked up at the bar was sleeping next to him, snoring softly. The complete lack of fear the kid displayed during their hook up unnerved him. Shiro prided himself on being a sadist, scaring unsuspecting victims with what he’d do to them in bed. He enjoyed seeing them cry and beg for mercy; having them completely under his control.
But the blonde, whose name he’d never bothered even learning, didn’t balk at anything. In fact, he seemed to want more. Either this kid was the biggest masochist Shiro had ever come across or he was an even more fucked up person than he himself was. The teen’s sexual aggressiveness was notwithstanding. He’d seen that before with some of his more cocky prey, but it quickly withered away once they faced what Shiro had in store for them.
At first, when he approached the blonde in the bar, it was for his feminine looks. Dark lined eyes and long golden hair, that at first glance, made you think that he was a girl. He even had a speech impediment, adding to a kind of cuteness. The kid had some kind of cocky arrogance that, lined up with his obviously young age, gave Shiro the impression that he was all bark and no bite. He’d come across those types before, those who thought that they were tougher than they really were. They were trying to prove themselves. Those ones were always the most fun to break.
But this one... he didn’t even crack. Shiro was nervous that he had actually picked up someone who was indeed, as messed up as he acted. On top of that, the boy was moaning someone’s name the enitre time. Sasori. It wasn’t a very common name, was it? Shiro was also from Sunagakure, and once glimpsed at Sasori of the Red Sand shortly before he had vanished. The puppet master and Shiro had similar looks; short, shaggy red hair and light brown eyes.
What if the blonde knew Sasori? It might explain a few things if he were a missing-nin on the same level of Sasori. Genius shinobi were known to have warped personalities, even more so if they wound up defecting. If the boy went with Shiro simply based on his similarity to the puppet master, what did that even mean? All of this was causing paranoia to rise up in his chest, causing a bitter taste in his mouth.
It was even worse when he glanced down at the kid. Everything about him was strange. The first oddity Shiro saw, it excited him, the boy had mouths on his hands. And, as Shiro quickly learned, a larger one on his chest, sewed shut and sealed with what looked like a powerful jutsu. His arms also seemed to have been sewn on, one of them pieced together from another source of flesh.
Shiro took another drag of the cigarette, reveling in the calmness from the nicotine. He watched the smoke unfurl into the darkness, wishing his unease would dissipate that quickly. Shaking his head, trying to rid himself of his worries, he put the cigarette out on an ash tray. He lay down, and turned his back to the sleeping boy behind him and fell into a slumber.
Hours later, Shiro woke with a start. His startled gasp was cut short by a pair of hands wrapped tightly around his throat. He looked up to his assailant, only to see the blonde looking down at him, face impassive save for a look of utter hatred in his grey-blue eyes. Despite his body panicking, Shiro tried to keep his mind calm and groped around the bedside table, grabbing the ash tray the second his fingers touched it.
Shiro swung the porcelain with whatever strength that he could muster directly into the blonde’s beautiful face. The only reaction he got was the boy’s lip curling into a sneer and his head snapped to the side and his hands tightening their grip, crushing Shiro’s windpipe. Desperate, Shiro clawed at the teen’s arms, hoping to relinquish his old. Slowly, a loud buzz started in his ears and the room began to darken. Whether it be due to the lack of oxygen, his brain dying, or something else, Shiro’s last thought was assuming this must be karma from all the hapless victims he’d hurt in the past.
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