There were many reasons why Hanta loved his job, enough to have argued with his Puppeteer for the sake of keeping it; 95% of the time he obeyed without questioning any order of Hitoshi, another 4% only made it difficult to feel him controlling his mind, and the remaining 1% was where he had his small limits.
He knew that the amethyst-eyed loved that they had a mind of their own, however much he called them Dolls (a word that still made him shudder with delight) and, in fact, had accepted his arguments very easily. He was simply a possessive man who hated to share what was his, even if it was just false.
That's why Denki stayed with him, despite having all the right features to work the same job; otherwise, they feared that the purple-haired had one of those starts in which several people ended up dead, it had happened before. And it's not like either of them resented seeing him spill blood on their names, on the contrary, however, they had to keep the cover as long as possible.
So his puppeteer would have to content himself with stamping him on the nearest wall and kissing him all over, like he wanted to erase the trail of others, every time he returned home.
He would lie if he said it was not one of the main reasons why he wanted to keep his job.
"We're lucky bastards since they gave you that position," Denki told him once; eyes at half-mast and with something hoarse in his voice while watching him dress for his workday, although the term was rather undress "Puppeteer wants me in his arms every second you're not here and he practically devoured you as soon as you cross the door" His smile could not be more satisfied.
"How about you? Do not you miss me?" He asked in a falsely hurt tone.
"You know that I do" said the blond kissing his right shoulder, on one of his most recent tattoos, which were still sensitive "Every fucking second" admitted in a whisper, sending a slight discharge from his lips to his spine .
A guttural growl warned them that if they continued with that, Hanta would never get to work and bum Midnight's claims the next day.
That had been a good day.
Then there was the work itself: Being a male stripper was a little difficult, more challenging to be attractive to all customers, to his fortune, some things he had learned from Mina and Denki.
Obviously, the desire in the eyes of the customers was not satisfactory (there were only two pairs of eyes that he wanted on him), however, it was immeasurable the fun he got from having them practically kissing his feet with a couple of movements.
Two drinks and teaching a little more skin was all that was needed so that they were telling him all their secrets.
At least in most cases. For those who needed to cross that line between stripper and prostitute, always had the voice of his Puppeteer (and occasionally Denki) in his ear, whispering sweetness through his special earphone (cleverly disguised as an earring). He still remembered the memorable evening when his partners had devoted themselves to describing exactly what they were going to do to him when he returned home.
With things like that, there was no client who did not succumb to his charms and gave him what he wanted without knowing it. Poor dreamers, believing that they were above of him, when reality was different.
"Come on, I want you to hear something," he said with poison disguised as honey in his voice.
His target just nodded stupidly, too busy looking at his bare skin.
With a chuckle, he put an earphone (not his own, first dead to let scum touch it) around the man's ear.
"Eep!" the unknown and aggressive voice on the other side made his target emit a little cry; enough response for Hitoshi to take control, as his absent gaze indicated a second later.
A few minutes later, he was accompanying his target back to his hotel room, making sure he did not suffer any blow that could break his puppeter's control.
"Have a nice suicide" he wished when he left his tsrget on the balcony of the suite; in a couple of hours he will meet his end.
It was an incredible system, even if it was wrong for him to say it. The same society demanded that prostitutes cover their faces when going out in public, so nobody really knew what him looked like, not to mention that politicians took their own measures to get under the radar. If there was ever made a conexition between the deaths and the club, he would go out the back door with all the calm of the world.
"Your silence is my favorite sound, watch me make 'em bow, one by- one by one, one by- one by one" he can not wait to return to his home and receive the reward for a job well done.