Summary: Damien Mazoku, a sociopathic assassin is sent to kill Eethan Ange, the son of his employer's rival family. But what happens when he falls in love with the stoic boy? Angst, obviously. Rated R for graphic violence and sexual situations. SHOUNEN-AI.

Story Warnings: Shounen-ai, mental torture, graphic violence, angst, language, child abuse, talk of suicide and the first-person perspective of someone with a distaste for humanity in general.

Chapter Warnings: Angst, graphic homicide, language.

~When Demon Meets Angel, Chapter Three: Rivals and Hanger Wires.~

The next day, nearly half-past noon I found myself storming into Mortimer's office, angrily jamming bullets into my .45. Secretaries and workers alike scattered out of my way. Those who didn't see the gun saw the get-the-fuck-outta-the-way look in my eyes and dodged behind desks and water coolers alike.

Oh yes. I was pissed.

Kicking open the thick wooden doors to Mortimer's office I aimed the gun and shot. The vase sitting on a pedestal beside Mortimer's desk exploded and showered water, bits of porcelain and white rose petals.

Mortimer didn't even flinch. Damn, I hated that man. Even more so now than ever.

I could see the smirk on Mortimer's face even before he lifted his head from his paperwork and looked at me. "Hello, Damien. So nice to see you." After greeting me he calmly called his secretary and asked that she send in a new Victorian vase and a dozen white roses.

"What's his name?" I demanded in a low growl. Mortimer leaned back in his chair to gaze up at me as advanced and stood directly opposite of him over his imposing desk.

"Whose name?" A soft, aristocratic voice asked from behind me. I tensed instantly. If there was one person other than Mortimer that I ever bothered to form a lasting negative opinion of, it was his little shit of a son, Arameth.

Now with a name like that and the physical description that will follow, it doesn't exactly take a game of Twenty Questions to guess his sexual orientation.

Arameth was skinny enough to make an anorexic girl jealous and he didn't hide it. He usually wore form-fitting clothes in pastel blues or something equally "wintery" to make him look even more like a bloody walking snowflake.

He was pale like Shiruva with pitch-black hair and eyes that matched, but in no way did he compare to my target. Shiruva had this lost-puppy aura to him. The kind that actually made normal people stop and take a moment to consider trying to comfort him, complete stranger or not.

Arameth was the type who acted as if he were too good to feel sadness. The type of person with enough money to call up Webster and buy the words "haughty", "prissy" and "Snooty little pansy boy" out of the dictionary. Though I'm not too sure about the third one.

Arameth smiled at me and I had the sudden mental image of him latching onto my neck with those teeth of his.

Don't get me wrong, I was not, am not, nor will ever be afraid of that little bastard. Something so -- what's the word? -- uke, could hardly be intimidating -- but he did make up for any physical prowess he lacked by being a fucking mental son of a bitch.

He could probably convert the Pope himself to Satanism if he tried.

I ignored Arameth and looked back at Bastard Senior. "His name, Mortimer. Now or I'll shoot you." Mortimer raised an eyebrow and exhaled harshly in exasperation. He even made giving in look as if he were in command. "Jonathan Welsh. He'll be showing up at the target's apartment in two hours."

Shiruva's apartment. That wanker!

Having run out of colorful American curse words, I moved onto British slang. Sue me.

I rushed out of the office, ignoring Arameth's disapproving eyes on me. I was in my -- no, Dazz's tacky car and on my way to Shiruva's upper class apartment. I got there in less than ten minutes and managed to beat the elevator to the top floor via stairs.

Force of habit, I suppose.

I was completely out of breath when I reached the door, but must've leaned on it too heavily because it swung open and I landed on the floor very ungracefully. There was a soft gasp followed by the shuffling of feet.

"Dazz?" As if anyone else would waltz into your apartment and take a nap on the floor.

"Why was the door open?" I wondered aloud. Shiruva pulled me to my feet. "Because I didn't lock it, obviously." At least he was a little more talkative this time around. It made sense. We were in his territory.

"I came to return your cellphone." I knew that thing would come in handy for just such an occasion. He stared at me quite obviously wondering where said cellphone was. "It's in my car," I supplied helpfully, pausing to glance around the apartment. It looked so much larger when actually inside. Shiruva and his all-black ensemble really stood out-- I had to squash the sudden mental image of a fallen angel wandering around in heaven.

Sentimental bullshit.

"Come for a ride with me, I want to take you out to lunch." Shiruva looked about ready to protest until I grabbed his hand and pulled him out of the apartment. He had about two seconds to grab his keys off of the glass end table right inside the door and lock said door before I hauled him down the stairs. It was better to stay away from the elevator.

Mortimer's little lackey bastard was NOT going to get my kill, dammit!

We left the hotel without incident and drove down to the docks. Shiruva bought some fries without even flinching and I mentally stored away the information that he obviously had a very fast metabolism to keep such a figure.

We didn't talk much and the fact that the silence was really very comfortable was making me increasingly uncomfortable. Shiruva hadn't said a word and ate his fries (drenched in pepper, I might add) quite serenely.

"You like the water?" I asked casually, watching him out of the corner of my eye. He nodded and sighed.

"It's the only thing that can kill you by accident." I choked on the soda I'd bought and noticed a tiny smile at the corner of Shiruva's mouth.

I moved closer to the boy as he shivered and slipped an arm around his waist. He tensed, but didn't push away, which I wasn't sure was a good or bad sign. There was another long silence that lasted until Shiruva finally spoke and I barely caught his words when he did.

"What do you want from me?"

At first I wasn't sure if he was talking to me, but when clouded silver eyes turned and stared up at me, I knew he wasn't just having one of his random angsty moments. I caught myself hesitating once again and forced a smile. "Nothing. Just your company."

He nodded and seemed to stare through me for a moment before turning back to the sea, leaning his head against my shoulder slightly. I did an internal victory dance. I was getting through to the kid! I'd be able to kill him before the next millennium yet!

We headed back to my place in more of that unnervingly comfortable silence and Shiruva chose to listen to classical music on the cheap-ass radio in Dazz's car. I was still a bit on edge from the way Shiruva was being so compliant, but then again how was I to know that wasn't just part of his personality?

Finally at Dazz'z apartment I fell onto the couch and closed my eyes. Shiruva seemed content to fiddle with the guitar. I was really starting to enjoy having Shiruva's calming influence around but easily convinced myself that was just Dazz speaking for me.

Later I ordered Chinese food and turned on the radio to listen to the news. Shiruva kept at a safe distance, lying on my carpet with his eyes closed and his head rested on his arms. I, or rather Dazz, finally got tired of sitting in silence and spoke up.

"You don't talk much do you?"

"Not when I have nothing to say." I wasn't expecting that reply and moved over to Shiruva. "You're very strange." I chided, hoping to get some emotion into his voice. "From who's perspective?" He looked up at me and rested his chin in his palm. I leaned forward and grinned, close enough to kiss him.

I think he realized this and leaned back slightly, sitting up. I crawled closer to him all the same, watching his eyes get slightly larger. "What are you--?" His sentence was cut off by the annoying ring tone-ized version of Ode to Joy from somewhere in his pants.

Did I mention I gave him back his cellphone? I did.

Shiruva blinked in surprise and pulled the green cellphone out of his back pocket and clicked it on. I only found it a little odd that he didn't say "hello" but waited for the other person to speak. There was a pause before Shiruva began talking to the person on the other line in a different language. Japanese.

He seemed a bit annoyed but did manage to smile once or twice, so I assumed it must've been Iri. When they got off the phone, Shiruva looked at me. "I told him I couldn't go to his house tonight because I was staying with you. You don't mind." It really didn't sound like a question but I grinned anyway. "Avoiding him, huh?"

"Making him suffer for leaving me to get mauled."

Which reminded me, I still had a lackey to kill.

The rest of the evening passed as it had been. Quiet and comfortable. Not the non-stop action I was used to, but not boring either. We ate dinner at nine and around midnight Shiruva fell asleep.

I carried him to the bedroom and pulled off his shoes and sweater to make him more comfortable. During the process he grabbed me in his sleep and clung. Abandonment issues. I held him for a while and petted his hair until he let go of me and I was free to go hunting.

Jonathan Welsh was still at Shiruva's apartment when I got there. Tearing the place apart for signs of where he'd gone. I snatched a wire hanger off the floor wrestled him to the ground, binding his hands together with aforementioned hanger. He caught sight of me in the full length mirror and recognized me as the person responsible for the colorful bruise forming along the side of his face, courtesy a wooden barstool.

"Damien," he growled. "What the fuck do you think you're doing?" He struggled like hell and I pressed hard into the thick wires around his arms. He bit his lip in pain and I climbed off of him, pulling him to his feet. He was bigger than me but not nearly as well trained. "You've heard the rumors, Jonathan. I'm a territorial bastard when it comes to my targets. The cute little boy is MY target."

Jonathan made a lunge for me and I sprang to the side, tangling my foot around his ankles and sending him crashing to the ground. I rested my foot on his back to keep him from moving and looked around for something to kill him with.

Then a thought struck me.

I couldn't murder this guy in Shiruva's apartment.

"Alright, up, dipshit." I hauled him out of the apartment and managed to somehow make it to my own across the street without looking suspicious.

Don't ask how, people are stupid and probably assumed I was escorting a drunk friend home.

It was in my own apartment that I proceeded to maim and dismember the bastard. Asshole! It's what he gets for moving in on MY target! I burned off his fingerprints with acid and removed his teeth. These and further precautions were taken to prevent Jonathan Welsh's body from EVER being recognized and dumped his remains in the very same ocean Shiruva and I had gazed at together during the afternoon.

There was a great irony in this, but I was too high from my kill to notice it.

I headed back to my apartment to find Shiruva awake and by the window yet again. "Couldn't sleep either?" I lied and smiled to him; glad I'd changed out of my bloodied clothes before I returned to apartment 4D on the not-so-rich side of town. He nodded and looked up at me finally.

"Take the bed. It wouldn't be fair for you to be sleeping on the couch all the time."

I shook my head and turned out the lights, allowing myself a devilish grin. I took his hand and lead him into the bedroom. "We could always share it. It's not a small bed." I couldn't see it in the dark but I had a feeling Shiruva was blushing.

To my great surprise and for reasons I wasn't to discover until much later, Shiruva crawled into bed and stared up at me expectantly. I lay beside him and wrapped my arms around his waist. He buried his face against my chest and slung an arm over my shoulders, the other tucked between us. Despite the comfortable position, Shiruva was still somewhat stiff and not in the fun way. I reached around and traced his spine with my fingers, eliciting a small sigh of approval from the silver-eyed teenager.

I smiled as I felt him relax in my arms and rather than jumping at the chance to analyze the shit out of the situation we were in, I set that as tomorrow's job and concluded for the night that...

Sometimes you just need to be held.

(End of Chapter Three)

Muwah. New chapter soon, promise. Haven't been feeling very motivated to write this story much until lately.

Aurenne- A tremendously belated additional happy-birthday wish for you. Will be sending your present, just as soon as I arrives in the mail. Oh, the ever-punctual US postal-service. ^^;;
Dark Hilde Chys lattes- No no, this isn't based on any manga of any kind. I actually got the idea in a bizarre way back in August. When I went with a group of friends to Otakon last year we stayed in a hotel, and the subject of living in a hotel came up -- that's where Shiruva's character was born of a sketch I'd made the previous day, inspired by all the anime surrounding me =3 Dazz was birthed by my mum's choice of music on the drive back. "Dazz" is a 70's song and the word means Disco-Jazz. After that the plot just sort of... appeared. =)
Alexander C. Destin- I wanted it to be anime-style but realistically so. So a person could read it and say "hey, that could happen" and their friend would go "not likely." XD