Sequel to "Je pense je t'aime".

Faire je vous aime?

The winter sky was washed white with snow. Snowflakes caught themselves in his black hair and long lashes, coated over his jacket, and soaked his pants. His feeble work shoes wouldn't be dry for a week. Every step was a struggle, and he fought against the sharp pain of the cold air in his lungs... and then, for the third time in as many minutes, Destiny tripped and landed face first in a ditch.

"Zut!" Destiny screamed at the snow, automatically slipping into French. The blizzarding weather frustrated him almost as much as his life did at the moment, what with his job and his maniac sister, and the fangirls, and Torin... "Fucking die already!" He desperately wanted to punch a snowman, but if he remembered the long, winding road properly, there wasn't going to be any. This is just fucking great.

He looked around, making out a shadow to his left. Maybe whatever that is will provide a little bit of shelter..? Pushing himself back up into a stand, he cautiously made his way over to the shadow. He'd tripped several more times by the time he made it to the shadow, only to realize that it was a gate to what he could only assume to be an estate of some kind.

"I don't remember any estates along this road," Destiny muttered to himself... at least, it would've if the wind hadn't picked up, making it impossible for him to hear his own voice. Desperation reaching a high peake, Destiny banged on the gate heavily and started screaming for someone to help him. Anyone to help him.

After several long, long minutes he gave up and slumped against the gate tiredly. I give up... this stupid blizzard... stupid weatherman said that there would be mild showers, not a fucking snow storm! It's the middle of autumn, not fucking winter! He gripped the bars of the gate so tightly to the point that his knuckles became as white as the snow blowing around him, piling up around his ankles as if to suck him into an abyss of nothingness.

Does this mean that I'm going to die? To be buried in the snow? What a horrible way to die. Stupid weather man... And just as he had resigned himself to his fate, the gate opened and he stumbled forwards. Warm arms picked him up and cradled him like a mother would a child, and Destiny clung to whomever his savior was: he would be embarassed later, once he had warmed up and figured out where the stupid weather man lived so that he could kill him.

Eventually, his saviour took him into a warm house. Destiny kept his eyes closed the entire time, feeling drained from his battle with the blizzard; he did however, loosen his hold on his saviour once he felt warmth touch his skin.

His saviour walked for several minutes before placing him delicately on a deliciously soft surface; Destiny couldn't help but let out a small moan of comfort. He wasn't used to such luxuries as what felt like feather matresses... Whomever this person is, he must be rich. He didn't hear his saviour move across the room until the soft sound of a glass clinking on wood reached his ears. And whomever this person is, he is really quiet. Curiosity finally getting the best of him, Destiny sat up and opened his eyes.

Standing across the room, profile contrasted against the dark burgundy walls of the luxurious room, was the blond haired, red-streaked, fashion clad, French man of his distant past.

Mörder filled a glass goblet with red wine, placing the bottle back in it's spot on a wine rack before lifting the liquid to his lips to take a long drink. Only after draining half the glass did he set it down on the cherry desk he stood beside, and only then did the French man slowly turn his impossibly dark eyes to Destiny.

"Bonsoir, Deztiny," Mörder drawled out quietly, his accent thicker than Destiny remembered it.

The French words purcalated into Destiny's mind, and he tried to remember to breathe. "Bonjour." The two of them stared at each other, Destiny's mismatched eyes locking into Mörder's they had many years ago in a crappy bachelor apartment that no one was supposed to know about...

... that had been eight years ago, before Destiny had put himself through law school, before he had started his career. The last time Destiny and Mörder had been in the same room together, the Frenchman had conned his way through the doorway with the promise of food and had managed to stay with the mysterious allure of the spoken language. Mörder had whispered sweet things in his ears that he couldn't understand, and taught him to say 'kiss me' in languages he didn't know. He'd taught Destiny things about himself that the raven-haired-man never would've dreamed to be possible, and left him with broken-hearted words.

Ever since then, Destiny's life had been confusing.

It was Destiny who ended the staring contest, looking around the room as he tried to think of what he could say to a man he'd only ever had one meaningful conversation with eight years ago. Besides the bed he was sitting on, the room was sparsely decorated; cherrywood seemed to be the theme, what with the bedside tables and the desk over where Mörder stood. The burgundy walls were offset by ivory blankets and throws, and an assortment of paintings covered the walls; the only thing he found a little strange was the rather large mirror hung on the wall facing the bed, almost 10 feet wide and roughly 6 feet tall. Even then, had it been another life and Destiny had become an interior decorator, he would've been awed at the room. As it was, the raven-haired man stared at the duvet he was sitting on and tried not to blush as he remembered the activities of the last night he saw the Frenchman...

"Why are you here?" Destiny asked, still looking at the ivory duvet.

"I live here, mon joli," Mörder answered.

Destiny frowned, automatically looking up to glare at the blonde. "Don't call me that, it's creepy." He regreted looking up almost immediately. Mörder was looking at him with hurt, questioning eyes, the same eyes that he had looked at Destiny with just before he'd left his crappy appartment.

"Vhat do you vant me to call you den?" Mörder sighed, not even questioning Destiny as to when he learned French.

"I don't want you to call me anything!" Destiny shouted across the room at him, desperately trying to feel annoyed like he sound be, and not longing to relearn what the Frenchman's touch felt like. It's just because he's the first guy I've ever had sex with, and my body is reacting with endorphines... nothing else. Just past sexual tension making itself known. "I want to know why you're still here, in Germany, if I haven't heard from you in years!"

"I still need to work, haustier," the Frenchman muttered in German instead. Is he trying to be angry, too? "I am a meurtier, an assassain. I 'ave 'ouses and estates all over de East 'emisphere, and a couple in Canada. I even 'ave a summer 'ome in Brazil, should I need to travel to South America. Vhy would a 'ouse 'ere bother you?"

"Because your jobs always seem to coincide with you seeing me!"

The outburst surprised Destiny. He hadn't expected to sound so... emotional. Yes, he always had mixed feelings about the assassain, especially after the blond disappeared off the face of the Earth. But he'd always pushed those feelings aside, because they didn't matter. Mörder hadn't been a big part of his life before that one night in Destiny's secret apartment, and had never bothered to 'stalk' Destiny afterwards. It was as if alls the Frenchman wanted was the one night of hurried sex.

Mörder's eyes seemed clouded, but he looked at Destiny curiously; Destiny, not being able stand to stare back at him, looked away. "I 'aven't been in Germany in de last six years," the Frenchman said slowly. Okay, Destiny though, running fingers over the fine embroidery of one of the pillows on the bed. What about the other two years..? "Je n'ai pas pensé que vous avez voulu me voir."

The words perculated into Destiny's mind slowly, and biting his lip he tried to work out what Mörder hafd said. After a few moments he risked glancing up at the Frenchman again, his mismatched eyes taking in Mörder's appearance. The assassain was wearing form fitting jeans and a black button down shirt casually tucked into a fine leather belt. He was leaning against the cherrywood desk now, legs crossed at the ankles and arms crossed in front of his chest. Destiny shivvered. He looks like a panther.

"Wh-why would you think that I didn't want to see you?" Destiny asked, his mouth going dry and his fingers clutching the duvet harshly.

When he finally looked up into the assassain's face, Mörder's expression was dark. He uncrossed his arms to pull a hand through his red-streaked hair angrilly, leaving the locks looking bedraggled from the snow even though the rest of his body was dry. He must've been wearing a jacket... and sure enough, a quick glance around the room and Destiny saw a long jacket that had been dropped carelessly on the floor.

"Pourquoi je vous ai aimé?!" the French burst from Mörder's lips faster than Destiny could decifer, though he heard the word 'like'. "Vous avez cassé le coeur quand je l'ai pensé ne pourrait pas se casser plus..." he said more quietly, before sighing and turning away from Destiny, standing once again in profile. "...vhen did you learn French?"

Destiny tried to work through Mörder's fluent French and think up an answer at the same time. "I took a few courses in University for fun." Did he say something about a broken heart..? His mind drifted to a minute to the last time he was left confused at Mörder's French. "I wanted to figure out what you said to me that day, eight years ago... but I forgot the words even before I learned the language." They both lasped into a silence, in which Destiny heard Mörder shuffle about in his place. He watched the assassain as he picked non-exsistant lint from the sleaves of his shirt, or brushed out invisible wrinkles in his jeans. The Frenchman's movements all screamed out nervousness, but he stayed silent... and once he had regained his composure, he calmly asked Destiny if he would like a pair of pajamas to sleep in.

Destiny agreed, and Mörder backed out of the room.

The raven-haired man fell backwards onto the bed, the duvet puffing up around him like a cloud as he shut his eyes and groaned. Why is this happening? My relationship with Torin was just getting normal. Everything was going to work out really soon. He sighed, stretching his arms out to his sides as he flexed his fingers experimentally; they had almost thawed since Mörder had broughten him in from the snow, but he was still a long way away from warm.

Opening his eyes slowly, he looked up at the ceiling; it was painted with doves over swirls that could've been wind, with a pretty border of leaves. Wow... Mörder really must be rich... he narrowed his eyes against the thought. But still... he'd have to kill a lot of people to be able to afford all the places he's claiming to own... he shook the morbib thought out of his head, and moved to the next one. I wonder what his summer home in Brazile is like? Angrilly, he shook that thought out of his head as well and settled down to wait for Mörder to return...

After what must've been close to an hour, Destiny started to get angry. How long does it take to get a pair of pajamas? He sat up again, grabbing a pillow to clutch so that he wouldn't be tempted to destroy anything in his annoyance... but before he could do anything, the door opened.

A scent wafted in long before Destiny caught a glimpse of Mörder. It triggered a strong memory that caused him to freeze and shivver all at the same time. The assassin strolled in casually, a tray balanced on one hand held just above his head, and the other hand holding what must've been the pajamas that Destiny was to wear. Mörder glanced at him for only a moment before he stepped up to the bed, placing the tray of food at the foot of the matress before holding the clothes out for Destiny to take.

"Gomen nasai," Mörder appologized, surprising Destiny. I thought he didn't know any Japanese..?

"It's okay," he shook his head, taking the clothes as he looked at the tray of food. It was beef dip with au jus and french garlic bread. The smells made his mouth water even as his mind was remembering the last time Mörder had made him beef dip... "Why... why did you make this?"

He saw Mörder shrug out of the corner of his eye. "I t'ought you would enjoy it."

And Destiny knew that he would enjoy it... he was just nervous. Afraid of what the implications behind the meal meant. Afraid of how Mörder bringing him to this room would effect in the rest of his life. Afraid of if he would do anything he would regret later. Afraid of if he would enjoy doing those things. "... Mörder, what are you trying to do?"

"I'm jus' trying ta 'elp you, mon joli," the Frenchman muttered. Destiny turned his head to look at him as Mörder turned around, exposing his back. "You should get changed, before you catch a cold."

Destiny blinked at the blonde before slowly getting up off of the bed to stand; Mörder was still taller than him, and unconsiously Destiny brought Torin's image into his mind's eye. He's taller than Torin, too... though only a little bit. If asked later he would never admit to blushing, but right then Destiny flushed pink as he pulled off his wet and cold clothes. He left a wet pile of material on the ground, goose-pimples covering his naked flesh before he had time to pull on the cotton pajamas: they were too big. He had to cinch the waist in as tight as he could, and it still hung loosely on his hips. The shirt sleaves had to be folded back several times before he could see his hands... and then finally he went to sit back on the duvet, only to realize for the first time that it was just as wet as his clothes were. "Um... I think we need to change the bed."

"Dat's okay," Mörder muttered, turning to face him again. "Eat your food on a dry spot, or on de floor... den you are free to roam de rest of de 'ouse. Dere's several more rooms for you to choose from."

"M-merci beaucoup..." Destiny stuttered out, looking up into Mörder's impossibly dark eyes. Why is he being nice to me, after toying with me so long ago..? And then the assassin was leaning forwards. Against his own will Destiny felt his pulse quicken, his body craving the blonde man's touch. His eyes fluttered shut as his breathe hitched in his throat...

"You're just as beautiful as you vere 8 years ago, mon joli..." Mörder whispered into his ear, a hand touching Destiny's hip lightly before ghosting it's way to the small of his back. An unfamiliar shivver tickled down Destiny's spine, and his knees felt weak. "Though, if you are trying not ta tempt me, you should make sure dat next time, dere isn't someone watching you in a really big mirror..."

Destiny's eyes snapped open. Looking over Mörder's shoulder, he saw the mirror hanging on the wall.

"Pervert!" Destiny hissed, pushing harshly against Mörder's chest to try and distance himself from the assassin. Mörder only caught his wrist's and pulled him closer, catching the raven-haired man unexpectedly... and in less time than Destiny could think Dammit what am I going to do?, Mörder had him pinned with no where to go.

"Gomen," Mörder whispered, leaning forwards to drop a kiss on Destiny's forhead. "I didn't mean to... you are just too tempting." He dropped another kiss on his head, then another on his temple, then a third on his cheek... then Mörder stopped, his entire body tensing as he let Destiny go and stepped away. "But I should let you sleep..."

And then, stopping only to pick up Destiny's wet clothes and his own discarded jacket, Mörder turned to leave.

Destiny breathed deeply, catching the lingering smell of spices and soap, then watched as the Frenchman neared the door... "Wait!" He heard himself call out desperately. Mörder stopped, looking over his shoulder at Destiny with those same hurt, questioning eyes as before. "M'embrasser." His heart stopped as he said those words, reciting the French without thinking. Time lingered around both of them, almost tangible to the touch... and Mörder stood there, his dark, dark eyes wide with surprise. Destiny licked his lips, the movement catching the Frenchman's gaze, before he whispered out softly, "S'il vous plaît m'embrasser?"

What the fuck am I doing..? Destiny thought, taking a cautious step forwards as the clothes in Mörder's arms dropped to the floor. He built up momentum, taking one and then another step, until he was close enough to be in the assassin's embrace...

... and then Mörder kissed him, slipping his hands into Destiny's hair as he leaned forwards for their lips to kiss. He tilted the raven's head back just so, pulling teeth over lips and tongues dancing like lovers in a summer daze. Destiny clung to the blond, his nails scraping against Mörder's silk-clad biceps in a desperation that he hadn't felt in years. Why does it feel so good to kiss him..?

And then Mörder pulled away, completely breaking contact with Destiny as he hissed lowly under his breathe. "Is dis a game to you, Deztiny?"

"What?" Destiny blinked, coherent thought not quiet back with him yet.

"A game!" Mörder yelled at him. "'Ow can you kiss me? 'Ow can you vant me to kiss you? Non. Non! Je ne me vous permettez pas de casse le coeur deux fois!" He seethed for a moment, his dark eyes casting themselves away from Destiny as he took long, deep breathes... but there wasn't enough time for Destiny to figure out his words before Mörder glared back at him. "'Ow is your wedding planning coming..? 'Ow is Torin?"

Destiny breathed deeply, guilt washing over him. I asked him to kiss me... I demanded for him to kiss me, even though only a few months ago, me and Torin got engaged... "Aa... Torin's good... b-but we haven't told anyone about the engagement..." He's an assassin, and he's stalkerish... no wonder he would know. But then, why didn't he know that I knew French..?

"Ah, so you t'ought, 'vhat de hell?'!" Mörder growled in the back of his throat, causing the hairs on the back of Destiny's neck to rise. "'Vhy not kiss 'im? Torin vill never even know about it!' Vous dégoûtez." He spat out the last words before settling on a glare.

Destiny felt like the bottom of his stomach had ripped open and his heart had fallen out. I disgust him..? I would disgust me, too... but he didn't stop himself. He just did what I said. He tried to ignore the small feelings of guilt when he thought about Torin, explaining the situation away as unresolved tension... and much too easily, his fiance was put from his mind.

"I'm not trying to toy with you," Destiny yelled back. "I shouldn't've kissed you... but I suppose there are, unresolved feelings left over from when you left... and don't say that I disgust you." He glared back at Mörder just as feircely as he was being glared at. "You seduced me and then left me, and never even so much as left a note to say hi over the past eight years!"

"Vhat the 'ell are you talking about!" Mörder screamed.

"I'm sorry, I forgot English wasn't your first language!"

Mörder went quiet, closing his eyes and taking several long, deep breathes to calm his nerves. "I wrote to you twice a day for two years," he stated, his eyes still closed. Destiny's mind went blank. "And each and every single letter was returned, unopened and not read." He turned slightly, looking down towards the floor and letting his blond locks fall in front of his face. "So I left Germany... I assumed dat you didn't vant me 'ere, and I went to live in Paris, and took on more and more jobs. I avoided you, because I knew you didn't vant to see me." Destiny had to force himself to breathe as Mörder continued. "I even sent you birthday presents... every year, just in case. But every one came back, including the kitten I sent last year. And den I called a few months ago, because I couldn't stand it. I needed to 'ear your voice again..."

Destiny swallowed the bump in his throat. "And..?"

"And?" Mörder huffed. "You should know. Dat annoying jerk Torin answered and told me never to call again. Told me to stop sending gifts and to stop mailing letters, because de two of you were getting married and neither of you wanted ta deal with me."

"He did what..?" his vision swam in front of him as a million thoughts rushed into his mind. I never got any of those letters. Did Torin send them back? Why didn't he ever tell me that Mörder called for me..? I want a kitten... Finally he said, "And you just gave up?"

Mörder turned to look at him, disbelief written clearly on his face. "Of course. I can only carry a torch for so long, mon joli... it wasn't easy taking dis job back 'ere, so close to vhere ve first met, and to vhere ve first kissed... but it vas a step to getting over you. And you vere never supposed to be 'ere! De snow must've confused you, 'cause I am de only person who lives down this road, and it's a long vay avay from vhere your supposed to be!"

"I was visiting a friend," Destiny snapped, feeling the need to defend himself. "And I never got those letters! Torin must've-"

"Right." Mörder hissed lowly. "Am I supposed to believe dat Torin intercepted those letters..? Dat Torin went through all dis just to make sure dat I didn't have a chance vith you..? I never 'ad a chance vith you, and 'e knew it..." Destiny opened his mouth to speak, but Mörder continued. "And even if 'e did, aren't you glad dat you didn't have to deal vith it? You vant to be vith 'im, not me, and you 'ave for ages... and I've excepted that, so don't go asking that I kiss you and toying vith me..." He took a deep breathe, then bent down to pick up the pile of clothes. Turning his back on Destiny he stepped out of the room, his voice lingering in behind him. "Feel free ta stay da night... your clothes vill be waiting for you in de sitting room. De maid vill 'elp you get to vherever you need to go..."

And he didn't come back. Destiny ate his cooling food before stripped the bed, choosing to sleep on the naked matress instead of venturing out.

The next morning he crept slowly down the hall way, but a maid interrupted him. She passed him his newly cleaned outfit that he had worn the night before. She waited patiently outside a bathroom as he changed, and then ushered him out of the estate so that she could take him to a more recognisible road... and although he didn't see Mörder a pristine white cat, no more than a year old, rubbed up against his leg while he was tying his now-dry shoes back into place.

Sadness panged in his heart, and Destiny knew that he had to talk to Torin.

-Owari