Prompt: “Contract Killer”

Pairing: Kai/Kyungsoo

Words: ~1800

Warnings: Character Death

Kyungsoo didn't have the taste for a lot of things in this life. He hadn't the time for titles, for stereotypes and the likes. He had an interest in things that people generally tried to ignore and detest. Kyungsoo was an anomaly, something and someone that stood apart from the rest. Instead of preferring things to be multicolored, he liked the black and white. Life, death. That was all that Kyungsoo needed to know for his world to keep turning. 

Kyungsoo didn't need others to control him and tell him how to live his life. He could make those decisions for himself.

Jongin was different. He enjoyed to be told what to do. He was a puppet, and Kyungsoo somehow became the puppeteer to pull his strings. 

They met, one day, when Kyungsoo was carrying out his work. Kyungsoo had always been told to dispose of the proof of his actions, the evidence; to leave a blank space wherever possible so that he could not be traced. Jongin caught him in the act, and he was therefore something to be disposed of. 

But Kyungsoo couldn't do it. He just picked up Jongin, held him in his arms, and whispered threats into his ear. Of ways that he would destroy him. Of ways that Kyungsoo would make sure  Jongin would cease to exist. Jongin just nodded his head, bowed, and followed Kyungsoo out the door. Kyungsoo's victim was picked up by the police about 20 minutes later. 

Kyungsoo liked to deal in poisons. 

Poison. Kyungsoo has always had an interest in the stuff, ever since he'd read books in science of snake venom and spider bites. It amazed him that even such a small amount of it could kill a 60 kg man in an hour. He liked to theorize about how long it would take for someone to be paralyzed, to start spasming, and how long after that they would die, and when he was especially excited he would test the poisons out for himself.

Jongin would sit on their bed, and Kyungsoo would inject a little into his blood stream, waiting for Jongin to lie back and curl up in the sheets, blood-curdling screams leaving his voluminous lips. Kyungsoo enjoyed playing god. He would watch as Jongin sweat, when his arms and legs were out of his control, and his eyes were shut tightly in agony. And Kyungsoo would smile his little smile. He would wait, until Jongin passed out, before he would inject the antidote. Sometimes he would let Jongin go even longer, to see just how much Jongin's body could take.

Jongin would occasionally unconsciously whimper to himself. Sometimes between screams he would mumble a breathy 'I love you' or moan a ‘never leave me’ as Kyungsoo turned away. Kyungsoo would look at him, his emotions clouded. Jongin was his puppet, and he the puppeteer. If Jongin's fever would not pass as quickly as Kyungsoo expected, he would panic. 

Sometimes, Jongin would cry, because it hurt so much. His body, so powerful and fluid yet so easily broken, lithe and abused. And Kyungsoo would comfort him.

Other times, Kyungsoo would take his anger out on Jongin. He would beat him, until he was bloody and bruised, skin darkening at the points of contact. Kyungsoo would scream at Jongin, and tell him he was worthless. After, he would sob himself to sleep, rocking Jongin back and forth in his arms. Kyungsoo would cry over how much he didn’t want Jongin to leave.

He would lose his favourite puppet, after all. His obedient, little puppet.

Kyungsoo never admitted this to himself, but his heart would do backflips if Jongin's breathing went too shallow, or his skin turned too pale. Jongin was his, and in some strange way he had feelings for the other, despite himself. They were two sides of the coin, Jongin the light to his dark, the Yang to his Yin. No one would understand their relationship; not even Kyungsoo understood it fully. Who was Jongin? His lover? Friend?

Whoever Jongin was, he was Kyungsoo's light. 

Jongin was a peculiar man. He was well endowed at least in his physical appearance, but Kyungsoo could read further into his heart. He learned quickly that Jongin was silent, and he had many shells. Kyungsoo had to peel many layers, many levels, back, before anything had first happened between them. Jongin had an emotional barrier, a verbal firewall that dripped with sarcasm, and his silence. Jongin would often spend hours sitting by the window, just staring out.

But Kyungsoo knew there was happiness in his heart, somewhere. He had to find it. And, maybe, Jongin had managed to find it in him.

Jongin was life and Kyungsoo was death. But Kyungsoo needed Jongin alive. There was something about Jongin that Kyungsoo longed for. The feathery kisses on pale skin, the whispers they shared in the dark of night.

The warmth.

Jongin was so warm. So much warmer than Kyungsoo could ever be.

Jongin stopped Kyungsoo from doing the unthinkable on many an occasion. In a sad, sick way, Kyungsoo needed Jongin; in a way that a puppet needed his puppeteer.

But Kyungsoo was no puppet.

"Who is the victim this time?" Jongin would ask, toned chest in stark contrast to white bedsheets. He would sit up, , in bed, glancing across as Kyungsoo dressed himself in his trademark black leather pants and jacket. Kyungsoo would shake his head, relaying his information across to the other.

"He's a corporate company head. Nothing fanciful, though. Just the figurehead. Spends his afternoons playing golf on a private course, which is where he will meet his demise."

"X," Jongin would growl at him, "does he deserve it?"

When Kyungsoo couldn't give a black and white answer, he would make his way back to the bed, and sit himself down, picking up the phone and dialing a number he alone had memorized and one he would never give to Jongin. His employers did not like anyone to get in the way between him and them; he was a contract killer after all. He was supposed to be devoid of emotion.

"I'm not doing it," he would whisper into the other end of the phone, "it doesn't meet my standards or level of difficulty." And then he would hang up.

Kyungsoo liked the thrill of the kill. He liked how the blood rushed to his ears and how his heart would beat faster, as he mixed his poisons into foodstuffs or poured it into swimming pools. He'd deal it in hardly traceable levels but the amounts administered would still be deadly. Sometimes, if the victim was a figure of great importance, he would let the poisonings drag out for months, and relish in the news of their demise when it was finally reported to the media.

But, not committing as many crimes was playing on Kyungsoo's mind. 

He needed pills to control his urgings when he was around other people, something he hadn't noticed until Jongin had entered his life. Sometimes the urge was too strong, and he would threaten Jongin. Jongin would give him a small smile, pull him in, ignoring the knife held between Kyungsoo's fingers, and kiss him. Sometimes violently. Sometimes with lips laced in need. And Kyungsoo would melt into Jongin's embrace, his breathing slowing and his mind calming considerably.

He thinks on this, one day, as he is pouring his favorite venom, some he had extracted himself from the parotid salivary gland of his favorite breed of snake. He thinks on this as he tips it into the bottom of a tea pot and masks its presence with already slightly damp green tea leaves. His target is Kris, a Chinese-Canadian mafia boss. It will take Kris 2.8 seconds to die after he takes a sip from his tea cup. Kyungsoo has it all planned, or so he thinks.

"Step back," a voice calls. 

Kyungsoo turns his head, his guiltiness flashing across his eyes. The man is tall, well built, and towers over Kyungsoo. He has short, dyed blonde hair and several piercings lining his lobe. He looks every bit intimidating, at least compared to Kyungsoo. Kyungsoo imagines this person must be involved in things illegal. Though not an assassin, his countenance points to a violent past. 

Kyungsoo step back, as the man steps forward and locks the door to the room behind him. He picks up the teapot, brings it up to his nose, sniffs it gently, and places it back down carefully on the coffee table.

"You were planning on killing my boss, right X?"

Kyungsoo steps back in disbelief.

"How do you know me?" he asks, alarmed.

"So you are X?" the taller asks. Kyungsoo wants to slap himself at his stupidity.

"If I said no, you wouldn't believe me, would you?" he asks in defeat. Kyungsoo presses himself down into the leather lounge, and the stranger does the same, taking a seat right next to Kyungsoo. He places an arm on Kyungsoo's shoulder and waits, and seconds later the locked door opens from the outside, and Kris is walking in with an expression on his face that Kyungsoo hates. Kyungsoo recognizes his face from the small photo that was given to him by his employers.

"I'm offering you a job," Kris states, glancing over at the teapot. 

"You're good at what you do. We could have a use for your talents."

"I don't like being used."

A gunshot sounds, and Kyungsoo cowers over in surprise. He glances across the room, and sees Kris standing there with a smirk on his face.

"That'll be Jongin next, if you don't take up my offer."

“No!” Kyungsoo screams.

Kris smirks, and there is a tug at the door once more, and Kyungsoo finds himself staring into darkened eyes. Kyungsoo does not respond quick enough, and he watches as Jongin lurches forward, and the blood pooling under his broken form. And, for once, Kyungsoo thinks that maybe he doesn’t like death as much as he used to.

Kyungsoo bows his head in defeat, a small sigh escaping his pouty lips. He lets out a small smile, before jumping up from the lounge, making a break for the window. He smashes through it, jumping off the ledge and onto the pavement below. There is a sickening thud, and as Kyungsoo's vision fades, he hears the sound of further gunshots, and a thud somewhere nearby.

Death, the final eternity.  Love, that gave him life. Both were with him, so tangible, as he drew his final breath.