It was half past eight. In a small apartment built for one, Rakkagiri found himself pinned against the locked door behind him, a hand gripping his collar, and a kiss pressed harshly to his lips.
It was violent. It was unexpected. And yet, there was something terrifyingly tender about it.
Part of him wanted to push the man, who's just a head shorter than him, away. But instead, his body betrayed him, desperate to stay in the sweetness of that suffocating kiss.
Three hours ago, Rakkagiri - the caporegime of the Liotta famiglia was suggested to kill the broker right off the bat after his deal was completed. But he insisted that there would not be a chance of that happening. The man was indeed notorious for the information that he possessed, but God knows what would happen were Rakka to plant a bullet inside his head. Blowing his brains out would bring the cops running faster than a dozen bodies in the harbor. Clean-up was a pain. Lighting his first cigarette in the pack, Rakka calculated his moves. After all, maybe just some chitter chatter for the information he needed would do.
The apartment, where their evening rendez-vous was supposed to take place, had no number. Still, Rakka managed to find just where he needed to be. After just three knocks on the door, a soft and bright voice came out:
"Door's not locked."
Still, the owner of the house came out to greet him. The first thing that struck Rakkagiri upon seeing the man, was how small he was. He probably could even pick this man up if he wanted, given how he was literally a head shorter than him.
"Welcome to my humble abode. Lose the gun, signor Rakkagiri."
Before coming into the lion's den, Rakka tried to do some digging of his own. The information broker's name was Keiseimaru, a bit over 30, and he seemed to be local - in truth, he was more like a wandering ghost. There was no definite information on where he was living, or at least, had lived, since the man was never grounded in one place it seemed. And that was the end of it. Rakka could not find any dirt on him, no matter how hard he tried. But of course - anyone who makes a living selling information ought to keep their cards close to their chest. At the dining room table, the two men locked their gazes, and Rakka quietly made his own judgment of the man. His small stature, eyes twinkling with a hint of mischief, and a mouth that never really seemed to lose its smile reminded Rakka of a cat, like those who strut confidently down the harbours, onto ships and sail away. Seeing that his business partner had no plan on drinking the whiskey he just poured him, Keiseimaru politely offered a branch of olive:
"Relax. Poisoning guests isn't really my thing. Doesn't feel very Italian, does it?"
"Oh, pardon me, I didn't mean to come up like that. I was just admiring… your place is quite cozy, might I say."
It was a bit too cozy to his liking. The house was more akin to one's vague idea of a home, with the lack of humanity in it. There were just enough plates for a family, just enough utensils, the light's temperature was well adjusted, and there even was a vase on the dining room table. It almost seemed staged, like a set up just to welcome its guests.
"So that's cozy to you? Sad to say, I cannot agree." His grin never left since the beginning. "Shoot away. What exactly do you seek from me?"
It didn't take long for Rakkagiri to get straight to the point. He wanted to know everything about the owner of a white van with the license plate 466RB, which usually went around the tourist streets where many restaurants were. At first glance, nothing seemed off - these restaurants needed daily grocery deliveries, and this van was just doing its job. However, reports have shown that this van might do just a little more than its job. Of course, Keiseimaru had almost everything Rakka needed to investigate further. With a pencil and a piece of paper, he drew out the routes for Rakka in an unexpectedly coherent way. He even went as far as to explain when these special deliveries began. Suffice to say, the notorious information broker did not disappoint.
"Got everything you need, or do I need to spell it out for you one more time?"
"This much is fine, thanks." Rakka replied, choppily, as he reached into his pocket for Keiseimaru's payment. Before he could pull out the paycheck, his hand had already stopped him in his way. As he turned his gaze towards him, the older man's grin made him freeze.
"Let's make a deal, shall we? Instead of that little piece of paper in your pocket." The broker slid himself in between Rakka's legs. "I want you."
"I'm not sure I follow." Rakka replied, trying to get away from Keiseimaru's piercing gaze. Before he could escape, Keiseimaru had forcefully grabbed his collar, pressing his lips against Rakka's stiff lips. Those lips were not waiting for anyone, anything. Despite that, his hand was already dug into the information broker's bright hair, as they threw themselves into a deep kiss.
And we are back again at eight thirty. By the time he broke away - violently, Rakka was wobbling. Feeling light-headed but not enough to stop him from wanting to repay what the information broker did, he quickly got back on his feet and stared straight ahead. But Keiseimaru was not one bit fazed. Instead, he just folded his arms, quietly observing Rakka with a smug look. Oh how badly Rakka wanted to wipe that smile off his face.
"You son of a…"
"Easy there, big boy. You're in my house now."
As he stepped forward, Keiseimaru turned the doorknob that was just behind Rakkagiri, forcing it open. The caporegime almost tumbled backwards had it not been for the hand of the information broker holding him back. With the look of someone who knew they were having the upperhand, Keiseimaru smiled:
"Scared?"
It was enough for Rakka to put aside any hesitation and or pride he had before and did the craziest, most on-instinct thing he could have done - immediately grabbing the man in front of him by the collar, forcing him into a kiss the same way he did before. It was almost laughable to Keiseimaru, knowing he taught him well with that. As they kissed, Rakka pushed him towards the bed like a twisted tango which Keiseimaru seemed more than happy to engage in. Curiously, he didn't seem all too against whatever Rakkagiri was doing to him. Lying on the bed, he waited, patiently, for Rakka to join him.
There was no turning back for him at this point.
The information broker noticed just how well Rakka's arms held him, how he kept him so close to his body even when he was under no obligation to do so. Not only did he embrace him, the man's kisses and caressing were unforgivably tender, with a hint of passion only an Italian man could possess.
As their lips locked, their hands were quick to act. Clothes fell to the floor, off of heated bodies. Keiseimaru's fingers ran across Rakkagiri's skin, feeling his well-carved out muscles, beaded with sweat on his skin.
Rakka immediately turned the information broker over on his stomach, to realize that his body was just as flexible as that of a cat. Surprised, Keiseimaru only had enough time to grab the sheets to keep himself balanced. With perfect timing, Rakkagiri managed to thrust himself in. And so they went head first into a different kind of business, each with their own scheme.
The only sounds remaining in the room were a few quiet grunting here and there, as well as the nameless echo of skin rubbing, brushing, slapping on each other. Small as he was, Keiseimaru could Though out of breath, the gaze of that literal green eyed monster was still as sharp as ever. Unfazed, Rakka grabbed his hair in response, pressing him against the bed sheets. They screamed, and shouted, at each other, curses and insults. A crude yet unusually romantic expression of hatred, one wouldn't exactly call what they were doing "love-making". But it had definitely marked the beginning of something remarkable. Something snapped in him, as they both reached their climax. Suddenly, Keiseimaru climbed atop of Rakka, to his utter surprise. As he sat atop of Rakka's crotch, Keiseimaru started to grind on him, his hand going back-and-forth. Puzzled at first, realization of what Keisei was aiming for soon dawned on Rakka. He grabbed the man's wrist, hard enough to leave red marks like a bracelet painted on his pale skin.
"That's enough." He gritted his teeth.
"That's all you've got?" Keiseimaru pursed his lips. In response, Rakka only pushed him away.
"I think I've gone mad."
"We both are."
"Let's not kill each other. How about that?"
"Yeah. I wanna see how far we can take this."
And they parted ways. Before letting Rakka go, Keisei even threw him a glare - his wrist was still red from before. Compared to that, his scratch marks on Rakka's body was nothing to the trained caporegime. Though that was not something to be proud of in particular.
As he drove back home, Rakka found himself almost laughing aloud. Admittedly, he really did think whatever the hell he just experienced was just a tiny bit humorous. Picking up the gun sitting in the passenger's seat, Rakka contemplated. He wondered, just how long would it take until he had to take this to the head of someone who resembled a court jester like him.
If there was anything Rakka could figure out from this encounter, it was that his life was about to change. Forever.