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On most nights, Earth Angel was your sanctuary. A place where you could retreat to after work and let the rest of the world spin without you having to spin with it. A place where you could drain the vertigo from your body and replace it with sweet, liquid fire while Mama lent a sympathetic ear to your complaints about family, coworkers and life’s general weariness.
Tonight would’ve been no different, if not for the fact that the small bar seemed unusually busy for this day of the week. Not to mention, loud. Too loud for your tastes. Between the clinking of glasses and the slurred laughs erupting from other patrons, you noted with some annoyance that you could barely hear yourself think.
To make things worse, the rowdiest customer by far happened to be sitting just a few spots down from you: a portly middle-aged man in an expensive-looking suit, with a voice so booming it seemed to make even the bottles clatter on their shelves. You wouldn’t think it by how drunk he already looked, but he’d actually come in just a short while ago, arm in arm with a familiar face.
Slender and tall, she was also somewhat of a regular at this place, always showing up on midweek evenings and always in the company of a different man. As cliche as it sounded, she held the sort of allure that made heads turn, with her elegant posture, her penchant for velvet dresses and the flow of glossy dark hair that framed the taper of her cheekbones and aquiline nose. A lady with just a hint of tragedy, reflected in the patch covering her left eye. Certainly the kind of woman most admirers would term a “femme fatale”, just by catching the steel of her gaze.
You’d been curious about her from the very beginning, but her entourage had always proven too intimidating for you to actually strike up a conversation. Besides, there was probably very little the two of you had in common. Her appearance suggested “well-kept escort living in the lap of luxury”, while yours was leaning more on “lonely barfly”.
Figuring you weren’t going to get much introspection done, you instead raised your eyes to sneak a glance at the couple, catching a fragment of their chat. Or, more accurately, of the man’s rambling monologue. It didn’t seem like he was going to let his date get a word in edgewise.
“So listen, doll, I could make ya the richest broad in town. Purses? I’ll get’cha a million of ‘em. Fancy bling? Ya’ll wear a different necklace every hour of the day. Shit, I’ll even put ya up in one o’ my penthouses, let’cha bathe in Dom Pérignon every night.”
As he spoke, his voice got higher and his gesticulations more zealous, like he was trying to summon the decadence he was describing out of thin air. He was also unmistakably scooting closer to her.
“Sounds like I’m screwin’ with ya, but that’s jus’ how deep these pockets run,“ he declared, extracting a crisp bill from his wallet and extending it towards her.
“And yers could too, all ya need to do is let me ‘n my boys have a taste of how deep those other juicy bits of ya go… If yer as tough a chick as ya look, then I’m sure ya can take a dozen or so guys, eh?” he leered, attempting to stuff the money rather brusquely down the front of her dress.
Ugh, this guy was the very embodiment of slimy. Though her face was partially obscured from view by his lumbering frame, you thought you saw a trace of disgust also cross the one-eyed lady’s features. She intercepted the man’s hand before it could reach her and tried to coax it back onto the bar top.
“It’s our first date, maybe we should try and take things slow…” came her surprisingly demure reply.
However, from the calming effect she likely hoped for, her words only served to incense him. The alcohol in his system was definitely not helping matters.
“Cut the shit, we both know ya ain’t no pillow princess. Yer actin’ shy now, but I know yer eager to please, gaggin’ to have yer holes stuffed. Isn't that why ya’ve been throwin’ yerself at me?”
He leaned closer to her face and you flinched involuntarily, imagining how bad his booze breath must’ve smelled. This was getting out of hand. You wanted to signal to Mama, but she seemed nowhere to be found.
The man’s hand shot up to brush the side of her head as he continued his lecherous speech.
“C'mon, don’t chicken out now. Bet a dirty minx like ya even lets men stick it in there, huh? Wonder what that feels like...”
At that, his fingers curled around the strap of her eyepatch, threatening to pull it off. Rage and panic flared in her eye as she stiffened like a taut spring, her body torn between squirming away — at the risk of losing the eyepatch — and staying frozen in place. Luckily, your mouth opened before she could make a decision.
“Back off and leave the lady alone. Can’t you tell she’s not up for whatever you’re proposing?”
You tried to put your best threatening face forward, as the drunkard whipped around and you were greeted by his scraggly moustache, concealing a furious scowl underneath. Even lower than that, though, was something far scarier: a golden pin on his lapel. Fuck, it should’ve been pretty obvious from his boasting that he was yakuza… but you couldn’t just sit there and let her take the abuse.
“Whazzat? Yer holes also itchin’ fer a poundin’? Then how ‘bout I make this a two-fer-one special, eh?”
Adrenaline surged through you and you grit your teeth in expectation of things getting physical, but he was prevented from mouthing off any further by his date laying a gentle hand on him. Seemed she was still trying to retain a semblance of composure, for everyone's sake.
“Calm down, please. I never meant to anger you. It’s just that… before we jump into other things, I want us to know more about each other...”
But nothing she could’ve said really mattered, because the next sentences, shouted loud enough to drown out all other conversations around them, already sealed his fate.
“Fuck else is there to know about ya?! Yer a whore, and a half-blind one at that, a man in a dress and a goddamn f—”
An abrupt, thunderous slam interrupted him, stunning the entire bar into silence.
“Out. ”
For a moment his beady eyes merely stared dazedly at the whisky dripping onto his lap. When he eventually gathered the courage to raise his head, he was faced with a sight no one who intended to cross Earth Angel’s threshold again should ever wish to see. Mama had both hands planted firmly on the bar top and was fixing him with a ferocious mother bear look that would make anyone shriek and curl into a ball.
“GET. OUT. NOW.”
The response was made up of an incoherent string of “uhms” and “ahs”, as the yakuza stumbled over his words, trying to salvage the situation. But even a meathead like him should’ve known that this was now beyond repair.
“Make me say it a third time and I’ll upholster these barstools with your pig hide,” one last hiss, which finally sent him scurrying out the door.
In the blink of an eye, the atmosphere loosened, deafening quiet giving way to chatter again. A couple of patrons raised a toast in honour of Mama.
“Wish you’d stop bringing these types here, Goromi-chan,” the matron sighed as she soaked up the spilled whisky. She was addressing the mysterious woman, whose expression had hardened, going from agitated to impassive. It was unclear whether "these types" referred to angry drunks or bigots, but Mama was no doubt fed up with both.
“Ain’t nowhere else I can bring’em where people won’t stare,” the lady explained, idly stirring her glass.
You noted with some surprise that she now sported a Kansai accent, quite unlike the prim Tokyo style she’d been using earlier.
“And if they stare?” Mama shot back, though by her face it was clear she already knew the answer.
“Bad for business. Jus’ how it is.”
“It’s bad for my business too. And I don’t like seeing them treat you like that. Sooner or later I’ll hear rumours about you getting killed in some alley and… fuck, I don’t think my heart would take it.”
It wasn’t often that you’d hear the owner cursing. She must’ve had a real soft spot for this girl.
“Don’t ya worry, Mama, I ain’t goin’ down that easy.”
You saw a hint of wistful amusement tug at the corners of her mouth, but before you could avert your by now quite apparent glances, she turned to face you.
“Thanks for the save, by the way. I’m used to bastards gettin’ a lil’ handsy, but they normally go for the crotch before the eyepatch, y’know?”
Well, you didn’t know… but you supposed your average creep was likelier to be horny than outright rude. You flashed her a smile and an acknowledging nod before returning to contemplating your empty glass. After almost instigating a bar fight, this seemed like the right moment to call it a night.
No sooner did you move to grab your wallet and stand up than the one-eyed lady leaned over, pulling out the seat to her right with a meaningful look. “Come join me”, being the obvious meaning. On any other night and with any other person, you would’ve graciously refused the invitation, but right now all words simply refused to leave your mouth. Something about her was different, the heat in your cheeks told you as much.
So why not... take a risk, drink with a beautiful stranger? Not like you had anywhere else to be.
You smoothed down your skirt and sat beside her, just as another round of drinks was served up for the two of you — on the house, judging by Mama’s wink. Up close, the midnight blue of your companion’s form-fitting dress looked even more radiant, contrasting sharply with the wisps of charcoal hair and her rich brown eye. Her gaze revealed a spark of curiosity which few people ever directed at you and you’d be lying if you said that didn’t make your heart skip a beat. Trying your best not to sound breathless, you offered her your name.
“Goromi,” she replied in a melodious voice that both fit her perfectly and sounded like it wasn’t her own, somehow all at once.
“Tell me, what kinda shitty job drives a gal like ya to drink on a weekday? Or rather, most weekdays?”
So she had noticed you just as much as you had her. When you didn’t respond immediately, she softened the bluntness of her question:
“Ah, that came out wrong, didn’ it?… I ain’t one to judge, really. Think ya know by now I’m just as guilty.”
As she said this, she dug into her purse, fishing out a packet of cigarettes and a small tube, the colour of sweet cherries. She offered you a smoke and then seemed undecided whether to go for one herself or touch up her lipstick. Eventually, she chose the latter, though not before giving you a light. In spite of your expectations, Goromi wasn’t the type for slim cigarettes. On the contrary, her brand was fairly strong in taste and you found you had to bite back a cough before finally speaking again.
“No offense taken. It’s true that I come here more often than I ought to, but it’s because my job is… not that savoury. Not the kind one should discuss in good company, anyway.”
Her brows shot up at this vague reveal and for a second you suspected that she had seen through your lie. That’s what it was, of course. Just a bluff, to make your life and boring desk job sound more interesting than they actually were, all in an effort to impress. How pathetic, a small voice in your head jeered, but you quickly silenced it, spurred on by an eagerness to find out more about her.
“I’m guessing you also don’t go on dates with sleazebags because you enjoy it… So, what about you?”
Goromi’s face bloomed with an indiscernible emotion as she smiled wide, instantly drawing your gaze to the deep ruby of her lips.
“Me? I’m an assassin.”
Wait, what?
A beat so quiet you could hear a pin drop, during which neither of your expressions faltered. Then, you both broke into laughter.
“Almost had me fooled there, “ you chuckled.
“What, ya think I look the part? Guess I’ll take that as a compliment!” Almost on purpose, she bared the slightest glimmer of her canines.
“Naw, I ain’t no killer… I’m quite the angel, actually,” she proclaimed, pulling her hair to one side and finally giving in to her own nicotine craving.
Angel… An angel in a devil’s skin, perhaps. And quite literally. With the dark organza of her sleeve now exposed, it became evident that it wasn’t the material itself that was decorated with swirls and petals, as it looked from afar. Instead, the pattern was etched onto her very body, a tattoo made up of dizzying whirlpools of black ink, red blossoms and coiled snakes. It completely covered her shoulders and upper arms before disappearing into the velvety dip of her neckline, where you really didn’t want her to catch you staring.
“Fitting that you’d choose this bar, then. From what I hear, angelic-type hostesses are quite popular... That’s what you actually do, right? Hostessing?” you ventured a guess.
“Yeah, somethin’ like that, ” she hummed, pausing to take a long drag of her cigarette and study the crackling ice cubes in her cocktail. When she turned to you again, her smile looked a little gloomier.
“Kinda screwed the pooch this time, though. Let’s just say, that guy’s got a big-ass tab runnin’ with my… club. And tonight was my last chance to settle it.”
“Before he skips town?”
Goromi shook her head as she tapped away the burnt ashes of her cigarette.
"I wish. ‘Fore my boss rips me a new one.”
“Will you be left to pay his debt out of pocket?”
“Naw, luckily this ain’t about money, ‘cuz there ain’t really much pocket to speak of on my end. But I’ll prolly have to pay in other ways...” she trailed off.
Hearing her words, you felt a frosty shiver pierce your heart. Turned into her boss’ fucktoy for not wanting to be that yakuza’s? Or worse? The smooth fabric of her eyepatch all of a sudden felt like less of an accessory and more of a grim reminder that Kamurocho was no gentle place. And, sadly, there was nothing you could do to change that fact.
“But hell, I'll pull through somehow,” her voice ripped you from your thoughts.
“'Always do... Sides, ya ain’t here to listen to me moanin’ ‘bout all the assholes I gotta deal with. Reckon ya’ve also met yer fair share of those, what with that unsavoury job of yers.” Her eye blinked slowly, possibly to indicate that it was meant to be a wink.
“So, to less dickheads in this world?” With a graceful lean on her elbows, Goromi raised her glass to you.
“To less dickheads,” you cheered.
Your hands brushed as the glasses clinked, distracting you enough to almost forget to take a sip. As she placed her drink back on the bar top, you watched the waves pick up some of the lipstick she’d left on the rim, scattering it to tint the clear liquid red. An intrusive thought echoed ominously against the walls of your mind: like blood in the water.
-------
Soon, late evening turned to night and to nearly midnight while you and Goromi swapped everything from favourite bands and tastes in food to old life stories. On that last topic in particular, she was a little sparse with the details, but then again so were you. You didn’t want to blow your cover, after all.
From what you did manage to glean about her, it seemed she had a younger brother who was “strong as an ox, soft as a marshmallow” and an even younger sister. She spoke about them in such fond tones that it was impossible not to also feel a warm glow blossom in your chest, which further stoked the flames of your by now undeniable crush on her.
“Y’know, she’d totally kick my ass, my lil’ sis. Job-wise, I mean. Maybe otherwise too," she laughed.
"I imagine she'd have to be a real beauty to eclipse you," you tried to tease, but manged to only fluster yourself upon realizing just how much that sounded like a sappy pick-up line. However, this didn't seem to shake Goromi, since she countered your flattery with a candid smile.
"Sure is. But she’s also got that gritty look about ‘er, the kinda eyes that tell ya she doesn’t half-ass a thing once she’s set her heart to it... Well, not that I’d ever want ‘er to follow in my footsteps, “ she mused, voice resonating with a brief drop of bitterness before returning to its normal jovial pitch.
“Still, wouldn’t mind seein’ ‘er give my boss a piece of ‘er mind at least once. Bet she’d rattle his shiny cue ball somethin’ fierce.”
She followed that quip with a giggle and you couldn’t help but laugh with her. For a fleeting moment, your forehead touched her shoulder as you drifted forward, a jolt of static dancing at the point of contact. An instant that might just as well have been frozen in time, if it wasn’t for the smoke lazily churning upwards from the ashtray. You drew back, trying not to meet your date’s — was it even a date? — eye, but quickly forgot that resolve once you felt her hand ghosting over the small of your back.
“Hey, what would’ja say to some karaoke? Ain’t nothin’ better than a good tune to chase a good drink.”
Drinks and karaoke… Sure sounded like a date now. With a nod, you let her guide you to where the karaoke machine’s dim display waited, hopefully as eager to see Goromi’s choice of song as you were.
By this point, the bar was virtually empty, save for a lone salaryman slumped over and snoozing in the corner. You figured that if your laughter and chitchat hadn’t managed to wake him, he was likely too deep in his alcohol slumber to mind the rusty singing you were about to subject him to.
Her first few picks were upbeat pop melodies, fast enough to shake off the tipsiness, but not too fast for you to fumble the words. As you eased into the more romance-y songs, you were surprised by how lyrical Goromi’s voice could get, especially on those long notes where she’d let some of her heart shine through the cracks of her playful exterior. You cheered her on as best you could, but before long she wasn’t happy with just having you sit on the sidelines.
“C’mere, darlin’, let’s sing together,” she beamed, hooking an arm around your waist once you were within reach.
Trying hard to hide your flush at the unexpected pet name and her warm touch, you squeezed in close to share the only microphone as the next song’s opening chords filled the room.
"Rouge of Love" wasn’t exactly meant to be a duet, but the two of you made it one nevertheless. Just like your top wasn't meant to be off-the-shoulder, but with every gentle sway and lean, Goromi pulled it down ever so slightly, exposing more and more skin. With her flirting this overt, it was getting harder to keep your act together.
...Though these frightened lips, won't stop quivering...
If you didn’t know better, you’d think the lyrics were poking fun at your predicament, because your own lips started to quiver just as soon as Goromi moved behind you, her breath floating over your neck with every syllable.
...I'm free, rouge hiding the doubt in me...
There was definitely no doubt as to what she was trying to do when you felt a kiss connect with your shoulder. The pause before the next verse allowed you time to process the gesture as she, too, waited patiently. If this was really happening and not merely a dream… then you were going to make the most of it.
Leaning back, you glued yourself to her form, letting your body mold to the velvet and sculpted muscles underneath. It was sufficient confirmation for Goromi. For the next minute or two, you struggled to finish the song on your own while her hands kneaded your hips and she sprinkled dozens more goosebump-inducing kisses across your skin. The innocent swaying from before had also devolved into outright, probably rather conspicuous grinding. Oh, but you just couldn’t get enough of her friction. Sinful and scalding, hands trailing lower...
“Not on my dancefloor, girls,” a gentle warning, sounding more amused than annoyed, pulled you from the fog.
Yeah, Mama was right, this was no place to be getting hot and heavy. A love hotel, on the other hand, would have been, but the desire pooling between your legs made them far too weak to bear even the short walk to the other district. One look at your mistress’ parted lips and lustful dark eye told you she was no different.
“Freshen up in the ladies’ room?” you murmured.
Fortunately, Goromi knew how to take a hint.
Face-to-face with your reflection in the tall mirror, you took a moment to admire the scatterings of carmine on your shoulders, which seemed to perfectly mimic the spots where red petals bloomed on her own skin. No wonder she had been so deliberate with her kisses.
However, a moment was just about as long as Goromi was willing to let you go untouched. She seated you hastily on the marble vanity, using a deft hand to pry your knees apart and fill the space with her body. Your mouths crashed together as she seized your waist, pulling you ever closer. It was amazing how erotic the taste of lipstick could be when you were licking it off her lips, allowing it to mingle with her own sweet, smoky flavour.
As you reached for the back of her head to deepen the kiss, her silky strands slipped through your fingers with ease and feathered over your neck and collarbones. A ticklish shiver coursed through you, which only intensified when she started pawing blindly for the hem of your top, not bothering to remove it, but just dipping underneath. There, her palm mapped a chaotic path over your flesh, ultimately coming to rest on one of your nipples. Calloused , your first thought. Calloused, but so deliciously warm, the pads of her fingers worked the delicate nub until you felt tempted to scream in delight. Which you could’ve, really, since all sounds were anyway being devoured by her lips.
Just as Goromi’s other hand found its way to the thin cotton of your panties, you broke for air. Panting soon turned to gasping when she strated tracing agonizingly slow circles over your sex and grinned against your cheek, undoubtedly enjoying how responsive you were to her teasing.
Not wanting to be outdone, you slipped your hand through the side split of her dress, clawing upwards to the firm roundness of her ass, where a quick peek revealed the edges of more dark waves. Her ink went that low? Now if only there was also a mirror behind her... But you had to shelve that thought because in the next instant, she pulled back, leaving the ache in your clit unsoothed.
“Ruinin’ the lines of a girl’s dress like this…” Goromi purred, rocking against you to make you aware of the growing bulge between her legs, which was indeed stretching the sleek velvet.
“How can I make it up to you?” Just a whisper, spoken tantalizingly close to her lips. A toothy smile offered in return ensnared you once again in her vanilla-scented magnetism.
Oh, she didn’t need to spell it out for you. Starting slow, you fondled her over the fabric, squeezing as lightly as possible. Once her breaths started mixing with heated groans, you finally bunched up her dress and closed your fist around her raw length. With a sharp moan, her hips thrust forward of their own accord, giving you precisely the reaction you were hoping for. Seemed that not even the suavest of ladies could resist the basest of carnal instincts, infectious and spreading like quicksilver through her veins, as well as yours.
You darted forward for another kiss, this time short and vicious, not sparing her the bites you hoped would show just how crazy she drove you. Goromi hissed as you strayed to her neck, the relentless nipping earning you a rough squeeze of your breast.
“Hungry one, aint’cha?”
She ghosted her way up your thigh again and resumed her rubbing, though now her agile digits toyed occasionally with your undergarments, gingerly pulling the fabric to the side and then letting it snap back.
“Just as hungry down there, I’m hopin’,” she sang.
You whimpered and screwed your eyes shut in anticipation of Goromi’s fingers breaching you, but the sensation never came. Instead, she spoke again, sultry tone laced with a dangerous edge.
“Can’t do much with these in the way, though....”
A silvery whip cut through the air — the sound of a blade being unsheathed.
Your attention snapped back to her just in time to catch the gleam of a tantō in her hands. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. How… why did she have this? All colour drained from your face as you watched her bring the weapon she’d seemingly produced out of nowhere closer to the apex of your thighs. But she stopped just short of touching you. A hand delicately cupped your cheek.
“Ain’t gonna hurt ya unless ya want me to,” she cooed.
The words were genuine, that much was evident from her gaze, whose embers of lust now shone with concern. In spite of your brain’s protests, you had to admit that your heart was hammering with more than just fear. Hell... you’d trusted her this far. You willed yourself to answer, voice more like a soft mewl.
“Do it, then.”
That was all your lover needed to hear. The cold bite of metal on your drenched folds came and went in an instant, as she cleaved your panties with an expert flick of the wrist and wasted no time plunging two fingers inside. Slowly in, swiftly out, in time with both your ragged breaths and the pumping of your hand on her cock. The pressure mounted gradually in your belly, fuelled by the wet sounds bouncing off the tiled walls and Goromi’s tantō which, still grasped in her free hand, was searing a trail along the inside of your leg. She pressed steadily, alternating between the blunt and sharp edges. Distracting, but never hard enough to actually break the skin.
Thick black hair fell like a curtain around you as she brushed your lips with hers. Her face at this very moment, with its flushed cheeks and spellbound expression, was the most beautiful sight you’d ever seen and you simply couldn’t fight the urge to have her closer. Your hand tugged desperately at her dress as you rasped out:
“Deeper…”
Goromi obliged with a chuckle, leaning over and angling her wrist to dive further into your core.
“Told ya yer a hungry one. ”
Her sinful rhythm got quicker and your heart fluttered as she ghosted over the lipstick marks left earlier, staining as many as she could a deeper, lovebite red. In return you increased the pace of your strokes, skimming your thumb over the sensitive underside of her tip with each pass, to great effect. The vibrations of her moans were like music to your ears, signalling that she was getting close. And so were you.
“Goromi, I… ahh—”
Without paying any mind to how loud your cries were by this point, you bucked into her hand, sinking deeper and deeper into the dark well of ecstasy. Dark as the encroaching midnight, dark as her lustrous eye. When she grazed your bud and stirred that particularly sweet spot within, you were sent over the edge. All of your senses heightened as your body lifted in an arch, thighs clenched around her and making the blade’s point dig viciously into your flesh. Not a moment later, Goromi’s feverish thrusts into your fist stilled and she also reached her peak with a drawn-out sigh, head thrown back in pleasure.
Quiet seconds passed as you both postponed the inevitable moment you’d have to untangle from each other. Through still hazy eyes, you watched her reach over to sink and dampen some paper towels, using them to wipe your hand and the marble underneath. The tiniest jolt of pain shot up your spine when she pressed another towel to your bleeding thigh. Bleeding? Seemed like your wish had been granted. The knife had managed to score a small cut, but hadn’t gone deep enough to do any actual damage.
Silently, she kept holding your fingers even after they were clean and you took this as an opportunity to comb through her tousled locks, rearranging the stray hairs. A tender gesture. One which caught her by surprise, judging by how she tensed before squeezing your hand in response.
Maybe not the best of times to pose it, but a question still weighed on your mind. Why did she carry a weapon around? And especially such a dangerous one. A tantō was no self-defense switchblade. So, then...
“You weren’t joking. About being an assassin.” Although there was no anger, Goromi still caught the slight tremor in your voice, bringing a guilty glint to her eye.
“Wasn’t jokin’ about not bein’ a killer either.” She drew back and moved to pick up the dagger again.
“This thing's tasted blood, sure, but it hasn’t actually… offed anyone. Ever.” As she spoke, she slid the blade between her pinched fingers, as if trying to ascertain that it really didn’t bear any indelible trace of death.
“Ya’d be surprised how little it takes to run a knucklehead outta town, if ya play yer cards right. Butter ’em up with sweet talk, then flip the coin, push the right buttons — here she twirled the knife suggestively in the air — and... they’re gone without a trace. Don’t make the work any more honest, but it keeps my boss happy ‘n my head on my shoulders, as long as he's none the wiser. “
From anyone else’s lips, the words would’ve sounded smug or arrogant, but Goromi kept a somber mien. Grave enough to tell you she truly didn’t enjoy this job and, yet, through circumstances you weren’t sure you’d ever know, had no choice but to do it.
“So, yeah, I am an assassin, but a darn lousy one.”
She stole a glance at your face, presumably to gauge the impact of her confession, but it was definitely not what she’d expected. You cleared your throat and launched a keen question:
“Can I take you to lunch one of these days?”
From the way she was staring, you'd think you had just sprouted another head. Of course, the absurdity of the situation wasn’t lost on you. You had, indeed, just asked her out, immediately after she had confirmed to you she made people disappear — one way or another — for a living and only a short while after a heated bathroom tryst. This was where any sane person would’ve crossed “get fingered by a hit-woman” off their bucket list and called it quits. But, damnit, you wanted to see her again.
“I mean it, ” you pressed on, though she still seemed hesitant.
“Not sure ya’d wanna do that. Ain’t all dolled up like this durin’ the day,” she deflected, an obvious implication behind her words. Not that they did anything to change your mind. Whatever form she might’ve taken on the outside, it was the mercurial personality on the inside that was fascinating to you.
“I ain’t one to judge.” Her own words from earlier, just with the Kansai accent sounding a little comical coming out of your mouth.
That seemed to finally restore the smile to Goromi’s lips. She finished adjusting her outfit and then helped you to your wobbly feet.
“We’ll see... For now, how ‘bout I just walk ya home? Wouldn’t want ya to get into any trouble, ‘specially with the situation under there.”
A glancing touch to your thigh reminded you of the little memento you’d have of tonight. And the underwear you’d have to replace.
“Creeps at this hour are like sharks, y’know? Good at smellin’ when there’s blood in the water...”