The Fatima Curse

The waiter brought Uri another whiskey, and waited as the man searched through his wallet for the proper tip. As he handed a few ones to the man, he caught Shu’s eye, who looked away from Uri with a rather broad display of malcontent. Uri kept peering into the black slit of his wallet, searching the bills and finding a rather healthy stack of ones and fives; but absolutely no fifty dollar bill. Did I actually give that guy a fifty? I didn’t even look at what I was doing. It was almost as though I were… floating in some strange, wonderful place where all thought no longer existed. Yes, and all it had cost him was his professional integrity and fifty bucks.



“I suppose I lost control of myself,” Uri spoke up, raising his eyes up to Shu to watch for a reaction. But the young man remained in his same position, faced away from Uri, cigarette smoldering between two fingers, free hand drumming on the arm rest of his chair. “It’s very unlike me,” Uri continued, “To lose my head that way. On over three hundred missions I’ve never once… behaved that way.”



“There’s a first time for everything,” Shu said, a little brusquely, “You know, two days ago I farted and sneezed for the first time. You gotta try it all.” Shu looked to Uri, and his smile was small but genuine, and Uri felt the stone that had been resting on his heart roll away, returning the smile easily. “I’ll have to find that boy later and get my fifty back from him,” Uri stated, “I’m not cheap, of course, but there are certain services one performs for fifty dollars, and none of them happened on that stage.”



“Yeah, for fifty bucks he better shake his ass and change the oil in the Shitmobile.”



Uri laughed, his stomach still cramping from his earlier bout as he wiped a few tears from his dark cheeks. When his eyes were clear and focused, he placed them on the man they had come to see, who was standing with a group of well-dressed businessmen, all drunk and lecherous, who were laughing and talking a little too loud. Uri leaned over to Shu, his breath mildly scented with the liquor he’d been drinking; not in a foul way, but in a pleasurable, mildly sweet way that made Shu’s chest tighten. “One of us needs to get close to him.” Uri’s warm hand rested on the back of Shu’s neck absently, the touch exciting the slim Asian into shivers. “Keep on him and make sure he’s accounted for. It’d be easy for him to sense something’s amiss and simply flee, and we’d find out about it just in time to learn he’s on a plane to Singapore.”



“Which one of us?”



“I’m not really his type, Shuuichi. He likes his men young, firm and slender. So you’ll have to do.”



“Man, how come this shit always happens? We get a mission and you get to make out with a stripper, while I’m stuck suckin’ face with Shamu. Jeez.” Shu sighed and took a hectic puff of his cigarette, blowing the smoke out in a harsh burst of air as his curved eyes moved to John Fletcher, his face contorting with disgust as he saw the folds of fat beneath his work shirt.



“I didn’t know weight was an issue with you, Shu.”



Shu thought of the pictures he had seen earlier. Smiling, pretty little girls with nothing but hope and light shining in their innocent eyes. He felt his own eyes grow hot and wet, and shook his head. “That doesn’t bug me.”



Uri nodded with understanding. While pity was not something he usually allowed to touch his heart, opening that folder and seeing those girls had caused his own eyes to burn and throb with tears. He wasn’t sure if this time, he would be able to keep himself from watching the life depart from his victim’s eyes. It would give him great and selfish satisfaction to see the bastard choke on his own blood, and slowly succumb to the eternal darkness of death.



Uri pushed this away. Thinking that way would be dangerous. Were he to allow pity and anger berth in his soul, he would be nothing but a colossal failure. After all, the teachings were clear, and Uri had always been a man who played by the rules. But this John Fletcher didn’t play by the rules when he raped and slaughtered those little girls. And in death, he’ll get off far easier than he deserves. What justice is there in following these rules?



“About those little girls,” Shu whispered, and his voice was weak and soft, almost incomprehensible as a trembling hand led his cigarette to his mouth and trembling lips closed around the filter.



“It’s best we not discuss that here,” Uri returned just as softly, “And it’s not something you should dwell on. If you want some kind of vengeance for them, Endo Shuuichi, you do your job and do it well.”



Wasn’t that what his life had become? An endless string of jobs to do. A continuous nightmare of lives to snuff out like meaningless campfires. Since the age of seven he had been donning his same old clothes and rhetoric, breaking out into the chilly night to lay claim to a life he no more had the right to steal than he had the right to give. And if there were a God, something Shu had given up on long ago, just where was his soul headed when he died? Would God forgive him, merely because his paycheck decreed his line of work was acceptable?



“Yeah.” Shu said this word with little strength, and then swallowed and repeated. “Yeah, I know.”



“You go ahead and saunter over there, and I’m going to go find that kid and wrestle my fifty dollars back,” Uri explained, “Meet me back here in forty-five minutes, Shuuichi, no more and no less.”



Shu rolled his eyes. “You mean I gotta go over there now to wag my dick for Jumbo, and you’re gonna go mud wrestle a hundred and thirty pound blonde for a fifty? Isn’t that just life.”



Uri smiled. He wanted to tell Shu that life wasn’t fair, but when he looked into the red and hollow eyes of his friend, he could see that that lesson had already been learned.

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Leon was standing in front of a full-length mirror, pretending to admire himself in its reflective surface, but really just thinking of that dark and rather mysterious man that had kissed him squarely and eagerly on the mouth. Thin, delicate fingers wandered to his own lips, touching the plump, glossed flesh and feeling the heat of the man’s kiss lingering there still. Leon’s body shimmered in a light sheen of sweat, sparking with glitter as he rubbed some across his porcelain flesh to entice the next batch of drunken hooligans. Men were no different, even when their tastes were towards the same sex. They were still willing to sell their first born child for a touch of hot, damp skin.



They’re not all that way, I guess. Uriel was a nice find in this shithole, after all. He’s got a lot of potential. For what, Leon wasn’t sure. Perhaps for nothing more than a good, slow fuck. But Leon would certainly accept that. What little he had seen of Uri’s body had been remarkable. He wanted at least a little taste.



There was a knock at his door, Leon sighed and pulled on his robe, tying it loosely at the waist and picking up his blonde hair from beneath the collar to cascade down his back in a thick wave. He walked to the door and opened it barely an inch, peeking one emerald eye out to examine who had disturbed him. “Yeah, what is it?”



“Someone wants to see you,” the bouncer said, his voice thick with years of chain smoking. “Some guy named Ariel.”



“Uriel,” a voice just as deep as the bouncer’s corrected, only his more honeyed and smooth.



“Let him in,” Leon said, stepping back from the door and trying to place himself in an erotic, lascivious pose. He leaned his bottom against the edge of his small, cluttered table, pulling the loose knot of his robe to reveal more of his luscious, pale body, tossing his curtain of blonde hair trailing over the curve of one shoulder. His robe slid off of this, revealing glimpses of glittering, damp flesh coated with a spill of honey-blonde locks. He smiled playfully, and felt this grow as the door opened and Uri entered.



Uri stopped dead in his track, slowly and lethargically dragging his eyes up Leon’s body, starting with the painted nails of his toes, and ending at his halo of free-falling flaxen hair. His stomach tightened dangerously, his dark brown skin pebbling with sensations of want and need as he looked deep into Leon’s sparkling jade eyes. “What brings you here?,” Leon asked, his voice smoky and deep as he traced his tongue out to moisten his pouty lower lip. “I mean… what can I do for you Uriel?”



Uri had to close his eyes to realign himself to reality. But Leon’s smell was everywhere, pervading the small, sunshiny room with the aroma of clean, musky sweat and a sweet, rather intoxicating perfume. Uri felt his heart begin to pound, his knees trembling weakly as he tried to catch his breath in the cocoon of sweetness. “I came…” Uri couldn’t seem to remember just why he had come to this man’s room; just why he had placed this delicate mission in Shuuichi’s hands so he could come here and fantasize in a warm, overbearing atmosphere. “…For my money.”



“Your money?,” Leon questioned, “I hate to break it to you, sweetheart, but you gave me that money fair and square.”



“I didn’t mean to give you so much,” Uri countered, and now that the conversation had seemed to normalize, Uri could open his eyes and meet Leon’s without succumbing to his sexual charms. “I’ll gladly pay you in return for your entertainment, but I’m afraid I have to ask for that money back.”



Leon smiled and swayed his body closer, pressing against Uri and staring up into his dark face with wide, enraptured eyes. “Are you gonna manhandle me for it?,” he asked almost innocently, with a bat of his lush, curled eyelashes. “I don’t mind if you wanna get a little… rough with me.” Uri swallowed through a throat much too tight, feeling his crotch grow, his mind unable to communicate to the rest of his body that he didn’t have time to get aroused by this flexible, lithe, pretty man. “I don’t want to get rough with you,” Uri almost sighed, “I just want my money back so me and my friend can get out of here.”



“But you haven’t even seen the Champagne Room,” Leon urged, curling his fingers into the collar of Uri’s shirt and bringing the tall, broad man down to graze their lips. “You seemed to interested earlier…,” Leon breathed, nose rubbing with Uri’s as he breathed across the Arabian’s plump lips. “Don’t you want to kiss me again, Uriel?”



Uri almost did. He had to restrain himself with the strongest of wills to keep from unceremoniously smashing their mouths together and plunging his tongue in and out of that sweet mouth like a bee into a flower. He pulled back, straightening and guiding Leon’s hands away from his shirt. “What is it going to take for me to get my money back?,” Uri asked, almost daring Leon with his icy eyes. “What do I have to do?”



“Humor me,” Leon cooed, “Let me put on a show for you in the Champagne Room, and if what you see isn’t worth fifty bucks… I’ll give you your money back, no harm, no foul.”



“Alright. Fine.”

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“Sit there.” Leon instructed with the slender point of one finger. The ring on this digit glimmered beneath the shaded chandelier, ruby red and blazing. The entire room was red, layered with thick curtains that kept in the shadows and bounced around the gleaming yellow light. There was one chair sitting by a mahogany table, an overstuffed chair made of what appeared to be velvet.



Sitting on the table, in a bucket of ice, was a bottle of champagne.



Uri smiled at the title of this room, that was really nothing more than a curtained section that ran a few feet, by a few more feet. Uri walked to where he was instructed, taking a seat in the chair and reaching for the champagne as soon as he sat down. He looked to Leon, almost for permission, and the blonde nodded. He too was dressed in red, a sheer and bejeweled crimson wrap that hid his greatest assets, bare enough to arouse Uri’s interest.



“Where are you going to sit?,” Uri asked, his eyes leaving Uri as he popped the cork of the champagne and allowed the bucket to drink up the spray of foam that ejected from the mouth. He filled two glasses with the sparkling liquid, re-corking the bottle and sticking it back inside the ice cavity. Leon walked closer as all of this occurred, taking a seat on Uri’s thigh and pressing his small body against the broad, muscular chest of the dark man. “Best seat in the house,” Leon purred, “You don’t mind do you?”



Uri picked up one glass and led it to Leon’s plump, juicy lips, tipping it a bit for the young man to take a sip, and then coming forward to trace his tongue across the tender flesh to gather the alcohol’s flavor. “No.” Leon smiled, lowering the side of the sheer shawl he had draped across him to show the pale, lightly freckled curve of one pale shoulder. Uri looked questioningly into the dancer’s emerald eyes, Leon’s smile departing for something more sexual as he took the glass and lightly dribbled a stream of champagne across his smooth shoulder.



Uri licked his lips, moving his head hesitantly and slowly tracing his tongue up Leon’s bicep and to the nape of his neck. Leon shuddered beneath Uriel’s tongue, allowing the man to suck on his neck and bruise the delicate skin as he worked his knowledgeable hips atop him and grinding his firm bottom down into Uri’s lap. “That feels nice,” Leon whispered huskily, “But if you keep doing that I’m not gonna be able to earn your money. I’ll owe you more.” Uri bit down, not roughly, and not softly; it was the perfect pressure to make Leon gasp and then follow after with a slow, monotonous moan. “Uriel… Uriel.” Leon tried the name on his lips, tasted it and found it delicious. “Here. Let me do something for you.” Leon slipped to the floor between Uri’s legs staring up at him intently with his burning eyes. “Close your eyes and relax,” Leon whispered.



Uri did as he was bidden, sighing out deeply. He didn’t fight Leon as the buckle of his belt was undone and the leather strap pulled free. He didn’t fight as he felt the button of his jeans popped free and the zipper slid down. And he didn’t fight as the fly of his boxers was invaded with a delicate hand and chilly fingers gripped his shaft. He winced as a hot rush of blood stiffened this in Leon’s fist, his breath coming out jagged and pieced. “What’re you…”



“I have to earn my money. You thought I brought you here for a lap dance, huh? Consider this V.I.P. treatment.” Leon grinned as he watched Uri’s beautiful face, so stony and reserved, twist and then melt with sexual acceptance, his lips gaping to release a flood of hot breath as Leon’s own filtered against the slowly leaking head. “Mmm, Uriel. You’re getting hard for me.”



“W-when men touch my cock… they should call me Uri.”



Leon circled his tongue experimentally across the tip of Uri’s cock, before he wrapped his lips around it and began to suck gently, pulling the thin membrane of pre-come into his mouth and swallowing it down with a soothing moan. Uri’s body convulsed gently with the sensation, his eyes opening to watch Leon. It had been a long time since a man had pleasured him this way. Four years, Uri’s mind informed, a bit crudely, And Shu wonders why you’re so uptight all the time. Let him go four years without a blowjob and see how he acts. But the thought of Endo Shuuichi going even two days without sexual favors boggled Uriel’s mind. Uri reached a hand down, sculpting his palm to the curve of Leon’s scalp and guiding him down to surround his thick, pumping cock with his slick mouth. Leon groaned as he swallowed Uri to the hilt, fluttering his eyes up beneath heavy lids to watch Uri closely.



“Feels good,” Uri hummed, rolling his head back across the velvet back of the chair, mussing up his dark hair into tangles and cowlicks as he folded his lips up and bit them gently to channel the pleasure that raced through his body. Leon moved one hand up with stealthy aim, pinching up a dark brown nipple and tweaking the bud lightly, forcing Uri to free his lips and bellow an almost pained moan to their heating air. Leon pulled back from Uri’s cock, a line of pre-come and saliva connected his bottom lip to the reddened, throbbing head as he gagged with the absence of the length down his throat. “That’s not worth fifty bucks, huh?,” Leon rasped.



“No,” Uri agreed, looking down and blushing gently with the sight of all of his nine inches soaked in spit and leaking so freely. He couldn’t remember a time when he had wanted a body so terribly; when he had wanted nothing more than to purely and primally fuck someone until they screamed for him and begged him to stop.



Leon saw this need in Uri’s captivating blue eyes, his own emerald shying away as he blushed to the roots of his blonde hair. He took a stand, dropping his shawl to the floor in a crimson puddle and tracing his fingers across his glittering body. He moved forward, straddling Uri’s lap and gasping softly as his cock jumped up and landed against the curve of his ass. “Okay,” Leon purred, and his eyes glimmered in the overhead light, his hand reaching down between his spread thighs to take a firm grasp of Uri’s swollen cock. “How ‘bout this?”



Uri moaned as Leon led him inside.

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Shu was sitting at the bar, drumming his fingers across the smooth surface and listening to John drone on and on about paperwork and filing and who had said what, and who had done what. Everything went in one ear and out the other as Shu stared listlessly at the wall. He pulled out his pack of cigarettes, slipping one free and lighting it up.



“You smoke Camels, huh?”



Shu nodded through the swirling cloud of mist that circled his head.



“Smoking’s bad for you, you know.”



“No, I didn’t know that,” Shu replied dryly, “I was pretty sure it got me a gold ticket to see God.” He smiled as he puffed from his cigarette, blowing rings into the air that slowly filtered up to the ceiling and then broke apart. “Says right here on the side,” Shu said, turning his pack over and reading the Surgeon General’s Warning: “Smoking By Pregnant Women May Lead to Low Birth Weight, Result In Fetal Injury, and Premature Birth.” He contemplated. “So I guess I’m good.”



One pudgy hand reached out, snatching Shu’s cigarette from his hand and mashing it out in the crystal ashtray that sat between them. Shu, for a moment, was so bewildered that he couldn’t even find the words to say. His slanted eyes were perfect circles as they moved to John Fletcher’s bloated, flushed face. “It’s not good for you. You need to quit. After all, you’re such a beautiful kid, you shouldn’t ruin yourself.”



“I’m not a kid,” Shu defended, feeling like he was as he fidgeted on his seat. “And I’m not worried about stuff not being good for me, alright? Stop messing with my smokes.”



“I’m just looking out for your best interest.”



You sit in here every day drinking bourbon and dark whiskey and vodka, and you’re worried about a little smoke? You condescending, patronizing, hypocritical, fat sack of shit. Shu could feel his hands shaking with rage, unbridled and unrefined. He took in a deep breath, and then let it out. But it wasn’t filled with nicotine, so his nerves still shook and rattled. “Thanks for your concern, I guess, but I’ll be okay.”



“Well, I was hoping we could spend more time together, actually. And I would prefer you not smoke around me, Shuuichi.” The American man murdered his name, and he winced with both the offer, and the gruesome slaughter of his three syllable name. “Oh, yeah? Well, I can’t give it up, not even for you. So it’s either take me as I am, or sayonara.” Shu turned to John, his eyes dark and flashing. “That means goodbye. Y’know, somma that Japynese.”



John, in his inebriated state, found this quite hilarious, and missed the comment’s cynical bite. He clapped Shu on the back roughly, jostling the slim man on his barstool and shaking his teeth in his skull. “Well, I guess I can get over it, then. If it means I can spend a little more time with you.” A red flag went up as one fat hand wandered to his lap and lightly fondled his cock. Shu gasped and gritted his teeth, and right when he felt he would snap and punch this man squarely in his flabby jaw, he imagined something. Something startling, something warm, something that blew his mind and left him feeling vulnerable and open.



It’s Uriel’s hand. It’s Uriel touching you this way; wanting you this way. Uri putting his hands on you and begging for you to be his. That’s all it is, Shuuichi. Shu relaxed beneath John’s touch, and when Uri’s deep voice floated against his ear, he held back a moan, sure that his imagination was merely playing tricks on him. “Shuuichi, it’s time to head back.”



Shu snapped back to reality, realizing that he had, somehow, daydreamed himself into John Fletcher’s departure. The man was now across the room, talking loudly and aggressively with the same men from before. Uri’s smell was intoxicating. Perfume, sweat, the smell of sex. Shu’s heart shattered and fell. But for some reason, he took this well. He took it the way the ancient men of long ago must have taken the slow and tedious buildings of the pyramids. One stone at a time, for eternity, it seemed. And no matter how tedious and toiling it was, they had kept on going. And so too, would he.



“Yeah, let’s beat it. McFatty touched my cigs.”



“Damn. He must be looking to die. Tonight.”



Shu stood, and when his foot tangled in his stool and he fell into Uri’s arms, the smell was all over him. That sweet and musky scent that was the smell of Uri’s sex, and the smell of the other. But not him. And as Shu turned his dark, deep eyes up to Uri, and the taller man looked down intently into the wounded orbs, he could see that perhaps that it never would be his smell. And again, he took this with the same resolve as a man forced to labor. For even when a man was free, he was never really free.



He lived life as though imprisoned. Imprisoning himself, truly, in the hope that promised freedom held. “Let’s go,” Shu whispered, turning from Uri quickly to snatch his smokes and jam the pack and his lighter down into his denim pocket. “This place is pissing me off.”



“Yeah,” Uri agreed, turning a bit to catch the stare of two playful, half-lidded emerald eyes peering at him around a satin red curtain. “Let’s go.”