Agreement
Every once in a while, Yohji’s habit of womanizing got him into trouble.
He freely admitted that he was the ‘bad boy’, the rogue, among his friends. The role suited him just fine. And he liked women. Loved them. They were soft and smelled nice and could often do absolutely amazing things in bed. Some of them, however, had this unfortunate habit of wanting to go somewhere or do something before the amazingness started.
Which was why Yohji was currently at a concert listening to thousands of women screaming so loudly that he could barely even hear the music they had supposedly come to listen to. He figured this was a blessing in disguise, but wished that he had thought to bring earplugs.
His date was no exception. The evening had started off promising enough, given the dress she was wearing, with slits up the side that went nearly to her waist. Yohji was looking forward to whatever would happen once he got through this span of purgatory called a boy band.
He was one of only a handful of men in the concert hall. Some of them, who were obviously, flamboyantly, screamingly gay, were drooling over the band along with the women. Others were looking about as long-suffering as he was, and probably wondering, just like he was, how they had gotten roped into this.
The only exception was a redhead standing in the first row of the balcony, standing quietly and observing the event with the mix of amusement and condescension that was characteristic of him. Yohji spotted him about twenty minutes into the concert and did a start, automatically checking to make sure all his wires were in place, just in case Schuldig spotted him and felt like getting frisky.
“I’m going to get a soda, do you want anything?” Yohji shouted to his date, who made absolutely no response. Figuring that he had lost her, he went down several rows and elbowed his way over to the redhead. Schuldig smirked at him. “Tell me you’re here to kill one of the members of this band,” Yohji said, coming close to pleading. “Please, tell me that this concert is coming to an early close.”
“Nope,” Schuldig said.
“Damn it,” Yohji said. He paused. “Who are you here to kill, then?”
“Maybe we just like the music.”
“We? Shit, tell me you didn’t bring Farf to this thing.”
Schuldig’s smirk became a sneer. “Please. Even I’m not that stupid.”
“Then I know you’re lying, because while he’s into self-flagellation, none of your other pals would put themselves through this voluntarily. So who are you here to kill?”
“Some bitch in the audience. It’ll be half an hour before anyone even realizes she’s dead at this sort of thing. Crawford could have done this himself, but . . .”
“But he likes making you suffer.”
“Yep.”
They exchanged glances.
“Tell you what,” Schuldig said, “we might not be killing anyone in the band, but I’ll see what I can do about bringing the concert to an early close.”
“Sounds good to me. Won’t Crawford be pissed?”
Schuldig grinned. “You bet.”
“Let’s do it.”