Mr & Mr Hitman

Feelings

Groaning in annoyance at his still hard dick, Samuel took deep slow breaths in the shower, letting the warm water cool his head, while he hoped for his joystick to settle down.

"Hey, you okay in there?", Cameron yelled from the living room, "I beg of you, don't use my face as reference."

"Shut up!", Sam grunted, snatching his vanilla body wash to clean himself, mumbling profanities.

Chuckling, Cameron got up and moved to the bedroom, browsing through Samuel's wardrobe to pick out an outfit for him, "Is the universe trying to tell us something?", he whispered, referring to their interruption earlier.

As things were getting hot, hearts beating rapidly with twitching spines, Samuel's phone rang. They ignored it once, twice, thrice even, but on the fourth vibration, the mood had turned from sexual to irritation - safe to say their priority had shifted from wanting to hear each other moan to shutting whoever was interrupting their sweet time.

Who was Priscilla, calling them to her apartment to discuss the matters concerning her ex.

"It has nothing to do with us," Samuel naked chest with his boxers, argued stepping out of the showers, "I don't give a flying fuck if she kills her, burns her wedding or decides to go back to her," he threw himself face first on his bed, which Cameron had tidied up already, "I'm trying to take care of my own relationship why are others ruining it."

"Get off the bed you prick," Cameron turned back, looking down at his lover. Noticing no movement nor answer, he approached him, shaking him slightly, "I just made it, come on," he took a step back, staring down at him, "You know what you just said is right."

Jumping up straight, Samuel sat cross-legged, "You see?", he puckered his lower lip, "Let's leave her to herself."

"No," Cameron shook his head, throwing a pair of sweatpants with a shirt to the other man, "You were the one who got us involved."

"She was the one who decided to write herself into our story," he grumbled, dressing himself.

"How about we stop talking behind people's back and actually just go down and get the matter done and over with," the hazel eyes bearing man suggested, leaning by the door frame, "I never knew you were so fake, did I make a mistake falling in love with you?", he whispered once Samuel was out.

It was apparent from his dazed eyes, numerous sighs, slouched position and crossed arms that Samuel didn't want to be here. His head was leaned onto Cameron's shoulder, the latter sat just beside him, possibly the only reason he was in the Australian's living room in the first place.

"Look I know you're a dickhead, but you could at least pretend that you don't actually want to die instead of being here," Priscilla walked from her kitchen, a tray of hot steaming coffee and hot chocolate in her hands, "I'm not that bad, am I?", she glanced sympathetically at Olivia, who shook her head smiling.

"Of course not," Cameron chuckled, "You said it yourself, he's the unpleasant one," he nodded to the hot chocolate he was offered.

"Let's keep this childish charade for another time," Olivia leaned back in her seat, "May I know why we were called to meet up here?"

"I've decided," she breathed, "to leave her wedding alone and to let Candace go," Priscilla sighed, replying almost immediately. The indifferent stares that her guests gave her made her pity herself at the lack of reliance they showed in her capabilities.

"I knew it," Samuel gulped down his coffee, "It's not like you'll be the one in danger."

"Elaborate," Olivia instructed, to which Cameron obliged.

"Let's say Candace does come forward to whoever, that Priscilla had a history of hits," he started, "Hypothetically, it would put the organization that employed Priscilla, their managers, other hitmen, her ex clients and a lot more connections to them in a red light," he looked up at the crowd in front of him, "Candace wouldn't come out alive in any circumstances."

"Well, I sure didn't think of it that way," Priscilla reminisced.

She had dreamt about Candace the night prior; how her blond hair lit Priscilla's heart up like the fiery passion that she had cultivated for her; the ecstasy they both shared to each other, engulfing in devious pleasure each time they were alone; the warmth that their arms offered, like a shield - a protection to whatever, or whoever wanted to destroy their bond.

But in that dream, caught in her own fantasy, she had forgotten that the dagger that would plant her back, would be stricken by none other than her beloved; the one she trusted the most - her protector.

Waking up in a sweat with tears in her eyes, it was the only time she wished she was wrong. She didn't want to face the truth. Sure, in front of crowds, she would say things,

"I have to kill her."

But no one apart from herself knew she was incapable of doing so, for she loved that wretched woman too much.

Reflecting on her choices, she stared blankly at Olivia.

The mother had been through the same crisis, if not worst. Yet, how was she able to keep up her spirits like that? Perhaps family? Perhaps her little ball of treasure none other than her son?

Moving from her grin up to her eyes, Priscilla understood, by the puffy, darken eyelids of the heartbroken damsel, that there was much more to the naked glance than she could imagine, and that sole fact, although if it rendered her selfish, made her smile.

At least I'm not alone.