Original Stories Fan Fiction ❯ Pistol-whipped ❯ The Suspect and the Spy ( Chapter 4 )

He played with the black beads of his rosary with one hand, turned the pages of the Bible with the other.

 

Destruction cometh; and they shall seek peace.

 

And there shall be none.

 

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Nagara Ryunosuke.

 

What a fucking mouthful.

 

To Alexander, he seemed to be an alright guy. Obviously popular, and had a `too-cool-for-school' air around him. Students walking in between classes would wave a giddy hello, girls would smile pretty smiles. Ryunosuke didn't seem phased at all by the attention he was getting, so the young agent assumed that he got it every day. The two boys, surprisingly, got along pretty well, after silently establishing a mutual respect for one another. The spy realized that befriending the popular president would be vital to his investigation. They had been walking around the large grounds all morning; Craft had been studying the boy the entire time.

 

And concluded that Nagara Ryunosuke was his number one suspect.

 

Why?

 

The uniform-clad senior turned from the building he was explaining, “You can go there any time you like,” he pointed to the top floor of the music department, “seniors don't spend much time there though, music isn't compulsory after middle school.”

 

“Gotcha,” the pair began walking to the next school feature on the list, crossing a brick courtyard that lay in the very center of the school, “You know, you're English is really good,” Alexander was having trouble getting used to the foreign language everyone spoke so fast, so it helped to hear something familiar, “is everyone else as good as you?”

 

The high achiever scoffed before he replied, “Top of the class,” the boys stopped before they had completely crossed the courtyard and he pointed his chin upwards, toward the main school building, drawing Craft's attention to the windows that lined the walls, “every class in the school has a view of this square,” he pointed to the stone monument in the middle, explaining some school history, “that was the first thing they built on this block of land, the foundation of the school.”

 

Alexander took in the strange shape of the sculpture, “What is it?”

 

“Hell if I know.”

 

They shared a short laugh and the tour went on, from kitchens and science labs to study rooms and archery club. Craft had gotten his school uniform, fitting in now with the two thousand students. He rolled up his sleeves into an overlapping bunch at his elbows, catching on quickly with the senior's trend. Ryunosuke was probably the only boy that didn't roll his sleeves up. Likely, because he was a member of the student council.

 

“So,” Alexander understood his official business there, but hey, it had been a while since he had gotten to go to a proper school, and he was deprived of adolescent conversation, “what are the chicks like here?” Nagara looked puzzled for a moment; the boys sat on a nearby bench and waited for the lunch bell to ring.

 

“Chicks?”

 

Alexander tried his best to sound fluent and natural, “Bishoujo?”

 

The other boy cracked a rare smile and laughed lightly at the pathetic attempt at his language, “You wanna know about the girls?” he leaned back against the brick wall behind them, adjusting his earphones so they didn't get scratched. Alexander nodded, “Souda?”

 

“Yeah, what are they like?” To tell the truth, Craft didn't really care, but he needed to gain trust, establish familiarity, sound interested.

 

“Most of them are sluts,” the American was taken aback by the blunt reply, and even more so when the student body president whipped out a cigarette all of a sudden and proceeded to light up.

 

Alexander watched the teen take a deep drag and blatantly revel in the tobacco, then commented, sarcasm strong in his voice, “Aren't you a good role model...”

 

“Fuck `em, they're all in class.”

 

Allrighty then.

 

Something had changed. The natural observer looked around for a hint, some explanation to his tour guide's shift in behavior; there had to be something. He eyed the windows all over the building, noticed that there was no-one in a class that could see them at this angle below cover. Not there. He searched the sports grounds for a gym class of students, perhaps someone the smoker was trying to show off to. No-one. He scanned the covered walkway some distance from their bench that connected the class building with the office.

 

Bingo.

 

Oh, snap.

 

She was hot. Impossibly full, silky, black hair billowed behind her as she walked down the concrete path, on an errand, he surmised. She clutched a few textbooks to her ample breasts and her sailor shirt inched up a little with her movements. It revealed only a small portion of the skin on her stomach, but it was good enough. He heard the clicking of her shoes on the concrete, the faint grating sound of the tiny loose rocks beneath her feet. His eyes trailed up perfectly shaped calves and his mouth watered at the smooth expanse of pure thigh that her short, short skirt offered. The pleated thing revealed more and more every time she met a puff of wind or her pace sped up.

 

The girl even gave Jennifer a run for her money.

 

Alexander kept watching her; sorry that she had to walk down such a long pathway while being so blatantly stared at by someone she had never even seen before. He couldn't help himself. He hadn't had any sex in a week, and he was fighting the urge to rub himself. Her eyes flicked towards him and he stared back, she continued walking. She didn't look at him for long though, her deep orbs rested instead on the boy next to him.

 

The agent glanced at his accomplice and his thoughts stopped dead at the look in the teen's eyes. Ryunosuke was leaning forward now, hunched over and resting his elbows on his knees. His hands hung out, loosely clasped together and with his smoke between an index and middle finger. Craft ping-ponged between the two Japanese students, their eyes in a dark dead lock. Some silent war raged between them, torrents of different emotions. Ryunosuke's black irises followed the girl's movements intently until she escaped his hold and disappeared from sight.

 

“What the fuck was that about?”

 

The Japanese boy fixed his posture and returned to his original position, leaning back against the wall, “You want this?” He held out the half-smoked cigarette, facing the burning end to himself.

 

Alexander shook his head and watched the boy flick the smoke away without a second thought, “What the hell?”

 

“Hm?” It was as if nothing had happened, Ryunosuke feigned ignorance well.

 

“Who was that? What the hell just happened?” Still no reply.

 

The lunch bell sounded around the school, interrupting the conversation. Soon after, the boys heard the shuffling of bags, the grating of chairs against the floor, the rising sound of students talking as they got out of class. Ryunosuke put his hands on his knees and got up; dusted off his black uniform pants, and stood there for a while, waiting for the new student to do the same. Craft didn't like being ignored.

 

“Who the fuck was she?”

 

Ryunosuke stayed silent. People started flooding out of the doors, the nearby basketball courts filled up with bouncing balls and tall teenagers, and the line in front of the cafeteria grew at an amazing speed. Chattering groups of friends spread out to separate destinations, heading towards all of their usual hang-outs. The student president indicated to the oval, obviously the place he intended to spend lunchtime. Alex followed when the boy started walking, clearly not willing to wait for him to get his shit together.

 

They walked side by side, shoulder to shoulder, and he noticed more than one curious glance from students. The other boy ignored them. Ryunosuke tilted his head up to regard the biologically taller American while they walked, as if he had just pulled himself from a very deep pool of thoughts. He answered solemnly, with a voice deeper than usual.

 

“Arai Naomi.”

 

 

***

 

 

Damn.

 

He flung his school bag to the floor, giving rise to a cloud of dust. He had had a shit day, and he got to come home to this. It shouldn't even be classified as an apartment. So many health and safety laws were being breached, he was sure the owners would have to knock it down and start over rather than clean the place. He just didn't have any time to make his living space decent, and he didn't care. All he needed was a bed to sleep in and a toilet to shit in. Oh, and a phone.

 

Speaking of which.

 

Alexander hadn't spoken to his girlfriend since his first call to her several days ago. He missed her more than anything, and it took everything he had not to call her back. She was still pissed, and he would just make things worse.

 

School had been rather uneventful. He wasn't able to get any new information; he still needed time to gain Ryunosuke's trust. Then there was the report of his findings that needed to be filled out and handed to Sigma, more searching of information, and more analyzing of forensics reports. Yay. Okay, so he had a little fun at school. It was honestly good to be back with people his own age, despite the language barrier. He smiled faintly to himself when he remembered his frustration at Ryunosuke and his friends saying things about him in Japanese that he didn't understand. He'd learn the language soon enough, it was expected of him. It was why he was chosen to be apart of Sigma.

 

He saw Naomi again, too.

 

Apparently, she and Ryunosuke are good friends. Alexander hadn't been able to find out much about them, hadn't made friends with the school gossips yet, but it was something he would definitely be looking into. Arai Naomi was an interesting prospect; he observed her as much as he had observed Nagara Ryunosuke. No, not because of her blistering hot body, the way her breasts bounced subtly with every step she took, the delicate way her hand raised in class when she knew the answers, the way her legs crossed at the ankles where she sat, stopping prying eyes from looking up her delicious thighs and beneath her short skirt...no. Not at all.

 

Craft shook his head and swallowed the drool. He started to undress, desperately needing a shower; it was hard to feel clean in the filthy apartment. He pulled his pants down and sighed at his erection, trying desperately to get his attention from beneath his briefs. It made him miss his girlfriend even more. It was hard being sexually deprived and having to look at Arai Naomi. But he had an excuse. He had been studying her all day, noticing the reactions she got from boys and girls alike.

 

And concluded that Arai Naomi was the number one target.

 

Why?

 

All of the victims had been very good looking. Naomi was in danger. He silently thanked himself again for not bringing his Jen with him; she would have been a target too, right up there with Arai. Now that he thought about it, the two looked very much alike. Naomi was the black-eyed, shorter, Japanese version of his girlfriend. His heart throbbed at the reminder. And his cock throbbed at the mental image of the two of them naked, fondling each other's similarly sized breasts.

 

Maybe I should call her.

 

He stood there, half naked, staring at the cheap phone as if it was the contraption that had given him the raging hard-on. He blocked out the sound of the girls moaning. He forced away the picture of his girlfriend's beautiful face buried between Naomi's beautiful thighs, cursing his overactive - and graphic - imagination. Naomi's delicate fingers were probing Jennifer's pussy, the small appendages spread the pink lips apart and dipped inside the wet heat. He shuddered. Fucking imagination.

 

He picked up the phone; needed to hear his love's sweet voice.

 

Anything to drive away the picture of her sucking on a tit.

 

He swallowed hard, sat down on the floor and leaned back against the wall. He waited for the phone to start ringing and the overseas connections to be made. One hand held the phone to his ear, the other he kept on the floor beside him, even though it was itching to grab his dick. His heart jumped when he hear her voice.

 

“Hello?”

 

He sighed into the microphone, “Jennifer.”

 

There was a long pause. Jen weighed out her options; the bastard left her, lied to her, and now she was frustrated and alone. On the other hand, the poor thing sounded desperate. She smiled lightly but furrowed her brows, looking around the apartment the young couple shared. She came to a conclusion and made herself comfortable on the edge of their bed, holding the wireless phone to her ear, “Hey baby.”

 

The kindness in her voice washed over him. This was the loving, caring, and forgiving Jen that he was head over heels for, “I miss you Jenny,” he didn't usually use her nickname, but he was feeling sensitive tonight; fuck it all if he sounded like a pansy, “I'm so sorry...”

 

Her eyes softened and she adjusted the towel around her before it slipped off, “It's ok,” she was in a good mood and had just had a nice relaxing bath, she didn't want to argue with him, “So what's it like there?” She flicked the wet mass of hair behind her neck and lay down on his side of the bed to get more comfortable.

 

He leered at his surroundings, “I live in a shit hole,” a crashing sound came from the alleyway nearby, the sound of breaking glass, “they really cheaped out on me with this one” She giggled lightly, “Hey, have some sympathy.”

 

Jennifer sighed and closed her pale green eyes, silently enjoying the familiar rumble of his voice, “Tell me more”, anything to keep you talking.

 

“Went to school today,” he felt like a little kid again, telling his mommy about his finger paintings, “It's not all bad there”, he had lost count of the number of times the wind had picked up a skirt and flashed panties.

 

Jen scoffed, “Yeah right,” she had seen one too many anime shows; “You just love their schoolgirl uniforms!” She laughed at his exaggerated gasp, the feigned reaction to the attack on his honor.

 

“Pfft,” she kept laughing, “Oh, come on! I can't help it!” The laughter grew in volume, “Do you know how short those damn skirts are!?” She was cackling now at his pitiful attempt to justify his perverted ways, “They show so much, it's not even fair.” His voice spoke of indignation but his eyes sparkled with mirth. He had his Jen back.

 

She had finally caught her breath and her giggling died down, “So what else did you do, aside from staring at short skirts all day?” She smiled when she heard him grumble, something about `Can't fucking help it' and `They make them even shorter than they already are'.

 

He sighed and abandoned his half-hearted tirade, “I've got a suspect,” he'd rather not talk about his work related topics, but he felt he needed to tell her everything, “the students don't seem that worried about the whole deal. It's disturbing.”

 

She touched her nose in thought, “Maybe it hasn't sunk in yet?”

 

He smiled at her through the phone, her voice always the one of reason, “It's still messed up, Jen,” his face was serious again; “girls have been dying.” They were quiet for a while, the gravity of the situation sinking in once again. Alexander stretched his legs out on the floor, cringing at the feel of dirt on his bare skin. “Anyway, I don't wanna talk about it.”

 

She smiled, despite the pity she felt for him. She decided it was her job to make him feel better; she asked, in a playful tone, “What do you want to talk about?” She heard his low moan and felt the vibrations from the earpiece through her entire body.

 

This is more like it. His hard-on came back with a vengeance, pushing up against his briefs and pushing filthy, filthy thoughts into his mind, “I want to talk about how you would look in one of those skirts;” Jennifer was in the schoolgirl outfit in his imagination now, bending over... “A really fucking short one...”

 

She hated to admit it, but the thought was turning her on... “But then my panties would show,” her little schoolgirl voice was wreaking havoc on his nervous system, “I guess I could wear a thong instead...” she heard him start to pant, the puffs of air distorted through the microphone, she liked the power she had over him. She used it. “What do you think about that idea? Hm?”

 

He only whimpered in response.

 

“You like that?” Another foggy puff of air came from his mouth and went into her ear; she could almost feel the warmth of his breath... “I don't like that idea so much...” her tone got more mischievous as he got more worked up, and she could only imagine what he was doing to himself when she said in a husky voice; “I'd rather wear nothing underneath.”

 

He let out a long groan, his hand finally seizing his painful erection. Damn, the girl could play. “Where are you? What are you doing?” He tightened his grip on himself to help control his voice somehow, “What are you wearing?”

 

She giggled softly and replied in an effortlessly sexy voice, “I'm on your bed...I'm in a towel...” she trailed off, ready to leave the rest to his imagination.

 

“Mmm...” he could be really dense sometimes, though.

 

“I'm touching myself, Alex.”

 

He tried his best to play cool, not let her words affect him, “Yeah?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

Time for Alexander to play. “Does it feel good?”

 

She mewed in response, turned on by his sudden confidence and control of the situation. She had slipped the towel down, let it fall below her breasts, and she was palming the soft globes with both hands. She had the phone wedged between her ear and her shoulder. “Yes...it feels good...”

 

“Do something for me?”

 

She squeezed hard, imagining the feel of the callousness of his hands, picturing his naked body on top of her own, “Hm...?”

 

“Get rid of that towel.”

 

The authority in his voice and the strength of the command had her unwrapping herself from the fluffy thing, tossing it to the side and lying open on the bed, completely naked. “Done.” She got comfortable again and her hands crept up to their previous position on her chest.

 

“Good.” She heard shuffling on the other end as he removed his underwear, putting them under his ass so he wouldn't be sitting in dust. Once his dick was free, he gripped the base. She heard him groan as he pulled his hand up slowly, squeezing pre-cum from the tip. “Pinch those nipples for me baby,” she moaned and complied; manipulating herself the way he usually did, “Do you know what I'm thinking about?”

 

“No...” was her breathless reply.

 

He chuckled darkly, his hand shaking at the pressure it was exerting on his rod, “I'm thinking how easy it would be to fuck you in one of those skirts,” he swallowed hard when he heard her whimper, but he continued to share his fantasy with her, “All I need to do is slide that thing up your sweet hips...fuck,” he pictured her in front of him, straddling his lap where he was sitting, “I can smell you.”

 

She slid one hand down to her neglected core. She gathered the cream that had been dripping out of her and smeared it around her clit, “Can you taste me?” she breathed into his ear, sending his imagination into overdrive, “I want you to eat me...let me ride your sexy face,”

 

He could taste her on his tongue; it was so real, so rich. She had stood up over his head and lowered her dripping cunt onto his waiting mouth. His hand was pumping furiously by now, the muscles on his arm straining at the pace. “You're always so wet,” he used his practically endless supply of pre-cum to lubricate his hand, “How do you get so fucking wet?”

 

The impossibly deep rumble of his voice coursed through her and vibrated against her most sensitive areas. Her fingers were inside her, lancing in and out as fast as she could go. “Alex...”

 

“Jen...” He pulled her from his face and impaled her on his lap, growling at the sensation. “I'm gonna fuck you so hard,” her panting, whimpers and moans spurred him on, urged his hand to go faster and his balls to tighten, “I'm gonna blow, baby...”

 

“Blow it all over me,” she knew he was close, she could feel it. The slapping sound of his hand made it to her ears and encouraged her even more, her fingers went faster, three of them moving into her channel, making sloshing sounds of their own. “Let it go, boy,” the image of his sweaty, chiseled chest beneath her hands, his thick manhood in his fist, sent her flying over the edge, “Cum with me,”

 

She lowered the phone until it was centimeters from her pussy, and the sound of her fingers squelching in and out of her soaking cunt made its way loud and clear to his ears. He could have screamed. He was so close...So. Fucking. Close... “Push me over the edge baby,” he whimpered into her ear, “You're the only one that can do it,” his chest heaved and his heart thundered as his body prepared for the onslaught of orgasm. Jennifer's suddenly harsh voice pierced his ears like a javelin.

 

“Maybe you should have thought of that before you left.”

 

And then she hung up.

 

The sound of the beeping phone rang in his head, his hand cut short over his quivering member. Veins ran along the desperate organ, traces of semen oozed from the red tip. He tried to calm his breathing, tried to slow his heart, tried to move, tried to blink. His stomach convulsed as if in reprimand of its stolen ecstasy, and he immediately felt sick. He felt like he had been kicked square in the balls. Everything had just cut off, as if he had imploded rather than exploded. He fought the urge to vomit, a sickening feeling in place of the euphoria that had been snatched away.

 

He fought the urge to reach for his gun.

 

He regained some sense of thinking, and realized what had happened. He stood on shaky legs, dirt from the floor smeared on his naked skin. He hand still quivered, fatigue slipping into his muscles rather than the burst of energy he got from a release. He thought about continuing what he hadn't finished, but he touched himself and immediately felt sore. He whispered into the trashed apartment;

 

“Mother fuck.”

 

Bitch.

 

Bitch.

 

 

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To be continued...