Prompt: Crossover: D.Gray-man/Baccano! - Tyki Mick/Rachel - trading favors - black and white and re(a)d all over Word count: 465
A/N: I'm so sorry, I just could not get porn to work. I wanted to!
It was a cold day; that was what she remembered most.
Cold enough for her breath to plume on the air, and for her to--not shiver, because movement drew attention--but with draw further into her corner, brick scraping her back.
The sky was low and full of dark burly clouds, the air full of tension; like the slightest movement might cause enough friction to spit sparks. She was expecting him, but she wasn't expecting him--a man in evening clothes, the Director had said polite but full of warning. Be very careful.
She wasn't expecting the intensity of his face, or his eyes, or the way he tipped his hat and had a faint English accent. He bowed to her and she did not offer her hand.
"I heard you had something for the Director," she said guardedly.
"I heard that you had something for me," he returned too quietly, his eyes gleaming in the dimness of the alley. She shook her head, confused, and he smiled like a tiger, all teeth and gleaming eyes.
Vino, she thought when she saw the smile, unable to resist the thought, and it made her shudder with a thrill of terror.
She could stop glancing at him, even though she wouldn't meet his eyes, even as she disagreed. "Your piece first," she said, and he handed her a small, well-wrapped box with a magician's flourish of wrist.
She took it and pushed it into her satchel, deliberately obvious, and then retrieved a small piece of folded paper to offer him.
Quick as a striking snake, he had her wrist and hauled her in, the motion yanking her sharply out of her small alcove. Rachel bit back a hiss and prepared to fight, kick out, anything--black and white, fabric and then the smell hit her like a blow to the gut, even though his hands were almost gentle.
Blood, that's blood and for a second her vision went red with memory and she was frozen in his hands.
His breath stirred the hair over her ear. "Oh, that's odd," he said in that soft, cultured voice. "You're so afraid, so soon?"
She slammed her fist into his diaphragm, and her boot into his knee. He hardly seemed to notice, but he noticed the knife she plunged into the meat of his hand, between thumb and palm. Rachel twisted away and made the fire escape by vaulting off a bin, dangling from one hand before she levered herself up.
He walked below her, smiling a cat's smile up at her. "All that fear's not for me, though, mm? Too bad--we might have had a grand time."
He went down the alleyway stalking like a tomcat, moving like nothing human, and Rachel gulped deep breaths of charged air until the scent of blood left her lungs and she could muster the strength to climb down again.