Spider

"It's a wonderful day today, isn't it, dear." Jason threw his rucksack full of clothes on the sofa and strangled Adrian's neck from behind. "It's a serious waste of sunlight not to spend such a good weather surrounded by the beach, waves and bikinis."

"Are you going on vacations?" Adrian had no choice but to temporarily shift his attention from the computer screen to his roommate to struggle free from the other's arm that would commit a crime at any time.

"It's a honeymoon, a honeymoon!" The latter issued an exaggerated happy expression, which made his frozen green eyes shine like a crystal-clear spring in summer. "Baisha Bay! Now, I finally have a deep understanding of what is meant by 'Italian passion.' This guy Derek is simply a raffle box. Although you never know in advance what number you'll draw, it doesn't matter, I like it that way! It makes me feel that my daily life is as exciting as 24."

"So, how many days is this time?"

"Are you asking about my trip or the duration of my relationship?"

"...Shouldn't have asked." Adrian turned his head indifferently and continued to do his programming. "I just don't want you to burst into my bedroom again at 3 in the morning and ask me for food. It seems that there is nothing on worldwide flights except attendants who are good at flirting."

"Eh, don't you think this is the proof that I am eager to quickly come back to your side?" Jason scratched his head full of brilliant blond hair and exposed a deep smile that was enough to intoxicate and make women (and perhaps some men) of all ages nervous. Unfortunately, his cohabitant was flying his fingers on the keyboard, completely wasting this beautiful view.

"It's okay if you don't come back but remember to send back the monthly rent. I don't want to pay cleaning and lawn management fees for a non-existent roommate."

"You're such a heartless man!" Jason leaned on his shoulder in fake pain, turned his head and caught a glimpse of the clock on the wall. He suddenly jumped up like his tail was stepped on. "Oh my God, the flight at 3 o'clock! It's too late! If Derek thinks I stood him up, he'll probably use his damn collection — that 18th century whip restraint or something — on bed! Now that I think about it, he seemed to have revealed this sort of tendency... Fuck, I should have sunk those perverted things into the bottom of the sea 800 yards deep..." The blonde youth swore as he spoke, packed his luggage, and rushed out of the room like a gust of wind.

Adrian heard the familiar sound of the folding window being pulled up and bounced up from the computer chair. "Jason! I've told you ten thousand times, do not climb the window!"

A loud and crisp bang was heard. Adrian closed his eyes in sorrow and mourned for his 27th creeper pot. It seems that they'd never be exuberant here.

"Yo, Adri, get your ass out of the computer chair once in a while! I don't want to come back and see you grown into a pole full of moss and mushrooms due to lack of light!" Jason's laughter came from the lawn, as carefree as roses growing freely, brimming with youthfulness and wild vitality. Looking out from the window, you can see the figure of the heartily-laughing boy running and jumping under the sun. The deer-like smooth and graceful curves, as well as those slender and fit limbs, contained a throbbing explosive force, which seemed to expand out an intense magnetic attraction. The blond hair was so blinding that it was almost impossible to look directly at.

It was like Apollo unscrupulously chasing Daphne: flamboyant, rebellious, dazzling... Adrian stood behind the window, watching quietly. The trace of a smile emerged on the edge of his lips.

He lowered the curtains to block out the excessively bright afternoon sun and sat down in front of the computer. The white light reflected by the screen shrouded his short black hair, as well as his sharp and clean facial lines. Out of habit, he pushed up the frame of his eyeglasses on the bridge of his nose, hiding his eyes behind the light blue lenses.

[Derek di Berardi, born in 1977. The second son of the Berardi family in Italy, director of the BER Consortium...]

Lines of information flashed on the computer screen. The man in the photo had the appearance of a typical passionate Sicilian conspirator. The charm of cleverly blending indifference and zealotry was truly engrossing.

Adrian leaned back in his chair and crossed his ten fingers. "A cup of scalding coffee with ice, huh. It's really the type that guy likes."

Jason was lying on a white rocking chair wearing sunglasses. The waves of Baisha Bay accompanied by moments of gull cries made him drowsy and muddle-headed. He played around too much last night, and his waist muscles were still a little sore from over-exercise.

Lazily reaching over the tabletop to grab a glass of cocktail, the sharp sound of ice colliding against the wall of the glass reminded him of the party he had met Derek at.

He was working at a high-level family club at that time, and his days of shuttling through the crowd in a white waiter's suit with famous wines in hand were not as boring as he had thought.

The rich and politicians have always been the source of all kinds of secrets, news, and rumors. Even though Jason thinks he has no habit of eavesdropping, it goes without saying that the thing of 'secrets' was set aside precisely for the public to expose. And it ran counter to the curiosity of mankind, too. So, some secrets, whether he wants it or not, would be forced into his ears, just like through a thin door it's difficult to turn a blind eye to some murder in the bathroom.

Actually, if Jason was more clear-headed, he could've called it a day after cleaning up the floor, then being able to withdraw with his body unscratched. But it'd be too harsh to measure a young man in his early twenties — he almost didn't get a college diploma — by the standards of the FBI. Therefore, when he saw the scarlet sticky blood flowing from under the door slit like an evil monster squirming its tentacles, he couldn't help but take a few steps back in fear, and his back hit the wall with a thud.

The door was kicked open and several guns with their safeties pulled were pointed at his head. Jason immediately raised his hands in a reflexive manner, indicating that he was a harmless and gentle creature.

He was dragged out by a few guys who looked like bodyguards, and then he saw the man. The pen-straight suit was combed with an aristocratic swept-back hairstyle, exposing a graceful forehead curve and a Greek-esque bridge of a nose. The man was leaning unconcernedly against the washstand, brushing away the invisible dust on his spotlessly white gloves. His pitch-black eyes stared attentively at him, giving him goosebumps like when you pull open the freezer door in the middle of the great summer.

"How long have you been in there?" The man asked with an expressionless face and a slight Italian accent.

"Just... just came in. You see, I haven't even washed the red wine off my shirt yet..." Jason stammered under the other's ice-cold eyes, his voice getting smaller and smaller, "...Well! Since you think telling the truth is a type a virtue," he raised his chin brashly as if he were going out of his way — it's said life is a gamble, anyway.

"Given that my eyes have no x-ray function, except for the walls and wooden doors painted with ugly patterns, I saw nothing. If your men hadn't dragged me out of the toilet, I'd probably have thought that those things on the floor were illusions from staying up late last night watching horror movies, like the 'apparitions of bleeding Christ' and whatnot that religious fanatics shout about all day long. And then I'd have poured down a liter of wine and fallen asleep, and upon waking up the next day, I'd have forgotten all about the $80 dollars Jerry owed me, not to mention this inexplicable hallucination! Are you satisfied with this explanation, mister?"

For a moment, across the man's face fluttered a look mixed with surprise and irritation. Although he had experienced the current situation many times, it was the first time he saw a guy like this — rather than say he has guts, it's more appropriate to say he had nerves of steel.

"I think you're tired of living." A slender finger wrapped in the gloves of the person issuing the order moved.

A black muzzle was immediately pressed against Jason's temple, index finger buckled up the trigger. The icy and hard touch pierced into his body like a giant ice awl, and Jason felt his internal organs shrieking and rushing up his throat in an attempt to flee from his mouth. He shouted, "No! Don't shoot—"

The man exposed a trace of a satisfied expression.

"—Don't shoot in the head! I can't let it look like a football ball that fell into a gutter. I must be responsible for my image, even if I can't see anything by then... Alas, you should listen to what those people say, 'his face is the masterpiece of a great Renaissance sculptor', 'that blond hair is brighter than the sunshine in July'! How can you... how can you have such a lack of aesthetic judgment..." Jason closed his eyes in sorrow. When he opened them again, there seemed to be two moss green flames jumping inside. "Even if I have to die, can't I choose a more graceful way? Like taking poison or drowning or something... Oh, better if it looks like an accident, so I could even buy a life insurance first. It's said that they are engaged in double compensation activities for accidents recently. You probably know the cemetery is practically more expensive than an apartment nowadays, and the good locations of Xiangyang have long been booked away by rich men..."

A loud bang! Jason was startled and subconsciously shut his mouth. A beautiful Chinese blue and white porcelain on the washstand was thrown and smashed to pieces at his feet.

Unable to conceal his anger, the destroyer bent down, grabbed his red wine-stained collar, and dragged him up. "You don't need to think about the manner of death, Michelangelo's Dying Slave! My interest in you and the idea of executing you have now risen to the same height, and they are now in an awfully subtle balance. I think I have to warn you to watch your mouth, otherwise..." The tone of the words near his ears was mellow and rich, and the sense of rhythm was quite well controlled. It was obvious that it was the result of good upbringing. However, certain kind of tone exclusive to the controller's breath made him shiver automatically.

Then, he tasted a mixture of tobacco and the masculine invasion of the breath... It took Jason a few seconds to realize that he'd been forcibly kissed by a fellow man under the watchful eyes of the crowd! The astonishment, anger and violence in the man's blood were factors that made him punch the other in the lower abdomen without the slightest hesitation!

It may be that the other was too engrossed in the kiss, or Jason had the talent to be an outstanding boxer unknowingly. In short, the visual effect caused by this punch was extraordinary: the man's back hit the washstand hard and even smashed the mirror to pieces.

Jason looked at his own clenched fist in disbelief: Jesus Christ, is there anything worse in the world than this — beating the boss in front of his mafia mob?!

"Amore [1], what's on your mind?"

One hand climbed up his body, wandered over the strong and sturdy muscles, and very soon became an erotic stroke. Jason lifted his sunglasses towards his forehead and smiled. "I was thinking about the punch I gave you back then — hey, it was hella strong!"

"It was hella strong, indeed, just like your body." The other leaned his torso down and felt Jason's neck. "Even after being bedridden for three days, such force still left me several wounds and cuts."

"That was just a tiny little payback for the ligament injury and the wrist brace." Jason stretched out a sluggish back, and the fruits in his upper body drew out a perfect contour. His figure was truly, as he claimed, a facsimile to be sculpted and displayed in museums for people to view and gasp in admiration. This was exactly one of his assets to captivate both women and men.

What attracted Derek, however, was more than that. He was never short of beautiful bed partners, be it men or women. But the man before him had a special charm. Derek thought that even if he stood in front of Caesar or Napoleon — no, even Jesus, he would raise his chin nonchalantly. There were some special elements in his soul that made it equal to any other, except on a scale stripped of externals (even if only he thought so). It burned its own way under its own will and desires, but the brightness it emitted was as enticing as the light of a blaze in the nocturnal wilderness. And now, it's mine, just like having captured a beautiful exotic animal. The harder the process, the greater the corresponding fun.

These thoughts were soon interrupted by his lover. "I'm getting a little tired of staying at the beach. Do you have a better proposal, Derek?"

Derek knew that Jason's enthusiasm comes and goes quickly, but he's currently quite captivated by him, so any whim can be met. He kissed his fingertips. "There's a cruise ship that will be docking here tonight. I think you may have heard of it — Atlantis."

"The world's top luxury cruise ship, Atlantis!" Jason sat up excitedly and flung his sunglasses aside. "The Wandering City! Legend in seas and oceans! Oh, I also heard that its owner has supernatural powers! I always thought he's probably a great magician, or the real Captain Jack!"

"Those are just fantasy fans' ideas, dear, and the media use them as hype seasoning to increase the circulation of newspapers." Derek endured a smile and said, "I have some business dealings with the owner. He's just a businessman — perhaps not very upright or moral, but that's quite normal."

Jason exposed a dispirited look. "I knew our country's media coverage was as untrustworthy as the president's human rights pledge... But still, I'd like to see this 'ocean legend' with my own eyes."

"I guess the climbing ground there might be right up your alley." Derek stood him up. "Come on, dear, we have to go back and change. Maybe there's a little time left before..."

Jason let out a groan. "You need to learn moderation, Derek."

"Sorry, that word isn't within my understanding," the Italian said.