"Tsuzuki-san?"
It was on his hands. It was on his hands, and everywhere else. And no matter how much someone told him that it wasn't, it was always there - the death, the blood. All by his hands; hands which have been scarred and abused, broken and then healed over and over, too many times to count. Perhaps one day he wouldn't heal - at least, not completely - like they've done before, just once in their long sad past.
"Tsuzuki-san, what are you doing here?" A pale hand on his shoulder.
Tsuzuki stumbled through the streets of the city, lost, and then lost. The cold of the autumn air did well to sooth his reddened face which was raw from rubbing away his tears, as if he could rub himself clean with the water of his sins. People avoided his meandering walk, thinking he was a drunkard at best - and maybe he was drunk, for something about a bar too many swam hazily through his memories, but nothing else. Nothing else, save for the guilt which accompanied a particularly painful case, one which left no blood that anyone could see, but it didn't matter because he could!
"You are not well…"
He rubbed his fingers together, as if he could feel it there. The stickiness, the coldness of a life gone. Hadn't Hisoka warned him about caring too much? Hadn't Tatsumi? And Ruka? And everyone he'd ever known - learn not to care. Leave his humanity at home. Then it wouldn't hurt so much. Perhaps they were right - but he didn't know how! Did not know what they did to keep the guilt away, to keep from collapsing night after night into a whirlpool of images, of the burden of survival - of living even after death.
"How do you do it?" Tsuzuki whispered to the other man.
"How do I do what?"
"How do you live with yourself?" He still stared at his hands. "Day by day…"
"I think you already know."
"Teach me," Tsuzuki said. "Teach me not to care."
Muraki said nothing, only taking the Shinigami's hands to stop their ruminations. Then Muraki kissed him not sweetly, but boldly and confident; harsh enough so that their teeth nearly scrapped together. Then he stepped back and watched Tsuzuki who didn't flinch or tear away in disgust. His violet eyes, at once mortal and immortal, were suddenly clear and expecting more. And Muraki wasn't one to fail those expectations.
"Follow me."
---
Tsuzuki's hands were not his. They moved of their own accord, divorced from his weakened mind, and since they were not his Tsuzuki could not be a fault for what they did, right? Not went they hurt, not when they roamed, not even when they managed to inspire such strange sounds coming from the good doctor's throat…
His hesitancy, his nervousness from their every encounter, was not there this time. This time, Tsuzuki freely explored the man who towered over him, clinging to him, digging his nails into that pale skin to leave small pink moons. He did not wanted to be treated kindly, not with the gentleness that Hisoka, Tatsumi, or everyone he'd ever known and cared about had showed him. He was a sinner, coated and filthy with blood unseen, and Tsuzuki wanted to be treated as such - not as a human, but as a monster.
They had gone somewhere new, unfamiliar - one of those covert love motels, specially designed and catered to such untimely trysts. The pair had not even raised the manager's eyebrow when Muraki blindly paid for one night's stay in cash, with Tsuzuki anxiously keeping close to him.
Tsuzuki found himself pushed up against the door to their room the moment it had closed, and the doorknob was uncomfortably cool at his side. Muraki was rough, but unkindly slow, raising the hairs along his body as the mortal carefully nipped at Tsuzuki's lips, making him feel as if he were drowning and being pulled under an uncontrollable tide. His hands tried to skim up the other man's chest, to give himself breathing room, but Muraki insisted otherwise by taking those wrists and holding them against the wall with a forceful thump. Then the pale mouth took its time exploring Tsuzuki's own, a tongue dancing within to taste whatever strange sweetness may have been left over of last night's dessert.
Parting and panting, Muraki let go and yanked the length of the black tie Tsuzuki always wore, leading him in the general direction of the bedroom. They didn't make it, meeting the white leather couch along the way and falling over it, over each other. A fireplace rested across from it, a fire having been lit by room service quick for their arrival. "Feeling warm?" Muraki nearly purred, fondling the tie between two fingers. Tsuzuki swallowed from his corner of the couch, and nodded, surrendering to the curious Otherhands removing his shirt button by button as if savoring him as one would an especially fragile birthday gift. The tie slipped off last, sliding purposefully over peaked nipples and chiseled chest. Muraki supped on a bare shoulder, a hint of teeth marking their way across to the hollow of his throat. Tsuzuki growled slightly, feeling impatient and wanting to strip the doctor bare so that he may feel similar flesh under his own hands. As if to scold or reward his eagerness, a thumb and forefinger pinched Tsuzuki's nipple, twisting and sending spidery jolts of sensation down his arching spine.
"You may care about what you do unto others," Muraki murmured. "But what of I unto you?"
"I… don't…" he gasped, even though he was oddly uncertain. He felt… not exactly "wrong", but being here with this man who had hurt so many people, who had hurt his partner, did not feel completely "right." And maybe by all means Tsuzuki should care, but he himself had hurt people, have killed too many innocents, so wasn't he among equals? And would it really be that bad to give in… just this once…
The doctor leaned over and planted a decidedly kinder kiss on the abused nub, an incubus's smile on his face. "Then that is a start."
---
TBC
Notes: I thank no one. MurakixAnyone was never destined to be fluffy.