Muraki's warm lips pressed against his own, demanding and lustful. Ghostly pale hands toyed with his hair, entangling themselves in it in a rush driven by heat and straining with desire. Why he didn't push away? He didn't know. Why his head was spinning? He drew a blank. Last he checked, shinigami weren't capable of developing breathing problems… so why was his chest fighting for each uneven gulp of air? Tsuzuki closed his eyes tightly, attempting to turn away from Muraki's assault, but by now, thoughts of escaping were distant, disconcerting, and somehow far less appealing as they became overpowered by the searing heat spreading through the rest of his body. His skin was burning, his senses melting as he forced himself to tilt his head upwards, breaking the kiss. But that was no setback for Muraki. Immediately, his hot lips were trailing down Tsuzuki's neck, nibbling at the tender flesh, the feel of his prey's rapid pulse beneath them driving him further. Tsuzuki's eyes were wide, his lips parted and panting, shoulders powerlessly hunched as he craned his neck, unconsciously giving in to Muraki's caress. The doctor's hands were everywhere at once now, nimbly dancing over his back, softly tracing every curve, discretely pulling apart button after button of his shirt. Suddenly, Muraki's fingers brushed bare flesh, and Tsuzuki's back arched towards the touch, a stiff gasp on him lips.
"M-muraki…!"
Somewhere at the back of his mind, Tsuzuki wondered wordlessly;
How did this happen…?
--
That day had started off the same way more and more days had been starting recently; with a murder report on Tsuzuki's desk. As always, Tsuzuki had few doubt about the psychopath responsible. After all, who else would leave a dozen roses at the scene of each crime, each time addressed to 'my beloved'? Surprising how predictable this had become. The though of Muraki doing this for his attention sent repulsion rippling through him. The man was practically his stalker, anyways. It's not like he didn't have his phone number, and yet, instead of calling, he piled corpses at his 'beloved's' feet... What a strange, twisted lunatic…
This time, the death was that of a young woman, barely into her twenties. Yatsugama Ayumi. Tsuzuki studies her photograph, noticing the piercing black eyes, fair skin, shy smile… Yes, Muraki definitely had taste when it came to his victims. They were always beautiful people - as though nothing less would be acceptable to offer Tsuzuki - always accomplished and full of life. It was always the happiest people that Muraki loved to take lives from…. Tsuzuki sighed heavily, his brows furrowing in frustration. Sure, a little attention now and then was more than welcome by him, but this? This was far more attention than he would ever want. Rather unrealistically, Tsuzuki wondered whether Muraki's killings would stop if he gave himself to the man… It was likely, but just the thought of it sent his mind reeling, screeching "No!". A quick mental flashback of Muraki's prior advances on him only served to strengthen his resolve.
Heading towards the main door, he wondered briefly whether Hisoka would be feeling well enough to join him today; recently he had requested a 7-day leave from work and barricaded himself in his room, prying off the heads of anyone who dared disturb him. "This week," he said, "is mine to enjoy." The last time Tsuzuki dared to peak into the room, an aggravated Hisoka, lounging on his bed, had thrown a pillow at him with a hard 'thump' that not only landed it's mark splat in the center of Tsuzuki's forehead, but slammed the door shut, too. No, he decided. He wouldn't take his chances with that pillow again…
The scent of cherry blossoms faded languidly behind him as Tsuzuki materialized in a shaded alley in a busy market place in Kyoto, the most recent location of the murders. No matter how many times his job required him to teleport from one place to another, the feeling of being disassembled atom-by-atom and then re-arranged the same way still made him fidget. He took a deep breath, taking in the new smells of cooking food and mid-July heat, gave his head and shoulders a quick shake to brush off the after-effects of the transportation, and briskly walked away from the shady alley.
Where would his investigation take him today…?
--
The early morning sunlight filtered in through his window, the gray sky tinged purple by the sun's first rays. He watched in mild amusement as the scene played out in front of him: first one lonely, golden beam fought through the darkened clouds, a sliver of light bursting through. Then another, then more, then more still…. Then, rather suddenly, a tidal wave of light rushed, like a great army, across the sky. Sweeping over it, it raced across the vast expanse of darkness, conquering it. In less than a minutes' time, night had succumbed to daytime.
He smiled thoughtlessly, swirling a light, white wine in his glass, and crossed one leg over the other. His fine, silver hair, still wet from an early, early morning shower, hung limply along the length of his pale neck, to barely skim his broad shoulders. His gaze held an intensity, concentrated at nothing in particular, as though his thoughts had bested him and robbed him of his attention to the surrounding world.
The blood had long been washed from his hands, but the adrenaline pumping through his veins had not subsided. It was only a matter of time, yes, only a matter of time now before Tsuzuki would be forced to grace him with his presence yet again. He floated in the contentment and excitement of that thought, images of his specimen's amethyst eyes, bold, righteous nature… Yes, Tsuzuki's body and soul were truly the definition of perfection. Only in his wildest fantasies had Muraki seen a being able to evade death, to live the way no human should be able to. Yes, Muraki would pick him apart, claim him as his own…
Yes, yes, yes. Only a matter of time separated them now, and Muraki would wait…..