AN: So here it is--chapter one of my sequel to "Scent of a Man." This chapter was the most challenging thing I've ever written, but I'm very excited about the results. Many thanks to Trans for her amazing beta work. I was ready to chuck this out and start over, but her feedback gave me the courage to keep going. I'm so glad I did. Thanks, too, to everyone who read "Scent" and left reviews. If you left a review and I haven't replied, I'm really sorry. I really appreciate all of your comments, and they were a huge encouragement for me to keep going with this story. Even when it was making me want to pull my hair out. If you haven't read "Scent," btw, don't worry about it. I put enough clues in this chapter that you should be able to read it on its own without confusion. Warnings apply for sex, swearing and some disturbing themes, which will only get more disturbing as the story progresses. This is definitely going to be a darker tale than "Scent." And of course, I sadly don't own these wonderful men. I am merely borrowing them from the creative genius herself, Matsushita-sensei. Enjoy!

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Sacred Scars

Tsuzuki didn't know why he kept drawing hooks. They had no special meaning for him, at least none that he could think of. Yet they appeared, automatic writing-like, on the backs of his grocery receipts, his restaurant checks and utility bills. Sometimes they turned up in the margins of his paperwork.

They reminded him of the hooks he saw draped in flesh in the window of the butcher shop near his apartment. He'd been avoiding that shop for weeks, even crossing the street so he wouldn't have to see what was hanging in the window. He'd also taken to hiding his pens. That had slowed the hooks for a while, but then one morning he drew one in the steam on his bathroom mirror. He'd stood there naked and shivering, staring at the way the hook circled his left eye, the way that condensation ran down from it like droplets of blood. Then he went out and bought himself a blank book.

The book had been Tatsumi's suggestion, at least in a roundabout way. Tatsumi and Watari were concerned about the gap in Tsuzuki's memories of the Kyoto case, and Tatsumi had suggested that Tsuzuki start keeping a journal to see if it helped to write things down. Tsuzuki was perfectly fine with not remembering. He was relieved, though, that the hooks now seemed content to decorate the pages of his journal, rather than sprawling out into other aspects of his life where others might see them and worry.

Glancing up, he noticed that one of those others--the most important of those others--was standing outside his garden gate. Hisoka was dressed in traditional hakama with his sword strapped across his back, indicating that he'd just come from the dojo. His arms, on the other hand, were laden with two paper grocery sacks prominently stamped with the logo of a large supermarket chain. It made for such an incongruous image that Tsuzuki had to smile.

Hisoka was facing slightly away from the gate, staring into the distance. His expression seemed pensive, as if he was worried about something. Tsuzuki got the distinct impression he was about to walk away, and wondered guiltily how long his partner had been standing there. "Ne, Hisoka!" he called.

Hisoka started visibly. He hesitated for a moment as if composing himself, then swung back towards the gate. "Open up, will you?" he snapped. "Don't just sit there grinning."

Tsuzuki realized that he was grinning. He couldn't help it where Hisoka was concerned. He flipped the book shut and leaped from the porch. The wet grass instantly soaked the hems of his jeans, but he paid it no attention. "Sorry," he said as he flung open the gate. "I didn't see you there."

"Maybe you shouldn't be so absent-minded," Hisoka muttered.

"You're probably right," Tsuzuki said cheerfully, lifting one of the grocery sacks from Hisoka's arms. He would gladly have taken both, but he knew better than to do anything that his younger partner might regard as patronizing. Normally he would have leaned in for a hello kiss at this point, but something in Hisoka's manner warned him not to. "Did you walk here?" he asked instead, noting the state of Hisoka's clothes and the fact that his hair was plastered flat against his skull. The rain had tapered off by now, but Hisoka looked as if he'd been caught in the thick of it.

"It's not that far," Hisoka answered with a shrug. He'd made no move to step through the gate. His gaze was focused on some point just beyond Tsuzuki's shoulder. "Is it okay if I use your shower?" he asked.

"Sure," Tsuzuki said, frowning. He led the way up the stairs to his second-floor apartment and nudged the door open with his shoulder. He'd left it unlocked, as he normally did when he was just going down to work or sit in the garden. "Help yourself to some dry clothes if you want," he invited as they kicked their sandals off in the genkan.

"Thanks." Hisoka followed him to the kitchen, set his bag of groceries on the counter and switched on the oven. He turned and gave Tsuzuki another long, penetrating look, still not quite meeting his eyes. Then he walked off without another word.

Tsuzuki gazed after him, perplexed and a little hurt by his partner's odd behavior. It wasn't the first time Hisoka had shown up unannounced at his garden gate, nor was it the first time he'd brought groceries. He'd said once that he'd rather pay for groceries than risk eating anything that came from Tsuzuki's refrigerator, and Tsuzuki couldn't really argue that point. He was, however, used to getting a hello kiss, at least when they were alone together. Hisoka didn't seem to be in the mood for kissing. In fact, he seemed almost angry. Tsuzuki couldn't tell if the anger was directed at him or at someone else. He couldn't think of anything he'd done to warrant his partner's anger, but then you never knew. He supposed he'd just have to ask once Hisoka got out of the shower.

In the meantime, he busied himself unloading the groceries. The first bag yielded flour, potatoes, fresh thyme, lemons, olive oil and a bag of toasted cashews. And a recipe book, slightly damp around the edges, bookmarked with a yellow sticky note. He opened it to the marked page. Gnocchi with Thyme Vinaigrette and Lemon Cashew Cream. Italian food? Hisoka's cooking didn't normally lean to anything quite this exotic, but it looked delicious in the photo. His stomach gave an approving growl. (1)

The contents of the second bag were even more intriguing. It held lemon sorbet, a chilled bottle of chardonnay, and a mysterious white box embossed with the name of one of his favorite bakeries. Unfortunately, the box was sealed with a large gold sticker, so Tsuzuki resisted the urge to peek. He set it reverently on the counter, placed the sorbet in the freezer, and dug a couple of wine glasses from the back of one of his cupboards. They were a little dusty, so he washed and dried them and then stood dithering, trying to remember whether white wine was supposed to breathe or not.

Quiet footsteps interrupted his deliberations. He turned just as Hisoka appeared in the kitchen doorway. He was dressed in a pair of Tsuzuki's old jeans with the cuffs rolled up to expose slim ankles, and a belt fastened several notches too tight to keep the denim from sliding down over his narrow hips. A black t-shirt hung tent-like from his shoulders, its neckline revealing the delicate, wing-like curves of his collarbones.

"Are you going to pour that?" he asked, nodding towards the wine bottle. He was scrubbing his hair dry with one of Tsuzuki's towels.

"Are you sure you want to open it already?" Tsuzuki asked. He chose his words carefully, knowing that Hisoka's previous experience with alcohol was still a sore topic, even two years later.

"I'll just have a little."

Tsuzuki dutifully opened the bottle and poured a little into each of their glasses. "So what's all this for?" he asked teasingly. "If I didn't know better, I'd say it looks like a date."

"It is a date." Hisoka raised his glass in a perfunctory toast and downed its contents in one gulp. As he set it back on the counter, Tsuzuki noticed that his hand was trembling slightly. "I figured since we're getting our first real case tomorrow, and since it's our anniversary--"

"Anniversary?" Tsuzuki's heart beat a little faster.

"Six weeks," Hisoka said. Then scowled. "What?"

"Nothing!" Tsuzuki laughed. "I just thought I was the big sappy romantic, not you."

Hisoka's scowl deepened. "Just scrub the potatoes. I need to dry my sword before it rusts."

"So you're not mad at me," Tsuzuki called after him as he vanished into the next room.

"Why would I be mad at you?" Hisoka stuck his head back around the corner and studied him with narrowed eyes. "Should I be?"

Tsuzuki shook his head, smiling.

Hisoka gave a soft little snort and disappeared again.

Tsuzuki breathed a sigh of relief. Hisoka wasn't angry. He was nervous about something. Tsuzuki didn't have to think very long to guess what that might be. They had a new case coming up, after all. Of course they'd already been back at work for several weeks, though their duties had been confined to office work and a few minor retrieval assignments while other Shinigami took on the heavier cases that came up on Kyushu, which was their area of jurisdiction.

Now that they were both fully recovered from the devastating Kyoto case, however, they'd been cleared to take on the latest field assignment that had come up. Tsuzuki didn't know all the details yet, but the rumor around the office was that someone in the Nagasaki area was attempting to summon a demon. Starting tomorrow, it would be Tsuzuki's and Hisoka's job to find out who, and why.

Tsuzuki couldn't blame Hisoka for being nervous about it. The prospect of having to face down a demon was enough to give even a seasoned Shinigami a slight case of the jitters. For someone like Hisoka, who was still learning fuda magic, it had to be downright nerve-wracking.

"So what's in the box?" he called out. He figured that making small talk was the best way to distract his partner from whatever awaited them in the morning.

"What box?" Hisoka called back.

"The box. The box you brought."

"You mean the one from La Patisserie?" There was a hint of a smirk in Hisoka's voice. More than a hint, actually. Tsuzuki smiled to hear it.

"Yeah," he said. "That box."

"That info's on a strictly need-to-know basis."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning you don't need to know what's in there until after dinner."

"Aww, but Hisokaaa--"

"No."

"You don't even know what I was going to ask!"

"Of course I do. And no, you can't."

"So... I can take a peek after dinner?"

"Yes."

"How soon can we eat?"

Hisoka stuck his head around the corner again. "How soon can you start scrubbing those potatoes?"

The dinner preparations went quite smoothly, even with Tsuzuki helping. Hisoka confined him to the most basic of tasks: scrubbing the potatoes, wrapping them in foil and sticking them in the oven. Filling a large pot with water and putting it on the stove to boil. Finding utensils that Hisoka needed for the more advanced preparations. That sort of thing.

"Don't you think a little sugar would be a good idea?" Tsuzuki asked, watching worriedly as Hisoka ground thyme leaves together with some salt.

Hisoka cocked one golden eyebrow at him. "It's a vinaigrette," he said, reaching for the bottle of white wine vinegar Tsuzuki had brought from the fridge. He measured out a teaspoon's worth and added it to the mortar with the salt and herbs. Olive oil followed. Tsuzuki winced.

"Just a little sugar," he pleaded. He grabbed the sugar jar off a nearby shelf and tried to add some.

Hisoka slapped his hand away. "Put that back right now," he warned, "or it's going out the window."

"But 'Soka!" Tsuzuki was horrified. "You can't do that, it's... it's sugar!"

"Which is why it doesn't belong in the vinaigrette."

"What about syrup?" Tsuzuki suggested hopefully. "Syrup isn't the same thing as sugar, but it's still sweet."

"Just...go and put on some music, will you?"

"Fine," Tsuzuki grumbled. "I was just trying to help."

"Tsuzuki." Hisoka caught his arm and pulled him back, leaned up on tiptoe and looped an arm around Tsuzuki's neck. "Thanks."

"For what?" Tsuzuki asked, confused.

Hisoka pulled his head down and gave him a quick, fierce kiss. "Just for being you," he whispered. "Now go." He gave Tsuzuki a firm shove towards the door. "And this time pick something you can dance to. No crazy jazz."

"You got it," Tsuzuki said happily, bouncing towards the living room. The record he chose was apparently satisfactory, because Hisoka danced with him to the entire thing while the potatoes roasted in the oven.

Outside, the sky mellowed into the colors of sunset. Beams of amber light slanted through his blinds, painting bold stripes across his living room floor. Wonderful aromas drifted from the kitchen, filling his whole apartment with the smell of lemons and crushed herbs. Hisoka smelled wonderful, too. Beneath the familiar scents of Tsuzuki's soap and shampoo were tantalizing hints of Hisoka's own scent, a musky sweetness that swelled Tsuzuki's heart and set his nerves abuzz with an electrifying ache of want.

As always, he kept those particular feelings tucked firmly behind his emotional shields, much as he kept his hips angled away from Hisoka so that the younger man wouldn't feel his body's predictable response to their closeness. He knew some of the brutalities of Hisoka's past, including the unspeakable violation that had led to his premature death. The last thing he wanted was for Hisoka to feel any sense of pressure concerning the physical side of their relationship.

Instead, he projected his other feelings towards his empathic partner, wrapping him in a cocoon of safety, of tenderness and protection and deep love. It was that love that he'd most wanted to share anyway, a love that been growing in him since that fateful day two years ago when Hisoka had pointed a gun at his chest and threatened to shoot him through the heart. Hisoka's claim on his heart had only deepened since then, and those other feelings could wait. In fact, they could wait forever. Tsuzuki couldn't imagine anything more perfect than what they were doing right now, swaying together to the gentle strains of Miles Davis' Blue in Green.

The oven timer pinged, and Hisoka eased back from him with noticeable reluctance. "Gotta finish dinner." He gave Tsuzuki's arms an apologetic squeeze before letting go. Tsuzuki followed him to the kitchen and watched in fascination as he transformed plain old potatoes into tender gnocchi that looked identical to those pictured in the book.

"These are amazing," Tsuzuki said some time later, as he speared the last of them. "I think you might even be right about the sugar."

"No kidding?" Hisoka watched him with obvious amusement as he dunked his morsel into what remained of the cashew cream sauce and popped it in his mouth. They were perched on tall stools at Tsuzuki's little two-person table. It was a bit awkward and their knees kept banging together, but the addition of a candle stub stuck into the mouth of an empty sake bottle and soft jazz background music gave the meal a certain sense of atmosphere, if not exactly elegance.

"Hmm, yeah," Tsuzuki said happily, licking a dab of sauce from his fingers. "It's kinda sweet all on its own."

When Hisoka said nothing in response, Tsuzuki cracked one eye open and looked the younger man. Hisoka flushed scarlet and glanced away. He cleared his throat. "I'll get dessert," he said thickly. He slid from the stool and began gathering their dishes together.

Tsuzuki jumped up. "Oh, let me help," he offered. "You did most of the cooking, after all."

Hisoka glared at him. "You just want to peek in the box."

Tsuzuki had to laugh at that. Because it was partly true, after all. "Well yeah," he admitted. "Maybe I do."

"Stay right there," Hisoka warned. With that he bolted for the kitchen, his arms laden with dishes. Tsuzuki watched him go. Affection bled into concern when he heard only silence. The tension he'd sensed earlier was back, stronger than ever, and he decided that maybe small talk wasn't the answer.

"'Soka?" he said softly. "Are you okay in there?"

A muffled grunt was the only reply he got.

Tsuzuki frowned. "'Soka... are you worried about tomorrow?"

"What about tomorrow?"

"The case," Tsuzuki said, surprised.

"Oh." Hisoka blew out an audible breath. "No, it's okay. I mean nobody likes demons, but it's okay." So, Hisoka had heard those rumors too. There was another long pause. "Demons like Sagaatanusu, I mean," Hisoka said. "Demons that hurt people."

"I knew what you meant," Tsuzuki answered. Although I have hurt people, he added silently.

Hisoka peeked around the corner and glared at him. "Go sit in the living room, and stop thinking such stupid things. You shouldn't believe someone like him."

Tsuzuki didn't go to the living room right away. He went outside and got his journal, so he wouldn't forget it on the porch overnight. He flipped through its pages as he jogged back up the stairs. Page after page of hooks. Some were suspended from ropes or chains, while others were just hooks. But they were all the same after a while, they got monotonous. Until he came to the last page, the page he'd drawn just before Hisoka came over. It had hooks like all the others, but there was a word as well. Butterfly. He stared at the kanji, savagely executed in sharp black lines, and shuddered. It meant nothing to him, yet somehow the sight of it filled him with a fervent sense of revulsion.

He snapped the book shut as he reached the living room, where Hisoka was sitting on the couch waiting for him. "Sorry," he mumbled. "Just remembered I was supposed to check the landlords' mail while they're on vacation."

Hisoka gave a slow nod. "Anything?"

"Nah, just bills. And this." Tsuzuki dropped the book on a stack of magazines. "Someone must have dropped it off. It doesn't fit under their door, so I guess I'll hang on to it 'til they get back from Okinawa."

He didn't know why he felt he had to lie about it. It wasn't as if he was afraid that Hisoka, of all people, would invade his privacy by reading his journal. He just couldn't bring himself to admit that the book was his, especially to Hisoka.

"Ah," Hisoka said. He was hunched over slightly, his hands clasped between his knees. If he'd noticed the lie, he gave no sign. He seemed preoccupied.

Tsuzuki plopped down on the couch next to him, and for a moment he just sat there, staring at the gorgeous dessert that had magically appeared on his coffee table. It was a blueberry tart, the most perfect one he'd ever seen, dusted with icing sugar and topped with two generous scoops of the pale yellow sorbet. Those, in turn, were garnished with a sprig of fresh mint.

"Happy anniversary," Hisoka said quietly, handing him one of the two forks that sat on the coffee table next to this glorious creation. "I tried to get apple pie, but they were out." He shrugged.

"No no no, this is..." Tsuzuki just stared at the tart, words failing him. Finally he took a bite. It was every bit as delicious as it looked, if not more so. "Thanksh," he said with his mouth full. "Mmm, thath's marvelousth." He nudged the plate towards Hisoka. "Come on, have sthum!"

Hisoka sighed and picked up his own fork. His hand shook slightly as he scooped off a bit of the tart and sorbet and brought it to his mouth. "It's good," he said after a moment, sounding almost startled.

"Of courth it's good!" Tsuzuki exclaimed, swallowing more bites. His tongue was frozen by now, but he didn't care.
They ate in silence, Tsuzuki marveling at how easy it was to forget about that creepy book when he was here with Hisoka. He noticed that Hisoka seemed distracted, however. He kept staring off into the distance, and every now and then darted a sideways glance at Tsuzuki through the curtain of his bangs. Finally, Tsuzuki had to ask. He pushed aside the mostly empty plate, turned to his partner and slid his fingers under the younger man's chin. Gently, he tipped Hisoka's face up, forcing their eyes to meet.

"What is it, 'Soka?" he asked softly. "Something's been on your mind all evening. Tell me what's up."

Hisoka glanced down at his hands, which were locked white-knuckled around his denim-clad knees. "I..." he began. "I'm just..." he broke off. Even without the benefit of Hisoka's empathic abilities, Tsuzuki could feel tension rolling off of him in waves. His heart clenched, aching for his partner. Whatever was on Hisoka's mind, it was obviously causing him tremendous anguish. He reached out, meaning to pull Hisoka into his arms, but Hisoka beat him to it.

He caught Tsuzuki's face in both his hands and crushed their mouths together in a bruising kiss. Tsuzuki stopped breathing. Bursts of light erupted behind his closed lids as he sank into it, unable to do anything but surrender, to open his mouth to the insistent prising of Hisoka's tongue. It was icy and tasted of lemons and blueberries as it swirled against his own. When the need for oxygen finally took over, Hisoka drew back with a low huff that might have been laughter.

"Your tongue's freezing," he muttered.

"Yours too." Tsuzuki grinned. "I thought you were going to tell me something."

"I am telling you something," Hisoka said breathlessly. Then, as he leaned in for another kiss, "Idiot."

Tsuzuki laughed. He slipped an arm around Hisoka and drew him against his side, which was their usual make-out position. This was not the first time one of their dates had ended in this way, with the two of them kissing on the couch. He couldn't remember Hisoka ever kissing him in quite this way, though. There was something different about tonight, a tension he couldn't name. Not that he was really trying. Hisoka's kisses were just like that, they claimed his full attention.

Gradually, he became aware that Hisoka was shifting away from his side. He leaned forward, trying to follow the kiss. His whimper of protest died in his throat when he felt a slim, muscular thigh settle across his legs. Hisoka was climbing into his lap. The younger man braced his arms against the back of the couch and Tsuzuki caught his waist with both hands, steadying him. Hisoka let out a small, satisfied growl as he bent over Tsuzuki, deepening their kiss.

It always filled Tsuzuki with a sense of wonder to realize that his partner could actually be like this. And that he, of all people, was the one who got to witness it. A month and a half had gone by since the night of the staff Christmas party when they'd kissed for the first time, yet there was a part of him that still couldn't believe this was real. It was like a lovely dream, one that he feared he'd wake up from at any moment.

A lean hand cupped the side of his face, the thumb gliding against his cheekbone. "You're thinking again," Hisoka whispered against his lips. "Stop it."

Tsuzuki laughed and hugged his partner against his chest, being careful, as always, to keep some distance between their lower bodies. The last thing he wanted was to make his partner feel unsafe. Hisoka was being less than cooperative, however. He reclaimed Tsuzuki's mouth, pushing his tongue in forcefully as he worked their bodies closer.

Tsuzuki wriggled back a little, trying to reestablish a safe distance. Long thigh muscles flexed against his legs, trapping them, and then Hisoka abruptly grabbed his hips and tugged their bodies together so there was no distance between them at all. He buried his face against Tsuzuki's collar, and Tsuzuki could feel the heat in his face and the fine tremors cascading down the slim length of him and--oh kami, that other length of him, tightly wedged between their bodies, blood-hot and so, so hard that Tsuzuki thought it had to hurt.

"It's okay," Hisoka whispered against his neck. "It isn't just you."

Tsuzuki's chest was so tight that he couldn't breathe. He was shaking all over, and he realized he was clinging to Hisoka, gripping fistfuls of the black t-shirt as if the younger man was a life preserver who could save him from drowning. "'Soka, I don't know if we should... this isn't a good idea."

"It's not an idea at all." Hisoka levered himself up so their eyes could meet. "It's a fact."

Tsuzuki just stared at him. So this was what had been on Hisoka's mind all evening. The signs were all there, if only he'd been able to put two and two together. He'd just never thought...

"You're sure?" His voice seemed unnaturally loud in contrast to the quiet music playing in the background.

Hisoka didn't reply. He rocked forward, grinding their bodies together. Tsuzuki cried out, hips arching involuntarily. He bit his lip, tasting blood, and felt Hisoka's hands in his hair, stroking and soothing. "You don't have to hold back," the younger man whispered. The whisper became a path of kisses that trailed up the side of his neck, following the pulse line until they ended with a soft nip to his earlobe. "Want you. Asato-kun."

Hisoka's breath against his ear sent a piercing ache of longing straight to Tsuzuki's core. He rocked back against Hisoka, and was thrilled by the soft gasp he heard in response. "Hnn... 'Soka..." His hands swept over Hisoka's back in long strokes, moving down to settle finally at his hips. He paused there for a breath, then two, trying to make sense of the situation.

All this time he'd been trying to protect Hisoka, but Hisoka was no child. He knew what he wanted. And there was no point in trying to deny that he, Tsuzuki, wanted the same thing. So why am I holding back? With shaking hands, he cupped Hisoka's ass and pulled him tight against his body.

Hisoka responded with a growl of pleasure and bucked into him. Tsuzuki moaned aloud, fingers clenching in an almost brutal grip as he and Hisoka thrust against each other, finding their rhythm. A siren wail of alarm was still blaring at the back of Tsuzuki's mind but he forced it down, letting it get lost in the rock and sway of their bodies, in Hisoka's low panting breaths and the waves of sharp pleasure emanating from his groin.

Hisoka cupped his cheek and pulled their faces close. Their noses bumped, breaths mingling for a moment, and then Hisoka's mouth covered his. He heard himself groan as Hisoka pushed his tongue inside, stroking and probing. Hisoka's bangs drifted against his forehead, cloud-soft and soothingly cool on his fevered skin. He felt the flex and roll of firm buttocks under his hands, and the staccato rhythm of Hisoka's heart pounding against his through their aligned breastbones. So, so close, almost touching. Something inside him shattered, like a dam breaking, and a burst of searing happiness ripped through.

Hisoka, he sent. I love you.

The response he got was an unfocused flood of light and warmth that washed through him like sunshine. The message couldn't have been clearer. Then Hisoka muttered something that might have been a curse, the specifics of it getting lost in their kiss, and arched his body off Tsuzuki's. He reached between them, fumbled for a moment, and got his belt undone. That was all that was needed for the loose pants to slide down over his hips, and Tsuzuki found his palms resting suddenly on his partner's bare butt cheeks.

He froze. His breath left him for a moment as his brain recalibrated itself to this new reality. Then, almost meditatively, he let his hand drift across his lover's ass, exploring the smooth curves. Hisoka melted against him with a soft whimper. Tsuzuki lifted a hand to stroke his hair, dropping little kisses on his brow, his cheeks, everywhere he could reach. He was rewarded when Hisoka took his face in both hands and sealed their mouths together.

Breath to breath, heart to heart. "You're so beautiful," Tsuzuki whispered against his mouth. His hand had drifted to the cleft of Hisoka's ass. He stroked lightly along it, not thinking about what he was doing until Hisoka's body suddenly went rigid against him, his breath escaping in a low hiss. Tsuzuki pulled his hand away. "Sorry."

Hisoka shook his head, his face buried against Tsuzuki's collarbone. "It's not your fault." His voice was thick with anger, and it was all too easy to guess where that anger was coming from, and at whom it was directed.

"We can stop if you want," Tsuzuki murmured. He rubbed little circles against the small of Hisoka's back, offering solace as best he could.

"No." Hisoka raised himself so their eyes could meet. "I want this. I'm just... I need..." He trailed off, his gaze clouding with emotion.

Tsuzuki's heart broke a little. A wave of fury surged up in him at the thought that Muraki had done this to his partner. He buried it behind his shields, not wanting Hisoka to know that he knew. "Do you want to try something?" he asked finally, when he thought he had mastery of his voice.

Hisoka nodded, biting his lip. Tsuzuki stroked the side of his face--his brave, angel face, aching for him. "Sit up a little," he said. He took hold of Hisoka's shoulders and eased him back until he was sitting astride his lap. Hisoka gazed down at him, fear and expectancy warring behind his eyes. His face was flushed, lips swollen from kissing. The black shirt had fallen aside to reveal one lean shoulder, and he looked breathtaking.

Tsuzuki carefully straightened the shirt, not wanting Hisoka to feel any more exposed than necessary. He let his hands drift downwards, molding first to the shape of Hisoka's collarbones, then the sharp, unforgiving angles of his shoulders, then down to his chest. He traced the flat curves of pectoral muscles and felt small nipples harden into his palms. Hisoka made a sound that Tsuzuki felt as a low vibration through his hands, and he reached back with his emotions, sending love and reassurance and deep wonder that this was even allowed.

Hisoka grabbed one of his wrists. "Keep going," he growled, shoving his hand down. Tsuzuki smiled. He followed the path of gravity, letting his hands glide down over quaking ribs and a hard, flat stomach until at last they settled at Hisoka's groin. He cupped Hisoka through the front of his jeans, which had bunched into a graceless heap around his hips, and felt his flagging erection instantly revive itself. A tremor of delight arced through him at the knowledge that his mere touch could have this effect.

Their eyes met. Hisoka nodded, and Tsuzuki undid the button. He eased the zipper down, watching Hisoka's face for any signs of discomfort, and reached inside. An electric feeling shocked through him as his hand closed lightly on his partner's genitals. Hisoka rocked forward into his palm, permission granted in the clearest possible terms.

Tsuzuki allowed himself a moment of pure, shivering indulgence. He let his fingers wander lightly over the hot skin, loving its silky texture and the crisp scratchiness of hair against his knuckles. He wondered if that hair was wheat-colored too, like the hair on Hisoka's head. He cradled Hisoka's balls and rolled them in his palm, delighting in the small, ragged sounds this elicited from his partner. "I'm going to take you out of your pants," he whispered. "Is that okay?"

"Yesss... oh, fuck."

Hisoka's hands were suddenly in the way, colliding with his in their trembling eagerness to push the fabric aside. A frantic moment later, and Tsuzuki found himself gazing at his prize. As slender and lovely as Hisoka himself, curving gracefully upwards from its nest of fine curls. Which were, indeed, the color of ripe grain. "Beautiful," he said, still whispering because this moment was too perfect, too sacred to disrupt.

"Really?" Hisoka sounded so shocked--so pleased, that Tsuzuki had to laugh.

"Yes, love. Really. You are beautiful."

Hisoka's gaze clouded again. He fumbled with the hem of his shirt, hesitated a moment, then skimmed it off. It fell in a heap on the floor in front of the couch, leaving him painfully exposed. "Still think so?" he asked. He closed his eyes, as if dreading the answer.

Tsuzuki caressed his face with his free hand, tracing the line of his jaw and skimming down to reverently stroke his chest. Hisoka's skin was fine-textured, sculpted by slanting curves of muscle and sharp bony angles. Tsuzuki ran his thumb playfully over one bronze areola, watching the delicate skin tighten beneath his touch.

"All of you," he said. He tightened his other hand, squeezing and pulling. Hisoka gasped, thrust forward and nearly lost his balance, grasping Tsuzuki's shoulders at the last moment to keep from falling. Tsuzuki caught his hip to steady him. "Okay?"

The answer Tsuzuki got was mostly inarticulate thanks to what his hand was doing. Smiling, he arched up towards Hisoka and kissed his throat, his collarbones, his puckering brow, every part of him he could reach. He was grateful that Hisoka's curse marks hadn't made an appearance. The very last thing Hisoka needed right now was a reminder of having been raped, and Tsuzuki hated the thought of Muraki intruding on this moment.

It briefly entered his mind that perhaps they should take this to his bedroom, or at least switch to a more comfortable position. Then again, Hisoka had probably chosen this position for a reason, and Tsuzuki could only guess that he needed the sense of control that it offered.

Hisoka bent and brushed their lips together, his breath puffing against Tsuzuki's mouth. "Unhh... Tsuzuki..." He was gripping Tsuzuki's shoulder so hard it hurt, while his other hand glided on Tsuzuki's chest in restless strokes, as if it didn't quite know where it should go. His palm grazed one of Tsuzuki's nipples and he froze, cried out even before Tsuzuki did. Something kindled in Hisoka's gaze then, a feral light that Tsuzuki hadn't seen before. He briefly found himself wondering how it would feel to be taken by Hisoka. The notion collapsed when Hisoka's fingers returned to his nipple with deliberate intent this time, rolling and squeezing through the thin material of his shirt.

A hot spear of pleasure sizzled along his nerves. He bucked into the touch, heard himself whine. "Hnn... Soka..."

"Good?"

He took a breath and started to answer, but then a searing image flashed through his mind. Pale hands moving on his chest, the glint of something metallic. Cold metal teeth biting skin, bright blood-berries rising to the surface. Then nothing. The images vanished like fragments of a half-remembered dream, but they left a chill in his blood.

He set his shields in place and, with an apologetic smile, moved Hisoka's hand away from his nipple. Hisoka looked surprised, perhaps a little disappointed, but he slipped his hand downwards undeterred, making a path towards Tsuzuki's belt buckle. Tsuzuki captured his wrist. "No," he whispered. "This if for you, love. Just you."

The moment those words left his mouth, something changed. It was like slamming headfirst into a wall of ice. The breath in his lungs froze and he found himself suddenly in a cold place, stretched naked on a hard, flat surface. The voice whispering those words in his ear wasn't his. It was a voice he knew too well, frost-edged and dripping promises of anguish. For you, my butterfly. Just you.

Someone screamed. Maybe it was him. Then he was back on the couch and Hisoka was poised above him, frozen. His face was bone white, pupils dilated like a cat's so that only a thin strip of green showed around the edges. Neither one of them was breathing. A disconnected part of his brain took note of the fact that the record had gotten stuck and was playing the same meaningless phrase of music, over and over.

He opened his mouth, wanting to say something--anything--but the room seemed airless.

Hisoka shuddered suddenly. A tiny sound escaped his throat, something between a sob and a moan, and hot fluid gushed out over Tsuzuki's hand. The stillness that followed was terrifying. Tsuzuki heard his mind gibbering away in the background, doing frantic little somersaults of reasoning.

He didn't see.
Couldn't have.
My shields were up.
He didn't--

"Tsuzuki."

All thought ended with that. Hisoka had seen, he'd seen everything, and--

"Don't touch me!" Tsuzuki wriggled out from under him, dodging the hand that reached to touch his face. He stumbled back from the couch, self-revulsion crawling like worms beneath his skin as he turned and staggered to the bathroom.

"Tsuzuki!"

Tsuzuki paused. He took a last look back at Hisoka, so briefly his lover, who had risen from the couch and seemed to have found his senses somewhat. He'd buckled his pants, something for which Tsuzuki was grateful, but he had not yet retrieved the black shirt from the floor. His eyes were terrifyingly bright, and Tsuzuki ached at the sight of the rosy flush still spreading across his pale chest. "We can't do this again," Tsuzuki said. "I love you and I always will, but--we're just partners from now on. Understand?"

Hisoka's mouth fell open. "Tsuzuki, I don't--"

Tsuzuki didn't wait for the rest, if there was any. He stepped into the bathroom and slammed the door. The fan was loud and ancient and served to cover the sound of retching as he emptied his dinner into the toilet. His hands were freezing. He ran hot water on them to get the numbness out, and as the room filled with steam the image of the hook reappeared, ghostlike, on the mirror.

The apartment was empty when he came out. His record player was turned off and the dishes stacked neatly beside the sink. He filled his wine glass, drained it, filled it again and carried it and the book out onto the porch. There he lit a candle and started writing. The same words, over and over. For you. My butterfly.

~0~0~0~

(1) I'm just guessing that Italian food would seem exotic to Tsuzuki, much as Japanese food was exotic to me when I first tried it. This is a real recipe, by the way. I picked it from one of the recipe apps on my iPod. It sounded both romantic and comforting, which seems like a good combination for this scene. If you want to try it, you can find it at Lauren Ulm's incredible food blog, Vegan Yum Yum. The recipe comes up if you search under "pasta" or gnocchi." It dates back to 2008 so you have to scroll a bit, but it's worth the effort!