Updated 15/9/04 with minor corrections.
Thanks to demonprist and Gengkotsuya for beta-reading. DP also provided useful cat tips, and the image of Muraki playing with fuda.
kaiserchan and demonprist have done some fic art. You can see it on my homepage. Go look!
xxxxx
Tsuzuki looked away. Muraki always had the uncanny knack for asking troublesome questions.
He thought of the souls he'd summoned to Meifu, the individuals who clung to life long after their allotted time. Few came willingly; most required coercion and supernatural force. Some were possessed or cursed at the time; such deaths were particularly bloody and horrific, but technically, each was a success. When he cast a spell or summoned his shikigami, there was no time to doubt, or question, or hesitate. Action took priority over emotion. Guilt was an indulgence he reserved for later, when the destruction was finished and his task complete.
He could divorce emotion from action when it came to work - at least until the job was done. He had several decades' worth of practice. But could he do it for himself, tonight, with the most dangerous, unpredictable and seductive individual he'd ever met? Sex without emotion, without commitment, without ties. Physical pleasure without any ties or obligation...
A frisson of excitement pierced through his consciousness.
Tsuzuki didn't know the answer to Muraki's question, but he wanted to find out the truth for himself. For decades he kept tight control over his appetite for the voluptuous, terrified of the consequences of giving in to temptation.
"Yes." Tsuzuki's voice was husky and unsure to his own ears. "I can say the same for myself."
"Really? Then show me. Take off your clothes."
The icy bluntness of Muraki's words cut through Tsuzuki's bravado. What the hell was he thinking? He was mad to even consider a repeat encounter. "I have nothing to prove to you." Tsuzuki slid to his feet, the blood roaring in his ears. "I came here to see your cat."
Muraki grasped his shoulder, nails digging into Tsuzuki's flesh through the layers of cloth. "Prove it. Come to my bed, demonstrate your indifference to my touch, and I'll let you play with the kitten for as long as you want." His voice dropped to a whisper. "How hard can it be?"
Tsuzuki shivered, and it wasn't from pain.
'How hard can it be?' The question reverberated in his mind.
He didn't know the answer. All he knew was the terrible hunger clawing at his insides, screaming for release. He wanted to rip off the rest of Muraki's clothes and shove him on the bed. He wanted to sink his teeth into the broad white shoulder and mark the beautiful flesh with cuts and bruises.
To act on it would be abhorrent to everything he believed in. To do nothing would drive him insane. He remained rooted to the spot, muscles locked in paralysed indecision.
His inaction proved to be a decision in itself.
Muraki's long white fingers lifted his jaw, and began untangling the knot of his tie. His movements were methodical and unhurried, lacking any sense of urgency or impatience. After the tie slithered free, his hands moved to the shirt, carefully undoing each button in turn. He didn't speak a single word.
Tsuzuki watched him from beneath hooded lids, his heart pounding against his ribs. He didn't attempt to hinder or assist Muraki in any way; his own control was so tenuous that he feared he would give himself away with the slightest movement.
One of the ruby studs fell into Tsuzuki's line of vision, partially hidden by Muraki's silver hair. Even in the soft illumination of the bedroom, its glitter demanding attention. It had been cold and sharp against his tongue. But Muraki's flesh had been soft and warm, and he had trembled with pleasure during Tsuzuki's playful nibbling last night.
Tsuzuki gritted his teeth. This memory was an added distraction he could do without.
Muraki paid him no heed. His fingers didn't linger or tease as he unbuttoned the shirt. It was an impersonal gesture, lacking any sensual intent. Compared to his earlier ardour, it made no sense at all. When the shirt was opened, he didn't pause to caress or admire Tsuzuki's bare torso. Instead, he walked behind Tsuzuki and took hold of the lapels of his trenchcoat.
He may as well have been preparing a patient for a physical examination.
The realisation hit Tsuzuki like a bullet. Was this how Muraki treated his patients? No mockery or lust or violence - merely this clinical detachment that bordered on indifference?
Tsuzuki rebelled. He wrenched the coat from Muraki's grasp and whirled around to face him.
Muraki dropped his hands to his sides. "What now?" His voice was tight and clipped. "Have you changed your mind yet again?"
"I..." Tsuzuki lowered his gaze, feeling foolish. He hadn't made up his mind in the first place. Desire and conscience pulled at him, a never- ending tug-of-war that threatened to tear him apart. He half-wished Muraki would use force, and take the decision out of his hands; physical violence meant little to a Shinigami. It was the agony of indecision he found unbearable.
From the bed, the kitten let out a plaintive meow. It came to its feet and padded toward Tsuzuki.
"No. Don't influence him." Muraki scooped it up in his arms. The kitten hissed and tried to claw at him. Muraki held it away by the scruff of the neck. "Leave him be. He's old enough to make his own decisions now."
The kitten's limbs went limp. Muraki cradled it close again. His long fingers caressed its tiny form, gently stroking from the top of its head to its little tail. The creature let out a soft purr of pleasure and curled itself into a ball of fur against his chest.
Tsuzuki flushed, remembering how he'd made his own sounds of delight last night. Muraki's innate sensuality had cast its own spell, charming him into eager compliance. Even now, watching them both, he longed to be the one being stroked by those skilled hands. But Muraki's features may as well have been set in stone. Even with his pet, he showed no enjoyment or warmth.
He'd seen this before: sensuality shackled to the demands of rigid self- discipline. The mark of the motivated and ambitious - like Tatsumi, the youngest Shinigami to be promoted to the position of secretary in the Shoukanka's history. No doubt Hisoka would follow the same path as he matured and decided on his own future. He possessed the same determination and stubbornness.
So was it so surprising that Muraki was capable of it too? How else could he have become a successful surgeon? For all his psychopathic tendencies, Muraki knew how to control his appetites when necessary.
As he was doing so now. Asceticism emerging triumphant over sensuality.
It incensed Tsuzuki beyond reason. To see Muraki so cool and collected, while he could barely leash his own desire...
It drove him to action.
He shrugged out of his black trenchcoat. The rattle of the buckles and the rustle of fuda were unnaturally loud in the otherwise silent bedroom. He threw it over the back of a nearby chair.
Muraki's hand froze over the animal's nape. The kitten meowed in protest and arched against his motionless palm.
Tsuzuki took off his shirt and let it fall to the floor. He hadn't bothered to wear trouser suspenders this time. "I know how to undress myself."
"I see." Muraki placed the kitten on the mattress. "I'll make sure to remember that in future." With his hands free, he turned away and began to undo the fly of his jeans.
Tsuzuki didn't look around. He kept his gaze averted as he unbuckled his belt and slid it free of the loops of his trousers. The anger of a few seconds ago was no more; it had been replaced by a brain-numbing sense of dissociation. He continued to undress, but felt depersonalised from the entire experience.
Why am I doing this? In exchange for time with the kitten?
It only took a moment to pull his feet free from his shoes, then remove his socks. The trousers slid to his ankles. His underwear followed a few seconds later.
To prove to Muraki I feel nothing apart from physical lust?
He didn't know. Maybe he would learn the answer in Muraki's bed.
Tsuzuki clenched his jaw against the laugh that threatened to escape. He was mad...as mad as the doctor he pursued and wanted with every fibre of his being. It was the only logical explanation.
Maybe insanity was a contagious condition.
Tsuzuki stepped away from the discarded clothes, outwardly calm. The only items he still wore were his watch and the pair of violet gloves. The gloves fitted his hands perfectly, as if tailor-made for him. Curious, he ran his fingers down the centre of his chest. The velvet was soft and warm, almost liquid in texture. He shivered at the delicious tactile sensation.
Muraki's gaze narrowed as he watched Tsuzuki's reaction. "Come to bed," he snapped as he yanked the blankets aside. Dislodged, the kitten leapt on the nightstand and yowled in protest.
Tsuzuki obeyed, his eyes lowered. He slid between the pristine white sheets, rested his head on the pillow, and waited.
Muraki remained standing by the nightstand as he took the jar of lubricant from the drawer. The light from the lamp cast most of his muscular physique in shadow. As he moved, the light shifted over the planes of his pale skin, teasing Tsuzuki with glimpses of pale flesh imbued with gold.
Beautiful. There was no other word to describe him.
As the light fell on Muraki's back, Tsuzuki saw multiple lacerations marking the pale flesh. One formed a deep vermillion line starting at the nape of his neck that traversed the contour of a broad shoulder blade to end above the swell of one buttock.
Had he inflicted those wounds? He couldn't remember being so rough...
Muraki turned around. "What is it?"
Tsuzuki interlaced his gloved fingers together. Muraki would be safe from his talons tonight. "Nothing."
Muraki coated his fingers with the gel, but his steely gaze never left Tsuzuki's face. His movements were methodical and slow. He might have been preparing himself to conduct a surgical procedure, so unruffled was his demeanour.
Sensuality masked by severity.
Tsuzuki's anger crackled into life again, as unexpected as a lightning bolt.
There it was. There, standing before him, silhouetted by the lamplight, was his reason for being here.
He wanted to discover the limits of Muraki's self-control. He wanted to claw it to pieces with his bare hands to unearth the molten passion flowing like thick lava beneath. He wanted to pull Muraki with him so that the need drowned them both, and the fiery heat burnt them to cinders. Then maybe-- just maybe--he would be cured of this terrible yearning once and for all.
Muraki came to the bed. The mattress dipped as he sat beside Tsuzuki, his back resting against the headboard. With his lubricated fingers, he stroked his half-erect cock into full arousal. His slanted eyes remained shuttered; his lips were compressed in a grim line. If he found any pleasure in his self-imposed task, he wasn't revealing it.
Tsuzuki flushed. Desire twisted his insides. His gloved fingers shifted restlessly against the sheets.
Yet Muraki only had eyes for himself.
Tsuzuki lifted himself up from the pillow. With one gloved hand, he seized Muraki's wrist.
Muraki resisted his hold. He continued to stroke his shaft with his captured arm, his rhythm steady and even. Even as the velvet-clad fingers slid up to clench the flexing muscles of his forearm, Muraki refused to acknowledge Tsuzuki's presence.
Tsuzuki scowled. He sat up and yanked Muraki's masturbating hand away. He pinned it against the headboard, his velvet grip tight enough to restrict the blood supply and send shooting pain into Muraki's fingers. In one quick motion, he straddled Muraki's thighs so they faced each other.
Muraki remained silent, chin lifted in haughty defiance. But in the depths of the false eye, four points of red light flared into life. Between them, Muraki's erection arrowed up towards Tsuzuki, silently begging for his touch.
Tsuzuki couldn't resist. He lifted his hips and positioned himself over Muraki's lap. He wanted this. He needed this. If Muraki wouldn't give it to him, he would take it as he pleased.
With his violet eyes locked on Muraki's remote gaze, he impaled himself with a single stroke.
Muraki's body jerked to life. A strangled growl left his throat, and he buried his teeth into the juncture of Tsuzuki's shoulder and neck. His hands clutched Tsuzuki to him, nails clawing deep lacerations into his waist and buttocks. His hips thrust up to bury himself in the welcoming heat of Tsuzuki's body.
Tsuzuki threw his head back. At last. He welcomed the pain, a necessary prelude to the delicious sensation of Muraki filling him up. He lifted his hips, doing his best to match the fierce rhythm of Muraki's thrusts and accentuate the seductive friction against his prostate. His gloved hands slid over broad shoulders as he sought purchase over the pale skin.
Muraki gasped, his breath hot against Tsuzuki's neck. He bit Tsuzuki's shoulder repeatedly, relishing the flavour of ever-healing skin. He grasped the narrow hips, seeking to control the movements of Tsuzuki's body.
But Tsuzuki wouldn't let him. In this position, looming over Muraki, he knew he had gravity working in his favour. He continued to rise and fall over Muraki's shaft, every lineament of his body dewed with perspiration, straining for completion. His muscles fell into the sinuous rhythm of fucking; with each descent he opened himself to draw Muraki in, only to tighten around him as he lifted himself up and withdrew. His own cock swelled between their bodies, finding pleasure in the stimulation of his prostate.
Tsuzuki's fingers splayed possessively across Muraki's back and nape, curling into the healing lacerations he'd scratched the night before. His exposed nails would have opened the cuts again, but the barrier of liquid velvet prevented him from causing further injury.
A shiver passed through Muraki's frame. He shifted in Tsuzuki's hands, seeking more velvet caresses. The thrusts of his hips lost their initial urgency and eased to a slow undulation. His grip relaxed as it slid down to the lean perfection of Tsuzuki's quadriceps as it flexed and extended beneath his fingers. His fingertips left a smear of blood wherever he touched. Slowly he lifted his head to watch Tsuzuki at work.
The heat of his gaze filled Tsuzuki with dizzy triumph. He didn't notice the blood or cuts already healing on his back and hips. Muraki couldn't hide, not from him. With each touch rough and gentle, each movement violent and sensual, he revealed his insatiable hunger for carnality. His brows were drawn in a frown, but his grey eyes glittered, no longer forbidding and cold. The pallor of his cheekbones was replaced by a flush of heat. With each wet glide of flesh against flesh, Muraki's façade of icy severity melted before him.
Tsuzuki let his fingers run through silver hair, admiring the way it contrasted with violet velvet. But with the gloves on, he could only imagine their texture. Impulsively he stilled his hips and lowered his head to the curve of Muraki's neck. The strands felt so delicately soft against his face, like fine-woven silk, a curious contrast to the lean-muscled strength against him. Inside him.
He sought Muraki's ear with his lips. His tongue lashed the delicate whorls, then teasingly flicked the tempting ruby stud. His teeth nipped at the soft skin overlying the pulse below the angle of his jaw. It throbbed wildly as the blood raced under the skin beneath his lips.
Muraki shifted beneath his touch. His nails began to curl in Tsuzuki's thighs. "Tsuzuki-san..."
"You said it yourself. There's no escape. There's no hiding from your true nature." He rested his forehead against Muraki's, their lips mere inches apart. "I know people who deny their physical appetites, ruthlessly crushing their desires into oblivion. They barricade themselves against all emotion to the point where they forget how to feel in the first place." He allowed his lips to brush against Muraki's as he spoke, enjoying the illicit thrill it sent through sensitised nerve endings. "Do you honestly find this experience no different from performing an operation on a patient?"
Muraki leaned forward, his lips easing open as he tried to kiss Tsuzuki properly.
Tsuzuki pulled away. "You're not like them. You're no ascetic. You can pretend, but you're doomed to fail. You still feel. You still want. You still need." His muscles rippled around the erection buried within him for emphasis.
Muraki exhaled sharply. A thin film of perspiration dewed his forehead. Harsh lines bracketed his mouth. He looked like a man suffering unspeakable agony. "As do you." Without warning, he wrapped his fingers around the sharp angle of Tsuzuki's hips and thrust into him hard. "You want me."
Tsuzuki arched up in helpless abandon, lips parted on a groan as Muraki found that perfect spot inside him.
"You need me." Another thrust, more brutal than the first.
Tsuzuki gasped. He tried to grip Muraki's shoulders for support, but the gloves only made the flesh slide through his grasp.
"Say it." Muraki thrust up again, eyes narrowed to slits. The false eye glowed blood red.
Tsuzuki shook his head, too breathless to speak. His muscles quivered with the aftershocks of the friction against his prostate.
"Liar." Muraki lifted Tsuzuki from his lap, his hands holding Tsuzuki's hips as if he were a rag doll.
Tsuzuki whimpered and scrabbled at Muraki's shoulders, wordlessly protesting the enforced separation.
Muraki's lips twisted. He pushed Tsuzuki on the mattress so that he lay on his side, then curled behind him and sheathed his cock within Tsuzuki's moist heat once again. With one free hand, he reached around to squeeze Tsuzuki's cock.
Tsuzuki muffled a moan of pure bliss against the rumpled sheets. Muraki's thrusts were frenzied and fierce, but Tsuzuki was relaxed and ready for it. Sparks of pleasure-pain from his prostate sizzled through his trembling body like bolts of lightning. The sure milking of his cock elicited languid waves of lava-thick pleasure that incinerated what remaining resistance he had left, leaving him weak and helpless. Dual stimulation, dual pleasure. Each complementing the other.
"Actions...speak louder than words." Muraki nuzzled Tsuzuki's cheek. "Look at yourself. I rest my case."
Tsuzuki looked. Directly in his line of vision, a few metres from the bed, was the wardrobe mirror. He saw himself reflected there, violet-black eyes glittering with lust, dark hair tumbling over his flushed face, lips parted as he panted in time to Muraki's thrusts. Muraki loomed from behind, silver hair falling over Tsuzuki's shoulder, lips nibbling at Tsuzuki's ear, his powerful pale frame shifting fluidly as he continued the steady fucking.
They looked beautiful twined together. Two opposites united to form a perfect whole.
No. Don't think like that. Resist him. Fight him!
But what was the point in fighting when it felt so incredibly good?
Tsuzuki bit his lip against a moan of pleasure as Muraki stroked his thumb over the sensitised head, gently rubbing precome over the silky tight skin. He watched the movements of Muraki's hands, as hypnotised by their grace as the sensations they evoked in him.
"It feels good, ne?" At Tsuzuki's tight nod, Muraki toyed with his testicles, gently cupping and squeezing them, then rolling them within his palm until Tsuzuki's cock ached unbearably. "And this?"
The answer came out as a breathless gasp. "You know it does." Tsuzuki tried to rub his erection into the sheets, but Muraki seized it first.
"Let me," he murmured. He stroked the shaft again with renewed vigour. "Let me do everything for you, Tsuzuki-san."
Tsuzuki clutched the sheets in his hands. How could he resist? Muraki was very good at this. He couldn't remember the last time someone had wanted him so much. Tatsumi sought to comfort and heal, careful not to overstep his self-imposed role as nurturing protector; he had never touched him with such enthusiasm, and drive...and sheer arrogance. With his senses wrapped in a haze of heated pleasure, Tsuzuki could feel his arousal spiral towards climax like a leaf caught in a warm summer updraft.
But it was too slow. Tsuzuki wanted more, needed more. Frustrated, he tried to increase the pace of Muraki's rhythm, pressing his aching erection into skilled hands, squeezing the cock that stroked him so intimately.
Muraki shuddered. "Such stamina," he breathed. "I've never seen anything like it." He released Tsuzuki's cock and withdrew again. "Enough. You've already ruined my reputation once."
"Muraki..." Tsuzuki gripped Muraki's wrist as he twisted around. "Please--"
"Listen to me." Muraki sank his teeth into the juncture of nape and shoulder to reprimand him. "Let me use my mouth." His voice cracked a little. "Let me taste you properly...just this once."
"No." Sweat fell into Tsuzuki's eyes, making them sting. He rubbed his face against the cuff of one glove. "I'm not here...to feed you."
Muraki sighed behind him, his breath warm against Tsuzuki's shoulder. "How selfish you are, refusing to share your strength with an insignificant human such as I." He pressed himself close again, allowing the head of his cock to rub against the sensitive cleft.
Tsuzuki shivered and pushed back, shamelessly seeking the violation. "You're many things...but 'insignificant' isn't one of them."
"Was that a compli--" Muraki paused, his breaths coming in soft gasps as Tsuzuki impaled himself again. "Greedy." He trembled as he was sheathed completely. "This won't work. You're too good. We must try another tactic."
"Mmm...yes...more..." Tsuzuki was too focused on the sensations to concentrate on words. Muraki was with him again, filling him up, setting off sharp bursts of pleasure-pain inside him.
Muraki gestured at the black trenchcoat hanging over the chair. "Use your fuda. Make an illusion of me. Let my illusion self drink from you, while I take you...like this." He clutched Tsuzuki to him and rocked in and out of the enveloping wetness from behind, his movements slow and easy.
Tsuzuki shook his head. "You must...be mad. One of you...is trouble enough." He grasped Muraki's hip for support, and began to move against him in delicious counterpoint.
"Really?" Muraki's wavering chuckle transmuted to a throaty growl. "Ahhh...I can only...do so much." His silken voice was no more; emotion had transformed it to a hoarse sandpaper rasp.
This was music to Tsuzuki's ears. It rippled with longing and frustration and vulnerability...all the feelings Muraki had boasted he didn't have.
"Tsuzuki-san...please."
His pleading was the most erotic sound Tsuzuki had ever heard. For one dangerous moment, he felt a twinge of sympathy for his nemesis...until Muraki began to thrust deeper, faster, harder. With his free hand he gripped Tsuzuki's erection and harnessed it to the same relentless pace.
Sympathy was swiftly overwhelmed by more immediate urges.
Tsuzuki pressed his flushed face into the sheets, his breath leaving his lungs in ragged pants. Muraki's frenzied actions were welded to emotion, each driven by the other in an ever-escalating spiral of ecstatic feeling. His façade of cool indifference was well and truly broken. And Tsuzuki loved every moment of it. His body was no longer his own; its sole purpose was to be an instrument of Muraki's pleasure. Muraki gave; he received. Now he was receiving so much he thought he would explode from the ecstasy of it.
But he didn't. He couldn't. Something held him back. There was an invisible barrier preventing him from reaching that all-encompassing pinnacle of pleasure. Even as he reached for it with both hands, propelled by Muraki's relentless efforts, he could feel it float higher, just out of reach.
"No, no, no..." He writhed on the bed, straining for release.
Muraki groaned something against his shoulder and thrust one last time. It sent a fierce jolt through Tsuzuki's body...but it wasn't enough to send him over.
So near, and yet so far.
The only sound in the room was their gasping breaths. The agony Tsuzuki felt in his groin had subsided to a bearable ache. He could feel the sweaty length of Muraki against his back, his head resting against Tsuzuki's shoulder like a dead weight. His silver hair spilled over Tsuzuki's throat and cheek, and fell across his parted lips and nostrils. Tsuzuki snorted, trying to blow them away.
"Muraki," he whispered. "Muraki?"
He didn't move a muscle.
Tsuzuki shook his head, trying to clear Muraki's hair from his face. It was starting to tickle. Looking down, he saw a pale arm slung carelessly over his waist, one hand resting above his crotch. The fingers glistened with precome. Long legs entwined with his, pinning his lower limbs to the mattress. Even in sleep, he was still possessive.
Muraki had pushed himself to the limit of his endurance. Now here he lay, satiated and exhausted, a lean-muscled coil of weary masculine grace.
Tsuzuki rubbed his eyes with gloved hands and eyed their mirrored reflections. Was this outcome so surprising? After all, Muraki was human, with all the limitations the condition entailed. Lacerate his flesh, and he would carry the scars for months. Pose a sexual challenge to his ego, and he would obligingly fuck his way to mindless oblivion to defend his reputation.
Muraki, you fool. You make a covenant with a demon that tries to burn you alive. You lust after a Shinigami who mortally injured you once, and could easily kill you now. You must be insane to think you can meddle in our affairs.
It makes no sense. Why?
Muraki stirred against his shoulder. "Mmm." He regarded Tsuzuki's reflection in the mirror with heavy-lidded eyes. "My dear Tsuzuki- san..." His voice was light with amused fondness as he rubbed his cheek against Tsuzuki's shoulder. "What am I going to do with you?"
Tsuzuki twisted around to face him. "Let me examine your kitten."
Muraki shook his head. "You were meant to prove your indifference first. And instead, you made liars out of us both." He nudged Tsuzuki on his back and loomed over him, propped up on one outstretched arm. "Look at yourself. The evidence of your own desire is still here..." he glanced down meaningfully, "...and here." He brought his wet fingers to his mouth and sucked them clean, eyes closing in bliss. When he opened them again, the false eye shone.
Tsuzuki turned red. "Stop that."
"Why?" Muraki lowered his head, and silver hair fell over his eyes. "Does this excite you, Tsuzuki-san? Would you like a taste?" He caressed Tsuzuki's jaw, his saliva-slick fingers trailing a wet path to his lips. "Next time you come to me, I'll ensure you partake as well. To share with another is to double the pleasure."
Tsuzuki pushed his hand away. At such close range, the red characters written on Muraki's eye were impossible to ignore. "Your eye. Who did this to you?"
"You can read it now, ne?"
Tsuzuki could read it all too well. "What's it doing there? Why--"
"Once it was tradition to tattoo the name of a lover on your flesh as a sign of your allegiance...and affection." He smiled, slanted eyes crinkling at the corners. "Such a romantic notion, ne?"
"Are...are you saying you wrote it?"
"No. My skills do not extend to ophthalmic surgery. That is an entire subspeciality in itself." He lowered his head and playfully rubbed his nose against Tsuzuki's. "But to a powerful demon, this is nothing. He merely says the word, and his will is done."
"Which demon?" Tsuzuki grabbed Muraki's face in both hands, unbalancing him. He pulled Muraki down and shifted around so they lay beside each other, face to face. "Tell me the name of the demon!"
"Tsuzuki-san." Muraki stroked his cheek. His voice was soft and gentle as if consoling a frightened child. "There is no need to be alarmed. You know the name already."
"This isn't a game. Your life is at stake. Your final trial and judgement before JuOhCho is at stake!" Tsuzuki gave Muraki a little shake. "Even if you care nothing for others, at least think of yourself!"
"You know the name," Muraki repeated quietly. "There's no need for me to declare what already lurks within your heart."
"No, I don't! I don't know the name. Stop lying, Muraki!"
"Hush, it's all right. Don't upset yourself like this." He brushed aside Tsuzuki's overlong hair from his face, sharp nails skimming lightly over his skin. "There's no need to feel ashamed. Like guilt and regret, shame is another useless emotion."
Pain twisted inside Tsuzuki. He thought this old wound was long healed, but it stung as Muraki's gentle words ripped it open again. Such compassion from the enemy...he didn't want to listen. He couldn't bear to listen. He hardened his heart against it. "It's not me. It can't be me." He lifted narrowed eyes of violet-black to meet Muraki's regard. "I know it's not me."
Muraki smiled tenderly, and his false eye glowed. "You look so cute when you're being obstinate."
"Is it the kitten? Does it house the demon responsible for your covenant?" Tsuzuki propped himself up on one elbow to look at the nightstand. The kitten rested on its stomach, watching them both with piercing grey eyes. "I know you're the one who created the illusion of fire. Are you the one who marked his eye as well?"
The kitten lashed its tail and meowed loudly at him.
"Come here." Tsuzuki yanked at the buckle of one glove. "Let's settle it once and for all."
Muraki grabbed one of Tsuzuki's wrists. "Leave it be." He sat up and took hold of the other wrist as well. "You must always wear these gloves in my presence. Once you have greater mastery over your powers, we can consider removing them."
"Greater mastery?" Tsuzuki raised a sceptical brow. He'd had seventy-odd years to master his powers, with mixed success at best. "Or do you mean when I lose the urge to attack and kill you?"
Muraki tilted his head, grey eyes glinting. "I'll settle for whichever one comes first."
Tsuzuki pulled his gloved hands free. No other person he knew radiated such an exasperating combination of arrogance and charm. "Be prepared to wait a long, long time."
"I can wait. Patience is one of the few virtues I have left. Fortitude must be yours. The agony of anorgasmia is a condition I wouldn't wish on my worst enemy." He cast another look down Tsuzuki's body to inspect the still- erect cock. "Why won't you let me use my mouth--"
"Don't." Tsuzuki pushed his face away. He bent his knees to conceal himself. "I...I've dealt with this before. It's easier if it settles on its own."
"Have you seen a doctor about this?"
Tsuzuki flashed him an annoyed look. "No."
"A sex therapist?"
"No!"
"A psychiatrist?"
"Muraki!"
"This is most curious." Muraki stroked his chin, deep in thought. "There's no mention of previous urological injury in my grandfather's records, and you shouldn't be suffering from any neurovascular dysfunction...unless..." Something menacing flickered in Muraki's expression. "How long have you had this condition?"
Tsuzuki turned as red as a beetroot. "That's none of your business!"
"I beg to differ. Your physical health is very much my business. Did you suffer from this while you were alive?"
Tsuzuki swallowed. Much of his short life was spent struggling to stay alive and fleeing from people who wanted him dead. It didn't leave room for any relationships outside his immediate family. But when he was alone, climax came easily enough. "No, not that I know of."
"Interesting." Muraki reached for the nightstand drawer and pulled out his lighter and a pack of cigarettes. "When did you first notice this problem?"
Tsuzuki lowered his head so that his chin rested on his knees. He was too embarrassed to look at Muraki any longer.
The kitten jumped on the mattress. It padded to Tsuzuki and rubbed itself against his legs. When Tsuzuki stroked its back with a gloved hand, it purred.
Muraki raised a brow, but said nothing. He rested his back against the headboard, lit his cigarette and smoked in silence. Waiting.
Tsuzuki closed his eyes. Many years ago, Tatsumi had tried to help by using his shadows to cocoon them both against the rest of the world. He wanted to create a little place of tenderness and love, a haven in the midst of the everyday horror and banality of their work. Even now, Tsuzuki still remembered his touch: so gentle, and protective, and considerate. Tatsumi went to such pains to put Tsuzuki first...to the detriment of his own desires. Without success.
Tatsumi had taken it personally, despite Tsuzuki's claims to the contrary. He insisted on perfection in everything he did. Failure was not permitted in any endeavour.
After that, there had been no one else. Tsuzuki made sure of that.
Then Hisoka came to EnmaCho: a teenage boy who was as cute as a button, and filled with repressed pain and anger. Tsuzuki couldn't help but be drawn to his beauty and determination and courage. At one time he even harboured fantasies of initiating Hisoka into the pleasures of sex. He imagined himself as the wiser older tutor carefully bringing the young student to orgasm, showering him with love and tenderness to erase the nightmare of his first encounter with Muraki.
But it never came to pass. Hisoka cared for him as a brother, not a lover.
Tsuzuki buried his head in his hands. It was just as well. He had no idea how to bring himself off. How the hell could he teach anyone else how to do it? The blind leading the blind...
"Stop it, Tsuzuki-san." Muraki's voice rang like the crack of a whip.
Tsuzuki lifted his head. "Stop what?"
Muraki watched him closely. The kitten returned to his side and sat on his left, equally serious. "Didn't I tell you that the past cannot be changed? Mulling over what might have been is a pointless exercise."
"How do you know what I'm thinking? Are you empathic?"
"Hardly. Your features reveal your emotions all too easily." Muraki studied the glowing end of his cigarette. "Your unfortunate condition has only afflicted you since you've been a Shinigami, ne?"
"I don't... " Tsuzuki blinked. It was true. "What does being a Shinigami have to do with this?"
"Everything," Muraki replied tightly. "Enma has a great deal to answer for."
Tsuzuki stared. "You...you know DaiOh-sama?"
"I've never had the pleasure of meeting him, but I know of him. Then again, who doesn't know the all-knowing, all-powerful ruler of EnmaCho?" Sarcasm dripped from Muraki's mocking drawl. "Come to think of it, this strikes me as typical of his handiwork. To grant you the gift of an immortal body, yet deprive you of the liberty to reach the ultimate pleasure with it..." Muraki stubbed out the cigarette in one vicious movement. "I suppose he wants to avoid further contamination."
"What...what are you saying? Are you accusing DaiOh-sama of...of...interfering..." The idea was preposterous. "But why would he care what I do with myself? It's not any of his business!"
"Enma cares a great deal about your progress. A despot must always be on the lookout for potential rivals in his midst if he is to maintain his grip on power."
"Despot? But he's not like that at all!"
"He employs many others to do his work for him. But this time, he has gone too far." Muraki exchanged grim looks with the kitten. "He deserves to pay for such interference, ne?"
The kitten yowled enthusiastically.
Tsuzuki shook his head, hopelessly confused. "But...but how's that related to me? I'm not after DaiOh-sama's job. I have enough work to do as it is. It doesn't make sense. Unless..." He cast Muraki a suspicious look. "...you're creating these fabrications to distract me from my investigation of you!"
"Nothing could be further from the truth." Muraki brushed his hair back and smiled, once again cheerful. "Please don't be distracted. Your investigation of me must take top priority!" He slung one arm around Tsuzuki's waist and pulled him close to nuzzle his ear. "You must visit every night to interrogate me further and gather clues, ne? I will wait here for you."
"Muraki..." His protest sounded half-hearted to his own ears. "I'm being serious."
Muraki turned off the bedside lamp, shrouding them in semi-darkness. Outside the bedroom window, faint fingers of light penetrated the darkness of the night sky. The lights of the city still twinkled below, steadfast observers to the coming dawn.
"So am I. You must come earlier to me next time. Sunrise is less than an hour away, and we still have much to do."
Tsuzuki sighed, too tired to resist. He allowed himself to lean against Muraki, taking comfort from his physical warmth and strength. It had been such a bizarre night. Watching the sunrise seemed incredibly innocent compared to the other things they had done earlier.
Yet something niggled at him. What would Tatsumi think? Chief Konoe? Would Watari be as blasé about this as he had been with the Gushoshin-in-bed incident? And Hisoka...
Strange how sitting in the peaceful silence of Muraki's bed felt like an even greater betrayal than the sex. But he was off-duty, wasn't he? Why must he worry about his Shoukanka friends around the clock? They weren't in any danger from Muraki's influence at the moment.
An image drifted into his mind, unbidden: Tatsumi and Hisoka together watching him as he left. Would they be thinking about him right now?
Tsuzuki didn't want to think about it. Thinking required too much work for his exhausted brain. He shifted himself closer to Muraki and accepted the kiss that feathered his forehead.
"What are you trying to accomplish?" he murmured. "What are you after?"
"All in good time, Tsuzuki-san." Muraki eased them down to the bed, and pulled the sheets over them. "Mere mortals, such as I, need time to rest before morning."
"Whatever your plans are, you only have six nights left to the full moon. What will happen then?"
"Some say the world was created in six days. If such miracles are possible for a single God, then there is hope for those of us with more modest schemes, ne?"
Tsuzuki sighed again. Muraki always spoke in cryptic riddles he found impossible to decipher. It was so much easier to lie by his side, allow the warmth of his body to permeate his flesh, and close his eyes.
There would be time to question him in the morning
XXXXXX
Unfortunately, morning arrived too soon for Tsuzuki's liking.
He winced at the sunlight as he opened his eyes. His sleep had been too short to get a decent rest, yet long enough to leave him feeling dopey and disoriented.
Next to him, Muraki lay on his back, still fast asleep. The kitten rested on the same pillow beside his head, watching Tsuzuki with unblinking eyes.
"Don't you ever take a nap? "
The kitten meowed at him, stood up and jumped to the floor.
Tsuzuki checked his watch. If he went back now, he could shower at his apartment and reach the Shoukanka at a reasonable hour. He needed to make a good impression today. Chief Konoe and Watari were expecting cakes for morning tea...
Cakes! He'd left them here in Muraki's apartment!
He quickly dressed and went to the kitchen. The boxes were neatly stacked on the kitchen bench. Thank goodness! He took them in his arms...and realised they didn't weigh enough.
The first box was empty. So was the second. He tore open the third. Empty.
Muraki walked out of the bedroom wearing white trousers and a shirt open at the waist. In his arms, he carried the kitten. "If you were hungry, all you had to do was ask. It is customary to ask your host permission before raiding his kitchen, ne?"
"Muraki! You pig!" Tsuzuki held out the box. "Look at this!"
Muraki lowered his glasses to inspect it. "Look at what?"
"My point exactly! They're all gone!" Tsuzuki slammed the box down on the bench. "I want them back now!"
"Are you accusing me of consuming them?" Muraki wrinkled his nose at the thought. "I assure you, they were definitely not to my taste."
"Aha! But you must have tasted them to know that! So you did eat them!"
"I ate one," Muraki informed him stiffly. "That was more than enough."
"One box?"
"No, one cake. It was far too sugary." He winced at the memory.
"Then who ate the rest?"
Muraki looked pointedly at the kitten. The kitten looked back at him.
"How could an animal so small eat so much? How low of you to blame your pet for your own gluttony." Tsuzuki walked from around the bench, his gloved hands clenched into fists. "I bought those cakes for the people at the Shoukanka. I was supposed to share it with them today!"
"So you didn't buy all those confections for your own consumption?"
"Of course not. I'm not a glutton like you!" He jabbed Muraki's chest for emphasis.
Muraki sighed, a little annoyed. "Tsuzuki-san, sweets like these should be eaten fresh. Although they can keep, they taste best when you buy them on the day they are made."
"That doesn't excuse your thievery of food! To steal the source of one's sustenance is a crime--"
"But you are a Shinigami," Muraki reminded him. "Strictly speaking, your body doesn't require food for sustenance."
Damn him for being right. Not only did he talk in riddles, he always wanted to have the last word in an argument. "This is a pointless conversation. I'll simply have to get more cakes before I return to Meifu."
"I doubt any confectionery store will be open this early." Muraki placed the kitten on the kitchen bench and took out two mugs from a cupboard. "Why don't we have a cup of coffee? Later we can enjoy a sumptuous breakfast at one of the tearooms when they open for business--"
The kitten hissed and arched its back.
Muraki whirled around, but Tsuzuki was already gone.
XXXXXX
The young woman was polite but firm. "I'm sorry, sir. We don't open until eight-thirty. You are welcome to wait outside, but we can't let you in until we open for business."
"But I am bringing you business!" Tsuzuki clasped his hands together. "Please! I'll take anything!"
"We still haven't finished making the morning batch. If you come back in an hour's time--"
Watari would never forgive him. Chief Konoe would have a fit.
"I can't wait that long!" Tsuzuki fell to his knees, hands still clasped together. "Have you ever seen a grown man cry like a baby? Have you ever seen two grown men cry like babies? This is the horrific situation I will face if I don't buy your sweets! You have to help me! I'm willing to pay!" He fumbled in the breast pocket of his trenchcoat for money, and came up with handfuls of fuda.
Damn! He didn't bring any money!
The woman tried to close the door. "Excuse me. I must go back to work now."
Tsuzuki jumped up and wedged the door open with his foot. "This is an emergency! Please!"
"We are only a confectionery store. Most people call the police or the ambulance or fire station in such situations."
"My sugar levels are too low! I feel so dizzy!" Tsuzuki grabbed his head and did his best impersonation of a staggering drunk. "I must...eat...sweets...to survive..." He keeled over and collapsed on the pavement for dramatic effect. A few passers-by slowed down to stare at him, but all kept walking on.
The woman giggled. "Thank you for calling. Please come back in an hour's time!"
Tsuzuki grimaced as the door of the shop slide shut. The begging act had earned him nothing...except a bump to the back of his head from where he'd hit the ground. He sat up and rubbed it. To a human, such an injury would almost certainly cause concussion, but it was trivial to a Shinigami.
"If I hadn't seen it with my own eyes, I wouldn't have believed it possible."
Tsuzuki looked up. Muraki leaned against the wall of the shopfront, smoking a cigarette with insouciant disregard for his surroundings. Neatly attired with his white trenchcoat belted around his waist, he looked crisp and clean and respectable. Everything Tsuzuki, sitting on the dusty footpath, was not.
"Why do you do this?" Muraki asked. "Why do you humiliate yourself before others? Is it easier to act the fool than to acknowledge your true nature?"
"How...how did you find me? How did you get here so quickly?"
Muraki shrugged. "The same way you did."
Tsuzuki clambered up and dusted his trenchcoat off. "If you're telling the truth, this is the second Shinigami power you've demonstrated." He folded his arms, once again serious. "Who has granted you such power? Demons don't grant such high-order skills--"
"You shouldn't make such sweeping generalisations, Tsuzuki-san. Not until you have associated with more demons, ne?" Muraki dropped the cigarette to the ground and ground it out with the heel of his shoe. "Maybe you should ask Enma how he is able to grant such a comprehensive range of powers to you Shinigami."
"Of course DaiOh-sama can grant us powers. He wouldn't be our boss otherwise. What are you insinuating about him?"
"Nothing, nothing. Just giving you food for thought."
Tsuzuki stared at him hard. "The only food I'm interested in is inside that store."
Muraki pushed himself from the wall and stood beside Tsuzuki to survey the storefront. "The construction of this building seems simple enough. Why don't you use your fuda? With a single attack, you can destroy the entire entrance and take what you want."
"What? Are you crazy?"
"Why do you insist on questioning my sanity? I am confident my plan will work more effectively than your previous strategy. Or..." His grey eyes lit up. "Summon your shikigami. Suzaku, Byakko, Touda...let them wreak their havoc on this shop. Let everyone here bear witness to the punishment meted out to those who choose to disobey you!"
"Shut up! I don't want to destroy anything. All I want is a few cakes." Tsuzuki looked around nervously, but no one seemed to be listening in on them. "Indiscriminate use of magic is not the answer."
"Are you sure?" Muraki snatched one of the fuda peeking out of Tsuzuki's breast pocket. He squinted at the cryptic writing, then waved it in the air like a conductor with a baton. "Attack! Destroy this place!" he said loudly.
Apart from attracting the attention of more bemused passers-by, nothing else happened.
"Give it back!" Tsuzuki made a grab for it, but Muraki closed his fist around it first.
"Why doesn't it work? You must teach me how to use this, Tsuzuki-san."
"It's my fuda, you idiot! Only I can activate my fuda! If you want to play with fuda, get your own!"
Tsuzuki lunged. Muraki dodged, but not fast enough. They hit the store window together with a loud thud.
Inside, two sales assistants looked up from behind the counter.
"I've never seen anything like it," one said to the other. "Two grown men fighting in broad daylight."
"You should have let the dark-haired man in. If he had bought some sweets, maybe he wouldn't be fighting with his boyfriend. He did look so cute when he was begging outside."
"He didn't have any money on him," the first assistant said. "He just had these weird bits of paper."
"How can you be so mean-spirited? Look at them: they are both so handsome! It's sad when couples fight over little things. And they're attracting so much attention! I've never seen so many people looking at our shop! Maybe it will boost business."
"Maybe it will drive everyone away. The sooner we get rid of them, the better." The first assistant unlocked the door and popped her head outside. "Stop fighting out there! If you break our window, you'll be liable for damages."
Both men turned, flushed and gasping for breath, their faces inches apart. Tsuzuki clutched Muraki's throat in a convulsive stranglehold. One of Muraki's hands was clenched in Tsuzuki's hair, while the other remained closed in a fist by his side.
For a moment, the assistant had the strangest feeling she was interrupting something much more intimate than a lovers' quarrel.
"Are you open yet?" Tsuzuki snapped. His violet-black eyes glittered like the eyes of a starving beast.
"No...not yet." She cringed behind the door, unnerved by his ferocity. He had appeared so goofy and silly a few minutes ago.
Muraki smiled. "Please let us enter your charming store to buy some of your delicious sweets. We regret any inconvenience we may have caused you in our eagerness to sample your wares, but we come to you as dedicated connoisseurs."
He uncurled his fist, palm up, to reveal three 10,000 yen notes.
"Why, of course!" She threw the door open. "Please do come in, both of you! We are always willing to accommodate the needs of our customers!"
"You are most kind," Muraki said to her. He turned back to Tsuzuki and placed the notes in his hand. "Fuda aren't the only pieces of paper with influence, ne?"
Tsuzuki gawked at him. "How did you do that? How did you transform the fuda..." His eyes narrowed. "It's up your sleeve, isn't it? A sleight of hand."
"A magician never reveals the secrets behind his tricks."
Annoyance warred with grudging admiration. Tsuzuki used such tricks himself, so he knew how difficult it could be. Muraki's technique was good, but he'd never admit it out loud. Muraki's vanity was inflated enough without him feeding it further.
Muraki straightened the lapels of Tsuzuki's coat, then adjusted his own coat so that it sat perfectly in place on his shoulders. "Now I have to go. Be sure to come early this evening. We must have dinner together."
"You aren't coming in? But what about your change?"
"The pleasure of your company is worth any price." Muraki waved a dismissive hand as he walked off. "Spend it as you wish. Consider it recompense for the missing sweets."
"But it's far too much--"
"Then spend it on yourself. Or return the change to me over dinner, if it matters so much to you."
Thirty thousand yen. Tsuzuki couldn't remember the last time he'd been trusted with so much money. What was he going to do with it? And why was Muraki being so generous? Did he have some ulterior motive?
The welcoming aroma of cakes and sweets wafted from the open door, but Tsuzuki resisted its mouth-watering allure to watch Muraki saunter along the street. His white coat swung around him as he moved. The morning breeze tousled his silver hair. Pedestrians moved aside to let him pass, awed by his self-possession and aura of cool untouchability. He looked like a man who wanted for nothing, and needed no one.
Tsuzuki stood still, remembering how Muraki had clutched him and growled his name last night. Now it was morning, and Muraki didn't look back once.
"Please come in!" the assistant called out. "Our first batch is ready now. We have manju, kasutera, and seasonal namagashi available."
"Coming!" Clutching the notes in one velvet-clad hand, Tsuzuki turned away and went inside the store.
xxxxx