Kazutaka Muraki was not a nice man. He had killed and raped many people, many of which had done him no wrong. But for all his evil, Dr. Muraki had the look of an angel, and he was more than capable of using it to its full effect, when necessary. No one knew that better than Asato Tsuzuki, a Shinigami and long time nemesis of the doctor.
Currently, Muraki was the very reason Tsuzuki was lying awake, instead of taking what would be a well deserved rest. Though he had finally, at long last, vanquished the doctor, he was plagued by doubts and uncertainties. Tsuzuki's thoughts drifted to his very first meeting with Muraki; ironically enough, it had been in a church. Perhaps that had been some sort of symbol? Conjuring up that picture in his mind's eye, Tsuzuki couldn't reconcile the ethereal, holy, image with the things he had seen Muraki do. Somehow, that image of pure, beautiful, innocence was the one he kept of his archrival and try though he might, Tsuzuki couldn't summon any sort of satisfaction in the knowledge that Kazutaka Muraki was finally dead.
Falling back on his bed, Tsuzuki was ashamed to feel the beginning of tears pricking the back of his eyelids. Furiously, he tried to access memories of Muraki doing horrible things. He succeeded, in part. Tsuzuki managed to dispel the image of Muraki in the church, but he could only replace it with one of Muraki, looking sexy and dangerous and beautiful. Tsuzuki could never straighten out how he felt about Muraki, sexually. On one hand, Muraki was very attractive, and there was something that was very raw and sexual about the way he acted sometimes, especially around Tsuzuki. On the other hand, though, Tsuzuki was alternately disgusted and sympathetic, when confronted with the reality of the things that Muraki did. Muraki killed people without suffering any torture by his conscience. There were times when Tsuzuki wished he could do that. Though his job required it, and he had been doing it for 70 years, Tsuzuki had never managed to get his conscience reconciled to it, and he was plagued with guilt after every murder he committed.
Just thinking about Muraki had the power to excite Tsuzuki. He could feel his erection strain against the boxers he wore to bed. With an almost resigned groan, Tsu reached down to grip himself. The flesh beneath his hand began to twitch. He allowed his hand to move gently along the soft flesh. Briefly, he thought of Muraki, and how beautiful he looked, even when he was committing atrociously evil acts. The image was enough to compel Tsuzuki to take off his boxers, and toss them to the floor. Fully naked now, Tsu wrapped his hand around himself and began to rub up and down. After a moment, he realized that the skin of his hand was dragging on the skin of his cock, and in the absence of any other lubrication, he spat on his palm, and used his own saliva to diminish the friction. As he continued to touch himself, his hand jerking more and more erratically as he continued, Tsu wondered if Muraki ever did this, thinking of him. It was a powerful idea, and extremely arousing for Tsu, and his awareness began to pool into a hot tight urge to thrust forward against his hand. He ran his thumb over the tip, and stifled a grunt at the white hot pulse that knifed through him. Gasping for breath and on the edge of release, Tsu moved his other hand to cup his balls. As he massaged himself he felt fluid leaking from the tip of his cock, and smeared it around, so his hand slid even more easily up and down his shaft. He quickened the pace, moving hard and insistently, until he came violently, Muraki's visage swimming in front of his eyes.
Tsuzuki was lying there, trying to catch his breath, when Touda broke into his room.