Lemon scene ahead. Mild violence and bondage.
With his decision made earlier that afternoon, Tsuzuki had a new sense of purpose. Each dream was a potential source of new clues and information that could lead him closer to Muraki. So before going to bed that night, Tsuzuki placed a pen and notepad by his nightstand, ready to record his dream the moment he woke up. He dressed in his usual sleeping attire, a T-shirt and boxer shorts, then tucked himself in for the night.
The darkness enfolded him and, for once, he welcomed it.
He dreamt of a rose garden by the light of a full moon. He was pruning the barren bushes with a pair of shears, carefully cutting the branches back so they would grow vigorously when spring came around. One of the things he had missed about being a Shinigami was that he could no longer do any gardening. Plants bloomed all year round in Meifu. Human--or non-human--intervention was not required.
He sniffed the air. He could smell the sweet scent of roses. But where was it coming from? He looked around, but he was surrounded by rows of bare thorn bushes.
"I promised you roses, didn't I, Tsuzuki-san?"
Tsuzuki stood up and whirled around, still holding the shears. There was no one to be seen. "Muraki? Where are you?"
"Unfortunately, this isn't the season for them. It was hard enough finding that last bouquet for you."
The voice seemed to be coming from above him, but Tsuzuki couldn't see anyone in the garden. "Stop hiding like a coward and come out!"
"You're the one who's hiding here." This time the voice was at his right ear, the breath warm and heavy over his skin. "Come out and join me."
Tsuzuki scratched his ear, distracted by the ticklish sensation. Was Muraki pretending to be invisible? "Where are you?"
There was no answer.
"Muraki!"
He had to be somewhere nearby. Tsuzuki took a step forward…and the next thing he knew he was falling into pitch darkness. He kicked out violently, a reflex response…
And awoke to find himself in his bed. It was still night, with silvery moonlight from the window the only source of illumination.
Relief washed over him. It was over! He sighed in relief, and then he detected the scent, much stronger than before. And the warm weight pressed against him. With a sinking feeling of dread, he realised he wasn't the only one in this bed…
"I'm so pleased you could make it."
Tsuzuki slowly turned his head. His fingers clutched at the blankets, instinctively pulling them up to his chest.
It was Muraki, this time in the flesh, lying on his side with his head propped up on one elbow. The moonlight bleached his features to ghostly white, making him appear like a statue of alabaster. The white yukata did nothing to conceal the broad expanse of his smooth chest.
"What are you doing in my bed?? Get out, dammit!"
Muraki's lips curved into a mocking smile. "I'm coming out, exactly as you requested." He lifted up one hand and opened his palm, scattering rose petals all over Tsuzuki. "The next best thing to the fresh blossoms, don't you agree?"
The petals fell on his face, obscuring his vision. Their colour was deep red, the colour of venous blood. The cloying sweet scent filled his nostrils, making him dizzy.
"I don't want them. Stop it." He shook his head vigorously. Their velvet softness drifted from his face and neck to rest on the pillow. A few remained tangled in his hair.
"They look beautiful on you," Muraki murmured. He removed his glasses and placed it on the nightstand. "I shouldn't have discarded that other bouquet so hastily in the library, ne? But you offered me such an irresistible challenge. How could I resist?"
Through the silver curtain of Muraki's bangs, Tsuzuki could just make out the false eye as a dim red glow. He had to get a closer look at it. Unfortunately, that meant getting close to Muraki himself. He suppressed the instinctive urge to shove him away and run for his life. He knew how to make polite conversation, even with serial murderers. "Because of your antics, I've been banned from entering the library for three hundred years."
Muraki chuckled. "Three hundred years? A blink of an eye in the life of an immortal." His fingers slipped beneath the collar of Tsuzuki's shirt to trace his collarbone. "In any case, it doesn't matter. The answers you seek will not be found there."
Tsuzuki pushed his hand away. "You want me to find you, is that it?"
"But of course." Muraki lowered his lips to brush Tsuzuki's, a velvet caress as delicate as the rose petals he had strewn over the bed. "We have much unfinished business between us."
Tsuzuki's heart hammered in his chest, desperate to break free from his ribcage. All he could see was the glowing red eye and the silver hair…and then he must have shut his eyes because there was only darkness and the heat of Muraki's lips over his. Tsuzuki made a choking noise as Muraki's tongue swept inside, sliding against the inside of his mouth with languid strokes.
He couldn't breathe. He couldn't think. He couldn't move, not with the weight of Muraki's body pressing down on him. Beneath the skill of Muraki's touch, he was drowning. There was no escape from the assault. Muraki parted his trembling mouth with ridiculous ease, lashed the roof of his palate and the soft inside of his cheek, teasing his tongue into something dangerously close to compliance. Tsuzuki found himself drinking something rich and sweet, more delicious than the finest dark chocolate.
Above him, Muraki's lips slanted against his, curving into a smile. One of his thighs slid against Tsuzuki's crotch, seeking a more intimate type of connection. "Tsuzuki-san…" His baritone voice lingered over the name, relishing the sound of each syllable. "I want you so much."
"Enough!" With a supreme effort of will, Tsuzuki grasped Muraki by the shoulders and shoved him way. His arms trembled with the effort, and it wasn't just from lifting his heavier frame.
Muraki sighed, shaking his head in amused resignation. "Why do you continue to fight? Why do you deny yourself something you obviously--"
"Shut up!" He clamped down on the self-loathing that threatened to well up inside him. Not now. Focus on Muraki. He had to get a better look at that eye. "Haven't you got anything better to do than molest me? Isn't this a step down from your plans for immortality?"
"But molesting you is so much fun," Muraki replied lightly. He sat up and casually ran his fingers through his hair. "And please remember, I'm not the type of person to trespass on private property without an invitation as you did on the Queen Camellia. Such impoliteness is inconceivable to a gentleman of my standing."
Tsuzuki jack-knifed to a sitting position. "But it was for work! That doesn't count. And when have I ever invited you into my bedroom?"
"You allowed me into a place far more intimate." Muraki caressed his jaw, fingers teasing the pulse that pounded at his throat. "Your imagination."
Tsuzuki seized his wrist. "How are you able to do this?"
"Weren't you warned not to make such violent movements, Tsuzuki-san? Have you forgotten about what will happen to you?"
Something cold and hard snapped around Tsuzuki's right wrist: a set of steel manacles.
"Hey! Where did this--"
Another set of manacles snapped around his other wrist. Both manacles pulled him down on the mattress, arms apart in a crucifix position.
"Muraki!" Tsuzuki pulled at them, but they both held tight. "What the hell is this?"
"Watari-san's invention, modified slightly for my purposes. You must give him my compliments for the concept."
Tsuzuki swore and kicked out at Muraki with his feet. "This isn't fair, dammit! Only a bastard like you would choose something as underhanded as this!!"
Muraki stood up and untied the sash of his yukata. With a whisper of sound, it slid off his shoulders. Tsuzuki averted his eyes, but he already knew Muraki was nude beneath the robe. Fear curled in the bottom of his stomach. He knew from past experience where this was going. If he were going to get out of this, he'd have to try a different tactic.
"Where's the challenge in tying me up like this?" he asked. "You know my magic never works in dreams. Or are you so afraid of me?"
It was impossible to see the moonlight anymore-- it was blocked out the shadow of Muraki's body as he loomed over Tsuzuki. Only a small fraction of light was visible as it fell on the breadth of his broad shoulders, making the pale flesh gleam in the dark.
"I consider it a wise precaution in view of your previous…handiwork." Muraki lifted one arm to run his fingers down his side, revealing the ugly jagged scar running along his lower ribcage. "Let me assure you, even immobilised you are still a challenge." He sat down by the side of the bed and reached up to caress the dark overlong hair from Tsuzuki's face.
Tsuzuki froze, stunned at the gentleness. What was Muraki up to now?
Muraki pressed a chaste kiss to Tsuzuki's forehead, a gesture almost fatherly in its tenderness. "Have you ever wondered why your magic doesn't work here while mine does, Tsuzuki-san?"
"You're manipulating my dreams. You've dictated what I can and can't do."
Muraki's lips traced the curve of his brow. "That's not entirely true. All your reactions and feelings are entirely your own." A warm tongue darted out, delicately lapping at one of his eyelids.
Tsuzuki shook his head. He didn't want this facsimile of affection. "Don't…don't do that."
Muraki ignored him. He held Tsuzuki's face between his hands and lapped at the other eyelid. "You're powerless because you've chosen to be that way," he murmured. "Deep down, you want this as much as I do."
Something cold and heavy settled in the pit of Tsuzuki's stomach. "You're lying."
Muraki lifted one shoulder in a careless shrug. "Believe what you like. I was merely offering an explanation." He bent his head to the hollow of Tsuzuki's throat and pressed biting kisses along its length.
"No." Tsuzuki trembled in spite of himself, a mixture of fear and arousal licking at his nerve endings. He writhed against the restraints, but it only succeeded in increasing his awareness of Muraki's weight pressing him into the mattress, hard and hot and heavy against him.
His lips traced a path along Tsuzuki's collarbone, sliding over the cotton of his shirt when it blocked his way. With unerring accuracy, Muraki latched on a taut nipple with his mouth, teasing the hard nub with his teeth and tongue through the cloth.
Tsuzuki shuddered, his teeth gritted against the moan that threatened to escape. The wet friction of the cloth against sensitised flesh made his insides ache with longing. Looking down, he saw his nipple peaking against the cooling damp material, as if begging for more stimulation. But Muraki had already closed his mouth around the other nipple, biting and suckling at it with greedy eagerness.
Hopelessly Tsuzuki shook his head and pulled against the bonds, his body covered in a fine film of sweat. He was being devoured. His body was a dish for Muraki's delectation, something to be savoured…and later discarded when he was finished. For a brief moment, he thought of Hisoka and the elaborate markings that adorned his flesh. Was this what Hisoka experienced before he was cursed?
Muraki noticed Tsuzuki's distraction, and it displeased him. His hands slid beneath the shorts and pulled them lower, before curving around his hip and buttock, sharp nails digging into flesh.
Tsuzuki hissed and arch up, the throbbing pleasure inflicted by Muraki's mouth forgotten by the startling pain. Muraki used the movement to slide the shorts past Tsuzuki's hips and down to his knees.
"No!" Tsuzuki twisted and tried to kick out, but the band of the shorts hobbled his movements. "Dammit, Muraki!"
Muraki rolled off him to dodge the blow, but his hand began to caress the skin he'd marked. "Hush," he murmured, as if soothing a frightened child. "The balance of opposites is necessary for harmony. With great pain will come great pleasure. You must learn to be patient, Tsuzuki-san." He pulled up Tsuzuki's shirt to his armpits, scattered a handful of rose petals over his bare torso, then gently rubbed them against his chest and abdomen in slow circles.
The scent of the petals eased the edge off Tsuzuki's anger; it was sweeter than any flower he knew. Even as his muscles nervously twitched as Muraki's hand slid lower, his senses delighted in the velvet texture of the petals, the knowing touch against his skin, and the blending of his own unique body scents with the essential oil of the roses.
"That's it," Muraki murmured. "Feel their softness. A body as beautiful as yours needs no other adornment." His stroking hand reached down to grasp Tsuzuki's cock.
Tsuzuki jerked as if electrocuted. His breath came in short, panting gasps. He could feel himself leap into Muraki's palm, his cock swelling eagerly as it was skilfully pumped. Much as he despised Muraki's actions, his body was now revelling in his touch, shameless in its desire for more. Pleasure coursed through his veins, pooling in his groin. The flush of desire suffused his face, spreading down to his chest. His thighs fell apart slightly, inviting more of the doctor's touch.
Lying on his side, his head pillowed by one of Tsuzuki's restrained arms, Muraki watched with slitted eyes. He flicked at the head with his thumb, circling the sensitive crown before resuming the steady strokes. He could feel Tsuzuki trembling, hips shifting against the sheets in impatience, wanting more. But he chose to ignore it, for he had a timetable of his own.
He pressed his lips against Tsuzuki's ear. "I want you to feel, not fight. Focus on what I'm doing to you, here and now, in this bed. Does it feel good, Tsuzuki-san?"
Tsuzuki clenched his eyes shut. "Stop it," he whispered. "You've made your point…"
"Have I?" Muraki obligingly released him and sat up. "But I haven't even begun yet." He tugged off Tsuzuki's shorts and seated himself between his legs. With a wicked smile, he lifted one of Tsuzuki's knees up and began nibbling along his inner thigh, a buyer sampling a piece of fresh fruit. He stroked along the tense quadriceps and hamstrings, his nails lightly scraping the skin as he stroked higher and higher.
Tsuzuki watched, helplessly fascinated. He was drawn to the graceful sinuous motion of the muscles of Muraki's shoulder and arms, supporting and stroking his leg. He caught the flash of teeth before Muraki sank them into his thigh and bit the taut flesh. Even as he felt the pain of the bite, a part of him felt curiously detached from the seductive spectacle. It didn't satisfy the hunger for completion. His neglected cock throbbed against his abdomen, a graceful arc of frustrated desire.
Distracted by the sight of himself, Tsuzuki turned away and caught sight of his manacled wrist. The flesh was red and raw, chafed by the metal. The pain was a welcome distraction from the ache in his groin.
Perhaps Muraki realised what he was doing, for he began inflicting his own brand of pleasure-pain. His mouth glided up Tsuzuki's inner thigh, deliberately allowing his teeth to graze the delicate flesh. Tsuzuki trembled, trapped between dread and desire as the lips came within inches of his crotch. He could feel the hot breath fanning his cock, the silver head bent over him in the moonlight, almost ghostly except for the powerful musculature of his shoulders and torso.
Finally Muraki took mercy on him. He cupped the testicles, tugging them down from where they pressed tight against Tsuzuki's body, then fondling them as they rested in his palm.
Tsuzuki groaned aloud. It was torture, sensual torture where pleasure and pain blurred together, each indistinguishable from the other. He arched up again, this time in invitation, every lineament of his finely muscled body tense and gleaming with sweat. His mind was too far gone to register emotions such as guilt and shame. It had been subsumed by his longstanding weakness for physical gluttony. To long for food was at least socially acceptable; to long for this…it was sheer depravity.
His cock jerked, arrowing up from his abdomen. It seemed to be reaching for Muraki, silently begging for his touch. Tsuzuki could feel it swelling up to the point of exquisite pain, an agony so sweet it was almost impossible to bear. But even as he squirmed and shook his head, his senses gloried at Muraki's skill in drawing out his pleasure like this. Was Muraki right after all? Was he complicit in his own helplessness? Was there no way for him to ever gain the upper hand?
Muraki slid one finger along the head of his cock, collected the precome and brought it to his lips. "Delicious. Such sweetness..." He shut his eyes briefly, his expression like that of a gourmand savouring a much-prized delicacy. When he opened his eyes, the false eye glowed red. "Give me more." He bent over Tsuzuki in one graceful movement, grasped his erection and took him in his mouth.
"Ahhh!" Tsuzuki yanked at the restraints with such force that he drew blood from one his wrists. But he barely noticed, too caught up in the heat and suction and wetness engulfing his cock. He was sheathed and released, again and again, a kaleidoscope of conflicting sensations that obliterated all else. He was being taken deep, so deep he could feel the contractions of throat muscles against the head, and then the lips would slide back and send shivers of delight radiating along the length of his shaft.
Tsuzuki could barely think, let alone breathe. The way Muraki was sucking him off with such single-minded intensity, devouring his flesh with avaricious glee, hands lifting his pelvis higher, almost tossing Tsuzuki's knees over his shoulders to draw him into closer to his mouth…Tsuzuki had never been the recipient of such focused physical attention. He watched with dazed eyes as Muraki lifted his head to draw breath. His false eye shone a brilliant red, as bright as a laser, almost blinding in its intensity, before he lowered his mouth again--a twisted imitation of a babe hungry for its mother's teat.
Through the haze of building orgasm, something gnawed at the back of Tsuzuki's mind. This wasn't any ordinary blowjob. Muraki was getting more out of this than sexual manipulation.
The glowing red eye with its dancing characters now brighter than ever…
He had to see it.
He looked at his right wrist, now bleeding profusely against the white of the sheet. It didn't matter. He was a Shinigami. Blood meant nothing. Pain meant nothing. What was a steel restraint to someone who lived outside the laws of human science?
Tsuzuki gritted his teeth and pulled against the restraints in earnest. He welcomed the pain, a necessary distraction from the pleasure imposed by Muraki's voracious mouth. His shoulder muscles cramped with the effort. He lifted his neck up, every line of his throat exposed. The skin was tearing, giving way to flesh and tendons. There was the crunching sound of metal crushing bone. Tears filled his eyes, and he shook them away. Both arms burned, as if it they were on fire. His shoulders and chest muscles ached so much…
Abruptly the restraints to his right wrist snapped open, setting him free. His wrist had been worn to the bone, with blood oozing from the ripped flesh, but he hardly noticed the pain any more. Roughly he yanked Muraki up the bed to meet his gaze.
"I'm not here to feed you," he growled, eyes flashing with menace. His voice, thick and hoarse, sounded alien to his own ears. "My spiritual energy is mine."
"Tsuzuki-san…" Muraki blinked, his good eye still glazed with passion, his false eye glowing red. "I didn't know you minded. You never did before."
Tsuzuki hauled him closer, until Muraki was lying atop him, rose petals crushed between them. "Now you know," he muttered. He yanked at the other restraint until it snapped free, then ran his other bloody hand through Muraki's hair to expose the false eye. "No more games. Tell me who gave this to you."
Muraki smiled. "Why not read for yourself? But if you want a close-up look, you must give me something in return." He studied Tsuzuki's wrist, admiring the rivulets of blood running along his arm. Already the tendons and muscle were knitting together before his very eyes. "Your recuperative powers were always amazing." He turned his head to lick at the blood along his forearm, uncaring of Tsuzuki's tightening grip on his hair.
"I'm not your mobile food source." Tsuzuki extricated himself from Muraki's lips. "Tell me what you want in return."
"Where do I start? I want so many things." Muraki slid his hands down Tsuzuki's chest, his nails as sharp as thorns as they made intricate trails over his skin. "But for now, your body will do. Your beautiful body, willing and obedient to my whims." He shifted slightly, and his cock, heavy and hard with arousal, nudged against Tsuzuki's own neglected erection.
Tsuzuki trembled, an involuntary shiver of desire. He still wanted Muraki's touch. It would be lunacy to turn him down. Let the doctor do what he pleased with his traitorous body; in return he would get to study the anagrams printed on the doctor's false eye...and maybe find a way to crush Muraki's power for good.
That knowledge gave him new determination. He loosened his hold over the silver hair. With his fingertips he traced the velvet softness behind one ear, brushing past the earlobe with its ruby stud earring, before curling his fingers around Muraki's nape. He pressed the flat of his palm against the exposed throat, a silent challenge of his own. "I accept."
Muraki tilted his head, arching his neck into Tsuzuki's palm like a cat demanding a caress. "I knew you would."
With the ease of familiarity, he reached under the pillow and pulled out a small bottle of oil. This bottle was never present when Tsuzuki searched his bed the next day; it was something Muraki managed to conjure up each night along with his bouquets of roses.
"Is that something else you've raided from my imagination?" Tsuzuki asked.
Humour glinted in grey eyes. "When we meet again in the land of the living, you can find out for yourself." He uncapped the bottle. "Now take off your shirt. Let me see the body you've promised me."
Reluctantly Tsuzuki pulled the shirt over his head and tugged it off. The wounds at his wrists were now shallow ulcers, but at least they weren't bleeding any more.
For a moment, Muraki simply stared, drinking in the sight of him. "One day, I'll have you in my bed for real," he murmured. He poured the oil on the shallow concavity of Tsuzuki's abdomen, allowing it to pool within his navel, and spread over the flat planes of his stomach. It felt ticklish, but not unpleasantly so. "No bargains, no deals. No guilt-induced catatonic states. I wait for the day when you'll come to me of your own free will."
Tsuzuki ignored him. He was mentally bracing himself for what was about to happen. He focused on his breathing, taking slow deep breaths to relax himself. But in spite of his nerves, the ache in groin remained. His cock still remained erect, defiantly seeking the completion that it was previously denied.
Muraki guided his knees up, and slid his fingers inside without warning. Tsuzuki panted raggedly against the mattress as his prostate was stroked with determined, deliberate strokes. Skilled didn't begin to describe it. His fragile self-control was useless. Sparks of pleasure flared from that one spot and spread to his groin, making his cock lengthen to an almost agonising degree. Small stifled moans left his throat as he began to rock in time, once again ensnared by his own desire.
Dimly he wondered why Muraki was going to such trouble, especially in view of his partiality for violence and murder. Had he shown such consideration to Hisoka when he'd cursed and raped him? Tsuzuki would never know, but he suspected Muraki, fastidious and particular when it came to physical comforts, would have prepared his victim well.
As he was being prepared now?
No. This was different. He wasn't a victim. He had chosen to do this. His choice. He had an agenda of his own.
"If you are going to be obedient, then you must focus only on me, Tsuzuki-san." Muraki knelt over him, watching his face as he continued the finger-fucking. "I am to be the sole person in your thoughts."
Tsuzuki arched as the skilful fingers found a particularly sensitive spot, his grasping hands crushing petals and bed linen together. "I never promised…my mind. Only…my body."
"Hmm." Muraki tilted his head thoughtfully. "True." He withdrew his fingers and positioned himself over Tsuzuki, his heavier frame pressing him deeper into the mattress, driving the breath from Tsuzuki's lungs. "Then give your body to me, as you promised." He filled Tsuzuki in one powerful, all encompassing stroke.
Tsuzuki groaned softly. The thick hardness of the cock pushed inside him, relentless and punishing. He tensed automatically as Muraki moved deeper, his muscles rippling in protest around the invading bulk.
Above him, Muraki trembled and lowered his head. A drop of sweat fell from his forehead onto Tsuzuki's chest. Slowly he withdrew, then slammed home again, setting up a fierce rhythm as he thrust again and again into Tsuzuki's yielding flesh.
Tsuzuki grimaced, but he willingly met it. What was pain to a Shinigami, to one with an immortal body? Even this type of intimate invasion would leave no scar, no wound, no physical reminder of what had passed between them.
As for the memories…he wouldn't worry about that now. He would deal with them later.
So he embraced the relentless fucking, the driving thrusts of Muraki's body. The burning pain cleansed his mind of the haze of arousal, and allowed him to focus on his own objective.
Muraki was bent over him, broad shoulders delineated by moonlight. His strong arms hooked under Tsuzuki's knees, positioning him so that he could thrust even more deeply. All he could see of Muraki's face was a high cheekbone and a hint of temple beneath his bangs. His eyes were shut, silver eyelashes flush against pale white skin. The rest of his face was cast in shadow.
"Muraki," Tsuzuki muttered, his voice thick. He lifted his hands to the graceful column of throat, forced his jaw up. "Let me study your false eye, as you promised."
Muraki obeyed. He ceased his thrusts, his arm muscles tense as he remained poised over him, his entire body coiled tight as a spring. The false eye remained dim, sheltered in the shadow of Muraki's profile, but it suddenly flared when it saw Tsuzuki. The outer iris dilated to reveal more of the glowing inner iris inside. The light faded to form a red spiral with twelve distinct points. They began to pulse, forming bizarre shapes and characters as they flashed in turn.
Tsuzuki watched, hypnotised. It did not seem as elaborate as Hijiri's circular contract, but the way the characters shifted shape was extremely bizarre. He had never seen anything like it before. They were more than imprinted words. They were alive in their own right, imbued with the ability to form their own eerie message. Memorising them all was impossible without a reference point. He'd need the help of Watari and the Gushoshin to decipher it.
"It fascinates you, doesn't it? If only I'd known sooner. I was using the blood of others to call you to me when I should have used my own."
Tsuzuki was too focused on the mysterious anagrams to pay attention to Muraki's words. "Open your eyes wider. I need to see more."
"Hmm." Muraki frowned, annoyed at being upstaged. "I think you've seen enough for tonight." He began to rock his hips again, but this time his movements were slow, almost languid. The violence of earlier was absent, replaced by something far more disturbing…
Tsuzuki tightened his grip around Muraki's throat, nails digging into the nape of his neck. "You promised," he growled. His knees clamped around Muraki's waist in an abortive attempt to keep him still. "My body in exchange for your eye. That was our deal--" Abruptly he stiffened, the breath trapped in his lungs, the rest of his words forgotten. The cock inside him was now sliding along his prostate, sending jolts of pleasure through his groin.
Above him, Muraki smiled. "I've changed my mind. Stunning as your body is, I want much, much more."
"Bastard." But it sounded like an endearment when spoken in Tsuzuki's gasping voice. His body arched off the mattress, welcoming Muraki as he unerringly found that sensitive pleasure spot with each thrust. The pain was still there, but it was now overlaid with a pleasure that made him tremble and shiver uncontrollably. Resistance was useless. The muscular strength he normally possessed was gone, replaced by a melting languor that made his limbs heavy and weak.
"Yes…but you want me anyway," Muraki noted with arrogant satisfaction. He buried his face in Tsuzuki's neck, the heat of his mouth branding the unmarked shoulder. As he leaned over Tsuzuki, he tilted the narrow hips even higher, allowing him to thrust deeply once again.
A low groan escaped Tsuzuki's throat. It should have hurt, but it felt incredible. He loosened his grip on Muraki's neck, and clutched his shoulder instead to draw him closer. Through eyes slitted with pleasure, he could see Muraki's back gilded by sweat and moonlight, the lean shoulder and back muscles rippling with fluid grace, while his nerve-endings sang with delight at the steady fucking. A rest of the room was concealed in total darkness. There were no other witnesses to this act of depravity--only Muraki and him writhing on a bed that only existed within his imagination.
Muraki slid one hand between their straining bodies, nails scratching over the skin, a trivial pain he barely noticed. And then he grasped Tsuzuki's straining erection and milked him with frenzied, erratic strokes. It lacked his earlier finesse and skill, but Tsuzuki was too near the edge to care. Overcome with a surfeit of pleasure, he cried out and climaxed. The ecstasy exploded inside him, over him, rushing through his veins. Rational thought was forgotten. Guilt, anger, fear, hatred...these trivial emotions no longer mattered.
Against his shoulder, Muraki made a choked sound and trembled violently as he found his own release. His final thrust made Tsuzuki gasp; it was vicious and relentless, more an act of violence than passion. Finally he withdrew and sank on the mattress next to Tsuzuki, exhausted.
The only sound in the room was their panting breaths. Tsuzuki rolled to his side, glad to take the weight from his sweat-damp back. The room smelt of roses and perspiration and male musk.
After several minutes, Muraki calmly rose to his feet, and picked up his yukata from the floor. His shoulders were marked with several deep scratches. When Tsuzuki looked at his hands, he saw dried blood beneath his nails.
"The next time we meet, it will be even better," Muraki promised as he tied the sash.
"You broke your promise. The next time we meet, I'll gouge your eye out."
"Well, well." Muraki laughed, a rich warm sound that took Tsuzuki by surprise. "I look forward to seeing if you're better at keeping your promises than I am." He picked up his glasses from the nightstand and cast Tsuzuki a sidelong look. "Till we meet again, Tsuzuki-san. Sweet dreams." His physical form slowly faded from view, until it was as insubstantial as the moonlight coming through the window.
Tsuzuki closed his eyes. He'd achieved nothing. His body may have been satiated, but he was no closer to learning about Muraki's powers. Looking at the eye wasn't enough. He needed a photograph...or a sample of the false eye itself. Maybe gouging it out was the only option.
He curled himself up in a ball. The sheets were damp and cold. His mind was strangely blank. His muscles ached all over as if he'd beaten. And there was an itching sensation over his chest…
He looked down at himself. Vermillion red lines as fine as silk thread extended from both wrists to his shoulders, criss-crossing his skin to form a delicate web of shallow lacerations. Over his torso were thick red lines drawn with broad brushstrokes forming elaborate swirls and embellishments that extended from his collarbone to his hips.
A curse? A curse like the one Hisoka bore?
Tsuzuki stumbled out of bed and went to the mirror to study his nude figure, his heart pounding. Hisoka's body had been cursed with a pattern meaningless to human eyes save for the bizarrely ornate nature of the lines twining around his body. But the reflection in the mirror was different. The red lines on his chest and abdomen formed distinct characters written in overlapping fashion, a highly stylised method of ancient writing.
It was a message.
Tsuzuki stared at it for several seconds, deciphering what he could and memorising the rest. He turned around, but his back was smooth and unmarked. The markings were the colour of fresh blood. Slowly he drew his finger over one of the characters. His fingertip was wet with red when he had finished. He wiped at the lines with both hands, desperately trying to wipe them away. His palms were red, but the lines remained unchanged.
This was a dream. A Shinigami's body could never be marked by human intervention. The lines weren't real. Tomorrow when he awoke, they would be gone.
He went back to bed and covered himself with the sheets.
Remember who you are. You're a Shinigami. Pain means nothing. Pleasure means nothing.
He repeated the words to himself until he fell asleep.