Explicit sex, mild violence.
26/6/04 - Literary Eagle has drawn a lovely picture of Muraki and his kitten in pencil. Thank you!
The taxi stopped at a sleek modern apartment building in the Mount Inasa precinct. Muraki took the boxes of sweets, leaving Tsuzuki with the Gushoshin. A swipe card and a keypad code gave them entry through a foyer of marble and granite that led to a mirrored elevator.
Tsuzuki refused to be awed by the surroundings, but he was a little envious. The Shoukanka seldom allowed Shinigami to stay in such luxurious accommodation because of Tatsumi's tight fiscal management.
Muraki pressed the button for the top floor. "I own a penthouse suite. I lease it out most of the year, and make use it when I have holidays."
"So you don't have a practice here?"
"That's correct. My main practice is in Tokyo."
"Then how did you end up treating Norata-san's daughter?"
"Her parents wanted the best possible medical care for her. They wanted an experienced surgeon who could slice open a living heart without blinking an eyelid." He lifted one shoulder in an insouciant shrug. "They travelled to Tokyo to see me."
"And you helped them out of the goodness in your heart?" Tsuzuki asked mockingly.
"I had fond memories of their delicious ramen. It must be the secret stock used to flavour the soup. It would have been an incredible shame if Norata- san closed his restaurant. His ramen is extremely tasty, ne? I can understand why you wanted a second serving."
Tsuzuki gaped at him in disbelief. "Are you telling me that you waived your fees simply because you liked his ramen?"
"I am extremely particular in my tastes. When I find someone who has the skill and talent to meet my standards, I do what I can to reciprocate the favour and encourage them in their endeavours. It is the least I can do in return for the enjoyment they have given me." He studied Tsuzuki, his visible eye glittering with lust. "I can be extremely generous to those who satisfy my desires."
Tsuzuki flushed, but he refused to be deterred. "Your actions are motivated by self-interest, not generosity. You can try to fool others, but you can't fool me. I already know what you are capable of."
"And yet you keep coming back for more. I wonder what your actions say about you, Tsuzuki-san." Muraki carefully placed the sweet boxes on the floor of the elevator and shrugged off his suit jacket, powerful shoulder muscles rippling beneath his shirt. "But let's not dwell on the past. We should be concentrating on our future, ne?"
"Look at our history, and you'll see our future. We are adversaries. We always will be adversaries."
"You're such a pessimist." Muraki carefully placed the jacket on top of the boxes. "It's high time you wore a different colour besides black. Something brighter, more cheerful...such as white. Or how about red?"
"Only someone like you would find the colour of blood cheerful."
"I was thinking of red as the colour of passion." Muraki unbuttoned his shirt, revealing milk-white skin melded over lean muscles.
Tsuzuki stared. "What...what are you doing?"
"My clothes are a little wet, and I don't want catch a cold from the air- conditioning." Muraki flashed him a sidelong look as he pulled the tail of his open shirt out of his trousers. "I didn't have the foresight to bring my trench coat, unlike you." He ruffled his hair, slightly damp from the rain. "You don't mind, do you?"
Tsuzuki focused his gaze on the mirrored doors of the elevator. Keep calm. He's only trying to unnerve you again. "It's your apartment. What you choose to do is of no concern to me."
Muraki raised a speculative eyebrow. "Is that so? How magnanimous of you." He approached Tsuzuki from behind, his tall slightly rumpled reflection a striking counterpoint to Tsuzuki's severely buttoned-up elegance. His gaze locked on Tsuzuki's in the mirror as he removed his glasses and placed them in his trouser pocket. "So you won't mind then, Tsuzuki-san, if I choose to do... this?"
He rested his hands on Tsuzuki's shoulders, the pallor of his long fingers a stark contrast to the black fabric of the trench coat. Slowly he slid his hands along the breadth of Tsuzuki's shoulders, moulding his palms to the contours of muscle and bone beneath the layers of fabric.
Tsuzuki hunched his shoulders, but he held his ground. To move away would be a sign of weakness. He kept his narrowed gaze on Muraki's reflection. "I'm willing to tolerate it in return for answers. Tell me how you're able to manipulate my dreams."
"You carry the stain of my blood. Your hands, your face...soaked with my blood." Muraki nuzzled his earlobe. One hand slid around to caress Tsuzuki's jaw, while the other arm encircled his waist. "I spilled so much that night for you, Tsuzuki-san. You almost bled me dry. For no other would I willingly sacrifice so much."
Tsuzuki turned away, his expression shuttered. "You brought this on yourself. There was no sacrifice involved."
Muraki tilted Tsuzuki's jaw up, and pressed his lips against the exposed flesh along the side of his neck. "There's no need for false modesty with me, Tsuzuki-san. You don't have to hide your true nature any longer."
Tsuzuki parted his lips on a denial, but it became a soundless O of surprise. Muraki's silver hair fell over his shoulder as he bit gently. The muscles of his body pressed against Tsuzuki from behind, imprisoning him. His hot wet mouth moved restlessly over Tsuzuki's skin, even licking at the line of the shirt collar in his impatience to taste more.
If he had any uncertainty about what was happening, the reflection of their twined bodies in the reflection left no room for doubt. Muraki's hands shifted beneath his coat and vest, outstretched fingers creating a delicious friction as he slid the thin material of the shirt against Tsuzuki's overheated skin. Tsuzuki shivered as the hand traced lazy circles above the waistband of his trousers. Below the waistband, heat pooled in his groin. He couldn't take much more of this...
Tsuzuki clutched the Gushoshin with one arm, and grabbed one of Muraki's roving hands with the other. The black leather glove formed an elegant manacle around Muraki's wrist.
"Direct me," Muraki muttered against Tsuzuki's cheek. He tried to move his hand lower, but was restrained by Tsuzuki's grip. "Show me where to touch you. Teach me how to give you pleasure."
Tsuzuki shook his head, an act of denial and an attempt to clear his mind.
"I am yours to command." The words were breathed into Tsuzuki's neck. "From the moment you marked me in Kyoto, you made me yours."
"You're insane." Tsuzuki looked away from the mirrored door. It taunted him with sensual images that made his insides clench in frustrated arousal. "I don't know what you're talking about."
The doors of the elevator slid open, revealing a lounge room of muted grey and white. The furnishings were spare and modern, almost austere in their minimalism. Glass panels extending almost from floor to ceiling provided panoramic views of the city below.
Tsuzuki stiffened. The hairs at the back of his neck stood on end. He could sense a powerful spiritual presence inside.
Muraki let out a regretful sigh. "Well, here we are." He released Tsuzuki and picked up the discarded sweet boxes. "Please make yourself at home."
Tsuzuki scrambled out, Gushoshin tucked under his arm, grateful for the reprieve. Muted wall lights switched on as he passed, making him start in surprise.
"Motion sensitive detectors," Muraki explained as he went to the kitchen. "It saves me the trouble of fumbling for a light switch." He opened one of the sweet boxes and frowned at the contents. "I can't believe one man can eat so much. If you were a normal human, I would be obliged to lecture you about the many health risks associated with excessive sugar intake."
Tsuzuki looked around. There was no other person in the room besides him and Muraki, yet he could still sense an ominous presence lurking in the shadows. "Do you live here alone?"
"No, I share it with one other. Don't tell me you're jealous?"
Something small and furry slid against Tsuzuki's legs. Tsuzuki jumped in surprise.
A pair of iridescent grey eyes looked up at him from under the shadows of the coffee table.
"I see you've found my companion." Muraki came over with a bottle of sake in an ice bucket and two cups. He placed them on the table, and picked up the small white kitten. "You shouldn't creep up on people," he said to the kitten as he held it to his chest.
The animal rubbed its head against Muraki in greeting, its small body dwarfed by Muraki's hands.
Muraki smiled as he lifted it to eye level. "Tsuzuki-san is my guest." He turned the kitten around so it looked at Tsuzuki. "I want you to be on your best behaviour tonight."
The kitten eyed Tsuzuki with large unblinking grey eyes. Tsuzuki returned the gaze evenly. It let out a loud meow and wriggled in Muraki's grasp.
"I've never seen it so excitable before. It must like you very much. Would you like to hold it?"
Tsuzuki shook his head. The wide grey eyes watched him with a predator-like intensity that made him uneasy. For all its fluffy cuteness, the kitten crackled with spiritual energy.
Muraki was watching him with the same intent expression. "So you dislike cats, Tsuzuki-san?"
Tsuzuki ruffled the feathers of the dozing Gushoshin. "I have nothing against cats, but they don't go well with birds. Maybe another time."
The kitten meowed again, sounding more plaintive.
"Tsuzuki-san has spoken. As our guest, we must honour his wishes." Muraki placed it back on the ground. "Shall I take your coat? It must be wet from the rain."
"No, thank you." Tsuzuki walked over to the large windows. Lightning flashes were still visible further out to sea. The worse of the storm had moved on, but the city was still receiving heavy rain.
"As you wish. I'm going to change. Please feel free to pour yourself some chilled sake. It is an excellent ginjo-shu, something I suspect is well beyond your means, ne?"
Tsuzuki refused to rise to the bait. "Probably." He kept his eyes on the view until the bedroom door closed.
Tsuzuki pulled out a couple of barrier fuda and tucked them beneath the Gushoshin's hat. He placed the Gushoshin on the lounge, then pulled out several illusion fuda and quickly shrugged out of his coat. It slithered to the floor in one smooth motion. He stepped over it and went to the kitchen.
After lining the fuda in a row on the kitchen bench, he unbuttoned the sleeve of his shirt to expose his wrist. With a small peeling knife he made a neat incision above the old scars. Blood flowed freely from the wound. He let it spill over the paper charms, obscuring the characters written on their parched surface.
Illusion fuda required blood to be activated. As the paper absorbed the blood, the magic absorbed the imprint of the individual.
Maybe this was a cowardly course of action, but Tsuzuki needed time.
He let the wound heal up, a slight itching sensation. Then he buttoned his sleeve, washed the knife, and took the fuda with him to the living room. He quickly pulled on his coat and placed all the bloodstained fuda in his pocket except for one. This he held between his index and middle finger.
The words came to his lips easily, the hand movements were smooth and automatic. It was one of the first spells he had learned as a new Shinigami recruit. He remembered Konoe jumping up and down in frustration at the dozens of Tsuzukis he'd created the first time he had mastered the spell. Tsuzuki thought they could all pitch in to reduce the workload at the Shoukanka. Unfortunately, he'd forgotten about his own innate laziness, a trait that had been inherited by all sixty-four of his doppelganger selves. The memory brought a smile to his face.
His illusion self stood before him, dressed in the black trench coat, vest and trousers. Its attire was identical to Tsuzuki's.
"Go to the window," Tsuzuki said. "Wait for him."
The kitten prowled on the backrest, hungrily eyeing the Gushoshin, but it jumped off at Tsuzuki's approach. Tsuzuki wasn't worried; the fuda was guaranteed to repel any malicious attack, whether physical or magical. He sat down on the lounge, the bird-spirit in his lap, his gloved hands interlaced as if in prayer. His double also waited, its lean figure forming a willowy silhouette against the stormy sky and city lights below.
Tsuzuki was struck by its air of fragile vulnerability. Was that how he appeared to others? It was a disconcerting thought.
The bedroom door opened. A whispered word, and Tsuzuki's corporeal form vanished into nothingness.
The kitten jumped onto the armrest and meowed at the empty space left behind.
Muraki padded barefoot across the room to the window. He was free of his glasses, and wore a white yukata that reached down to his mid-calf. His silver hair was still tousled as it fell in disarray about his face, obscuring his false eye from view. Although he was only a few inches taller than Tsuzuki, the sureness in his movements spoke of power tightly leashed.
The doppelganger sensed it too. He took a nervous step back.
Muraki looked at him for a long moment, as if he was committing his features to memory.
"You have a beautiful view from up here," the double said.
"Do you think so? I think it would be even more beautiful if you removed your clothes."
"What?? What did you say?" The double flushed, hopelessly flustered. "You...you..."
Tsuzuki sighed, but he knew he would have done the same. He could hardly complain if his fuda double was acting true to form.
"You should change into one of my yukatas. I don't know how you can wear so many clothes in this heat."
"Can we stop talking about me? I'm here to ask you questions about your contract."
Taking the initiative at last. This was better.
"You may ask...but I'll be too busy to answer." Muraki grasped the lapels of the trench coat and hauled Tsuzuki close. "I prefer more direct methods of communication."
"Hey! Get your hands off--"
Muraki swooped. The double didn't stand a chance.
Tsuzuki rubbed his temples. He didn't have to watch to know what was happening. The heavy breathing and sounds of shifting cloth told him enough. When he finally had the courage to look up, he saw only one silhouette against the window. Muraki pulled at Tsuzuki's coat with one hand while his lips moved restlessly over his jaw and neck. Lust made his movements desperate and frenzied, devoid of the finesse he'd shown in his dream. He was like a starving man at a banquet.
The double was too stunned to put up even a token resistance. He stood stock still, violet eyes wide in shock, overwhelmed by Muraki's attack.
"Tsuzuki-san..." Muraki yanked the coat off his shoulders. "I need you. Don't deny me." He pushed the double against the window. The reverberating thud of the glass was so loud Tsuzuki feared the window would shatter from the impact.
"Get...off..." The doppelganger gripped Muraki's arms, gloved hands digging into the thin material of the yukata. His eyes were narrowed, teeth bared in anger. He writhed against the glass, squirming to free himself from Muraki's weight.
Muraki smiled, as if pleased with the response, and lowered his head again.
From his position on the lounge, Tsuzuki couldn't see what was happening. The breadth of Muraki's torso seemed to eclipse Tsuzuki's doppelganger self, blocking him from view. All he could see was the white robe, and the shift of lean back and shoulders flexing and shifting beneath the fabric. Muraki's silver head shifted down to the double's shoulder, moving from neck to shoulder tip and back again, his movements frantic in his hunger. The trench coat had already slipped off the double's shoulders, and was now bunched in the crook of his bent elbows.
Distant lightning lit up the night sky, delineating his face for all to see.
Tsuzuki swallowed at the transformation he saw.
The violet eyes were glazed, the pupils dilated so much that he appeared drugged. The snarl was no more, replaced by panting gasps. His head was tilted back against the glass, the collar and tie undone to expose the rise and fall of his throat.
Was this how he looked to Muraki? Helpless in his debauchery...and loving every minute.
The evidence was there for all to see. As Muraki's head moved down to his collarbone and chest, the double's gloved hands tangled in silver hair, urging him closer. The ends of his vest and shirt hung free, revealing whipcord lean muscles for Muraki's delectation. Occasionally it writhed and arched, shoulders braced against the glass, shameless in its arousal.
Muraki delved beneath his shirt, stroking his torso, pulling at the trouser braces with unexpected savagery when it impeded his roving hands. The whispered endearments and flattery were no more; the only sound from him was his heavy breathing, which seemed unnaturally loud in the silence of the room.
On the arm of the lounge chair, the kitten lay quietly on its stomach, but it had no eyes for the two entwined figures by the window. Its gaze was fixed on the empty space on the lounge occupied by Tsuzuki moments before.
Tsuzuki didn't notice. He couldn't look away from the transfixed expression on the double's face...on his face. With his blood, the illusion fuda had conjured a flawless version of himself.
Its responses were his responses. Its desire was his desire. He couldn't delude himself any longer.
There, but for the grace of God...
One of Muraki's hands moved lower. Delineated by the folds of the yukata, Tsuzuki watched his elbow shift back and forth in a steady rhythm. The double tensed, his teeth clenched as if in agony.
"Have you missed me, Tsuzuki-san?" Muraki hissed against its throat. "Have you hungered for me? Have you wondered if you were going mad maintaining the appearance of self-sufficient normality, while depriving yourself of the one thing you needed the most? You ignore it for days, weeks, months. You push it to the darkest recesses of mind and hope that it dies. You hope...and hope..."
The double turned away, cheek pressed against the glass, eyes squeezed shut. A low groan sounded from its throat.
"...but it's all in vain. There's no escape from yourself. The hunger rebounds on you. It claws at your subconscious and invades your dreams. It becomes an obsession. That's how I feel about you."
Tsuzuki buried his face in his hands. There was no escape...for either of them. They were both certifiably insane.
"One would think that I would have learned my lesson...but there's no reasoning with something as elemental as this. It's like lightning seeking the ground. You interfere with such a force at your peril, Tsuzuki-san." Muraki seized the double's jaw and forced it around. "I must have you. Only you. Your body, your energy, your power...no other will do." He bent forward to kiss the double on the lips.
Tsuzuki couldn't stay still any longer. Shame had frozen him to the spot; disgust propelled him into motion. He stood up in one swift movement, a fuda in one hand, the Gushoshin clutched to his chest.
The kitten yowled loudly.
Tsuzuki froze. The animal was staring directly at him. How did it know...?
Muraki lifted his head. "I see. All is not as it seems."
He turned around, his good eye narrowed, the false eye glowing. His hand slid from the double's jaw to grasp its throat. It vanished in a puff of smoke. Muraki was left holding the remaining paper charm.
"Most impressive, Tsuzuki-san." He crushed the paper in his fist and threw it aside in an uncharacteristic show of temper. "You should have told me you liked to watch. If I'd known, I would have found some way to accommodate you."
Tsuzuki wasn't listening. He paced behind the lounge chair, still invisible to human eyes, his mind a seething cauldron of conflicting emotions. He should have been gloating at how he'd tricked Muraki...but the triumph had been overwhelmed by a desire for violence that shocked him. He wanted to tear Muraki from limb to limb with a pack of wolf spirits. He wanted to rip out his eyes, both false and true. Every word, every touch...it was all a lie. Muraki couldn't even tell him apart from an illusion fuda...
The savagery of his emotions left him stunned.
The kitten yowled again, this time at Muraki. He picked the animal up in his arms and scratched its neck. "Never mind. It will be just us two again, ne?" With a sigh, he sat down on the lounge.
Tsuzuki leaned against the elevator doors, unconsciously hugging the Gushoshin to his chest, his mind whirling. He wasn't jealous. He couldn't be jealous. Muraki was the enemy, the man he'd vowed to bring to justice using any means at his disposal.
I am yours to command. From the moment you marked me in Kyoto, you made me yours.
An atavistic shiver skidded down his spine, even as he shoved the idea away. Shinigami were not capable of taking possession of a human, despite what the superstitions said. Such nefarious power was a demon's prerogative, not an employee of EnMaCho.
So why say such bizarre things? Surely a man like Muraki, hungry for power, would baulk at the idea of being controlled by anyone. And yet, he'd entered into a contract, one that would surely destroy him. When the demon had claimed its price, it would crush him without mercy.
No. Something in Tsuzuki rebelled at the idea of Muraki being annihilated by another entity, demonic or otherwise.
If anyone were to kill Muraki, it would be him. No interference would be allowed.
Tsuzuki placed the Gushoshin on the floor by the elevator door. He adjusted its hat so that the barrier fuda were visible, a warning to any creature who dared to attack. Then he walked back to the lounge, filled with new purpose.
Muraki watched the flickers of lightning over the horizon. His expression was remote, almost mask-like, the mocking smile replaced by a forbidding line. The kitten lay in his lap, purring as he stroked it. Tsuzuki's gaze was drawn to his long tapered fingers, and the sensual way he moved in slow circles over the delicate curves of the creature's spine.
Could the feline be a familiar? Such a low-level demon could easily be commanded by humans. But the power radiating from the kitten puzzled him. It seemed unusually strong for a typical familiar, but it behaved much like a domestic feline. It stretched lazily under Muraki's fingers, luxuriating in his touch, eyes blissfully shut.
Muraki's gaze never wavered from the lightning display. He continued the stroking, seemingly unaffected by the animal's response. With his ramrod- straight back, his elegantly crossed legs...he possessed a mixture of harsh severity and raw sensuality that drew Tsuzuki like a moth to a flame.
Tatsumi had displayed a similar type of nature at times: an occasional touch, an unguarded embrace. Unfortunately he kept it under such rigid control in his daily life, as if he was secretly ashamed of it. But Muraki wasn't ashamed at all. He lived it, breathed it, used it to get his way-- lavishing it on friend and foe alike. And in Hisoka's case, whether they wanted it or not.
Tsuzuki's anger was fleeting. He couldn't change the past. But with his powers intact, he was in a position to alter the present and future. Muraki had claimed his desire was a weakness. Maybe it was a weakness Tsuzuki could turn to his advantage.
He moved around the lounge, soundless and invisible, until he was behind Muraki. With one gloved hand, he reached around to cup his cheek, his fingertips resting beneath the jawline.
Muraki froze. His hand stilled over the kitten. Maybe he even forgot to breathe, for there was no rise and fall of his chest.
The kitten wriggled out of Muraki's lap and leapt on the table. It hissed at the empty space above Muraki's head.
"Tsuzuki-san?" Muraki closed his eyes and pressed his cheek against Tsuzuki's gloved hand. There was a smile in his voice. "I knew you couldn't leave me so soon."
"Be quiet." With his other gloved hand, Tsuzuki enclosed Muraki's throat in a firm grasp.
"Mmm." Muraki lifted his jaw up until he was looking up at the ceiling, his head resting against the lounge. The yukata gaped open, revealing a smooth expanse of white skin covering the slight swell of broad pectoral muscles and the taut muscles of his abdomen. The thin cotton material over his lap provided some shred of modesty, but there was no mistaking the sign of his arousal. "At last. You have no idea how long I've waited for your touch..."
Tsuzuki pressed his fingers along one side of the adam's apple until the rapid-fire pulse pounded against his fingertips. "Do you take me for a fool? You managed to find my illusion distracting enough."
"It was underhanded of you to resort to such trickery," Muraki replied in a husky voice. "You had no reason to use your fuda. I have not killed anyone, nor have I threatened to kill anyone, since my arrival in Nagasaki. I have not attacked you by magical or material means. As long as the moon remains unfulfilled, you will have nothing to fear from me...except the awakening of your hidden desires."
Tsuzuki pressed his fingers a little deeper. "And when the moon becomes full? What then? What evil scheme are you waiting to carry out?"
Muraki winced a little. "I refuse to talk to a man who insists on being incorporeal. Show yourself first."
The air shimmered above him, then solidified into human form. Tsuzuki looked down at him from above, shoulders hunched, violet eyes narrowed to slits. The long black coat cast his figure in gloomy shadow, a startling contrast to Muraki's anaemic pallor.
"Shinigami. Grim Reaper. God of Death. The title has never suited you so well." He reached for the gloved hand against his cheek and guided it to his lips. Lightly he nibbled at Tsuzuki's long fingers. His teeth bit the covered mound of flesh at the base of his thumb, moving up to the exposed skin between the glove and sleeve. His tongue lapped along the delicate skin inside the wrist.
Tsuzuki's grip tightened around his throat. "Stop it. Answer my question." But he didn't pull his other hand away from Muraki's lips. The gesture was strangely reminiscent of how courtiers kissed the hand of royalty as a mark of respect. A form of erotic worship...
"The illusion never tasted so sweet," Muraki murmured. "In appearance and voice he was a perfect imitation, but I realised he was wrong the moment my lips met his. Kissing him was like eating ash; it only left me ravenous for the heat of your all-encompassing fire."
Something almost like pain twisted Tsuzuki's insides. "I'm not here to listen to your insane ravings." He clasped Muraki's throat, fingers encircling the long white throat. "Tell me about your contract. How long have you held it? What are its terms?"
"Kiss me first." Muraki lifted his chin in challenge. "Prove to me you're not a piece of paper."
Tsuzuki eyed him warily, and crushed the quiver of anticipation. "You said you were mine to command, remember?" He slid his gloved hands down to stroke Muraki's collarbone, tracing a line from the base of his throat to shoulder tip. He slid his fingers beneath the ends of the robe, making it gape further apart. "Were you lying to me again?"
Muraki's good eye widened in surprise. "Why, Tsuzuki-san..." He exhaled sharply as Tsuzuki traced cool circles around one nipple. "I never knew...you had a possessive streak." He shifted under the gloved hands, sighing as the smooth sensation of leather slid against his white skin.
"Neither did I." Tsuzuki's voice was strained as he focused on his task. He knew Muraki'a voluptuous nature was a weakness to be used against him. Distract him with sensation; divert him by admiring his beauty--a different type of spell.
Tsuzuki splayed his fingers wide, stroking the swell of broad pectoral muscles. The leather was a barrier between them, preventing him from actually touching Muraki's skin. Denied of sensation, he was free to concentrate on Muraki's response without distraction. He observed the rise and fall of the ribcage, the way the muscles twitched in nervous anticipation, and the pale skin formed goose pimples under his touch. He did his best to ignore the slitted grey eyes watching his every move.
Tsuzuki didn't have Muraki's confident expertise, but he knew enough to give another man pleasure.
But he hadn't counted on his own physical response. His fingertips burned, yet he only felt a hint of warmth through the gloves. His mouth was parched and dry. Perspiration trickled down the back of his neck, down his spine. Heat suffused his flesh, pooled in his groin. Muraki wasn't even touching him, yet his body stirred in sympathetic arousal.
Muraki closed his eyes. "Don't tease me like this." He slipped the yukata off his shoulders, unashamed of his nudity. His cock was erect, a graceful arc arrowing upward. "Touch me, Tsuzuki-san. Please...touch me."
Tsuzuki's hands stilled over Muraki's body. His trousers felt uncomfortably tight. The urge to follow Muraki's plea was clouding his ability to think. "First tell me about your contract."
Muraki exhaled sharply. He lifted one of Tsuzuki's hands to his cheek and rubbed his face against the leather. "Technically it's a covenant, not a contract."
"Covenant?" Tsuzuki had come across that word in old texts, but the exact meaning eluded him. "How is that different from a contract?"
"I thought you'd never ask. Allow me to explain."
Muraki seized his wrist with one hand, grabbed his shoulder with the other. He suddenly twisted and ducked with superhuman strength.
Tsuzuki found himself tumbling head first over the lounge. He landed on the coffee table with a loud bang. The kitten jumped on the lounge, yowling in protest. Pain exploded across his ribcage. The ice bucket, sake bottle and cups clattered to the floor.
Muraki pounced, crushing him against the smooth wood.
"Muraki! What the hell--"
His remaining words were smothered by Muraki's mouth.
Tsuzuki twisted his head, but it was useless. Muraki kissed him with an intensity that bordered on violence, using his teeth and tongue to force Tsuzuki's lips apart. Tsuzuki moaned softly as the inside of his lower lip split against his teeth. The metallic taste of blood filled his mouth.
Forgotten by both men, the kitten lay quietly on the lounge to watch.
Muraki must have tasted the blood. He used his forearms to support himself, taking some of his weight off Tsuzuki. His lips became gentler, soothing. His tongue caressed Tsuzuki's with a slow lingering thoroughness that left Tsuzuki trembling, the earlier pain forgotten. This was what he'd longed for the past three nights. This delicious languor invading his limbs, the sweetness of Muraki's mouth delicately exploring his...the welcome heaviness of his weight imprisoning him against the table.
"Yes." Muraki drew away, his breathing ragged. "Fire and ashes. There really is no comparison." He sighed and began undoing Tsuzuki's tie. "Let me make you more comfortable."
Tsuzuki closed his eyes. Shame raised its ugly head, but it was drowned out by the seductive mix of reason and desire. Information, satiation--this was why he was here. He forced himself to focus on Muraki's words. "Covenant, contract...they're both agreements. What's the difference?"
"A contract details a formal transaction with mutual obligations; for example, a special power given in exchange for one's soul." Muraki undid the collar of the shirt and tasted the hollow of Tsuzuki's throat with his tongue. "But a covenant is much, much more," he muttered. "It is a binding alliance ratified by blood."
"Impossible. Demons don't make alliances with anyone, least of all humans."
Muraki chuckled, a deep sound that reverberated through Tsuzuki's own frame. "If a demon wants something desperately enough, it will do anything to get it. If the intervention of a human can bring it closer to its objective, why not an alliance?" He undid the buttons of the black vest, removed the braces with one careful flick of his fingers. Then he went back to the buttons of the shirt, his movements careful and controlled...totally unlike his earlier ferocity. "It would be a mutually advantageous agreement. Such a union can accomplish much more than either party acting alone." He pressed his lips against the bare flesh of Tsuzuki's torso, his tongue lapping at the dew of perspiration running along his chest to his abdomen. "Mmm. You even taste sweet here, Tsuzuki-san."
Tsuzuki shivered. His gloved hands gripped the sides of the table. The refined delicacy of Muraki's touch was killing him. His cock was pressing against his trousers, pushing eagerly against the material. Each time Muraki shifted against him, a jolt of pleasure-pain went through his groin, intensifying the ache. His clothing was no barrier; it simply became a perfect medium to amplify the delicious friction. He arched his hips against Muraki's nude body, blindly seeking release.
"Such impatience." Muraki bit a nipple in mischievous reproach, then lapped it gently, sending delicious ripples of pleasure through Tsuzuki's writhing body. His hands slid over his waist, sharp nails digging into his skin. "Do you want to end this so quickly?"
Tsuzuki whimpered, a pitiful sound of need escaping past tightly clenched teeth. Bracing his feet against the floor, he bucked against Muraki's hold, his pelvis lifting off the table then falling back on the table with a heavy thud.
Muraki gripped the edges of the table to brace himself. "I suppose I have my answer." With his knees on either side of Tsuzuki's thighs, he loomed over him like a predator eyeing his next meal. The good eye was narrowed in concentration. The false eye glittered like a brilliant jewel.
The sight of the eye brought Tsuzuki to his senses for a moment. "How...how long have you been under the covenant?"
"Since Kyoto. Prior to that, it was a contract like any other. But after it saved my life, we...renegotiated terms." Muraki slid his hand over Tsuzuki's crotch, his fingers stroking the material over the growing bulge. "Well, well. Is this all for me, Tsuzuki-san?" He pulled down the zipper, then slid his hand inside to stroke the erection
Tsuzuki jerked, his body no longer under his control. Pleasure was too weak a word to describe the electrical jolts elicited by Muraki's touch. It melted inhibitions and short-circuited reason, leaving him reborn as a creature hungry for sensation...and eager to reciprocate. He reached out to caress his tormentor, his gloved hands clutching hard muscles and sharp angles. Muraki's skin seemed unearthly, its colour the same hue as bleached bone.
"Ahh." Muraki shivered and flexed beneath Tsuzuki's touch. "That's it. Touch me." His fingers milked Tsuzuki's shaft with growing insistence, the rhythm of his hand increasing in tempo.
It was too much for Tsuzuki. Sparks of pleasure emanated from his cock, triggered by the friction of Muraki's hand. It surged through his trembling body, setting nerve-endings ablaze with sweet fire, forcing a growl from his throat. His body shifted and flexed in a frenzy of motion, driven by the surfeit of sensation to inflict his own torment. He bit into the smooth perfection of Muraki's shoulder, relishing the salty slickness of human skin. His hands swept the powerful shoulder blades, skimming over the waist and hip to the small of his back, then down to lean buttocks that seemed tailor-made for his grasping hands. He squeezed blindly, his fingers dipping into the sensitive cleft as he sought to convey his need without words.
Muraki hissed sharply. He let go of Tsuzuki and lifted his head, the false eye glowing. "What are you doing?"
Tsuzuki was past caring. For decades he had bottled up this ugly part of himself, ashamed of this hunger for physical satiation that terrified him with its intensity. Was it a legacy of his demonic ancestry? He had always wondered, but he'd never had the courage to ask. In any case, he doubted anyone at EnMaCho would understand this craving. For all their kindness and understanding, they would be appalled if they knew.
Muraki was the first person he'd met who seemed to have some inkling...but maybe even he had his limits.
"There are different types of possession," Tsuzuki murmured. He lifted his head to nip at Muraki's earlobe. He drew the glittering ruby stud into his mouth, allowing the gem to clatter against his teeth as he toyed with it using his tongue. The texture of its jagged sharpness made for a delicious counterpoint to the warm soft flesh of the earlobe.
Muraki exhaled slowly. He tilted his head to one side, inviting more.
Tsuzuki traced the angle of a hip, tracing the scars he'd inflicted months ago in Kyoto. "Not all of them entail pain and suffering. Some methods can be extremely...enjoyable." He dared to stroke the cleft again, the cool leather slowly circling the narrow opening
Muraki froze, every muscle locked in tension. His bowed his head, avoiding Tsuzuki's gaze. "I vowed to kill the last person who fucked me."
"Oh." Even though Muraki's voice remained even, Tsuzuki could sense the fear emanating from him. "And did you?"
Muraki's lips twisted. "I developed an elaborate plan to bring him back to life...but it didn't quite go according to plan, ne?"
Saki. The half-brother Muraki had vowed to resurrect so he could have the pleasure of killing him personally. Tsuzuki didn't know the full story behind their relationship, but he suspected it was traumatic and ugly. Was it anything like the twisted relationship he shared with Muraki? Violence breeding violence in a self-perpetuating cycle...
A splash of cold water could not have been more effective. Tsuzuki lay back against the table, his arms falling to his side.
Muraki looked at him, his gaze cool and remote as an arctic glacier. The false eye was dim once again. "What's wrong?"
Everything was wrong. Tsuzuki resisted the urge to laugh like a madman. He clung to the remaining shred of sanity he had left. "I wonder..." He cleared his throat. "Earlier you offered me sake. May I have some now?"
Muraki blinked. Of all the responses he was expecting, this wasn't one of them. "You want sake?"
"If it's not too much trouble," Tsuzuki said sheepishly. "I haven't had anything to drink all evening."
Muraki looked annoyed. He straightened up, resting on his haunches, his good eye clouded with suspicion. "Is that all you want? To drink sake?" He reached down to grasp Tsuzuki's cock. It jerked and hardened in automatic reaction. "Are you sure?"
"Yes." Tsuzuki shut his eyes and schooled his muscles to stillness. "Please...pour me some sake."
Muraki encircled Tsuzuki's shaft with both hands, leaving the sensitive head peeking out from his cage of fingers. Using his thumb, he caressed the exposed flesh in slow circles. "You don't sound very convincing, Tsuzuki- san. Is there anything else you want?"
Tsuzuki shook his head, eyes still tightly shut. He gripped the ends of the table so he didn't betray himself by his actions. But his body was singing again, glorying in the shimmering pleasure evoked by Muraki's touch. It required all his willpower to resist the urge to buck and writhe and plead for more.
With a growl, Muraki slid off the low table to kneel on the floor. He grabbed Tsuzuki's hips and dragged him closer until his legs were dangling from the table, then pulled his trousers down, yanking his shoes off at the same time.
Tsuzuki's eyes flew open. "What...what are you doing?"
"I want to hear you beg, Tsuzuki-san. If sake is all you want, then prove it to me." He bent forward, lips wide, and took the cock deep in his mouth.
Tsuzuki convulsed. The pleasure engulfed him. Everything else ceased to exist. His world was narrowed down to his cock and Muraki's eager sucking.
He drank with the same determination he had shown in the dream, willingly allowing it to slide past his lips, along his tongue and down his throat. His tongue eagerly lapped at the precome, collecting it and laving it over the throbbing head. There was no hesitation or pause; on the contrary, he manipulated Tsuzuki as if he'd been hungering for this his entire life.
Tsuzuki couldn't help the moans leaving his throat, perfectly matched with each slide of his cock down Muraki's throat. He twisted on the tabletop, his hips shifting as he fought the rising tide of pleasure. "Please..." He was barely aware of the word passing his lips. "Please...Muraki..."
Muraki chuckled, once again confident of his power. "I knew it." He lapped at Tsuzuki's testicles, drawing one into his mouth to suckle at it lightly, then releasing it with a soft pop. "I knew it. From the moment we first met...it was only a matter of time." His false eye began to glow again.
Damn him. Tsuzuki shuddered beneath him, willpower melting. His appetite for the physical was not like other people; it was all consuming and total. Gluttony for sweets could be disguised as childish greed...but there was no acceptable disguise for sexual lust. He couldn't deny himself. He'd never been able to do so.
What was the point in hiding?
He had learnt the futility of running from himself in Kyoto. Oblivion was no escape. But he had no intention of being a puppet or a doll, to be toyed with and discarded once boredom set in. If Muraki thought he could manipulate him at will, he had another thing coming.
He reached for the floor, gloved fingers grappling for something, anything. The smooth hardness of the sake bottle was perfect. Grasping its neck, he slowly lifted it up...and swung it down.
Muraki didn't have to look up. He intercepted it with one smooth motion, his hand grabbing the bottle in mid-air. The slap of glass against the skin of his palm echoed in the room like a thunderclap.
Tsuzuki clenched his jaw. He couldn't move the bottle any further, even with gravity in his favour.
Slowly Muraki lifted his head, the false eye burning bright, his mouth a tightly compressed line. They stared at each other for several seconds, each gripping the bottle between them...neither prepared to give an inch.
On the lounge, the kitten watched carefully, its gaze shifting from one to the other.
Muraki relaxed his grip slightly, allowing the bottle to slide through his grasp. His lips curved in a rueful smile. "So you'd like some sake, Tsuzuki- san?" he asked with exaggerated courtesy. "What temperature? This grade is best served chilled, but if you'd like it warm or hot...?"
A truce...for the time being.
"Chilled is fine, thank you." Tsuzuki released his grip slowly, and allowed Muraki to take the bottle.