Thanks to everyone who has commented. It's so nice to know people are still reading.

26/7/04: small changes made to first scene here.

It shouldn't have come as a surprise.

And Tsuzuki wasn't that surprised. Hisoka respected people who were serious and disciplined in their approach to life. He constantly sought to improve himself, whether it was by reading books in the library or testing his physical prowess with the bow or katana. His entire life was devoted to physical and mental self-improvement.

Once Tsuzuki thought this was Hisoka's way of compensating for his limited physical stature. As friend and partner, he had done his best to balance Hisoka's perspective, often reminding him of the need to relax and unwind. But Hisoka had never really taken his advice. He would accompany Tsuzuki on his regular outings to patisseries and tea rooms with resigned patience, like a parent indulging a spoilt child. Occasionally he might be surprised into showing a flicker of pleasure or enthusiasm, but it would be quickly snuffed out by his innate self-consciousness.

Tsuzuki had concluded that Hisoka's behaviour was an ingrained part of his personality. Like Tatsumi, he was more comfortable with the ascetic than the sensual.

So maybe this was for the best.

But it didn't lessen the awkwardness as he escorted Hisoka to Tatsumi's apartment. Tsuzuki knew Hisoka well enough to tell the difference between a companionable and a strained silence.

"Well, here it is! We're just on time, so Tatsumi has no reason to be impatient with you."

Hisoka remained motionless beside him, his gaze on his sneakers.

"Aren't you going to knock? He won't open the door otherwise."

"Tsuzuki..." Hisoka hunched his shoulders, making himself appear shorter than his full height. "Are you sure you're all right with this?"

"Of course I am." Tsuzuki rapped his knuckles against the door. "This is a great honour. Tatsumi doesn't offer to teach kagetsu to anyone, you know. You'd be crazy to pass it up."

"I know that." Hisoka shifted restlessly from one foot to the other. "It's just that..." he shrugged, doing his best to be nonchalant, "I know you and Tatsumi are close." He looked up, challenging Tsuzuki to deny it.

But Tsuzuki could see past the defensiveness. He knew Hisoka was worried about him...and maybe even a little jealous. He ruffled Hisoka's hair. "We're just friends. Don't worry about it, okay?"

Frustration clouded Hisoka's gaze for a moment. He opened his mouth to speak, but the door opened before he could say anything.

Tatsumi greeted them, still dressed in his tan business suit. "Good evening, Kurosaki-kun, Tsuzuki-san." Apart from a slight lift of his eyebrows, he didn't appear troubled by Tsuzuki's presence.

"Hisoka's here for his first kagetsu lesson as arranged!" Tsuzuki placed his hand on Hisoka's shoulder and urged him to step forward.

"So I see." Tatsumi's impersonal gaze shifted from Tsuzuki to Hisoka, then to Tsuzuki. "It was kind of you to show him the way."

Tsuzuki smiled. "I wanted to warn him in advance about how strict you can be, so he wouldn't be shocked by your tough teaching methods."

"You exaggerate, Tsuzuki-san. Your problem was your limited concentration span."

Tsuzuki chuckled. "Maybe it was. Well, I'm sure Hisoka will pick it up much more quickly." He bent down so that he could look Hisoka in the eye. "Don't be fooled by his act, okay? For all his ranting, his bark is much more worse than his bite."

"I only bite on request," Tatsumi replied, deadpan, "unlike certain other people I know."

Tsuzuki froze. Did Tatsumi know about the events of last night? No doubt he would be disgusted if he did find out. And why bring it up now? Tatsumi had agreed, albeit reluctantly, to his request to investigate Muraki in the first place. Was he having second thoughts?

Tsuzuki didn't know any of the answers, and he didn't want to ask, especially not with Hisoka as bystander. And he wasn't in the mood to explain himself to anyone. He knew what he was doing. He couldn't go back now. As for the judgment of others...he would cross that bridge when he came to it.

So he swallowed his pride, and shame, and said nothing.

Hisoka's troubled gaze shifted from one man to the other.

Tatsumi didn't pursue it further. "Please take off your shoes and enter, Kurosaki-kun. Tsuzuki-san, I expect you to arrive at work tomorrow before midday. Much as you would like to believe otherwise, you are a full-time employee of EnmaCho, not part-time. If you continue to take so much time off, then we will have to review your salary."

They were back on familiar ground again, much to Tsuzuki's relief. "Of course, Tatsumi. I promise to be on time tomorrow and I'll bring cakes and sweets for everyone. Bye Hisoka! Study hard!"

He left them both at the doorway: Tatsumi watching him with his unreadable blue eyes, Hisoka's expressive green gaze bright with concern. He knew they were both worried about him in their own way: Tatsumi was merely more experienced in concealing his concern with impatient orders and angry outbursts. Tsuzuki wished there was something he could say to reassure them, but experience had taught him the futility of offering people false hope.

Never mind. As long as Hisoka was in Tatsumi's custody, he would be safe. That was all that mattered.

And with Hisoka safe, Tsuzuki would have the freedom to focus solely on investigating Muraki and his demonic covenant. Which was what he had wanted in the first place, right?

So he knew he had no reason to be sad or jealous, as he trudged back to the Shoukanka. No reason at all.

For the rest of the evening, Tsuzuki looked at photographs. For all his penny-pinching ways, Tatsumi knew the benefits of embracing new technology, and digital cameras were considered standard equipment. No more fiddling with messy chemicals in a dark room: viewing photos was as easy as plugging the camera into the correct computer port, then opening up the right software. Even a good-for-nothing-lazy-excuse-for-a-Shinigami could do it.

So Tsuzuki sat at his desk alone in the dark to view the photos taken by Gushoshin Younger. The vast majority featured Muraki nuzzling his ear, eyes half-closed, lips curved in a wicked smile. Damn. Wincing at the offending images, Tsuzuki jabbed the delete key again and again until his index finger ached.

Only a handful of blurry digital photos featured Muraki's eye in close-up. After whittling down the collection, Tsuzuki zoomed in on the few useful images for more details, but it proved fruitless. The reflected flash from Muraki's glasses combined with his overlong silver hair obscured the false eye from view. Even with the best photo featuring an eerie close-up of both eyes, false and true, all he could see clearly were two concentric circles over the iris, nothing more.

Defeated, Tsuzuki slumped forward with elbows propped on the desk, his chin supported by his hands.

"You were right," he muttered. "I can't see anything."

On the screen, Muraki's slanted eyes seemed to wink at him.

Annoyed, Tsuzuki zoomed in on the false eye until it filled the entire screen with a wall of bright multi-coloured squares. He reached out to touch them with his fingertips, tracing the outline of the pupil.

"I should've gouged it out when I had the chance."

But what would he have done with it? Framed it on his office wall like a hunting trophy?

Tsuzuki suppressed a bitter laugh at the idea. No, he'd have to hide it. Burn it. Bury it.

He couldn't let anyone else see it.

Not that he put it there. He knew he didn't place it there. Nevertheless, its presence on the flesh of a living being was incriminating enough.

Tsuzuki deleted all the photos and shut down the computer. It was almost midnight, and there was little to be gained by magnifying fuzzy photos any further.

So he'd have to visit Muraki again. A shiver passed over him, a mixture of dread and excitement.

Tsuzuki shook his head impatiently as he grabbed his coat.

Don't think of last night.

He buttoned his trenchcoat with fumbling fingers. He couldn't help remembering how he'd almost ripped them apart in his eagerness to join Muraki on his bed.

Don't think of that, you idiot!

Tsuzuki shoved his hands in his pockets, searching for his gloves. He could only find one.

An image of Muraki appeared in his mind, sharp and clear, grinning wickedly as he held the fingertip of one black glove between his teeth.

It was hopeless. How could he not think about it? He wanted Muraki, even as he despised himself for it. It was too urgent, too close to the surface of his mind to suppress any longer. There was no way he could withstand Muraki's sexual mind-games in his current state.

But maybe the white kitten could offer more information. If it were a demon, maybe he could provoke it into revealing its true form. Demons were vain and greedy by nature. Provoking one into attack would require a little effort, but Tsuzuki knew he was a master in annoying others: Terazuma had commented on it several times.

Providing Muraki remained fast asleep, dealing with the kitten wouldn't be too difficult at all.

He chose to make an unobtrusive appearance under the cover of invisibility.

All the lights were off. From the doorway, he could see the bedroom was empty, the unoccupied bed neatly made up. There were no shoes in the rack by the elevator doors.

Muraki wasn't in.

Tsuzuki frowned at the empty rack. The realisation should have filled him with relief, but it didn't. Where could he be? Eating out with Norata-san or other friends? Lurking in a darkened alley for his next victim?

Tsuzuki smothered his feelings of disappointment. He was here to examine the kitten. Muraki's absence, for whatever reason, provided the perfect opportunity.

But his sixth sense detected nothing, not even the muted emanations of a normal cat.

Tsuzuki allowed himself to appear in physical form, hoping it would draw the creature out. The lights switched on as the detector responded to his movements. Nothing.

Tsuzuki inspected the kitchen and opened a few cupboards; scanned the shower cubicle and spa tub; even crawled on his hands and knees to peer under the lounge and coffee table. Where was it? It had closely watched his every move last night, a silent witness to everything he and Muraki had done together. So why hide from him now?

Disgruntled, Tsuzuki unbuttoned his trenchcoat and fingered the fuda in his breast pocket. Could Muraki have taken the cat out with him? Surely not. Then again, Muraki was the type of person who did whatever he pleased whenever he pleased, public opinion be damned.

There was only one room he hadn't searched properly, one room he dreaded entering.

The bedroom.

Tsuzuki stood at the doorway, heart pounding. His mere presence here was wrong; it was akin to a murderer returning to savour the details of his crime. The temptation to use an illusion fuda lurked at the back of his mind; however, his revulsion at the memory of Muraki molesting his doppelganger self decided it.

He would do this himself.

He straightened his shoulders and walked through the door.

Heat engulfed him. It invaded his nostrils, and swirled around his limbs until they became heavy and weak. Sweat broke out on his brow and between his shoulder blades. Droplets trickled into his eyes, making them sting.

He wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. His vision was filled with a glowing wall of dancing flames. Thick black smoke wafted around him, its acrid smell suffocating him. Orange sparks flew toward him, seeking to set him alight as well. And now he could feel a palpable presence in the room watching him, circling him. Wanting him.

"Muraki!" Tsuzuki pulled out a barrier fuda, and held it before him using his index and middle finger. "Only a coward hides during battle. If you want to fight, show yourself first!"

"You only had to ask, Tsuzuki-san. Your wish is my command."

Tsuzuki whirled, his trench coat swirling around his legs, the fuda extended to ward off attack.

Muraki stood before him, arms folded, lips curved in a mocking smile. His glasses reflected the flickering red-orange flames, obscuring his eyes from view. He wore a black polo neck top and black jeans beneath his familiar white trench coat. The overwhelming heat didn't affect him in the slightest.

"It's a little warm in here, ne? I hope you don't mind. Please feel free to take off your clothes if the temperature is not to your liking." He grinned merrily. "The more, the better."

"You..." Tsuzuki clenched his hands into fists. If he'd been holding an attack fuda, he would have hurled it simply to wipe the smirk from Muraki's face. "Stop playing these games! Is this supposed to be another showdown? Is this your revenge?"

"Revenge?" Muraki frowned, his brow furrowing at the idea. "Your opinion of me must be very low indeed if you think I bear a grudge for the laboratory fire. You were under attack; hence, you defended yourself. A perfectly reasonable course of action." He tilted his head to study Tsuzuki, unperturbed by the angry glint in his violet eyes. "You aren't guilty about what happened, are you?"

Tsuzuki shook his head decisively. "Not in the slightest."

But inside he was reeling. To have one of his victims reassure him that his actions, however violent and bloody, were perfectly reasonable...it defied logic. And to hear it from Muraki, of all people...

Well, Muraki was insane by definition. To him, violence and blood was all part of a day's work.

"Good. I, for one, regret nothing. With each stab of the knife, you refashioned me anew. As a sculptor moulds clay, so you remoulded my life." He bent down on one knee, his head bowed as if in prayer. "I am yours, Tsuzuki-san."

"Like hell you are." Tsuzuki tried to take a step back, but scorching heat seared his skin through the layers of clothing.

He turned around again. The flames now surrounded him completely on all sides. More flames surged over his head to form a canopy of fire and thick smoke.

There was something eerily familiar about it.

"Touda?" It couldn't be, of course. Touda was his shikigami, and his alone. No one else could summon him. But these flames...

"It's a good likeness, ne?" Muraki rested a forearm on Tsuzuki's shoulder to watch the fiery display. "But what we're experiencing now is merely a fraction of what I endured."

From one side, a glowing fireball hurtled towards them. Tsuzuki swung his arm out to meet it, the crumpled barrier fuda in his hand.

The fireball exploded inches from his hand, repelled by the invisible spirit barrier. A few pieces of the fuda fell away, its magic dissipated by the attack.

Tsuzuki turned to look at Muraki, who was still leaning casually against his shoulder. "Why?"

"Why what?"

"This!"

Another fireball came at them, this time from above. Tsuzuki grabbed a second barrier fuda as reinforcement and held both fuda up to repel the attack. The fireball exploded like the first, sending sparks falling around them.

"Beautiful." Muraki watched in open admiration. "It's like a meteor shower."

"Why are you doing this? Are you after my sympathy?"

"Hardly." Muraki flashed him a sidelong look. "And who says I'm doing anything?"

"Who else can it be, you--"

Another fireball loomed over Muraki's shoulder.

"Move!" Roughly he yanked Muraki behind him to face it head-on. There was no time to launch a coordinated attack. He hurled a barrage of fuda, both attack and barrier, in a single onslaught.

The barrier fuda hit it first. The fireball slowed, but it didn't waver from its original trajectory. With orange flames dancing on its surface, it crackled and roared towards them as though it were a living entity.

Tsuzuki watched, transfixed. Time had slowed down to a crawl. The fireball was too close, too fast and double the size of the previous two. His attack fuda were unproven against such ferocious flames. His shinigami couldn't be summoned at such short notice.

"You must believe to succeed, Tsuzuki-san," Muraki murmured behind him. He squeezed Tsuzuki's shoulder. "I know you can do it. Watch."

The attack fuda transformed into a school of silver fish, then coalesced and expanded into a torrent of water. The fireball ploughed into it with a massive hiss. Steam and water droplets sprayed everywhere, knocking him backwards to the ground.

"Muraki?" Tsuzuki scrambled to his feet, but he couldn't see a thing. Grey fog of smoke and steam obscured his vision. His clothes were dripping wet. "Muraki! Where are you, dammit?"

The wall of flames no longer glowed as brightly. As the steam lifted, Tsuzuki saw the floor was covered in wet puddles and gasping, flapping fish.

Next to him, a sodden Muraki squatted on his haunches to examine one of them. "Mullet?" He laughed and ran a careless hand through drenched silver hair. "So few of my previous dates went to the trouble of bringing, let alone cooking, their own food. Such a shame your tastes are cheap. Do you think you could bring fugu next time?"

Tsuzuki glared at him. "Call it off." He pulled out a handful of attack fuda. "Or I'll rip this entire illusion to shreds, and destroy your apartment building in the process."

"I would if I could." Muraki seemed almost apologetic as he straightened up. "Unfortunately, that decision is not mine to make."

Tsuzuki swore under his breath. "What's the advantage in having a covenant- alliance if you can't make any decisions for yourself?"

Muraki's gaze narrowed. "You misinterpret my words, Tsuzuki-san. My will is still my own."

But Tsuzuki knew he'd struck a nerve. The sudden chill in Muraki's manner proved it. "Really? So why are you stuck here with me? Don't tell me that you wanted to be barbecued by flames one minute and steamed alive the next?"

"I want to be with you: for better, for worse; for richer, for poorer; till death..." Muraki suddenly grinned, his good humour restored. "But why must death be an impediment? We shouldn't let such trifling differences mar our future happiness, ne?"

Tsuzuki clenched the fuda in his hand. He knew Muraki was trying to provoke him again. "This is not a laughing matter." He jabbed a finger at the flames that still burned unabated. "That fireball was aimed at you. What type of twisted covenant gives one party the right to kill the other? You must be suicidal as well as insane to enter such an agreement."

"On the contrary." Muraki leaned closer, a mocking glint in his visible grey eye. "Why I should I fear death when I am under the protection of EnmaCho's most powerful Shinigami?"

Tsuzuki tensed. The irony was not lost on him. To encounter a Shinigami was to be marked for death. That was one superstition that was grounded in fact. Even when he tried to protect lives, he ended up hastening their downfall.

"Do as you please. Fulfil your death wish. I don't care either way." Tsuzuki turned away and focused on the flames. They were starting to regroup and gather around them again. "It was stupid of me to think I could reason with a madman."

"Misguided," Muraki agreed. He rested his forearm and chin on Tsuzuki's shoulder again. "But it's part of your charm, Tsuzuki-san."

Tsuzuki ignored him. There was one spot in which the flames burned more brightly than others. Could it be the source of the illusion? There was only one way to find out.

He hurled the attack fuda. Water gushed forth, no longer requiring an animal intermediate. There was another hiss of steam, followed by a blinding flash of light. Tsuzuki ducked his head as a howling wind swept past, the final rush of overheated air seeking escape. Then there was silence.

Tsuzuki looked up. He was back in Muraki's bedroom, his clothes as dry as when he'd first entered the room. In front of him, the white kitten lay on the bed, watching with large grey eyes.

"You! This is all your doing!" He lunged forward, but was grabbed from behind.

"My beautiful Tsuzuki-san." Muraki crushed him close and nuzzled his neck. "Even when you're angry, I still find you desirable." He pressed his lips against the curve of Tsuzuki's throat. His hands clutched at the damp shirt, and pulled it free of the trousers to stroke the taut muscles of his abdomen. "My lust for you increases each time I see you wield your supernatural powers." He bit Tsuzuki's earlobe, his breath hot against his ear. "I must have you now."

Tsuzuki wrenched his head away in disgust. "You've already had me. Once is more than enough." But he knew his body betrayed him. Why were Muraki's cool fingers able to leave a trail of searing heat wherever they touched his skin? Why were his limbs, usually so powerful and quick, unable to extricate himself from Muraki's embrace?

"Liar," Muraki murmured. His velvet-soft voice made the insult sound like a loving endearment. "You gave me nothing I couldn't have found in the nearest brothel." He seized Tsuzuki by the neck, his fingers curling around the long column of his throat. "Even a common street prostitute would have given me more than what I received from you last night."

Tsuzuki couldn't breathe. He squirmed and writhed against Muraki's hold, gasping for air. He couldn't get a hand free to render Muraki unconscious. Sharp nails dug into each side of his throat. Warm stickiness trickled along his skin.

"Stay still," Muraki growled. His fingers tightened, his grip merciless. His false eye gleamed with excitement as he watched the blood form a pool in the hollow between the base of Tsuzuki's throat and collarbone. "I haven't finished with you yet."

Stars appeared before Tsuzuki's eyes. He couldn't see. The world lurched beneath his feet, as if trying to throw him off balance. Oblivion beckoned, inviting temporary relief from the agony.

The asphyxiating grip over Tsuzuki's throat was no more. Powerful arms easily lowered him to the bed. Slippery smooth material slid over his palms and between the webs of his fingers. Tsuzuki felt Muraki's hands adjust the tilt of his head and jaw, positioning him to best advantage.

Then warm lips were at his throat, a tongue lapping at the cuts.

"Mmm...deliciously sweet. You must be the real thing."

Consciousness returned as he lay on the bed. The first thing he saw was Muraki straddling him on elbows and knees, his shoulders looming directly in his line of vision.

Thankfully he could breathe again. The giddiness was gone. His vision was back to normal. His wounds were healing, leaving behind a slight itching sensation. And as Muraki shifted over his body, impatience getting the better of him, Tsuzuki heard the reassuring rustle of the paper charms.

Carefully he moved one hand up to his breast pocket.

"Such a shame." Muraki lifted his head. A smear of blood was visible at the corner of his mouth. "Much as I admire your healing powers, I wish I could savour your sweetness for--"

Tsuzuki pressed the fuda on Muraki's forehead, right between his eyes. "Get off me."

Muraki frowned, more annoyed than angry. "Tsuzuki-san--"

"Are you a gambling man, Muraki? An attack fuda at this range would blow your brains out and mutilate my arm. It's nothing to me, but it might be a problem for you, ne?"

"Perhaps." Muraki's gaze narrowed thoughtfully. "Of course, your statement is based on the assumption that you do hold an attack fuda to my head."

"I know what type of fuda I hold." Tsuzuki's gaze didn't waver.

Muraki looked down at him, an unreadable look in his visible grey eye. Beneath the silver hair, his false eye glowed.

Tsuzuki pressed the fuda with a fraction more force for emphasis.

Muraki's lips twitched, and the false eye dimmed. "Very well. I value my mental faculties too much to call your bluff." He lifted himself up to sit beside Tsuzuki on the bed.

Tsuzuki quickly crushed the fuda in his palm and placed it in his pocket.

"So which one was it?" Muraki asked. "Did I make the right decision?"

"Believe me, you did." Tsuzuki looked at his hands properly for the first time. They were both sheathed in a pair of violet velvet gloves. A steel buckle ensured each cuff was fitted to his wrists. He couldn't sense any supernatural magic emanating from them. "What's this for?"

"Consider it a gift," Muraki said indulgently. He ran his finger along one of the palms. "I want you to wear them when you come to me."

"Why?"

"Why not? I know I have been remiss in bringing you the roses, so I thought this would do in the interim." He picked up both gloved hands. "Of course, I also have an ulterior motive: I want to avoid a repeat of last night's events." He gripped Tsuzuki's hands before he could pull away. "I regard myself as a man of the world but, I swear to you, last night was the most bizarre sexual encounter I have experienced in my entire life. Is this normal for you?"

Tsuzuki turned red. "It's not me who's bizarre. I'm not the one who uses physical violence as foreplay."

"You just threatened to give me a serious head injury with your fuda," Muraki reminded him.

"I was defending myself!"

Muraki ignored him. "Last night, you attempted to do the same using a sake bottle. Then, after coming to me of your own free will--and giving every indication of enjoying the experience--you successfully knocked me out with your supernatural powers." A look of almost comical bewilderment crossed his face. "How could you end our evening together in such an abrupt fashion? Was it so repulsive for you?"

"I..." Tsuzuki bowed his head. "I told you to stop."

"You welcomed me in. You begged me to continue."

"You're exaggerating."

Muraki's quiet voice was relentless. "You arched against me as if you wanted us to merge into a single being of flesh and blood. You held me close as if you resented the physical barriers between us." His thumbs rubbed slow circles against the gloved palms.

Tsuzuki squeezed his eyes shut. Now was not the time to think of last night, but the images conjured up by Muraki's words couldn't be denied. A familiar ache stirred in the pit of his abdomen. Heat prickled his skin. The fire in the room may have been extinguished, but the one lurking inside him was still very much alive.

Muraki's breath was warm against his forehead. "My flesh was the canvas on which you inscribed your true feelings." He nuzzled Tsuzuki's hair. "Would you like me to show you?"

Lust flared, but Tsuzuki viciously shoved it back. He scrambled mentally for something--anything--to keep Muraki at bay. Active resistance would be met with brute force. He needed a different tactic.

An idea came to him. A dangerous one...but it might just work. Attack his vulnerable spot: his ego.

Tsuzuki looked up for a moment, violet eyes wide, then quickly averted his gaze. "I...I have a confession to make." The hesitation wasn't entirely faked.

"Do you?" Muraki's voice rippled with amusement. "Let me hear it." His lips began tracing the graceful arch of Tsuzuki's eyebrows.

"Last night, I got carried away. I've gone without...for such a long time. I guess I went a little crazy. I've never been good at controlling physical cravings." He flushed with shame at the truth of his words. "You must realise there's no personal feelings associated with what happened. I was hungry; you offered to feed me; I accepted your offer until I was full. It's as simple as that."

Muraki stilled, his lips poised over the bridge of Tsuzuki's nose.

Tsuzuki dared to look up, his features carefully composed in a mask of contrition. "If I misled you, then I apologise for my behaviour. But I'm sure that you, of all people, should understand."

Muraki said nothing. His features were unreadable. He squeezed Tsuzuki's fingers until the bones cracked.

Tsuzuki swore and pulled his hands free. "Muraki!"

"Forgive me, Tsuzuki-san." His lips curved in a parody of a smile. "I suppose I got carried away, ne?" Abruptly he rose to his feet and shrugged out of his coat. "Take off your clothes."

Tsuzuki's jaw dropped. This wasn't what he'd expected at all. "W-What?"

Muraki took off his glasses and tossed them on the night table. "If you're going to make me believe your story, then you'll have to prove it." There was a taunting ugliness in his voice. "So take off your clothes. I want to see for myself how little I mean to you."

"Go visit a brothel. Go lie with a prostitute." Tsuzuki cradled his crushed fingers, waiting for them to heal. "I have nothing to prove to you."

"Why, Tsuzuki-san," Muraki drawled mockingly, "if I didn't know better, I'd think you were jealous."

Tsuzuki flexed his fingers to test them. "You know better," he said in a low voice. "In any case, I'm not here for you." He looked around the room. "Where is your cat?"

Muraki replied by pulling the black polo neck free from his trousers, revealing pale skin stretched over a lean musculature. His pectoral and shoulder muscles flexed and rippled, a tantalising hint of raw power inherent in the simple movement.

Tsuzuki watched, riveted. His gaze was drawn to the faint bruises along one shoulder and the side of his throat, the mottled red-purple colour stark against his ghostly pale flesh.

Muraki shook his head from the close-fitting collar. His silver hair fell in a cascade over his face, making him look absurdly young and vulnerable. With a careless hand he pulled the strands away, shattering the illusion. His slanted grey eyes were cold, devoid even of the heat of physical lust. His lips were compressed in a forbidding line.

"Divorcing my emotions from my actions comes as easily to me as breathing. I've practised it every day in my line of work, and honed it to an art in my free time. Whether it is penetrating the chest wall to save the life of a patient with a pneumothorax or entering a beautiful body writhing in the extremity of pleasure and pain...it is all the same to me." He raised one quizzical brow. "Can you say the same for yourself, Tsuzuki-san?"