Notes: For Bekquai, who asked for an explanation of how in the hell Hisoka manages to look less than murderous in this pic. Because of course Bekquai has the coolest random suggestions ever and I luffs them! Hisoka Drabble A Yami no Matsuei Fanfiction by Amet On second thought, this might not have been the smartest idea he'd ever agreed to. It'd been a whim, the kind of mercurial mood swing he had been scolding Tsuzuki for on a semi-constant basis for the past fifty odd years, and he was almost ashamed at where the impulse had carried him as he stepped forward off the boardwalk, feet scalding on the sun baked sand beneath. The others, spread out over a couple of picnic blankets and a weather beaten volleyball court… were staring in that shocked, frozen way that meant that he had done something particularly uncouth and they were afraid to offend him by pointing out the faux pas. And Tsuzuki for once in his afterlife was not wearing his emotions on his shirtsleeve for all to see, face as immovable and unreadable as a granite wall as he finally roused himself to drop the volleyball he'd been about to lob at Terazuma's head and canter over. The girls were right, he thought sardonically, Tsuzuki was definitely surprised that he'd come. Beaches were something he'd always avoided, despite fervent pleading from his lover every year when the traditional office outing rolled around, along with any other setting that involved the unceremonious removal of clothing. Stripping down in front of Tsuzuki was one thing, they'd been together so long that Hisoka wasn't sure his partner even saw the scarring anymore, but the others… the constant sadness they projected whenever a shirt hiked too far up over his waistline or he absently rolled a sleeve up on a balmy spring day… it was too much for him to take, and too much for him to put them through. So he'd simply learned to check the impulses that might expose them, and moved on. Which meant no beach parties, much to his lover's disappointment. Habit had made him turn this one down as well, even with Muraki safely rotting away beneath a warded grave and sent on to whatever hell he'd earned himself literal months ago, something in him still balked at the idea of being so exposed. It was only the constant badgering of a concerned Wakaba, with a backup chorus of whining entreaties from Saya and Yuma, that made him acquiesce and now he fervently wished he hadn't. He hadn't ever owned a bathing suit, much to the girls' chagrin, which he thought would have been obvious but by the time they'd realized it there'd be no time to do anything about it beyond watching in dismay as Yuma butchered an old pair of his jeans and rearranged an oxford shirt into indecency over his torso. He'd been unsure, they'd been insistent, and he'd gone. He really wished he hadn't. Tsuzuki stopped about a foot from where Hisoka stood, unreadable eyes raking over him for a moment before closing the space between them, yanking him forward with an arm around his waist and kissing him, hard. He sputtered into the kiss for a moment before Tsuzuki's emotions finally filtered in around the nervous shields he'd erected and he found…lust? And something along the lines of an irrational possessiveness in the face of the others' stares following hard on its heels as Tsuzuki forced his mouth open and stroked his tongue along Hisoka's own. The others were simply shocked, not annoyed or reluctant to tell him of some social more he'd inadvertently trampled, but apparently uncomfortable seeing this much of him because the sum result of what Yuma had done to him was enticing in a way that made them fear for what Hisoka would do when he caught wind of their thoughts. It was fucking hilarious. He laughed as the kiss broke, at the hands still insistently clenching his sides where they were exposed by the shirt. "I take it you approve." "Uh huh," said Tsuzuki, grinning like a child in a candy store as one of the hands detached from Hisoka's side to splay over his stomach. "Though if they're thinking what I think they're thinking I'm gonna have to hurt some people here." He threw a baleful look over his shoulder and watched the others scatter nervously, returning to passing out boxed lunches and diving at a battered volleyball with the kind of jerky, overly conscious movements of people who'd been caught listening at doors. And Hisoka smiled, because as stupid and dorky and overdone as the whole affair was, it was familiar. It was home. return to splash page