It was the tuxedo that started it all.

Tsuzuki Asato leaned back on his haunches, neatly balanced as he rolled the squashed round of disk over finger and knuckle, once jagged ridges sanded smooth and greenish-black in places where he had rubbed just a little too hard. Once a coin, it thinner than it should have been, a sizable indent defacing the profile and much of the lettering around the edges, the indent of tracks still visible from where something had run over it. The back was more interesting, the fierce glare of a bird boring out at him, its expression of outraged dignity reminding him of Suzaku on a tear without the yelling. A keepsake from a case long past, he thought it might be American, certainly likely as he had found it in a Nagasaki dockyard, forlorn and flattened against a weather-stained tarmac, the glint attracting his attention. That case had been a nasty one and not just because of the ritualistic harvesting of body parts, sailors both Japanese and foreign taken to satisfy a blood contract. It had also been tricky, the event catapulted into international status with the American Summons division sending an agent of their own to make inquiries.

That in itself had been difficult enough, throwing his then partner Madoka into the mix had rendered the situation untenable, Tatsumi actually having to step in and moderate -- for him, against the other two. He had expected difficulties in working with the American agent, his knowledge of the language next to nil and their equally stubborn refusal to learn to another language besides their own but Madoka had been far worse. They had never gotten along, the woman, a former socialite murdered by a jealous lover, refusing to speak to him in any setting that hadn’t involved case work. This being after he rebuffed her attempts to as Watari would say, "get into his pants." The remembrance brought forth a rueful smile, their impromptu wrestling match interrupted by Wakaba. He wasn’t sure which of them had been more horrified - Wakaba for walking in, Madoka for being rejected and interrupted, or him by the sight of Madoka ripping her shirt off, sans bra or anything else underneath. She had never forgiven him, either of them for that transgression, reaming Wakaba as he had struggled to get out from where she had thrown him. Wakaba had gotten her revenge in the end, the story somehow managing to find its way into office circulation thereafter.

Still, things might have been salvaged, some sort of distant working relationship preserved if the woman hadn’t decided to go out of her way to make his life miserable. Her pointed snubs, disdainful tone… Well, he could have handled that; it was her annoying habit of listening to whatever he said long enough to take the exact opposite course that ended the partnership, for once leaving him to beg Tatsumi to reassign them both before someone died.

He wondered that Hisoka had managed where so many others had failed, putting up with him. Whether it was intractable stubbornness or sheer gall, Hisoka stayed, vocal and vociferous when they disagreed (which tended to be on a semi-constant basis) but after a few bumps in the beginning, they did work together. Together, not him having to run off after some newly made Shinigami, thinking that their powers imbued them with vigilante status or having to work around a refusal to see him as anything more than an idiot. Hisoka had no qualms about telling him when he thought he was being an idiot but it was never malicious, their bickering less pointed of late and more just the way they interacted, the comfortable companionship he had witnessed in other relationships but had never had. It was frightening to realize how much he had come to depend on that, on just the thought of Hisoka being there combined with the realization that one day, if he wasn’t careful, his partner might not be. His track record for not screwing up wasn’t exactly stellar under the circumstances and now… Now there was more at stake than just a working relationship or even friendship.

He had never been good with people, he wasn’t equipped for it and sooner or later when they left, there was an inevitable sense of relief, that they hadn’t broken through the barrier of kindness he used to hold the world at bay, even when he wasn’t particularly feeling it. A relief because they had never taken the time to get close enough to realize for all his smiles and sympathetic words, he wasn’t a good person, that he was so very often angry, far more lost than they. The darkness had claimed him long before he was ever dead and it was all he had, the one constant that had never deserted him. He was kind because he didn’t want others to suffer as he had, because he hoped that in turn he would find something in himself that he was missing, that would make him whole and correct. The problem was, he didn’t trust and couldn’t trust, no matter how many times his hand was extended, he always expected it to be slapped away.

The dichotomy had only grown worse with the new twist in their relationship, starving for Hisoka’s attention, for the caresses he gave so easily when they were alone, and expecting, knowing implicitly, that he could expect no more than the moment. Everything changed, could and would in an instant, infinitesimal and ephemeral, the bend in a road coming back around again. He strayed, wanting nothing more than to linger, to bathe in simply being with Hisoka, his body warm and silent when they slept, almost purring in contentment when they touched, but ever aware that this was not the way things worked for him. For other people, yes, but not him. There were times, so deep in the night when silence tolled, thick and smothering, until all he could hear was his own voice screaming in his head, crying for what was and was not yet lost. Those moments when despair rose so thick he wished nothing more than to roll over and never get up again, when he longed to wake his lover, even if it meant having him scold, if only for the sound of another voice to drown out screams only he heard. Most of the time he found himself extricating from that steady embrace, getting up to ostensibly shower, instead leaning against the stall striving not to think, not to be. Fighting as hard as he had ever fought not to let Hisoka catch so much as a whiff until the water ran cold and his body shook with the reaction of it all. His success rate had been mixed at best, moss-colored orbs studying him, a tiny knot marring Hisoka’s otherwise clear brow occurring enough that he knew his lover suspected something.

"Now, Bon, it’s not so bad."

"It’s raspberry. I didn’t know they even made these things in raspberry."

"I think it’s cute."

"I’ll look like an escapee from a Stephen King flick, just waiting for a bucket of blood to be dropped on me."

"Actually, the tuxedo in Carrie wasn’t that color, it was-"

"I don’t care. I’m not wearing it and you can stop making puppy eyes at me right now!"

The words floated from behind an aging curtain, once a rich golden brown brocade and now graying to umber from years of dust and sweat. Three shops and a mall later, Hisoka had finally found a store he liked, a store that might have been posh-thirty years earlier and was now entering a ripe old state of decrepitude. Still, it was cozy and clean, an elderly gentleman circling them like a small dog, pathetically eager to please and offering comments about color and fabrics, about what socks went best with what type of slacks and how to wear a coat and cummerbund without wrinkling them to death. His assistant, younger and clearly embarrassed, ran back and forth between stockroom and dressing room, nearly buried under a mountain of suits. Clearly Hisoka was a discerning shopper, in neither a hurry nor willing to settle for second best, polite but firm in his opinions. Their newest assignment required his partner to impersonate the heir of a toy magnate, a role Hisoka was taking a little more seriously than was strictly necessary. Not an avid shopper himself, Tsuzuki had gotten bored about fifteen minutes in and after a few mishaps with some mannequins had been banished to the front of the store.

He had yet to figure out how Watari had managed to inveigle his way into coming on their shopping expedition aside from a few words about neither of them having the fashion sense to pick something decent. This coming from a man who wore the same lab coat he’d been wearing for the last twenty years, let alone the same hairstyle. He wouldn’t have even come had he not been feeling particularly proprietary, wanting to be near Hisoka. He knew he didn’t have anything to contribute to the tuxedo hunt; fashion wasn’t his forte and he had seen enough of Hisoka’s closet to discern that he didn’t need any help in that arena. Which Watari also knew, having commented enough on it in the past. ‘So yes, not so much understanding why he’s here or why he needs to be back there,’ Tsuzuki thought. Or why Hisoka was letting him. He felt a rush of guilt at that, at the stab of possessiveness he suddenly felt. Watari was their friend and he owed the scientist for the metaphorical, if not literal, kick in the ass he had given him over Hisoka. Besides, it wasn’t as if he had any rights to Hisoka, not beyond what he was given, and certainly not when it came to dictating how he spent his time.

"Sulking?"

He started, nearly tottering face forward, catching himself with a free hand and swiveling to glare at the amber eyes all but snickering at him, Watari poking his head out from behind the curtain, strangely disembodied. "Can’t you cough or something?"

"Nope," the scientist replied cheerfully. "Wow, you quiet for almost fifteen whole minutes. I would never have believed it."

"I’m glad you find this entertaining," Tsuzuki’s voice was dry, "What the hell are you two doing back there?"

"Bon’s being difficult. Try to get him to try something new and daring and-" WHUMP! A coat cut off whatever else Watari might have said, ringing his head at such an angle that Tsuzuki found himself staring at a pea green coat arm in lieu of a face. With exceptional dignity, Watari disentangled himself, sniffing, "Oh that was mature."

At least this time the man ducked as the matching set of pants hurtled towards him. Rolling his eyes, Watari disappeared behind the curtain again, heavy fabric fluttering back and to, shrill as they squeaked on ancient rings. Translucent particles of dust kicked up, a rainbow whirlwind of indiscernible shapes hovering before his eyes, light from a nearby window creating a patchwork lattice of shadow on the floor. Just random shades and shapes, seemingly creating a pattern but nothing more than a combination of air and motes, ever changing, with no direction, no purpose. He let his eyes unfocus, watching behind a blur of soft whites and golds the creep and leap of spidery string and folding contours, fuzzing over his vision like swarms of restless insects, darting this way and that. His right knee was warm, soaking up the heat accompanying the sunshine, distilled and magnified by a thin pane of polished glass, the rough cloth baking, blanketing his skin. Lids fluttering shut, he scooted closer, turning his face and enjoyed the red-black of illumination behind closed eyes, how it like the window created strange shades, nearly invisible as they slid across pupil and cornea. His skin felt as if it were glowing, radiating the heat it took in, all melty warm like pliable wax.

The moment stretched out, the sounds around him louder than they had been, the sway of wind chimes near the door in lieu of actual bells. The clump-clump rushing of the beleaguered assistant back and to as if the world depended on what pants he presented next, the swish of clothing and Watari’s voice, low and amused as he made some comment. His fingers tingled, coin trapped between forefinger and thumb, the metal at a low simmer, enough to pleasantly bite but not quite enough to sear. He thought of the beach, of the last time he had been to the ocean for more than being in the vicinity of a case. Of how the sand scorched when he walked across barefoot, air piquant on the tongue and nose and the thick rumble of water closing over his head, beckoning him into silent depths. He found himself wishing to be there again, Hisoka at his side, free of any obligations save those they gave themselves. A foolish wish. Even if he could persuade Hisoka, his job didn’t allow much in the way of vacation time and with an arsenal of Shikigami at his command, Tsuzuki was granted even less. He could just see himself trying to justify the expenditure to Tatsumi, let alone Konoe and Hakushaku. Hell, Hakushaku would probably try to invite himself along, the situation rife with opportunities for innuendo and Hakushaku’s own brand of flirting which was just six degrees off sexual harassment. For someone who spent much of the time incorporeal, lack of physical body had little effect on his libido. ‘Next thing you know I’ll be discovering tiny cameras in my desk or something,’ he snorted, rolling his eyes.

Sometimes he wished he had waited until he was older, wrinkled and positively icky, to commit suicide. Sure it would have sucked when it came to chasing after hell-beasties and what not but it also might have spared him all the unwanted advances, touches surreptitious and seemingly innocent. He was so tired of having to dodge or play dumb (as if anyone could be that stupid) when confronted. It was a miracle Hakushaku hadn’t decided to dispense with whatever tenuous leash he had over his impulses and bent him over a desk one night. He shuddered, ‘Oh that was not the image I needed. It really, really wasn’t.’

The curtain screeched, Watari ducking through a miniscule opening as he wandered out, shop keeper and assistant in tow. He paused, adjusting his glasses, face unreadable as he met Tsuzuki’s gaze, hiking a thumb towards the backroom. "You’re wanted."

Eyebrows quirking, he stared at the man’s back as that golden head bent over a rack of ties, turned so that he couldn’t see any expression. ‘What’s that about?’ he wondered then shrugged, pushing through the flimsy entrance, eyes watering as it kicked up another cloud of dust. He attempted not to sneeze and felt his jaw clench and rattle with the force of his failure. His nose tickled and he started to raise his sleeve in response when a white strip of cloth was thrust in his face.

"Use this."

He accepted gratefully, blinking a few times and snuffling into the offered handkerchief before lifting his head to offer thanks. His throat closed up and he found himself blinking again, this time having nothing to do with a sudden dust bunny attack.

"Well?" Hisoka fidgeted, his voice rife with impatience and uncertainty. And somehow, maybe because Tsuzuki found himself fascinated with everything his lover did, he made even the nervous shifting of his hands, wandering from pocket to waist to hovering somewhere between, eloquent.

Tsuzuki stared, hoping that his jaw was firmly in place and not somewhere around his chin. He was seized with the sudden urge to reach out and smooth his hands over the dark cut of sable now adorning Hisoka's shoulders, the sleek lines of his tuxedo clinging to his lithe form, molding over shoulders and chest. The slacks were almost form-fitting, pleated without being either tacky or feminine, cupping slender hips and giving him the illusion of a few more inches of height. His longish hair appeared darker, less flaxen and more golden-brown, like the color of that sand he had once walked, verdant eyes intense and watchful. He resisted the urge to circle, to check out whether or not the view from the back was as enticing as the front. 'Now there's a thought that would make Hakushaku proud,' he scolded himself, then nearly blanched as he thought about what the other man would do if he were to see Hisoka like this.

"Will you say something?" Hisoka snapped. "I know I'm not likely to be nominated for the cover of GQ anytime soon but is it passable?"

'Passable?' Tsuzuki was incredulous. Did he seriously not know what he looked like in that tuxedo? What, was he not projecting loudly enough for his partner to pick up on his appreciation? 'And I'm supposed to have limited contact with him during this mission? The hell with that. I may need a large stick just to beat people off him.' "Passable," he agreed weakly. "More than passable. Really more."

Hisoka tilted his head, gracing him with an odd, inquisitive expression, eyes thoughtful. Then a flush rushed up his neck and face, eyes wide and startled. "S-sato!"

"Well, I did say you were passable," he grinned, rubbing his nose sheepishly. He stepped in closer, giving into his desire to touch, to see if the fabric was as soft as it appeared, fingers dipping to stroke satin lapels. The coat was infinitely tactile, the swish of fabric seeming to beg him to linger, to smooth over shoulders and chest until he felt Hisoka's heart beating, a rising tempo that echoed in his own pulse. Hisoka's gaze followed, unguarded and vulnerable, lips parted just enough to tempt. Too much so and Tsuzuki lowered his head, the mouth that met his softening, melting against the warm they generated, like a tiny sun going supernova. The shock wave caught, sparked and trembled as it thrummed through his body, transferring through captured lips until Hisoka was snared, too, his hands digging into Tsuzuki's upper arms, seeking to draw him closer.

They stumbled, Tsuzuki exerting enough pressure to guide him backward without pushing, plunging onward, running his tongue along Hisoka's lower lip before catching it between his teeth and suckling. Hisoka seemed to be everywhere at once, underneath him, chin tilting up, almost on tiptoes as his hands started wandering before getting a grip on his neck. Nails dug into the base of his neck and he almost yelped, instead letting his arms wrap around Hisoka's waist, lifting him so that when the younger Shinigami's back finally met the wall he was straddling Tsuzuki's knee. A strangled moan bubbled against his mouth; Hisoka's lips sliding against his, urgent as he pressed open kisses there, his tongue sliding inward. He shuddered, Hisoka tasting of miso and peppermint, sweet and salty as he delved deeper, the kiss changing again, becoming something more visceral and ruthless. Surging upward, Tsuzuki felt rather than heard the cry rattling in Hisoka's chest, bodies glued as his thigh rubbed against the swelling flesh between his lover's legs. It would take so little to move his hands, to insinuate them between quickly rumpling shirt and wrinkling slacks, to smooth over the knobby trail of spine before traveling lower. As it was, he could do nothing to stop the mechanical lift and thrust of his body, his erection trapped in a convenient hollow, the friction enough to drive him just short of crazy. Hisoka was flushed, mouth ravaging his, a tongue teasing his, drawing him further into blazing wet, fingers almost certainly leaving bruises at this point. The breadth of Hisoka's response never ceased to amaze him and he felt a small glow at being able to bring him to this, so short of the control he jealously guarded, able to communicate where he so often failed in words, his regard for this boy.

"Really, I'm sure there's NO REASON for you to GO back there. I'm sure they're just discussing the suit and NOTHING else!" Had Watari spoken the words any more distinctly, any louder, they would be hearing him back in Meifu. As it was, his words were enough to throw cold water over them both, freezing in response, Hisoka burying his face in the curve of Tsuzuki's neck. He could feel the other's heart jack-hammering, shallow pants almost hoarse in his ear. Tsuzuki too, felt winded, nearly groaning at the hard throbbing of his groin, protesting the cessation of movement (to say little of the now tightened confines of his slacks).

"Damn him," Hisoka muttered, sounding far too grumpy all things considered. Tsuzuki chuckled, pressing a swath of kisses against temple and forehead despite the impatient whine that elicited.

"We should probably stop. Not that I wouldn't -- Well… I don't know that I want anyone else seeing you like this," Tsuzuki stuttered.

Drawing his head back, his lover shook his head. "Idiot," Hisoka's eyes were warm with open affection, fingers tracing the curve of Tsuzuki's cheek. "Don't you know that you're the *only * one who gets to see me like this?"

There really was no other way to describe what happened -- he seized up, breath stolen with a few simple words, staring into shimmering seas of forest and dew, feeling as if his heart might burst. The raven pecking in his chest stilled, the cruel twist of its beak stopped and replaced with the fluttering of transparent wings, as if he himself might take flight given the opportunity. It was silly and gooey, the culmination of every romance novel but better than that, far more tangible, more real. It was enough to make him believe, for an instant, that it would all be all right.

"Of course it will," Hisoka murmured, eyes sliding shut as he kissed him again, more restrained if not less chaste, full of tender declarations unspoken. "It's all right."

He nodded, not trusting his voice, nuzzling the soft expanse of white throat peeking out above that starched collar. He fingered the satiny fabric, feeling the flex of muscles beneath and was seized with a sudden foreboding, a half-formed prescience screaming in the back of his mind. "We don't have to go tonight. The Queen Camilla… She's not leaving until tomorrow--"

"There's time," Hisoka agreed over the barrage of broken words. "There's tonight."

"Tonight. Yes. Tonight."

Hands petted his hair, sliding through to massage his scalp and he inhaled sharply, head following the action. Hisoka's breath was warm against his ear, "Relax. I'm here, I'm not going anywhere."

He knew that, he did but it wasn't enough to silence the foreboding in his mind, that this was all a mistake, a terrible mistake for them to take this case. That somehow despite his reassurances, despite Tsuzuki's hopes, things were not going to be all right. That this happiness, so encompassing and achingly beautiful, was transitory, a calm before the fright of a storm.

None of which was something he wanted to reveal, realizing it would only serve to spoil the moment, something he wanted to stretch as long as he could. "And this," he tugged at Hisoka's sleeve, "Will you wear this tonight?"

The other Shinigami grunted, not sounding entirely displeased. "I don't know… If I buy this, the last thing I need is it getting ripped before I even get a chance to really wear it."

"I'll be careful," Tsuzuki promised. "I don't want you ripping it either. I rather like it on you."

"I noticed."

"Of course," He nipped Hisoka's chin then drew back with a grin, "I think I'd like you out of it just as much."

"Sato," Hisoka rolled his eyes, too much amusement lacing the way he said his name for Tsuzuki to take it to heart. "Behave."

"But it's no fun."

"And it'll be even less fun if Kagami-san walks back here and finds us. Do you really want to explain to Tatsumi-san why and how we gave an old man a heart attack?"

"You weren't too concerned about that a minute ago!"

"That was then."

"Mean," Tsuzuki reproved. "Meeeeean Hiiiiso---mmphmm"

A hand clapped over his mouth, a glare clearing the soft haze of dragonfly-green orbs. "Don't you dare. I have a name and mean is not a part of it."

"Uh huh," Tsuzuki rubbed their noses together once more then set his now squirming partner on his feet, the blond youth grimacing as he set to straightening the wreckage of his suit. "I don't know, the two seem to go together. Like peanut butter and jelly. Fudge and sundae."

Hisoka paused, tone withering, "Tell me you're not hungry again."

"Of course," Tsuzuki replied cheerfully. "But maybe for something a little more substantial than food."

He mock-leered and Hisoka seemed torn between a grudging laugh and smacking him. "You really are a dirty old man, you know that?"

"You're objecting?"

"I didn't say that."

"Then you approve?"

"I didn't say that either."

Tsuzuki thought about that, brow furrowing. "Then what are you saying?"

"That," Hisoka reached out, tugging at Tsuzuki's jacket until it too, relented, falling into something of a less crumpled state before bestowing a quick kiss. "You talk too much."

"All right, children," an aggravated voice caused them to turn their heads, Watari somehow managing to block the entrance with most of his body, most likely in an attempt to spare any prying eyes. "If you're quite done?"

Hisoka rolled his eyes again, a small push propelling Tsuzuki forward. "Give me just a minute and we can go."

"Why do I have to leave?" Tsuzuki asked, voice plaintive.

"Because we want him to actually get dressed again," Watari almost snickered, then hid behind Tsuzuki. "Remember you love him and don't want to throw things this way, Bon!"

"Why am I the human shield?" Tsuzuki tried to move out of the way, eyeing the coat slipping off Hisoka's shoulders warily.

"Why ask why?" Watari took him by the arm, all but yanking him through the curtain, apparently oblivious to the twin stares they received. Amber eyes twinkled as the scientist leaned in, conspiratorial as he tapped his nose. "Nice tux, huh?"

"We're not having this conversation," Tsuzuki answered, glancing away only to feel color flood to his cheeks at the slightly horrified expression on the face of the younger assistant, evidently not put off by Watari's attempts to downplay the situation.

"Of course not," Watari was sage and more than a little condescending as he patted Tsuzuki's arm. There was another long pause then, "But still, it *is * a really nice tux. Just be sure you don't leave it on the floor. Those things are a bitch to iron out."

Tsuzuki sighed.

***

In the end the tuxedo didn't end up on the floor in spite of efforts to the contrary, instead draped precariously over the back of a chair like the onyx skin of a jungle cat, skinned and ready for display. Which, Hisoka supposed, made him the prey and Tsuzuki the intrepid hunter. There was a certain aptness to the parallel what with the possessive manner in which Tsuzuki leaned over him, stretched sideways next to him, hip bared to the cool air by the tease of a slipping sheet as he traced reverent fingers over Hisoka's shoulder. The touch curved, trailing with tantalizing slowness along the rising ridge of his collarbone, one finger careless as it skimmed the hollow between throat and bone, going over and over that same spot again, as if to memorize the feel and texture. A throaty sigh escaped him as that loving caress moved upward, knuckles following the straining line of tendon, the back of a hand twisting this way and that under his jaw. He was torn between the urge to stretch, to make more skin available and the need to lean in, to feel the flitting curl of fingers around his jaw and just below his ear. He chose instead to turn his face, the soft graze of flesh passing over his mouth, a taste of an elegant wrist and the long branching network of bones further up, lingering to suction against hard half-circle of knuckle. Startled amethyst filled his veiled vision, wreathing the world in lilacs and dark violet as he stared through the fringe of his lashes, reaching to steady his lover's now trembling hand. Interlacing their fingers, he pressed Tsuzuki's palm against his chest, enjoying the pool of feverish heat it created. He felt warm, safe and sated but hungry all over again, because with Tsuzuki one touch, one kiss, one breath -- it was never enough. He could no sooner have him than want to start all over again, to pay homage with body and mind, heart and soul to this man who unwittingly had him tied around his finger.

It was so easy to love Tsuzuki, who gave without restraint, passion-quick when fully roused or with tentative lights, as if he were afraid of breaking Hisoka. It was endearing, sometimes annoying but it never failed to move him, to prove again and again that Tsuzuki didn't have to be careful even though his concern was appreciated. Part of it was his fault, occasionally flinching when touched without warning, jumping when Tsuzuki snuck up behind, throwing exuberant arms around him. It made him angry. Not at Tsuzuki, of course, but at himself, at his inability to fully put the past to rest and for those times when he did shy away from his lover's caresses, growing nervous and detached when pressed. He hated the reservations, the skittishness that had to be coaxed and worked around no matter how hard he tried to make it otherwise. There were times when everything was fine, he was able to receive those physical ministrations he craved, able to completely reciprocate without the clutch of ice forming in stomach and chest. But there were also moments when it was all he could do not to shove Tsuzuki away and find the farthest corner of the planet to hide in. He knew Tsuzuki understood, always giving him the space needed when intimated but Hisoka also knew how much his abrupt aloofness hurt him, horrified pity wounding them both. The problem was Tsuzuki desperately wanted to make things right, to heal and stitch the wounds Hisoka carried, and there was nothing he could do that would make it right.

Today had been one of his better days, perhaps their impending separation lending him a sense of eager yearning, as starved for Tsuzuki as the other man seemed to be for him. There was no telling how long the mission ahead of them would take and with the Gushoshin trailing along after them, not to mention his own cover, they weren't likely to have many instances such as this. They had opted to go in separately, Hisoka impersonating Hibiki Azimi and winnowing through the hordes of rich and bored while Tsuzuki worked his way through the lower levels as one of the 'help.' It wasn't a ruse that he was entirely comfortable with, hitting a little too close to home and dredging up memories he'd rather not have. Comfortable or not, it was the only plan that made sense, the Queen Camilla too large and intricate to simply waltz in and expect to turn up results. And Tsuzuki was many things, bless him but imperious and cynical were not amongst them. Coupled with the matching ages, it was only right that Hisoka would be expected take up the mantle of little boy rich, his background gifting him with the knowledge of just how to move and act in these situations.

That didn't mean he had to like it. He found himself reluctant to leave Tsuzuki's side, fearing that this mission had come too soon, that there had not been enough time to mend from their encounter with Sagadalius. He could feel it, his lover trying to be strong, to be well for him but he feared that it was not a rebuilding but the scrambling together of an emotional lean to, darker ripples of emotion seeping through despite Tsuzuki's efforts to the contrary. It went far beyond Tsuzuki's habitual sense of guilt, the memories dredged up by Sagadalius, much like those Muraki had resurrected for him, were hideous, almost to the point of being paralyzing. There was no easy way to deal with that and maybe that was the problem -- Tsuzuki wasn't even trying to. He wasn't wallowing precisely but he wasn't talking about it either and that worried him. As much as he wanted to be the one his lover unburdened to, he would just as soon as he talked to anyone, be it Tatsumi, Watari, or hell, even Terazuma. Anything that would lessen the helpless self-loathing he caught indigo glimpses of, unable to do more than simply hold him, hoping against the dictates of common sense that Tsuzuki would share his pain. They could work through it, he was certain of that, if they could just find someway around his stubborn insistence that all was well, that he was a burden to those around him. And despite his best efforts, he kept returning to one dreaded thought over and over again, 'It's almost as if he doesn't trust me to understand.' It…it couldn't be that because if there wasn't trust between them, if Tsuzuki didn't trust him with his heart as well as the watching of his back then what did they have?

"'Soka?"

Hisoka opened his eyes at the endearment, the fingers in his grasp tightening, tugging at his attention, "Mhmm?"

"What are you thinking about?" Tsuzuki's voice was soft, quiet as he ran his thumb along the side of a pinky, the gesture as intimate and comforting as any of his caresses. He felt a smile tipping the corners of his mouth, wishing it were that easy to banish his doubts, those fears that lingered, an invisible stench that clung in the air around them.

"The case. You. Me. Us," he admitted. "Mostly that I don't want to go, not if it means not being with you."

"It's not like I won't be there," Tsuzuki said patiently.

He couldn't help it, bristling as he replied, "I know that. It's just--"

"--you're concerned," Lips pressed against his forehead, butterfly flits across his brow before Tsuzuki lifted his head again. "And it's not that I don't appreciate it but we're never going to get anything done if we don't maintain some sense of focus."

There was something oddly amusing--not to mention irritating--about receiving this speech from Tsuzuki of all people. "You know you're hardly one to talk," he informed the other man.

"Just because I'm older and wiser--"

"--definitely older, don’t know about wiser but--"

"Would it kill you to humor me? Even just a smidgen." Oh there it was again, that hung dog expression that Tsuzuki used with devastating precision to save his ass, that patently unfair one that was known to win over even Tatsumi on occasion.

"You just said smidgen," Hisoka smirked.

"And this is funny why?"

"Just showing your age, old man. Keep it up and we may have to get you a senior citizen's card."

Tsuzuki considered that, brightening, "That wouldn't be so bad actually."

Hisoka stared. "And you're going to tell me why that is?"

"Discounts!" The other Shinigami sounded positively gleeful. "Then I wouldn't have to worry about staying within budget! I could eat all the desserts I want and get free stuff."

"You are sad, you know that?"

"Oh am I?" Tsuzuki rolled forward, a hand on one side of his head and one leg hooked around his waist, a hardness digging into his thigh as he leaned upward, breath intermingling without the completion of a kiss. "How sad?"

The words were teasing, tempting and he found himself looping an arm around, cupping the back of Tsuzuki's head, bridging the gap, mouth parting to meet the eager purchase of a tongue sliding inside. He whimpered, the tongue thrusting restlessly against his awakening, scorching as he scooted closer, twisting around until skin met skin, chest to toe, his knee between Tsuzuki's waiting legs. Hands wandered, squirming underneath and along his side, cupping hip and resting with casual abandon at the base of his spine. Tsuzuki had a particular fetish for that area, fascinated by the way it never failed to make goose bumps break out all over his body.

"Very, very …" He murmured against his lover's mouth, the rest of his sentence lost as Tsuzuki pressed forward, recapturing him with voracious accuracy, the splay of the hand on his hip tightening as the other shifted, an infinitesimal space but enough to make his body clench, shoving back in response. He felt the breath underneath Tsuzuki's ribs stutter, the bones becoming more prominent as skin flattened and then relaxed. Their hips were close, bone seeking to meld against bone, awkward and almost ungainly but with a grace all its own, his arousal thumping with abandon against Tsuzuki's, hard silk on silk, the coarse scratch of hairs only heightening the sensation. He was hot, stretched thin and tight as if his skin was scrambling to keep him from flying apart completely, a dim echo, blood rushing, roaring through him. It wasn't like in stories or movies where he lost all sense of himself, where there was nothing but the pleasure or the pain. Rather he felt everything more keenly, as if someone had sharpened the auto-focus, awareness and perceptions heightened. He was more aware of the ragged ends of Tsuzuki's nails, bitten almost to the nub, digging small furrows as they gripped him harder, the cracking burn of salt against his lips, and legs catching and tangling against each other, ankles knocking. The close quarters played merry hell with his shielding but it held nevertheless, sometimes by toenails, reverberating the bouncing ball of desire and lust, love and need until he wasn't sure who was passing what.

Another pivot and Tsuzuki was over him, arms framing his head as the older man settled between his legs, wringing a moan from swollen lips, his lover's mouth grazing grooved corners and chin as he arched, face blindly turned. He loved the smooth roll of flesh beneath his palms, the muscles of Tsuzuki's back rippling and flexing as he balanced, subtle gyrations of his hips making him painfully aware of the heat and hardness trapped between their bodies. It was like velvet over stone, he decided, then changed his mind as Tsuzuki's chest slid against his again, banked fires erupting in his stomach, stealing breath and leaving him helpless to do little more than clutch his lover tighter, legs lifting, knees unsteady as they bent. Tawny skin flickered in and out of his vision, the small knot of an Adam's apple, graceful and softer than the skin rasping against his cheek as Tsuzuki reached to kiss his forehead, the damp passing between forehead and questing lips sweltering, seeming to steam when his head dipped. He hid his face against Tsuzuki's neck, aware of the tremors filtering through braced knuckles. He couldn't help himself, kissing the skin against his lips, mouthing just above and below the spot, his tongue darting out to taste, Tsuzuki's scent strong and earthy, pungently male and it left him raw.

"I can't," The plea was an amalgamation of everything he felt, choked with need and stripped of fear, a heartbeat from tears and a breath's space from moaning. "Can't, can't."

He felt helpless, so inarticulate and incomprehensible. 'I can't wait, I can't stop. Please.' How easily it finished itself in his mind when aloud it sounded like such gibberish. He felt as always the edge of fear, the worry of misunderstanding, that Tsuzuki might actually--

No, Tsuzuki wasn't stopping and had he the time to spare he might have heaved a sigh of relief. As it was, he was far too entranced by the momentary warmth of his cheek being cradled, a kiss bestowed just under the right eye then the disorientating pull of separation as his lover turned and reached away. Hisoka understood what he sought but slid restraining hands around his waist, nuzzling between his shoulder blades. He felt the strain, the torque and tension of the body against his, struggling against all those baser instincts he felt battering his shields, the one that found answer in him, that wanted nothing more than to lie him flat and spread --

He caught his breath, feeling Tsuzuki unconsciously mimic him, flailing for precariously held control. It was that element of wildness, of passion barely tamed that left their encounters just short of explosive. Wanting, needing, having to maintain some semblance of feral restraint because to throw all caution away would quickly turn the tide cresting between them, unreasoning, unstoppable terror taking root and he could not do that to Tsuzuki. He would not make Tsuzuki feel like some sort of… He shuddered, hold tightening, nearly snarling. No, no, no. There was a time for /him/ and it was not here, not in their bed and on their time. He had already taken so much and Hisoka refused to give him this, sometimes their only way of communicating to each other, breaching fortification and barrier, allowing him to let Tsuzuki know just how much he meant to him. Because there was no one else Hisoka could or would willingly give this, give himself to.

Tsuzuki twisted again, shimmying in his grasp, lithe as a fish in water, gentle hands leading his shoulders to rest against crumpled pillows, trailing down his arms before sitting up, crawling to where his feet were drawing up, legs separating to allow him closer. This was the part he liked least, those seconds before feeling his stomach knot as he watched oil being dripped over fingers. He was all right up to and then afterwards when those same fingers were buried deep within him, searching for all his secrets, never failing to find some new nerve, some center of pleasure he had never suspected. It was the here and now, feeling so exposed as the cooler air trickled over his lower body, a blatant shock after the furnace of Tsuzuki's body against his.

He was careful, his lover, hands slippery as they tracked across his inner thighs, comforting when they paused, fingers massaging trembling leg muscles, working to melt trepidation made physical. Hisoka tried to relax, to force down the tendrils of anxiety spider webbing in his stomach, so thick and gauzy as he silently willed Tsuzuki to please stop dithering and get it over with. It was contradictory and unreasonable to want both care and speed, to fear even when he knew there was nothing to fear. A silent companion laughing in the back of his mind, walking on spiky feet through his subconscious, always ready to rear its head should he give it free rein and sometimes in spite of the control he prided himself on.

"Hisoka."

They moved him, limpid indigo and amethyst, heavy-lidded and almost sleepy as they beheld him, waiting with an oil-laden hand extended towards him. The gesture was one of comfort and he took it gratefully, head dropping back against the plump of a pillow, squeezing greasy fingers against his. He breathed, air catching and listening to the rising thump-thump of his heart as he held it, the burn of his lungs filling his awareness and then Tsuzuki was with him, at the passage of muscle and flesh. The probing was tender, slow and steady as his world dwindled, concentrated on the elegant slide of fingers against tightened muscle, rubbing and coaxing until he was inside, the sensation alien despite its familiarity. He tried not to clench up, to allow the slip-slide of the finger questing within him, Tsuzuki taking his time, brow knit as if he were listening when Hisoka dared a glance. A shudder racked him, teeth rattling in his head as Tsuzuki sought deeper and deeper, adding another finger to the search, already beginning to scissor inside him, a slow wriggling push back and to, widening and loosening him for what was to come. He thought about Tsuzuki's hands, so large and long-boned, elegant when he used them in summons and so reverent when they cradled and touched Hisoka. Buried within him, they found a new purpose, one that wrung clenched howls and caused him to jerk this way and that. He burned, dry kindling finding its spark, a white heat that vibrated from his center outward, a flash of blinding light behind closed lids as his lover found him, found it within, and he allowed the manipulation, craving Tsuzuki like air and water, anxiety lessening as he moved in counterpoint. His voice sounded far away to his ears, high and indescribably needy, and he felt the gratification from Tsuzuki mingled with disbelief. His legs spread further and he felt the stab of desire from Tsuzuki accompanying it, his toes finding Tsuzuki's legs, stroking back and forth, a silent invitation.

Tsuzuki's hand untangled from his, the other hand sliding free of his body, moving to grip his hips as his legs wrapped around his lover's waist. Invitation accepted.

His hands bunched the sheets, surprised to find fabric not tearing as Tsuzuki pressed inward, hard silk pulsing within him, small shallow thrusts taking his lover past each halting clench. He was mewling now but it didn't matter, feeling no shame that Tsuzuki could reduce him to such a melting bundle of nerve endings. Tsuzuki was grunting, pained noises of restraint as he resisted the urge to give into the demands of his body and just thrust forward, still worrying, showing his regard for Hisoka in such little ways. Rolling his eyes, he raised up, planting his feet firmly against Tsuzuki's buttocks and pushed back to meet him, gritting his teeth at the razor thin pleasure-pain that cut across his awareness, a low growl from Tsuzuki telling him how precariously close he was to losing control. Which was more or less what he had hoped for in the first place. He loved Tsuzuki, cherished his concern but he didn't want him to obsess over this, to have to pour so much time and energy in the attempt to not injure him that he was afraid to do anything at all.

"Sato," the pet name, spoken only betwixt themselves, rolled off his lips, slurred and heavy. Tsuzuki was what everyone called him and Asato… Well, that just didn't seem right either. He couldn't exactly remember how or when he had hit upon Sato only that it fit and he had to fight not to say it around other people. It was something between them, private, secret and if he had his way it would stay that way.

As if in response, Tsuzuki moved, a faint nudge, quick and darting before another long pause, giving him time to grow used to the sensation of being filled. Then with a subtle roll of his hips, he slid forward, a longer stroke this time, followed by another and another. The pace was gradual, drawn out so that desire and frustration mounted and entwined, fingers digging into his buttocks as Tsuzuki kneaded the flesh there, his breath loud and harsh as he panted.

"Hisoka," he leaned further in, hands just underneath Hisoka's arms, shifting around as this new position gave him greater leverage. His lips so tantalizingly close were just out of reach, the mangled babble of his name arousing in ways he had never thought possible. He balanced on his elbows, rocking forward to meet his lover's thrusts, now coming with greater force and speed. The moments stretched so long and so short with each thrust that time seemed to wrap around itself, a confusing kaleidoscope of shattered awareness.

"Hisoka," Tsuzuki rasped again, voice husky and the shivers it sent down him nearly set him over the edge. "I love you. Love you so much."

There was something about the way he said it, broken and fearful, almost despondent as if he expected Hisoka to push him away for the words. Color exploded behind his eyelids and Hisoka sucked in a shivery breath, wanting to give into the maelstrom but needing the presence of mind to reassure his lover, no mean feat as Tsuzuki continued rocking, plunging deeper in with each slide. His back arched, hands flying to grip Tsuzuki's forearms, seeking to ground himself, clinging to the pressure-rush of joints popping, thighs tightening in an effort to bring them closer still. There were times when he wanted nothing more than to just melt, to let Tsuzuki in so far that he could feel him completely, beyond the aching epicenter sending cresting waves careening across his senses. He wanted Tsuzuki to surround him, to be within him and without him, to hold battered amethyst eyes closed as he kissed their wounds away, protecting him as he wanted to be protected. His bones were molten, pliable and consumed from within, dissolving underneath the trebuchets of scorching blood, heated and stirred by forces greater than himself. The hand just under his right arm slithered across hip and stomach, to the juncture of his straining legs, capturing the hard flesh there, fingers feathering through damp curls. He gave up on words then, his mouth falling open, dimly wondering how the hell Tsuzuki was managing to balance himself so well, sweat trickling behind his ear and neck. He tightened his muscles around Tsuzuki, the other man rearing in response, twilight pupils tiny and nearly swallowed in clouds of white cornea.

Their thrusts were becoming frantic, fueled by a fierceness that verged on violence and that should have frightened him. It didn't seem possible to thirst this much, to need this feeling, this man, more than he needed air or water or food. To want him more than thought or reason and to know nothing but this insatiable hunger they generated between them. He felt as if his skin were rapidly losing cohesion, growing translucent and soon would be nothing more than a shell for it because surely the human body preternaturally blessed or no, couldn't withstand such an onslaught. Surely somehow, somewhere, something would have to give--

It did, his body seizing up, heart racing then coming to a lurching halt as it gave his surrender, grappling at the invader, a boiling tide spilling from him, off his lover's hands and onto his stomach. Tsuzuki thrust again and then nearly topped forward, releasing him with elegant speed to catch himself with his wet hand, head hanging so it nearly brushed Hisoka's ribs, the damp inner splash of his release causing the younger Shinigami to sigh. He lay there, heavy as if his limbs had been replaced by marble, having to work to summon up the energy to thread his hand through slick brown tresses. Breath stuttered across his abdomen, curling around flinching muscles, filling the hollow of his belly button with a warm-cold kiss. Lips and the chilly tip of a nose nuzzle d him, barely moving and yet he felt it all the way to his toes, a zinging that managed to penetrate his lethargic stupor. He roused himself, fingers feeling thick and slow as they massaged through sweat-dampened locks, sliding with ease as he found the rougher scalp beneath. A noise rather akin to a whine escaped his lover and he inhaled sharply as Tsuzuki moved one last time, flesh rending from flesh leaving an aching void in its place. It was a happenstance that was occurring more and more with each bout of lovemaking. He felt … bereft, lonely and almost desolate, as hypersensitive to the separation as he was to their joining. He wasn't sure what, if anything, it meant beyond the need to keep Tsuzuki close in the aftermath, almost clinging. In the harsh light of day, it was almost ridiculous, giving him an impetus to keep Tsuzuki at a professional arm's length in an effort to prove that he still could. It…frightened him, to find himself so dependent on another in so short a span. Frightened him enough that there were times of unconscious rebellion when he found himself pushing Tsuzuki away, clutching his strong need for independence to him in tight defiance.

"Sato," he murmured, nearly a hoarse croak as he felt the swipe of a tongue across his skin, sandpaper rough as it cleaned him. Lapping a trail up to his belly button, Tsuzuki peered out under a fringe of hair and then with much solemnity lowered his mouth, puffing outward rewarded by a muffled pfffffffffft and Hisoka's surprised squeal. Tsuzuki chuckled and pounced, fingers striking with deadly accuracy against all his ticklish spots, peals of choked laughter breaking past pressed lips as he sought to squirm away. "Ack! Okay, you need to-- Sato!"

The impromptu tickling match somehow morphed into a good-natured wrestling match, Tsuzuki catching him around the waist before his attempts to scoot away landed him on the floor. Lacing their hands, he leaned back against Tsuzuki's shoulder, the older Shinigami butting against his neck like a pleased kitten, dropping a kiss or two against his neck and jaw. "Hmmm… Feels…"

"Yes?" Tsuzuki prompted, angling so that his chest was pressed against Hisoka's shoulder blades, wrapping him in the other's strong arms. "Huh? Yes?"

Hisoka rolled his eyes, cocking his head to kiss his lover's cheek before settling against him. "Good. Right?"

He didn't mean to sound so tentative but it came out that way and he felt a subtle shift in response from Tsuzuki. "I try."

It was quiet, this emotion, contemplative and almost curious, still edged with humor and sadness, Ariadne's ball far too complicated to ever completely unravel. But he wanted to try. "I love you."

Again, there was hesitation, not because he didn't feel the truth of the words but because it went against everything in him to admit them. He frowned in frustration, giving it another attempt, this time with more audible certainty. "I love you. I--"

"It's all right," Tsuzuki kissed his temple, strangely calm. "I understand."

"Do you?" he asked suspiciously, trying to peer over his shoulder to see if the other were telling the truth. He tried to empathically reach out only to be met with a thick welter of emotions, enough to make him shy back, thinking twice before rushing headlong into that fray.

"Mhmmm," Tsuzuki snuggled in closer, Hisoka enjoying the feel of being near enveloped in his embrace, one leg thrown over his as he yawned. "Tired."

He nodded, elation not fading so much as settling, sinking like a rock beneath the surface of his rising weariness. "Go to sleep then."

"Hisoka?"

"Yes?"

"Can we stay like this?"

"For awhile," Hisoka found himself yawning, too, glancing at the clock and wincing. At this rate, it almost wasn't worth going to sleep -- except he wasn't sure he was going to make it another thirty minutes without passing out.

Tsuzuki murmured something, voice a low singsong that didn't quite make it across his vanishing awareness.

"What?"

"Nothing. I just said--Good-night Hisoka."

***

'Ghosts indeed. Wait until Hisoka hears about this,' Tsuzuki rolled his eyes, shoving his hands in his pockets as he edged around the crowds, eyeing the burly security guards circulating the room with caution. 'For a cruise ship, there's a hell of a lot of muscle roaming around. Kakyouin-san must be nervous.'

Thus far, the evening had been little more than a round of "Name that Celebrity," Wakabayashi's little temper tantrum not withstanding. He frowned, rubbing now unblemished fingers in response to the remembrance of pain echoing along his nerves. There were way too many people here, all of whom seemed to think they deserved the unthinking deference they were given and none of them behaving in a way that earned it. They were loud, rude, and he'd already had to dodge one pair of wandering hands this evening. He coughed heavily a stream of cigarette smoke hit him square in the face, a blind hand thrusting a splashing glass at his mid-section. The owner of the hand never looked up, just continued poking him until he accepted the glass, tempted to bash it over the man's head.

"Get me a new one and be quick about it," The man barked intent on the pair of dice rolling across the table, ignorant to the series of faces Tsuzuki was making at his back.

What was with these people? He wondered, twisting the greasy glass between his fingers in distaste. He wasn't sure what had been in it, clear amber liquid now chalky and gray with ash floating across the top, rich with the stench like socks left in the rain too long. He grimaced, ducking past one of the waiters and depositing it on his silver tray, careful not to make eye contact as he hurried away, holding his breath. He darted through the crowds, picking up a few ash trays and more glasses along the way, careful never to stay still long enough to be picked out. The last thing he wanted was to be reamed for deserting his table -- let alone be questioned as to why he was trying to leave the casino in the first place. He could just imagine the fuss that would kick up under the circumstances and Hisoka would be pissed if he got kicked off the boat or worse.

Sneaking out of the casino and into the causeway between it and the ballroom proved easy. It was dodging past the watchful sentries stationed at strategic points in the railing encircling the hall that was difficult. As much as he wanted to claim an incredible amount of stealth on his part, it was more dumb luck and panicky darts between columns that got him anywhere near the door to the ballroom. He peered around the edges of the entranceway, rolling away and flattening himself against the wall as a black-coated man passed dangerously close, speaking into a headset as he scanned the area. 'Shit,' he swore, peeking inside again. How the hell was he supposed to get anything done, let alone reconvene with his partner with all this hired muscle skulking around?

From his position, he could see Kakyouin being swallowed up in a growing crowd of admirers and security, a flash of dark gold catching his eye as he spotted Hisoka. Evidently the younger Shinigami had seen what was going on too, the elder Gushoshin left behind on a nearby table as his partner was tracking the other man across the room. With his gaze fixed as it was, he saw neither the surreptitious waves Tsuzuki directed at him nor the person crossing his path, barreling into a young girl with the same single-minded determination he devoted to all the missions. Tsuzuki winced in sympathy, noting with some amusement the sheer chagrin crossing his lover's features as he steadied himself, reaching down to scoop up the flower dropped on the floor between them. Hisoka was gracious, almost courtly as he half-bowed, extending the blood-red flower to her, most likely offering apologies along with it. He cursed, wishing he could get closer in, around the security guards standing near the two forced instead to watch and hope Hisoka would glance his way. If the girl he'd run into would stop talking long enough for that, Tsuzuki shifted, glancing nervously over his shoulder and then back to the unfolding tableau.

She was pretty, with skin very nearly as pale as Hisoka's, made whiter still by pearlescent powder glittering across her face and shoulders. Short blue-black hair floated around an oval of a face, something inherently sweet, fragile in the smile she graced Hisoka with. Pretty, yes but healthy… Even from here, Tsuzuki could see that was not so. She was too slender, arms and legs almost spindly and there was a sallow tint to the artificial ruddiness of her cheeks, eyes startlingly large in a hollowing face. She made him think of a flower caught in the summer's heat, a beautiful bloom slowly browning around the edges, sickness maker her thinner than she should have been. She seemed to flutter rather than move, gliding with practiced ease as a princess might inspecting her palace. Or, Tsuzuki thought, his lips twitching, a young prince stumbling into her kingdom. Hisoka seemed almost… bewildered, especially when she caught him by one cuff-linked wrist, tugging him out onto the floor.

The setting couldn't have been anymore perfect if it had been scripted, the dance floor somehow magically devoid of any other dancers as a waltz started up, the tune somehow familiar although Tsuzuki couldn't quite place it. Golden light bathed them, the syrup-slow caress of a spotlight focusing upon the pair, Hisoka's hair picking up highlights of gold and copper shadows, almost the color of wheat when the light struck just right. He caught a glimpse of emerald eyes, lighter than before, almost clear like glass, hint of spring and dew as his face relaxed, almost but not smiling. They were intent those eyes he loved so, on his dance partner and for the first time, Tsuzuki felt the clinch of something in his stomach, fear without name. It grew as he stared the audible murmurs of the approving crowd making it seethe, whispers of "Oh, what a beautiful couple!" and "They're so adorable!" doing little to soothe him. They were those things and more, Hisoka perfectly at ease, in his element and it was a world that the beautiful girl in his arms belonged to, not Tsuzuki. They moved in time, nary a step out of place, if they had been born to it and perhaps in a way they had.

Hisoka's background had been massively different from his -- older, more traditional, and definitely upper class. His own memories of childhood had been that of living in a poor hut, barely subsisting off the vegetables they grew, and what weavings Ruka managed to sell at market. Hell, so far as he remembered, he had run barefoot until he was six and they had begun their miserable attempt at schooling him. Much of what he had learned had been more haphazard, not much beyond simple arithmetic and reading and writing. Hisoka on the other hand had been expected from an early age to be not only highly educated but erudite, to be able to converse on everything from the vital to the most mundane of topics. There were times just listening to Hisoka discuss world events and why this politician was going to win over that one, that he felt out of his depth. This modern world was not the smaller, more close-knit one of kin and hearth; families were stretched across continents, let alone villages and it took less time to call America for stock information than it did to walk to the local newsstand. For all its convenience, it was too fast, too loud, and blaring, enough so that he felt old, a relic time had long since passed by. People thought differently than they had, saw things in ways the people of his old village would never have. It wasn't that people had become any better or worse, they just changed while staying exactly the same. There was less connection between them now and for all the ease of modern life, people worked harder than ever to maintain a lifestyle that would have been unthinkable in his youth. Advances in medicine meant people were living longer only to die from new, more exotic diseases than the wear and tear of old age, worked to an early grave in order to eke out a meager existence.

Hisoka had never had to deal with any of it. He had been sequestered, secluded, and trained up to a point to take his place as the heir of an ancient family, the kind that Tsuzuki's ancestors would have grubbed in the fields for. Had he not died, had his empathy never manifested, he would have been expected to marry a woman like the one whirling in time with him and produce as many children as possible. He would have been influential and powerful, with a world at his feet. It was only sheer happenstance that had placed him at Tsuzuki's side.

The thought was enough to make him vaguely ill. Suddenly, he didn't care about the mission, or keeping cover. He wanted nothing more than to march out there, take his lover by the hand, and drag him away. And that would get him a sound beating for his troubles, caveman urges aside. Not to mention what Tatsumi and Konoe would say. But maybe it would be worth it to stop those long, intense glances passing between the two of them, whole conversations without words going on, Hisoka's eyes seeming to linger in a way they never did on him.

A hand clamped around his shoulder, throwing him out and away from the site of the idyllic pair, a guttural string of foreign syllables assailing the ears even he found himself trying to turn his gaze back around, afraid of what letting Hisoka out of his sight would mean. Afraid of the upsurge of jealousy and simmering dislike he felt choking him, the brief consideration of just what Suzaku could do to the whole damn place giving him far too much pleasure for comfort. Footsteps cracked across the waxed floors, more looming shadows coming to join the man shoving his finger in Tsuzuki's chest even as the Shinigami tried to explain. Unfortunately, his English sucked and their Japanese was little better. He did recognize the universal "Let's beat the hell out of this guy and ask questions later" body language and he steeled himself, flinching as another barrage of English hit him, deep and guttural and totally incomprehensible to his ears. The guards closed in, eyes hidden behind dark glasses but their intent readable in their coiled stance, a few reaching for hidden weapons. ‘This is going to get messy,’ he closed his eyes. Yet all he could think of was Hisoka and that girl, whirling around in perfect time, his lover’s face soft, turbulent green eyes calmed. A word, a smile, and she had been granted what had taken months for Tsuzuki to earn grudgingly from him. They were like a fairytale, the handsome prince and his princess - he had seen the thought in the face of everyone in that room and the rightness of it cut him deeply.

There was a swish, a tinkle of glass before a heavy shape smashed into his face, knocking him backward and on his ass, the guards surrounding him momentarily distracted. 'Son of a bitch,' he clasped his nose, feeling the break and gritting his teeth as he snapped it back up and into place, feeling itching unbearably as it healed. His hands then moved to his head, feeling the swell then gradual disappearance of a nasty bump where his head connected with--whatever had been lobbed at him. He ignored the steady stream of incomprehensible words flying over his head, concentrating on his fading injuries until he noticed the forest of legs surrounding him vanishing, almost backpedaling away from him. 'The fuck,' he wondered slowly lifting his eyes towards the immaculate figure elegantly descending down the red carpet of a winding staircase.

"You are always so slow when it comes to these things," A familiar voice purred, bored and menacing, the dead pallor of neat fingers sliding down the barrister, step by irrevocable step. "I threw it thinking you would dodge."

'No,' Tsuzuki thought. 'Not this. Please. Not here, not--'

"It's because you're like this that I want you all the more," the voice continued, sterling silver glasses glinting, almost obscuring the gray of slit irises, white-blond hair dusting his collar as he tilted his head with a slow, predatory grin.