Inside it was raining.

Head tilted to one side, Hisoka listened to that rain, so mechanical and regulated, pattering against porcelain, curling his fingers against the pane of glass. To someone outside, it might appear that he was staring out at the harbor, entranced by the glitter-play of lights on the water, of the oblong shadow shapes of boats coming to port but in fact, he saw none of these things. Instead, it was amethyst he remembered; deep blues and violets hovering in his vision, steeped in a sudden winter he did not understand but feared all the same. So he listened, almost jittery in spite of himself as the shower gave a sputter and then fell silent, the sounds of the house settling loud to his ears.

If he concentrated, he thought he could hear every step, the swish of fabric as Tsuzuki wiped himself down from head to toe, over slick, glistening muscles. The image did not give him the pleasure it might normally have, his anxiety increasing as his imagination brought further this dressing, until his partner's hand reached for the door and turned the knob--

Hisoka shook himself, mindful that he could not afford to appear as anything less than composed--as anything less than open and warm, a ready smile waiting for Tsuzuki when he emerged. He could not appear to be anything less than Minase Hijiri, besotted violinist and utterly convinced that his slightly rumpled knight in shining armor had saved him.

'I really, really hate this,' he thought, to no one in particular and with little actual rancor accompanying the thought.

He caught sight of himself in the glass, almost transparent as it overlay the view of outside, his face tinged ghostly blue, green eyes almost aqua in this lighting. He resisted the urge to run his hands through the dark crop of hair flopping across his forehead for fear that it would displace the wig he had so hurriedly fixed. Wearing it and Hijiri's clothes, still warm from the other boy's body, he felt ... well, displaced. Everything about him that had been Kurosaki Hisoka had been eradicated, right down to the frown lines and he wore the guise of Minase Hijiri with little ease. He felt smaller, stripped of his protective armor and at the mercy of the wolves, one of which might just turn out to be his partner. He hoped not, almost prayed he was wrong but everything in him said otherwise. Something was wrong with Tsuzuki, terribly wrong if he would turn down the promise of sweets. More than that, his behavior was just...off. The way he acted and the look in his eyes were enough to send shivers down Hisoka's spine and not in the happy, warm fuzzy kind of way.

Hijiri, of course, had seen none of it, his eyes too full of starry admiration to see the darker glints underneath the surface. Had it not been for his intervention, it might have been Hijiri standing here, barely contained excitement and adoration bubbling beneath his slim boyish figure. He couldn't stop his gaze from shifting to the bed, ears hot as he thought of just how Hijiri might have wanted to express his appreciation.

That thought didn't serve to make him any happier. Hijiri had been hanging over Tsuzuki from almost the beginning, full of winsome smiles and easy affection, giving him all the things that Hisoka could not. And Tsuzuki had eaten it up, taking especial care (or so it seemed to him) to make sure that their charge was comfortable, that he had eaten, or wasn't afraid. All of which he'd had to endure, feeling locked out of the conversation, a barely acknowledged third wheel. Hijiri irritated him and he had a feeling that beneath that bubbly good humor, the feeling was reciprocated. So why, he had to ask himself, was he doing all of this? The thought was a small, mean one. Of course, he couldn't let anything happen to Hijiri. Tsuzuki would never forgive himself and if he were being honest, Hisoka did not want anything to happen to the boy either. Irritating as he was, he had a kind heart and neither he nor Kazusa deserved to die. Not for a deal made by someone else, the mortal violinist the unwilling focus all because he'd had the bad luck to receive a cursed eye.

He just had to pray that this ruse was successful, that Watari had been quiet enough to go undetected when he whisked Hijiri off to Chyugocho at his summoning. Tatsumi was not entirely convinced that Tsuzuki had been possessed and the only way to gain confirmation of that was through this charade. If it worked, if Tsuzuki was possessed, then they would have to take steps. ‘Steps,’ Hisoka swallowed, the word tolling with a leaden sound in his brain. The words were Tatsumi's and carefully chosen. They could not allow Tsuzuki to be possessed--he was far too powerful and the Shikigami he controlled could, if unfettered, unleash a wave of blood upon the unsuspecting mortal populace. There was still time yet. Watari believed that if the possession had passed to Tsuzuki then Sagadalius’ hold was not yet complete. They still had the opportunity to free Tsuzuki...or to kill him.

He wrapped his arms around himself, wondering at how cold he suddenly felt.

The door cracked behind him, swinging open with casual confidence. He fought not to stiffen and allowed himself only the slightly hysteria-tinted thought, 'Show time.' Gallows humor at its best, surely but it was all he could do not to whirl around and give the game away.

"Look, there's a sea fire," he did his best to imitate Hijiri's sunny enthusiasm. He half-turned his head, unsettled by his partner's silence, by the smooth grace of his movements and mildly flustered by the way his shirt hung off him, half open so that a glimpse of golden skin peeked through. He darted his eyes back to the window, hoping his voice sounded normal (well, for Hijiri anyway), "It's like the river of souls for those who have died at sea. It's beautiful, isn't it?"

He found himself trailing off, unable to go on as Tsuzuki drew nearer, until they were standing with not more than a breath separating them, the steam off his partner's damp body seeming to reach out and cling to him. From the glass, he could see the outline of Tsuzuki's head but he avoided staring the reflection full in the face, fearful of what he might see there. It wasn't often that he was reminded of how much larger his partner was, occasional childish behavior aside. Were he to lean back, his head would fit comfortably in the space between Tsuzuki's collarbone and throat. The urge to do so was almost overpowering. What stopped him was the quick slam of Tsuzuki's palm against the glass, his arm just centimeters from his face. He did turn to regard his partner now, as he was certain he was intended to.

His breath caught as he stared up into that half-shadowed face, the darkness only serving to accentuate the powerful beauty Tsuzuki had always possessed, his awkward grace wiped clean, now as sharp as polished jet. If they both survived this, he was certain those amethyst eyes at this moment, hungry and shaded with an emotion unnamed, would stay with him. Mostly likely to haunt him in the dead of night, accompanied by the ghost of fiery sensation he now felt bouncing across his nerves in response.

"You never thanked me," Tsuzuki spoke at last, his voice a sultry purr that rumbled across the ears, the sound of a smug and contented cat and wholly out of keeping with what he knew of his fellow Shinigami. "For saving you from that devil," he added.

Hisoka blinked, an expression he didn't have to fake as he stuttered, "Th-thank you."

Tsuzuki loomed over him, catching his arm as he attempted to pivot around, a hand insinuating itself at the base of his spine. He gave himself credit for not flinching at that, as he was so wont to do with unexpected touches. "That's not good enough."

His voice changed, still smug but there was a hard note that raised the hackles on the back of Hisoka's neck. "What do you want then? I'll do anything in my power..."

"Anything?" The word was a pleasant hiss, a warning just before an insistent pair of arms closed around him, Tsuzuki's face against his.

"Ye-es," Hisoka stumbled, pretty damn certain that the war against his inevitable blushing was over and lost at this point.

"Then give me your body."

Just like that, it felt as if all the air had been sucked from the room, from his lungs. He stared dumbly at Tsuzuki, shocked to hear the actual words even if he had expected them. "You--you're kidding, right?"

Had he been listening carefully, he might have caught the half-wistful sound in his voice, sad and hopeful but he was too fixated on Tsuzuki, on the way their faces were tilting closer together, breath tickling his upper lip as their noses touched. Deep purple filled his vision, tenderness and passion reflected above a darkening haze that simmered beneath, just out of reach as Tsuzuki leaned forward.

"You're so pretty," Tsuzuki whispered as Hisoka closed his eyes, "...Hijiri."

It was strange, these multiple emotions assailing him as Tsuzuki's mouth closed over his, coaxing him with such soft, wet kisses. Desire, of course, but then there had always been some undercurrent of desire in his dealings with Tsuzuki, even when he sought to deny it. From the very first, with his gun pointed in the other's face, Hisoka had been powerfully attracted, a startling revelation considering that he had never experienced such a thing while he was alive. How odd that it would come now that he was dead and with someone as utterly opposite him as Tsuzuki.

In direct proportion to that attraction was his hurt, disappointment bitter ashes in his mouth. So it really was Hijiri he wanted? Try as he might to tell himself that this was not Tsuzuki, that it was a thing trying to lure who he thought was the violinist into a trap, all he could feel was a strange pain that those loving words were not meant for him. He needed to focus, needed to keep to the plan. Think about what Hijiri would do if he were in this situation and --

Oh, yeah. He'd be doing just this, with a great deal more enthusiasm. Damn him.

Tsuzuki's mouth pushed against his, the tip of his tongue startling Hisoka enough to part his lips, as the other Shinigami took full advantage of that, pleased rumbling echoing through his jaw with a shock as he delved deeper. He felt himself being turned around, Tsuzuki's hands gripping his shoulders, using them to draw their bodies flush against each other. He gasped, hands flying to the front of his partner's shirt, needing an anchor, anything to keep him steady.

"Please?" Tsuzuki drew back, pressing a kiss against the corner of his mouth, then another along his jaw, the rough of a tongue following in his wake. "You said--"

"Yes," He sounded breathless and that didn't surprise him. Who knew Tsuzuki could kiss like that? Thank God no one else knew or else he'd have to fend off more stalkers than the man already had.

His answer and reward was another kiss, an eager tongue lapping at his, arms encircling his waist, tugging him off his feet. Hisoka yelped as he was dropped without ceremony onto the bed, struggling to find a sitting position when Tsuzuki was suddenly there, arms on either side of him, hovering with a predatory intent in his dark eyes that made Hisoka's stomach drop and blood boil in response. They were kissing again and he didn't know how it had happened and found he really didn't care either. Tsuzuki devoured him, the feel of his lips bruising sparking a trickle of fear, making him shove at the man. "No!"

"Hisoka."

"No," he panicked, his now flailing hands caught and held against Tsuzuki's chest. "Stop--"

"Hisoka!" It was the harsh snap of that voice, normally so kind that made him stop, wide-eyed. Tsuzuki reached out, ignoring his flinch as he caressed his cheek, slow, painfully pleasurable movements that made the heat in his belly curl to his toes and his fear to lessen if not abate. He felt trapped, held enspelled by the eyes boring into his, almost commanding him to be still, to calm down. His captured hands dropped down between them, and Tsuzuki smiled, a thin-lipped gesture, which belied the gentle kiss he bestowed upon the boy.

"Better?"

He nodded, gawking in spite of himself. Then it hit him. "You said--"

Keeping hold of both Hisoka's hands with one of his own, Tsuzuki reached up, snaring the wig and freeing it with a quick twist. "You were good," he said conversationally, twisting the wig aside. "You almost fooled me. Almost."

He leaned forward and Hisoka tried to scoot back. The possessed man regarded him, brow arching in amusement, his voice a dark layering of tones, Tsuzuki's in duet with another, more commanding tone. "No? Ah, but you were so eager a few moments ago."

"H-how?" The disguise should have worked, the wig so artfully arranged by Watari, his clothes thick with Hijiri's scent and with the lights dimmed as they were, his eyes should have appeared mortal.

The back of Tsuzuki's hand touched his face, knuckles stroking over cheekbones and chin. There was something almost hypnotic about the motion, about the glow of the eyes boring into his and he found himself inching forward in spite of himself. His lips tingled as the back of Tsuzuki's fingers brushed them, a shudder seeking to break free through his restraint.

"As I said, you were very good but not, it would seem, good enough for Tsuzuki. It's really quite touching how well he knows you--the way you move, the way you stand, and the way your head tilts just so. How your skin is just a shade paler than Hijiri's, not so much milk but marble in hue. The little knot that forms here," Fingers ghosted above his right eye, "when you worry. All those little things I might have missed, might have confused, he knew and recognized. More than that, he *knows* you, little one, on a level deeper than you might guess. Deep enough to sense a fundamental difference between what his eyes tell him and what the truth really is."

Fingers cupped his chin, drawing him closer and he wanted to pull away, really he did but it seemed beyond his power. "And what he knows," Sagadalius continued, "I now know, even when he tries to keep it from me. I know of his desire for you, just as I can see your own for him."

"You'll pardon me if I don't believe a word you say," Hisoka found his voice, acerbic and sucked dry of his earlier terror, almost angry at this new game. Did this creature think him so easy to trust? To manipulate? "I'd tell you to get thee behind me but that would probably get me stabbed in the back.[1] You have a tendency to do that to those you want to trust you."

"That was business."

"And this isn't?"

Tsuzuki's smile widened, a flash of white teeth visible. "Oh Hisoka, there are so many things we want from you and the least of them involves business."

As much as he wanted to be repulsed, he was finding hard to get past the fact that it was Tsuzuki's voice giving shape to those words, the tone half-teasing, half-seductive and completely inviting. If the demon really meant to tempt him, then he could find no better way than this. He wondered what his partner must think of this, if he was even aware at all of what was going on. His cheeks flamed in remembrance of their kisses, of how eagerly he had responded... How the hell could he explain that? If the demon was telling the truth, then Tsuzuki was not only aware, but also privy to every detail of this encounter.

Of course, if Sagadalius was telling the truth about that then might that mean he was telling the truth about Tsuzuki desiring him-- ‘No,’ he gave himself a mental shake. He was not going there. He was not going to fall prey to this deception.

"You still don't believe me, do you?" The voice was gentle in its exasperation, exactly as Tsuzuki's would be and he cringed. "Even now, even with me here, he wants nothing more than to touch and be near you. And I must say given what I've seen, I can understand why. You're so much more interesting than that simpleton Minase, like comparing a rose to a wildflower really."

"As for your beauty..." Hands swept his bangs out of his eyes, fingers falling through locks and lingering there. There was a pause, in which Tsuzuki seemed to be marveling at something then, "I wonder how you could even worry that Minase Hijiri would be competition. He's an assignment, but you...you are something quite different, Hisoka."

He looked away, a peculiar ache setting up shop in his chest. "Stop...please..."

"Hmm?"

"Stop pretending that you're the same...that you're him. Stop saying these things. Just do what you're going to do."

He started as the hand playing with his hair slipped down to lift his chin, warm lips nipping at his, nibbling at his lower lip in a blatant attempt to pry his mouth open, the flick of a tongue there nearly enough to make him moan. He attempted to jerk back but that mouth followed his as if tied together by a string and he felt some of his resistance melt. How many times had he dreamed this...Well, not exactly this scenario, but dreamed of Tsuzuki kissing him, of the comfort of his solid presence, and tender words spoken. For the whole of his existence, he had never been loved, not by his parents and certainly not by those caring for him during his illness. He had been tolerated, often ignored but love was out of the question. Until his death, he had never known what it was to have friends and until Tsuzuki, he had never known what it was to love someone, to allow that dangerous emotion to break the cold facade so long worn. To be given this gift now and to know it a lie was enough to nearly make him weep in frustration.

It could shatter him if he allowed it, if he allowed this.

"So stern, 'Soka," Tsuzuki murmured, "So glacial... What will it take to melt that icy exterior? What can I say?"

"Nothing. There's nothing you can say or offer."

In retrospect, he would realize that he had walked right into it, the demon's smirk already warning enough that he had done something he perhaps should not have. "And if I offer to let you test the truth of my words?"

"Wha-what?"

Taking Hisoka's hand, the possessed Shinigami placed it against the side of his face, splayed dangerously close to his glimmering eyes. "Scan me, use your empathy and learn for yourself."

"I--I can't do that," he stuttered, intensely aware of the rough-soft down of Tsuzuki's skin, the burning warmth that seeped into his fingers. "Tsuzuki's shields--"

He laughed softly, pulling the hand down enough to drop a kiss in the palm. "Do you really think that's a problem? What are you so afraid of?"

"Maybe I just don't understand what you get out of this," he snapped, aware achingly so of just how tempted he was.

What the demon suggested was nothing more than a gross invasion of privacy, a complete and intended violation of trust but the prospect of knowing Tsuzuki's thoughts, of knowing him body and soul more intimately than any person living was more tantalizing than even he might have guessed. Always, he had been so careful with his powers, never allowing more than a surface scan on any individual, as much for their privacy and safety as for his own. His empathy was as much a curse as a gift, reinforcing his isolation from the human race, walls upon mental walls constructed for the express purpose of keeping others out. It was a trick learned, if for no other reason than for shutting out the distaste and visceral hatred emanating from his parents any time one or both of them so much as looked at him. Words were one thing; they hurt, yes but they didn't carry the constant overwhelming torment of uncontrolled emotions, battering at mind and heart until he could no longer be sure if his hatred of them in return was a byproduct of their loathing, a spike of thought still lodged inside him or if it was of his own making.

His fellow Shinigami had never greeted him as such, had been more welcoming than his blood kin but still he kept them at a distance, allowing only Tsuzuki and then Watari any sense of closeness. Tatsumi was too remote, too stern -- and in spite of himself, Hisoka found himself reminded of his father, thus ensuring his wariness towards the secretary. He couldn’t read Tatsumi like he could the others, couldn’t glean a sense of awareness much less an emotional webbing. To all intents and purposes, the man was a psychic hole, a blank spot where something, a glimmer should have been. That and there was something about the way Tatsumi looked at Tsuzuki, a flicker here and there that caused uncomfortable ideas to creep into his mind that he would just as soon not indulge.

With Watari and Tsuzuki-- Well, it as damn well near impossible not to feel close to them. Watari treated him like the wayward little brother he'd never had and generally got along because the scientist didn't really give a damn about his grousing and Hisoka found he was able to handle the man's tangents far better than their superiors. Even when they didn't speak, those times when he found himself in the lab, their silences felt companionable, more so than most of the conversations with his co-workers. It was impossible to not like Tsuzuki and he had tried hard in that respect. Yes, the man could be dense on occasion, and yeah, he had a lazy streak a mile wide but that aside, disliking him was like disliking the sun for shining. He drew people to him like a magnetic north because for all his faults he had a heart like no one else, his capacity to bleed for and with others staggering. He gave because he cared, not because it was his job, and the guilt he took to himself over even the most minor of failures was often excessive and unwarranted. He blamed himself and did it with a smile in his eyes and a cheerful mask, hiding from everyone with cultivated simplicity the daggers he used to flay himself.

Hisoka had thought him the most useless creature, beauty aside, in the beginning, despairing that his superiors had paired him up with such a dolt. It was only after the library, when Hisoka had so flatly pushed him away, explaining how his anger and disdain affected and overwhelmed the empath that something had begun to change. Tsuzuki…had been concerned. More than that, he had taken the warning to heart, careful to erect shields of his own, a wall that gave him only the vaguest inkling of his partner. The effect was unsettling for one unused to having his wishes granted in such an unequivocal manner but Tsuzuki had taken it in stride, just as he seemingly took everything else in his life.

In respecting Hisoka's wishes, he had created a barrier between them, putting them both on a level playing field. Hisoka could not read his thoughts and his emotions only peripherally, save for very intense ones. Nor could Tsuzuki touch upon his moods except in the outermost sense. It forced him to listen, to not rely on feeling and thought to supply him with easy answers. It forced him to get to know the man and the more he learned, the more he wished he *could * read him, could see past that damnable façade because there was more there than the outward telling of the tale.

"What I get out of this?" The demon mused, wolfish as his eyes roved up and down Hisoka's body. "I should think that obvious."

Perhaps, Hisoka thought, but then again, perhaps not. This was not a stupid creature; it had thus far eluded capture and destruction, skipping from body to body with blithe abandon and now it had found the perfect vessel. Why it paused to toy with him, to torment him so, he did not understand. Did it have some addiction, some weakness for bodily sensation, specifically pleasure? Or did it merely seek to corrupt him, to set him against his partner for his own amusement?

Or was it truly something in Tsuzuki made manifest by demonic intent, an id unshackled under the spell of that which possessed him?

He would never know the answer to those questions, never understand unless he did as the demon asked. How he loathed this feeling of defeat, this resigned caving even as some sense of dreadful excitement stirred, the taste of the forbidden with in grasp. He even had permission--of a sort.

Gingerly, he reached up, hands hovering just above Tsuzuki's head, Sagadalius regarding him with an eerie calm, waiting, the smirk never slipping. It made him uneasy, this unnatural tranquility, fearful of the trap waiting to explode in his face. There was still time, he could stop this now if-- No. There was no time; they had been moving towards this since that shower shut off and door opened, perhaps even earlier than that.

Tsuzuki's hair was silky beneath his hands, still damp from earlier, curling in tendrils where he touched as if seeking to hold him. Pressing his thumbs in slow circles around the other's temples, he breathed in, shield lowering as he expelled air and--

--there was an impression of falling, of being dragged under and into darkness, so thick and oppressive, it felt as if a blanket had been tossed over his head, musty and old. The air in his lungs turned to liquid and he thought he might choke from the bitter taste souring the back of his throat. There was nothing here, no light, no hope, no will. Invisible claws stripped him of everything, leaving him vulnerable before a malevolent essence, agony and despair twin chains seeking to entwine around his limbs, to weigh him down in this unending tide. He recoiled, almost retreating in the face of an enemy greater than any he had yet known, cowering at the weight of a mind older and infinitely more indomitable than his own. It wanted nothing less than his total enslavement, his humiliation and demoralization. Hateful and jealous of all life, it waited, a coiled snake with eyes gleaming in the dark, ever fixed on him.

The force of its lust hit him and his stomach churned in response, the atmosphere sticky with the touch of a thousand grasping hands. Time was a maze here, a mobius strip that twisted in on itself without warning, nearly forcing him to his knees. He seemed to crawl, the shards of a thousand memories, a thousand broken dreams and hopes beneath him, razor sharp as they sliced his skin. He was seeking, for an eternal moment, he sought, struggling against all helplessness.

Lilac, they were lilac and indigo and the deep twilight, his eyes, so very wise and innocent in a glance. Laughing, flashing, glistening with tears unshed. He remembered them, remembered the flicker and play of hues, the way they revealed everything and nothing, the way they haunted him. He remembered sure hands, brushing back his hair, seeking to offer comfort, then falling away in dejection. A warm scent, male and rich, sandalwood unburned as it filled his nose, banishing the nightmare of sakura.

'Tzusuki, please…'

There was a glimmer in the darkness, small and clean, a crystalline pure grain of sand, nearly obscured. He reached for it, the viscous taint of the demon clinging to him, attempting to seep through his pores. His fingers grazed --

--and the world expanded again, vertigo sending him face forward. "Tsuzuki," he screamed.

Arms caught him, dragging him into a near crushing embrace, a chin digging into his shoulders as his arms flailed, gripping the flesh offered. A sob, half-clogged escaped his throat as he felt the other recede, not utterly but away, granting them time. But he couldn't see him, couldn't twist himself around enough to know what he held and so he reached again, his thoughts trembling with exhaustion and horror.

What he sensed made him reel yet again, the world no longer a place where his feet could find steady purchase. But he knew now, God help him he knew who he held, who held him, seeking to shield with what little strength he had left. Desire, concern, fear, guilt, need...

"Tsuzuki." He couldn't help himself, the name falling in litany, the only word he could manage.

The arms surrounding him tightened and he was glad of it, thrilled by this touch as he never had been with any other before it. He wanted nothing more than to soak it up, to rock back and to like a small child. There were no walls here; nothing to separate them and there were moments when he could not tell where his emotions left off and Tsuzuki's began.

The amazing thing was, he wasn't afraid, not of being swallowed up by the demon in the corner or of being lost and nothing more than a reflection of the man holding him.

"Hisoka."

This was Tsuzuki, his Tsuzuki, full of glorious pain and life, his confusion and need a heady elixir. The demon pulled the strings, used him as a puppet but it could not capture this, it could not imitate all the things that made him so unique, it could not hope to emulate that which held him so enchanted.

Reluctantly, he stopped his frantic burrowing, lifting his face away from his chest, almost flinching at Tsuzuki's unhappy expression. Everything darkened and he didn't understand; didn't Tsuzuki feel the same delight as he, at being together without the weight of the world on their shoulders?

"No chains but those we make," Tsuzuki's voice was barely audible, his sorrow striking at the heart. "And it would seem I've ensnared us both."

"Tsuzuki, no--"

"You shouldn't be here, Hisoka. You don't know…don't know what he can do, what he can force me to do," He sounded tired, so utterly conquered and it hurt, oh how it hurt.

"I think I have a pretty good idea," he replied, "Where are we? Besides the obvious."

Now that he was able to look around, Hisoka found they were near a river of some sort, the shores muddy, silty sand beneath his bare feet. It was quiet here, pristine and untouched wilderness, surreal around the edges like faded sepia. They were not in a place, he realized, but a moment, frozen forever in the confines of his partner's mind.

"The only refuge I have left. Hisoka… Why did you come? Why are you here?"

They made him angry, those plaintive, half-accusing words, each one driving a shard through him. His hands clenched and for one moment, he thought he might actually strike the other man. "Idiot! How can you ask that? What was I supposed to do, just leave you in here?"

"You were supposed to destroy me,"

Hisoka's heart constricted. He meant it, he well and truly meant every painful word. "I should have known," his voice sounded so cold, so heartless. "Always looking for the easy way out, never mind who's left to clean up your mess. You really don't give a damn, do you? Not one goddamn about all those people waiting for you, those afraid for you. You're a coward."

He leapt to his feet, more than ready to sever the contact, heartsick and disgusted with the both of them--at himself for hoping and at Tsuzuki for disappointing that fragile emotion. Tsuzuki might have been a moron but he was ten times worse, because he did know better and yet still let himself believe. That damn demon was probably laughing his incorporeal ass off at his naivete. He was too busy fuming to understand what the hand closing around his wrist meant until he found himself yanked off his feet.

"What the fuck?" He slipped into vulgarity without meaning to, stunned as his backside met packed earth. "Dammit, why did you do that?"

"You're an idiot, too, Kurosaki Hisoka." For once, Tsuzuki's voice did not sound quite so friendly. "I'm trying to protect you. It's taking all my strength to fight him and I'm not sure I'm going to win. Do you understand that? I need you out there and safe."

"So I can protect Hijiri--"

"So you can protect you! Sagadalius just wants to kill Hijiri, he wants more than that from you!" Tsuzuki wasn't yelling but he was close, voice raising decibel by decibel.

"Why? I'm just an obstacle in the way, aren't I? Why am I so special?"

Tsuzuki's face colored, knuckles whitening as they clenched around his knees. Hisoka felt his brows reach his hairline, trying to recall the last time he had seen the other Shinigami so discomfited. He muttered something, a string of syllables that Hisoka strained to hear and made absolutely no sense.

"Care to repeat that for the rest of the class?" Hisoka demanded, allowing impatience to work where patience had failed.

Tsuzuki seemed so miserable that he almost relented but no, he had come this far, he couldn't let the other man off the hook now. "Tsuzuki," he prodded. "Just tell me. What can it hurt now?"

"Don't you know?" His voice was low, rueful. "I don't see how you can't. I've been very transparent. I tried so hard to hide it, so Sagadalius couldn't use it against me, against you. And I've failed even that.

Amethyst eyes stared out over of the water, as if unable to bear the thought of meeting his gaze. "He doesn't always tell lies, you know. Sometimes, sometimes there is truth there and it hurts worse than all the lies."

'Please… Just say it…' Hisoka begged, unwilling to voice those pleas.

"And when he was touching you--I *did * want it, Hisoka, because some part of it was me. When he kissed you, I felt it… I enjoyed it… I wanted it. Wanted it more than anything, almost enough to put you into danger. I wanted to kill him, I still do but I'm not sure I wanted him to stop."

"I love you and I put you in danger just to satisfy a base desire. What does that say about me? About the kind of person I am?"

Tsuzuki's anguish was palpable, etched into every line and sinew, from the way his mouth drooped to how he sat, hunched over, almost hugging his knees. He couldn't have looked more like a kicked puppy he tried (and in this case, he wasn't). Here, in this place, his misery was a living entity unto itself, roiling over Hisoka, causing his throat to close up, and tempering his gratification at Tsuzuki's confession. He reached out, hesitated, then tightened his jaw, clamping a hand down on Tsuzuki's shoulder, using it to turn and pull him into a rough embrace. There was an initial struggle, which ended as soon as Hisoka growled out, "I'm not letting you go so you can stop right now."

Tsuzuki sighed, the sound muffled and strangely heartbroken as he buried his face against Hisoka's throat, breath pooling around his collarbone. The older Shinigami seemed to collapse in on himself, curling and wrapping as much of his body as he could around Hisoka. It was awkward, Tsuzuki being both larger and taller than he, but they managed until Tsuzuki was comfortably wedged between his legs, one hand cradling the back of his head and the other drifting up and down his back.

"I think it means you're human, just like the rest of us," Hisoka replied in response to Tsuzuki’s earlier question, voice soft as he stroked that dark head. He didn't understand why that caused Tsuzuki to tense up so, a flinch that went skin deep and cut off before the surface.

"I didn't think I'd see you again… Just the two of us like this," Tsuzuki said, "I mean--"

"I know," Hisoka assured him, kissing the top of his head and comforted by the gesture himself, "Believe me, I know."

"How--how did you know it wasn't me?"

"The same way the demon was able to know I wasn't Hijiri--because I know you, Tsuzuki. I could tell something wasn't right…that you were wrong."

They were both silent, Tsuzuki's voice resigned when he spoke again, "You'll have to kill me. You know that, right? You can't let him--let us hurt anyone else."

'Anyone else?' The subtle confession stunned, if not surprised him and berated himself for not acting more quickly. His hands paused and he stared at them, so delicate and pale against Tsuzuki's shirt, not a man's hands, but caught somewhere in between. He would never be a man and he had never resented it so much as now. His magical abilities were limited, fledgling and he couldn't back himself up with anything but his revolver and that was useless here. "I know."

He didn't try and argue, to say that he would find a way to free him, because they both knew he couldn't and there was no guarantee anyone else could either. So Tsuzuki asked the only thing he could of him, to make sure that one way or another this curse ended. The realization made him frantic, panicked. "Tsuzuki--"

He barely waited long enough for that dear, dear face to turn towards him before he threw himself forward, mouth mapping every bit of exposed flesh, hands cradling and soothing, his breath a dry sob that rattled from his lips into Tsuzuki's. There was no hesitation in Tsuzuki's response; surging up to meet him, hands cradling hips, scooting them closer together. His arms wrapped around his … his lover, yes, his lover's neck, unwilling, unable to bear the parting now looming before them.

'I need to… I have to tell him,' The thought panted itself out, but it would have involved stopping and he didn't have the strength to do so. He didn't care about Hijiri, or the others, he didn't care that the whole world was about to go to hell. Let it, let it burn away, and grant him just this one second; give him this breath to the next, a snatch of time to express all the things he should have gotten the chance to. The stubble brushing his skin wasn't real, was a memory of the body Tsuzuki no longer had control of, just as the warmth and reaction were but they were enough, enough to make him whimper as they lay back, the sand damp and unpleasant through the weave of his shirt. There was no contact lost, Tsuzuki's fervor sparking within him an echoing response, hands groping and searching--

--his eyes flew open as he fell backward, thrust with disorienting speed from the confines of that gentle presence, back into a place of pain and harshness, back into this reality, the mouth fixed to his chilling him its ravening hunger, beloved spirit and demon spawn entwined. He could sense Sagadalius' lust and Tsuzuki's sorrow, a discordant symphony played across his skin. He could end this, could shove the creature holding him away but he didn't. He couldn't. Whatever Sagadalius was, Tsuzuki was still in there and this might be the last time they… He brought himself up short. Could he tolerate the embrace of a devil, for the sake of easing Tsuzuki, for the sake of fulfilling that which they both longed for?

The answer was unequivocally yes.

It was his decision, his damnation and he took it with both hands, reaching to unbutton the half-undone shirt, Tsuzuki/Sagadalius lifting up to help him. He stumbled with the last one, fingers unsteady, as he pushed it open, hands slipping over exposed skin. The man above him burned, perhaps the result of the combination of two life energies. Velvet stretched over hard muscles received his touch, skimming along his lover’s sides and back, unable to insinuate a hand's breadth between their bodies. Shoulders rippled in his grasp, Tsuzuki rocking forward, angling so that he fell between spread legs, a guttural cry ripping its way out of Hisoka's throat as pelvis ground against arousal. Nothing in his life had ever prepared him for anything like this, for the heat and smell and feel of it. Not even his time with Muraki. With Muraki there had been only pain and death, and sex was no longer about romantic notions of making love. Muraki had poisoned it, sullied him body and soul, simply because he could and the memory of that made him slow, shame and distaste twisting him up inside. He wanted this, wanted to do this for Tsuzuki and for himself but he was afraid, fearful of an agony yet undiscovered.

The pressure on his mouth changed, becoming less forceful if not more demanding, coy and seductive as the tongue thrusting against his wooed him, slipping underneath to play over teeth and gum. Hisoka felt a rush of tenderness from his lover, his empathy singing from the contact, not from Sagadalius but from Tsuzuki, as if the man had been pushed to the forefront to quiet his anxiety. The curve of his upper lip was thoroughly explored, rolled and stretched between easy teeth, tongue soothing over the pleasant sting left there before moving to its bottom twin, digging into that trembling fleshy mound. He felt some of his discomfort slide away, his tongue pushing into the excitingly slick, wet cavern of Tsuzuki’s mouth. This time he set the rhythm, slow circles of his hips driving shyly upward, encouraged by the groan rattling over teeth and throat from their sealed lips, Tsuzuki as vocal in his pleasure as he was in everything else. He was grateful that Hijiri disdained jeans, freed for once from that rough restraint as his arousal ground against Tsuzuki, teeth almost chattering in electric shock as he threw his head back, his throat exposed to downward march of his lover’s mouth. Lips and teeth brazed, conquering and leaving burning trails in their wake, lapping and gnawing over jaw and throat, paying homage to the erratic leap of his pulse point. Sweat broke out on his forehead, his breath shuddering as a tongue painted his skin, every hair on his body standing erect. He felt out of control, reduced to a bundle of need and squirming nerve ends. His skin was on fire; belly tightening as he reared, gripping Tsuzuki’s slender hips, seeking better alignment, needing more friction, hands scrabbling to shove away the shirt covering the expanse of skin above him. He managed to tangle them both, Tsuzuki having to sit back long enough to shrug the offending cloth away, the gesture so elegant his breath caught in response.

What was it about this man? What was it that made him so vibrant, so very alive? The rest of the world dulled in comparison, as if it were only mere foreground in which to showcase him. His mercurial turn of mood only served to heighten the distinction, bestowing upon him of images Tsuzuki in every possible mood--thoughtful, indolent, occasionally downright puppyish. His smiles, his true smile, and not the throwaway grin he gave to everyone else were precious, shining like amber resin in his memory. He would fight to protect those smiles, that precious innocence that he had managed to maintain and all the guilt that came therein but in doing so Hisoka might be forced to take his life. It was what Tsuzuki wanted but that didn't make it any better. It didn't make it right.

His own smile was tentative, half-sorrowing as he began the task of unbuttoning his shirt, nearly embarrassed by the way his lover followed every movement, painfully aroused as he realized his own power, throwing a bit of a tease into it. The shirt fell away, button by twisting button and he was struck by the sheer ridiculousness of what he was doing. He felt clumsy, awkward in comparison, as if he were caught performing in some horrid burlesque. The shirt came away though, with less grace and much blushing, landing with a soft whoosh beside the bed. The regulated cold air hit him but it wasn't what caused him to wrap his arms around himself, hugging forearms crossed protectively across his body, across the network of scar tissue threading his torso, the fabrics of a fleshy spider web. Tsuzuki was the first person besides Watari and Muraki to see up close the damage wrought to his body by the curse, marring what had been smooth skin with jagged tears running here and there, thankfully not glowing right now. He had never been ashamed of his body but this was different, this need to hide the outward evidence of his degradation. They fueled his desire for revenge, yes, but they also made him feel vulnerable, choosing to swath himself in sweaters and long shirts rather than face that. It wasn't that he thought Tsuzuki wouldn't understand; his partner had seen the torture Muraki put him through, he was no stranger to sadistic crimes. It was that he shouldn't have to understand. And he positively loathed the idea that Sagadalius should see the evidence of his vulnerability.

Resolute hands disentangled him, laying him bare beneath unreadable violet, lost somewhere between abhorrence and interest, fingernails skimming serrated, silvery tissue, rimmed pink around the edges. The skin was insensate, thickened rounds of flesh rising in oblong strings, the only pleasure to be derived from his mind, imagination supplying what he might have felt as collarbone and pectorals were ringed, over nipples split, an ancient wound discolored forever. He was unnerved by the attention paid to them, a fascination that he didn’t understand, that he wanted nothing more than to hide from.

He started as Tsuzuki crawled across the bed to him, hands roaming his neck and shoulder as he kissed his ear, whispering. "How sad, to mar such loveliness," He nipped at Hisoka’s lobe, tongue flicking as the boy gasped. "Would you like his head? The good doctor’s? Tsuzuki would never countenance such an act, but I have no qualms in handing you his head on a silver platter. Would that please you? I know how much you long for your revenge… Why not let me take it for you?"

He froze up, allowing that siren’s lure wash over him. "You need only ask for it, ask me Hisoka. Say the words and I’ll do it. I’ll give him to you if you wish, bound and helpless as you execute a thousand different tortures on him. Or as I do, it makes no difference really. Just tell me you want it."

The temptation was there, stinging his tongue, begging to be spoken aloud. He knew Sagadalius spoke the truth in this—it would cost the demon little to kill Muraki. He cared so little about human life, what would taking one more do? And with Muraki would it be so bad? The man was depraved, devoid of anything resembling human feeling, a murderer and a rapist to boot. Removing him could save lives, those innocents who had yet to cross his path but might. It would be justice and revenge in one swift blow or drawn out session, depending on what he asked for.

But—but—He shook his head. No matter how much he might long for Muraki’s death, or how much Hisoka wished to visit agonizing torture upon him, this was not the way to go about it. It would not be justice, and it would not be for free. The price involved was more than he was willing to pay--the cost of honor, self-respect, and perhaps, what was left of his battered soul.

"Think on it. You don't have to give me an answer now. It can wait until afterwards," Lips feasted upon his shoulders, their chests brushing lightly, a lazy hand reaching up to tweak his nipple. He groaned, arching into that touch, small whimpers escaping it as it became harder, perhaps a little cruel, twisting and crushing that nub between forefinger and thumb. Tsuzuki's head lowered, the feel of air blowing around his aching nipple replaced by the tentative play of a tongue, tracing first the misshapen outer circle before latching onto the rest, teeth pulling as he was suckled. He had to be hurting Tsuzuki, what with the way he fought to hold him, nearly mashing his face forward but all he received was a mocking chuckle. That wet suction of mouth distracted him, making it possible for fingers to dance down ribcage and abdomen, bypassing the buttons of his pants to cup his groin, the first squeeze there causing him to buck outward, breath harsh as if he were running an incredible distance. He seemed to delight in this torture, snugging his hand more completely around Hisoka's arousal, taking time to move to the neglected nipple, a tug around the base of his covered testicles nearly making him lose all sense of himself. His knees bent apart and he leaned back on his elbows, away from those commanding lips, body moving in time with the pace set by his lover.

"Tsuzu-uki," the name stuttered, nearly dying out in a high-pitched wheeze. There was that damnable grin again, wolfish, the smile of a conqueror about to-- He jerked as Tsuzuki lowered his head, nuzzling his waistband. 'He's really not going to… Oh my God, he is.' The thought seemed to gibber in on itself as the front of his slacks were yanked at, teeth catching and freeing the button from its fastening before snagging the lip of the zipper in his mouth, a slow metallic purr filling his ears as Tsuzuki pulled, eyes never leaving his startled gaze.

The respite that came with the loosening of the fabric encasing him was short-lived as Tsuzuki reached to remove them. He couldn't help himself, catching the other's wrists before he came too close. They stared at each other, a silent battle of wills before Hisoka, with as much dignity as he could muster, shimmied out of the now wrinkled pants, having to kick his legs free and gritting his teeth as that sent pleasurable waves straight to his erection.

"Feeling better?" Sagadalius ran a possessive hand over his knee and boxers, idly rubbing the cloth in between his fingers.

"Much," he replied, face tingling in perfect communion with the flush covering the rest of his body. "You're overdressed."

'I really did just say that, didn't I?' He felt as if he'd fallen into some alternate universe and someone had forgotten to mention it. Sagadalius appeared amused.

"You could help me with that."

Hisoka wanted it on record, right here and now, that it was just wrong how sexy he managed to make that look and sound, lids heavy and lashes dusting his cheeks as Tsuzuki peered from beneath their fringes. There was nothing at all innocent about way his voice dripped the words, hands smoothing over his body, raking nails over his nipples and belly, legs opening just a bit from where he half-knelt. This of course had the direct effect of drawing taunt the front of his pants over a sizable bulge, a thin hiss of sound letting him know just how excited he was. As if that had been in doubt during any part of this whole encounter, he wanted to snort.

"'Soka," he trilled. "You do want to help me, don't you?"

'I never stood a chance, not once,' he thought, against all odds finding himself reaching with trembling hands for the fastenings of his lover's slacks. The button almost popped itself and he couldn't keep his eyes from tracking the zipper's downward progression, something hot and heavy rubbing against his hand as he neared the end. The question of what type of underwear Tsuzuki might possibly indulge in was answered before the question was even thought of--he didn't or at least wasn't right now. Hisoka's hands skittered back, unable to take his eyes off the rather wanton set of images before him, Tsuzuki taking obvious enjoyment in the slow removal of the remainder of his clothing, careful to take his time as he revealed ever more skin until there was nothing left to hide.

Tsuzuki was compact, broad of shoulder and chest even as his hips were slender, the taper of lean calves and thighs beneath that in perfect proportion. Coarse glossy hairs stood in contrast to both his golden cream of skin and the scarlet, almost purple head of his sex. He stood, unashamed and with good reason, for Hisoka could see no visible physical defect, no abnormality that might have made him seem more human, less otherworldly. He was flawless, the body of a Greek statue brought to life and so fair it hurt to look upon him.

It seemed wrong, wrong to be witness to this perfection, cognizant of his own imperfections as he was, even more so the desire to touch it, to touch him. Palm upward, Tsuzuki extended his hand, dragging him to his feet, their bodies melding as he was pulled into an odd little twirl around the floor. "You’re nuts," he informed his lover, trying desperately to not trip over his feet. It occurred somewhat belatedly what an inane thing it was to say in light of just who he was addressing.

The dance stopped abruptly as he was stilled, the hands around his waist tightening as Tsuzuki knelt, face turned upward in eloquent askance. He scarce dared breathe as he nodded, eyes darting from face to floor to the top of his head. The hold around his hips flexed then the last hindrance removed he was struck by the sensation of being unwrapped, boxers were carefully pried free, dropping to pool at his ankles. His legs trembled, unsteady as he toed the garment away. Again he was assailed by the need to hide, to cover and protect himself from this invasion, from the way dark eyes raked over him, as if to swallow every morsel of a visual feast. Something soft and moist floated across his foot, surprised to find Tsuzuki’s mouth traveling over instep and knobby anklebone, running his face along the fine hairs covering shaky legs, the sear of his mouth strange and unmaking. He felt the floor threatening to meet him, the fear of losing his feet much stronger each passing caress. His groin throbbed, the sticky wet of pre-ejaculate beading head and stem. Nails tantalized the backs of his legs, skimming and stroking upward, until he felt the swell of his buttocks taken in hand, distracting until he became aware of a nose nuzzling his erection, dark head nestled between his legs. There was a rush of air and then he was sealed, a cry escaping him as that steaming dampness settled around the base of his need, a slow swallow punctuated by the rasp of tongue, lapping at every stray liquid bead. His knees weakened, causing him to half bend, Tsuzuki’s hair flying as he seized upon it. His breathing broke, heart a racing pulse that he felt echoed in the gentle pressure exerted upon him. Everything else fell away and he was left alone with the beast inside himself, starved and volatile, a beast that didn’t care about where his pleasure came from so long as it didn’t stop. His anxiety remained but it was suddenly unimportant, a stumbling block to be eliminated in his rush to achieve more, faster, *now. * That talented mouth brought him close, sliding with careless abandon up and down his shaft, a hint of teeth making him moan. Words escaped him, reckless and imploring and utterly nonsensical. Pressure built, tiny fireworks going off behind his eyes threatening his impending release, summarily denied as Tsuzuki lifted up and off him, a pop of released suction his only warning.

He bit off a nasty curse, cut short by the red of Tsuzuki’s cheeks, mouth swollen as he licked his lips instead giving into another groan. "Has no one ever taken the time to worship you, Hisoka? Worship you as you deserve?" His voice husked, running like dark caramel over the senses, the choral duality of demon and man almost fused into one. "It’s your right to demand this homage, the price of your radiance."

What frightened him, far more than the simple pleasure he took in those compliments, true or not, was the fact he couldn’t tell who was paying them, having equal sense of Sagadalius and Tsuzuki. He didn’t know what that meant and the possibilities were frightening.

Skin whispered against skin as Tsuzuki rose, lips salted with a strange flavor as he kissed him again. He wasn’t sure he liked it, but he tried again, a deeper taste to satisfy his curiosity, tongue swiping against the walls of Tsuzuki’s mouth. Tangy, bittersweet, he wasn’t able to quantify the taste to satisfaction but it was tolerable, the realization that it was himself he tasted bequeathing a bit of shock.

"Touch me?" Tsuzuki urged, vacillating between arrogant and vulnerable, devil and man. "Please, Hisoka?"

Tsuzuki made no move to take his hand, to force him into anything, only stood there, regarding him with huge eyes. His partner excelled at pleading, only Tatsumi seemingly immune to his inestimable charms. After the last several minutes, there was no way in hell he was going to put up much resistance on that score.

His first touch was fleeting, head cocked and listening—for pleasure or discomfort, he wasn’t really sure. In spite of what they had already done this evening, he found himself paranoid, afraid that he would manage to hurt Tsuzuki. More than he was already hurting, Hisoka amended, guilt making him avoid raising his eyes.

"I won’t break," And whether he meant it or no, there was a harsh undertone to Tsuzuki’s words, a slip in Sagadalius’s mask.

‘No, but I might,’ Hisoka thought, not giving voice to his thoughts as he ran his hands over collarbone and chest, toying with the thin tufts surrounding hard nipples, edging his fingers along them. He smoothed his palms flat across the jut of ribs, careful touches moving in gradual succession. He wasn’t ready to move there yet so he concentrated on chest and breastbone, sloping forward to sprinkle kisses, gaining a bit of confidence as he discovered a sensitive area thanks to soft inhalations or sharp rattling breaths. Hands reached, learning Tsuzuki like a Braille tablet, the way he breathed just so or how his stomach flattened out to practically nothing, a quiver accompanying the waltz of fingers. His hipbones were sharp, bony despite appearances and probably incredibly uncomfortable to lay or sit against. Tsuzuki moved, a restless thrust with no direction or contact, and he glanced down in sympathy at the twitch and hardness of the erection thumping against his lover's stomach. He eyed it critically, then dipped downward, almost unable to watch as he took Tsuzuki in hand--in the most literal sense of that word.

"Fuck." Okay, that was interesting. He had never heard an obscenity uttered with the reverence of a blessing.

Hisoka could count on his hand the number of times he'd brought himself off in his life, a frightening, hot affair that had seemed to last forever in the dark of his cell, the sound of rain pattering against the roof in tattoo with his actions a particularly vivid memory. He had never had a girlfriend or a boyfriend or well, anyone save himself to experiment on and he had been so ashamed of having to satisfy such a savage craving that he had sought to get through the experience as quickly as possible. Whether it had been some subconscious memory of Muraki or a puritanical streak imbibed at his mother's knee, he couldn't say but it had deprived him of any enjoyment and left him with a residue of guilt. In retrospect, none of those furtive touches had prepared him for this and he racked his brain, light scratches across reddened balls making his lover all but howl in response, the vein in tip of Tsuzuki's shaft a dark branching pulse against a sea of angry red. And then he did--something--he wasn't sure what but it produce a flurry of responses from Tsuzuki, not the least of which was a probing kiss and the sensation of being maneuvered, led until the back of his knees rammed into the firm soft edge of a mattress.

They tumbled to the bed, limbs tangling with limbs, Tsuzuki underneath as Hisoka lay atop his shifting form, Hisoka angling himself so that he slipped here or there, touching as much of his lover as he could from this position. He almost yowled as naked erections grazed, lifted then grazed again, a hard hot muscle shoving against his thigh. The motion was sweet, a blaze that ran in near paralyzing pleasure through him, causing him to sag this way and that as he strove to hold on. Tsuzuki’s arms bunched and twisted, as if he were trying to remove or wrestle with something. Then something slick and cold trickled down his back, causing him to squirm as it heated up, leading him to wonder just what the hell Tsuzuki had spilled on him.

Understanding came fast and furious as fingers trailed down his spine, playing at the base of his tailbone before going lower. Oh. *Oh. * He had to give him points for ingenuity; not once had he seen an oil bottle. The feel of fingers there, against that muscle was strange, unsettling, a strange quiver wracking his body. Tsuzuki stroked his inner thigh, with one hand, applying insistent pressure with his thumb against that invisible ring, massaging without doing much else. Waiting, Hisoka realized, for him to relax, not the easiest of requests under the circumstances. Sakura seemed to fill his breathing, sickly sweet and pervasive, a chill making his trembling worse. He tried not to think of Muraki, of a blood red moon, and the stinging caress of a knife later on. Leaning his face against Tsuzuki’s collarbone, he panted, "Just do it! If you wait—"

He didn’t, index finger pressing forward, wringing a sucking gasp from Hisoka who fought not to flop and cringe in response. That marvelous mouth attached itself to his throat, teasing and planting reassuring kisses and he leaned down to meet it, to stop his cries against that soft barrier. He wanted to claw at the arms holding him steady, away from the all too personal touch of a finger moving within him, a grotesque parody of what was soon to come. Pleasure and torment seemed to war within him, not helped in the least by the addition of another finger, dual forces working within him, out of place and slippery as they delved inward. Tsuzuki…Sagadalius…was trying to be gentle, scissoring and stretching him with especial care, but he found himself on the verge of drowning, overwhelmed by the memory of blood and sweet blossoms. If something didn't give soon he feared he might vomit or shove his lover away from him. The process was interminable, allowing him to grow accustomed to the play and search of now three fingers, almost buried to the knuckle. The arm draped across his waist moved, burying in his hair and forcing his mouth downward, almost dizzy as the tongue now thrusting in his mouth seemed to mimic the exploration of submerged fingers. The language spoken was old, one of the physical and he flattened against his immortal lover, groin trapped between the hollow of their bodies. He felt betrayed and unbearably excited, his body answering while his mind remained divided. He teetered between sanity and maddened memory, his salvation coming in a clear shock, obliterating thought as those wandering fingers found his center. He pushed back with no thought, euphoric as the memories receded, banished with each acceptance of that intimate touch. The sensation shook him and he marveled at it, at how different things were this time because the choice was his, because at no time during his rape had Muraki sought to pleasure him, content with taking his own fulfillment, a hungry lust fueled by the kill.

It was different because he trusted Tsuzuki, even now. It was different because he was in love with Tsuzuki, because he entrusted himself to the man. His back bowed, threatening to pop and break under the strain.

"Hisoka," Tsuzuki was hoarse, fingers sliding free and now lingering on his buttocks. "Hisoka?"

He knew the question and held the answer, shifting around to crouch on his knees, insides throbbing like butter churned too hard, whimpering as he felt Tsuzuki move around him, a press of lips on his spine telling him where his lover was. His mind flickered, a bit off exclamation and sudden hold on his hips proclaiming Tsuzuki's readiness, the head of his groin pressing against loosened muscle, sliding inch by agonizing inch home. The sense of being filled so completely was foreign, and he lurched as if to slide away but this time Tsuzuki held firm, whispers that he didn't understand floating in the air, comforting as he found himself clamping down, milking a startled cry. Tsuzuki jerked and there he was, as much a part of Hisoka as he ever had been, both content to remain still, Hisoka trying to assimilate all the sensations running rampant in his body. The cold with which he cloaked himself was gone, irreparably lost and he did not miss it, the heat Tsuzuki supplied so immediate it scorched. He curled his hands, almost balancing on the knuckle, answering his body's demand to move, pushing backward, Tsuzuki meeting him in an unspoken halfway. Flesh slapped against flesh, punctuated by soft groans, Hisoka keening as Tsuzuki balanced over him, breath washing over exposed skin, tickling him. He rocked, arms trembling, striving to take hold his lover, taking in as much as he could, near crazed when Tsuzuki threatened to leave him. The subtle slivers of feeling touching his mind were now storms, his shields taking a battering, wanting so very much to open himself up to Tsuzuki but prevented by Sagadalius. He couldn't risk it, couldn't risk the feel of that loathsome mind washing over his, fearful of the blinding panic it might induce. Tsuzuki…Well, Tsuzuki would understand why but would he know the magnitude of his feelings, depths untold being plumbed and turned inside out? Would he understand and forgive as he did?

There was a pause and he was lifted, back settling against Tsuzuki's chest, his lover continuing to piston, driving deeper, harder inside him. He planted his legs on either side of furry knees, riding each stroke and the upward slope of climax not only looming but ready to set in. A hand wrapped around his erection and he reveled in the foggy weakness rolling through him, totally reliant on Tsuzuki to move for them both, head tilted back to receive Tsuzuki's waiting kiss. Once, twice, and he was flying, surrendering with every particle in him, a warm flood flowing over legs and stroking hand and the words came.

"I love you."

They weren't particularly loud, not screamed in passion nor moaned, instead strangled with a whisper. He wasn't even sure they were heard, Tsuzuki's growls drowning out all else as he found his release, eliciting another mewl as warmth spooled inside him. Another couple of thrusts and they tumbled forward, Hisoka uncaring of the wetness dampening his thigh and the weight on his back, focusing instead on the heart in time with his, lips nuzzling his ears. He tipped his face to receive a brush across his cheeks and nose before a chaste kiss was planted there. Tsuzuki moved just long enough to disengage, his form wrapping around him much as it had in Hisoka's mind, protective and tender. Exhaustion stole up his limbs, and he was lulled, turning to return the embrace, arms and legs tangling to hold his lover close. It was wrong, snuggling so with tormentor as well as paramour but he was so tired, too damn tired to sort it out.

"You could join me," Sagadalius sounded worn, voice indolent. "Tsuzuki may not be the most manageable of partners but we--we could have this for eternity, Hisoka. Help me destroy the boy and I can give you what you desire, can set you both free forever."

"No," his reply was sluggish but resolute, jaw like so much cotton candy as he fought to maintain consciousness. Had he been more awake it might have occurred to him just how stupid and dangerous this was but only one thought took hold, for good or ill.

***

He awoke. Consciousness shyly welcoming as he rolled over, a cooling hollow of blankets causing Hisoka to blink, coiling into a fetal position as he snuffled, pulling covers tight against him. It was nearly painful to move and he was content to wallow in the languor ensnaring him. He might have let his eyes flutter shut again, succumbing to the doze so ready to welcome him back had the bed not dipped, causing him to stretch and roll over again. Tsuzuki grinned down at him, beaming as he leaned down, Hisoka lifting his head just a little to meet his mouth. The kiss was lengthy, the way he had imagined a good morning kiss might be, but with a starved quality, as if they hadn't seen each other in -- 'Hours?' Hisoka supplied, almost embarrassed by how ridiculously giddy he felt.

"You're awake," He struggled to sit up, restrained by a hand against his chest. "How long have you been awake?"

Tsuzuki continued to smile, eyes considering, as he said nothing. Hisoka frowned at his reticence, unease growing as the void surrounding his partner lifted and something was pounding to get out, a trickle that he couldn't identify. "Tsuzuki--"

"Thank you," he finally spoke, his voice strange, the interlacing of harmonies crackling with power. "I could never have done it without you."

He opened his mouth but it was a spurt of blood that answered, the bite of steel cleaving vocal cords. His hands flew to the wound, left completely open to the next attack, the blade wedging deep within his chest, then collarbone. After that, he lost count. The knife flew visiting agonies undreamed upon him, rending flesh with deep bites and splashes of crimson. He hung onto consciousness, to life by toenails, his betrayal sealed with pleased laughter floating above him. His illusion of safety crashed around his ears. Tsuzuki could not protect him, he could not even warn him although he felt certain that flicker across his shields was an attempt. Tsuzuki was lost; a prisoner and all of Hisoka's…feelings were not going to change that. 'At least I bought--time--,' the thought did little to cheer him. He knew where the demon would go after this. There was still a contract to be fulfilled and Sagadalius would follow his quarry, predictable in that if nothing else.

Something wet dripped on his face and he chalked it up to gore, spraying from some new orifice cut courtesy of the demon until his gaze tracked upward, blackened around the edges.

Tsuzuki was crying.

Oh, the laughter was still there, Sagadalius' enjoyment roiling over his broken shields but tears were streaming down unnoticed, dropping plop by plop off chin and onto his body. He imagined the sting of salt, rubbed in wounds too great to fully comprehend.

He wanted it to end, needed it to, unable to bear this new horror. He could deal with Sagadalius killing him; from the beginning he had expected no less. He could deal with his cruelty and sadistic enjoyment of the act. What he could not handle was realization of how much pain his partner was in, great enough to demonstrate tears in spite of his captor's control.

'I will, Tsuzuki.' He would do his job and answer his partner's request, because to leave him this way was unthinkable. Better that he end it, that he be allowed to pass on and Hisoka as his second, his partner, had no choice but to accede to his wishes. He would slay him and because he loved him, Hisoka would ask to be sent onto whatever hell awaited him for perpetrating such an act.

***

He surveyed his work, cooing and hrumphing like a choosy painter over a particular canvas, dipping his fingers in sticky pools, white skin now chalky gray, showing up beautifully against red-black streaks. His hair was still sleep tousled, viscous with gore, blood and gold entwined, forever the fall of man. Shock remained etched, green eyes glassy as they stared into nothingness, their jewel-depths devoid of animate luster. The boy was beautiful, even now, his chest cavity caved in from the force of each blow, skin splitting like so many seams, a hint of bone peeking out.

Bring his fingers to his mouth, he licked each one clean, saving the last to paint over his eager lips like so much make up. The tears running down his cheeks were of no consequence; indeed, they amused him, the last resort of a feeble being now crushed under the weight of his own guilt and horror. So easy, it had been so easy to break him, to end his struggles. He hadn't been sure of how to end that troublesome resistance, to silence forever the other seeking to expel him until fate had placed the boy in his path.

'Aren't you pleased? I gave you what you desired. Am I not a generous master?' he directed his triumphant words towards that wavering light, enraptured as he felt it along with the last of sliver of opposition go out.

Sagadalius spared the broken figure sprawled atop congealing sheets, the room heavy with the perfume of death. "Thank you," he mock-bowed. "Thank you for helping to rid me of this little problem. I could never have broken him without you."

"And now to finish this."

***

The last note of song lingered, a soaring denouement sweeping through the auditorium, bringing stunned silence in its wake. The applause that followed was a slow avalanche of sound, a roar that grew as whistles and screams from Hijiri's classmates joined in. The violinist glowed, face alight with unconcealed joy, eyes searching the audience. For them, Hisoka supposed and even though the boy would not be able to see them, he found himself taking a step back.

From her perch in Tsuzuki's arms, Kazusa was grinning, bouncing and clapping taxing the older Shinigami's hold on her. Had they let her, she would have leapt from his arms and rushed down to the stage. To do so would have spoiled the moment, for neither Hijiri nor anyone else would have registered her presence save in the most oblique of fashions, a benevolent smile lighting the atmosphere around them or the sense of a presence that might make them turn to find nothing their mortal eyes could detect. All this they had explained to her, Tsuzuki a trifle anxiously, as if he feared an explosion of tears. Instead the little girl had regarded them both with a solemnity beyond her years and taken both their hands, not to be denied her chance to witness her beloved Hijiri's concert.

A glance at Tsuzuki and they turned, headed for the exit, Kazusa wiggling and peering over Tsuzuki's shoulder, waving madly and throwing out well wishes. If it hadn't been so cute, he might have dwelt on how sad it was. He wished they could have given the two of them a more fitting farewell, beyond the violence and the sacrifice in battle. But Tatsumi had been resolved, declaring that it was better this way and would only serve to prolong both their suffering to delay. The business of living had to go on, painful as it was and what awaited Kazusa would make the wait worthwhile. They would be together again, Tatsumi had explained to the child, but that time had not yet come. Hijiri had already sad his good-byes, would she make him go through the distress of doing so again?

Allowing Kazusa the opportunity to see the concert had been the only concession they were able to wring from him and that had taken the combined talents of Tsuzuki's and Kazusa's pitiful faces along with Watari threatening to join them if he didn't give in. They were under strict orders not to make contact with the violinist, a directive Tsuzuki had already gotten around by spending what little was left in their budget on flowers. At least he remembered to leave the card blank, Hisoka sighed, although he had no doubt that Hijiri would know exactly who sent it.

He darted surreptitious glances at his partner, now engaged in a lively conversation with the little girl climbing all over him. This was the most animated he had seen him since before his possession, for once distracted from the morass of guilt and angry despair. Not even Hijiri's absolution had made things any better for him. As for their own talk, well, it had touched on everything but the heart of the distance between them. Part of it was his own fault for being timid, for not throwing that gauntlet down and making Tsuzuki discuss what happened between them. The man had been through so much, he didn't need that excess baggage and besides, some part of him hoped that Tsuzuki would bring the matter up on his own.

He wasn't expecting some flowery declaration of love or even rational discourse but he had expected something, some word on the matter. Tsuzuki had been careful not to let anything slip, either visibly or emotionally on that account. He had apologized for nearly harming Hijiri, for chopping his partner up, for nearly destroying the department but of what had passed between them, between the three of them, not one word left his lips.

It was as if he expected things to find some balance, provided the subject was never brought up, providing they never spoke of those words and deeds that one night had produced. As if he expected Hisoka to play along with his self-deception and soldier on as before.

All of which Hisoka, despite his silence, could not bring himself to do. He couldn't let go of that night, or of feelings uncovered and if he could manage to get a moment alone with his partner, they were going to have a discussion about it. Since the day Hijiri had left however, Tsuzuki had been careful *not * to be alone with him, always toddling off with Watari or ducking into Tatsumi's office or sneaking off with Wakaba.

It was frustrating to the nth degree.

"Watari-san!" The little girl wriggled and squirmed until Tsuzuki set her down with a laugh, her chubby legs pumping as she ran down the steps outside towards the waving scientist. She threw herself at his legs, nearly sending them both tottering to the floor, 003 circling overhead.

The lanky scientist scooped her up, blond locks askew as he twirled them both around. He was saying something that made Kazusa grin and cup her hand around his ear, the two of them sharing conspiratorial winks and whispers. Hisoka rolled his eyes, wondering just what Watari was up to now. "Those two," he muttered as he checked his watch. "He's early."

Of course, early for Watari meant right on time but nevertheless, it was such a rare occurrence that Hisoka couldn't help but comment on it.

"Tatsumi probably kicked him out of the lab," Tsuzuki shrugged.

"Mhmm," he wasn't convinced, almost glaring as the giggling duo walked up to them, equally guileless and therefore in his book, equally suspicious.

"How was the concert?" Watari snickered, bouncing the girl on his hip.

"Terrific," Tsuzuki drew himself up to gush. 'Defense mechanism number one, here we go,' Hisoka thought. Would it kill the man to be honest with himself? To confess to his friends and coworkers that yes, he did enjoy the concert very much but no he was not all right?

"Okay." Hisoka answered, hands jammed in his pockets. "The Devil's Trill was quite a hit."

"For the price paid, it should be," Watari sobered then made a face at Kazusa, 003 hooting at him from her shoulder. "Well, milady, we have a little time left. How would you like some fudge?"

"I would love fudge," Tsuzuki capered from foot to foot, hands assuming the begging position. So this was how it was to be then? They were just going to go back to status quo and pretend nothing had changed. He resisted the urge to slap him or worse, scream at him, none of which he wanted anyone else to see. It wouldn't do any good, simply earn him a wounded expression and a practiced whine.

Watari wagged a finger at him. "Uh uh. I don't recall inviting you, either of you. I specifically recall asking Kazusa if she wanted fudge and while you're cute and all, Tsuzuki, I don't think you've hit upon a potion to cause you to shrink and change your gender," Watari paused. "Of course, if you're holding out on me you know I'll have to kill you, right?"

"It won't be the first time someone's tried," Tsuzuki replied, causing Hisoka to flinch and keep his eyes fixed elsewhere.

There was an awkward little moment and then Watari made a noise of exasperation. "Geez, do you two have to be such downers? Honestly. How did you manage to put up with them?"

"Carefully," Kazusa grinned, achieving a hearty chuckle from Watari in response.

"Kazusa," The drawl was there, the hint of a whine and Hisoka wanted to twitch in annoyance.

"Anyway, Tatsumi says you're both to have the rest of the day off. The word 'suspension' was mentioned if you guys so much as try to set foot in the office," Watari turned his attention back to the little girl. "So how about it? Ready for fudge? Maybe some ice cream?"

Kazusa shouted her approval and then surprised them all by extending her arms towards Hisoka, gesturing impatiently for him to approach.

"She's not going to bite, you know," Tsuzuki nudged him forward when he hesitated.

"Idiot," he straightened his shirt, then stepped closer, tiny arms encircling his neck in a sudden hug. He felt a wave of appreciation, blithe gratitude and affection from her and he gave himself over to hug. "Thank you," she whispered, pulling back to smile at Tsuzuki. "Thank you both."

He was not going to turn into a puddle of goo. He wouldn't. He patted her head, allowing his features to soften. "You're welcome. Good-bye, Kazusa."

They lingered just long enough for Tsuzuki to hug the little girl, Watari practically having to pry the two of them apart. Kazusa skipped away, dragging Watari after her before they vanished a few steps later.

"I'm going to miss her," Tsuzuki reflected, staring at that spot, "I think I'll miss them both."

Hisoka didn't know how to respond to that and inched closer in support, standing in respectful silence as he waited for Tsuzuki to collect himself. They started down the steps when something else occurred to him. They were alone, for the first time in a week, they were well and truly alone. So Watari had been punctual for a reason, hoping that somehow they would clear the air? If so, then he might just owe the man a favor, maybe a little help with all those glances thrown Tatsumi's way? He smirked, stopping short of the last step and placing himself in his partner's path. Tsuzuki gave him a quizzical look before comprehension settled, leaving him with the expression of a trapped deer. Hisoka drew in a breath, wondering where to begin, what to say and how to say it before just going with the obvious.

"We need to talk."

***End

[1.] A reference to the hoary old horror chestnut, "Get thee behind me, Satan." Amet had no idea what I meant by this and I figured I'd better throw in an explanation for those others of you who might be looking in askance. Probably not entirely appropriate, but I've always wanted to work the line in. ^_-