In'ei    
[Shadow]

A Yami No Matsuei Fic by Murasaki Suishou (murasakisuishou@yahoo.com) and the 
Queen of Blueberry Toast (TheKWOBT@gundamwing.net).

*~*~*

Two- Hototogisu [Cuckoo]
[Version 1.0]

*~*~*

The doll cradled to his chest, Muraki calmly looked over at the fuming man who now 
filled the doorway to the living room. "Oh, I only had the boy, my love. The girl was...a 
little too young to suit me. But wasn't she a delight to gaze upon? All those pretty curls..." 

He petted the faintly blushing cheek of the chic seductress in his arms, then set her 
carefully back in her case. Muraki could already picture how she would look amongst his 
darlings, and he was eager to sweep her away to his private downstairs chamber. 
Unfortunately, it seemed Oriya would not be so willing to accommodate him, and let him 
pass. 

He slid the lid back on the case, wrigging it down snugly, and then he got to his feet and 
faced his lover. Oriya was chewing upon his ever-present pipe as if he wanted to bite 
through the stem. Muraki only smirked. "So jealous. Really, Oriya, that's a most 
unattractive trait for such an attractive man to have."

***

Oriya snorted loudly and made a point of blowing a little of his ash onto the tatami before 
him, though it occurred to him as he watched the dark dust falling, that such wasn't going 
to get him anywhere revenge wise, since there was already blood and whatever had been 
on his sneakers when he burst in, for he had not taken them off and frankly wasn't about 
to.  What was done, was done, and worth doing MORE!

Which was more or less the same mentality he had taken that morning upon his arrival in 
Tokyo, for besides the pipe, there was very little which betrayed that he was in fact the 
same Oriya who owned a brothel in Kyoto and enjoyed practicing with his katana while 
wearing his most elaborate robes.

He had on, oddly enough, a pair of very expensive jeans, or what had been very 
expensive jeans and were now simply blessed with holes, particularly a matched pair that 
betrayed his boxers (they were yellow), a Hades Project Zeorymer t-shirt that despite 
being vintage was actually in much better condition than the jeans, and a bright pink 
windbreaker with a cute, little cartoon rabbit over the pocket that wasn't Miffy but 
certainly looked like one of her cousins.

So much for blending in, not that the pipe, the hair down to his ass, and the katana slung 
over his shoulder didn't already ruin that.

"JEALOUS!" He finally managed to burst out, having decided that dirtying Muraki's 
floor would not be as satisfying as smoking what he meant to dirty it with, or assaulting 
the fellow verbally, "YOU THINK THAT I AM UNATTRACTIVE JEALOUS!? Well, 
MURAKI I AM *NOT* just JEALOUS! Stupid whore and his BRAT aside! I am 
CRUSHED! I am just coming down from being WORRIED SICK.  I AM ENRAGED! 
WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN SINCE FALL IN KYOTO!?!? One fucking phone call, 
Muraki! ONE would have made me happy and saved me THESE~!!!!"

He pointed to the dark circles underneath his frigid amber eyes, and the fine lines just 
starting to peek out around his lashes.

***

"I guess lack of sleep is your excuse when someone looks askance at your clothing, hm?" 
Muraki turned a disapproving eye upon his lover with a shake of his head. "For someone 
with such a flair for dressing, you could have done much better." He took a cigarette from 
the small aloeswood box on the table and lit it. The lighter was replaced and Muraki 
turned away from his lover to open the screen, very much aware that he looked as if he 
might unsheathe his katana and run him through on the spot. 

"I don't know why you think you have the right to barge into my house and carry on in 
such a disgraceful way. After all," he said, ambling back over to him, "I said I loved you, 
Oriya. But that doesn't mean you own me." 

Another puff, and a sly grin as the doctor drew nearer. He came to a stop just mere inches 
from him, and ran his thumb gently over the marks of sleeplessness under his lover's 
eyes. His lips grazed Oriya's cheek as he spoke. 

"Now that you have vented your spleen, why don't we go into the bedroom and see if I 
can't cure what ails you?"

***

Oriya said absolutely nothing to this.  He simply took Muraki... HIS MURAKI 
DAMNIT! -by the scruff of his shoulder and pulled the tingling trickle of his skin away 
from his own.  Held him there and fixed his gaze deep inside that one silver-blue eye.  
His own quivered just faintly, and only for a moment- the moment the doctor had the 
nerve to smile at him with those pale lips... those pale, sinister lips... that smirked with 
such wickedness on boys more lovely than he... those pale, sinister, dirty bastard lips... 
those pale... sexy... irresistible LIPS!

A deep breath and he lunged forward, took his lover by the chin and passed his tongue 
into his mouth, caring nothing for how those LIPS might drop as he ravished them over 
and over caring nothing for breath.

"I hate you... I hate you so much." He finally whispered into Muraki before sliding down 
against him after the tender flesh of his throat.

"Why didn't he bite you, like you always do to your lovers?  How could he not want to 
keep you? He's... tasteless.  He's nothing to me, but if I see him... I will make it 
HURT."

Without further preamble, Oriya seized Muraki around the waist and slung him over one 
shoulder, whereupon he toted him off to the bedroom, one hand resting on his ass the 
whole way there.  Kaoru saw them and fled before his fist.  Even dolls knew better.   

The bedroom though, had a western door, and Oriya hated such things with a passion.  
He kicked it open so hard one of the crystal knobs went flying and broke against the 
guarding wall.  He felt nothing for it, nor the amaranth bed curtain that ended up torn 
down, for he when he threw Muraki it onto the mattress, the doctor's hands found the 
purple cloth; took it with him, huddling behind it for an instant as his uninvited guest's 
coat and shoes went flying, his fly unfastened, though the jeans though he did not cast 
them off, and then, wearing only the T-shirt and his boxers properly, he leap atop his 
lover and fought once more for his mouth, even through the amaranth waves that came up 
all around then in the struggle.

"You can't know how much I hate you, you sexy bitch."

His hands slid inside the yukata, and smiling around his pipe, he began to fumble the 
entrance to the doctor's body with little mercy in those motions or his grin.  Such was 
vengeance.

***

Muraki sent a well-aimed punch towards Oriya's jaw, but it didn't slow him down a bit; in 
fact, it only resulted in the doctor having his wrists trapped over his head under his lover's 
hand. "I suppose you are about to show me?" 

Oriya grinned around his pipe's stem, and forced his finger into Muraki's body. The 
doctor hissed, trying to wriggle out of the awkward position Oriya had him pinned in: one 
leg pressed against his naked chest, ass against his groin. 

"What...ah!" Gasping, Muraki jerked his head away when Oriya attempted to kiss him. 
Another finger slid into his body, twisted hard, and then pulled out. Muraki bit back a 
cry; he throbbed slightly where the other man had assaulted him, but not quite so 
unpleasantly. 

"Raping me won't prove anything," he whispered, smirking even as he felt the head of his 
lover sex nudge between his ass.

***

"No, but it'll sure take a load off my mind..." Oriya smirked and then fumbled with 
Muraki's body once again, dipping just the very tip of his erection in and out if it, never 
coming far enough into him to even stretch too much, just bring a little pressure to him.  
He was still but for that intermitted brushing between them, glaring above an achy sort of 
smile, seeming neither quite infernal nor divine.  

But at last he took his pipe form his lips and laid it with a clack on the nightstand, a few 
whispers of smoke still chasing each other out from his lips.

"B'sides, it's not rape if you want it, and you can't exactly lie to me about that, now can 
you?" At which his unbound fingers traced their way around the first hints of stiffness 
that had come to his cock, the little trickle of dampness just starting to leak from it.  This 
he drew from him, leaving a long, white thread behind, all the way back to his own 
stiffness that still wore some itself- just a little.  Which he took.

But he took that too before rocking forward and stuffing the drippy fingers in his lover's 
mouth.

"And we're so good together, no matter what you say..."

***  

Muraki treated each digit as if it were Oriya's sex, sucking and lapping at them in turn, 
even as he rocked in time with the actual, teasing member that threatened him. 

"That sounded like a question, Oriya," he murmured once the other man had withdrawn 
his fingers from his mouth. "Could it be that you aren't so sure about us? Are you wanting 
reassurance?" 

Oriya began to roughly fondle Muraki's budding erection, and he stretched as best he 
could in his position, arching his back suggestively, smirking all the while. "Poor Oriya. 
You've given a bastard your heart, and now your regretting it."

***

"Sure.  I am," Oriya sighed, tossing his hair over his shoulder before bending down once 
again and seeking his lover's mouth.  None of Muraki's lips were allowed his own 
though, and he cursed him with a bite to one of his pale cheeks.  "But I knew I would, so 
what do I care now?"

His jeans came all the way off, but not so his shirt.  That he left on, and the trousers of his 
lover, those he simply left to crumple in one corner of the bed, didn't even try to kick 
them aside.  He clutched then at the doctor's thighs, grinding them against his own- just 
the softness of them, not the arousal between, that he still pumped, first roughly, them 
with smooth and spidery touched.  In revenge once again.

He took off Muraki's glasses then, with his teeth, and tossed them through the slit in the 
curtains, drawing the silver bangs away then and laving the false eye beneath with open-
mouthed kisses, for it was cool and not off limits to his questing mouth it seemed.

"Now, I just want you.  No strings.  Revenge is impure and so are you, so it all works 
out."

Oriya hoisted the quivering hips of his lover onto his knees, pried his ass apart and sliced 
into him with a sharp cry.

***

Muraki hissed, and the sheet trapped in his pinned hands was nearly rent apart. It felt like 
he'd been impaled; those delicate tissues were on fire, viciously torn, and he felt the 
definite warmth of his blood oozing around Oriya's offending member. 

Ah, there was nothing like a good fuck. 

"Ever...the philosopher." 

Oriya only laughed rather coldly, and attempted to run him through again. His free hand 
tickled Muraki's erection only--none of the rough caresses he preferred; and that was the 
real torture. Muraki writhed under him, crying out once in frustration under another hard 
attack. Oriya's hand stole under his sex to lightly toy with the highly sensitive organs that 
lay there, leaving his throbbing erection unsatisfied. 

It was enough to push him over the edge. 

"Bastard!" he grunted. "Put your hands on me the way I like. This is too much of 
a...punishment just for...failing to call you." 

***

"Is it? Really?" Oriya threw back his head and laughed outright between his groans.  The 
doctor's body was resisting him, and that only made the muscles grown tighter around 
him, offered more of a challenge to enter him again when he lunged.  "I'd think it 
wouldn't be ENOUGH."

His blooded cock slunk all the way out of Muraki, and hung just outside him, tickling the 
bleeding skin there when either of them breathed.

"Considering you like it."

His hands left his lover's sex body all together for a moment, drawing a heart in the air 
over his head before he let them settle on the thin, boney hips, dragging them closer as he 
pushed inside again, all the way down to the end of his shaft.

"Considering how long... one season I could have taken, but two..."

Under him, the other man, lurched and strained, trying to fight his way onto his side, but 
it did him no good.  Oriya seized his legs and hooked one in each of his arms, pressed up 
against his own torso and twisting as he rolled himself this way and that as he slipped in 
and out and in and out.  They were both screaming by then- he in the forced delight of the 
body and the soul fragments he had missed.  Muraki... it was hard to say- the pleasure 
and the pain and whatever lay in between.  They were all lusted of by him.  The 
swordsman rolled his stomach down against his erection, but nothing of his hands.  The 
other man's stiffness was such the ruby blush of it looked almost like a wound against his 
white skin, and the sight of it alone kept him perched on the brink.

Just where he liked it, or would have if it did not loosen his tongue. Like so often.  Like 
now.

"Tell me you love me or I won't touch you! And say it like you mean it!"

*** 

"Bastard!" 

Muraki came close to weeping in frustration. He scrambled to clasp his own sex, but 
every time he tried to wriggle them between their bodies, Oriya would only force it away. 
It was only when the doctor got him around the throat, that the other man grabbed his 
hands again, pinning them to the mattress. His legs still caught in the crooks of Oriya's 
elbows, Muraki found himself in a rather uncomfortable position. And even then, all he 
could think about was relieving his aching erection. 

Above him, Oriya laughed, and rolled his stomach against him again. 

"I could kill you, you know. Blast you off this bed in a blink, and there would be nothing 
left of you." 

He licked his lips. Muraki turned his head to the side in defeat. He couldn't take it 
anymore. 

"I love you," he began shakily. "I was wrong to ignore you for so long, when you mean 
so much to me. I...I'm *sorry*."

***

"WHAT!?" Oriya cried then, and with his lover still clutched about him, he froze and 
with wide, dark eyes stared back into Muraki's single, living orbit as if rather he looked 
upon his own future or some wispy breath of his past that had come to life in someone 
else's hands.  The wonder on his face was one far too young for him, and touched with a 
kind of winking horror.

He twitched then in his lover's body as he released him.  The doctor uncurled around, and 
he stretched out atop him, silk now, rather than steel even as he rolled his hips still into 
him.

And kissed his one real eye, sliding his tongue against the salty surface of it as he 
wrapped his arms around his shoulders.

Said nothing then, but rode him with a deliberate and coy slowness until with a sigh and a 
sticky kiss, he burst into his orgasm, clutching his companion to him and breathing 
snatches of his name between gasps.

He did not linger in him though, but took his bloodied cock out of him at once before he 
crumbled between his knees and set to work lapping up his stiffness.

***

Muraki unfolded like a flower to the sun, spreading his legs further apart and stretching 
fully across the mattress little by little with every insistent touch of his lover's mouth. All 
tension seeped out of his limbs, only to pool in his groin. The sheets he clenched and 
released in his desperate grasp, resisting the urge to thread his fingers through Oriya's 
hair and guide him. He didn't need such prompting, anyway. 

And he knew just what Muraki liked. 

"Did you think that I wouldn't love you?" he whispered. "Just because I got involved in 
my work?" He drew in a soft breath, and moaned a little, shifting his hips beneath his 
lover's mouth. 

Oriya said nothing, only redoubled his efforts with a happy, little hum, and Muraki's 
hands were caught in Oriya's, held tight as the first wave of the doctor's orgasm rocked 
him.

***

Oriya sighed around the still shivering cock he held between his lips before sliding away 
from it, inch my inch, kissing the tip as he left it entirely and rested his throat on his 
lover's thighs a moment so he could feel it when he swallowed, and be kissed there, on 
his sweaty skin.  

"You scare me.  You've always scared me, ever since we were in highschool," he said 
then with a dragging, clouded honesty, as if rather he was speaking to a picture in a 
frame.  "The way I never know when I'll see you, not exactly.  Your eyes, even when 
both were yours.  The way you make me wonder what the hell I ever wanted with 
women."

Another sigh, and Oriya nuzzled his way down the juncture of his lover's legs and body, 
snuffling his way along the spot where they had once been silver curls, but no, that 
morning at least, Muraki was bare and white like starlight enchanted into form.  He 
couldn't make up his mind which way he liked him best.

Gave up trying, and hoisted his knees into his arms again so he could turn him onto his 
stomach.  The doctor turned himself over in the end, stuffing a pillow under his own 
shoulders.  He let Oriya open him then and slide his lips against the wounds and traces of 
sex he had left there.  The other man drunk up all the sperm and blood he could until 
there was only one tiny trickle of scarlet that would not go away.  The blood from his 
own member he made pool in his fingers, and he held that in his mouth too. 


Until he kissed Muraki as he laid down beside him.

***

Such an exchange was only fair; Oriya had been so kind as to show him the courtesy of 
swallowing. Muraki felt he should do the same for him, and he did so eagerly. His fingers 
sank into the other's flowing dark hair, and he held Oriya to him, kissing away the salt 
traces of their mingled essences, soaking it all into himself until there was no more left to 
be had. 

Then, only then, did they break apart, and Oriya rolled to the side. Legs still entwined, 
they lay there in quietly, listening to the soft ticking of the wooden carriage clock he kept 
on a low shelf above a small desk. 

"Isn't it better this way? The not knowing. It lends a certain mystery to our relationship. 
You can't predict my actions, and I can't predict yours, not really." Muraki rolled onto his 
side, his bent arm pillowing his head, other palm flat on Oriya's chest. "It's a blessing, 
you know, for predictability can lead to boredom. And you can't say what we have is 
boring, can you?" 

He smiled, and shifted so he was half-lying across his prone lover, his demon's eye 
flashing at him as his bangs fluttered. "I do wish you'd have a little more faith in me, 
Oriya."

***

"I do what I can, Muraki," Oriya breathed, speaking just above a whisper as he let his 
fingers come tumbling over the pillow cases to where his lover's silver hair was struck 
about the cloth.  This he fumbled with, making small sounds as if he mused on something 
much deeper than simple excitement in a lover affair.

Namely, if he even wanted to call it that...

"Brothel owners don't need faith.  We live in the absence of it, or something like that.  If 
all the regular people out there had faith, they wouldn't need me."  A little snort then, and 
he flopped down, limp now and getting by the proximity he had been dreaming of, day in 
and day out for so many weeks.  The whiteness.  "B'sides, it's not like you're the most 
trusting person in the world yourself."

A petal from the lily on the nightstand came down and landed on his neck, right where he 
had to pick himself up from his little lull to brush it away.  While he was sitting then, he 
shrugged, and finally, though their tryst was over, threw all of his clothing onto the floor.  
"Muraki, old 'pal', I'll make you a deal.  You try to do better telling me where the hell 
you are- not all the time, I'm no stalker -and I'll try to do better believing you."

***

Muraki stretched away the remnants of his lethargy; sex always made him so sleepy. And 
actually sleeping beside a lover wasn't something he liked to do. Especially not Oriya. It 
puzzled him on occasion that the other man bothered him so; sometimes all he had to do 
was think about him. But...he supposed it wasn't really important. 

/Ah, well.../ 

"Tell you where I am more often?" he mused, curling a lock of Oriya's hair around his 
fingers. "Hmm..." 

/And deny myself such brutal, passionate sex? Why the hell would I want to do that?/ 

He smiled, and fanned his hand across Oriya's bare chest. "I'll try." 

Muraki leaned over to kiss him, intending just a peck upon his lips. But it lingered, their 
arms winding around each other. Muraki coaxed Oriya down on the bed and let his hands 
wander as he liked. He was beautiful, even if he was a fool. But even though he was so 
fair to look upon, Muraki didn't love him. He had only wanted release from the torture 
the other had dealt; a man would say anything under those circumstances. And he would 
come and go as he pleased, where he pleased--no one was going to keep him on a lead. 

Not, he thought as he slipped his hand between the other's legs, even Oriya.

***

Like any other office building in Tokyo, the 19 story building which housed Takatori 
Enterprises was awash with activity. Receptionists bustled about filing and faxing and 
answering calls; secretaries typed and scribbled. Businessmen cloistered themselves here 
and there in conference rooms to plan their strategies for further financial success. It was 
like that on every floor save for one. The 19th floor. The top floor. 

As far as anyone could remember, it had always been off-limits; One had to have a 
special code to ride the elevator past the 18th floor, but no one had ever seen anyone use 
it. The emergency exit was locked, and no one knew of any key. And yet, lights had been 
seen burning in the windows up into the night. Music and laughter had been heard. Did 
Takatori keep his mistress there? Or was it used for deals of a more...scandalous nature? 
If anyone mused upon such topics, they never spoke of it. It was just as well, perhaps. 
Takatori Reiji wasn't one who took to his underlings poking their noses in where they 
didn't belong. 

Not that Brad Crawford really cared. After all, he knew the secret of the 19th floor--for 
he was part of it. He and a madman and a snotty kid and the most luscious redhead he'd 
ever had the pleasure to know all lived and worked on the 19th floor. He was doing more 
of the latter than the former at that moment, 11:04 AM. His office was in the corner, 
blessed with two windows that reached from the ceiling to the floor. Both were clad in 
grey blinds--raised, as the day was a fine one, and he craved the presence of sunlight. A 
thriving palm stood in the corner between the windows. The floor was of varnished oak, 
the walls painted stark white. 

His desk was a hulking oaken thing in the middle of the room, upon which stood a laptop 
computer, a sleek black phone, and two brass library lamps with green glass shades. A 
small cabinet, which held a few files and other such items as he might need, stood at the 
center of the wall to his right, and upon it sat a coffeemaker and a small, bright orange 
radio. The man himself was leaning back in his old-fashioned, oak office chair--the sort 
newspaper editors and bank managers might have had once upon an age before office 
furnishings were made of plastic and metal. It creaked when he rocked, and squeaked 
when he swiveled, but he loved it. 

As his computer spun with stock prices and downloaded files (those of a laboratory with 
whom his boss was doing business in secret), Crawford loosened the knot of his 
burgundy tie and glanced at his watch. It was now 11:06 AM, and someone was VERY 
late. 

Not that he was surprised. 

Crawford stood up and stretched; rolled down the sleeves of his white shirt, tugged down 
the ends of his black vest and picked lint off one leg of his black trousers. He fished his 
cigarette case out of his grey suit coat, but then placed it upon his desk without opening 
it. Instead, he took his coffee cup--one of gold marble white--over to the machine for a 
refill. A press of a button, and the room was filled with Schubert. 

Crawford, lost in a swirl of strings and piano notes, walked over to the windows to wait.

***

As it had been nearing lunchtime when the two newly bonded lovers had left the mall, 
they decided to go for broke and skip work altogether. They wound up at Tatsumi's 
apartment this time, his Tokyo digs, and there, they had shed the clothes so recently 
donned and had their lunch of okonomiyaki and Asahi in Tatsumi's bedroom. It was 
more-or-less traditionally furnished: the floor was covered with an cream-colored carpet, 
but he slept on a futon. Waist-high, two-shelved, mahogany bookcases wrapped around 
that half of the room, and on their tops sat four small brass lamps; a large conch shell; an 
amber-tinted glass vase filled with white tuberoses and bamboo leaves; and a pair of 
empty wooden picture frames. His clothes lay hidden behind a large white wardrobe 
which stood exactly opposite the bed. 

Their meal concluded, the pair set their plates and cans aside and lingered where they lay, 
arms around each other. Tatsumi toyed with Watari's hair as they immersed themselves in 
companionable silence. One which was shortly broken by Tatsumi's quiet chuckle. 

"I wonder what they're thinking at the office about us being absent? I mean, we never 
skip work!" He laughed again. "I'm only sorry we didn't think about doing it before now." 

***

"Well..." Watari began, then, drawing himself to his knees then, where ha had been 
gazing at the ceiling so he would know it when he slept in Tatsumi's room (for he knew 
he would, someday).  "Look on the bright side.  We've got lots and lots of time to try it 
again."

His lover eyed him harshly for only a moment, and then the smile returned with a shake 
of his head.  The doctor, once again wearing nothing but his stockings and his shoes (now 
dainty, pink slippers with lots of lace) scooted over beside him and bent to kiss a remnant 
of sauce from his lips.  "I think today is an auspicious day, and they must be doing well 
enough by themselves.  Besides, it would probably be troubling to see more than each 
other right now! They need some recovery time too, after my birthday."

Chuckling himself now, he stretched out beside Tatsumi again, lacing himself all around 
him now so his head rested on his bare chest, and their ankles were intertwined.  

"I think next year I will get some Benedictine so we can have royalists.  After all, they 
would match most of my carpet if they spilled... speaking of which."

Watari wiggled a moment, torn between his lover and his lover's delightfully squishy 
floor, pretending to favor the carpet a moment before nestling right back to where he had 
been.  Another small sigh.  "Yours is nice, but it's not as warm as you are."  Then a little 
pout which lasted long enough to coax his companion's fingers back into his tresses with 
a questioning mumble on his part.  "You haven't got anything with pictures on your 
bookshelf! I'll have to get you some Hagio Motos next time we are out! Then it won't be 
so barren.  We'll get some of Star Red for that half and the Poe books for the other."

***

Tatsumi lightly tugged upon the lock he held between his fingers. "Planning to redecorate 
my room already? And after seducing me a mere two hours ago. My, my..." 

Watari raised his head just in time to catch the smirk playing about his lips. He settled 
back down again with a soft huff, and got Tatsumi's kneading hands on his back for his 
trouble. The blond made a sound akin to a purr. 

"Now, that's an interesting sound. One I never expected to hear in this bedroom." He sat 
up a little, and found himself presented with a vision. Watari he still held in his arms, and 
he was all smooth loveliness against the cream of his sheets. His hair spread like a 
sparkling mantle across the pillows, and Tatsumi did all he could to encourage it to stay 
that way with his stroking fingers. 

"I can't help but wonder just what other sounds I could inspire you to make. Since we 
have an afternoon--a quiet, pleasant afternoon--all to ourselves, I wonder if I should try."

***

Watari's eyes fluttered open for just a moment as he spoke, simple sincerity and nothing 
more running through his words.  "Please do, we can always redecorate later.  This room 
isn't going anywhere, and neither, for that matter, is the apartment, or the afternoon."

And one sultry, wriggling kiss later.  "Or me..."

"Even if I had somewhere I ought to be, I wouldn't go.  Not today."

But the doctor did not seem especially inclined to move from the little nest he had made 
of his lover's body, and so simply hung there.  For a long time, sighing now and then as 
he rubbed his cheek on Tatsumi's bare chest, and Tatsumi rubbed his fingers on his bare 
neck, drawing the golden threads away and holding them to his lips.

Though the doctor did pause for a moment in his own ministrations.  The rolling pulse of 
the other shinigami's heart had distracted him, if only for a moment.  Warmed him with 
the thought that it was still there, that tiny thumping against his ear.  Oh, the wonders of 
magic where he had never believed in anything like it before when he had been truly 
alive.

But how else could they bleed then, if they had no heartbeat to stir their blood? And how 
could they possibly make love?

He gave no more thought to it.  Rather, whispering the echoes of some lullaby he scarce 
remembered, he took Tatsumi's nipple between his fingers, and his ear in his lips.

Somewhere outside, a bird began to sing below the frame of someone else's window.  

***

Far away from Tokyo's thriving downtown, the day had not yet begun for one inhabitant 
of the suburbs. Kudou Youji was still abed, locked in the hell of his memories. It had 
been a week since their last mission, and still he bore the weight of it on his mind; the 
screaming, the tears--both of the victims, and later, his own. And the blood--oh, there had 
been so much blood. They'd been too late to save all of them, those being mostly young 
girls, from their grisly fates. He felt the guilt as keenly as if it were a knife in his heart. 

He could not stand to see a woman suffer, no matter how slight the hurt. 

When Youji awoke, he found the sheets were on the floor, and he was covered with 
sweat. His mouth tasted sour, and his eyes were dry and aching, and every muscle in his 
body begged him not to move at all. He did so anyway, scrubbing at his hair and rolling 
his head this way and that to ease his tense neck. It felt like he'd somehow slept twisted in 
a knot. 

A silky blond tumble of waves swept across his tanned, bare shoulders as he swung his 
feet over the side of the bed, sending a pair of empty Budweiser cans spinning off like 
tops across the wooden floor; the four others had been spared. He blinked dazedly down 
at them. So that was where his foggy head had come from? 

Nothing unusual there. 

He rose, vigorously rubbing his arms as he crossed over to the closet to retrieve that day's 
outfit: A pair of tight, dark blue jeans, and a orange shirt which had been shot through 
with gold lame thread. His yellow lensed shades. A tiny gold cross earring--which was 
really a pendant hung on a hoop--and a gold chain. A fresh pack of smokes and his Zippo 
lighter. No watch, as he didn't feel like paying homage to the god of time that day. 

Yes, it would be an outfit to impress the ladies, yet--be practical enough for "work." Or 
what he did of it at least. 

With his clothing draped over his arm, jewelry and tobacco in one hand, a slightly more 
relaxed Youji set forth for his apartment door. Unfortunately for him, when he opened it, 
he was greeted by a sight most unwelcome: A rigidly indignant, black-clad Aya. An Aya 
who also wore dark circles under his own bleary eyes. 

"It's 12 pm. Why the hell aren't you dressed?" 

With an exasperated groan, Youji sagged against the jamb. "I was off to do just that, 
Aya." 

Aya's eyes narrowed in anger. "That's not what I asked you." 

"Too bad," Youji muttered. "That's all the answer you're going to get." 

The redhead lingered, skinny body drawn in one tense line, fists clenched hard at his 
sides. Sometimes, he just wanted to beat him to a pulp. Like now. And Youji could see it 
all too clearly--and still, he was wholly unconcerned. A barely-muffled yawn slipped 
from his chapped lips. "If you are going to punch me--" 

"Shut up," Aya snarled. "Just hurry and get ready." 

One last glare of warning, and Aya spun on his heel and stalked away, missing the 
smirking, one-fingered salute the shop's resident playboy bestowed upon him. Youji 
didn't miss the last of Aya's footfalls on the stairs, however; he lingered in his doorway, 
listening, and only resumed his journey to the bathroom when he was sure he was free of 
his sullen comrade's company.

***

...or at least, the sullen comrade alone.  As for one of the others...

Youji's initial inspection of the second floor bathroom turned up nothing unusual- the 
caps to the various tubes of toothpaste were all screwed on, only one of them crookedly; 
one of the rugs had a wrinkle in it that could have tripped up anyone who wasn't used to 
looking for it, though, fortunately, it was always there and always in the way; the window 
was open but the shades pulled and knocking in the mid-day air.  Someone's boxers were 
hanging on the towel rack, and someone's towel was in the floor.  Otherwise, it was quite 
clean, and quite small, and smelled of aloe soap.

Opening the shower door though found something in said shower besides the extended 
family of shampoo bottles.  There was a boy sitting on the floor of it, still wearing his 
florist's apron, curled up just above the drain and painfully oblivious to the fact the 
shower was leaking onto his head, leaving a long, wet streak down one side of his silky, 
chocolate colored bangs.  He simply smiled up at Youji, winking at him with his 
sunshine-blue eyes and holding a finger to his lips for a moment before beckoning him to 
lean in a little closer, which he did.

"Omi's on the way path again.  Don't tell anyone I'm here," whispered Ken.

***

Smirking most devilishly, Youji whispered back, "Tell everyone that you're here, and 
ruin my chance to take a shower with you? Absolutely not!" 

The stunned look on Ken's face as he'd said that was priceless, but Youji wasn't finished 
with him yet. Tossing his towel in the general direction of the rack, he stepped into the 
shower, and closed the door behind him; snapped the waistband of the sweats he wore. 

"Shall I turn on the water before I start stripping?" 

He'd never thought Ken could move as fast as he did when he fled the shower. In his 
haste, unfortunately, Ken got his left foot tangled up with the door's bottom metal frame, 
and he landed flat out on the floor; Youji could feel the vibrations of the collision under 
his feet, and he had to bite back a laugh. Blushing furiously, Ken rolled over onto his ass, 
weight resting on one hand as he rubbed the other over his chest. 

From the stall's doorway, Youji gave him a slow wink, hooked his thumbs over the top of 
his sweat pants and whipped them off without warning. He tossed them to his gaping 
teammate, blew him a kiss, and closed the shower door. 

The room was soon filled with the sound of rushing water, and over it came Youji's 
laugh. 

***

Downstairs in the shop, things were not all splendid: A pair of tree ferns had met with a 
mysterious accident and were now lying in a heap of broken pottery and potting soil 
(which they were too busy to clean up); one of the ceiling fans had died, and it was as hot 
as hell outside; Momoe-san was off doing errands, and the cat--having no one to mind it--
had decided to adopt Aya for the day. Wherever he went, it followed. He had nearly 
tripped over the creature five times that morning. 

But the worst thing in Aya's opinion, the absolute *worst*: The schools were only open 
for a half-day, and the shop was now filled with giggling, chattering, fawning teenage 
girls. And they weren't buying anything! They just kept staring at the both of them, 
asking questions (mostly of Omi, that is). How could anyone concentrate on their work 
under such circumstances? 

Aya found he could not. However, he dare not leave Omi alone, as the boy looked like he 
might explode at any time. What could possibly have happened to make him come so 
close to losing his temper? Aya had no idea--he'd come into the shop after his breakfast 
and found him frantically wiping down his work table. He'd never acknowledged Aya's 
presence at all. None of his sweet smiles. No cheery patter. 

And it annoyed the hell out of him, and Aya didn't understand why. 

He snuck a worried sort of look in the boy's direction as he rose to fetch a bucket of 
greenery for his next arrangement from the refrigerated cases. Omi was in the middle of 
fielding some girl's inane questions whilst tying off a bouquet of white irises for someone 
or other, still just as solemn-looking. Aya watched him for a second, wondering, then 
turned around to slide open the case's door. As he did so, the lights inside it fizzled and 
buzzed and died, taking the air conditioning with it. Surprised, Aya froze, then he let the 
door go shut. Looked around the back and found that yes, it was plugged in. Looked at 
the cases beside it, and found they were still operational. 

Which meant...said case was probably broken. Wearily, Aya pressed one hand upon the 
glass, resisting the urge to lay his head against it as well. 

/Of all the damn rotten luck./

***

"No, nothing BAD will happen to your dog if he eats a daffodil," Omi re-iterated for the 
third time, gesturing this time with one of the blooms in question, then tapping the glass 
with a smile just over the image of a passing dog.  He hoped that somehow the 
combination of the images now- daffodil + dog + ^_^ -would somehow equate to silence.  
As if in mockery of what foolishness this was, the dog he had pointed out began to bark 
rather wildly and almost bolted into traffic.  

"Ooooooooooooh," said all the little schoolgirls, none of whom had even looked away 
from his eyes at his demonstration.  He at once began his daily blushing anew, and then 
promptly, as she was searching his mind for any excuse to leave, he sensed a change in 
the light along one of the inner walls.  Turned to find Aya inspected on of the cases and 
looking none too pleased.

"Ah, sumimasen, minna! Seems we have a little accident.  I have to go right away!"

Without a backwards glance, he tore over to the fridge Aya was eyeing so disdainfully, 
gave it a once over with his own glance, skipped over the cat, bounded into storage and 
came back with the tool box, which he plunked down beside the resident swordsman with 
a little half smile.  

"I'll get to work on that right away, Aya.  So you don't have to wor-..."

Just then though, the stairs thumped loudly as someone came racing down them, and that 
someone of course was Ken, who came tearing into the shop wearing a pair of sweats that 
certainly didn't look like his around his neck like a rather unsightly boa.  

"EEEEEEEE! HELP! Youji's trying to assault me bodily!"

All of the girls tittered various indications of cuteness and began to applaud his entrance, 
rather than assist him in any way.

As for Omi, he huffed, growled, ducked behind his counter space and came up with a 
pump sprayer that he gave a few swift compressions before aiming it at Ken and firing.

"I told you no eating in the SHOP!"

***

"Omi! That's enough!" 

Aya lunged forward, meaning to grab the sprayer out of his hand; Omi, however, was too 
quick for him. The instant Aya touched him, he turned it on him, getting the redheaded 
boy full in the face before he came to his senses. The sprayer clattered to the ground, 
sounding as loud as a gunshot in the suddenly quiet room. A few shy titters rose from 
their audience. 

Water dripped from his chin, his hair; the front of his shirt had been soaked. Aya swiped 
the back of his hand across his eyes, pulling his sodden bangs to one lopsided sweep 
across his forehead. And he *glared* at Omi--more because he was irked than truly 
angry. It seemed everyone was out to ruin what little good humor he had that day. 

And then he glared at Ken--who, embarrasingly for Aya, seemed to be trying to stifle a 
grin. That didn't help him at all. Aya marched over to the storeroom, and came back in a 
blink holding their ratty old rag mop. This he thrust into Ken's hands. 

"As I see it, this is your fault. You get the mop up the floor." 

He then walked back over to Omi, meaning to glare again, but finding it hard to do so. He 
couldn't bring himself to intimidate someone who looked so very contrite--not for long, at 
any rate. 

And a contrite Omi was enough to wring anyone's heart. 

So to him, he said nothing but (and quietly), "Repair the case." Aya ducked his head a 
little as he walked away, only to raise it again when he approached the girls. 

"All of you--OUT! Go do homework! Go...buy ice cream! Just get OUT!" 

"Aw, but Aya-kun..." 

"No. This is place of business, and you are in the way." He walked over to the door, and 
flung it open, then stood there with his arms folded over his chest. 

For a second, they balked, looked a tad hurt. But then they all started laughing and 
smiling again en masse for no apparent good reason, casting him and his teammates with 
the most adoring of looks. Happily for Aya, though, they compiled--sort of. They left all 
right, but they did so with promises of returning upon the morrow. Aya wanted to 
scream; as he slammed the door behind the last one, he very nearly did so. 

"Tsk!" came a sultry voice from somewhere behind him. "You drove away the customers 
just when I was about to come in." 

Aya jerked around to find Youji standing in the doorway which led to their private 
rooms, cigarette smoldering between his fingers. 

"Don't smoke in here!" 

"Why not?" he countered, drawing one shoulder up in a casual shrug. "There's no one to 
see 'cept you three--and it's nothing you guys don't know about." 

Scowling, Aya shoved away from the door. "Put it out." 

"Hmm...Okay." Youji blithely tossed the cigarette to the floor and ground it out on the 
tile with his toe. 

Aya's hands curled into fists at his sides. "Not on the floor!" 

Youji looked up, startled, then he rocked back on his heels with a smirk. "Man! I can't 
ever please you, can I?" A laugh, and he shifted his attention to Ken; looked him over 
slowly, a knowing little smile spreading across his face. "I bet I could have pleased *you* 
though." 

Aya looked from him to Ken, and found the other boy blushing a little and fidgeting 
uncomfortably, and he was riled all over again. Deadly so. 

"Leave. Ken. Alone." 

Youji arched a brow at that, coolly meet Aya's seething gaze. "Kind of protective of him, 
aren't ya, Aya?" He nudged his glasses back up his nose with his thumb. "Or is 
that...jealousy?" 

Aya didn't know how to reply to him other than to pointedly turn away and return to his 
table. Behind him, Youji chuckled. 

"Well~l, since there are no customers, and you guys seem to have everything under 
control..." He looked from Ken to Aya to Omi--at whom he winked. "I'll just be going 
now." 

Aya whipped around to face the door, but found it closed and Youji was gone. He stalked 
over, threw it open, and called out the older assassin's name. 

But all that answered him was the muffled sound of a car engine as Youji sped away .

***

"Yes!!!" Ken cried upon the departure of that particular companion of his, and then, at 
once forgetting what he had been playing out in his own thoughts as a near romance 
novel rape, he laughed quite madly and began to run with the mop, leaping into the air 
every now and then and letting it skid along beneath him as he cried out 
"WHEEEEEEE!" on his journey back and forth across the shop.  Oh yes, back and forth 
and back and forth and back and forth and finally, on the fourteenth time or so, long after 
all of the water had been soaked up, he waved to Aya who had turned around for the 
express purpose of giving him one of those put off looks.  

He could only meet it with his own fast-returning happiness and so, mop now clasped 
behind his back like a very large, still poesy, he bounded over to their resident 
swordsman and said.  "Arigatou!" before scampering off to the closet to put the mop back 
in the slot where it usually abided.  It occurred to him just as he was returning that Aya 
probably thought he'd thanked him for making him mop the floor- well... hadn't exactly 
FORCED him or anything, but it was best not to argue with the chap over such matters... 
Omi thought that at least, and looked up long enough to give him a very bland and 
underwhelmed glower worthy of the most exhausted parent.  

Ken reached down and ruffled his fingers through his hair for an instant before retrieving 
the boy's pump sprayer, perching it on his counter and going back to his own where a 
not-so-neat little packet of orders had accumulated since he had dashed out that morning.  
First one demanding his attention was for a spray of irises and lilies- a combination he 
couldn't seem to remember anyone ever having ordered before, but fortunately one for 
which none of the required flowers had flats in the freezer Omi was currently beating 
rather vehemently with a wrench.  

With a whistle playing on his lips, he took out first the lilies and then the irises and drew 
them back to his workspace, sloshing more water than he had originally caused to land on 
the floor to take up residence there. 

As did the exacto-knife he used to cut flower stems to the right length and angle.  With an 
unhappy mumble. He stooped to pick it up, but had no sooner done so than...

"OH SHIT!" Omi shouted, knocking his head on the frame of the case as he jerked away 
from a shower of sparks.

The sound startled Ken, who grabbed his knife ninety percent properly.

And ten percent by the blade.

Ten percent which went straight into his mouth with a whimper.

***   

Aya knew that would happen. All of it. He just did. He fought the urge not to crumple the 
stem of the orchid he held. He fought the urge not to rise from his stool and walk the path 
to freedom as Youji had done. Aya was all frost as he walked to the cooler and yanked 
the plug out of the wall. He stood there with it dangling from his hand, feeling the hairs 
on the back of his neck settle as the machine breathed its absolute last. 

"It generally works better if you use the wrench to actually unscrew the bolts instead of 
banging on them with it." 

He threw the plug to the floor. 

"Just leave it," he said, staring down at the boy sprawled at his feet. "We'll put the 
flowers on special." 

Aya walked away then, hesitating only briefly, as if he thought he'd left something 
behind. He didn't go to his table, but to the counter where the cash register sat. There, 
beside spools of different colored ribbon, he dug out a much used first aid kit. One far 
smaller than the kit they kept in the bathroom upstairs. This he carried over to where Ken 
stood nursing his injured finger. 

"You shouldn't suck on a cut," he scolded as he popped the metal hasps and flipped open 
the kit's lid. Bandaids of every size and shape lay within, along with a tube of ointment, a 
bottle of antiseptic, burn spray, and a pair of tweezers. Aya picked the ointment out of the 
case, then held out his hand to Ken. 

"Let me see it." 

Ken hesitated, eyeing him suspiciously. But then, with a soft, wet pop, he removed his 
finger from his mouth and lay his hand palm down in Aya's. 

Aya's heart skipped a beat. He fought to keep the hand holding the ointment steady as he 
spread the thick gel from the tube onto Ken's wound. His voice was very soft, though, 
when he uttered his next admonishment. 

"You really should be more careful..."

***

"I was tryin' to! I really was! But my nerves are all shot thanks to Kuudou!"

And then he himself glances back to the latest slit he had bestowed upon himself, bit his 
lip, and slid his crumpled hand back into Aya's, for he had almost pulled it away from 
him as he waved his free hand around in his usual display of discord.  The swordsman 
had held him fast though, and all he could do for gratitude at the moment was hold still.  
So unlike Aya though... to actually bandage and reprimand rather than... er... just 
reprimand.

/Youji musta gotten to him to.  Now, I don't know if that's a sign from above here, or a 
sign of the apocalypse there but still.../

And either way, his last spoke remark had gotten him not one but two glares.

Omi, it seemed, might have been in a mood, but otherwise had no interest in being 
anything other than... well... Omi.  Omi, who despite being the defender of whoever 
happened to be the least favorite of the others at the moment, was none to happy about 
the fact his place as the medic of the team was being infringed by none other than the 
grouch he so often found himself desperately speaking well of, and expressed his 
displeasure, not only with a quick censure, but a swift kick of the malfunctioning 
machine as he returned with some poster board and a marker.   

"Ken-kun! It's not nice to say things like that about Youji-kun!"

"Yeah? Well Youji-kun didn't try to molest you in the shower this morning."

"What were you doing in the shower at the same time as him anyway!?"

Ken blushed and turned away from the boy, looking back to Aya for an instant before 
turning his eyes to the floor he had inadvertently bloodied before the bandage was 
wrapped around his aching finger.  "I was hiding form you and he just up an' barged 
in!!!"

"Oh..."

And Omi Added a bunch of extra petals to the flower he had been drawing, for the one he 
had sketched first had come out rather... phallic-looking.

***  

"Don't go blaming Youji and Omi for all this, Ken. It serves you right for trying to sneak 
around in the first place." 

Aya crumpled the bandage's wrapper and tossed it into the wastebasket that stood under 
the table. He dropped the tube of ointment into the kit, then shut the lid and latched it, all 
the while ignoring Ken's indignant spluttering. Or seeming to; when he turned away to 
put the kit back where he'd found it, a tiny smile found its way onto his face. One which 
quickly evaporated. 

/Aya always wanted a kiss when she got a cut./ 

The kit wound up in the cubby it shared with the ribbons, and Aya wound up with the 
discarded mop in his hand. But this time, he didn't give it to Ken; even purposefully held 
it away from the other boy when he attempted to take it. 

/I can't give you one, though, can I?/ 

"I will mop up your mess," he said, waving at the blood drops on the floor. "Why don't 
you...do something that doesn't require bloodshed or destruction? I think we've had 
enough of both for one morning." 

Ken grumbled, and Aya pretended not to hear. If he noticed, it would mean he cared, and 
he wasn't ready to admit that to anyone. Of course, that didn't mean he didn't pretend not 
to see the flower Omi had drawn on the poster board. He saw, and, as he took one last 
swipe of floor with the mop, asked, "Just what are you going to do with that?"

***

"Well... err... I was... really... I..." Omi stuttered for a moment before laving the petals 
he had sketched with some pretty orange shading dots to try and make their middle look 
less suspicious.  "I was making a sign for the case that's broken! Half off! Today only! 
That should clear it out pretty quick!"

It was only then he realized he hadn't written a word on the poster board, had only been 
drawing that one flower for minutes upon minutes, and that sometime in those minutes, 
Ken had pretty much evaporated.  Which was really more Youji's thing of course.

Which left him face to face with Aya and really quite alone.  With markers.  And he 
seriously didn't know what sort of a mood Aya was in! It was so hard to tell.

He did manage to meet the other boy's eyes for a few moments, and did so willingly... 
they seemed dazed and... faintly glad... about something.

So with a nod then, he took the green marker and wrote in his very best hand-writing 
"Technical difficulties sale! Half off." And a great big smiley-daisy.

With a grin then, he offered a few of the markers to Aya, holding them fanned out 
between his fingers like shuriken.

"Would you like to draw one?"

He didn't know exactly why he'd done that, said that, but why not?

***

Aya was about to comment on the inappropriateness of putting cartoonish flowers on 
signs when Omi posed that most unexpected question. Him? Draw flowers? No way. 
That was just... 

He eyed the proffered markers in bewilderment, then shook his head. "No, I don't draw. 
I'm not much of an artist." 

Omi pouted. The shuriken markers stood poised in his upright hand for Aya to take, 
however. 

"Omi, I said no." 

His sulk grew into a look of determination, and Omi leaned over, caught one of Aya's 
hands, and dropped an orange one into his palm. The others were placed on the table, and 
Omi lay a clean sheet in the bare patch closest to Aya. This he patted, gazing up at him 
with those wide, blue eyes. 

The ones that wrung Aya's heart every single time. He often wondered if the boy didn't 
realize just how easily he could manipulate him. The sweet grin Omi gave him when he 
leaned over the paper was all the answer he needed. Aya sighed, smiling a little at his 
own folly. He was stuck. 

"Okay," he muttered, not raising his eyes from the paper. "I'm going to do this, but don't 
expect great things." 

Aya thought for a moment, and then the marker's tip glided in hesitant loops and lines 
across the paper until a finished sketch of a chrysanthemum adorned the left side of the 
paper. He then dropped the orange marker for the black, and wrote in messy kanji, "Buy 
us before we die." He then spun the sign around on the table for Omi to see. 

"Well?"

***

In other company, Omi was sure he would have laughed, probably until he was holding 
his sides.  One chuckle almost escaped him and he slew it with a none to gentle bite of his 
tingling lips that seemed to come off as some sort of critical gesture to the swordsman, 
for the glower he had developed whilst concentrating on the drawing turned into what 
was really more of a 'this was your stupid idea' glower.  Omi tapped his foot, and tried to 
think of something to say.

Well, he'd already thought of quite a few things, none of which were the sort he would 
ever be inclined to say to Aya.  Besides this one twinge of humor, there was a kind of 
ironic sadness that came to him, looking at the rather lop-eared blossom there.  Buy us 
before we die.  It was so funny! Yet so existential, so glass-is-half-empty! So Alfred J. 
Prufrock! It screamed carpe diem and how an earth could someone who spent some night 
writing until three in the bloody morning have such off-kilter handwriting?  He blamed it 
on the lack of clear lines.

It really was a pretty cute flower though.

"You can draw! I knew it!"  Not a giggle leaked from him! He was downright proud of 
himself for that, and gave his companion a determined little nod supposedly for the sign.

"This can just go right up then with the other one, and I won't bother you again..."  

Turning over his shoulder with a wink then.  "At least, not until next time we have a 
special."

Both bits of poster-board went up upon the glass of the malfunctioning case, Aya's atop 
the other one since it was bound to attract more attention.

Proud of himself and the swordsman, Omi drew back ad admired their work.

Of course, just at that moment, Ken had to walk in, take a good look at the notes and be 
obliged to hold himself up against his own table lest he collapse laughing on the floor.

***

"It's not that hideous," muttered Aya over his shoulder. 

Still cackling, Ken yanked the hem of his T-shirt up to dab at his watering eyes, baring a 
healthy expanse of his stomach and momentarily rendering Aya breathless. Aya tried to 
look everywhere but there...and failed. By the time Ken had settled his clothing into some 
semblance of order, Aya's face was suspiciously pink. Never mind the daggers he was 
shooting at the dark-haired boy with his eyes. 

"You've a nerve to laugh, Ken," Aya grumbled. "You aren't exactly the artistic type. 
Why, I bet you couldn't do any better." 

Ken just smirked. Aya scowled. He snatched a handful of markers and another bit of 
poster board and marched them over to Ken's table. The board he lay on the scarred 
surface before him, the markers he held out to him in challenge. 

"Come on, then, Ken. Let's see you draw something." 

***

"But I ah... I thought it was funny! Not because it was bad but you're just so..."

The markers made a lunge for his nose, and fearing that, regardless of what the red-
headed swordsman intended, one might be going up his nose at any moment, Ken 
plucked them from his hand, one by one.  He didn't do anything with them straight away 
though, just held them himself, clacking them around in his hand and looking at Aya the 
way a boy sent to his room looks at his mother.  Oh, he knew what he'd done though! 

/What I don't know is why you're all blushy now! Geeze!/

/...musta really pissed him off./

/Pride is a fragile thing and all that jazz./

Omi's airy, though half squelched giggle just barely drowned out the faint growl of their 
co-worker, and without another word of protest of explanation, Ken dove for the paper 
and began to scratch on it with the tips of the markers with short, fuzzy strokes.

His tongue peered out of his mouth as he worked, shifting form one side of his lips to the 
other as he worked and leaving them shiny.  One tear he hadn't quite gotten ran down his 
nose and he licked it off before it could fall onto his work.  A middle-aged man came in 
seeking his order, and promptly started having a deep conversation with Omi about 
sidewalk traffic, for he had been hit by a skateboarder on the way over.

Omi gave him a free tulip from the broke fridge with his bouquet.  Ken Gave Aya his 
poster.

It was of little, purple and blue flower people with faces in their stamens.  Their leaves 
were wings, they carried harms and halos of green floral wire floated above their petal-
heads.  Great, big shiny blue tears wound down their faces.  "Heaven Can Wait" was 
scrawled in one corner, all in katakana.  

(OOC: Writing in all katakana is considered immature :P.)

*** 

Aya took the poster between forefingers and thumbs, turning so the light from the 
window would hit full on (and so no one would easily be able to see his slight, 
nearsighted squint). 

He looked. 

And he looked. 

"This is ridiculous." 

And slowly, the scowl he'd worn softened into a smile. It was so childish, so crude in a 
way, and yet...endearing. Like Ken. 

Wordlessly, Aya took the poster over to the cooler and hung it above his and Omi's. Then 
he stepped back to take in the three of them together. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw 
Ken sidle up alongside him, hesitating as if he were waiting for him to say or do 
something. After a longish pause, he did. 

Aya shifted in place, letting his hands drop to his sides, and as casually as he could, he 
canted him a shy sort of look, and quietly said, "It's silly, but I think it looks good up 
there. Well done."

***

Ken grinned from ear to ear then, looking every bit the puppy who has finally managed to 
bring its master's shoes after many a failed attempted.  He have his companion a quick 
peace sign and then bounded back to his counter, where he waited for the gentleman who 
had come into to bother Omi to leave before he turned on the radio just as loud as could 
possibly be tolerated in a shop, which was, of course, in the realm of Momoe-san, not 
very loud at all.  He didn't know the song that came on, but he danced with it anyway, 
and because he had never heard the song before, he didn't do especially well at that.  

Omi chuckled at him from behind his hand.  

Aya just looked like we wanted to scream.

***

It was noon by the time Aubrey Marlow got to work, and once he arrived there, he made 
sure it was a little after twelve by the time he actually walked through the front door.  He 
needed some time after all, to get used to the flavors of desire settled all around him in 
the minds of his co-workers, not to mention time for said co-workers to, for the most part, 
go scurrying off to lunch without a care in the world.  Oh blessed be the city where he 
could shag in a misplaced country villa, drop his sister off at school and still get to work 
by lunch time if he started at ten! 

After all, Aubrey Marlow also worked at the Takatori building, but no one there called 
him Aubrey Marlow.  Very few people there even knew had had any name to begin with, 
but that was the sort of thing one got if trying to exist solely in the throes of work and 
one's own family alone.  

Besides philosophizing to himself, he also climbed into the back seat of his car- rather 
old, sporty eighties thing it was.  Bright red.  (Not to mention still in the parking lot 
where he had left it a week ago.  He only had the thing because he enjoyed saying he had 
a car.  In Tokyo, it was an exquisite excess, especially for someone who considered 
'train' to be tantamount to 'buffet'.) At any rate, while he was in the back seat of the car, 
he changed into his work clothes- black slacks but, oh, they had slits up the side with 
crisscrossed braid to make them even more devilish to the seeking eye; black and white 
Bob Mackie boots meant to be worn by a woman, and a white dress shirt with ruby 
cufflinks... and sleeves just thin enough to make out his bandages through. 

He swore and threw over this his favorite coat- a three quarter olive trench with great, big 
brass buttons. 

The red sunglasses still perched atop his head, he proceeded to flounce into the building 
as if there was nothing whatsoever the matter with him.  Most brazenly he ran his card 
through the scanner to indicate his less than timely arrival, and then smacked the box that 
chirped at him displeasedly for daring to come in so late.

Then he went up to the nineteenth floor, yawned, nudged ipen the door to the office that 
wasn't his open without knocking, and sat down on top of the desk, right smack on the 
blotter.

He knew the figure by the window was scowling at him, even though the sunshine made 
him but a shadow.

"Hey Brad! I'm back now, what would those other two wishes be?"

He simpered.  None of this was out of character.  But then again, the people who worked 
in the Takatori Building, the ones who knew his name, called him Schuldich, or however 
that happened to come out in Japanese.  

***

"Well, number one would be: Schuldich shows up on time. Do you know I've had to deal 
with that tiresome lout and his demands all morning long? He's annoyed me so damn 
much, I came close to stripping Farfarello out of his strait jacket and handing him a knife. 
Now that you are here to mind him, I say we do it." Crawford returned his empty coffee 
cup to its usual spot on the cabinet, then made his way back over to the desk; the chair 
creaked its age as he sat down. Crawford tented his fingers before his face, eyeing his 
lover coldly for what seemed an eternity. 

Then he sighed deeply. He could stare and rail and threaten, and nothing whatsoever 
fazed Aubrey. He would do as he pleased. Crawford wondered (and not for the first time) 
just why he bothered with chastising him at all. 

A glance at the computer screen showed his hacking session into Ichiyama Industries 
system was now complete. The files Takatori had wanted had been downloaded to the 
mainframe. Crawford rocked forward to punch in another short code, one which released 
a virus into their system, and then he cleared away his traces and got away. 

No sooner had he finished that task, though, than did his computer chime. Another email. 
Crawford groaned, and chose to ignore it in favor of his lover, who was toying with his 
ponytail and smirking at him. 

/Even though I already know why.../ 

"Tell me what happened with that doctor acquaintance of yours?" 

/Because I know that you are eager to do it./

***

Schuldich's lips had just parted as if he made to answer, but he uttered nothing save the 
wisps of his breath.  Then he reached over and yanked the power pack for the laptop free 
of said laptop.  The screen went black and the motor for the fan pinged.  Then there was 
silence.  

"Tell him I fell over them on the way in."

::Because I am eager, and that means for now you're allllllll mine.::

The few buttons of his coat just below his chest he parted one by one, shrugging the 
garment off with a silky little sigh when he moved.  It pooled around him on the desk, 
draping over the disengaged cords and base of one lamp.  

::All mine, even after...::

As Crawford raised on eyebrow to the trailing mental silence that broke only with one 
such ephemeral chuckle, the telepath reached up and once more laid his hands in his own 
hair, for his second tie, a length of bubbly golden chain, did not hold as well as the wire 
and so left a few unbound locks about his neck.  These he swept aside so his budding 
bruise would show.

::...that.  Because you are a voyeur, even in absentia.:::

"Well, he said I was to thank you, so thank you, Bradley Crawford.  I cashed his check on 
the way in, and just so you know, he DIDN'T give me any extra for what happened after 
I told him." A little sigh there, and he shook his head, stretching his arms behind his neck 
and wincing only slightly at the singing this sent though his wounds.  "You know, tatami 
smells real nice and all with sex and sweat, but you spoil me, I like satin beds better.  Had 
me tied up- he's even kinky for a mad doctor, but he took his time, not like the last one.  
Much more professional.  I say he's a keeper, weird obsession for raping shinigami 
aside."

***

"A keeper, hm? Well, as always, I will bow to your judgment in that particular area." 

/Even though I now think him a boor for not paying you extra./ 

Crawford rose from his chair, and, placing his hands on the desk for support, leaned in 
close to his lover. Schuldich smelt of sex, and the images the redhead sent his way of 
Muraki having his way with him nearly pushed him over the edge. He literally ached to 
touch him. 

/You are so bad./ 

He closed the distance between them and kissed Schuldich firmly upon the mouth. Pulled 
back just enough to stare down into his eyes for a second, before cupping the back of his 
head, and bending down lower to kiss him where Muraki had bitten him. 

"Perhaps you've had enough kink for one day?" he murmured into Schuldich's ear. 
"Maybe you need to be spoiled now?" 

Crawford drew back, pulling his lover along until he had him on the edge of the desk. 
With one last hasty kiss, he stooped and caught Schuldich at the waist with his shoulder, 
hefting him up with relative ease. 

"What sort of lover would I be if I didn't see to your needs?" 

He slapped Schuldich on the ass, and carted him out of the office and off to the satin bed 
in question.

***

"I don't know any words for it, but suffice it to say, I probably wouldn't be as eager to 
come home as I always am..." Schuldich dreamily remarked, slouching against his 
boyfriend a little on their way to the bed-chambers of their city-side apartment.  He 
rubbed his nose against the dove velveteen lining his jacket and sighed a little at the scent 
of it- clove cigarettes, musk of Tokyo... a little tangy sweetness, a little hint of the ocean 
even though they were no where near it at the moment.  It was a coarse, tingling scent, 
Brad Crawford, one that didn't even really remind him of the way a body was supposed 
to smell.  

Neither did the way his lover just then paused at the foot of the bed, and stared in soft 
befuddlement a moment at the way he leaned all snuffling against him, rather than taking 
the opportunity to dump his straight onto the covers.  

"Yeah, I can tell it's a fresh bottle of cologne even without reading your mind."

He kissed the jacket, and then Crawford's throat, summer dew lazy all the while, eyes 
half closed.  Though he still smirked all, even as he was indeed lowered to the sheets.  
His companion reached for the remote to the blinds- for even while they lived in it most 
of the time at the moment, it was still in an office building this apartment, and so 
maintained some of the trimmings.  The telepath caught his hand though, and rather than 
smoothing the switch closer to closed, tapped it more towards open and then made them 
raise all together, so he rested now in see-thru linens of some wispy stuff just invented 
near the city and a halo of smoggy sunshine dripping down between the corridors there.

"Mirrored windows," he reminded him, and then lay still and seemingly silent while he 
watched the coat and the tie, all pieces of fine things these days aside, go trickling down 
to the floor.

::He's not even looking for us yet.  And he still thinks we hate each other, you know.  
Just because we go on in front of him like we do? Doesn't have the slightest fucking idea 
it's hard not to get mad around him.  The one kid's on the verge of telling him, but it's 
Masafumi and he'll take care of himself.  I know he'll find out some other way about us, 
someday.  But not for awhile, just like you said before.  Still... kinda hard for me to wait 
you know, because something tells me it's gonna be... not just some little kiss in the 
hallway.  'cause he's right, we aren't friends.  Not at all.::

"Friends don't let friends take money for sex and get off on it."    

With another grin as he drew off his cufflinks and laid them on either side of him like 
little red flowers better fit to be tangled in his hair.

"But... hey, like I said, I'm not a whore, at least, not most of the time.  I am spoiled like 
an expensive one though so..." His hand slipped down the front of Brad's trousers and 
just from that, he tugged him over to the edge of the bed, stroking him once his knees had 
fallen to the mattress.  "...why don't you come over here and spoil me some more?"

***

"Ah, you read my mind." 

A little grin, and Crawford ran his hands from Schuldich's thighs up to his shoulders, 
paying special, tickling attention to this spot or that curve en route. "It's only fair that I 
pamper you, since, as you say, we aren't friends." 

/I don't believe we ever were./ 

He slung an arm across Schuldich's waist, taking in the sight of him against the ivory 
coolness of the bedding. "And while I begin, I must give you my surprise." Crawford 
bent to capture his lips in a passionate kiss, his fingers working Schuldich's shirt buttons 
free one by one. 

/Our Estet operative in Stockholm emailed while you were out./ 

The shirt fell open, laying Schuldich bare for bites and kisses and lazy fondling. 

/The drug is on its way to Tokyo. We are to pick it up tomorrow night and begin stage 2./ 

Crawford trapped one nipple between his lips and suckled from it, pinching the other 
between his fingers. 

/Oh, don't you remember? Carudican's side effects are vivid hallucinations and delusions; 
black-outs. Paranoia. It can even induce people to become homicidal or suicidal, if they 
imbibe enough of it--which is the intention. Orders state that it is to put in Tokyo's water 
supply, as it will be most effective there./ 

He dipped his tongue in Schuldich's navel, then rocked upwards to give him another kiss.

***

Schuldich snagged his fingers in the fine, black silk of his lover's hair, trying to work it 
all around his fingers, trying to pull him down a little further into his mouth.  All he 
managed to do was make himself mad when Brad pulled away and swore lightly.

::Not my fault.  If you'd grow it long, I wouldn't have that problem.::

So he only stroked him there then, feeling his hands coast over his stomach where they 
slipped now and then against the very edge of his trousers.  His one palms he brushes 
against his cheek then, perhaps in apology, though he said nothing about one otherwise.  
Just sighed, and stretched under the fingers reaching around him.  

"So you're taking me out for dinner then? Midnight tomorrow? Do you want me to wear 
my white suit, or just my good trench?"

::Or maybe... nothing at all?::

A short, rippling image then, of a barren, bronze water treatment plant, but not one on 
earth, for outside the single window were two moons and a conflagration of moths larger 
than crows.  Takatori was there, and both of his sons (holding hands they were!).  All of 
Schwartz where Brad had a book in his hand and a sheaf of glittering powder in the other 
that was making the liquid below them turn fluorescent purple.  He had a leash wrapped 
around one wrist though.  Schuldich was on the other end.

By the time Crawford awakened from that dream in the middle of the day though, he had 
been flipped neatly on his side in the arms of his lover, who was now disrobing him the 
rest of the way towards naked.  He already had his dress shirt hallways off, but had left it 
be for a time to nibble on the crook of his neck in mirror image of where his own bruise 
lay.  Where he most certainly tasted cologne.  

The shirt though went flying after awhile, and ended up curled up on the stool by the 
dressing table so they were both bare-chested with Schuldich curled up to him.  His own 
ribs were somewhat narrower that Brad's, otherwise he could have pressed their nipples 
together to work them.

Between gasps, he pressed his ankles between Crawford's, insinuating both of his legs 
between his lover's until they were waist to waist, and when he folded his knees up, he 
had the precognitive pinned against him, albeit at a rather odd angle.  Brad is basically 
straddling Schu's lap, but they're on their sides. 

***

Crawford became fully aware of his vulnerable position when he felt his lover's sex brush 
against his own swollen member. He wriggled a bit, not because it was uncomfortable, 
but because it *wasn't*. Those areas of his body which were the most sensitive were 
coming in contact here and there with warm, naked skin, carefully roaming fingers, 
making him moan. He felt so wanton, being pinned down and teased and loving every 
minute of his captivity. 

It was so refreshing to not be in control on occasion. 

"Remind me to buy you something especially extravagant on your birthday, won't you?" 

A low little chuckle and he wrapped one hand around his lover's neck and pulled him 
down for a hungry kiss. 

/Upon reflection, I believe I would like to have you undressed for dinner./

***

"I do like reminding you..." Schuldich teased a moment, hovering just below the sex he 
had caught beneath his own, swaying this way and that with no rhythm to his movement, 
and nothing but delight in it, "Although, considering the good news you just gave me... 
isn't it a black tie occasion?"

His lips swept down over Brad's then, and he curled his arms around his neck, letting 
them brush his cheeks and the tender places on his neck that could stir him, and did, just 
slowly as they settled about him, for he moaned but gently and fell upwards as far as he 
could from where he lay under his lover.  

"The spare closet's just over there.  I can have that damn white tux on in no time at all.  
But with this..."

His hand came down between his stiffness and that of his companion, unfastening only 
his own fly before pulling away much more slowly than a kind lover might have 
permitted.  His smirk put him as nothing of the sort, at least presently.  "Might make a 
mark on it, and I DON'T want to get another.  So I guess I'll just have to go like this or... 
maybe this."

As agile as a youngster in the way he moved, Schuldich laid down with his head close to 
his own heals, untangling his legs from Crawford where they hung in the air for a 
moment before sweeping over to one side.  His trousers sank about his hips, leaving his 
rosy cock quite bare, but his feet, oddly enough covered.  Just so, he stilled himself in one 
corner of the mattress and shook out his hair.

One finger brushed his oozy tip and then darted into his mouth for an instant, dragging a 
trace of saliva down around his throat.  "Not bad, really."

***

"Not bad at all," agreed Crawford, licking his lips. He slowly rolled onto his side and 
from there, onto his knees. And there he stayed, looking for all the world like a lion about 
to pounce upon a gazelle. 

"I wouldn't want you to stain that tux, oh no. It looks so..." His eyes flickered to 
Schuldich's cock, "...lovely, on you. Ah, but what can I do to help you solve your 
dilemma?" 

A smile curled his lip, and, on all fours, he crawled across the mattress until he was 
directly before his lover. Crawford leaned forward as if to kiss the tip of his sex, but rose 
up at the last to kiss his lower stomach instead. He pulled back with a teasing little smirk, 
and maneuvered so that he now sat straddling the other's closed thighs. 

"Offhand, I can only think of one solution." 

With the utmost delicacy, Crawford leaned forward to nibble lips-only at the underside of 
Schuldich's erection, feeling him twitch at his touch. The redhead gasped, and Crawford 
brought his hands up to cup around Schuldich's hips, both supporting him and taking the 
opportunity to grope him as well. 

A little lick fell upon his wet tip. /Come on, baby. Move as much as you want. I like it./ 

He blew softly along the length of his sex, then opened his mouth and took him in all the 
way with only the slightest warning. 

/And I won't let you fall./ 

***

Though in fact, the moment Schuldich had felt his lover's mouth brush against his 
dripping sex in earnest, he had ached to plunge forward and take his lips before they 
might take him rather.  He had felt his legs starting to slip off the covers.  They didn't 
now though, and the hands about him had grown tight.  One little glance behind him to 
see just how far it was to the floor even though he wouldn't be falling there today.

::Not that I don't like it there on occasion but...::

His own hands settled on his lover's where they were pressed into him and he plunged 
forward against his lips as they retreated for an instant to free his tongue.  He slid his 
fingers between those that held him and thrust out of time with the gentle bobbing of 
Brad's head, completely unabashed by the stirring of his hips and how rough they were 
when so caught by Crawford.

Crawford who he realized was purring around his tip when it reached the tender folds of 
his throat.  It only made him shudder in answer sometimes when he felt it, the little 
vibrations creeping up through his sex and into the rest of him, and grin.

::You really do, huh? Can't find that many people even think about having their fuck 
mate do this to 'em anymore.  Not THAT'S a sign the world is ending!::

He rocked in deep then, and held himself still, reaching down and scratching his lover 
just about his neck, as he might have done to a cat, though he kept his palm there even as 
he was swallowed once again, and delighted in the little ways the muscles clenched and 
unclenched there.  

And stirred in his cock what rippled through the rest of him for a few perfect instances.  
With a few sharp, gasping moans, he came deep in his Brad's body.  One of his limbs had 
indeed slid from the covers then, so the sense of falling he had known for an instance was 
real, but not complete.

He scratched Crawford again, and sighed, content and savoring the other man's 
consideration of what he fancied having done to him.

***

Crawford nuzzled the thick patch of curls marking his groin before slowly sliding down 
the length of his lover's cock. He kissed the swollen tip, then caught his eyes and licked 
his lips. 

/Don't move, if you can help it./ 

Crawford leaned forward to kiss Schuldich's navel, and then he maneuvered himself clear 
of his lover, and off the bed. The bedside table was opened, dug through, and then 
Crawford was back on that corner with what he had retrieved: A plastic squirt bottle of 
honey, one which was shaped like a bear. He cupped the bottle between his hands, and 
rolled it back and forth, warming it a little. 

"I don't care what other couples do. I'll always want to suck you off, Aubrey." 

He thumbed the yellow flip-top cap open and poured a generous dollop into his palm. 
From there, it went onto his straining erection. Crawford shuddered when he touched 
himself, gasping softly when he imagined Schuldich touching him there. 

"Straddle my lap, facing me. I want to see you come." 

Grinning, the redhead, did as he was bid, slinging his arms around Crawford's neck, and 
squirming a little when his lover's sticky fingers groped his ass, spreading him. 

Crawford lunged forward to kiss him as he tilted his ass forward and plunged his coated 
sex deep into Schuldich's body.

***

"Fuck what other couples do," Schuldich laughed breathlessly once he had been able to 
get his lips away from Brad's for a moment, and no longer, for as soon as he had spoken 
and the first of many sobbing, chokey moans left him, he dragged his lover forward and 
plunged against his lips with all the passion he could possibly have felt if he wanted them 
with him always when he breathed, though they were both breathless by then and 
quivering a little with the chuckles they simply didn't have time to part and utter 
properly.

Though he did get away from him one more time, just long enough to josh Crawford with 
more than the awkward grace of the way he met his thrusts and rubbed him up where he 
could get his hands on him.  "Fuck me~e."

But Brad rather only rolled his eyes rather than say anything to this; reached down and 
took one of the telepath's slim legs by the knee, tugging it back onto the safety of the 
mattress and then up against the glimmer of sweat that had started to gather on his side.  
The position pulled Schuldich much more open than he had been simply kneeling across 
his lap.  The grin he got when he screamed in delight was more than enough to have told 
anyone that had been the intent of it all.  

::No one can hear us up here.  Not even the old bastard and he's right below us hittin' 
those golf balls of his around and wondering what the hell we're doing.  I could tell him 
now, see if it got him hard.  It bet he'd taste pretty good, not *fine* though, if he knew.::

Then, as he moved their cheeks together, and nibbled slowly at one earlobe where he 
pressed just the tip of one tooth into the puncture there where a stud had once been worn.  
"Kinda gets me off though, us being a secret all over again."

Though there was nothing for him to ever worry about in that.  Even if he had climaxed 
just before being taken, Crawford was in no mood to rush that afternoon, in spite of all 
their usual quickies in the backs of other people's cars, the empty corners in not quite 
empty buildings, and the odd public rest room.  He was rubbing his pink, oozy stiffness 
on his lover's belly long before Brad made any sign of surrender.  It was a slippery, 
drifting encounter this afternoon, all for little shocks of pleasure, and not single bursts of 
it not meant to be savored.  They would each cry out now and then when they were not 
kissing, or moan into each other's mouths, and the honey that found its way there after 
awhile.

His lover had run a chain of it around his neck, and Schuldich was still sucking on it 
when he clutched at his shoulders and started to pant, had to force himself away from his 
little perch on his shoulder so he could keep his promise.  They were staring into each 
other's eyes when he came, pitching forward into the deep, rolling thrusts, clenching up 
at the last when his lover's shaft coasted all the way up against his sweet spot, and then 
all the way down again, still pumping into him after they were sticky with his cum 
besides the honey.  His hair was wet and Brad'd cheeks red and glossy.

"Hey! We're still on the clock! We're gettin' paid for this!"

*** 

"Of course we are. Haven't you ever heard of fringe benefits, Aubrey?" 

Brad gathered Schuldich close and thrust the last of his passion out into his lover's body, 
sleepy little rolls of his hips. He found he was sore from all the sticky friction when he 
did pull out, but he didn't care. His lips grazed Schuldich's, his fingers swept his sweat-
dampened hair from his face, raking them back to blend with the lighter, drier strands. 
The air around them smelled of honey and sex and cologne. Something of Schuldich lay 
under it all, something he could only catch when he was close to him. Crawford wasn't in 
the mood to break up the afterglow, not this time. Not like usual. 

He rolled to the side, still clasping him. His hands roamed over those parts of him that 
only his mouth and cock had known. 

/I bet he'd taste like...licorice. Or pears. Or something equally foul./ 

He bent and kissed him above his heart, simply to feel the throbbing of his pulse against 
his mouth. 

"We might run into Weiss soon." 

Crawford licked the hollow of Schuldich's throat, then rose to gaze into his eyes. 

/Just thought I'd tell you. I know how you like to torment our kittens./ 

/Consider that a gift./

***

"Ewe! Pears!" said Schuldich, sticking out his tongue.  His lover went wide-eyed a 
moment at this, and then began to laugh in time with him.  Just as hard as both of them 
could while still tangled in each other's limbs, even more so, for as their giggles died 
down, the telepath drew his arms up around Brad's neck, and let them drift there for a 
long, long while.  

Kissed him as well, in a chain across his cheek, and then down into the still-sweet hollow 
if his mouth, where he lingered all too long.

"I get presents before and after a nice screw.  What a day!"

::I think I like this one better though, I still haven't met the one we decided is *my* kitty! 
Just yours.  And Nagi's.  Both of which are perfectly suited to you.  Yours especially 
though.  He tastes like...::

"Chocolate coke!"

The hold about his own shoulders loosened, just a bit, and he rolled his eyes, teasing once 
again.  "C'mon, that's better than pears!"

Murmur of agreement passed between them then, and nothing else of words for awhile.  
Just sighs, and wandering caresses of the shadows that roamed one another's bodies in 
the drizzly afternoon light.  

And then, one thought rose from his little suppositions about what fruitlessly sweet 
delights he might have with their pre-destined rivals.

::Forget Takatori! I wonder what *they'd* do if they knew the men who are always going 
to get in their way are lovers...::

::Someday, ne? That's what you're thinking.::

With a deep, contented breath, Schuldich sank down against his lover's chest then, 
leaning his head and his silk hair against it, and swaying just enough to tickle him there.

::Were you also thinking maybe Nagi was in the next room listening, because he was, 
through the WHOLE thing!::

***

"Oh, really?" Crawford looked over at the wall which separated their bedroom from 
Nagi's, imagining the boy who lived on the other side. 

/You know, I figured he was interested in our goings-on far more than he likes to let on. 
Very interested./ 

He sighed as a weary parent might. /The young are so prideful...Ow./ 

Schuldich had bitten at one nipple hard enough to bruise it. Crawford tugged sharply at 
his hair in retaliation, and wound up on the receiving end of a very thorough kiss. 

/You are so very EVIL./ 

/Don't ever change./ 

*** 

Nagi set the purloined tumbler upside down beside his computer, and sulkily slumped in 
his chair. He hadn't needed to use such a tool, not really--but it did make what sounds he 
could hear much clearer. And what he heard disturbed him; made him restless. After all, 
they got to play on company time while he had to sit around working on calculus 
problems and Japanese literature, and practicing with his power--and all to please his 
Estet-supplied tutor. Crawford had *insisted* he have one, saying that his education was 
important. Nagi figured he was only trying to torture him. 

Like now. 

They had each other, but he had no one. And he hated it. He hated everything. 

Nagi powered down his computer, closed his book and lay it atop the pile of texts which 
sat on one corner of the wide, rectangular table he used as a desk. Why should he stay 
there and work on such a day? Why should he stay there listening to the moans and 
laughter coming from the room next door? 

So he rose from his chair, scooted it back in place by the table, and, checking for his id 
card, left the room. 

Behind him, the tumbler shimmied into the air and crashed into the wall, raining 
hundreds of crystal shards onto the white carpeted floor.

***

More laughter chased the boy from his quarters, and the rather unmistakable sound of 
someone bouncing on a bed that simply was never intended to be bounced upon.  
Whispers.  It sounded almost more like a flock of little birds now, than a pair of raucous 
lovers.  

Lovers who had, even before they knew Nagi was watching them, managed to awaken 
the fourth resident of their nineteenth floor quarters.  One who had been sleeping quite 
peacefully until then, albeit whilst hanging upside down from the ceiling like an 
enormous, white bat.

As the telekinetic drew near his door and the single crack of light that swept through it to 
him, he began to swing back and forth on the chains that held him to the hook set in the 
ceiling.  The metal cried out and got the attention of the boy.

Even in his madness, he knew this was now small feat.  So he smiled as his tongue swept 
his scarred and pouty lips.

"The Phellshyai is away with the other faeries.  She is tired of watching me for now, and 
tired of watching you.  There is only God, and God is not even wounded.  Did you know? 
But he weeps to hear the demon and the sibyl in their sinful bed.  He does not heed us 
when he cries, only the bad ones, the unholy things that nature made before she died.  But 
I don't remember that well anymore, and as the little chicks go chee-chee-chee there is 
nothing but what I forget outside."  

Farfarello's one gold eye had fixed him.  All those words, and the boy had not left yet.  
"Won't you take me to go remember?"

***

"The answer to that is 'No'. Just because I'm young doesn't mean I'm stupid, Jei." 

Farfarello's battered lips stretched in a grin, one which lit up his crazed yellow eye, and 
he screamed obscenities at his God. Coolly, Nagi strolled off towards the fire exit door; 
as he swung it open, the curses gave way to a lullaby. 

The door slammed shut behind him with a resounding metallic clang--so loud his ears 
rang. Nagi stopped on the first step to listen to the sound echo off the gray stairwell walls; 
dark gray and peeling. Cobwebs in the corners and touches of mildew along the old leak 
in the ceiling, streaking the steps. Why had no one ever checked the roof? 

The boy shook his head to clear away the last throb of noise from his head, and set off 
down the stairs, loafers whispering as he walked. Beyond the lower door, he could hear 
the laughter, the faint murmur of conversation, the clicking of machines. Nagi stopped 
when he reached the lower landing simply to listen. Life and light just there versus 
Nothingness. Interaction and solitude. More than just a door separated him from them, 
though. He'd always known... 

Hand on the knob, Nagi turned and faced the direction he'd come. He tented his fingers 
before his chest, and slowly closed his eyes, shields raised to block any intrusion. He 
stayed in that position for several moments, and when he at last relaxed, it was a weary 
sigh. Nagi slumped against the door, a smile creeping along his lips. 

He'd just set Farfarello free. Nagi fervently hoped the madman would get away before 
either of the telepaths could contain him. He supposed he'd find out when he came home. 
If. 

/Consider it my surprise./ 

The door swung open, startling a small group of secretaries. Nagi breezed past them, 
pointedly ignoring their curious glances and whispered comments.

***

To say Farfarrello was delighted with this turn of events would have been the 
understatement of the year, and possibly that of the next as well.  Not only were his 
bonds undone now, but he had fallen straight on his head, and the pain was excruciating.  
Surely God must be suffering from it! The straight jacket peeled off his body with the 
greatest of ease, and out of its fold tumbled... ooooh! A vegetable peeler! Vegetable 
peelers were better than knives even! As if he had come across a soft, fuzzy kitten, or a 
gleaming diamond ring, he cradled the small, glinting implement to his chest, and cooed 
to it as it sliced into the dull, red leather of his shirt.  Kissed it, and made his tongue 
bleed.

Outside then! Footsteps entering the living room.  Schuldich yawned and pulled on the 
loose end of his bandages with his teeth before attempting to get his shirt back on.  "You 
know, that's a fuckin' stupid request even for HIM! I say you hack into the system, erase 
all traces of that drivel and... we figure out the best place to introduce Carudican's happy 
juice to the water supply.  Flushing it down the toilet seems a little... unceremonious."

Mumbles of assent at this, and the clacking of keys began; a sound even madmen know is 
a sign of distraction unequaled by anything but naked bodies.  And what luck for 
Farfarello! Schuldich was STILL half naked as well! There was no way Crawford would 
see him! No way! 

Silent as could be, the madman slipped out of the smallest opening of his door that he 
could manage, closing it behind him with only the faintest objection of the hinges.  Sure 
enough, one be-robed precognitive was seated at the computer, humming part of an opera 
as he violated his own network.  Schuldich was perched on the desk beside the computer, 
twirling his hair.  He turned over his shoulder one moment, and gave his good friend a 
thumbs up.

Farfarello mooned him in gratitude and thusly made it to the stairway buckling his pants. 
He was free! Clothed! And Free! And ARMED WITH A DEADLY COOKING 
IMPLEMENT!!!

Cackling and slavering, he skipped down the stairs, twirling and whirling like a prima-
ballerina until he came to the bottom door of the stairwell.  Beyond lay a murder of 
secretaries, all at their wits' end with paperwork.  Just the same, one looked up to him 
and muttered a cursory 'Good afternoon, Mr. Farfarello."

"God hates Cheez-its!"

"That's nice, Mr. Farfarello."

Which brought up a very, very interesting question! What was Mr. Farfarello going to do 
with his afternoon off!? Oh, so many delightful distractions to be had when he could 
move his arms... there were nuns who needed to be dipped in acid! Little girls who 
needed flayed alive! Men who needed their orifices widened by unpleasant means! 
Razors who would be charmed to be introduced to his skin! So many, many possibilities!

And one, the incontrovertible luminary of them all!!! He noticed then, that, beyond all 
hope and logic... the door to Mr. Takatori's door had been left... unlatched.  With a 
squeal of demonic delight, he skipped up to it, and... with malice in every twitch of his 
muscles... knocked politely!

"What!" Boomed the voice beyond.  "Is that you, Crawford!? DID YOU FINALLY GET 
MY DAMN EMAIL!?"

The madman tipped the door open and waved to the miniature putting green set up on the 
floor of the office, rather than the bulkily, grumpy man behind the desk.  Who was 
alternately polishing a nine-iron and eyeing a tasty-looking green apple as opposed to 
dealing with the ocean of paperwork situated on his desk.

"Farfarello... what do you want?"

"Well, I'd like to hurt God.  And the Phellshyai and the kitty the sibyl said I could.  Then 
I want a hot bath and umm... a newspaper!"

A moment of uncomfortable silence.

"You know, Crawford warned me about you repeatedly, and I'm finally starting to think 
he was right about something."

Farfarello tiptoed over to the desk then... eyeing Mr. Takatori... or what of him wasn't 
hidden by the inaccurate tax forms.  He tracked him up and down with his single eye... 
felt out his jugular with his sight... imagined sinking that weapon of his into his gooey, 
putrid HEART! THAT WOULD REALLY REALLY HURT GOD!!!

But in the mean time, he just peeled his apple quite deftly, and then tore out of his office, 
laughing hysterically.

"Finally!" sighed Mr. Takatori.

***

At first, he hadn't said anything, not out loud, not anything that gave away just how much 
he was wishing he could be the empath for once.  Not to find Hisoka's heart in the world, 
wherever it lay and not to be free and dancing in the thoughts of others, for he at the time 
believed no steps would this allow, mourning only.  No, he wished he could be the 
empath, telepath... one like Hisoka, so Hisoka wouldn't have to be Hisoka for awhile.

But his silence began to wear on both of them, and the glances between them grew into a 
pair of selfish stares.  So he said he was sorry, and they nodded, and that was it for signs 
of the body and the breath given for what had happened.  The almost-companionable 
silence once more fell, tumbling and breaking all around, but for his offers of where they 
could try going, just because things seemed... so uneasy.

Just because.

They were standing now over the last of a chalk outline where one of the victims had 
fallen, and it was not the mark one might have expected to find in halo round the more 
usual murdered, but one star in the dead center of the concrete as if a snow angel could 
have been made there. 

Tsuzuki knelt and ran his fingers over the marks which had been closest to the forehead 
of the young girl, and his hands came away with traces of blue on them that dusted clean, 
though that he did using his coat, and so left a mark there that he didn't notice.

And then he took a good look around, found drawings of great, big, cushy bubbles on all 
of the signs around him.  Cartoon fish.  Pretty, pink girls.

"NEEEEEEEEEE! Why didn't Kanoe tell us we were going to soapland?"

A very merry passerby with a pair of dark-haired, mostly naked beauties on his arms 
burst out laughing, "Seems to me this is the sort of place you'd wanna go on your own 
regardless."

"THAT MAY BE TRUE!"

But the threesome had already slipped away over a bridge.

*** 

Hisoka, who more resembled a lonely, wan waif than a shinigami at that moment, tore his 
eyes away from the blue chalk lines to the retreating threesome. He then looked with 
distaste at the tackily painted building, deeming it an eyesore. "Why would anyone want 
to go in there?" he murmured, more to himself than to his partner. 

"If you don't know, kid, then you're too young to go!" 

A hand clapped him heartily upon the shoulder, and Hisoka looked around in time to see 
another customer--this sporting only one lingerie-clad lady on his arm--head off over the 
bridge. Hisoka glared after them, then caught Tsuzuki by the arm. "Come on, and forget 
about soapland. We've--Oi! Tsuzuki!" 

But his partner clearly wasn't listening, having been seduced by soapland's obvious 
charms. 

"We haven't got time for--what are you doing? Let me go!" 

Tsuzuki only flashed him a winking grin, and hugged the arm he'd slung around the boy's 
neck a bit tighter. He nodded questioningly at the building before them, waggling his 
brows in encouragement. He looked ridiculous, and Hisoka told him so. But then, at 
Tsuzuki's crestfallen face, he grudgingly relented. 

"Oh...okay. But only because someone might have seen or heard something when that 
girl was murdered. We aren't going to get in the baths. We can do that at home." 

Tsuzuki cheered, hugging Hisoka close for an instant, and at once they set off across the 
bridge.

***

"And be~esides!" Tsuzuki caroled.  "You had one last night with you're clothes on."

Several people along the sidewalk giggled faintly, but didn't really stare.  Obviously, they 
had no true appreciation for the elder Shinigami's ability to blurt out embarrassing things 
regarding his partner in public.  After all, that partner was pretty much the only person, 
living, dead or otherwise, who knew the only thing truly fitting to accompany such slips 
of the tongue.

He blushed and mumbled 'baka' many times under his breath as they went along.  

As it turned out, the parlor closest to where the girl had fallen didn't open until after dark, 
doubtless for many fascinating matters, many of which had been posted in the 'menu' 
which brazenly hung in the window, and which was presently being admired by a police 
officer of all things.

"Hey, haven't seen you two around before," he said cheerily, glancing up from the 
'ofera' section of the delicacies mentioned.

Tsuzuki waved and flashed him a huge grin. "You go here? How cool! We're looking for 
some place new to try."

"Well... err..." Only a breaths was his composure gone, but it came flooding back, then, 
and he stamped his foot, pushed up his glances and declared with a manly puffing of his 
chest.  "I most certainly do."  With a little tapping of the section he had been checking 
out.  "They've got this girl her, Yui? Does it with tangerine nectar in her mouth."

"Hmm... tangerine nectar.  Seems like a pretty pricy place though I mean... yubizeme is 
5000 yen extra? Yikes!"

"Well, it's all about taste I say, and you don't get any sweeter girls than here."  At which 
he paused a moment and pointed to the extinguished neon on the sign- rows and rows of 
little sparkles around the silhouette of a man and two charming lasses in a tub- their 
bubbles read- Kyandeko.  He and Tsuzuki both snickered, and the officer flicked his hand 
around in a circle before letting it land on his companion's interest.  "You... go in for that 
sort of thing?"

"Why not? You only live once."

"Too true.  Makes me wish I could live *here*."

"Say, you didn't happen to be here when..." A little flick of his head towards the blue pin 
pricks in the concrete where the girl had fallen.

"Nah, not my watch.  But poor Habana was watching- usedta be my partner that guy.  
Said he was here minding some little snit between two himo, parking accident no less, 
nothing about girls, she waved to him and then just all of a sudden... blood all over her 
back and over she went.  Just like that.  We thought she'd been shot but nobody one the 
whole block had any guns and no gun... ah! What am I troubling you with this for?  It's 
been then only one here, one accident... though the thing is, streetlight right there went 
out just before she fell.  Probably had something to do with it.  Oh well... all we can do is 
slip the one's who're still around a little something extra when they head off for the 
night, na?"

(OOC: Ofera- oral sex.  Yubizeme- having a soap girl perform anal manipulations on her 
customer during other fun activities.  Himo- pimp.  Soapujo- whore.)

***

As the officer had begun rattling off his tale, Hisoka had striven to focus upon what he 
was relating to them, but it was hard. The air was thick with vibrations only a person with 
his abilities could perceive. They were drawn to him as if he were a magnet, begging for 
his attention. At the last, he shifted his senses and gave into them, and instantly found 
himself in a pit of human wretchedness. 

::Ohhh...Why can't my wife be like you?:: 

::What the bitch doesn't know won't hurt her:: 

::He looks just like my father:: 

::I don't want to do this anymore...:: 

::What...have I done?:: 

::I can't go back. I can't ever go back now.:: 

deceitlustdisgusthumiliationsorrowselfhatred...ANGER! They all hit him in masse, and 
Hisoka felt himself falling, falling... 

And then he stopped, abruptly and hard, and there he stayed. He felt like he was floating, 
and he didn't have the will to try to move. Someone passed a soft hand over his forehead, 
touched his shoulder, shaking him gently. He dragged his eyes open to find a bikini-clad 
woman--no, a girl--standing over him. She had eyes like melted chocolate. 

"Are you okay?" 

Hisoka blinked at her twice, then clambered to his feet when he realized where he was. 
He had passed out briefly, it seemed, but it appeared that neither his partner nor the 
policeman had noticed. 

"Umm...?" 

Hisoka looked back over at the girl, giving her a hesitant nod. She smiled back at him 
warmly. 

"What's your name?" 

He eyed her somewhat suspiciously. "Ryuiichi." 

"Ryuiichi, huh? I like that name." She leaned in a little, whispering, "I'm Ritsuko." 

Slowly, he nodded, pressing against the wall away from her. Something didn't feel right 
about her. "Well, thanks, Ritsuko," he mumbled as he started to edge past her. She caught 
his arm though, and linked it with her own; he instantly went tense. 

"Oh~h," she crooned, sliding a finger back and forth between his collarbones, "you're 
nervous, aren't you?" 

"Uhh..." 

She simpered at him like a cat might. "I tell you what, Ryuiichi...I have a free hour. Why 
don't you come upstairs with me, hm?" 

He shot a glance at Tsuzuki, then turned back to her. "I can't," he said firmly, shaking 
loose from her grip. "I have to go..." he nodded in his partner's direction. Ritsuko 
followed his gaze, then as she turned back to him, gave him such a look that he wanted to 
sink into the wall at his back. 

And then she smiled, and shrugged carelessly as if nothing at all was amiss. "Oh, 
well...some other time, perhaps," she called airly as she wriggled away on her black 
stiletto heels. 

Hisoka watched her prance away towards the downstairs lounge, waiting until she was 
out of sight before he returned to Tsuzuki, rather shaken by the strange encounter. 

"...It's been the only one here, one accident... though the thing is, streetlight right there 
went out just before she fell. Probably had something to do with it. Oh well... all we can 
do is slip the one's who're still around a little something extra when they head off for the 
night, na?" 

Hisoka peered around Tsuzuki at the policeman, eyes wide. One of the shadow creatures, 
definitely. But... 

"Has anyone around here mentioned seeing anything strange in these past few days? 
Or...has anyone been acting strange, for that matter?"

***

Tsuzuki broke off his examination of the street light then.  He had noticed while the 
officer was speaking that something was quite wrong with it, as glass was still drifting 
from the shell of its lamp now and then, and it wore blue scorch marks around its throat.  
Now, regarding Hisoka once more, he found at once something to be the matter with the 
boy, for he was white as could be and his eyes had gone glassy.

So he stepped up closer beside him and hovered nearly at his side, making himself look 
to be interesting in the question himself and nothing more.

The policeman, who had himself been rather entranced by the broken light, looked back 
to the two of them for an instant, then took to scratching his head for a moment and 
staring into the space of his own past days.

"You're not spooked, are ya?"

"Not at all," Tsuzuki responded.  "Just curious.  The death of a soapujo is seldom NOT 
interesting and all that."

"You know, that's very true.  But that's as interesting as this one gets.  As far as I know, 
it's the only odd thing that's have happened here in weeks.  I mean, there's been some 
pick-pocketing- mind your wallets, boys! -and a couplea girl passing out the Izumi's, but 
that's normal for this time of year and their air-conditioner is shot besides!"

The elder shinigami gasped at this, and the dismayed concern in his next words was quite 
real, for he remembered all too well what life had been like without air-conditioning, and 
knew most certainly that it could be no easier as a prostitute who was constantly in one 
form of motion or another.  "Broken! That's awful.  Say, do you recommend the place? 
'cause I don't usually do this sorta thing for pity, but that kinda tenacity deserves some 
reward."

As for the cop, he grinned then and again adjusted his glasses, evidently pleased with the 
fact he had been considered the sort connoisseur of the district.  "Izumi's isn't bad at all, 
little cheaper than this place, not as gourmet if you know what I mean," he winked a bit 
and whistled a moment.  "You want San or Suzette- real french chick that one -if they're 
not busy.  Tell 'em Yon sentcha.  And have a good time, damnit!"

"Oh, we will.  Don't worry about that."

"I won't then, but I gotta get back to patrol and all.  Ja!"

"Ja!"

And with that, Yon waved his white gloves at the blue toyota coming up the street and 
scampered across to where he had packed his bike.  Tsuzuki waved back, jumping up and 
down a little as if bidding farewell to an old friend.  Hisoka gave him a look simply read 
about it.  "Never seen the guy in my life.  But what could it hurt? C'mon, now, he nodded 
this-a-way..."

But he only went two steps before walking backwards for a moment and laying a hand on 
his partner's shoulder.  "If you're feelin' Ok?  If you're not, you can go home if you 
want.  I'll tell Kanoe you were with me the whole time."

***

But that was not what Hisoka wanted! He wanted to be strong, to be a help to his partner-
-not be a liability. And Hisoka feared Tsuzuki considered him to be exactly that. So, he 
shrugged off the other's hand from its perch, and stared up into those searching, violet 
eyes. "It's nothing. I don't need to go home," he muttered. "Now, come on." 

He nodded towards the stairs leading to the downstairs, but stopped Tsuzuki before either 
of them could set foot upon them. "Listen...if you meet someone named Ritsuko, don't 
call me Hisoka. In fact, just call me Ryuuichi to anyone who might ask. And...be wary of 
her. Just a hunch I have."

***

"Ok, Ryu~u~chi~cha~n.  What a cute name!" Tsuzuki, of course, had no idea he was 
agreeing with a lady of the evening on the matter, and so took his partner's sigh to be for 
his news-anchor cute enunciation of the word alone.  So smitten with his own 
foolishness, did he go skipping down the steps and straight up to the door of Izumi's.  He 
sort of expected to be asked for some sort of confirmation he was nothing of the police, 
even though the police thusfar seemed to have various interests besides arrests in this 
quarter of soapland, but as things went, the door simply swung open before him for it 
hadn't been latched at all.

Beyond lay a small reception room, and indeed a very hot one despite the stubborn little 
fans which hummed along the molding of the floor, pointing this way and that and so 
sending their hair sprawling as they crossed the pink tile on the floor to the little 
whitewashed half wall at the other end.  There, behind a cluster of shiny, tropical plants 
more frequently found indoors than out, sat a pretty, pleasingly chubby middle-aged 
woman in a thin, cream-colored yukata.  She had one lock of hair gone stray over her 
face and smelled herself like aloe soap and rose, just like pretty much everything else in 
the room.

"Irashai! And what can I get you boys this afternoon?"

"Ah, Yon sent us your way..." Tsuzuki began, but just as soon as he had spoken, a gale 
of giggles burst from the backroom, setting him quiet almost at once, and leaving time for 
the mistress to step on his lines a little.

"Yon? I thought he was partial to a few of the expensive places down the street! That was 
uncommonly good of him.  Well then, deluxe menus for you both! And please, do excuse 
our broken air-conditioning."

"No trouble at all..."

***

Hisoka was getting more and more uncomfortable by the second, and not just from the 
annoying stuffiness of the room either. Tsuzuki wasn't *really* going to go through with 
buying the services of one of the girls, was he? 

Was he?! 

/Oh...hell./ 

The hostess came back with the menus, smiling as she handed them over. Hisoka made a 
show of looking at his--that is, he half turned away from them with the menu held as if he 
were looking at it. In truth, he was staring at the floor beyond it, while Tsuzuki "hmm"-ed 
behind him. He did that for what seemed an eternity. Hisoka very nearly swatted him 
with his own menu, just so he would hurry and put him out of his misery. 

As if the ladies in the curtained-off back room could read his mind, another spate of 
feminine giggling rose from there, and another blush crept across the younger shinigami's 
face. 

/Damn it, I just DO NOT want to know./

***

There simply weren't any bathhouses in Meifu.  Not like this.  And he hadn't been in one 
frankly since they were supposedly outlawed all those years ago.  Even then, he knew the 
supposed ban was only for show.  But how the slang had changed since the fifties! He 
found now he could hardly figure out just what they were offering him! Asking would 
have showed his age, somehow or another.  Or embarrassed Hisoka even more than he 
was.  

As for what Tsuzuki could make out... for whole, hot moments the thought of those 
physical desserts of sensation almost started to stir him, did make him blush a little.

"Again, I'm frightfully sorry about the heat." The madam whispered to him, and then 
turned back to whatever on her desk she was minding.  

"Ah, Bestuni.  Daijoubu, daijoubu." He told her.

But it wasn't.

He knew no matter how enticing the little games sounded, they wouldn't delight him, not 
the way he found he had to be delighted.  And not only for the fact they were meant for 
the living of which he was no longer a part.

How those whose souls were still their own did madden themselves before release!

And oh, how he wanted to scream when he looked down and discovered that he had 
indeed gotten quite stiff in the ensuing pause.  And that his pants were tight enough for it 
to show.  His shirt not quite long enough to hide it when he moved, and already as 
untucked as could be. 

/I wonder what she'd do if she knew I was picturing a boy putting his fingers THERE./

In some sort of desperation, he finally managed to croak out, as he drew one sleeve over 
his forehead.  "I... er... think I've made up my mind.  Could I get a look at the girls 
maybe? All of the ones you've got."  The sound of his voice startled his partner, but not 
the madam, who nodded and bounded off to the back room, leaving him enough time to 
mumble and apology.

The boy, after all, had to be picking up on his uncomfortable state.

"Umm... well... you live with me! You know how things are when its hot out!" He 
hadn't really meant to point to the bulge, but he kind of did.

***

"Then I guess it's a good thing we're in a whorehouse," Hisoka hissed back with a glare. 
He was aggravated beyond belief now, from the heat, from the fact they were in a 
brothel-but mostly because he had picked up on Tsuzuki's thoughts and feelings. Not 
only had they caught him off guard, but they had served to inspire the same state in 
Hisoka; he, too, was quite erect, and was loathe to fully face Tsuzuki lest he see. 

Especially since he couldn't stop imagining what it would be like to lie naked in his arms. 

"Here." Hisoka handed Tsuzuki his menu to hold while he removed his jacket. "We 
always end up in these strange situations! Why is that?" He slung the garment around his 
hips and tied the sleeves so they dangled over the front of his bulging fly. Then, arms 
across his chest, he shot his partner another accusing sort of look before they were both 
distracted by the arrival of the madam, who was now in the company of eleven scantily-
clad women; they fanned out around her like feathers. The madam gave Tsuzuki an 
expectant little grin as she gestured from one side to the other. 

"Which of my lovely girls strikes your fancy, sir?"

***

"Hmm... aa... eto ze!" Tsuzuki rubbed his chin then, not because he was making a show 
of his ponderings, but because it really, most honestly, had begun to itch rather suddenly.  
The girls all took the little motion as charming... and sort of salacious, for a few straps 
were promptly lowered, a few chest thrust forward through lace.  Bunny ears cocked... 
for some of them really were wearing such things.  "Let me see here I'm... hmm... hard 
to choose."

He took a few wondering steps forward into the ribs of the madam's lassie fan, leaned 
this way and that as he admired them... not so much because they were girls, because 
they were pretty but because... they just looked so different from how he remembered 
living prostitutes.

They looked... happy.  And were all shimmery with just a little sweat, as if they might 
wink out any moment, and because of this, they each had a very particular scent to them, 
why, he could have told which ones passed before him with his eyes closed- no two wore 
the same cologne.  Why, there was one in iridescent white and Phoenician purple who 
looked like she had been got up for a fighting game- she had lotuses in her hair and 
smelled like them.  One in orange spandex holding a prop machine gun reminded him of 
cakemix and cherries.  

As for the one with the real fur and mint green satin rabbit ears well... she smelled like 
mint tea.  He paused before her for a moment and stroked her ears.

"Kimi no onamae wa nan da ka?" he asked her with a grin.  

"San desu!"

"Ah, sou ka! Yon told me about you..."

The girl applauded this and reached up after his be-watched wrist, which she snagged, 
and held a moment close to her seafoam-green lips, but did not touch.  "Did he tell you 
about Suzette too? We're two-for-one to-day!"

Her gesture lead his eyes to a brunette in much the same costume as her, though in pink, 
and trying desperately not to look Tsuzuki in the eye.

"Konnichi-wa!" He said just the same to her, and leaned a little closer, sort of bowing, 
sort of not.  

She smelled of dead earth and humid air, and it made him feel dreamy and embarrassed 
that.  Yet his heart pounded.  

/So it might be that you are... no, that's too easy.  Well... only one way to find out.  Poor 
thing.../

"You know, I think I'll..."

Suzette lunged for him then and set her long fingers around his neck and driven her baby-
pink nails into the skin there.

***

Youji was weary, his heart quite burdened with guilt and loss, and painful memories. 
Drink hadn't helped, drugs either--and he'd turned to both with open arms. No, there was 
only one thing he could do now to gain the comfort he sought, and he reached for it with 
open arms as well. 

Women. Young, beautiful women who were only so happy to listen to his woes, soothe 
his suffering, make him feel his old sexy self again. Ah, there was no greater pleasure in 
life, he thought, and he didn't dwell upon the fact that the only ones he could turn to he 
had to pay to have stay by him. A man had to take what he could get. 

But which parlor to choose? Normally, if he was a bit flush, he would go to one of the 
more expensive establishments down that row. Unfortunately, though, that day found him 
more cash poor than usual, and he'd had to...downgrade his choice. Didn't matter so 
much, as the girls in the one he frequented during such times possessed some damn fine 
looking women. 

As he entered, the sight of a slim, leggy brunette in black fishnets and red satin on the 
arm of a paunchy, middle aged man greeted him. She returned his admiring look with a 
regretful smile as they ascended the stairs. Now, that was a pity--such a lovely woman, 
wasted on a guy like him. Youji sighed with the air of a heartsick boy before he shuffled 
off to the lounge below. 

He was halfway down when he heard the screams. Feminine mostly, but over it all, one 
young, male voice crying out a name. 

"Tsuzuki!" 

/Eh?!/ 

He shook off his surprise and headed for the noren curtained doorway at a run, scarcely 
believing what he could make out between the closely hanging strings of beads. Two men 
were attacking a woman? 

No. There were two women, and they were fighting the men. Viciously, it seemed, given 
the wounds they both bore. 

/What the fuck...?/ 

His sixth sense buzzing with alarm, Youji fumbled for the wire loop he kept hooked 
along the side of his otherwise normal seeming wristwatch. He whipped out a healthy 
length of it, preparing to throw it, but before he could, however, the room exploded with 
light. He instinctively leapt back, arm over his face to shield himself. 

And when it had died away, and Youji dared to open his eyes again, he found the two 
women unconscious on the floor, and the boy--who had been the one to launch that rather 
amazing attack--was staggering over to the man who lay sprawled upon the ground. Said 
boy looked up at him as he knelt beside his companion, and Youji was riveted by his 
eyes. They were beautiful and frightening all at once, and made him look entirely 
vulnerable. But the boy clearly didn't like the looks of him, as he drew the man he held 
closer, eyeing Youji warily all the while. 

"Who are you?" 

Youji blinked at him, then smirked, nudging his glasses up his nose with one finger. "I 
was about to ask you that very question."

***

Only the most insubstantial sliver of Tsuzuki was aware some man in the real world, real 
time was speaking to him; that he could still feel the heat of his partner kneeling beside 
him.  The rest was swallowed somewhere in a rainy day mist rising in cold steam around 
him from the street of ninety years ago and far away...

He could almost sense the silk of the kimono as he reached out to touch that momentary 
daydream the blow his own spell had dealt him in the tiny room brought to him now.

It was in a tiny, wispy, voice he called out then. "Neeee! Ruka-chan! Wait up!"

Silence then, and in it the stars and reverie lifted from his gaze and his eyes fell closed as 
he tried to make himself remember there no longer were such things... what had 
happened? Where was it in his memory anymore? He raced after the most recent of his 
memories, found them blurred and torn... painful.

After all, he'd gotten himself upside the head, and quite hard.

Suzette lunged for him, tore his throat and cheeks open with her nails.

"I won't go back *there*! Not ever! Why can't you let me alone.  WHY! You're just as 
bad as him and you don't even care!"

He'd gotten a hold of her wrists, Hisoka called him name.  San kneed him in the crotch 
and called him a string of filthy words that ended in "pimp".  She had been crying, 
Suzette ceased to look like Suzette, but the smell of wet earth had been stifling around 
her.  He thought he'd felt something besides the soft mound of a woman's sex when he's 
dived for her and grazed her there by accident.

He had two fuda in his hand, Hisoka had.... Oh... Hisoka had attacked too.  His own 
spell had bounced off the boy's, for that flew true, and his was an instant too slow.

So their energies really were that different...

"OHMIGOD! I... I... are you OK?"

"Kid, he doesn't look so hot! Whatcha do to him anyway...?"

Hisoka mumbled, just like verbal bubbles in his mind... somehow he couldn't make them 
out.

"I'll get some water."

"Suzette... what... how did you know...?"

"I've never seen this guy before in my life."

"You were just talking to him!"

"I... was... did I..."

"Well, ya grabbed him."

"I DID! I DID THIS... oh no no no no no..."

All this and the music of silk and satin skin moving all around him, as if he was locked in 
a cage of butterflies, all fluttering together in places.  It was not them, or the ocean of 
their murmuring mumbles that awakened him, but rather the unfamiliar hand which 
touched the final testaments of the scratches on his neck as they slipped away.  

Tsuzuki's eyes shot open, but he made no sound.

Around him was a rainbow of lovely girls, almost all of them in tears.  Suzette had his 
hand in hers and San was kissing her furiously to try and get her to fall quiet once again.  
She smelled of chocolate and roses now, rather than anything of Papua New Guinea.  He 
smiled.

Or tried to.

His face hurt.  

And it all would have fluttered away anyway as the dimmer shape beside them came into 
focus in his swimming mind.  The man who had his hand against his throat.  Tsuzuki 
half-believed he was hallucinating him, for he knew he had seen no such person before... 
where had he come from... and the silver wire round his fingers still.  Looked so wet.  
The hands seeking his pulse still smelled of aftershave.  Lips still were bruised by 
someone else's kiss.  

It was with a sort of ecstatic fear he looked back into those emerald green eyes, just shyly 
at first, trying to quell his blush by thoughts alone, and then as deeply as he dared, for he 
could not speak then, and he knew not what else to make his form try to say.

***

As it happened, Tsuzuki need not have feared. Youji knew attraction when he saw it in 
another. That one would become so smitten so quickly, when he'd barely spoken to said 
would-be lover, though... 

Such things had *rarely* happened. Usually it took a bit of flirtatious patter before his 
quarry was good and snared. 

/Well, now.../ 

Youji wasn't quick to remove his fingers from the stranger's throat, but instead let them 
linger a touch longer than what might be considered proper. "You have had a bad spill," 
he remarked casually, inwardly puzzling over why the ladies were unaware of the 
previous exchange of violent energies. "Maybe you should have some water," he advised, 
taking the proferred paper cup and holding it out for him to sip from. 

"He doesn't need any," remarked the boy coldly. Youji tore his eyes away from the 
injured man's violet--VIOLET!--ones and settled them upon him instead, only to receive 
a nasty glare. It didn't take him too long to figure out why he was so hated now. Intrusion, 
most definitely, but now there was another reason: Jealousy. Youji wanted to laugh in his 
face. 

"I think he'd be the better judge of that, don't you...kid?" 

The boy bristled at that, his hands clutching at his partner's sleeves until the man made a 
sound of pain. Or mild irritation, perhaps; Youji couldn't really tell, didn't dwell upon it. 
As the boy released his hold upon him, he simply slid an arm around his shoulders as he 
started to rise, and was rewarded by a shy smile. Youji moved a little closer to him, voice 
low and intimate. 

"Or maybe, perhaps, you'd rather lie down somewhere...private for awhile?" 

The flush staining Tsuzuki's cheeks deepened, but he murmured uncertainly, still having 
only eyes for Youji, and Youji for him. And so neither of them saw the flash of bitter 
pain in Hisoka's luminous green eyes, or even noticed how he seemed to crumple, 
kneeling on the floor beside his partner. 

And then, someone held out a damp cloth, and Hisoka snatched it before Youji could 
even twitch a finger in its direction. This, he lay upon the slowly healing cut on Tsuzuki's 
cheek, and held it there, scowling. 

"I can take care of him. We don't need you." 

One fine, black brow rose as Youji transferred his regard to Hisoka, coolly looking him 
over. "Again, I think he'd be the better judge of that." He turned back to Tsuzuki with a 
tiny smile. "Don't you?"

***

That of course was one of the last questions Tsuzuki wanted put to him that instant.  The 
sudden liquid way his tongue felt was bad enough, but being put in a place where he had 
to choose between two of anything, cake was bad enough let alone people!, that kept him 
mute and flushing; made him want to sink back down to the floor and huddle there for 
awhile until everyone left, not that anyone seemed in the mood to do that.

Most all of the girls and the madam were caressing over Suzette now, as if to them, he 
had already vanished into thin air.

He wanted to do that too.  The stranger's eyes lit on his once more and his second sight 
interfered with his real... or maybe it didn't.  He couldn't quite make himself focus on 
what he thought he saw, but that didn't mean anything of course... but those crystal-
green eyes seemed to be shot with glittering incisions like ice that cracks in someone's 
warm hand, and even with that cavalier smile to match them, oh... there was something 
so dark there, so sinister even he could feel it.  And he was no good with the living any 
longer.

His tongue darted out over his grinning lips and it made Tsuzuki, for an instant, draw 
nearer his partner before he had a moment for second thoughts.

His mouth moved but nothing came out.  The chords in his throat would make no sound 
for him, only the little sparkle of breathe on his lips, just like a moment before when he 
could have passed it off on embarrassment.

No matter how hard he tried.  He glanced frantically between Hisoka and the stranger 
then, biting his silent lips.  Neither seemed to know what was the matter with him, but 
both began to look worried then, and two pairs of hands reached for his own before he 
stepped away form them both, wobbling an instant on his feet.  They felt like he had 
never stood on them before, and like there were pins under him now.  It sounded familiar, 
the symptoms, but he couldn't tell where from.  

And then he remembered the date book in his pocket.  In a slow instant he had it in his 
hands and was scratching out a pair of notes, one each side.  Hisoka got his first...

[I'm dizzy and I can't speak, but I'll be OK.  We can leave as soon as my head stops 
doing somersaults.] 

And to the stranger while the boy was reading...

[Umm... thanks.  I'm OK now ^.^V.  What's your name?]

***  

Youji carefully folded the lined sheet and slipped it into his pocket with a pat, all smiles 
as he took in the way the boy was hovering close to the object of his interest. He had not 
been fooled by the violet-eyed man's reassurance at all; his unsteadiness and the worried 
way his companion was studying him only proved him right. 

"I'm Kudou Youji," he said, bowing quickly. 

Another smile, and the other bowed to him, then glanced hopefully at the boy at his side. 
The boy's expression changed from concern to surprise as he looked from one to the 
other, and then stubbornly away. Youji watched with mild puzzlement as the older man 
elbowed him not once, but twice, clearly trying to get him to go along with...something. 

/Telepaths?/ The idea left him feeling uneasy, and for good reason. 

At once, the boy looked over at him, and Youji realized he'd picked up on what he was 
thinking. He was entertaining the notion of going for his wire, just in case, when he 
spoke, gesturing at his companion. 

"He's Tsuzuki Asato." 

Grinning, the dark-haired man bowed. He then cast his partner an expectant look. The 
youth eyed him grimly, then huffed. His arms fell to his sides, and he made him a cursory 
bow. "I'm Kurosaki Hisoka." He straightened up, glaring. "Now what are you doing 
here?" 

Youji's brows rose. "What a question! I'm here to while away an hour or two with one of 
these gorgeous ladies--but those plans have been ruined haven't they?" 

Hisoka frowned. "That's not our problem." 

Youji chuckled. "Oh, it is. You guys caused them to get upset," he said quietly. "I *saw* 
what was going on in here, and I saw what you," he pointed at Hisoka, "did to stop it. Or 
are you going to try to deny it?" 

"I don't have--" 

Youji lifted his hands in a gesture of surrender. "Yare, yare! You're just as disagreeable 
as one of my co-workers." He clapped Tsuzuki on the shoulder, shaking his head. "I do 
feel for you, Tsuzuki-san." 

"Oi!" grumbled Hisoka. "You--" 

"Ah, but nevermind," cooed Youji as he took Tsuzuki by the arm and gently led him 
away from Hisoka. "Why don't I buy you a drink, and you tell me all about just what's 
going on around here?" 

"Yes," piped Hisoka from Tsuzuki's side; he wasn't going to be so easy to shake off, 
"why don't you buy *us* a drink, and then you can tell us why you are so damned 
interested in the affairs of strangers?!" 

Raking his hand through his hair, Youji cocked Hisoka an exasperated look.

***

/Well... actually, I wanted to go back to you-know-where and have Watari look at me, 
but I just remembered of course Watari isn't in today./

/So.../

Tsuzuki canted Youji another look, this one softly searching.  The other man took it as a 
kind of endearment to be so studied, or so he though, though Tsuzuki wasn't looking into 
Youji at all, but rather back at himself mirrored in those shattered crystal green eyes.  The 
moved him, but just he same, were mirrors only to him in those moments.  For he knew 
the vague infatuation and the kissing lust of it all, the way they two glanced at one 
another through the air.  It had been decades since he'd fallen for a soul, living or dead, at 
least with this kind of drifting down to earth and below- the wet, tingling want like candy 
and warm days in summer used to be in the world of children.

And of course, from that, the one manifest dilemma of sorts.

/'cause I can feel however I want about you! Even if it takes me a second to feel that way, 
or a hundred years!/

/But it won't mean you'll ever be like me.  You're... you're alive! And I'm not! You 
might as well have fallen for a ghost instead of me./

And then, one tingling realization that ran up and down his spine like ripples of sunshine 
on the surface of a pool.

/Besides... what if this is all just you being stoned or drunk or something! What if you're 
not even like me at all! And you're just saying what you say because you can't help it, or 
you're curious about what it might be like.../

He had been confused, and then he didn't know at all, just kept on watching.  

And then a shout outside.  He couldn't make out what had been said, and he didn't have 
to, for he would have run anyway.  And did, Hisoka gathered like a rosary in one hand.

He hadn't even shaken his head, and didn't look back.  One of the girls said something 
about thanking the two of them, but didn't follow.  Youji didn't either, not at first.

As he tore up the stairs with Hisoka in tow, he could only think of one more thing beyond 
what had already crossed his thoughts.

/Maybe you're just some collector of erotic oddities and my eyes happened to turn you 
on.  Heh, well isn't that just so nice? A hundred years ago, I was a monster, and now I'm 
a trick for somebody./

/Somebody oh so pretty./

When they reached the street at last, they found the sidewalks on either side littered with 
broken glass from the streetlight.  They had both stepped in the trail of blood before they 
saw it, and with silent nods tried to follow it, but in the end found only a woman who's 
dog had cut its foot on some of the shards.  As they scanned the shimmering rim of 
soapland for a sign, he realized they hadn't been followed and he didn't know what to 
think about that at all...

***

And Youji didn't know what to make of Tsuzuki's sudden flight. In fact, he'd been so 
startled by his actions that as soon as the pair had fled his vision, he had followed them, 
thinking he could catch him, thinking to say...something which might convince him to 
linger. But nothing appropriate came to mind. 

So Youji had staggered to a halt on the sidewalk, and instead watched his intended 
conquest race away. What had he said? Did he do something wrong? Touch him too 
much? It wouldn't have been the first time he'd chased a potential lover off. Some people 
just didn't respond to his brand of seduction. 

Youji told himself that Tsuzuki was simply one of those people, and they just weren't 
meant to be together. He told himself that it was Tsuzuki's loss, and that there were other 
men and women to be had. Hell, he was in one of the best places for a man to find some 
other warm, young beauty to romance. 

Strangely though, Youji didn't want anyone else other than the one he'd tried to get. He 
was haunted by that shy, beguiling smile, and those compelling eyes; the curious little 
fluttering he'd felt when he'd touched him. 

And so, Youji left soapland without ever fulfilling his quest. 

*** 

Tsuzuki liked that Kudou, that much was clear to Hisoka. What wasn't clear was why that 
knowledge had hurt him so much? He'd been riddled with odd little pangs somewhere 
near his chest whenever he was hit with the intense impulses of attraction which rose 
from both. 
It was like he was in love with Tsuzuki, and he didn't! He just didn't! He only wanted to 
save his partner from the clutches of that smooth lecher. 

Never mind that from said lecher, Hisoka had sensed a genuine interest. 

Never mind that his breath had caught in his lungs when Tsuzuki took him by the hand. 

/Oh, how could Tsuzuki think he'd just be a trick for anyone...?/ 

Hisoka silently mourned the fact that his partner felt so about himself. He drew nearer to 
him, inexplicably wanting to gather Tsuzuki in his arms and spirit him back to Meifu. 
The other looked so lost. 

"Tsuzuki...?" 

As if his voice was a lure, the other man turned to look at him, and Hisoka almost forgot 
what he wanted to say. 

"A-are you okay?" he whispered, squeezing the hand wrapped around his own.

***

Tsuzuki nodded assuringly smiling all the while as he reached over and ruffled his 
partner's hair then, just because he was there, and because he could find no machines 
nearby where coffee might be purchased and the cold can of it tucked against the boy's 
ears to startle him.  He really did feel fine... except for the not being able to talk part.  
And he didn't think that would last... not too long.

Besides, Hisoka was always complaining about his chatter... perhaps he would enjoy 
being with him more if it was literally impossible for him to utter anything especially 
absurd or abashing? The silence which had presently gathered around them was whipped 
cream smooth, almost like being dandled a bit by inquisitive feathers.  

He still looked very, very worried though and so, soapland or not and whoever of them 
was taken to be the gigolo, he kept his hold on his hand, swinging it in his own and they 
darted through this alley and the next between small pauses where they listened with 
what senses they could muster.

Suddenly, with a little tug, he let it be known that he wished to stop for a moment, and 
they drew into the back parking lot of a well-to-do strip club that had opened so long 
before the sun had begun to set.  Glittering, sexy blue music poured from the doors when 
they fell open now and again, and the air from it smelled like the edge of a pool- all cool 
water and hot skin.  In the shade of this place, Tsuzuki began to fold some of the fuda 
from his back pocket.

One by one, a flock of white, ethereal birds rose into the hazy afternoon sky and took 
wing across soapland.  He pulled the tail feather of one away and stuck it behind 
Hisoka's ear, where it lasted for only a moment away from its enchantment.   

***

It tingled in the spot where the illusionary feather rested, drifting off into sparks on the 
breeze. His nerves thrummed with tension, drawn up from some still pool deep within 
and fed by the orgasmic rhythm of the music, by the tropical scent of the air, by the solid, 
comforting pressure of Tsuzuki's hand around his own. Hisoka caught a thread of thought 
from his partner and it wasn't about the man with dark green eyes. It was about him. 

*Him.* 

Operating on all impulse and no thought, Hisoka took one step forward. The trench's 
sleeve felt slightly rough under his unclaimed palm; he clutched at and released the 
fabric, moving his hand upward towards Tsuzuki's shoulder, feeling the outline of the 
limb which lay encased within it. He was so warm, so teasingly close. The flaps of his 
trench stirred, brushing his legs. 

He gazed up in his companion's eyes then, and found them so earnest, so seemingly 
hungry for...what? Acceptance? Love? Hisoka was moved to tears; they rose and 
viciously stung him, but he blinked them back, swallowing away the hard, uncomfortable 
lump in his throat. 

He saw himself sweeping Tsuzuki into his arms, and Hisoka feared that if he did that, he 
might never want to let him go. 

"I'm sorry," he half-whispered, releasing his sleeve at last. "I don't know what's come 
over me."

***

Tsuzuki didn't seem at all confused by what his partner had done- nor upset in any way.  
Not even a trickle of surprise graced his thoughts or the way he looked just then with the 
shade rippling on and off of him.  He simply appeared- and simply felt to the boy -gentle 
and calm, and a little sleepy.  As if he had just been awakened.  Or as if he meant to go to 
die softly in someone else's names, though the trickle of pain wasn't there, nor the 
sadness or the dreams of moments of yesteryear darting one by one across his mind.  

The sei missing or not, Tsuzuki seemed quite glad.  He simply shook his head and ran his 
fingers through Hisoka's bangs as the music changed to something slow and sparkly and 
just a little melancholy- the only thing that seemed so just then, just that moment.  His 
fingers brushed over the boy's lashes then, but caught no tears, and when he saw that, he 
smiled.

Just smiled.

/It's alright.  Don't worry about it./

Tsuzuki's glance fell to the pavement then, and he paced a few steps, with his hands 
knotted behind his back and the occasional glance over his shoulder.  Hisoka followed, 
matched him step for step, even though he didn't seem to know where they were going.

He would have patted his head then, or his shoulder... whatever of him was closest but... 
was never sure about touching him.  Especially when he seemed upset.

So he scratched out a quick note for him, and winked when he had finished it.

[I'm tired, you're tired.  It's scared.  Let's go home.]

***

Wrapping his arms around himself, Hisoka nodded wordlessly. Tsuzuki was right. He 
was tired. Being around humans was always a trial for him, and today...Well, it was no 
different than usual in a way. And yet, in a way, the situation was completely out of the 
ordinary. Hisoka couldn't pinpoint why it was, exactly. 

As they phased out of the strip club's parking lot, he figured it wasn't really important. 

The fountain was still as empty as before; the streets beyond, nearly so. Hisoka made no 
attempt at invisibility as he stepped over the fountain's retaining wall; if anyone did see 
him, then it was their problem. Not his. He had enough of his own. 

Before he could sink into them, Tsuzuki's arm fell lightly across his shoulders, shaking 
him back to the present and the grove of the JuMaCho. The other man was smiling rather 
hesitantly at him, eyes glinting with some strange light. The breeze wafted through the 
cherry trees, soaking the warm air with pink petals; it pulled at them both, rippling their 
clothing and toying with their hair. Hisoka lay his head upon Tsuzuki's chest, but only for 
a moment. 

"You want to see Kudou-san again."

***

There was never any point in lying to Hisoka, so Tsuzuki nodded, his smile going 
somewhat despondent, but being nonetheless a smile.  Hisoka's eyes left his then, and he 
did not call after them, not that he could in the present.  

There was nothing to do but make a report and go back to their apartment, the Tokyo one, 
for they kept no dwelling in the Unseen World.  That again, mostly his doings, for as 
much as he loved the evening and the dawn, seeing it always pussyfooting through his 
house... that just made it seem no longer so special to him.  But then again, there were so 
many moments just like that, or that had been.

Like... being alive.  Just thinking, seeing, touching, that... he had, but not the little voice 
in the back of his mind.  I'm real, I'm living I'm...

He came to a stop just before the door to Watari's office, better known as the infirmary, 
not because he still found no familiar doctor there- only a few nurses, and a few lightly 
bandaged shinigami complaining about a buss accident in Hokaido that had not occurred 
on schedule.  He tore his eyes away from them, and rather looked back to his partner.

Just smiled, and then went on ahead to take them both off the clock so they could retire to 
their apartment proper.

***

He couldn't remember exactly when he'd fallen asleep, only that he had done so with 
Watari's arms around him, nearly heart-to-heart. It was thus that Tatsumi awakened some 
time later--at least an hour, judging by the way the weak sunlight was slanting across the 
room. Maybe more, even. 

Watari's hair felt like silk to his burrowing fingers, and that same burnt leaves scent 
emanated from him above the smell of sex. It made him thrill a little, and he hugged the 
fair-haired doctor just a little closer. Watari stirred, murmuring, and his hold on Tatsumi 
slackened. A smile hovered on his lips; Tatsumi couldn't help but smile back at him, even 
as he was struck with a pang of guilt. Oh, it wasn't that he regretted spending the better 
part of the day with Watari. Rather, he had enjoyed every minute of it. But...now, his 
thoughts were drifting ever farther away from sensuous pleasures and ever closer to his 
duties. His neglected duties. 

Casting an apologetic look towards his lover, Tatsumi eased himself free of Watari's 
arms, and left the bed. 

/I'll just take a look,/ he thought as he slipped out of the room and down the hall to his 
office--which was really a spare bedroom he had converted. A desk, a chair, three lamps, 
and a small, green metal file cabinet were the room's only furnishings. Tatsumi pulled the 
door to, intending only to be there for as long as it took to check his email. Kanoe would 
contact him for sure if something had come up. 

Sure enough, the laptop chimed accordingly. He had mail and it was from the Chief. 
And...he was none too pleased with him--or Watari. Tatsumi couldn't help but smile 
when he read about Watari's mysterious absence, and how no one could reach him either. 

And then his smile faded, became more a frown. The one day he decides to slack off, and 
all hell breaks loose. Tatsumi figured that the quiet they were enjoying wouldn't last; he 
just wasn't expecting it to end so quickly. And on that very day. 

He drummed his fingers on the computer's keys, contemplating a reply. But then, he 
signed off the system and put the computer in standby. An answer for Kanoe could wait; 
Watari could not. Tatsumi wanted to talk to him about it before he made contact with the 
Chief. Rising from his chair with a sigh and a slurp of naked flesh being forcibly 
separated from wood, Tatsumi slipped out of the office and returned to his bedroom. 
Watari was still sprawled across the mattress where he'd left him. Tatsumi lingered by the 
door for a moment, just watching him. Needless to say, he was *very* disappointed that 
their party had to come to an end in such a way. 

/Oh, damn it all./ 

His hand swung from the knob to his side as he set off for the bed, and Tatsumi was just 
as careful climbing onto the futon as he was climbing off it. He curled his long limbs 
around the blond, pressing against him, and was rewarded by another hint of a smile. 
Tatsumi bent and kissed him on the cheek. 

"Watari? Wake up..."

***

Watari, who was not the deepest sleeper in the world when sober, had given an honest 
smile at the first hint of those words, and peered out from under his still drooping lashes 
by the time they ended.  Tatsumi was plainly not expecting him to awaken so suddenly, 
and rather than adding anything to his soft request, hovered just before him, looking as 
searching an innocent about it as Tatsumi ever could look.  Except for the part about his 
being naked.  And the fact his always exquisitely kept hair was a total wreck due to the 
diabolical machinations of fingers and pillows. 

The doctor started to chuckle at the sight of him, but said nothing, just hoisted his hands 
up, going straight for his companion's glasses and snatching them away.

He pushed himself up on one arm then- kissed his cheeks and nuzzled his cobalt eyes; 
nibble his lips and his chin.

Still, he said nothing, and that had to make him wonder... just a little.  The world not of 
the living had probably called for them while he slept.  Ah, so was life, or whatever came 
after that they both knew.

Though he had to admit... he didn't usually FEEL dead.  Didn't even know how the dead 
felt...

Or why he had gone so morbid all of a sudden! What a sad turn of events that was! More 
than any reprimand could ever have been! 

But he knew then, he really knew.  Will apologetic simpers he stole out of his lover's 
arms, and made off with the sheet that had covered the futon from where it had been cast 
aside.  This he drew around himself as if it was some sort of dress itself.  It sagged in the 
back a little too far and left just a hint of his crack above its edges.  Wearing only this, he 
went over to the window and cast the screens open so he could lean out.  Something 
twittered at the sound and then began to sing again.

He had found the bird he had heard just after lunch, and knew quite well what it was.

"You've got hototogisu living under your overhangs! You know what they say about 
hototogisu? That they're really just dead souls crying because they can't return to the 
land of their loved ones.  Well... I'm not so anxious to leave you.  So fly away little 
bird!"

(OOC: hototogisu- Japanese cuckoo.)

***

Unconcerned with his nakedness, Tatsumi stole away from the futon and crept up behind 
Watari, but not to spook him; his hands moved far too lightly down his back to cause any 
fright. 

"I'm not anxious for you to leave either, Watari, so shall I turn their shadows upon them 
and scare them away?" 

He bent to kiss one shoulder, his hands slipping under the sheet to stroke him further. 
Watari murmured in encouragement, and the sheet fell away to crumple at the doctor's 
feet. Laughing, Tatsumi whisked him away from the window and pressed him against the 
wall with a kiss. 

"The neighbors don't have to see *everything*, you know."

***

The doctor, who was still laughing a good deal himself at the idea of the little cuckoos 
taking off, in fear of their own tail shadows' possibly plots to make off with their 
feathers, ran his fingers through his lover's hair, mussing it as much as he dared at the 
moment.  Tatsumi only sighed a little, kissed him again, and again while the work outside 
hummed and clattered away like a living machine.

"Ah, but I bet they'd like to! Once, back in the seventies you know, I lived across the 
street from a couple who always used to frolic on their porch in their underwear, and 
sometimes less! But it was a quiet neighborhood, and always during the day, so I guess 
they thought no one saw."

Running one of the burn scars on his finger's down the other shinigami's lips then, "It's 
funny, the things you forget or remember but... but anyway! I get the feeling you woke 
me up for something important.  We've got a voyeur already, don't we? Ah, I thought as 
much."

***

Tatsumi caught Watari's hand and pressed a kiss to his cupped palm. Held it to his cheek. 
"I don't know if we have a voyeur, but we do seem to have a problem. Something called a 
Sei. It likes to possess humans and feed off them. There have already been a few 
unexplained deaths reported in Tokyo. Even more elsewhere in the country." He slid his 
hands around Watari's waist. "Between you and me, I'd rather have a voyeur. At least 
we'd wouldn't ever have to leave." He kissed him on the forehead. 

"Or go to work." He kissed him on the cheek. 

"Or get dressed..." 

With a quiet little chuckle, they fell together again, and the air was filled with the cries of 
the birds and the soft, wet smackings of still more kisses. At last, Tatsumi pulled back 
with a regretful little sigh. His fingers had found their way into Watari's flowing locks, 
and they came away with two or three strands wound around them. Tatsumi made a fist 
so they'd stay there. And then, as he watched the golden filaments wink at him in the 
waning light, it dawned on him what Watari had said. The curiousness of it. 

"Um...you mentioned earlier that you and Sen went to school in the seventies. So how 
could you have played voyeur to a pair occasional nudists?"

***

Watari, caught between another sensual giggle and just one more kiss for his lover's lips, 
started, just slightly, and rather than the look of an enraptured, ever so naughty boyfriend, 
he suddenly began to more resemble the qausi innocence that all children with their hands 
in cookie jars or mommy's lipstick known. 

He was also plainly engaged in an epic battle with something in his past for just the right 
explanation for the little slip in the timing of his life story. Smiling nervously.  His 
fingers stole over Tatsumi's bangs in a sort of wandering caress.

"Well, to tell you the truth, I didn't always go to college, not every, single day.  I was just 
delinquent that way I suppose."

His voice in the present certainly was.

"You never did anything like that, I'm sure."

A little laugh, and he reached up to tug on one of Tatsumi's ears in teasing.

***  

"No, I never did," Tatsumi replied, lightly batting Watari's hand away from his ear. "I 
was an upstanding student. Never one bad mark...Don't give me that look. There's 
nothing wrong with taking one's studies seriously." 

Watari chuckled. Tatsumi's brows rose. 

"Shall I take it by that little laugh that you disagree with me on that point?" 

Watari leaned in as if to kiss him, but stopped just shy of doing it. Tatsumi's mouth fairly 
watered to taste of the other's kiss, but he held back. 

"What if you were my subject, and I said I wanted to know everything inch of you, as 
much inside as out? What would you say then?" 

The blond's brow hitched in a slightly worried manner, and Tatsumi frowned. He slid his 
fingers under his chin, nudging it upwards, and forcing him to look back into his eyes and 
not at the floor, as he had been. 

"Why is that so troublesome to you? Is there something you're trying to hide from me?"

***

Watari raised his hand dismissively, but kept it rather still, not quite encouraging what 
doubt there was to leave his lover, and quite possibly himself.  "Oh no! It's not that! It's 
just... well... there isn't that much more to know about me."

Tatsumi though gave him a look as if he seriously doubted then, and it was not long from 
that moment he found his fingers were no longer his, but rather belonged to the lips of the 
other shinigami.  He sighed, and pulled his palm along his cheek as he nibbled on the 
pads of his digits and kissed him under his knuckles.

"I'm, I guess what you'd call... ah... shallow.  I like to blow things up, I was a bad 
student- so bad I actually died in a lab accident, but you figured that out I suppose.  I like 
Hagio Moto a lot- who cares if it's shojo? And now, despite being a bad student while I 
was alive, I'm married to my work."

Shaking his head, Watari pulled his hand away then and kissed it himself for awhile, all 
the way up his arm to the crook of one elbow.  A sigh then, and rather he flung his arms 
around his companion, giggling and sighing now and then as he pressed his head against 
his shoulder.

"Silly me! I forgot the only interesting thing about me! You see, I've got this dashing 
boyfriend who's... Oh, I'm not sure! Two or three times as old as me, but he's prettier 
than anyone I've ever known younger than me.  He has cobalt blue eyes, and chestnut 
hair and... MMM! Smells like coffee! He's kinda fussy, but he's a bad witch sometimes, 
and I mean that in a good way.  I'm just stupidly in love with him.  How could I forget 
that?"

***

"Oh..............." sighed Kijin.

"Oh..............." sighed someone on Tenkou's TV in the other room.  

But whereas Kijin sighed and rolled over on his mattress so his face was smothered in the 
sticky silk of his sheets, the voice on the TV broke into a jolly sea-shanty sort of song, 
one which his sister was all too happy to accent with her own frail, mischievous voice.

"Who lives in a pineapple under the sea?"

"Spongebob Squarepants!"

"Absorbent and yellow and porous is he!"

"Spongebob Squarepants!"

Kijin moaned, staggered up from his bed and started over to his door, which had been left 
just barely parted- wide enough to let the faint blue mist of the stone floor outside peek 
in, and the sounds of any footsteps there reach his hearing.  But no one had come for him, 
or called since the end of that morning, and even so, just as his fingers crept into that 
inclusion of the world outside his room, he felt terribly guilty.

He had, after all, pretty much grounded himself.  There was nothing else in GenSouKai 
he knew that he could, now that he could not think of leaving his father's watchful eyes, 
let alone his own chambers.

But no one had told him to stay there.

No one.

And Tenkou's television was really, really getting on his nerves.

So, with his feet naked on the floor of the hall, he padded just across it to his sister's 
bedroom and rapped upon her door which, also, he found had not been latched, and so 
swung open before him.  It almost looked as if he had broken open a candy with pink 
cream inside, standing in the hallway, for the walls there were white, and beyond, in 
Tenkou's tiny realm, the color of strawberry filling, despite that the motif otherwise, 
among the flocks of cuddly pillows and miles of floating chiffon, was that of underwater.  
Clear glass fish dangled from the ripples adorning the ceiling, glittering stuffed seashells 
took up the corners and friendly sea horses held the curtains back from the view of the 
charred cypress grove outside.  

Even the dolls had mermaid tails, every single one.  And there he stood, in her doorway, 
wearing his best robe rumpled so comically about him, while she, in her lacey underwear, 
admired a tiny TV with great, big iridescent plastic bubbles glued all over it.

"Imouto-chan, can you turn that down a little? It's really very loud."

Her eyes came not over to his, but she did, and had potato chip.

"Thank you."

But there he stood, as the rose-colored seaweed hands of her clock ran on and on...

"Tenkou..."

"WHAT! It's my favorite episode! It's OPPOSITE DAY!" And a little handful of sour-
cream and onion snibbles when flying all over her rug.  

"Why did you tell father I was LEAVING!?"

Silence then, and though neither had shouted for very long, they were both gasping as 
hard as they could.

But she waved him in, and he closed the door behind him this time, made sure the springs 
in it had clicked closed.  Their eyes met and they danced away from each other, back to 
the taffeta and shimmer of the bedroom.

One tiny voice then, that spoke over someone else's laughter on the TV, and was almost 
drowned out by it, like waves wash out whispers along the beach. "I didn't want you to 
go away."

"Oh Tenkou..." With a sigh, Kijin dashed across the room and scooped his sister into his 
arms, squeezing her so hard at first she squeaked because he had smushed her nose 
against his shoulder.  Muttering sorries, he lifted her up and walked about the room with 
her in his embrace as he had done when she was smaller.

At least, for a little while.

Hearing his shriek, she too turned to the window...

"Byakko! Rikugou! What are you DOING outside my SISTER'S WINDOW!?"

***

The six-eyed crow shook himself upon his window ledge perch. "We are here to see 
you," said Rikugou. "And as you weren't in your own room..." 

A swat at the frame with a massive, furry paw, and the window opened wide. Rikugou 
sailed over Byakko's head as the tiger god padded into the room, where he immediately 
transformed and dashed over to the TV. Apparently, Tenkou wasn't the only one who 
liked Spongebob. 

Rikugou transformed as well, but as he found himself utterly naked... 

"Please excuse me, Tenkou," he said as he whipped a silk throw from her bed and 
wrapped it around himself to hide his nakedness as best he could--which wasn't much, as 
it was quite skimpy in contrast to the shikigami's tall frame. "It's impossible for me to 
keep my clothes on while I'm in my animal form. Ah well! It's not important." A smile, 
and he made his way over to the godling. 

"I know something that will be of more importance to you than my failings, Kijin. 
Something that involves you, and Byakko...and Touda."

***

Tenkou glaaaaaaaared once more at Rikugou, though she had almost started to smile at 
the look he had given himself when he remembered his clothing was gone.  How modest 
he was! How charming! How unaware that Kouchin and Suzaku were not the only ones 
who found themselves transmuted and transfigured by the lens of her trust telescope.  
Though he looked a lot more interesting in person! All that blue hair darting around him, 
the way his bottom shimmered when he moved very quickly, she wondered what on earth 
he washed with!

And now all he wanted to do was talk on topics regarding...

"I don't think you should be talking about Frown-san Nasty-pants," she informed him 
and her sibling.

Kijin blushed a little and patted her head as she squirmed in his arms again so she was 
now sitting in the crook of them rather than swung over his shoulder.  "Ah... please do 
not mind my darling Imouto.  Too many cartoons."

"I do NOT watch that many! Just Spongebob! And sometimes Invader Zim, even though 
he's scaaaary! And I made that name up myself! Did you ever look really close at his 
pants? They're very evil!"

Kijin scowled faintly at her, as if to say he had most certainly done no such thing! Even 
though he had, often, admired Touda's pants, for they were very tight and did well to 
feed his imagination.  

The oppressive silence though was shattered by a fit of laughter of Byakko's part 
(Byakko having won a pair of transforming boxers in a game of tarot with a merman 
many years ago- his luck at cards had changed since then, but the shorts would become 
stripes along his hips when he became a tiger).  "Squidward's such a stick-in-the-mud! 
Spongebob isn't 'loud and annoying'! He's just really gay! If he was a tiger-god too, I'd 
go out with him!"

"Today I should be quiet and out of the way!" Tenkou shouted along with the squeaky 
voice coming from her TV.  Having given reprimanding glances to both her nude, 
uninvited guest and her brother, she bounded away and plunked herself in Byakko's lap.  

"Ah, please, really.  She thinks the word 'Pants' is the funniest word that ever was right 
now," Kijin intoned softly, brushing his sleeve over his mouth for an instant, as if he 
meant to cough, though he didn't.  "But... ah... back to what you were saying... please 
don't think I am ungrateful, Rikugou-san, or that I'm not glad to see you but... I really 
don't know about this eloping business anymore."

***  

Now *those* were the last words Rikugou had ever expected to hear Kijin say. His 
refusal left him quite stunned and rather disappointed. 

"But...I had a plan, and it was a good one too, if I do say so. I thought you might ask your 
father if you could go on a camping trip with Byakko, Tsuzuki and Hisoka. He, in all 
likelihood would agree, but instead of you going with *them*, you would go off with 
Touda. You could get married. SohRyu wouldn't be able to do anything about it then." 

The boy's face fell, and he folded his hands in his sleeves. 

"Oh, I see. Your esteemed father has already done something about it." Rikugou 
grimaced, picturing the dragon god in his mind's eye. "Probably made threats, and yelled, 
hm?" he mused softly, tugging at the scant covering around his hips. "And just when I'd 
picked an auspicious day for the two of you to escape, too." 

They fell silent for a moment, and then Rikugou broke off his silent cursing of SohRyu, 
looking more sorrowful than furious now as he turned back to Kijin. One hand landed 
gently upon the boy's shoulder. 

"Are you sure you can just give Touda up so easily? I mean, everyone knows how much 
you care for him, Kijin."

***

"Auspicious day? Ah, that's... that's sweet of you..." Kijin mumbled over the little rush 
of laughter that had risen from the tiny, be-bubbled TV.  He rather turned towards the 
sound, grim himself and almost seeming not to really say what lay there- Byakko curled 
up in a mound of fuzzy pink, hi-fiving Tankou now and then as their favorite moment's 
of the episode passed.  He had to shake his head to tear his gaze away from them, and 
look back to Rikugou.

"But have you ever... really, truly been in love, like I am with Touda? Or at least... I feel 
that I am.  It seems that while he lives in my every waking moment... he is like a ghost 
there, and no matter what I do, I still see... other things.  Real things.  Not the Touda isn't 
real, but then again, he's not hear.  He's not with me.  And no matter how much I adore 
him I..."

His deep blue gaze strayed again then, and it lit upon his sister even though she did not 
see.  "My Imouto-chan doesn't want me to go, and I can't break her heart.  I wish it 
needn't be anyone's at all but...  I can't... I just... can't."

A compassionate hand fell upon his shoulder then, and in silence, he looked towards his 
friend, but did not really seem to see him.  There were other things that has come to his 
mind, apologies and a thousand offers of what was do be done now, of all things, but his 
sister cocked her head towards him, rolling over on her sheets now so she was cast across 
them like a little, tiny model, though her panties had come down, and part of her bottom 
was showing.  Kijin didn't exactly know what to do about THAT and promptly blushed.  

"Of course you can go! You just have to take me with you.  I can't miss you if I'm 
coming along, now can I?"

They both looked with puzzled eyes upon Rikugou, whose sheet was once more falling 
down.

***

"Well..." the soothsayer began, "I don't know. I mean, I doubt that was what..." 

Neither of SohRyu's children moved. Both were still staring at him searchingly. Rikugou 
nervously cleared his throat. 

"Um, that is...okay. You come along with us, Ten-chan." 

The little godling grinned at him in delight, and rolled over and over until she was 
sprawled across Byakko's lap. The tiger god gathered her to his chest like she was a doll, 
tickling her just to hear her infectious giggle. 

"We'll find some way to get you two together. If you can't get away, at least you'll have a 
few nights of peace. Surely she can't fault you that." 

"Perhaps, my daughter can't," said a booming voice from the now open doorway, "but I 
might." 

Both Rikugou and Kijin turned to face SohRyu. A somewhat displeased SohRyu. He 
didn't advance into the room any further than the threshold. Rikugou couldn't help but 
think he was there more to block anyone who might want to flee via that portal. 

"What are *you* doing in my daughter's room? Why are you naked?" He demanded. 
"And what are you trying to talk my son into doing?" 

Rikugou sighed, and made another hasty grab for the blanket around his hips, pulling it 
up so it *just* covered his groin and little else. He'd noticed how the dragon god kept 
eyeing him, and found he rather enjoyed the attention. "Lord Kijin wasn't in his room 
when we came to call, he was in here with Lady Tenkou. I am naked because, as you 
know my lord, shikigami cannot keep their clothes when transforming." 

Here, Rikugou smirked and let the blanket ride down one hip. 

"And I am not trying to talk Lord Kijin into anything. I merely proposed he take a 
holiday. Byakko, Tsuzuki and Hisoka are going on a camping trip soon, and they wanted 
him to accompany them." 

"Oh?" SohRyu looked over at his son, but the boy only lowered his head. The dragon 
god's own face fell at his son's slight. He had come up in the hopes of making amends 
with his son. 

"Yes, my lord SohRyu." 

"And what did he say?" 

Rikugou glanced over at the boy, then shook his head sadly. "He hasn't given his answer 
yet." 

"...Oh..." 

SohRyu hung in the doorway a moment more, then swept away from it and over to his 
son. Tentatively, he laid a hand on his shoulder. The boy didn't look up at his father, but 
SohRyu wouldn't be daunted. 

"If you want to go," he said softly, "I wouldn't mind it."

***

When Kijin did at last look up from his slippers and the prints they had left in the pink 
shag rug, he was blushing furiously as if it had been Touda in the room with him all the 
while under that strawberry sheet.  But when he looked over at the figure beside him, it 
was still Rikugou, and he was still giving no attention whatsoever to the drooping silk.  
He winked at him with three of his eyes and then closed them all with a nod.

On the bed, Byakko finally realized someone else had come into the room, and glanced 
about over the rim of the grape lollipop Tenkou had just stuffed in his mouth, smiling at 
the eldest dragon god around the faceted sugar jewel he sucked upon.  He and his little 
friend both slurped loudly for attention but got none, and so contented themselves with 
the fact that the end of Opposite Day would not change, even for the seventeenth time 
they watched it.  

Kijin and SohRyu's eyes met, but they didn't really see each other.  It was memory 
between them, Arias of the past and elsewhere, and no more.  The Caribbean blue of the 
boy's irises began to shudder a little about his lashes, but nothing came of it.  There was 
only the wan, ironic smile that graced his lips then, in spite of all laughter bubbling from 
the TV set beside him.

"Thank you father, I think I shall go then."

The hand on his shoulder skated up into his hair for an instant and then left him.  There 
was a nod, and the rustle of silk, and then it was only the four of them again.  The 
bedroom door had closed without a single sound, and if they rustle of trees could ever be 
made out from the open window, it was two distant to be known as such.

"I suppose now we decide just where we are going..."

***

Hisoka had not returned that smile; that one or any other the violet-eyed Shinigami had 
given him. Their trip back home had been made in silence, even, with the fair-haired boy 
brooding the whole of their stroll up to their shared quarters. He did not want to be 
consoled, or reassured. There was nothing Tsuzuki could that would give him any peace 
of mind. He only wanted to be away from him; wanted to pop one of the pills Watari had 
prescribed for him, burrow under the blankets in his dark room and forget about 
everything. But Hisoka was too restless to give into his urge for oblivion. 

The boy made a beeline for the kitchen, where he fished a soda from the shelf in the door; 
gave the contents the once over as he popped the tab. He would have to go for groceries 
soon; Tsuzuki couldn't be trusted to do the shopping on his own--not with his penchant 
for sweets. 

It was strange they could eat at all, really, being dead. 

Hisoka gulped at his soda, smothered a tiny belch, and let the door go. The light went 
with it, for he'd not bothered with the switch. He could hear Tsuzuki moving about in the 
living room, and Hisoka stood there in the darkness for a moment, listening to him above 
the nagging fizz of his drink. What he was doing, the boy couldn't tell. He didn't care, 
even. It was enough that he was there. 

How long would he be there? 

He lifted the can to his lips again, stocking feet moving quietly across the slippery 
linoleum as he walked to the doorway. He propped his slim frame against the jamb, 
peering towards the living room; Tsuzuki was only a shadow on the floor by then. He 
could hear music, very soft. A cello. Tsuzuki's sigh. 

Hisoka swung away from the frame, stumbling a bit as his feet found purchase. Soda 
dripped from his fingers where he'd splashed them, but he barely gave it any notice. 

When he lay eyes upon Tsuzuki again, however, his heart lurched within his chest, and he 
found he'd momentarily lost the power to speak.

***

Tsuzuki had undone the first few buttons of his black shirt, pulled off his black belt that 
matched his black pants, and sat down on his couch only to discover said couch was 
littered with white cathair and escapee particles of sweet cereal.  

Ruefully, he had gathered the front of his shirt in his hands- /I know you were doomed 
from the moment I bought you! DOOMED!/

The stereo hadn't wanted to play his CD, so he'd kicked it a little, and sent it spinning 
onto a track he didn't remember, didn't want to remember he could feel.  The sense of 
something he knew from it still remained- the emotion, but nothing else of the tune, and 
what had once gone with it.  He'd sighed, and looked out the window into the dead lady-
blooms following each other to the ground, only to be replaced in moments by sisters 
unknown to them who sprung up to take their places.  

A faint fizzing noise, and he looked up from his daydreams to see his partner, clasping a 
soda can and staring at him as if Hisoka himself lived, and Tsuzuki was but a ghost,= he 
wished no longer to see.

Though they were both ghosts, naturally, and the boy shuffled off then to his own room 
without another word.

He didn't get a chance to say anything to him, not really.  But he wanted too, as foolish as 
those words might have been.  It just didn't seem right, his mute lips aside.

And then it hit him! The cello, sliding into the cushioning sound of a host of violins 
reminded him of something the tune had nothing to do with! Something that HADN'T 
happened that should have! He saw Hisoka in the brothel! The real, exposed, hopeless 
Hisoka! And he knew just what the boy needed! He had some! A whole box!

Tsuzuki tore back to his room, slammed the door behind him quite accidentally, jumped 
onto his bed and threw himself over the side that wasn't quite against the wall, but very 
close to it, rooting for something the unwashed boxers obscured.  He found it.  And a 
pencil! Yay! Now what to write on? He wrote straight on the lid of the white cardboard 
box, and marched himself down the hall to the boy's room! A knock! It swung open with 
his touch! And he held his precious container out to him, beaming as if he had a cache of 
faerie gold rather.  

Hisoka- Here's a little something to cheer you up! Everyone needs to relax after a hard 
day, and these should help.

The lid flew off the box then, sailed into a corner where neither of them dared look at it.

Inside were several rather complicated-looking vibrators, all still in their plastic 
packaging.

***

Hisoka's eyes grew larger and larger until it seemed they might pop out of their sockets. 
His complexion took on a decidedly shocked cast--that is, red--and a curious, wild 
fluttering arose in his chest. He was so mortified, he thought he might die right there. 

What in the hell was Tsuzuki thinking?! 

"Ba-KA!" he cried. "What makes you think I'd want to play with such things?! I...I..." He 
paused to cast a disgusted look at the contents of the box, the light of realization dawning 
in his eyes. 

"Why do YOU have things like that?"

***

"Woul I was just..." Tsuzuki began, only to gasp softly at the sound of his own voice.  
His hands released their hold on the boy of lascivious devices, clapping across his no 
longer so mute lips and letting the sex toys go slipping out across Hisoka's floor rather 
than remaining safely tucked away.  The box rolled into a corner itself and hovered there, 
turned away from them.   

The boy didn't seen so surprised by his words though, and went even redder as if the fact 
his companion could now speak made the whole incident thusfar seem all the raunchier.  

Which it wasn't! Why, Tsuzuki couldn't think of a single thing wrong with sex toys! 
They were just like regular toys! You could do naughty things with regular toys! You 
could spend hours of time with them and be tired afterwards.  You could hide them from 
your mom.

"What's wrong with owning a few dozen sex toys? It's not like I'm using them on 
anyone else! Not that there's anything wrong with that, but anyway... they don't hurt 
anybody! Or me.  Or you! They're totally innocent... well... ah... actually the reason 
these aren't open is I really don't like vibrators, but I thought you might and all..."

His jaw fell then.

"You mean you've never even TRIED one!? Geeze! You know Watari just loves 'em and 
Tatsumi readily admits a passing fondness if you get 'im drunk!"

***

It was Hisoka's turn to look appalled. "Wh-what?! How do you know they play 
with...with THOSE things?" he said, waving at the scattered toys. "Don't tell me you 
asked them?" 

Silence. Tsuzuki gave him a grin which bordered on being wicked. Hisoka wasn't exactly 
sure just what that look meant, but it worried him anyway. 

Hisoka gasped. "I can't believe you!" he snapped, stepping backwards and nearly falling 
to the floor when his foot met one such vibrator--a neon pink, ribbed one. Probably 
glowed in the dark. 

/Oh, I just don't want to know.../ 

Hisoka dealt it a barefoot kick towards Tsuzuki, and gave him a deep frown to go with it. 
"So I haven't used one of those things. So what? You make it sound like I'm a freak just 
because I haven't--and you don't even like them!"

***

"No no! That's not how I meant it! I was just surprised! You know since... umm..."  
Tsuzuki's words faltered into incoherent babbling that not even he could make out any 
longer- little dismayed coos and the occasional squak.  He had to clear his throat to get 
himself to stop.  

/Since you don't like to be around people I thought you probably were usedta doing it on 
your own.../

He tried to blow that thought away to the breezes of background noise he supposed his 
mind knew better- cake, Hisoka, cake, money, dancing, cake and... Youji! NOOOO! 
That was even worse!

So was his attempt not to think, which ended in him inadvertently humming the theme 
song for Galaxy Fraulein Yuna.

At last! He steeled himself, did his best not to smile, and spoke.  "If you don't want to try 
them, that's fine.  I don't like them because everything goes too fast.  I try new ones now 
and then, hoping one won't do just that, but I usually get disillusioned after the first one, 
and have lots of packages that make terrible New years gifts.  Not that I haven't tried 
using them for that, which is how come I know what everyone else thinks of them- 
including Wakaba, Terazuma, the Chief, the Earl- who was really upset by the one I 
picked for him 'cause it wasn't a dutch wife of me but anyway -and all of the Shikigami 
I've ever met."

He sighed then, imagining himself as an inflatable pillow with a little latex hole in the 
back.  Like his ego at the moment, said pillow, as appearing in his mind, deflated, and 
flew all around the room, hissing as even the air decided it would rather not be near it.

"Look, I just thought they might help you relax since you've had a shitty day.  If you 
don't want then, that's fine too."

And then a smile.  "But if you're a good sport and try one, I'll let you play with my super 
magic mittens!"

The door closed softly with a wave and Tsuzuki bounded off down the hall in search of a 
swiffer to use on his be-furred couch.

(OOC: Dutch wife- Japanese term for inflatable woman, or, in this case, inflatable 
shinigami.

Super Magic Mittens- textured rubber mittens made to be used by soap girls while 
washing clients, here, there, and everywhere.)

***

One hand clapped to his forehead, Hisoka blankly regarded the now closed door; the toys 
which lay all about on his floor. Sex toys. Tsuzuki's toys. He never thought his partner 
would be into such games. But that bothered him little, really, in comparison to... 

/He even gave one to the Chief? Yare, yare. How can he even look him in the eye now?/ 

/How can I, knowing what I now know?/ 

Inspired by his current musings, the image of Kanoe, naked and at play with Tsuzuki's 
New Year's gift popped into his mind. 

/Ugh,/ he thought, grimacing. /I'll never be able to look at him without remembering that 
little tidbit. Thanks so much, Tsuzuki./ 

Wriggling his hand through his hair, Hisoka picked his way to his bed, and sat down on 
the end of it with a sigh. Why did he care so much if he was all keyed up, so to speak? Of 
course, he knew more about such things. He was older, and obviously far more 
experienced. If he didn't like vibrators, then...Then, what did he like? And with whom? 
Tsuzuki certainly had his admirers. 

And yet... 

Hisoka bent to pick up one of the vibrators--a slender, highly flexible one of pearly 
white--and pressed the tiny red button at its base. The thing came to life with a low hum, 
and he imagined how it must feel elsewhere. It must not feel *too* bad--after all, Tsuzuki 
had used it. Had put it in himself, and... 

With a groan, Hisoka shut the vibrator off and flung it down on the bed. Once more 
prompted by his wandering thoughts, he was now treated to the image of Tsuzuki, naked 
and at serious play with one of his toys, and it had only made him more uncomfortable. 
Achingly so. He silently thanked his partner for that as well, and flopped back on the bed. 
The toy lay just within reach of his outstretched hand, but Hisoka couldn't bring himself 
to touch it, much less use it. It was Tsuzuki's after all; such an act struck him as being too 
intimate. 

If only it wasn't a toy of Tsuzuki's but Tsuzuki himself. 

Hisoka shrugged his jacket off and pulled it out from under his body; let it drop to the 
floor by the bed. He lay still for a moment, eyes closed, trying to get into a fantasy. Not 
his hands but Tsuzuki's pushing the hem of his tank upwards towards his chest; his 
fingers pinching his puckered nipples; tracing his ribs; petting his stomach; catching on 
the fastenings of his jeans and undoing them. He wriggled out of the garment altogether, 
and inched further back on the bed, until he could comfortably tuck his ankles on the 
edge of the mattress. Legs splayed as if someone lay between them, Hisoka took himself 
in hand, imagining that Tsuzuki hovered above him, watching his reactions as he slowly 
worked the boy to orgasm. 

And so, as Hisoka came, it was Tsuzuki's name that spilled from his lips, over and over in 
frantic, whispered pleas.

***

The symphony had wandered itself into a kind of day-dreaming climax, skipping back 
and forth between the luminous and weeping tunes of the strings, and the faint brilliance 
of a chorus made of flutes and a single female voice, where the voice seemed more the 
instrument, the flutes voices.  He had shrugged off his coat by then, rolled up his sleeves, 
not that he could have gotten much more fur on them, but he still worried about it.

For almost half an hour he swept a handful of little cloths over and over his beloved 
couch, until the not-quite velvet upholstery of it shimmered in the now uncertain light of 
the early evening.  From it he had pulled several decades of dust, and a ball of cat hair 
that now, wadded up in his hands, was nearly the size of a regulation baseball.  Rather 
than asking himself just WHY he hadn't cleaned the sofa before, he was standing in the 
middle of the living room, gazing rather lividly at the fuzzy orb he now held.  

"Eroi..." Was all he could really think to say.

How had Hisoka put up with it this long?

How was Hisoka doing with his vibrator collection?

Was Byakko... shedding?

Those three thoughts chased one another around in his thoughts for some time, before 
one at least was answered.  The phone rang.  Without diverting his eyes from the gigantic 
hairball, Tsuzuki answered.

"Moshi moshi?"

"Hey! Tsuzuki-kun! Byakko da!"

"Are you shedding?"

"Woul that's a funny question to ask! Umm... I don't think I am."

A little girl's voice in the background- "Then how come I'm all hairy?"

"You are shedding."

"Seems so! Anyway, I was wondering if maybe I could talk somethin' over with you 
tomorrow? Somethin'... you know.  Wink wink, nudge nudge, say no more..."

"No more Monty Python for you."

"That's not a very nice thing to say! Especially after I watched the first two seasons at 
your house while you were out.  C'mon! Tsuzuki-kun! Can we 
pwwwwwwwweeeeeeeeeeese meet?"

"Umm... not this evening."

"How 'bout work tomorrow."

"Sure, sure, but I really think you need to go to a vet, or maybe one of the doctor's on 
Gensoukai! This isn't healthy!"

"Wink wink nudge nudge isn't healthy?"

"NO! This gigantic hairball I'm holding isn't!"

"Kay, kay, whatever! I'll see you on at work tomorrow then! I'm going to go get blotted 
in the mean time.  Ja ne!"

Silence then.  The together shiki had hung up, and his master just realized he had bigger 
problems then the white, fluffy orb he was presently holding.

After all, he wasn't going to work tomorrow! Not exactly...

/What could Byakko possibly want from me after yesterday... with the... and 
Tatsumi's.../

/Something isn't right!/

The hairball landed in the trash, and a quick check of his DVD player turned up a disk 
still nestled in the slot.  A glass of grape fanta later, Tsuzuki was lost in humming the 
lumberjack song, rather than his crazy unlife.

***

Night had just fallen over Tokyo by the time Oriya awakened naked in his lover's arms.  
In the hallway, he could hear the find squeak of Kaoru as she dusted. Outside, beyond the 
window, there were only a few birds lamenting he had missed the sun, and the dull 
whispers of traffic fleeing home.  He felt no sadness himself that the sun  had not lit upon 
his eyes as long as it had everyone else's.  Being a brothel owner, it was strange for him 
to see more than gleaming most in the way of the morning.  No, the moon was more his 
lantern for the earth, and he knew the rabbit emblazoned on her face well.  

As he rose from the tangle of ivory limbs though, he realized he was far enough into the 
city that he probably wouldn't be able to see the moon.  At all.  Doubtless the stars would 
miss him as well.  This nagged him, just like a tug on his wrist might have, but he shook 
it off, grinning dubiously as he slunk into the closet, came back with one of his yukata he 
had left with the doctor years and years before, when they were more children, compared 
with their present selves.  It still fit him fairly well.

Kaoru brought him a candle when he asked, and with only the robe and the light, he 
slipped out into Muraki's garden.  His pipe stayed on the nightstand, blood that was not 
his own on the sheets, his kiss on Muraki's forehead, though he seriously doubted the 
good doctor knew anything of it.

Outside the sky was thrown a brilliant pink and purple match of waves above indigo 
clouds that streaked across the last flickers of color, following the sun.  He'd been right 
though, no moon.  Just sparkles of headlights like white fireflies between the buildings.  
Lamia or swamp hags maybe... but he didn't care, no, not really.  Not anymore, even if 
the city was only a seductress of him anymore.  

He wondered if it was really he who had lived there once.

He wondered if his memories were all only the work of the man who still slept.  Did 
Muraki build him just like the girl? Or was he really more of an afterthought of tinkering 
only in his thoughts he thought were his own?

Did any of this matter? The koi in the dark pond at his feet couldn't answer him.  Didn't.  
He dipped his bare foot in and watched them swim away.  A light on a censor came on 
then, and he found himself staring into a pond lit by shifting colors where the fish were 
shadows indeed.  It was just like the sky.

/All that would sure explain why I put up with him.  I wouldn't be surprised, either way./

/Don't see why I should be./

/Not anymore./

***

Waves and waves of dark hair spilling down a broad back to sweep worn wooden steps; a 
candlelit glimpse of a long, well-muscled calf from the folds of a black yukata: those 
were the sights which greeted the man who'd lingered upon bloodstained sheets in Oriya's 
wake. It was the kiss the other had given him which had awoken him, just like the 
heroine of some ancient fable. It seemed all so fitting to him, somehow--right down to the 
pensive air surrounding his unexpected guest. 

A floorboard creaked as Muraki crossed the threshold of his room; he had known it 
would. He had purposely stepped wrong, meaning to warn him of his approach. It was 
only considerate to do so. 

"Sulking again, Oriya?" he said softly. He'd retrieved his glasses from the floor, but had 
changed his yukata to one of black, unwittingly matching. He'd also brought along his 
pack of cigarettes. One he slid from the carton as he scooped up the candlestick from the 
step, tilting his head as he leaned in to light it. Muraki took a long drag from it, exhaling 
slowly with eyes closed. 

"Ahhhh, I think I should be the one to sulk. You did a number on me this time," he said 
with a wry half-grin. "No doubt, I'll have bruises there in the morning." 

Oriya barely stirred. Muraki set the candlestick back down on the topmost step, sheltered 
from any curious breeze behind one of the roof's supporting pillars, and sauntered off to 
the pond where his koi undoubtedly were nibbling upon the soles of his visitor's foot. 
Muraki took a seat on the stone border beside him, smoking in silence as he watched the 
spectral forms of the fish drift and bob in the dark water. 

But soon, it became quite clear that the fish had lost his attention, and Oriya had gained 
it, for a hand alighted upon one bared calf, slowly petting as it moved down. 

"Come away from your musings, Oriya." 

His hand wrapped around the man's submerged ankle, and Muraki drew it his foot from 
the water, cradling his sole in his palm. 

"Come back to me..." 

Transferring his cigarette to his free hand--which had wound up on Oriya's knee--Muraki 
bent and kissed the top rise of his foot, feeling the delicate bones shift in seeming wonder 
at his touch.

***

"I'm... back," Oriya whispered then, his eyes stealing up from the shadows of the fish, 
and the circles they ran around the droplets that had fallen from his toes.  His lover only 
purred for him then, and embraced his ankle with his lips, sliding this way and that over 
his skin.  His own eyes felt crystalline and drippy somehow, as if they had grown wet, 
though when he reached up and felt them, they felt no different than before.  Saw no 
different in the fading rose of the Tokyo evening.

His hand stole under Muraki's throat then, and lifted him gently away, until he was just 
perched high enough... so that Oriya could gaze into his eyes.  Silver, yes, but the one 
real one seemed faintly purple in the drowsy space between darkness in light.  Lavender 
pearl, while the other had a gentle blue gleam to it, like the halo of the moon on a clear 
night.  He drew him close, kissed them both and after a moment of rustling, had coaxed 
the doctor to lay his head in his lap, where he took one more drag of his cigarette before 
his guest snatched it away and had two puffs himself.  The smoke sailed into the sight of 
the clouds and vanished with the slips of the darkness creeping into the last of the sunset.

When he did manage to speak again, it was in a voice he hardly recognized as his own.

"The last time we saw each other, you told me you were going to meet 'people' from 
Yomi.  And I fought them for you.  They were beautiful, you know.  Even I admit it.  
Which one of them did you want? The blond didn't seem your type, or the one with the 
eyes the color of the sky right now.  So, which was it? The boy or the one I caught you 
with at the brothel?"

A faint sigh, and the cigarette went out almost of its own accord then.  No more smoke.  
No more glint in the dimness.  Just the scent of it clung to them both.

"Tell me about him."

***

"There's nothing to tell," Muraki replied evenly. "I was momentarily infatuated with him, 
that's all. He's pretty enough to drive a man to distraction, surely you could see that?" 

Oriya didn't move, didn't speak, and Muraki got the feeling that he wasn't buying all that 
he'd told him. That he was waiting, still, for the truth. Unfortunately for him, he was 
going to have to wait for a long, long time. Muraki didn't intend to confess to anything 
that night--if ever. 

"He's nothing to me," he repeated. "He never meant anything--you do. You are the one I 
love, Oriya." 

He shifted his head so his bangs fell away from his demonic eye, whispered, "Only you."

***

Rather than stroke the silver threads back from where they had fallen, as most lovers 
might have done to look upon the silver blue puddle of the eye that had not always been 
Muraki's, Oriya combed them away from the silver shimmer of it, and sat otherwise still 
for a long time, gazing into the iridescence that fluttered on the volcanic glass surface of 
it, just below his own reflection there.  

After all, it had just come to him that he had accepted that eye; that it seemed more a part 
of the doctor than the first one had ever been.  It was pretty to him, like a harpy is lovely 
in the vision of a sailor of old, like a dead boy is a work of art to the man who killed him.  

"They were both exquisite.  The boy was too young for me though." A little sigh ended 
this, as if Hisoka's age was something Hisoka was entirely at fault for.  "You know, I 
would have let you keep the other one in your room that night if he would have been less 
than one of my girls, but you always did have too good a taste for even that."

Then a kiss along his lover's jaw, creeping along his skin until it lit, was still upon the 
edge of his ear.  "I've decided not to be jealous of him, I've only ever seen one other 
person with eyes that color, and that was back in high school, before you even.  I can try 
to understand.  Now, that redhead this morning... I don't know.  He didn't seem your 
type.  None of them do to me, I suppose"

***

"Oh, that," Muraki purred, stretching his arms over his head. "Ahhh, that was merely 
curiosity. I've never had a redhead before, and that one does have his charms. He is a 
lovely young thing, in his way, and I...simply couldn't resist him." He brought a hand up 
to tenderly cup Oriya's cheek, stroking the smooth skin with his thumb. "You know me 
and my whims." 

He slid his hand around to cling to the back of his lover's neck, and raised himself up a 
little. "And, after all, I am evil." A smirk. "Or so I've been told." 

He drew the other down, straining upwards until their lips met. Oriya's arms came up to 
support him in an embrace, and those lips parted for him. 

"But he meant nothing to me. Nothing!" Muraki whispered. "It's only you who holds my 
heart."

***

Oriya nodded in assent to this small endearments, and once more slid his lips apart for 
Muraki, who had never been one to refuse such an invitation of his or... anyone's, he 
supposed now.  For an instant in that embrace, the small ones of the late hour settling 
against him, he almost believed for an instant it was not the doctor before him, but all 
those lovers of his he'd never known about... one fading into the other, like hours on a 
cloudy day.

And somehow, someway... that made him smile.  Just a little, under the doctor's mouth.  
He didn't know why, didn't want to.  Didn't want to know about anything.

"I believe you," Oriya whispered at last.  "I... do.  Though, wicked seems like a better 
word for you.  It just does."

/And I have whims too, you know./

Hand in hand, the rose, and like droplets of water fleeing towards the moon, slunk back 
to the bedroom.  It had been too long, their manners of separation aside.

/We'll just see about those, though... even if I was made for you, and never really anyone 
else.../

***

Crickets hummed to each other beyond the panes of the naked window, serenading the 
spent, not-quite-living boy who lay sprawled across the bottom half of his bed. Hisoka 
had stayed right where he'd put himself after he was finished, watching the moonlight 
dance along the walls and ceiling as the wind shifted the trees--the very things that gave 
the light its form. He could hear the faraway strains of music, and recognized it by its 
drifting rhythm as being one of those quirky songs his roommate liked so well. 

/It's just as well I'm in here and not in there. I don't think I could take all that just now./ 

/Don't know what I could take.../ 

He supposed he'd find out. 

The phone rang again, just once, but no voice fell upon the muffled air beyond. Hisoka 
chose that as his cue to heft himself to his feet and finish the task of undressing. He was 
halfway to completely nakedness already. Just his tank remained. He left it on the floor 
with his jeans and padded off to the bathroom for a quick shower. Normally he would 
linger a bit under the hot water, but he was simply too tired that night. He wished he 
given in to it before, and had beaten a path straight for his room; feigned silence at 
Tsuzuki's knock. The incident with the toys, and his subsequent labors had only left him 
feeling even lonelier than he had before. 

So utterly alone. 

For a moment, Hisoka hated Tsuzuki with every fiber of his being, calling him every vile 
word he could think of under his breath...and then his rage dissipated. He sagged on his 
feet, peering stupidly down at the remains of Tsuzuki's gift. He wanted them out, and 
NOW, and he never wanted to see them again. 

Mechanically, the boy maneuvered to his knees, and began the task of gathering up the 
fallen bounty, tossing them haphazardly into the box he dragged along as he moved. 
Once filled, Hisoka grabbed his yukata off the back of his door and pulled it on, tying the 
belt off carelessly before snatching up the box and leaving the room with it. 

He could hear Tsuzuki humming along with yet another of his ludicrous songs even 
before he reached the living room. The other was conducting an imaginary orchestra with 
a dry dust cloth, and wasn't aware he had entered until the box of toys landed on the table 
behind him. He was greeted by a look of weary consternation from Hisoka. 

"That's all of them. I made sure of it. As you can see, they are just as clean as you left 
them." A short pause, and he shrugged. "I decided I don't like machines after all. They 
can't beat...what's real. I'm sure you understand."

***

"Sankyuu! Sure thing," Tsuzuki beamed, well somewhat, for he sneezed very suddenly 
then as some of the dust from his swiffer migrated off of it's surface and into his nose.  
His eyes began to water then, but he kept right on talking, unaware that between the 
redness the cat fur in his eyes had brought on and the saline coursing down his cheeks, 
that he looked as if he had been crying for a very long time.  "You're a good sport for 
tying them out though! You really are. And I was kidding about the magic mittens you 
know, you're welcome to them whenever you want regardless, and you *can* just wash 
with 'em."

Hisoka didn't seem to approve of their mere existence either way.

"I know how you feel though... they almost kinda... umm... make you feel picky, don't 
they?"

No answer from his partner then, but just the same, as if the boy had indeed said 
something to him, he patted the sofa beside him.  "I just cleaned this, you were right the 
other day! It really is maroon.  You wanna sit down awhile and watch some? I was jus 
about to put Scott of the Antarctic on, it's one of their best sketches.  Or I have some 
Black Adder.  All this and Heaven Too? That was my favorite movie back in the forties.  
I actually bought a movie projector and a really worn reel of it just so I could watch it 
whenever I wanted."

A small sigh then, and he finally blotted the tears from his cheeks with the back of his left 
hand.  "Or you can just go to bed.  Whatever you want."

***

Hisoka hesitated only for a handful of seconds before he crossed over to the newly 
cleaned sofa and flopped down beside Tsuzuki. Who sneezed again. The boy promptly 
sat up and plucked two tissues from the box they kept on the end table for just such 
emergencies. These he held out to his companion. 

"I'm kinda tired, but I'm not really ready to go to sleep yet." He yawned, and sank back 
with a little sigh. "So I wouldn't mind watching some TV--or that movie. Whatever you 
want to see."

***

Tsuzuki accepted the tissues gratefully, managing to blot most of the dust out of the 
edges of his eyes with one, and dab his nose with the other.  They both sailed into the 
trash can then, which was truly an unusual place for anything to go, so long as it could 
also be said to be within his apartment, and he at once broke into clapping instead.

"Yay! A Movie! You've never seen All This and Heaven Too? Wow, we need to fix that! 
Let me go get my subtitled version!" A happy squeal then, and he took off for his 
bedroom, returning momentarily with a black and white cardboard DVD case.  A few 
shuffles of the DVD player trays, a few commands, and the credits began.  The elder 
shinigami applauded them once again, and leapt back onto the couch, a little closer to his 
partner than he had been before.

"Oh, I hope you like it! I really do~!"

***

Hisoka had never considered movies to be all that magical, but he could understand why 
such things would thrill Tsuzuki. To his eyes, such things were miracles, perhaps--that 
the movements and voices of human beings could be recorded in such a way. The look of 
wonder on the elder Shinigami's face lent support to the boy's fancy, and Hisoka, smiling 
softly, settled back to watch, trying to regard it in the same sort of light as his companion 
did. 

But twenty minutes into the story, that light had completely waned. He thought the 
performances were overwrought. Thought that the wife was utterly mad, and couldn't 
understand why the Duke insisted upon staying with her--an opinion he chose to share 
with his partner. 

"Why would he want to stay with her when she's obviously crazy?" he whispered, only to 
have a hand waved in his direction. Tsuzuki didn't so much as blink at him, riveted as he 
was to the screen. Hisoka frowned slightly, and sagged back in his former spot, blearily 
turning back to the movie for only a moment before he found himself looking for 
something else to entertain himself with. He found that something in Tsuzuki's hands. He 
had one resting upon one leg, the other dangling over the bent knee of the other. The 
fingers were long, nails short, and the skin looked plump and fresh. 

Tsuzuki shifted beside him, and Hisoka glanced away until the other settled again. His 
gaze fell upon that expanse of skin laid bare at his spread collar, throat and a slice of his 
chest. He was smooth there too. Hisoka marked how the fabric moved with and against 
him as he breathed; the bob of his throat as he swallowed. 

His eyes tracked upwards to the swell of his lower lip, the dip of his cheek. An eyelash 
lay upon the bone there, something one wouldn't notice unless they were right upon him, 
a thin, dark crescent. Its presence annoyed him, and though he knew it was irrational to 
be irritated over something so insignificant... 

Hisoka gingerly plucked it off Tsuzuki's cheek anyway.

***

Tsuzuki didn't even seem to realize at first that the boy's finger had grazed his face, but 
once it had left him, he blinked in the undulating light from the TV screen; in the stilted 
slow motion that if left around his features as it moved.  

"Well," he began softly aft first, but his voice rose then to banish as shouting match that 
had begun on camera.  "He stays with her because he has honor- very western honor, but 
honor nonetheless.  It was just... what people did back then."

For a moment then, and some treading after it, the elder shinigami glanced away, but not 
back to his television set, or the floor, but rather the shadows creeping somewhere past 
Hisoka.

"But I s'pose honor's done enough for you hasn't it?"

The words were rife with a gentle sarcasm utterly unlike him, or any voice from him the 
boy knew.

"I'm sorry."

But whether he had apologized for what had once been written in the past, or the shy 
caress of his lips against Hisoka's was far from obvious just then.

***

It had been the softest of kisses, but it was enough to take his breath away. Hisoka had to 
force himself to draw another for the sake of his aching lungs. Had to force his fingers to 
uncurl from the folds of shirt they'd tried to hide themselves. He couldn't bring himself to 
remove his hand from the other's arm, though. He couldn't seem to move at all; as if he'd 
forgotten how to do it. 

But he wouldn't have left him either way. 

Wide-eyed surprise gave way to a puzzled frown. "Why are you apologizing to me?" he 
asked softly. "Why did you kiss me?" Hisoka flexed his fingers around Tsuzuki's upper 
arm, insistently squeezing. "You told me you wanted to see that Kudou again; I know 
you're interested in him..." 

"So why?" he whispered. "Why, Tsuzuki...?"

***

Naturally, Tsuzuki's voice picked that moment to fail him, and did so with unquenchable 
abandon.  As the movie played on, and the orchestra there rose into the swell of a single, 
gleaming, peaceful moment, so did he hover, half clenched in his partner's arms, just 
watching breathe and look so, so afraid.  

He knew he must have looked terrified himself, and fighting to smile only made it worse.

Such was his fear, that when he spoke, he did not have the presence of mind to lie. 

"B-because! I don't know where else I can touch you! And I am sorry that you have to... 
to umm... that you have to remember.  That you have to get all sad like you do.  I didn't 
mean it like that! The kiss I mean... I just..."

"...want you to fell better."

***

Somehow, it hurt to hear his answer, and somehow, it didn't. His 
response could be taken in all sorts of ways: He wants to touch him, 
but he doesn't mean anything if he should happen to do it; he's sorry 
about one thing, but maybe not about another. 

At any rate, Hisoka didn't know what to make of it all. He didn't 
know what to do, so he let instinct take over. He decided to hide; 
closed his eyes and lay his head against his partner's, resting his 
body lightly against his side. Tsuzuki's arm pressed against his 
chest with every breath. 

"You make me sad, and you make me happy. I don't remember, 
um...*that* when I'm with you. I don't really even think about him 
at all." 

He paused, and from the TV came the sounds of Bette Davis' disgrace. 
Hisoka only shifted so his lips met Tsuzuki's ear. Stiffly, he 
brought his hand up to desperately clutch at the other's collar. 

"And part of me wishes you had meant that kiss."

***

Tsuzuki blinked, but the fluxing light vanished the flutter of his lashes between two dark 
frames. He'd expected the words of his companion, and yet, they were new to him, like a 
different version of an old poem one never expected to hear again, a better translation; 
filled with all the longing of the first that just can't be understood just right; something 
close enough though...

At once, he deeply regretted what he had done, and so at once, his lips 
dipped down, and one more took the boy's; just innocently, softly, 
dreamy as the puddles of blue before real dawn.

"I did mean it, that one too. I meant it like... you need me, and I need you, 'cause we've 
both been along. I meant it like I'm all clumsy and sometimes I don't do the right thing, 
even when I want to, I meant it like I'm sorry, and I care and I..."

One long, shallow breath, and he caressed the boy's hair, trying to coax his head to slide 
down against his shoulder.

"I always wanted to pay you back for glomping me that one time, but I 
just wasn't sure, what would... be okay. I guess this isn't, huh?"

(OOC: Presumably, the time he attempted suicide in Hisoka's presence, 
but he can't seem to say that straight out.)

***

Hisoka gave in to the gently insistent pressure of his fingertips and 
slid down a little in his seat, letting his head come to rest in the 
slope of Tsuzuki's shoulder. "For what you tried to do THAT time, 
it's a start. But you're still going to have to go some before I 
truly forgive you."

The boy moved his hand over to his partner's other shoulder, more or 
less hugging him now. Before him, the movie played on, but Hisoka 
didn't notice it at all. He was only aware of the man he held his 
arms, whispering as he snuggled closer, "I don't ever want to lose 
you, Tsuzuki..."

***

Tsuzuki wanted to giggle, just a little, such was the trickle of joy that wandered through 
his heart to hear he *MIGHT* someday be forgiven by the child who so charmingly 
haunted his life, and had few sympathies for mistakes. Silence though he kept, and 
having been accepted, some kind of accepted, he leaned back against the Hisoka, and 
settled his hand on the back of his head, scrunching his locks through his fingers.

"Aaaaa! Hisoka, you don't have to worry. Not about that. I will always, 
always come home, I promise. No matter what. I'll even have a curfew if 
you want so you can know just *when* I'll be here. I wouldn't leave you for anything! I 
promise... I'll always come back. Okay?"

He got no reply at once, and did not desire one exactly, but rather, without asking for one, 
rubbed Hisoka's back through his clothing, and snuggled his face close to his as he dared.

***

Ah, it was so warm, lying there like that beside him. Comforting. 
Hisoka wished they never had to move again, then chided himself 
silently for having such fancies even as he settled his hand more 
firmly upon the other's shoulder. He rubbed his cheek against 
Tsuzuki's, snuffing his nose along his jaw. Cheap perfume hovered 
vaguely around him, left there by his attacker from that afternoon. 
It didn't suit Tsuzuki, nor did it please Hisoka to smell it, and the 
boy rose up just a little to escape it. 

His lips met Tsuzuki's cheek in the process. Hisoka paused to wonder 
over how it felt beneath his lips, and wound up kissing him there 
again. Licked his lips a little, and did it again, slightly lower 
down. The fingers nestled in his hair stilled for a moment, then 
slid down to cup the back of his neck, almost urging him up from his 
resting place. Hisoka shifted in his seat, his yukata slipping open 
just a little to bare a deep slice of his chest. Tsuzuki was gazing 
down at him questioningly, an uncertain half-smile playing about his 
mouth. 

One which quickly faded, softened, the unspoken query answered when 
Hisoka leaned forward and kissed Tsuzuki. Let his lips linger a bit 
longer than he should have. 

"I'm gonna hold you to that promise, Tsuzuki."

***

Tsuzuki smiled under the almost ethereal brush of the boy's lips. It was like a droplet of 
sunshine warmth alighting on him. And he found he smelled so delicious up close... like 
raspberries almost, and it was not merely the inclusion of the perfume on his own skin, he 
had stopped sensing that some time ago.

"It's sealed with a kiss then. And you know I wouldn't break a promise like *that*!"

Though he did ruffle the boy's hair as he scooted him back against his 
shoulder. The DVD player went off, and screen dark and silent itself but for a few little 
pops of static, of people passing as the moon rose over the horizon of the city.

Tsuzuki pulled Hisoka with him as he flopped down against the back of the couch; he 
didn't feel like getting up, and neither did the boy it seemed. He hoped. He wished.

And outside a million stars stood as mirror to a million lights below while he dreamed of 
nothing and Hisoka lay with his head against his chest.

*****