Obligatory Disclaimer: I have no ownership rights to Yami no Matsuei (Descendants of Darkness); these belong to Matsushita Yoko and Hakusensha.
Author's notes: If you've read this fic originally on LiveJournal (specifically in yaoichallenge 2004-5), you'll note that this is a slightly different version. Hopefully, as this one has suffered a bit more editing, revising, and betaing, it is a bit better. Thanks to Gaudior for the latter.
Also, a Magic Fingers, for those who don't know the brand name, is that little device attached to the bed in some hotel rooms that gives you a "massage"—by making the whole bed vibrate—when you put in a quarter. This will become important later
Enjoy!
Angst
He was here.
Watari was here, too, and he'd let the mad scientist draw him through myriad intersections and alleyways in search of novel stimuli--avoiding tourist traps, Watari had said--for the duration of the afternoon, deciding to stay the evening rather than begin their reports in the relative calm of Meifu.
Tatsumi pondered the why of these and like things, staring blankly at a pentagram stenciled in spicy sauce, peanuts at its vertices, on his partner's plate, shifting out of the way automatically whenever Watari's gesticulations reached across the table. The man was a reminder, though unwitting, that his place was behind his desk, attacking an inevitable build-up of paperwork after several days in the field. Even if it was nine-thirty, and he'd been satisfied with the early resolution of a minor crisis, and he'd come to enjoy Watari's company once out of the office, out of the lab, where he need be watched less for hidden vials and mad schemes than for overexuberant amateur photography. Once they'd begun, in an effort he'd proposed for its cost-effectiveness, covering small investigations together in unassigned or overburdened sectors after the Kamakura success.
At the moment Watari detailed his new hypothesis of a means for locating Muraki, no trace of him yet found since the Kyoto fire. His friend's cool, scientific words acquired heat behind a Kansai dialect, thickening now in frustration--and Tatsumi returned his attention to his partner, concentrating to understand. It had been a year since Kyoto, and not a trace had been found.
"...and so by triangulating the path of the spell in four dimensions using its twelve-dimensional equivalent leg as a guideline, we should be able to determine the exit coordinates.
"I only wish this solution had presented itself sooner, as now we'll have to count on the spell's force having been enough to alter molecular structures in the surrounding materials at the entry point, and of course those parts of the immediate scene that weren't destroyed by fire were magically shielded, so they only hope is to find, for instance, a firetruck that was at the scene at the moment of the spell over a year ago and has not reacted to magical interference beyond surface levels since and obtain a significant enough sample from each of several locations on its body to analyze and reconstruct the angle.
"Oh, and did I mention we'd need to know exactly where it was at the time in relation to the entry point of the spell?"
Watari's head sunk between his palms. For the better part of that past year, the scientist had obsessed about locating their mutual enemy. Now, continued failure culminated in a string of unscientific terms murmured into arms folded on the table before him.
This, Tatsumi admitted to himself, was why he'd agreed when Watari had argued for sightseeing. It had seemed a welcome return to normalcy, really, after the past months of serious trials, failures, research, secretive expeditions to Kyoto--all ending in frustration. The day before they'd left on this mission, he'd looked up from the payroll to find 003 worrying at his inkpad with her talons, hooting softly. He'd followed her, and something had thudded against the lab door as he'd reached it; he'd entered to find two walls of blackboards covered in tiny equations, post-it notes carefully covering with freshly inked notations parts Watari had corrected, extending onto the spaces between boards, part of a desk, a third wall. A block of the sticky notepads had rested on the floor before him, and Watari...
...had simply stood, silent, unable to look him in the eye. Half a day of his time, he knew, was worth excavating his partner from the mound of responsibility he'd piled upon himself. And the alternate methods he longed to try were, at present, unviable, he'd told himself repeatedly. Everything would remain as before his opinion of Watari had begun to change. Before he had noticed, at least.
Which was why, when he aimed to say something neutrally comforting, what fell forth was the sort of barb with which he might have baited the scientist long ago.
"Do you always drink this heavily when you theorize? It would explain a good number of your inventions."
And why he felt like an ass the moment he'd said it.
"This is my only drink this evening, thank you," Watari replied, glaring.
"I know," he admitted, Watari's softening expression telling him the apology had been heard.
"He escaped from my sector, Tatsumi. Every status meeting I have to look at Bon and tell him there's been no progress."
Watari drew a steadying breath, selecting his next words carefully. "And Tsuzuki...He's angry. And hurt. And he won't admit it's for anything but Bon's sake. He's driven to find Mr. Chemically Imbalanced and take revenge...for Hisoka, but still can't say he didn't deserve..."
He looked up, eyes sincere. "...it would help a lot if someone who loved him would get over his own issues and show him a normal relationship."
Tatsumi paused, wondering what role his partner was trying to wheedle him into, trying not to snap, I gave Hisoka advice once, he took it, they're progressing, and I will not have a fatherly discussion with him about dating. He rephrased. "As I understand it, his time with Hisoka has..."
The sentence was interrupted by a painful jolt to the back of his head.
Watari was staring at him in exasperation. "You, you idiot!"
He lowered his voice, smiling awkwardly at the nearest cluster of startled restaurantgoers. "Tatsumi, go to him, be gentle with him, and maybe both of you..."
Tatsumi's eyes closed tiredly behind the hand that moved to adjust his glasses; Watari had expected it. He'd been snappish and unresponsive lately when the scientist popped into his office for a chat, happier than usual to be cajoled into long lunches or unskilled assistantship in the lab. Initial reluctance correlated with later enjoyment upon removal from the environment indicated that the problem was in the office.
And he was determined to pursue it. "I won't believe you don't think about him that way. Anyone can see the way you look at him."
"I love Tsuzuki as a brother."
Watari snorted. When he took on a question with determination, even a plainly annoying one, Tatsumi had recognized, he was beautiful to watch, brows coming together, eyes darkened in concentration, banked fire through tinted glass.
Compassion now tempered intensity. "Why did you leave? Was he too difficult to work with, or were your feelings too difficult to face?"
"Pity does not breed...romance, Watari. He needed a guardian, a protector--as did everyone with whom he came into contact."
Tatsumi smiled, but the burning eyes would not be evaded. "I am able to...assist in his care from a distance, but if his every hurt were to become mine..."
"Then what do you want?" Watari whispered roughly.
Tatsumi forced himself to breathe, unclench his fork, look up to ascertain that Watari had had no idea what his words would suggest. Images of bright hair filigreed loosely across muscled shoulders, brushing a trim waist and looking like nothing more than rich veins of ore in alabaster--he invoked silent damnations to the onsen in Hokkaido--were quickly stifled. Watari was a luxury he couldn't afford.
He'd looked away, back then, and his eyes had happened to fall on Tsuzuki.
Which was, of course, when Watari had actually been paying attention.
Pressures that had been building inside him for years made his joints weak; he felt as though the slightest movement would cause him to burst.
"I..."
"...want..." His voice sounded overly loud in the closing restaurant.
"...to continue this conversation at the hotel."
"All right," Watari agreed, "but you're not getting away from me."
Throughout the short walk Watari fought to staunch his own excitement.
Tatsumi, he noted, had involved himself in a studious survey of the local air, jaw set, carefully looking at nothing, seeming grudgingly to scan the aeons for his own demise, or he might have noticed the scientist's hyper state. Despite himself, Watari thrilled in the tension, instinct telling him this evening would have real content, unlike their usual cautious exchanges.
Intellectual stimulation. Meaningful exchange. He'd been craving that.
From Tatsumi in particular, and not the only thing, but this would suffice; the rest could be channeled into his work as in past years.
Although that too had met little success lately, he realized halfway to the hotel, other frustrations building there to toxic levels, nothing accomplished in regard to Muraki's whereabouts.
Perhaps this whole day was only a contrivance for passing time without thinking of his own aggravations, but he didn't want to return to work quite yet.
Or admit you're as bad as Tatsumi, an inner voice chided.
Watari began teaching it the periodic table. Atomic weights and all.
At the hotel, Tatsumi locked their room door, likening the sensation to hermetically sealing his own doom. Should Watari ask the right questions, he knew, he would be unable to stop answering. On some level he wanted to hear those questions, give those answers.
He didn't want that.
Tatsumi crossed the small room, sitting on his bed; shortly a quiet creak informed him that Watari had finished shooing his owl out the window and now sat opposite on his own.
"What do you want?" Watari prompted gently, but it still wasn't the right question.
"I don't know," he said truthfully, but it felt like a lie.
"Talking about such things is useful, even…" if I can't have you, his mind filled in, and Watari blinked to clear it.
Helping him. Helping, he told himself.
Tatsumi looked up in--wistful?--worry. "I want to talk without transferring discomfort to my friend." Don't let me hurt you, don't let me burden you; I'm not certain I can stop.
Watari couldn't decide whether he wanted to slap the man opposite or embrace him. "That's what you're doing now." I'd rather have this talk tangled with you, under the covers, and exhausted, but this is what I can give.
"And without being accused of nonexistent romantic entanglements." You haven't realized yet?
"Are you sure?" Watari asked, and that wasn't the question it seemed. Is there no chemistry, or do you not want there to be?
"Long ago, perhaps." There's someone else now. Tatsumi dared to look up.
The room was perceptibly closer than before, the air denser.
"And your tastes have...changed?" And he's agreed to discuss...with me...
"I am...perhaps less patient, now. And more in need..." I could need you too much if you let me. He'd dropped his voice to a whisper, and Watari was leaning forward, on the very edge of his mattress. The next words would be a desperate gamble. "...of an equal." He caught Watari by the eyes, then, across the short distance between hotel beds, willing the scientist to understanding or obliviousness as long as he picked one soon.
Oh, Watari thought. He risked a glance, a rather startled one, at Tatsumi, who was still watching him silently.
Thingy. What's it called? Damn? No, that's right--Fuck
I want him. He wants me. We have a hotel room to ourselves. Tonight.
I should do something about this, you know.
Oh, fuck, he thought, falling back on the bed and looking frantically for a means of stalling.
He was somewhat concerned when his partner proceeded to stare at the floor for a full minute before landing insensibly on his bed, but Tatsumi took it in stride.
Oh, yes. He'd just have to avoid Watari as much as possible for the next few weeks to months--only until the other man caught a fever for another dangerous scientific machination to the neglect of all else. To get a head start, he'd removed his shoes and was moving toward the bathroom when he heard an unusual question.
As Watari made an attempt to collect his thoughts, he'd heard the slight creak announcing that Tatsumi was getting up, walking away from the conversation and the too-rare chance before them. Oh, no, you don't, he had thought, casting a determined glare at Tatsumi's back before his attention came to rest on the Magic Fingers.
"Hey, Tatsumi, does your bed have one of these?"
The secretary turned. "What?"
Watari pushed a coin into the little box by his bed, which started buzzing. "I've thought about installing one of these in my bed a few times, but it's a futon, and of course I'm in the lab most of the time anyway..."
"Watari, what is your point?" He resettled his glasses in customary irritated gesture.
"Come sit down. These are relaxing." Watari patted the bed, smiling tensely.
Glancing at him incredulously, Tatsumi found himself complying.
"Lie down?"
"No."
"Fine. I will." Watari had meant them to sound casual, but the words were rushed. He lay back, propping his head on folded arms.
"I do not find this relaxing," Tatsumi grumbled.
"No? I think it's rather--"
"In fact, it's somewhat obscene."
Watari raised a curious eyebrow. "How so?"
"Just imagine the possibilities."
"I rather like them." He was fiddling with the edge of his turtleneck amusedly, now propped on one elbow.
"Inelegant."
"Oh?" Watari prodded, utterly intrigued now.
Tatsumi decided it was time for a calculated risk.
"The overall sensation lacks the precision of, for instance, shadows," he said, and heard the man next to him take a deep breath. "I've always wondered...to what effect they could be used..."
Watari sat up abruptly, facing away; it hit Tatsumi that he'd misjudged.
"It's warm in here," he excused, standing up to walk to the window, but a firm hand on his shoulder set him back on the bed with a thump.
"It's nice right now," Watari began, and Tatsumi waited.
"I've noticed lately," he said, paused. "I think there's something wrong with the heating in the lab," Watari added hesitatingly. "It gets cold at night."
"I could…personally attend to it, if you wish," Tatsumi replied, feeling his way through the conversation, not quite looking at his partner.
"That would be nice," Watari returned neutrally.
No, not neutrally. Neutrality didn't sound like a sigh. And it didn't require a hand gently laid atop his own.
The tension in the room crackled like ice on the first warm day of spring, melting and sliding like Watari's head onto Tatsumi's shoulder, flowing like his arm around the scientist's waist. With the suddenness of spring thaws he pulled Watari to him, investigating the feel of heavy golden hair between his fingers, strong arms around his neck, a slender waist beneath his steadying palm, forgetting all these in favor of the pliant mouth that drew his attention fiercely.
Watari's customary exterior of mad exuberance had been a trait he'd tolerated, once. Something he no longer noticed, later. Even more recently it had become an endearment, but it paled in comparison with this. Energy had gone nowhere, but was magnified, transformed into a heated urgency. A need matching his own at once taunted and pled with gliding tongue and gentle teeth, and Tatsumi felt out of control, a desperate stream swept into a greater saltwater sea of bitter frustration. He needed, and now, but Watari pulled back, taking deep breaths.
"What do you want?" Watari whispered in his ear, and this time it meant just what he wanted it to mean.
"This," Tatsumi replied, pulling the scientist closer for a deep kiss, becoming unbalanced, falling backward with Watari in his arms. Their teeth clicked together, and brief chuckles clashed in the cavity formed by two mouths, becoming gasps as soon as Tatsumi's hands found their way beneath Watari's layered turtlenecks, pinching the delicate skin there, as Watari discovered a sensitive nipple through the cotton of a dress shirt. There was friction lower, and cloth felt nice, but oh, skin would be so much better...
Something pressed harshly into the side of his nose, making Watari wince and pull back, straddling his partner. As he sat up he caught his falling glasses, and the shadow master could see childish hesitation in his eyes as he looked to Tatsumi, to the nightstand--too far away, and back, not wanting to move.
Tatsumi sat up, then, Watari sliding down to sit on his calves, and removed his own glasses, taking the scientist's in the same hand. Leaving him one arm free with which to roll Watari onto his back against the pillows, twisting to free his own legs and brace himself over the scientist, leaning forward to place the eyewear on the small table.
"You're fast," Watari noted, handing Tatsumi the tie he'd meanwhile removed, and both grinned, ridiculously bursting into laughter when the bedside device abruptly quit, the constant background whirring gone.
No distractions, he thought, leaning down again to explore the line of Watari's jaw with his mouth, drawing the ribbon from his hair and sinking both hands into golden waves, an indulgence he'd thought he'd never allow himself.
It was as decadent as he'd imagined.
An NC-17 version of this fic that doesn't end here can be found at
livejournal dot com slash community slash yamifics slash 85670 dot html
(Sorry; I couldn't get the link to display. Dots and slashes are punctuation, not words.)
Warning: contains yaoi, bondage, kink, and language.