Not mine, but I'll take one if you're offering.

Comments: I'm still feeling my way into this fandom. I'd write a longer story if I could only come up with a plot. Tricky things, plots. This story is all about Hisoka because these can never be enough Hisoka.

Consquences

Hisoka was gut wrenchingly tempted to get smashed even though he damn well knew he couldn't hold his drink and he wanted to run a marathon for the sole purpose of escaping frustration.

What he actually wanted and needed was sleep because, unlike his idiot partner, he liked being coherent so he could do his job. What he actually got was thin sleeping mat in a room in an inn with paper thin walls that just bled noise from the room next door. Tsuzuki's room where Tsuzuki seemed to be rather involved in the process of fucking a girl who was supposed to be dead and wasn't but was too damned cute for her own good.

Not that it would have mattered if the walls were reinforced steel and sound proof, the real leakage was the emotional kind and Hisoka wasn't blushing, he wasn't. Wasn't hiding his head under a blanket like a little kid prone to nightmares. Which he wasn't. A little kid. Or prone to nightmares like a wimp or a stupid idiot. After all there was nothing to get upset about, both participants in the (loud) festivities next door were happy and warm and wet and the friction was nice and so was the idea that someone wanted to be close to you in the dark and- that last thought had definitely not been Hisoka's. And the erection pressing against his sleep pants was definitely not Hisoka's even if it was attached to him.

Hisoka really needed this out of his head right now because empathy sucked. His face was flushed a color that was probably maroon and he hated it utterly and completely. Because he knew what sex and dark and friction felt like on his own skin and would bear the marks until the day he- not died, obviously, since he was quite dead already, like he was supposed to be, unlike that wench who was climbing on top of Tsuzuki and rocking back and forth and oh, oooohhh fuck…

Namo Amitabha Buddha... fuck,

Namo Amitabha Buddha, fuck,

Namo Amitabha Buddha, fuck, fuck, fuck...

But, yeah, Hisoka was marked until something happened that made it go away. Hisoka knew what sex meant for him and was not in the least interested in what sex- what fucking- was like inside Tsuzuki's stupid head where it was all warm and desperate and easy, like dessert but better because you didn't have to collect receipts. Too, too easy. And now she's got her teeth on his nipple and she loves how deep he- fuck.

There was nothing to do about it though, other than throw his shoes against the wall, which he'd tried. Twice. And he'd have to get out of bed and out from under the covers he had pulled all the way up to retrieve those shoes and throw them again, which was a bad idea. Instead Hisoka suffered in silence, feeling the bleed through of emotions and the sounds combine with the noise in his own head, which was just as dark and wet but a lot less fun and really never, never went away.

At some point there was a bright knife's edge of pleasure - the girl's - and Hisoka whimpered and buried his head under the pillow and did not think about the fact that there was stickiness on his stomach and his cock was finally soft. He tried really, really hard not to feel Tsuzuki's pleasure too and for some reason that seemed to work because he didn't feel it and eventually both of them quieted down into dreamless sleep.

Hisoka tried to remember to breathe once the pressure eased in his head. He ought to be used to this, to Tsuzuki and the long legged girls and clear eyed boys and anyone really, as long as they petted him and were nice. It was easy to be nice to Tsuzuki if you didn't have to live with him. He definitely ought not complain, especially after Kyoto and Tsuzuki the dumb fuck giving sincere evidence that he'd be happy to suicide over his real and imagined failings and had only agreed to live because Hisoka was a loud mouth and asked him to. It would be bad, bad to make him imagine he was failing Hisoka.

So, logically there it was. Hisoka ought to be used to this, grateful it was over, and that the case was more or less solved because the girl had been located and could be sent on now that Tsuzuki was done screwing her. He ought to just go to sleep. Except two things. Tsuzuki was going to mope when she passed on and Hisoka hated that and was frankly scared of it since Kyoto. And Hisoka never got used to other people's fucking in his brain, slimy sick and creepy dirty and he fucking hated that almost as much.

So Hisoka couldn't sleep, his skin creeped and he was sticky and the sheets would be crusty and whoever cleaned them would imagine that he'd fucked someone. Or else just himself. Hisoka hated that the most because he never even touched himself and why would he want to? It was like some nasty, pallid worm attached to his body and if he didn't think it would just grow back he might cut it off.

So, sleeping here in this room that stank of sex was not an option. Instead Hisoka sat up abruptly, grabbed his clothes from the chair where he'd left them folded and ran to the washroom to clean up. He left the semen stained sleep pants in the trash and ran and ran and ran and hoped to hell he wouldn't have to explain any of this to anyone in the morning.