The Awful Truth
Muraki had not been expecting Hisoka to come crashing through the door. It was a quiet afternoon. He had been reading a medical journal (he had to keep up with the latest advances, after all) with his feet up on a footstool, a glass of wine nearby, and some quiet music in the background. Leisurely fantasies of naked helpless purple-eyed shinigami had been relegated to the back of his mind, to be explored later -- preferably when he had a naked bound shinigami to play with.
Having Hisoka burst through the door, whimpering, was unexpected. Not unpleasant, but unexpected.
Assuming his usual feline smile, he queried, "What is it now, boy? Looking for your partner? For once, I don't . . ."
He was astonished beyond words when Hisoka interrupted him, "No, no! Please, I'll do anything -- I mean it -- just keep me away from him!"
Muraki had to put his glass of wine down carefully before he dropped it in shock, abandoning thoughts of running his fingers over it meaningfully. "What's this? Explain, boy."
Hisoka fell to his knees, shaking. "I'll do anything. I don't mind the red moon S&M. I can live with curses painted on my body. I won't even object to being called "bouya" all the time. Just please, please, keep me safe from Tsuzuki!"
Muraki's brow furrowed, and he raised one hand to casually adjust his glasses. (He'd practiced the move in the mirror for a decade before he was truly satisfied with it.) "What is the problem with Tsuzuki- san? Demonic possession? Split personality? Nervous breakdown?"
Hisoka slumped. "He's a slut."
"But he always runs away from me!" Muraki protested, shocked. "Every single time. I have to practically -- well, all right, I definitely have to drive him to the edge of collapse and tie him up if I want to get a few uninterrupted minutes with him!"
"That's because he knows it turns you on," Hisoka muttered. "He figures that if he actually started nuzzling your neck back you'd get bored and dump him. As things are, he's got you panting at his heels like a . . ."
"Be that as it may," Muraki said calmly, placing one finger gently against Hisoka's lips in a gesture that somehow suggested he could do far worse if Hisoka took that simile any further, "what have you personally got to object to?"
Hisoka moved his head away slightly. "Endless cuddles. Invitations to come and be "healed". Having to share those damn Cinnabons with him -- those damn, damn, damn eternal Cinnabons! Rubbing up against me like a cat in heat!" His eyes were getting wilder. "All the snuggling! All the cute little times he ruffles my hair! Trying to get me drunk and take advantage of me! And I can't get away from him! All the others keep on throwing me at him to keep themselves safe!"
"Tatsumi too?" Muraki asked, fascinated.
Hisoka shrugged. "He's trying to kick the habit. Poor man. He's even tried locking his door to keep Tsuzuki out of his office. He keeps on sending him on missions near you in hopes that you'll keep him. It's not just the sex he objects to, it's the Department orgies." The boy flinched. "Please don't ask about the orgies."
Muraki shook his head slowly. "You mean that the sweet, gentle, purple-eyed shinigami who I've been hunting for the last few years, that paragon of innocence and nervous tension, is actually . . ."
"The Department uke," Hisoka finished his sentence. "I think that's really why Watari's so desperate to finish his sex-change potion -- it'd stop Tsuzuki demanding that he come play cruel blonde seme."
"Really." Muraki mentally licked his lips.
"Wouldn't work, though," the emerald-eyed shinigami sighed. "I've seen what Tsuzuki keeps in his "toy drawer". And don't ask about the little side trips to talk to the shikigamis." A nervous tic started in his right cheek. "Just . . . don't ask."
"Well." Muraki laced his fingers together. "It is clear what I must do."
"Kidnap Tsuzuki and keep him as a pet for the next few decades?" asked Hisoka hopefully. "You could even send us polaroids of him as your tortured slave every now and again. We'd pin them up on the Department notice board and throw darts at them. Well, Terazuma certainly would."
"Oh, easier than that. After all, Tsuzuki always comes to rescue you from me, doesn't he?" The doctor's voice had a disturbing purr to it as his only visible eye focused on the boy kneeling at his feet.
Hisoka shrugged again. "Bribe Tatsumi and he'll even lose the mission records and swear that Tsuzuki was last seen heading for the Bahamas in search of the Big Rock Candy Mountain."
Muraki nodded. "And what do you get out of this, beside the pleasure of my company?" he murmured.
Hisoka lowered his eyelashes. "Is there any chance you could give me the phone number of your friend Oriya?"
"No problem," agreed Muraki. Visions of naked helpless purple-eyed shinigami were rapidly coming to the forefront of his mind and being filed for beta-testing. He smiled. "You know, boy, I think this could be the beginning of a beautiful friendship . . ."
---
Muraki had not been expecting Hisoka to come crashing through the door. It was a quiet afternoon. He had been reading a medical journal (he had to keep up with the latest advances, after all) with his feet up on a footstool, a glass of wine nearby, and some quiet music in the background. Leisurely fantasies of naked helpless purple-eyed shinigami had been relegated to the back of his mind, to be explored later -- preferably when he had a naked bound shinigami to play with.
Having Hisoka burst through the door, whimpering, was unexpected. Not unpleasant, but unexpected.
Assuming his usual feline smile, he queried, "What is it now, boy? Looking for your partner? For once, I don't . . ."
He was astonished beyond words when Hisoka interrupted him, "No, no! Please, I'll do anything -- I mean it -- just keep me away from him!"
Muraki had to put his glass of wine down carefully before he dropped it in shock, abandoning thoughts of running his fingers over it meaningfully. "What's this? Explain, boy."
Hisoka fell to his knees, shaking. "I'll do anything. I don't mind the red moon S&M. I can live with curses painted on my body. I won't even object to being called "bouya" all the time. Just please, please, keep me safe from Tsuzuki!"
Muraki's brow furrowed, and he raised one hand to casually adjust his glasses. (He'd practiced the move in the mirror for a decade before he was truly satisfied with it.) "What is the problem with Tsuzuki- san? Demonic possession? Split personality? Nervous breakdown?"
Hisoka slumped. "He's a slut."
"But he always runs away from me!" Muraki protested, shocked. "Every single time. I have to practically -- well, all right, I definitely have to drive him to the edge of collapse and tie him up if I want to get a few uninterrupted minutes with him!"
"That's because he knows it turns you on," Hisoka muttered. "He figures that if he actually started nuzzling your neck back you'd get bored and dump him. As things are, he's got you panting at his heels like a . . ."
"Be that as it may," Muraki said calmly, placing one finger gently against Hisoka's lips in a gesture that somehow suggested he could do far worse if Hisoka took that simile any further, "what have you personally got to object to?"
Hisoka moved his head away slightly. "Endless cuddles. Invitations to come and be "healed". Having to share those damn Cinnabons with him -- those damn, damn, damn eternal Cinnabons! Rubbing up against me like a cat in heat!" His eyes were getting wilder. "All the snuggling! All the cute little times he ruffles my hair! Trying to get me drunk and take advantage of me! And I can't get away from him! All the others keep on throwing me at him to keep themselves safe!"
"Tatsumi too?" Muraki asked, fascinated.
Hisoka shrugged. "He's trying to kick the habit. Poor man. He's even tried locking his door to keep Tsuzuki out of his office. He keeps on sending him on missions near you in hopes that you'll keep him. It's not just the sex he objects to, it's the Department orgies." The boy flinched. "Please don't ask about the orgies."
Muraki shook his head slowly. "You mean that the sweet, gentle, purple-eyed shinigami who I've been hunting for the last few years, that paragon of innocence and nervous tension, is actually . . ."
"The Department uke," Hisoka finished his sentence. "I think that's really why Watari's so desperate to finish his sex-change potion -- it'd stop Tsuzuki demanding that he come play cruel blonde seme."
"Really." Muraki mentally licked his lips.
"Wouldn't work, though," the emerald-eyed shinigami sighed. "I've seen what Tsuzuki keeps in his "toy drawer". And don't ask about the little side trips to talk to the shikigamis." A nervous tic started in his right cheek. "Just . . . don't ask."
"Well." Muraki laced his fingers together. "It is clear what I must do."
"Kidnap Tsuzuki and keep him as a pet for the next few decades?" asked Hisoka hopefully. "You could even send us polaroids of him as your tortured slave every now and again. We'd pin them up on the Department notice board and throw darts at them. Well, Terazuma certainly would."
"Oh, easier than that. After all, Tsuzuki always comes to rescue you from me, doesn't he?" The doctor's voice had a disturbing purr to it as his only visible eye focused on the boy kneeling at his feet.
Hisoka shrugged again. "Bribe Tatsumi and he'll even lose the mission records and swear that Tsuzuki was last seen heading for the Bahamas in search of the Big Rock Candy Mountain."
Muraki nodded. "And what do you get out of this, beside the pleasure of my company?" he murmured.
Hisoka lowered his eyelashes. "Is there any chance you could give me the phone number of your friend Oriya?"
"No problem," agreed Muraki. Visions of naked helpless purple-eyed shinigami were rapidly coming to the forefront of his mind and being filed for beta-testing. He smiled. "You know, boy, I think this could be the beginning of a beautiful friendship . . ."
---
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