2-Feb-2004
Title: Degrees of Separation
Chapter: 3
Authors: bonnejeanne and Laekin
Series: Chaotic Alliance
Fandom: Yami no Matsuei
Archived at: Currently at Love and Gundams and will also be at Katcom: http://katcom.squidkitty.org/
Pairings: Muraki x Watari, Tatsumi x Watari, Muraki x Oriya
Genre: Drama, Dark Angst, Psychological mindgames.
Rating for this Chapter: NC-17
CMA: Not intended for under-age readers.
Spoilers: None in this section.
Disclaimer: These characters are not ours. We seek no money from this endeavor, just having a bit of fun in the sandbox.
Feedback: positive feedback welcome
bonnejeanne@yahoo.com and/or seregill@aol.com.
Warnings and Author's Notes by Laekin:
Greetings! Well bonnejeanne and I ride again!!!! This time in the Yami no Matsuei universe. The following fic was collaborated on between us with Bonnejeanne handling Muraki, Tatsumi and a special guest star to be revealed later. I am responsible for Watari and Oriya.
Like "The Doll" this is a very dark fiction. It is psychologically complex, it deals with difficult situations as well as complex issues and it will not be to everybody's tastes. We ask, respectfully, that if you do not feel you can see Muraki as a three-dimensional character who is tragic in his own way, you pass over this fic. No need to explain why, we understand! Some may find the content, the emotions and the implications disturbing. If you are one of those who can be disturbed by such things, you've been warned. Any after effects are not our responsibility.
Bonne's Note: Muraki Friendly Fic, so skip if that's not your thing, no hard feelings.
Degrees of Separation: Part Three
For the next two hours, Watari haunted the place of his death, moving between the floors, circling past ICU, even taking a turn at the neo-natal unit, watching the truly fragile little beings fighting to keep the premature flames on their candles lit. He was never still for long, never in one place long enough to draw attention to himself; he used the whole hospital to pace and think.
Alone, he weighed the original game. He weighed his words to Tatsumi and Tatsumi's words to him. He weighed Muraki's words. His mental debate was long, and complicated. Instead of answering questions, he found he had even more of them, but eventually he boiled them down to one question and one answer.
Did he believe that any soul was irredeemable?
No. Perhaps he was innocent in his belief, but he did not believe that any soul was irredeemable.
Head folded against his knees, Watari exhaled a soft breath and whispered, "Forgive me, Tatsumi."
Then he stood up and moved on down the stairs to the locker rooms where he'd left his overcoat. Swapping out his lab coat for the overcoat, dressed once again in his street clothes, Watari exited the hospital.
Ghosting silently along the quiet Kyoto streets, he paused to look down the street that would take him to the rustic cottage that he'd stayed in last time. Then, with a sharp shake of his head he moved along, heading for the address on the card.
All in all, it was three hours between when Muraki left him, till he was knocking on Muraki's door.
~ * ~
The location that the address had led him to was as different from the Tokyo penthouse as could be easily imagined. The door Watari knocked on belonged to a small guesthouse, on the back of a piece of property in the city. The front of the property, past and camouflaged by a large garden, was familiar to Watari - he had been there once before.
From the front porch of the guesthouse he could hear the tinkle of a single bell, coming from beyond the garden.
It had taken Watari a bit of staring but eventually he'd recognized the garden of KoKakuRou and his lips twitched upwards slightly. He remembered how Hisoka had fought, honestly and from the heart for Tsuzuki. Had fought to save Tsuzuki from Muraki.
~No... in the end it was to save Tsuzuki from himself.~
The thought caused a little furrow to appear in the blond's smooth forehead but he'd smoothed out the expression by the time the door opened and Muraki stepped back to allow him to enter. The room within was comfortably furnished, and a service with tea sat on a low wooden table.
There was also a bottle of something amber and a small glass, next to an empty armchair in front of the small fireplace.
Muraki was dressed in jeans and the same shirt he had been wearing earlier.
"Welcome," the doctor said.
A little smile curled the corners of Watari's lips as his eyes traveled the length and breadth of Muraki, making note of those comfortable-looking jeans once again.
"Jeans suit you," he said by way of a response, before stepping into the small guesthouse. Pausing by the door to toe off his shoes, Watari glanced towards the fire crackling softly in the fireplace.
He could smell the scent of wood smoke.
Muraki smiled at the compliment. He reached out and slid Watari's coat off, hanging it on a coat tree near the door. Then he indicated a large comfortable rocker with a soft knitted afghan already draped over the back. "Would you like tea, or something stronger?"
Watari shrugged helpfully out of his long coat, pausing for a moment as he remembered. Then he snapped back to the present and turned towards the rocker, moving towards it hesitantly as if uncertain that it was where Muraki meant for him to sit, even though it was where the man was indicating. Eyes taking in the modest guesthouse, the young shinigami looked more curious than anything.
"This is... different," he acknowledged. Different from the penthouse, different from... no... no he couldn't let himself think about that right now. Perching on the edge of the rocker, Watari stretched his hands towards the fire, staring at the flames for a beat before he answered Muraki's question.
"Tea... please." Tea was a genuine warmth, liquor a false warmth.
A cup was placed in his hand. It was something he'd never tasted before, and had a hint of cinnamon in it.
Muraki resumed the armchair, picking up the glass and sipping some of the amber liquid from it.
He studied Watari without appearing to stare. And he let the shinigami enjoy his tea, and the fire, in silence.
Used to being engaged with Muraki in some form of communication, Watari found the silence unnerving at first. But as it stretched out, filled by the snapping and popping of the logs in the fire, and as the warm tea helped dispel the chill, the young shinigami slowly began to relax.
He didn't let himself completely forget who he was sitting with, and he was very much aware of the mortal man sharing the space with him, but gradually the tension in his shoulders seemed to lessen and he even sat back in the rocker, setting it to gentle motion.
Though curious about this new found silence, Watari didn't move to break it. He didn't feel... pushed towards chatter, so he sipped his tea, watched the flames, rocked gently and kept track of Muraki out of the corner of his eye.
After a while, Muraki began to talk.
"This cottage was built forty years ago. The owner of the property at the time, the present owner's father, kept a mistress here. She was a Western woman, English, and the furnishings and style of the house were supposed to be for her comfort. She had a child here, raised him until he was old enough to be sent away to boarding school, and then she died here a few years later of what they called consumption. A quaint, romantic name for tuberculosis."
Rolling the cup back and forth between his slender hands, Watari listened as Muraki's deep voice overlaid the sounds of the fire.
"What happened to the child?"
"The property owner had another son by his wife, but the legitimate heir also died, also of 'consumption'. The bastard was given the other boy's name and station and money was paid to change the records so that the property owner could be succeeded by his byblow under the name of his legitimate son when he died."
The young shinigami took another sip of tea as he listened to Muraki, almost finishing the last of the warm liquid. Then he leaned his head back against the rocker and with a push, set it to motion. Behind his glasses, his amber eyes narrowed thoughtfully and he said in a voice that was gently curious, "You care about Oriya Mibu, don't you?"
Muraki chuckled softly. "If I cared about him, I would leave him alone."
One toe balanced on the floor, Watari continued to rock, enjoying the motion. His lips twitched upwards in a small, genuine smile and his head rocked finally to the side so he could look at Muraki directly.
"He's cared about you since you two were boys. I can not imagine that 'leaving him alone' would be easy. It's hard to walk away from those people who understand, or at least accept us... no matter what we do."
"I suppose I should have expected this streak of romanticism in you, but I find it a little surprising," Muraki returned, finishing the drink and setting the glass back on the floor. "He's had a schoolboy crush on me for years, is closer to the truth. I've used it, and him, many times, and yet he continues to open the door when I knock. If you looked in a textbook of abnormal psychology under masochist, you would find his lovely picture."
Watari chuckled softly. "Schoolboy crushes do not usually hold up under the strain of buying off officials to get them to drop multiple homicide charges. However, are you calling him a fool? A stooge? You have the money and the position to place yourself pretty much anywhere you desire, yet you come to ground here."
Watari paused and looked down into his mug, swirling the remains of the tea about. "Very well, it's your business with him, not mine."
"You fail to appreciate his capacity for obsession," Muraki said, in answer to the first remark. "And I am not calling him a fool, he is anything but, as you must be aware, having faced him. I am calling him what he is, a masochist. I come to ground, as you so poetically put it, here, because here is safe. While I am here, I enjoy studying him. He teaches me new things about his personal psychosis every time I see him."
He leaned back in the armchair, relaxing his posture from the perfection he usually maintained.
"The advantage in studying those afflicted with illnesses of the mind should be obvious," he said. "It prepares me for the trial of living with my own."
Not a single word was missed in what Muraki said. In fact, though he looked almost half asleep, Watari was listening with keen intensity to what the doctor was saying. He didn't know what Muraki expected him to respond to, but he honed in on one word, feeling it in his mind before saying in a soft voice,
"Did you come here, where it's safe, to try to fix the doll?"
Muraki's eyes narrowed and fixed on Watari with a glance that was incredibly sharp.
"You haven't said if you liked the gift," he said.
Silence fell once more in the small cottage, filled only by the slight creak of the rocking chair in motion and the living sounds of the fire in the hearth. Looking back up, Watari laid his head back against the softness of the afghan and looked at Muraki, his expression becoming a hint unguarded so the doctor could read the truth of his answer in his eyes.
"Yes. I do like it." Without taking his eyes off Muraki, Watari finished off his tea. "Though it is expensive. I wonder why you gave it to me."
Muraki glanced into the fire and then back, the moment allowing him to return to a more casual regard. "It pleases me to think of it sitting somewhere in the unchanging land of the Meifu, for decades, perhaps a century or two. Would it eventually turn into dust? Or will it stay unchanging, like you?"
Watari's lips twitched upwards in a rueful smile. "Honestly, it will probably outlast me. My physical body might be unchanging but my mind is not immortal. Eventually even the strongest mind... breaks beneath the strain of what we do, the choices we make." The young shinigami let his head roll back to rest fully back against the rocker and this time he let his eyes close and instead of keeping his musing to himself, he shared it this time.
"I'm quite certain that a number of my colleagues would assume mine was starting to crack, would that they saw me at this moment."
Muraki smiled. "Of course," he agreed.
For a moment or two he watched the blond scientist, watched his face with its closed eyes, the expression a bit weary, and vulnerable.
"But they lack the wit to appreciate your gamble," he added. "I would like to take you to bed. My intention would be to have sex. How do you feel about that?"
Watari felt his lips twitch once again at Muraki's comment about his wit and his gamble. The words felt good but a part of the young shinigami still had to wonder if they were entirely accurate. He didn't feel particularly witty. The last part of Muraki's statement caused Watari to pause in his rocking and behind his closed eyelids, images played... but... for some reason they seemed less intense this time around.
The scientist relaxed his foot, which allowed the rocker to drift forward, and he weighed how he could answer, what he should say, what words to use. The rocker creaked a little more loudly as the shinigami opened his eyes and sat forward, setting both feet on the ground. Watching the flames, enjoying their warmth for a moment longer, Watari pushed up to his feet.
Turning, unhurriedly, he moved to the low table and set the cup carefully down by the rest of the tea service. His head down, his hair curtained his face as he stood there, then moved towards the armchair where Muraki was seated. Tilting his head so the long, silky hair fell away from his face, Watari held his hand out to the doctor, silently... but giving his answer.
Muraki smiled and stood up, taking Watari's offered hand. "I see that you and Oriya do have something in common," he said softly.
Clasping Watari's hand and twining his fingers between the shinigami's, he led Watari towards an open doorway. Beyond was a room with a very large bed. There were other things, furnishings, a few pieces somewhat oddly shaped and not obvious of use, but the whole room, like the cottage, had a faintly Victorian feel to it, and a scent that contained something like ginger, and cinnamon, layered over old roses.
~Maybe we do.~ Watari thought to himself, but he grinned inwardly. ~Though, I wonder if it's what you imagine it to be, Kazutaka.~
But this thought he kept to himself as he allowed his fingers to twine and curl around Muraki's and he was led from the warmth of the front room to the bedroom. As he passed the threshold, the teasing scent of ginger caused the young shinigami to take a deep breath, exchanging the comfortable scent of the wood smoke for the more exotic combination of the ginger and the cinnamon, also picking up the hints of roses, though it was the ginger that seemed to linger.
This room also had a fireplace, though the fire here was already banked down to glowing embers. It was the only light in the room, apart from some light that filtered through lace curtains over a window.
Once inside the room, Muraki stopped next to the bed and began methodically removing Watari's clothes, one garment at a time.
He was a little more layered than the last time he had traveled to Earth. To Tokyo. As Muraki's hands pulled the flannel shirt from his body, Watari shivered, a part of his mind wishing the fire in the fire in this room was a little higher. But then he had to wonder if the shiver was entirely in response to the cool air brushing around his body.
Watari's mind tried to niggle at him with the though that, wasn't it strange that he couldn't undress in the safety of Tatsumi's bedroom, yet he was letting Muraki undress him in this strange cottage. The young shinigami turned on the thought ruthlessly and pounded it down into a safe little box deep in his thoughts.
He did nothing to hinder Muraki's motions but after his turtleneck had been drawn off his body, raising little goosebumps on his skin, he reached out cautiously and laid his fingers on the buttons of the doctor's shirt, neatly undoing one, then the next... then the next.
Muraki stood quietly, letting Watari pursue his action, observing the blond as his hands moved, watching his face and expression.
When he wasn't pushed away, Watari's expression went from being a little guarded, to being cautiously curious. Pulling the shirt free of Muraki's waistband, he finished off the last of the buttons and for a moment, he just stood there, holding the open edges of the doctor's shirt. It was hard to read the blond's features, even for the very observant Muraki, if for no other reason than no single emotion, or thought seemed to stay on Watari's fine boned face for any length of time.
Catching the corner of his mouth with his teeth, Watari began to push the shirt back and away from Muraki's body as he stepped towards the other man, rolling up to the balls of his feet and pressing a gossamer light kiss against the doctor's sensual lips.
The kiss was met with an open, receptive mouth, and one of Muraki's hands settled on the small of Watari's bare back, just above his hips, stroking lightly down and then returning. "Do you want to finish the job?" the doctor murmured against Watari's mouth, a note of amusement in his low voiced words.
Something the doctor had said earlier that night came back to the scientist in that moment, as he stood there with his lips pressed lightly against Muraki's mouth. 'Worshipful Silence'. The corners of Watari's lips curled upwards and he leaned back, looking up into Muraki's amused face.
The blond's amber eyes brightened with a sultry sort of playfulness, a mischeveousness that was completely to his nature, though not usually given such an outlet. Slender eyebrows bounced once and Watari broke eye contact and let his gaze travel down along the pale, exposed skin.
~In for a penny, in for a pound. Do this right, Yutaka.~
Stroking his tongue across his lips, he parted Muraki's shirt, turning his hands and sliding them up along the edges till he held just below the collar. He bunched the fabric in his fists and very carefully but with authority, drew the shirt down and off Muraki's torso, his arms wrapping around the doctor's chest as he took a step forward, warm breath teasing across the sensitive skin of Muraki's throat. Handing the shirt off to one hand, he shook it out neatly and tossed it towards where Muraki had been gathering his own clothing.
Shirt taken care off, Watari let his lips hover just shy of the doctor's skin. The warmth of his mouth, his moist breath, these were all Muraki could feel on his pale flesh as the scientist began to weave his way down across the broad chest. Soft rose nipples were blown softly upon, but not touched as Watari continued along, his hands ghosting along Muraki's sides, leading the way down towards the doctor's jeans.
Down, down he bent, until finally Watari was once again on his knees in front of Muraki, only this time he wasn't begging for a mouse. At last he touched the doctor's flesh, the tip of his tongue neatly outlining Muraki's navel as his hands traced along slender hips to the fastening of Muraki's jeans. Undoing belt, button and zipper, Watari continued to tease the doctor's well defined abdomen as he drew the mortal man's jeans off his lower body.
The heat of the shinigami's body could be felt as his torso leaned forward to help Muraki out of the jeans but he still didn't touch Muraki except where that clever tongue tethered him to the doctor's body. Carefully disposing of the jeans off towards where the shirt ended up, Watari trailed his hands very lightly up along Muraki's legs until he could wrap his fingers around the other man's hipbones.
Then he continued with his worship of the doctor's body. Lips finally entering the act as he kissed and lapped his way down along the highly sensitive skin of the hip towards Muraki's groin, this time that clever mouth did make its way towards Muraki's cock and without much warning, warm lips closed carefully around the velvety head, sucking lightly at the sensitive ridge of the cut penis while that busy tongue introduced itself to the slit.
Watari believed in doing a job right, after all.
Long, strong fingers threaded through the thick mane of gold hair, penetrating to the scalp until they wrapped around Watari's skull. Thumbs lightly brushed Watari's cheekbones as the shinigami continued his oral exploration. He could feel the flex of muscles along the doctor's hips, could see the little ripple of tension through flat abdominal muscles. The hands settled around his head were a casual weight, and with the slightest of pressures, they began to urge him forward.
A low sound escaped from Muraki's lips as his head tilted back. The sensation of Watari's mouth sliding around him was delicious.
As his cock nudged the back of Watari's throat, the fingers around the shinigami's skull suddenly became like steel. Immobile, holding him in place, they took away the Watari's will for a moment, suspending him with mouth and throat full of warm, hard, living flesh, the head far enough back to block his airway.
As Watari began to feel the loss of oxygen, he realized that there was one way he could, perhaps, get free, if he were willing to inflict some serious damage on the doctor. Just as it came to him, he felt the thumbs resting at his temples shift, pressing above the hinges of his jaw. The pressure was as precise as acupuncture, locking his jaw open as that option was taken away. Spots began to dance in front of his eyes.
And just as abruptly the pressure disappeared, the hands lifted, and Muraki's hips moved back, beginning a smooth withdrawal from the blond shinigami's mouth.
Watari had gone still when Muraki's cock had been threatening to suffocate him, the doctor's thumbs on his jaw sensing that the blond didn't even flex those muscles as if to take the obvious option that would have saved his *life*. Though surprising, and perhaps more than a little disturbing, Watari took what happened in stride, but he did mark down every second of the encounter into his mind. From what he had done, to the noise Muraki had made -the noise he had felt a thrill hearing- to the moment those fingers had gone from almost gentle urging to being vise-like, to the way Muraki had skillfully locked his jaw in position, and now this withdrawal.
Relaxing his lips, he allowed Muraki to pull back, though Watari's tongue was not passive as it moved across the flesh exiting his mouth. And as the doctor's cock pulled free of his lips, the young shinigami sat back on his heels, hands still lightly wrapped around the mortal man's hips as he looked up along Muraki's powerful form towards his face, stroking his tongue across his lips, curiosity in those bright amber eyes but other than what the doctor could read in his expression, Watari remained silent.
Watchful.
A low, breathless laugh stirred the air. It had a quality to it that almost hinted that the doctor's heart was beating rapidly. The fingertips of one hand brushed Watari's cheek lightly. "Do you have any idea the things I would like to do to you?" The question also had a slightly breathless quality, though the doctor's deep voice was as calm as ever.
Still on his knees, ankles crossed and tucked under his naked body, Watari tilted his head towards the touch of those fingers. His expression was... not foolishly romantic, nor seductive or inviting. However, neither was it horrified, or outraged. It was best described as genuinely inquisitive.
"Would you tell me?" he asked in a low, almost serene tone.
A low chuckle answered his question. "Would you have let me suffocate you just to see if I would do it?" the inquiry came in return. "I wanted to... to feel your body struggle and then go limp... and then I would have come at the moment your life force departed... or would it depart, shinigami-kun? In my own way I am as curious as you are..."
One pale gold eyebrow arched upwards as he heard the return of the -kun suffix but Watari merely noted it. Stroking his tongue back across his lips, the blond's hands opened so that only his palms rested lightly against Muraki's strong flanks. In a smooth, graceful gesture Watari gained his feet, his body sliding up along Muraki's as his hands stroked up across the doctor's pale skin, settling in the middle of the other man's back as the young shinigami stood once again in front of him.
"Would I have let you suffocate me?" Watari repeated the question, eyes slowly and gently tracing Muraki's features. "No, but you needn't have tried to stop me hurting you. I wouldn't have." The corner of Watari's lips quirked upwards but he didn't elaborate. "Could you have suffocated me? Could you have felt my body struggle and go limp? You could have. Death, while obviously not possible in the way mortals fear it, is possible of sorts for the immortal body. It is... extraordinarily agonizing, much more so than the first death. Even suffocation in *life* with is amazingly unpleasant is mild compared to suffocating in death, because when it happens in *life* there is always the conscious thought of *fear* for the mind to focus on. *Fear* of the unknown, of what will become of one. That *fear* helps release endorphins which offset the pain. But, to one already dead, who already knows... that *fear* isn't present, which just leaves the mind free to focus on the pain."
Watari took a slow breath, as if reminding himself that he could. His face was close enough to Muraki's that it was likely the mortal man felt the warm passage of air as the shinigami gently exhaled.
"So, no. I'm afraid I would not have allowed you to suffocate me."
As Watari described the experience of pain that 'death' in the afterlife brought, an odd light, and a sharpness seemed to fix in Muraki's eyes, or perhaps it was simply the subtle expression that made it appear that way. Once again he looked as if his heartbeat were speeding. The reaction was unmistakably that of arousal.
Licking his lips, the doctor lowered his eyelids for a second or two, as if reasserting control over his reactions.
"I'm sure whatever means you used to prevent it would have been interesting," Muraki murmured. "You are becoming, in your own unique way, as enticing a puzzle as my sweet Tsuzuki."
For some reason, that last comment caught Watari, unawares. There was no reason it should have and the scientist immediately moved to accommodate it. He was extraordinarily skilled at keeping undesired emotions at bay and there was little in his expression to give any hint to the way Muraki's words struck him, or what sort of reaction they might have caused in the blond.
After a split second the blond's lips twitched in a humored expression but he didn't say anything, merely stood there gently kneading the doctor's lower back.
Muraki, however, was watching him very closely indeed. Even the absence of reaction was noted. "There is only one way for us to play together that is even remotely safe for you," Muraki said, the words considered and then offered to the scientist for examination. As he awaited the result, the doctor ran his fingertips lightly over Watari's back and hips, enjoying the symmetry of his contours.
Watari's mind scampered a little to catch back up to where it had been. Another little chuff of laughter escaped him but then with a wicked shake of his head he exhaled and lifted an eyebrow at Muraki, waiting with what appeared to be infinite patience, so at odds with the blond's usually restless nature, his hands still stroking almost soothingly along the mortal man's well defined spine.
Muraki smiled. Snagging one of Watari's wrists, he moved around the blond, pulling him gently, almost playfully, towards the bed. When they were both next to it, he reached into the drawer of a bedside table and pulled out a pair of padded, steel handcuffs and dangled them on one finger.
His mind back in its appropriate groove, Watari's brows furrowed then bounced upwards as Muraki pulled him to the bed and produced the handcuffs. Tilting his head to the side, his long honey blond hair cascading across the pale skin of one shoulder, the young scientist reached up and with the tip of his tongue poking out between his teeth in a mischievous expression, he slowly circled his fingertip along the inside of the dangling wrist bracelet.
"You know... you could wear them."
This was said as Watari bent far enough down so he was peeking at Muraki from the center of the cuffs, his amber eyes danced very discreetly but there was... warmth in their depths.
Muraki chuckled. "I have. One has to experience both sides to be able to perform either one more than adequately. Unfortunately, it doesn't seem to help any more..."
Lifting one of Watari's wrists, he closed one cuff over it. His movements were easily slow enough for Watari to twist away if he chose to do so.
Watari was momentarily fascinated with how far the cuff had to close to capture his wrist but he made no move to withdraw or escape.
He had accepted the doctor's offer and though he'd almost walked away when Muraki mentioned Tsuzuki, he was not about to withdraw because of the cuffs, or what they implied.
Giving the padded steel a little shake on his wrist, the scientist asked in a curious tone, "You really do not trust yourself?"
Muraki paused, leaving the cuff dangling from Watari's single wrist as he tilted the blond's chin up, and kissed him deeply. Withdrawing from the kiss slowly, he nuzzled Watari's cheek and murmured, "Which... self?"
Then he took each of Watari's hands in each of his, and moved them around to meet behind the shinigami's back. The second cuff was closed around the empty wrist. As it closed, a little bit of tension seemed to leak out of his body.
The young shinigami returned the deep kiss, not attempting to hide the fact that he enjoyed the exchange. It was useless to try and be dishonest to boot. Relaxing his shoulders to help as Muraki carefully bound his arms behind his back, Watari turned his head and laid his cheek lightly against Muraki's shoulder as the doctor worked the cuffs.
Mentally he was contemplating Muraki's words. Not only the ones the doctor had just spoken but also previous words, previous statements. His face pressed against Muraki's shoulder, he felt the minute tension leave the powerful body he was leaning against and he gave the cuffs a little test, trying to get an idea of how much range of movement he had.
Watari considered attempting to answer Muraki's question but though he recognized that he had pieces of the puzzle coming into position, there still was not enough for him to risk saying the wrong thing. Straightening, instead, the young shinigami turned his head and caught Muraki's lips with his own. The kiss was deep, but not hurried.
The return was just as leisurely. Muraki's hands slid up along Watari's arms to his shoulders, his hands circled Watari's throat for a moment, thumbs brushing his Adam's apple, then both hands moved across his shoulders, and along the contours of his chest. Another pause as the doctor's thumbs circled and nudged Watari's nipples, making them tight and firm. Then his hands slid down to settle on Watari's waist.
Lifting his head, Muraki examined Watari's face for a moment, his own expression beginning to show the effects of a different kind of arousal than the sharp, somewhat terrifying reaction of before.
Bending, he lifted Watari off his feet and then set him down in the middle of the large bed's surface, on top of the covers. He adjusted Watari's position to that his shoulders were slightly propped up by the pillows, and his wrists fitted into the small of his back as comfortably as possible. Then he spread Watari's legs wide apart and knelt between them.
It was not easy to relax and let Muraki position him. Watari was used to his freedom and his independence and by allowing himself to be bound he gave over even the most basic form of self-sufficiency, such as being able to scoot up on the bed himself. Despite this, he didn't try to fight the doctor's hands as the other man positioned him. Laying his shoulders back into the pillows, Watari shifted to help relieve the strain even more and then with a sigh relaxed back onto the bed.
His body was already starting to hum from the touch of the doctor's hands across his arms and over his chest. A small corner of his mind, a dark corner, had grinned when he'd felt those same hands close around his neck and he'd been cast back to the night in Tokyo when Muraki's hands had closed on his neck from behind while the doctor pounded into him. Laying his head back on the pillow, Watari sighed softly and licked his lips, his head coming back up as he felt Muraki down between his legs.
This time, unlike the night in the bath, those long slender limbs parted without the tension of before, his feet setting down on the soft fabric of the comforter, lifting his knees slightly as he watched the erotic picture Muraki made as the doctor settled between his spread thighs.
The young shinigami's breath came a little faster and suddenly the night air wasn't quite so cold anymore.
Muraki gazed down at Watari, his eyes enjoying the picture he'd created. Arms behind him, legs spread, pale skin and golden hair against the dark bedspread, Watari did look like a beautiful, precious, erotic doll.
Muraki licked his lips as he knelt between the blond's legs, his sharp eyes noting the telltale signs of increasing arousal in his guest. He leaned over Watari, swiping his tongue teasingly across the shinigami's lips, but this time not kissing him. He did kiss the hollow of his neck between the collarbones. He did kiss his chest, licking one nipple and teething on it as his hand flattened over the other, pulling and pinching gently but firmly. His erection brushed along Watari's stomach, painting it with a little precum. Methodically, he tended the other nipple with his mouth, pinching and circling the first. Then a scattering of kisses along Watari's stomach, tasting his own fluid. Leaning back on his knees, he smoothed his hands along the inside of Watari's thighs from knee to groin and then bent to take Watari's weeping shaft into his mouth.
Even as Muraki enjoyed the view the shinigami made, Watari could not kid himself that the pale doctor hovering over him was not cause for excitement as well. The mortal man's broad shoulders seemed to block out the view of the ceiling for a brief moment as Muraki's tongue stroked over Watari's lips but before the blond could capture that skillful tongue with his lips, the doctor was on the move.
As Muraki's kisses touched his throat, Watari leaned his head back and a soft little moan escaped him. For a moment he mourned the loss of his hands because they itched to reach and trace across warm, aristocratically smooth and silky skin. His palms could almost feel the way strong muscles played beneath that skin as Muraki continued to shift and travel along his body. Watari whimpered and tested the cuffs reflexively but there was no way they were going to give, which caused the restless shinigami to toss his head, further scattering long honey blond hair across the darkness of the covers.
Panting, as Muraki's hands and mouth continued to pleasure his chest, Watari braced his feet a little more firmly against the flat of the mattress, sliding his own thighs higher up along Muraki's broad torso, gripping the other man between his legs. At the point where the incredible, velvety heat of the doctor's erection brushed across his sensitive abdomen, the young shinigami cried out softly and arched but was too late to catch another touch and then Muraki was moving once again along the now trembling body.
This time, without the threat of a ball gag, Watari did capture and torment his own lower lip between his teeth in an effort to get control over his eager body. He shuddered as he felt the doctor move along his lean form and the stroke of those strong hands across the tender flesh of his inner thighs pulled another soft, eager noise from the shinigami and his hips arched, very gently upwards as the noise bled into a whimpering moan when Muraki's mouth closed over aching flesh.
Down along the shaft, swallowing deeply, then up slowly... then down again... and up... The doctor continued, until Watari's hips were rocking, his muscles flexing to push upwards in an instinctive response. Once again, Muraki deftly brought him right to the edge and then withdrew, straightening to look down, licking slightly swollen lips and capture the image of the shinigami, panting with need.
Watari knew that for the sake of dignity he should be trying to hold back in his responses to Muraki but as before, his body seemed to be in business for itself and the doctor played him to perfection. As Muraki's mouth pleasured him to the point of almost unbearable intensity, Watari gave in to the instinctive urge to flex and thrust forward, but he was careful not to force himself against the other man's mouth or throat. Lip between his teeth, a low masculine purr escaped his throat as he moved in time to the doctor, a purr that was broken off when Muraki withdrew just shy of the peak of pleasure.
Panting, lips curled in a rueful expression, there was no denying the need or the desire in the blond's face as amber eyes, darkened to burnished gold, opened and focused on the doctor's fuzzy features. He turned his head towards the kiss, tasting a hint of himself on the mortal man's warm, slightly damp lips and he released a little mumble of appreciation down Muraki's throat just before the man drew back.
Carefully, the doctor leaned over and kissed Watari's lips, reaching into the drawer of the bedside table again as he did so. Then he leaned back and opened the small bottle in his hands, dribbling a little scented oil on his fingers. Watching his guest, he placed those slippery fingers below Watari's testicles, seeking the entrance and finding it.
Laying back, taking in deep breaths of air, the blond was soon moving restlessly as he listened to Muraki's movements and when those strong fingers slipped so easily along the sensitive flesh just behind his balls, sliding towards his entrance, Watari's head dropped back as he tried to arch into that touch, silently begging for more of it.
"Sensei..." he whispered, breathlessly, feet scooting up even further giving Muraki access to his body.
Muraki smiled at the soft, needy whisper and answered it by plunging one, then two fingers deeply into Watari's passage, coating it with the scented oil. Ginger, cinnamon, and rose all contributed to the aroma of the lubricant, mingling with Watari's own scent as the heat of his body unlocked the oil's fragrance.
The doctor had no need to explore or draw it out this time. He struck true, hitting the spot inside Watari where the reaction and response of pleasure was the strongest, the action on the nerves immediate, intense and electric.
Again and again he struck the same location, as those hips jerked in reaction. The escalation seemed to go faster this time, building swiftly. And once again he withdrew, leaving Watari on the edge, but only for a moment.
Even if he'd wanted to keep withholding his response from the doctor, by allowing things to progress to this point, Watari realized he'd given up any chance of that sort of control. The scents of the oil filled his lungs as he took in deep, almost desperate breaths of air, his head turned to the side as if trying to at least muffle any stray cries against his own hair and the pillows.
Tentatively, those long legs lifted from the platform of the bed and curled around Muraki's body, the muscles of Watari's calves flexing against the other man's bare ribcage then clenching when deft fingers unerringly struck the pleasure point in his body. Biting against a mouthful of hair and a bit of pillow, the young shinigami groaned at the dual sensations of incredible pleasure and the very slight burn that just seemed to help give an edge of the thrill of having his body penetrated in such a skillful manner.
The next sensation the shinigami felt was Muraki's cock, stretching his body as it pushed inward, slick with the fragrant oil.
Between one breath and the next, Watari felt the unique heat of the doctor's erection, first against his entrance, then pushing past the tight ring of muscle and into the oil slicked passage.
"Yeesss..." Watari whispered with a passionate hiss in his tone, his hips flexing up towards Muraki as his legs slid around the doctor's torso, gripping him close.
Muraki sank into his willing guest, deeper until he was fully sheathed, the passage of his cock sliding along the sensitive pleasure zone. His hips flexed, pumping out and in, sending waves of sensation from both the shinigami's prostate as well as his passage, sensations that mingled and showed Watari that his body was increasingly enjoying not just the pleasure but the very experience of being filled.
As he took Muraki to the hilt, Watari's eyes closed and the most serene expression ghosted across his fine boned features. There was always that split second of time, just a fleeting moment sometimes but there when time seemed to be still and the heat of connection was at its most pure. Then the doctor was moving and the pleasure of both sensation and just the feeling of being taken so thoroughly, filled so completely threatened to toss Watari right over the edge into bliss.
Muraki's hips worked, pleasuring them both, one of his arms sliding under Watari, locking around his waist.
The sensation of Muraki's arm sliding around the small of his back brought Watari's eyes open and he blinked a couple of times in an attempt to focus on the doctor's handsome features. Watching as that almost unnerving serenity fell like a veil over the mortal man's face, Watari tucked yet another piece of information away in his brain, even though most of his concentration was focused on the powerful movements of Muraki's body within his own.
The doctor's face over Watari's looked down and the odd light that he had seen flickering then once, no, twice before seemed to return, shifting the planes of Muraki's faces into a kind of unholy serenity.
Even as the shift began to take hold, the man moved, using the full strength of his well-toned muscles to lift Watari, tightly against him, buried to the hilt, and then turn and roll, until the doctor was on his back and Watari sat above him, straddling his hips, their bodies still joined.
The deep rise and fall of the doctor's chest could have been from the exertions of sex, or the shift in position, it would have been hard to pinpoint. Then Watari felt the last thing he expected, all of it happening in seconds. Muraki's hands moved behind him and his wrists were suddenly free. Then the doctor's hands moved back, and Watari looked down to see the man deftly snapping the cuffs around his own wrists. His arms moved up and his now bound hands curled around the heavy wood of the headboard, giving him something to brace against.
Watari felt his breath leave his lungs at the suddenness and the unexpectedness of the motion. The breath he tried to take to replenish oxygen to his lungs was also stolen from him when Muraki reached and freed his hands and they hung at his hips as he watched the doctor bind his own wrists together and then stretch out beneath him on the bed. The shinigami's body instinctively flexed around the invading flesh of the doctor's cock, massaging it intimately as Watari leaned back a little bit, arching over the powerful body he was now astride.
The young shinigami's mind was pleasure fogged but still quick and soon those limp hands were in motion. Despite the high level of his arousal, he didn't move quickly or harshly across Muraki's torso, choosing instead to lay his palms flat against the doctor's trim abdomen, leaving them there for a moment as he slowly posted forward, drawing his body up along Muraki's cock till he felt just the tip of the head still within his body. Scooting his legs forward, he sank back down onto the heated flesh, groaning very softly and folding at the waist, his hands sliding up across Muraki's chest, naughty fingers circling with an almost tender caress around dusky nipples, coaxing them to tighten even further.
The bend brought Watari's mouth about midway up along Muraki's ribcage and the blond teethed gently at the defined bone before he trailed on up along the pectoral muscles. His lower body now moving with steady, but short thrusts up and down, impaling himself on the doctor's cock, Watari's mouth found and closed around one pale nipple, lashing at it with his tongue as his hands slid up across broad shoulders, finger tips teasing along Muraki's long neck until Watari held the doctor's face, gently cradled in his hands.
The doctor rocked under him, eyes closing to slits. He reacted to the touches, but his body continued to thrust upwards as Watari moved down. They were both too far along for foreplay to hold attention. As Watari rode him, Muraki's pale eyelids drifted ever so slightly upwards, eyes fixing on Watari's face, glittering beneath his eyelashes. Deep breaths came in and out with the rhythm of the ride. A flush broke across the doctor's pale skin and Watari could feel that the body beneath him was close, very close to reaching its crest.
Sitting all the way back, his spine arching to allow him to thrust back against Muraki's moving hips in such a way as to take the doctor's length completely into his body, long silky blond hair splashed across the mortal man's thighs. One hand braced in the center of Muraki's trim abdomen, the other reached for his own swollen flesh, closing around himself to pump in time with their rapidly quickening motions. Watari's lips were parted slightly, teeth bearing into his lower lip as he tried to hold on to his control until the very last possible moment.
When it came down to it, it would have been hard to say who crested the edge first. Suddenly both bodies were slamming against each other, controlled movements becoming uncontrolled, muscles clenching, one releasing deep inside a tight, warm passage, the other across a flat, pale stomach, both gasping as the pleasure swept aside thought and emotion, submerging everything under its momentary power.
And just on the other side, Watari heard a loud crack as the wood of the headboard splintered and broke.
The intensity of the pleasure threatened to overwhelm him and Watari had to clench his teeth together tight enough to crack his own molars as he tried to stifle his hoarse cry of completion. He worked every last bit of pleasure out of his body, while at the same time muscles clenched around Muraki's cock, milking the other man just as thoroughly. Blood pounding in his ears, the crack sounded like a gunshot sounding above the panting of his own breath. Had he had any control over his muscles he probably would have jumped, startled, but as it was the crack caused him to twitch and moan, his head ducking a little to the side as he blinked his eyes open, looking down at Muraki and trying to focus on something beyond the way his body wanted to collapse in a sated little puddle.
Arms came down around Watari's shoulders, arms still bound at the wrists, and he was tumbled over as Muraki shifted. For a few moments they lay side by side, facing each other, bodies still joined, Watari's seed smeared between them.
Several deep breaths later, Watari felt another shift as Muraki fingered the cuffs open, withdrawing one arm, leaving them dangling from the other.
Watari relaxed into the tumble, though his eyebrows quirked as Muraki's arms came around him, still cuffed together. Laying on his side, the young shinigami could feel his own heart thudding against his ribcage but his attention was caught and held by Muraki's face.
Reaching down between them, the doctor smeared his fingers with the sticky stuff and licked it off his fingertips, laying back. A little of the stuff was brushed on Watari's lower lip before Muraki let his arm fall back to the bed.
Shifting as Muraki withdrew, stretching his legs out slightly scissored in a comfortable position, Watari rested against the pillows, his lips quirked slightly as Muraki tasted his seed and left a small smear of the stuff on his own lips. The young shinigami's tongue moved lazily across his lips and he exhaled a deep breath. His body felt heavy and almost liquefied, his mind pleasantly fuzzy. There were so many thoughts floating around in his consciousness but he couldn't seem to grab hold of any of them, so for the time being he was content to let them circle.
Slowly, as the cool air began to once again affect his skin, Watari's lips curled up in a gentle expression and he chuckled very softly.
"Mm... bathroom?"
Muraki sat up slowly. He looked down at Watari with an unreadable expression. Getting up, he walked around the bed and opened a door. Watari heard water running and then the doctor returned, bending over Watari. Using a warm, wet cloth, he cleaned the remains off the shinigami. Then he gestured to the door he'd just come out of.
As only perhaps a minute or so passed, sharpness began to return to Watari's mind and with it came the ability to reach out and grasp at the thoughts whispering questions in his mind. He was already starting to focus once again on the mystery that was Muraki when the doctor emerged from the bathroom and gently cleaned him.
Rolling onto his back, he reached out and caught Muraki's free hand at the wrist, drawing the other man's attention so he could look up into pale, handsome features. Watari's eyes had softened back to their habitual amber and his expression was troubled in a deeply pensive way as he tried to study his... his... his lover's gray eyes.
Those eyes gazed back at him, studying him in turn. After a moment, Muraki's lips curved at the corners.
"Yes?"
The young shinigami obviously started and stopped a number of words. His eyes skipped off Muraki's face and he nestled back into the pillow, turning his head to look out one of the windows. So many questions... there were so many questions but the trick was to find them in the right order.
"Why, did you ask me to your bed again?"
One silver eyebrow quirked upwards. Tossing the wet cloth back into the room through the door, Muraki sat on the edge of the bed beside Watari. He cocked his head slightly as if considering. Then he said, "To fuck."
Turning on his side, making room for Muraki on the bed, Watari propped his head up on his upturned palm, elbow braced against the bed. He seemed to accept the answer with calm aplomb, even nodding his head slightly and his lips twitched wryly.
"We... seemed to do that rather well. In my humble opinion."
As quick as it came, the relaxed humor skittered away and the young shinigami redirected his focus on Muraki's eyes. There was a part of Watari that railed against the door he was going to open, it didn't want to bring the other shinigami into the bedroom with them but he couldn't let silly emotions interfere with his searching.
"When... when did you start to watch Tsuzuki to study his mental illness, rather than just as a possible vessel for your brother's disembodied head?"
Ah, post-coital conversation at its finest!
Muraki chuckled. "You have it backwards," he said. Then he paused as if thinking. "Or perhaps not. I've known about him almost all my life. My grandfather was obsessed with him and saw nothing odd about sharing his case files with a young child. Of course his mental stability at the time wasn't the best. I grew up on stories of the nameless violet-eyed man. It was... pure chance, if such a thing exists, that I glimpsed him one day. I suppose he was undertaking one of your shinigami missions. I hardly dared to believe my eyes, but I could not have been mistaken. I even found the unmarked grave he was buried in, afterwards, had it disinterred and checked to make certain he was dead. The mystery was too good to leave alone."
His lips twitched at the doctor's 'the mystery was too good to leave alone' ~I know what you mean, Sensei.~ But he kept that thought to himself for the time being.
The doctor seemed at his ease, sitting nude on the edge of the bed. "Now my turn. Are you... jealous of your colleague?"
Despite the fact that he was laying, naked and vulnerable next to a man despised by everybody he knew for... pretty understandable reasons, serial killer and the like, Watari also seemed surprisingly relaxed. Chasing a lock of hair across the comforter, the young shinigami picked the lock up and twined it around his fingers.
Muraki's question caused Watari's face to become shuttered in a self-defensive mechanism and the blond fell quiet for what might have seemed like quite some time as he weighed his own emotions. He disliked such questions, he disliked having to untangle the threads of his own feelings. It was difficult to tap his own needs because Watari kept them strictly throttled to the point that they sometimes felt non-existent. Sucking a tooth thoughtfully, he lowered his arm and lay his chin across his forearm, chasing a stray shadow with that lock of hair caught in his hand.
"About.. mmm... twenty five years ago, yes, yes I was. It would be impossible to say I wasn't. Tsuzuki is... well, he's Tsuzuki. He's incredibly powerful and incredibly loved. I don't think I know of anyone who doesn't love him in one way or another. Well... Sargataanas might be the exception but actually I think he's more ticked at Enma for interfering... but anyway. As easy as it is to be jealous of Tsuzuki, it's just as easy to live through it and come out on the other side understanding that it's not easy being who he is. I certainly don't envy Tsuzuki who he is and... the person he lives with in the form of his self. I'd also have to be very disgusted with myself if I begrudged Tsuzuki the support he needs." Watari's voice trailed off as he spoke, his eyes softening with genuine unfettered affection as he thought about his friend. Then those eyes flicked up and peered at Muraki from beneath his bangs. "However, as you I have a feeling understand, shinigami are still human, with all the baggage that comes with it. The term 'consolation prize' jumped up and smacked me in the face. Not the first time it's happened." Watari's tone was a little rueful but there was no bitterness or trace of lingering anger or jealousy in his tone.
Giving his hair one last flight, the young blond moved slowly and sat up, settling a bit in the center of the bed, long legs folding neatly cross legged, long blond hair tumbling across his shoulders, covering his nipples which were still erect in the cool bedroom air. Tilting his head to the side, he lifted a pale brow.
"My turn back? If so, why was a child allowed so close to a hospital, so close to men and women who had illnesses of the mind?"
"You misunderstand. I didn't go to my grandfather's clinic. It was shut down shortly after I was born. I was, however, occasionally left in my grandfather's care. My father had his own practice by that time, and my mother... was often busy," Muraki returned. Then he chuckled. "Consolation prize indeed? When your logic finally deserts you, it goes all the way."
Watari's lips twitched but he neither said nor did anything further to indicate that he'd heard that last part, instead he focused in on the first words.
"Why was it shut down?"
"Because the government had no need of it any longer, nor of him," Muraki answered easily. "Are Enma Daioh's files so lacking in detail that you have to sleep with your subjects to get more information?" It was said with a touch of humor, possibly cruel, but nevertheless.
Though the words were perhaps cutting, Watari didn't seem to react negatively to them. He nodded to the confirmation about the reason why the clinic was closed and then chuckled, ducking his head. "Ah, no. That wasn't why I slept with you." Giving his head a shake, he muttered something that sounded like, "this just seemed a better alternative to the insipid exchange of 'was it good for you?'" Watari actually shuddered as if it was painful to his ears to every say those words.
After a beat he looked back up, eyes once again searching Muraki's face. "Why do you think your grandfather choose to share such a... dark experience with a young boy?"
"Probably because he was more than a little mad," Muraki smiled. "I never got the feeling that he was fully aware of whom he was talking to. He did occasionally call me by my father's name. Why is this subject so fascinating to you?"
"Why do you answer my questions?" Came the softly spoken response.
Muraki looked at Watari for a long moment, as a slow smile curved his lips. "Because you feel like warm, tight satin when I'm inside you," he said, his voice low, every syllable savored.
There was no way Watari could completely dismiss the blush that lightly stained his cheeks. It wasn't so much a blush of innocent shyness but rather a blush of reaction and a hint of excitement. The shinigami shifted on the bed to a slightly more comfortable position and cleared his throat.
"It does not seem to me," he began in a low, tone that was husky from the passion they had just shared and perhaps a reawakening of awareness. "That you would lack for bed partners, Kazutaka-san. Would you answer questions for them?"
"Most of them don't ask the kind of questions you do," Muraki answered, running a hand along Watari's bare side. "It's either banalities or 'am I going to die'."
The touch, such a simple thing, caused the shinigami to shiver in delicious response and Watari turned his head, looking down at the pale hand tracing along his pale flesh. He was caught for a moment by the size and power in that hand, in those long highly trained fingers. Fingers that could heal, and fingers that could close together and throttle the life out of another human being.
Head still bowed, Watari flicked his eye up towards Muraki's moonlit face, the next words an almost cautious whisper, "You are probably one of the most intriguing mysteries I have ever encountered in my life or afterlife."
"And perhaps one of the most dangerous... you have a daredevil streak, shinigami-kun," Muraki remarked, brushing his fingertips into the soft nest of blond curls in Watari's lap. Something seemed to glimmer in his eyes for a moment. "It will be interesting to see how long you can keep the beast at bay."
Watching those fingers, he was so fascinated by them, as they brushed so close to his stirring flesh, Watari stroked his tongue across his lips and once again his eyes moved back to Muraki's face. Only this time, he followed his gaze with his body, leaning forward until his lips were pressed lightly against the corner of the doctor's mouth, the tip of his tongue gently caressing Muraki's lips as he spoke.
"Who?" Asking, for perhaps the first time, a direct question of the doctor.
The flicker surfaced again. The hand still dangling the cuff reached up and gathered a fistful of blond hair. "Who are you looking for?"
Lips still brushing so very lightly against that sensual mouth, Watari turned his head slightly in the hold of Muraki's hand, "The self you don't trust."
The doctor leaned closer and kissed Watari deeply, almost... almost brutally. Then his fingers opened. "Did you enjoy your bit of freedom?" he asked, his voice low and velvet-soft.
Reflexively Watari stroked his tongue across his slightly bruised lips, tasting the nearly brutal flavor of Muraki's mouth against his own. He made no move to touch Muraki, except where his lips moved down along the doctor's jaw, warm breath tickling the sensitive skin of the other man's neck.
"I have expressed before... in fact I *asked* you for the chance to enjoy running my hands over your body, touching you, tasting you. Perhaps another question would be, did you enjoy my bit of freedom?"
"I enjoy fucking you," the doctor answered.
Watari chuckled, a low rich sound that came from deep in his slender chest. "And I would be a liar if I did not acknowledge that you are very good at it." Leaning back, he tilted one eye up towards Muraki's face. "Do you plan to do it again?"
Muraki smiled. "Certainly," he said. "You were stifling your outcry. I haven't heard you scream tonight."
The blond shinigami's lips curled slightly in an arch grin. "And why do you care if I scream, or not?"
"I think I like the sound of a dead man screaming in... pleasure... I might like the sound of pain as well. I'm not certain. It usually pleases me."
As he spoke, there seemed to be something working its way back and forth in his eyes. It wasn't as distinct as listening to two people talking, but there was almost an adversarial aspect to it. As if different aspects of a complex personality were starting to contest with each other.
Though his body was warm and pliant, leaning and looking like it wanted to mold itself against Muraki, a definite tension was building in the pit of Watari's stomach. There was something subtly and yet not subtly different about the man now touching him.
~How do you know??? Like you know Muraki all that well?? -There is something-~
Watari ruthlessly checked back on the small whisper of fear that wanted to make its way down his spine. Self-preservation instincts were practically screaming at him to push away from the... person he was practically laying on, but the young scientist ignored their call.
If he drew back now... he'd be abandoning Muraki, which he'd already promised himself he wouldn't do.
"There are some levels of pain too intense to even scream through. Like... the suffocation we spoke of earlier tonight. I suffered that *death* once... all I remember is the sound of silence, even though all I wanted to do was scream until my vocal cords burst apart."
It was a gamble... but then what wasn't a gamble at this point?
Muraki turned his head and focused on Watari, listening closely. The odd shimmer in his eyes seemed to fade. He held out one arm and offered it for inspection. Watari could not see anything except the odd, barely visible patterns of white across the skin that he'd noticed the first time he saw Muraki in the bath.
"Do you know what this is from?"
"I... no, what are they from?"
"Fire." The doctor paused and something ran through his body. A tension, not quite a suppressed shiver. "Not an ordinary fire. An ordinary flame would have burned off my skin and reduced my body to a cinder. Yet the same flame burned the building around me. The creature that Tsuzuki summoned..." Then he smiled, and there was something in the smile that almost seemed like pleasure. "That was... too intense to scream."
The blond shinigami shuddered and he didn't even try to suppress it. He knew the destructive power of Touda's flame, had tried to stop Hisoka from throwing himself through the flames and then had to nearly tear a strip off Tatsumi to pull Tsuzuki and Hisoka free because no one would have ever reached them through those godborn flames. But, besides the shudder, the memory brought to mind by the description of Touda's fire led the way to another question.
"How... did you survive that night?"
Muraki gazed at Watari, and his gray eyes were once again fathomless. "It wasn't my turn to go."
For a moment, Watari was perfectly still but then he bowed his head slightly in acknowledgement of the answer but just as quickly those amber eyes were snapping back up to Muraki's face and another question came on the heels of the first.
"What happened to your brother's head?"
Muraki smiled. "It wasn't his time to go either."
Slowly, Watari tilted his head to the side, hair tumbling across his shoulder, "Where is *he* now?"
The doctor's head tilted. For a moment he was utterly still, frozen still. The shimmer returned to his eyes, especially the artificial one, which almost seemed to glow. "Not far. Do you... want to meet my dear Saki?"
Just as still as Muraki, in fact preternaturally still, Watari's eyes never left the doctor's face as he answered steadily, "Yes."
One of Muraki's hands moved, as if independently. It reached over and unfastened the cuff from the other wrist. Then it reached over and closed the cuff around Watari's nearest wrist. Abruptly Muraki moved, pulling Watari across his lap. He pulled the shinigami's other wrist behind him as if to handcuff him again, but his hands paused, tense. Then he pushed Watari off his lap and back onto the bed, and fastened the empty half of the cuff to the broken headboard.
~It should concern me that I'm almost getting used to this handcuffing foreplay~ Watari thought to himself with dry humor to match his suddenly dry throat as he was expertly handled into position. In fact the blond's free wrist had moved, instinctively towards his lower back but instead of the cuffing he expected, he was moved up onto the bed and bound to the headboard.
The hand that had first moved pulled the corner of the bedspread over Watari's naked body.
He looked down at Watari for a moment and then turned and walked to the bedroom door.
~I wonder if I'm ever going to be able to keep pace.~ Was the blond's next puzzled self conversation as he watched as his body was almost thoughtfully covered and then Muraki was moving away.
Watari was puzzled, bewildered, not a little concerned and extremely confused but he battled to remain calm and as focused as possible on every little bit of information he was getting from Muraki. Words, body language, expressions... all of it. Even beneath the warmth of the bedspread, Watari still shivered a little, drawing his legs up close to his body so he could shift suddenly if he had to but otherwise, he was still and watchful.
Muraki paused in the door. "I don't think.... so," he said quietly. "Saki... breaks... things..."
"How?" Watari asked in a very careful tone. "Saki doesn't have any arms, how could he be a threat?"
Muraki laughed, and the laugh had enough chill in it to set Watari's hair on the back of his neck on end.
"He has mine," he said, and then left the room. The next thing Watari heard was the sound of the doctor moving around in the other room. Then a few minutes later, the outside door opening and closing.
Instead of tension, or perhaps horror, Watari seemed almost relieved. Relieved only in the fact that at least he'd been able to follow one thread of this puzzle through the knotted maze of the whole mystery. He listened closely as Muraki moved around in the other room, waiting to see if the doctor would return, and blinking when he heard the outside door open and close.
Eyeballing the cuffs for a moment he gave them a little wiggle but they didn't seem to want to give. Laying back, he waited for a few minutes to see if Muraki would return, but as time moved forward without any sign that the doctor was coming back, Watari began to feel tension.
Giving the cuffs another look, Watari's lips twitched and he spoke softly to the empty room, "No, I wouldn't have let you suffocate me, but I wouldn't have hurt you either." With those words, he ghosted to spirit form and then teleported himself to the end of the bed, free of the cuffs, just as he would have freed himself from Muraki's hands if the doctor hadn't released him.
Exhaling - pinpoint teleportation was a little tricky - Watari scrambled off the bed and moved to where his clothes had landed. Pulling on his trousers and just the flannel shirt, he moved towards the other room. Stopping long enough to pull on his shoes, not bothering with his socks, Watari moved to the door, grabbing up his coat.
"I don't even want to think what the temperature is outside and I'm going out half dressed to find a possessed madman... I need my own head examined."
But, going out was just what he did, holding his coat closed tightly around his slender body as he searched the moonlit garden for any sign of Muraki.
After a while, he became aware that he was being observed. He'd crossed most of the garden through its winding paths and the back of the main building was in view. A figure stood on the back veranda, a fringed silk shawl wrapped around its shoulders, dark hair moving in the night breeze.
Watari had quietly scoured the garden and was finding himself a central location from which to attempt a spirit sense search when the movement of hair caught his attention and he whirled about to face the figure on the veranda.
"He's not here," Oriya said. "I saw him leave half an hour ago."
The shinigami was still for a moment, then he bowed his head respectfully. "Thank you, Mibu-san. I apologize for disturbing you."
Tugging the jacket closer around his body, Watari looked back towards the guest house, then reached up and rubbed his hand across his forehead. Not entirely sure what his feet were doing, he left them to their own devices as they began to carrying him towards the garden's exit.
"I wouldn't advise it," Oriya called, his tone devoid of judgment or emotion. "You should come in. I'll make you some tea."
The young blond stopped and turned half way back towards Oriya. The night breeze played with his long blond hair, tousling it across his shoulders and over his pale face. The smile he gave the young man was devoid of any sort of anger, or aggression, despite the history they shared.
"I cannot impose upon your hospitality, Mibu-san."
"You won't. I plan to interrogate you as payment. Come."
Watari pressed his palm across his face, drilling his glasses into the sensitive skin around his eyes and probably bending the frames. He turned and looked at the gate which led out to the streets beyond, then back towards the mortal waiting. For a moment he felt paralyzed with indecision and he looked back at the gate but slowly he realized that the gate represented a self-serving escape.
Turning around, head down, eyes on the ground in front of him, he moved back towards the house.
"Interrogate me, eh?"
The young shinigami chuckled ruefully. "I guess I might as well get used to answering questions," he muttered softly as he drew up in front of Oriya.
The tall man simply turned and led the way inside. The room they entered was as traditional as the cottage was not. Pads on the floor to sit, a low table, and tea was already steeping.
Oriya poured the tea and placed the cup in front of Watari as the shinigami sat.
Watari followed Oriya into the room, his eyes dancing over the traditional furnishing and when the man indicated one of the pads, he folded himself down on his knees in the traditional style. The coat fanned out behind him, though Watari continued to hold it closed and made no immediate move towards the tea, though he did stare down at the liquid in the cup, tracing the path of the fragrant steam.
"I only have one question. What have you done to Kazutaka?"
Watari's eyes moved off the steam as it dissipated in the air and settled on Oriya's classical, dark and handsome features with his deep, deep eyes. But this time, Watari had no quick answer for the question. In fact, he blinked at Oriya owlishly and gave his head a shake.
"I'm sorry... I don't understand." The shinigami's voice was testament to his genuine bewilderment at the question.
Oriya stood up and paced to the window, looking out into the dark garden. "Forgive me, I should have allowed you to taste your tea," he said, almost reflexively. Then he looked back at the shinigami. "You are... very attractive. I thought so the first time we met. Not as pretty as the boy, or as beautiful as the purple-eyed one, but quite... nice." Oriya paced the room and then came back to the window. "Tell me what you have done to him. He's... changed."
Hands dropping to his lap, Watari's lips twitched with gentle, good humor as Oriya described Hisoka and Tsuzuki but the humor was short lived, crushed beneath more confusion. Again the shinigami shook his head and he looked up at the man standing by the window.
"I'm sorry, but I don't know what you are seeing."
"If it wasn't you, then it must have been one of the others," Oriya almost might have been talking to himself. "I thought you had killed him. But I waited, as I always have. And he returned, as he always does. But... he's changed."
Brows furrowing, Watari's eyes sharpened on Oriya's face. "How... how has he changed?"
The dark-haired man looked just as sharply back. "Why did you want to go after him? Because you suspected what he might do, leaving in the night like this? You would have been well-founded in your guess, until..." He looked away, paced the room again, and looked out the window. "There haven't been any... bodies," he whispered slowly.
Watari blinked... then blinked again as he soaked up Oriya's words and the sharpness in his expression softened and he smiled slightly.
"You misunderstood my motivations, Mibu-san." The young shinigami spoke quietly. "I did not search for him because I expected him to be... reverting to historical pattern. I was looking for him, for his own sake."
Oriya looked at Watari, staring at him as if trying to se through him.
"Why?"
"Because I promised I wouldn't abandon him." Watari gave a direct answer... as if payment for his direction question from earlier.
Oriya was silent for a moment. Then he bent down, very precisely, and lifted the tea cup from its place. He turned and threw it, tea and all, out into the garden, where they heard the ceramic shatter.
"Tell me what you have done!"
He didn't wait for an answer. "Before he left just now, he came in. Do you know what he said? He said, 'go down in an hour or so and release the man in the cottage'." The brothel-owner gripped the edge of the shawl around his shoulders with white knuckles.
Then he folded to his knees, staring at the tea pot.
Watari flinched as the ceramic cup went flying but then, as Oriya spoke, delivered his message, the young shinigami's eyes slid off the mortal, thoughts turning inwards.
"I need to find him." Watari whispered, powering to his feet not a moment after Oriya sank to his knees. Moving back towards the door, the young shinigami turned, his expression compassionate at he looked down at Oriya. "Thank you."
Then he was turning and heading out of the building back towards the garden.
TBC