Tsuzuki found himself in a room that would have terrified him under other circumstances, merely due to the amount of damage he could do with his typically messy habits. Muraki had brought him to a world of immaculate white and delicate silver, the only exceptions to these pale hues being the dark mahogany of any wooden furniture, the four poster bed and looming wardrobe that somehow managed to prevent it looking like a sterile lab environment. There was such grandeur in this room that he felt small and insignificant, and found himself pressing closer to the hard chest of the doctor, shutting his eyes to hide from the brilliant glare of the moonlight through the French windows. Muraki bowed his head a little to nuzzle his cheek softly, the hand at his back pressing his precious burden closer still.

Almost with a sense of ceremony, he carried Tsuzuki to the gargantuan bed, setting him down gently, but the Shinigami kept his slender arms around his neck, reluctant to be without the comfort of physical contact, and even shifted onto his knees as Muraki tried to stand up, forcing the doctor to stoop a little.

"Tsuzuki-san, I will not be gone long. Wait here for me." Muraki smoothed a few wisps of dark hair from his brow, gazing down at the insecure amethyst pools that were Tsuzuki's eyes. For a moment he hesitated, wanting to drown in them and claim the Shinigami there and then, but he did not want this to be rushed and clumsy. As he had told Tsuzuki, the longer he was made to wait for something, the more passionate he would be as an end result, and already his patience was paying off. Tonight would be perfect for both of them, of this he was determined.

Disentangling himself from Tsuzuki's arms, Muraki slipped away and disappeared into the bathroom that adjoined the bedroom, the door sliding shut with a faint click. The Shinigami was left alone, kneeling on the bed and trembling again. Quietly, almost afraid of making any noise, he moved to press against the wrought iron headboard, curling up there with his knees to his chest.

He wanted Muraki back. Needed in fact. Now he was stuck alone with his thoughts, and without the distraction of Muraki's gentle touch, he could not banish them from his mind.

To anyone watching, the change was obvious. Focus left his eyes, leaving them glassy and staring, all expression wiped from his face and not the faintest movement that might have indicated he was other than dead. His tenuous grip on reality snapped as if someone had taken scissors to thread, and he found himself back in the hospital.

How long had he been lying here, cold and hungry? How long had he stared at that same window, without ever really noticing what was beyond it? Hands prodded at him, words spoken that he could not understand and seemed a constant drone. Oh, he might have been conscious to pain and sensation, but everything was dulled, nothing caught his attention, and it was such an effort to try and focus that he just didn't bother. Maybe if he lay here long enough he would die, and then he would no longer have to face the reality of what he was.

How long his thoughts drifted like this, he was unsure, but his mind snapped out of the trance when he felt fingers prying his hands away from the iron frame insistently. He looked up to see Muraki standing beside the bed, garbed in only a soft Yutaka of grey silk. He looked truly beautiful, as Tsuzuki had said, his glasses discarded and a smooth "v" of pale skin visible at his chest. Muraki noticed the admiring glance. He was no stranger to attention due to his looks, but when it came from the one he had wanted for so long, it brought him a certain sense of fulfilment.

He climbed slowly onto the bed beside the slightly dazed Shinigami; shoulderblades shifting beneath the thin fabric like the bones of a lion stalking its prey. Leaning forward, he let his tongue dart fleetingly across Tsuzuki's lower lip, and was rewarded with a soft moan as amethyst eyes slid closed. That moan rose sharply in volume as the heel of the doctor's palm came to rest upon his crotch, the brunette's hips jerking upward sharply in automatic response. Muraki watched as his breathing sped, and colour flushed his cheeks again.

"I think it time to remove these, Asato." His velvet tones sounded like a feline purr to Tsuzuki, who looked down to see slender hands working at unfastening his pants. He merely nodded, lifting his lower half from the bed enough to allow Muraki to tug them, and his underwear down in one smooth motion. Before long he sat completely naked amidst the crisp, white sheets, shy beneath Muraki's hawk-like gaze.

And how hungrily the doctor stared. Long, lean legs were revealed to him, flat lower abdomen and narrow hips, the evidence of his arousal half-erect and waiting for the attention of hands or lips. Modestly, Tsuzuki seemed to position himself as if to guard this area, but Muraki pressed lithely muscled thighs apart with both hands until he was fully exposed.

"Perfect." Was all that the doctor breathed, shifting to sit on his knees between Tsuzuki's thighs and shedding his Yutaka. He cast it aside in one fluid movement, before reaching to Tsuzuki and guiding him back against the soft pillows. Was that a hint of apprehension he saw in the Shinigami's eyes? He didn't blame him for it, afterall, every inch of him was perfectly proportioned to his height, and that included his member. He didn't doubt it would be painful at first for the slender man who now reached tentatively towards him, but he was determined to make that as brief as possible and concentrate on bringing as much pleasure as possible to their union.

Slowly, Muraki lowered himself until their hips met, stifling what threatened to be a throaty groan, and listening to the breathy gasp that came from the man beneath him. The contact was arousing to the point that it almost became painful, and Tsuzuki instinctively tightened his knees around the doctor's hips. His arms wound around Muraki's waist as his own pelvis began to move as if it had a mind of its own, grinding into the hard flesh that rubbed against it so enticingly.

Inhaling sharply at the sensations this writhing caused, Muraki lapped at the pale column that was the Shinigami's throat, sucking upon the area with eager lips until the flesh darkened with colour. Keeping his weight off Tsuzuki by propping himself up on his elbows, he pressed his lips to his ear, whispering hotly, possessively.

"You are mine."

Author's Note:

First of all thanks to those of you that are reviewing this, it's really appreciated. Second, ugh I'm so stuck on where to take this. I'd love to have Muraki have his way, but then how would Tsuzuki be able to face his colleagues again? ::Slumps in her confusion:: Damn my morals.this will require some contemplation, and hopefully some suggestions from helpful people.

Return to Archive | next | previous