Muraki had pushed himself to the limit of his patience, forced himself to wait until his desperation for completion was something he might never before have been able to comprehend. But he knew it had been right to prolong these gentle, but passionate moments, not only for his satisfaction, but for the sake of the man who lay breathless beneath him, eyes closed and an expression that looked all too much like pain on his beautiful face. This would be something the Shinigami would not easily forget, something that would have him craving for such perfection that he would be forced to surrender himself to the doctor's arms again. Muraki had no intention of losing him now.

Ivory fingers caressed the Shinigami's prominent hipbones, and gently slid beneath him, raising his pelvis from sheets which were now damp with their sweat. Tsuzuki's feet fought for stability on the silk beneath him, but could find no hold. Muraki smiled gently, holding him firmly and watched as amethyst eyes opened to look up at him with a silent plea.

Be gentle with me.

Muraki leaned over his trembling form to press one last feathery kiss to his slightly parted lips, almost as if to reassure him, but truth be told he had no intention of granting the Shinigami's request. The doctor didn't bother to prepare him in any way. Something savage demanded that after all this care and attention, he should also sate his need for complete dominance.

Gripping Tsuzuki's hips firmly, and keeping his legs apart with his own knees, he took a moment to position himself, and then thrust inside the small opening with an animalistic growl. He was greeted with a cry of raw pain, the sudden tensing of firm muscle around his member and a pleasure unlike any he'd known before.

For a while, Tsuzuki could feel nothing but consuming pain, and he writhed as if skewered, feet slithering against silk as he tried to push away from the man that held him so cruelly, nails digging into his flesh. Where was that bliss they'd shared only moments before, so tender but passionate? Another choked cry tore from his throat, and blindly he reached for the bars at the head of the bed, fingers winding around them and gripping till his knuckles turned white from the pressure. He waited with clenched teeth, expecting Muraki to continue with his onslaught, but none came. Slowly, violet pools fluttered open, tears stinging them until they were blinked away, Tsuzuki managed to focus on the doctor. There was an expression on his face that he'd never seen before, something that could only be called serene, and beautifully so.

The pain lessening by some small degree, Tsuzuki fought to regain his breath, lying as still as he could despite his discomfort. The doctor opened his eyes after what seemed like a small eternity, and looked down at him, skin gleaming with the faintest sheen of sweat. His grip eased off, nails no longer biting at delicate flesh, but he left a perfect row of bleeding crescents on either side of the Shinigami's hips. Tsuzuki watched as bloody fingers reached towards his collarbone, smearing a thin trail of vitae over the hollow at the base of his throat and down his smooth chest. It sent shivers down his prominent spine, feelings that distracted him from the dulled pain elsewhere. Those fingers strayed teasingly, nails gliding over the flesh of his inner thighs, arousing him again until the pain was but a faint memory, and he whimpered softly, biting his lower lip.

Muraki lay down fully upon him, and Tsuzuki couldn't help but adore the sensation of his weight pressing him into the soft mattress. His hands left the iron bars to clasp Muraki's waist, and the doctor took this as the sign to continue what he had started. Slowly at first, he began the age-old rhythm, and Tsuzuki felt the return of the pain, though substantially less. Teeth clenched, he drew his knees up each stroke building upon a sensation he had not at first noticed, a knot of pleasure in his groin that was gradually extending, and becoming more intense. He cried out when Muraki's carefully controlled thrusts hit home, and he felt again that undeniable connection between them, something he had not felt with anyone else, something that would have shamed him had he been forced to realise it before. It dizzied him, blurred his vision, and he realised in this dream like state, that he was calling Muraki's name.

Tsuzuki's hoarse cries seemed to have destroyed a barrier for Muraki, one which had kept him relatively in control of his actions, and now that it was gone he ignored any inhibitions he may have had. Grabbing at the Shinigami's hips he pulled them roughly to a higher angle, his motions penetrating more deeply and prompting Tsuzuki to writhe in a way that he found purely delightful. Grinding Tsuzuki hard against the pillows, their movements so forceful that the smaller man's head was pressed against the iron bars, Muraki was completely overwhelmed by his own depth of feeling, not only the pleasure that threatened to peak at any moment, but the feeling of possession and desire. He had known that his infatuation reached well beyond simple lust, but now he found himself unable to describe it with words.

Tsuzuki felt the doctor lean over him, breath hot against the side of his throat before perfect teeth clamped down upon the skin there. For some inexplicable reason, the pain only served to make the experience more enjoyable, and he invited the gesture further by tilting his head, making his neck more accessible. Muraki drew blood, lapping at the dark liquid, his lips staining pink, taste strangely addictive. His nails clawed deep lines into the Shinigami's chest, and he felt Tsuzuki's back arch up from the mattress, his breath hissing between his teeth. The doctor played him like a finely tuned instrument, plucking a string of sighs and moans from him that was music to his ears.

Before long, the doctor's thrusts became more frenzied, and with a cry of release, both men reached their peak, sleek muscles tensing, arms coiling like snakes around each other's bodies. Tsuzuki felt like he might die from the feeling, it had an intensity like nothing he had ever felt before, and for those few seconds of ecstasy, nothing mattered. His past was forgotten, the guilt smothered. He was free of everything.

Muraki was equally oblivious to everything, knowing only that he held in his arms what he had fought for, for so long, perfection, and that being with him was all that mattered now. A single tear crept down his cheek unheeded, and as the pleasure ebbed away, his arms finally trembled, and he collapsed upon the Shinigami, exhausted.

Author's Note: That chapter took me so long to write it was ridiculous. It's hard for someone like myself to write something that is of "R" type material rather than NC-17, but I think I toned it down just enough. Plus of course I wanted to keep it passionate whilst also involving a bit of Muraki's bloodthirsty nature, which meant I had to think rather carefully. Anyway, I hope it didn't disappoint.

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