YnM: Surpassing Part 3
Jun. 18th, 2011 08:15 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
gaudiorTitle: Surpassing
Rating: R (explicit sexuality, profanity, description of rape)
Part: 3/5
Spoilers: The entire anime.
Disclaimer: I didn't create them, they just live in my head.
“Hisoka!” The shout came from very far away and a voice that might be his cried out in relief. Sound filtered through: the candles snapping out, a well-loved voice barking a harsh word to dismiss the spell. Tsuzuki was chanting and Hisoka could feel himself returning, sense by sense-- Tsuzuki’s racing heartbeat in his ear, Tsuzuki’s arms almost crushingly tight around him. The pain faded. Hisoka found himself again, curled up and sobbing in Tsuzuki’s arms, home and safe. “Hisoka!”
Hisoka tried to answer, but he couldn’t stop sobbing. “Hisoka,” Tsuzuki said again, voice shaking, “are you all right? Hisoka!” Hisoka managed a nod. He shouldn’t be doing this, he thought, but his arms gripped Tsuzuki’s waist so hard it hurt and he couldn’t make himself let go. He couldn’t stop crying, either. Tsuzuki rocked him, stroking his hair, his own terror slowly easing. Hisoka just held on, feeling the heat in his face against Tsuzuki’s skin, letting the sobs rock his body, feeling a strange release. It felt almost safe, crying like this, letting everything he felt flow out, emotion made physical. Like he didn’t have to name the feelings or try to control them, just let them take over. It was all right. Tsuzuki had him, protective and warm.
And still concerned, Hisoka felt, coming back to reality. His face was slimy, his head was starting to hurt, and Tsuzuki was worried. “Hisoka, what happened?”
“Spell,” Hisoka said. He didn’t want to go into it. “How did you know I was here?”
“Suzaku told me,” Tsuzuki said. “She’s been keeping an eye on you, lately.” There was a little guilt there, from which Hisoka gathered that it hadn’t been Tsuzuki’s idea, but he hadn’t tried to stop his shikigami from watching. “What were you doing?”
Hisoka sat up, his head aching more. He wiped his nose and eyes on his sleeve. “I thought Ajari Joan was still here,” he said, not looking at Tsuzuki. “I was trying to do an exorcism.”
Tsuzuki started. “What happened?”
”I don’t know,” Hisoka said. “I couldn’t find him.”
Tsuzuki flowed into action, holding a fuda to Hisoka’s face so smoothly Hisoka didn’t know he’d done it until he felt the paper shaking against his forehead. Tsuzuki shook his head. “Nothing there but you,” he said. “Not that I can find.”
“Mm,” Hisoka said, still not meeting his eye.
Tsuzuki looked at the wall, where new scorch-marks were gently smoldering. “When I got my body back, that time,” he said, “from Sagatanas, I didn’t feel right for a while.” He shivered. Hisoka said nothing. “It was like finding someone had broken into my house,” Tsuzuki said. “Like I couldn’t trust myself anymore.” Not that he ever did usually, but worse. Hisoka felt the old guilt reinforced, like a track trod one more time into a road.
“It’s not that,” Hisoka said. Maybe it was, but that wasn’t all. “Everything looks different. This-- this isn’t the way I feel, usually. This isn’t me.”
”No?” Tsuzuki said. “You seem like you to me.” He cocked his head, considering. “It seems like you care more than you used to. You notice what’s around you more.” His old anger flared. “He didn’t care at all.”
“I suppose,” Hisoka said.
Tsuzuki’s eyes glinted. “And it’s hardly all bad. You certainly cook better than you used to.”
Hisoka punched him in the arm. “Idiot,” he said. Tsuzuki felt reassured, and his arm was solid. And much easier to feel than normal. Hisoka actually looked at him for the first time since he’d arrived. “You-- she got you out of bed for this?” He cursed himself for saying anything about it, but Tsuzuki wasn’t dressed. An untied robe thrown on over pajama pants did not count as clothing. Especially not when the robe had come open, hanging off of one bare shoulder, and Hisoka could see every muscle in his partner’s chest, every curve and line, every inch of skin. He was staring, he realized, and shut his mouth with a snap.
“Huh?” Tsuzuki said, noticing Hisoka’s stare. Then he laughed. “Yeah, she had to wake me up. She’s good at that.” He felt uncomfortable to be stared at, but also terribly not uncomfortable. Almost pleased, Hisoka thought. He looked away, blushing so hard he could feel the heat rising from his face. This feeling, he thought, this isn’t me. This isn’t mine. I’m not like this. He wanted Tsuzuki to go away, and he wanted to stare at him some more. “She worries.”
”Mm,” Hisoka said. He could still see Tsuzuki at the corner of his vision and he couldn’t keep his eyes from turning there. He stood up, walking across the room, turning his back on Tsuzuki. “I should have told you I was doing this,” he said, still feeling Tsuzuki at his back. It wasn’t just his emotions-- he could feel Tsuzuki’s presence, could feel the space between them. “It would have been safer.”
“It would have,” Tsuzuki said. “I could have told you that you didn’t need to do the spell in the first place. He really is gone.” Hisoka heard him stand up and tensed. He’s going to come over here and touch me. I don’t want him to. I want him to. I don’t want to want him to. Tsuzuki didn’t, just put the candles in the ‘used’ box and shut the cabinet doors. “You don’t have to worry about him.”
“I’m not,” Hisoka said. “Not anymore.” He leaned a hand against the wall for support, shaking. I can’t look at him right now. But I can’t see him, either. “You should go home,” he blurted. “Or you’ll be late for work.”
Tsuzuki’s concern peaked again. “True,” he said, consideringly. “Hisoka.” There was command in his voice, and Hisoka turned around. Tsuzuki had closed his robe and Hisoka was horrified to realize that that didn’t matter, because he could remember exactly what Tsuzuki looked like and now he couldn’t stop thinking about it. “Hisoka.” Hisoka looked him in the face. Tsuzuki’s expression was stern, but Hisoka could have seen the worry in his eyes even if he hadn’t been able to feel it. “What are you going to do next?”
Hisoka hadn’t thought about it. “Go to work,” he said. It was two hours too early for that. “Or get tea and go out to the park. Why?”
Tsuzuki wasn’t convinced. “You aren’t going to try that again?”
Oh. Hisoka hadn’t thought of that. I could, he thought. If I tried the spell again, more carefully. Even my own feelings could be expelled if I did it right. Then I’d be like I was before, if I could stand the pain of the spell. If it didn’t kill me. That was what Tsuzuki was worried about, he realized-- that Hisoka would be so desperate he’d kill himself trying the spell again. That was insulting. You think I’m that much of a coward? That I’d try to do that on purpose because I couldn’t face what’s really here? Like... The anger on his face surprised Tsuzuki, and Hisoka hurried to speak before he could ask for an explanation. “No,” he said. “I’m not.”
Tsuzuki still hesitated. “I promise,” Hisoka said, and he couldn’t remember the last time he’d sworn something.
Neither could Tsuzuki. His partner nodded, convinced. “All right,” he said. He wanted to touch Hisoka again, to reassure him, to reassure himself. He didn’t. “We could go to breakfast later, if you want.”
“No,” Hisoka said. He hastened to amend that. “Since when do you eat breakfast before work, anyway?”
Tsuzuki shrugged. “Maybe I should start.”
Hisoka shook his head. “Not today.” Tsuzuki wanted to say something else. “I’ll see you at work, all right?”
Tsuzuki nodded slowly, doubtfully. “All right,” he said, hating it, scared. Hisoka wished he could do something about that but he felt frozen in place and all he could think about was getting Tsuzuki away. He needed to be alone right now. His own feelings were more than enough. “Look,” Tsuzuki said, trying desperately not to sound desperate, “you can talk to me, if you want. About anything. Any time.” He cut himself off. “I’ll see you later.” He blinked out of sight, leaving a boom of displaced air behind him.
Hisoka sank to the floor, letting out a long sigh. Too much, that was too much, and he wished he could go to work now and bury himself in writing reports or something. Something clear and absorbing that would save him from having to think about this. He stood up, moving blindly out of the practice room, trying to put some distance between himself and it. It’s not Ajari, he thought. It’s not Tsuzuki. It’s me.
He headed up a staircase, trying to remember how to get to the commissary from here. Up a level, through the main building. Will it be open now? Have I got money on me for breakfast? My head hurts. And that didn’t work, and it won’t work, and how could he think I’d destroy myself to get away from that? It’s just feelings. It’s just a feeling. Idiot. God, he’s beautiful. It’s so weird to think of Tsuzuki as “beautiful.” It’s not what he’d say about himself. But he is.
The commissary was open, and the yawning night-shift worker gave Hisoka over-brewed tea in a cheap cup. Hisoka burned his tongue on it. I could try that again, actually, he thought, sitting down in a booth in a corner. Not that exactly, I promised I wouldn’t. But there are ways to cut off desires magically. I could research those-- but that would mean going back to the library, wouldn’t it? Then he’d have to explain himself to the Guoshoushin, of course. Hisoka frowned around another sip of tea. It was his fault, anyway-- the Younger Guoshoushin’s. If he hadn’t pushed me to go punch Tsuzuki, this wouldn’t have happened...
Hisoka stared into the tea, struck by the thought. Wouldn’t it? he wondered. If these things I’m feeling are really mine, then... when did they start? I didn’t notice them until the dream last night. But... was that really the first time I had them? They feel exactly as repulsive as they did when I thought they were all Tsuzuki’s, there is no difference. And... and what I felt this morning, when his robe... wasn’t... I mean, what I felt, seeing him, wanting to... to look at him, to... to do things to him... that wasn’t unfamiliar. Awful, but not completely strange. It felt... like trying to talk to him feels. Or like how trying to understand him used to feel, when we first met. It’s unnerving, but I want to go further. It always feels like there’s more I could do, like I could be closer to him, and I want to.
This didn’t just start with Ajari Joan. This has been coming for a long time. Maybe from that soda he gave me, that first morning. Maybe from the first time he looked me in the face. It hasn’t been physical, not until now, but it’s been there. And now there’s this, it is... physical, and I can’t figure out how to separate them. I can’t just cut out one part and save the rest. It all feels the same.
The tea was lukewarm against Hisoka’s lips. He ignored it. So when I tried to exorcise myself, he thought, what would I have done if it had worked? What would it have been like? If I’d been successful, if I were free of these feelings-- would I stop trying to get closer to him? Would I stop wanting to eat dinner with him? Would I stop wanting anything from him at all? The thought was appalling. I don’t want to be without him. I never want to be without him again. I was so lonely, like that.
Hisoka leaned forward, head in his hands. It’s going too fast, he thought. There’s too much of this. I can’t-- I have to want him like that, if I want him at all? The thought felt true. He tried to rail arguments against it, but they crashed against the truth of it. There’s no difference. Between wanting him to stay with me and wanting him to... do that, with me. I can’t find a difference, I can’t tell where the line is. There is no line.
Well, Hisoka thought sharply, the first rational thought in a while, there’s the line between assaulting him and not. That line’s pretty damn clear.
Except... well, it was ludicrous to think of assaulting Tsuzuki. He’s a head taller than me, maybe fifty pounds heavier, and he’s got twelve shikigami at his call. And some of them wouldn’t think twice about killing me to protect him, whether he wanted them to or not. Hisoka sighed, deeply relieved. I couldn’t force him. I’m not physically capable of it.
So, then... he’d have to force me? Except he isn’t going to. He said he wouldn’t, and he hasn’t. And he’s been driving himself nuts for weeks making sure that I don’t even think he wants to. I see him do that, trying not to think about it, trying not to think about anything to do with his body at all. Though I think he has a harder time of that, the more I do, the closer we get. I could make it harder, if I kept on like this. Maybe so much that he does it no matter how hard he tries not to. But then... Hisoka winced, thinking about exactly how guilty Tsuzuki would feel if he failed to stop himself from forcing Hisoka. Killingly so, probably. Damn. That doesn’t work. So how do I do this? How do I make that happen without making him hate himself even more?
Except-- if I want him to, how is it forcing me? The thought was a very odd one. But... all right, I don’t know why I feel... that, why that feeling is wrapped up with everything else I feel about him. But it is. And if I want it to happen, and so does he, then... does it have to be an attack?
No. Of course it doesn’t. Otherwise, how would anyone do it often enough for the human race to survive? It was different with two men, of course, he didn’t see how it could happen without hurting. But people did it anyway.
Hisoka shook, arms wrapped around himself, glad that the commissary was mostly empty. I have to, he thought. What else can I do?
I can leave. I can get transferred. I can try to forget that I ever felt like this, that I ever knew him. I can live the rest of my life alone, cold as I used to be, and never touch anyone. I can ignore it when I feel like I want someone, and I can forget my dreams.
No.
Hisoka returned his cup, and walked to the office, feeling as if he’d swallowed stones. His back was so tense he could barely move his arms, and he was sweating under his shirt. All right, then, he thought. I can do this. I will. I’m a shinigami, I can handle pain, I can handle what scares me. It’s worth it. He’s worth it. I can. I will.
He decided not to tell Tsuzuki for a while.
***************************************************************************
The day Hisoka thought I want to sleep with him was a long time coming.
It didn’t help that Tsuzuki spent the entire day after the botched exorcism worrying at him. Tsuzuki kept hovering, never letting Hisoka out of his sight, and all his frantic cheer did nothing to fool empathy. Hisoka finally cornered him by the water cooler. “I’m fine,” he snapped in an undertone. “Relax!”
Tsuzuki wasn’t reassured. “I know,” he said brightly, “Of course you are.” Hisoka glared at him until Tsuzuki lost the smile. “You didn’t seem upset enough to do something like that when I left last night, Hisoka.”
“I,” Hisoka said. The thought of putting all of last night into words was appalling. “It was a mistake,” he said. “The spell was aimed at Ajari Joan. I didn’t mean to catch myself in it.” Not that Tsuzuki was anyone to talk on that score, Hisoka thought angrily. “I know better now.”
Tsuzuki nodded. “But Hisoka,” he said, “I can stay away, if I’m bothering you.” He smiled one of those painful smiles. “Just because you’re my partner, that doesn’t mean you have to put up with me all the time.”
Hisoka gaped. “Idiot,” he snapped, punching Tsuzuki in the arm. “If I didn’t want you around I wouldn’t have asked you, would I?” Heads turned, and Hisoka realized his voice had risen far too loud for the office. He flushed and muttered more quietly, “You aren’t bothering me. Just... leave it.” Then he turned and went back to his desk, avoiding all the eyes pretending not to follow him.
Dinner with Tsuzuki that night was awkward, with Tsuzuki bouncing between babble and staring silence, and Hisoka failing to respond to either. “Look,” Hisoka said, finally. “You don’t have to worry.” Tsuzuki met his eyes across the table, waiting. “I’m not going to do anything stupid. I told you that. And you’re not doing anything wrong.” Tsuzuki waited for the caveat to that. Hisoka didn’t give him one. “I mean it.”
Tsuzuki studied him. “Are you sure?”
Hisoka sighed with an exasperation almost as real as he made it sound. “Yes. I’m sure.”
Tsuzuki’s eyes lost their hard, fugitive look. “Good,” he said, relieved. “Good.” Hisoka shrugged. They met each other’s eyes for a long pause. “Then,” Tsuzuki said, “can I help?”
Hisoka shook his head. “No. Not yet. I need to think.”
Tsuzuki nodded. “All right.” He stood, clearing his plate. “Take your time.” Hisoka nodded, and followed Tsuzuki to the door. Tsuzuki wanted to touch him, Hisoka felt, but was fighting himself over it. Hisoka didn’t much want to touch him, either, but he wasn’t willing to let Tsuzuki go out the door like that. He grabbed Tsuzuki’s hand in a rush, squeezing his fingers against his partner’s palm, and held it just long enough to register before he let go. Tsuzuki ruffled his hair. “Have a good night.”
”You too,” Hisoka said, and shut the door behind him. He leaned against it, eyes closed, feeling Tsuzuki slowly leave the building.
Then, nerves jumping, Hisoka went to the dresser, and pulled from the bottom drawer the thing he’d been thinking about all evening. The plastic bag bore the name of the chain bookstore he’d popped down to earth on his lunch break to visit, and the book inside was large and heavy-- a college textbook, he thought. Understanding Human Sexuality, the title proclaimed in discreetly lurid colors. The curves of naked bodies below that were, Hisoka supposed, lacking in enough detail to be indecent but he still hadn’t liked buying the thing. He locked the door and sat down to read.
Ten pages in he stood up, put up a shield around the apartment, and sat down again. He felt flushed and he couldn’t shake the thought of what he must look like right now. It’s just a book, he reminded himself. I’m just reading it. And nobody knows, anyway, and nobody will know. So this is ridiculous. He flipped through the section on history, not seeing much point in dwelling on it. This was distasteful enough already. He checked the table of contents, turned to the chapter on “Techniques of Arousal and Communication,” and read it carefully. It was quite detailed. With illustrations.
How interesting, Hisoka thought, and went to the bathroom to throw up.
This is ridiculous, he thought, wiping his mouth. It’s not supposed to do this to me. The book described vasocongestion and myotonia and pleasure. Terror was not meant to be one of the side effects. He rinsed his mouth and hands in the sink, glaring at his pale face in the mirror. People enjoy this, he thought, though he couldn’t at the moment see why. And yes, I’m a freak, I’m cold, I’m unnatural, but I don’t have to let that stop me from enjoying it too, if I want to. And I do want to. I’m sick of this dance. I’m sick of being scared of what I want. He turned away from the mirror, resolved. I’m going to do this.
He sat down with the book again, and studied the section on “One-Person Sex.” There wasn’t much point, after all, in bringing Tsuzuki into it until Hisoka had some idea what he was doing. The procedure described looked simple enough, and Hisoka was reassured that apparently, “for men interested in speed, an orgasm can be reached in only a minute or two.” That’s not so bad, Hisoka thought. I’ll do it once, to prove I can, and have the rest of the evening free to read something more pleasant. Fine.
He hesitated at the foot of his bed. I’m going to do this, he reminded himself, unbuttoning his shirt. He undressed quickly, determinedly, feeling more vulnerable with each piece of clothing he dropped in the hamper. I don’t care, he thought, lying down on the bed, naked on top of the sheets. He poured hand-cream onto his palm, not sure how much lubrication the book was recommending. It was cold against his skin, unpleasantly slick. He was shivering. All right, then, he thought, and reached down to take hold of himself.
The hand was hard where he was tender and its grip hurt. The moon-silvered man laughed, his face too close to Hisoka’s. No-one ever came this close to him. He couldn’t start to name the emotions swamping him, but they felt like his softness stiffening inside an alien fist and they smelled like sakura and blood. He wanted to scream, he wanted to get away, he wanted to wake up, and the murderer’s hand moved faster...
Hisoka leapt from the bed across the room, slamming his back against the wall. “Stop it,” he heard himself panting, “stop it, stop it, stop it, stop...” He cut himself off, furious. That bastard, that utter bastard, he’s still here. It doesn’t matter what happened after that, I can still feel him. Hisoka’s scars hurt, pulsing all over his skin, and he could feel the blood running down from them...
No, he reminded himself, he couldn’t. They weren’t bleeding. He wasn’t bleeding. He wasn’t thirteen and Muraki was nowhere near him. He focused his staring eyes on the dresser next to the bed, making himself see what was really there. I’m fine, he thought firmly, forcing himself to move away from the wall. He unwrapped his hands from his shoulders and formed fists by his sides. I’m eighteen years old, he thought. I’m a shinigami. If Muraki tried that again, I’d kill him. I’d take a sword and slice him in two. The thoughts felt foolish, like swearing to turn the sky red. He’d never managed to do anything to Muraki before. No, he’d just let the psychopath walk in and hurt him, hurt Tsuzuki, hurt Tsubaki-hime, hurt anyone he’d cared to. Hisoka had just watched.
I’m not watching now, he thought. Enough. He doesn’t get to control me again. Hisoka crossed the room and lay down on the bed. I can do this, he thought, and closed his eyes.
The tree tossed in the wind above him, shaking like the rest of the world. Petals rained onto Hisoka’s face, into his mouth, and he coughed through his scream...
The phone woke Hisoka into a groggy half-consciousness. “Yes?” he grunted, blinking in the dimness of the room, lit only by sunlight poking at the edges of the blinds.
“Hisoka?” Tsuzuki sounded worried, which was normal for him these days.
“Tsuzuki.” Hisoka’s hand was sticky on the phone. He glanced at the clock and swore.
“Did I wake you up?” Tsuzuki asked. “It’s 9:20. We’ve got a meeting in ten minutes.” Tsuzuki lowered his voice, making it hard to hear over the office noise. “Are you all right?”
“Yes,” Hisoka said. “I’m fine. I overslept.” He wanted a shower desperately, but then he’d be even later. “I’ll be there in ten minutes.”
“You overslept?”
“I was up late,” Hisoka said. “Tsuzuki, I have to get dressed. I’ll be there soon.” Tsuzuki hesitated. “I’m fine.”
“All right,” Tsuzuki said doubtfully. “I’ll see you in ten minutes, then.” Hisoka didn’t need empathy to hear the implied or else I’ll come over there whether you want me to or not. Hisoka sighed and hung up.
The phone was sticky now, Hisoka noticed. He gagged. This was all so repulsive. He couldn’t remember when he’d passed out, only that it couldn’t have been very long ago. That had been one of the most appalling nights he could remember. He’d lost track of how many times he’d tried. It had become mechanical after a few hours; put his hand between his legs, crumble under the memories swamping him, panic, swear. After a while, he hadn’t even needed to try to touch himself for the reaction to set in. His eyes were red-rimmed, his face tear-stained, his voice sore. And I didn’t even manage anything, he thought bitterly, washing quickly at the sink. You’d think I could have at least managed to do something-- ejaculate, whatever-- once, after all of that. The book had made it sound so easy. So there is something wrong with me, Hisoka thought, angry but not surprised. He picked up the book on the way out of the apartment, leafing through the table of contents. There had been something about abnormality, hadn’t there? A whole chapter. It would probably tell him something about himself. He scanned the pages, trying to find it quickly. Then he slowed. Sexual Coercion, the chapter heading said in block green letters. A few lines below that, toward the end of a list of subheadings in gentle italics, were the words Men as Victims of Rape.
Hisoka stared at the page for a long moment. Then he hurried out the door.
Rating: R (explicit sexuality, profanity, description of rape)
Part: 3/5
Spoilers: The entire anime.
Disclaimer: I didn't create them, they just live in my head.
“Hisoka!” The shout came from very far away and a voice that might be his cried out in relief. Sound filtered through: the candles snapping out, a well-loved voice barking a harsh word to dismiss the spell. Tsuzuki was chanting and Hisoka could feel himself returning, sense by sense-- Tsuzuki’s racing heartbeat in his ear, Tsuzuki’s arms almost crushingly tight around him. The pain faded. Hisoka found himself again, curled up and sobbing in Tsuzuki’s arms, home and safe. “Hisoka!”
Hisoka tried to answer, but he couldn’t stop sobbing. “Hisoka,” Tsuzuki said again, voice shaking, “are you all right? Hisoka!” Hisoka managed a nod. He shouldn’t be doing this, he thought, but his arms gripped Tsuzuki’s waist so hard it hurt and he couldn’t make himself let go. He couldn’t stop crying, either. Tsuzuki rocked him, stroking his hair, his own terror slowly easing. Hisoka just held on, feeling the heat in his face against Tsuzuki’s skin, letting the sobs rock his body, feeling a strange release. It felt almost safe, crying like this, letting everything he felt flow out, emotion made physical. Like he didn’t have to name the feelings or try to control them, just let them take over. It was all right. Tsuzuki had him, protective and warm.
And still concerned, Hisoka felt, coming back to reality. His face was slimy, his head was starting to hurt, and Tsuzuki was worried. “Hisoka, what happened?”
“Spell,” Hisoka said. He didn’t want to go into it. “How did you know I was here?”
“Suzaku told me,” Tsuzuki said. “She’s been keeping an eye on you, lately.” There was a little guilt there, from which Hisoka gathered that it hadn’t been Tsuzuki’s idea, but he hadn’t tried to stop his shikigami from watching. “What were you doing?”
Hisoka sat up, his head aching more. He wiped his nose and eyes on his sleeve. “I thought Ajari Joan was still here,” he said, not looking at Tsuzuki. “I was trying to do an exorcism.”
Tsuzuki started. “What happened?”
”I don’t know,” Hisoka said. “I couldn’t find him.”
Tsuzuki flowed into action, holding a fuda to Hisoka’s face so smoothly Hisoka didn’t know he’d done it until he felt the paper shaking against his forehead. Tsuzuki shook his head. “Nothing there but you,” he said. “Not that I can find.”
“Mm,” Hisoka said, still not meeting his eye.
Tsuzuki looked at the wall, where new scorch-marks were gently smoldering. “When I got my body back, that time,” he said, “from Sagatanas, I didn’t feel right for a while.” He shivered. Hisoka said nothing. “It was like finding someone had broken into my house,” Tsuzuki said. “Like I couldn’t trust myself anymore.” Not that he ever did usually, but worse. Hisoka felt the old guilt reinforced, like a track trod one more time into a road.
“It’s not that,” Hisoka said. Maybe it was, but that wasn’t all. “Everything looks different. This-- this isn’t the way I feel, usually. This isn’t me.”
”No?” Tsuzuki said. “You seem like you to me.” He cocked his head, considering. “It seems like you care more than you used to. You notice what’s around you more.” His old anger flared. “He didn’t care at all.”
“I suppose,” Hisoka said.
Tsuzuki’s eyes glinted. “And it’s hardly all bad. You certainly cook better than you used to.”
Hisoka punched him in the arm. “Idiot,” he said. Tsuzuki felt reassured, and his arm was solid. And much easier to feel than normal. Hisoka actually looked at him for the first time since he’d arrived. “You-- she got you out of bed for this?” He cursed himself for saying anything about it, but Tsuzuki wasn’t dressed. An untied robe thrown on over pajama pants did not count as clothing. Especially not when the robe had come open, hanging off of one bare shoulder, and Hisoka could see every muscle in his partner’s chest, every curve and line, every inch of skin. He was staring, he realized, and shut his mouth with a snap.
“Huh?” Tsuzuki said, noticing Hisoka’s stare. Then he laughed. “Yeah, she had to wake me up. She’s good at that.” He felt uncomfortable to be stared at, but also terribly not uncomfortable. Almost pleased, Hisoka thought. He looked away, blushing so hard he could feel the heat rising from his face. This feeling, he thought, this isn’t me. This isn’t mine. I’m not like this. He wanted Tsuzuki to go away, and he wanted to stare at him some more. “She worries.”
”Mm,” Hisoka said. He could still see Tsuzuki at the corner of his vision and he couldn’t keep his eyes from turning there. He stood up, walking across the room, turning his back on Tsuzuki. “I should have told you I was doing this,” he said, still feeling Tsuzuki at his back. It wasn’t just his emotions-- he could feel Tsuzuki’s presence, could feel the space between them. “It would have been safer.”
“It would have,” Tsuzuki said. “I could have told you that you didn’t need to do the spell in the first place. He really is gone.” Hisoka heard him stand up and tensed. He’s going to come over here and touch me. I don’t want him to. I want him to. I don’t want to want him to. Tsuzuki didn’t, just put the candles in the ‘used’ box and shut the cabinet doors. “You don’t have to worry about him.”
“I’m not,” Hisoka said. “Not anymore.” He leaned a hand against the wall for support, shaking. I can’t look at him right now. But I can’t see him, either. “You should go home,” he blurted. “Or you’ll be late for work.”
Tsuzuki’s concern peaked again. “True,” he said, consideringly. “Hisoka.” There was command in his voice, and Hisoka turned around. Tsuzuki had closed his robe and Hisoka was horrified to realize that that didn’t matter, because he could remember exactly what Tsuzuki looked like and now he couldn’t stop thinking about it. “Hisoka.” Hisoka looked him in the face. Tsuzuki’s expression was stern, but Hisoka could have seen the worry in his eyes even if he hadn’t been able to feel it. “What are you going to do next?”
Hisoka hadn’t thought about it. “Go to work,” he said. It was two hours too early for that. “Or get tea and go out to the park. Why?”
Tsuzuki wasn’t convinced. “You aren’t going to try that again?”
Oh. Hisoka hadn’t thought of that. I could, he thought. If I tried the spell again, more carefully. Even my own feelings could be expelled if I did it right. Then I’d be like I was before, if I could stand the pain of the spell. If it didn’t kill me. That was what Tsuzuki was worried about, he realized-- that Hisoka would be so desperate he’d kill himself trying the spell again. That was insulting. You think I’m that much of a coward? That I’d try to do that on purpose because I couldn’t face what’s really here? Like... The anger on his face surprised Tsuzuki, and Hisoka hurried to speak before he could ask for an explanation. “No,” he said. “I’m not.”
Tsuzuki still hesitated. “I promise,” Hisoka said, and he couldn’t remember the last time he’d sworn something.
Neither could Tsuzuki. His partner nodded, convinced. “All right,” he said. He wanted to touch Hisoka again, to reassure him, to reassure himself. He didn’t. “We could go to breakfast later, if you want.”
“No,” Hisoka said. He hastened to amend that. “Since when do you eat breakfast before work, anyway?”
Tsuzuki shrugged. “Maybe I should start.”
Hisoka shook his head. “Not today.” Tsuzuki wanted to say something else. “I’ll see you at work, all right?”
Tsuzuki nodded slowly, doubtfully. “All right,” he said, hating it, scared. Hisoka wished he could do something about that but he felt frozen in place and all he could think about was getting Tsuzuki away. He needed to be alone right now. His own feelings were more than enough. “Look,” Tsuzuki said, trying desperately not to sound desperate, “you can talk to me, if you want. About anything. Any time.” He cut himself off. “I’ll see you later.” He blinked out of sight, leaving a boom of displaced air behind him.
Hisoka sank to the floor, letting out a long sigh. Too much, that was too much, and he wished he could go to work now and bury himself in writing reports or something. Something clear and absorbing that would save him from having to think about this. He stood up, moving blindly out of the practice room, trying to put some distance between himself and it. It’s not Ajari, he thought. It’s not Tsuzuki. It’s me.
He headed up a staircase, trying to remember how to get to the commissary from here. Up a level, through the main building. Will it be open now? Have I got money on me for breakfast? My head hurts. And that didn’t work, and it won’t work, and how could he think I’d destroy myself to get away from that? It’s just feelings. It’s just a feeling. Idiot. God, he’s beautiful. It’s so weird to think of Tsuzuki as “beautiful.” It’s not what he’d say about himself. But he is.
The commissary was open, and the yawning night-shift worker gave Hisoka over-brewed tea in a cheap cup. Hisoka burned his tongue on it. I could try that again, actually, he thought, sitting down in a booth in a corner. Not that exactly, I promised I wouldn’t. But there are ways to cut off desires magically. I could research those-- but that would mean going back to the library, wouldn’t it? Then he’d have to explain himself to the Guoshoushin, of course. Hisoka frowned around another sip of tea. It was his fault, anyway-- the Younger Guoshoushin’s. If he hadn’t pushed me to go punch Tsuzuki, this wouldn’t have happened...
Hisoka stared into the tea, struck by the thought. Wouldn’t it? he wondered. If these things I’m feeling are really mine, then... when did they start? I didn’t notice them until the dream last night. But... was that really the first time I had them? They feel exactly as repulsive as they did when I thought they were all Tsuzuki’s, there is no difference. And... and what I felt this morning, when his robe... wasn’t... I mean, what I felt, seeing him, wanting to... to look at him, to... to do things to him... that wasn’t unfamiliar. Awful, but not completely strange. It felt... like trying to talk to him feels. Or like how trying to understand him used to feel, when we first met. It’s unnerving, but I want to go further. It always feels like there’s more I could do, like I could be closer to him, and I want to.
This didn’t just start with Ajari Joan. This has been coming for a long time. Maybe from that soda he gave me, that first morning. Maybe from the first time he looked me in the face. It hasn’t been physical, not until now, but it’s been there. And now there’s this, it is... physical, and I can’t figure out how to separate them. I can’t just cut out one part and save the rest. It all feels the same.
The tea was lukewarm against Hisoka’s lips. He ignored it. So when I tried to exorcise myself, he thought, what would I have done if it had worked? What would it have been like? If I’d been successful, if I were free of these feelings-- would I stop trying to get closer to him? Would I stop wanting to eat dinner with him? Would I stop wanting anything from him at all? The thought was appalling. I don’t want to be without him. I never want to be without him again. I was so lonely, like that.
Hisoka leaned forward, head in his hands. It’s going too fast, he thought. There’s too much of this. I can’t-- I have to want him like that, if I want him at all? The thought felt true. He tried to rail arguments against it, but they crashed against the truth of it. There’s no difference. Between wanting him to stay with me and wanting him to... do that, with me. I can’t find a difference, I can’t tell where the line is. There is no line.
Well, Hisoka thought sharply, the first rational thought in a while, there’s the line between assaulting him and not. That line’s pretty damn clear.
Except... well, it was ludicrous to think of assaulting Tsuzuki. He’s a head taller than me, maybe fifty pounds heavier, and he’s got twelve shikigami at his call. And some of them wouldn’t think twice about killing me to protect him, whether he wanted them to or not. Hisoka sighed, deeply relieved. I couldn’t force him. I’m not physically capable of it.
So, then... he’d have to force me? Except he isn’t going to. He said he wouldn’t, and he hasn’t. And he’s been driving himself nuts for weeks making sure that I don’t even think he wants to. I see him do that, trying not to think about it, trying not to think about anything to do with his body at all. Though I think he has a harder time of that, the more I do, the closer we get. I could make it harder, if I kept on like this. Maybe so much that he does it no matter how hard he tries not to. But then... Hisoka winced, thinking about exactly how guilty Tsuzuki would feel if he failed to stop himself from forcing Hisoka. Killingly so, probably. Damn. That doesn’t work. So how do I do this? How do I make that happen without making him hate himself even more?
Except-- if I want him to, how is it forcing me? The thought was a very odd one. But... all right, I don’t know why I feel... that, why that feeling is wrapped up with everything else I feel about him. But it is. And if I want it to happen, and so does he, then... does it have to be an attack?
No. Of course it doesn’t. Otherwise, how would anyone do it often enough for the human race to survive? It was different with two men, of course, he didn’t see how it could happen without hurting. But people did it anyway.
Hisoka shook, arms wrapped around himself, glad that the commissary was mostly empty. I have to, he thought. What else can I do?
I can leave. I can get transferred. I can try to forget that I ever felt like this, that I ever knew him. I can live the rest of my life alone, cold as I used to be, and never touch anyone. I can ignore it when I feel like I want someone, and I can forget my dreams.
No.
Hisoka returned his cup, and walked to the office, feeling as if he’d swallowed stones. His back was so tense he could barely move his arms, and he was sweating under his shirt. All right, then, he thought. I can do this. I will. I’m a shinigami, I can handle pain, I can handle what scares me. It’s worth it. He’s worth it. I can. I will.
He decided not to tell Tsuzuki for a while.
***************************************************************************
The day Hisoka thought I want to sleep with him was a long time coming.
It didn’t help that Tsuzuki spent the entire day after the botched exorcism worrying at him. Tsuzuki kept hovering, never letting Hisoka out of his sight, and all his frantic cheer did nothing to fool empathy. Hisoka finally cornered him by the water cooler. “I’m fine,” he snapped in an undertone. “Relax!”
Tsuzuki wasn’t reassured. “I know,” he said brightly, “Of course you are.” Hisoka glared at him until Tsuzuki lost the smile. “You didn’t seem upset enough to do something like that when I left last night, Hisoka.”
“I,” Hisoka said. The thought of putting all of last night into words was appalling. “It was a mistake,” he said. “The spell was aimed at Ajari Joan. I didn’t mean to catch myself in it.” Not that Tsuzuki was anyone to talk on that score, Hisoka thought angrily. “I know better now.”
Tsuzuki nodded. “But Hisoka,” he said, “I can stay away, if I’m bothering you.” He smiled one of those painful smiles. “Just because you’re my partner, that doesn’t mean you have to put up with me all the time.”
Hisoka gaped. “Idiot,” he snapped, punching Tsuzuki in the arm. “If I didn’t want you around I wouldn’t have asked you, would I?” Heads turned, and Hisoka realized his voice had risen far too loud for the office. He flushed and muttered more quietly, “You aren’t bothering me. Just... leave it.” Then he turned and went back to his desk, avoiding all the eyes pretending not to follow him.
Dinner with Tsuzuki that night was awkward, with Tsuzuki bouncing between babble and staring silence, and Hisoka failing to respond to either. “Look,” Hisoka said, finally. “You don’t have to worry.” Tsuzuki met his eyes across the table, waiting. “I’m not going to do anything stupid. I told you that. And you’re not doing anything wrong.” Tsuzuki waited for the caveat to that. Hisoka didn’t give him one. “I mean it.”
Tsuzuki studied him. “Are you sure?”
Hisoka sighed with an exasperation almost as real as he made it sound. “Yes. I’m sure.”
Tsuzuki’s eyes lost their hard, fugitive look. “Good,” he said, relieved. “Good.” Hisoka shrugged. They met each other’s eyes for a long pause. “Then,” Tsuzuki said, “can I help?”
Hisoka shook his head. “No. Not yet. I need to think.”
Tsuzuki nodded. “All right.” He stood, clearing his plate. “Take your time.” Hisoka nodded, and followed Tsuzuki to the door. Tsuzuki wanted to touch him, Hisoka felt, but was fighting himself over it. Hisoka didn’t much want to touch him, either, but he wasn’t willing to let Tsuzuki go out the door like that. He grabbed Tsuzuki’s hand in a rush, squeezing his fingers against his partner’s palm, and held it just long enough to register before he let go. Tsuzuki ruffled his hair. “Have a good night.”
”You too,” Hisoka said, and shut the door behind him. He leaned against it, eyes closed, feeling Tsuzuki slowly leave the building.
Then, nerves jumping, Hisoka went to the dresser, and pulled from the bottom drawer the thing he’d been thinking about all evening. The plastic bag bore the name of the chain bookstore he’d popped down to earth on his lunch break to visit, and the book inside was large and heavy-- a college textbook, he thought. Understanding Human Sexuality, the title proclaimed in discreetly lurid colors. The curves of naked bodies below that were, Hisoka supposed, lacking in enough detail to be indecent but he still hadn’t liked buying the thing. He locked the door and sat down to read.
Ten pages in he stood up, put up a shield around the apartment, and sat down again. He felt flushed and he couldn’t shake the thought of what he must look like right now. It’s just a book, he reminded himself. I’m just reading it. And nobody knows, anyway, and nobody will know. So this is ridiculous. He flipped through the section on history, not seeing much point in dwelling on it. This was distasteful enough already. He checked the table of contents, turned to the chapter on “Techniques of Arousal and Communication,” and read it carefully. It was quite detailed. With illustrations.
How interesting, Hisoka thought, and went to the bathroom to throw up.
This is ridiculous, he thought, wiping his mouth. It’s not supposed to do this to me. The book described vasocongestion and myotonia and pleasure. Terror was not meant to be one of the side effects. He rinsed his mouth and hands in the sink, glaring at his pale face in the mirror. People enjoy this, he thought, though he couldn’t at the moment see why. And yes, I’m a freak, I’m cold, I’m unnatural, but I don’t have to let that stop me from enjoying it too, if I want to. And I do want to. I’m sick of this dance. I’m sick of being scared of what I want. He turned away from the mirror, resolved. I’m going to do this.
He sat down with the book again, and studied the section on “One-Person Sex.” There wasn’t much point, after all, in bringing Tsuzuki into it until Hisoka had some idea what he was doing. The procedure described looked simple enough, and Hisoka was reassured that apparently, “for men interested in speed, an orgasm can be reached in only a minute or two.” That’s not so bad, Hisoka thought. I’ll do it once, to prove I can, and have the rest of the evening free to read something more pleasant. Fine.
He hesitated at the foot of his bed. I’m going to do this, he reminded himself, unbuttoning his shirt. He undressed quickly, determinedly, feeling more vulnerable with each piece of clothing he dropped in the hamper. I don’t care, he thought, lying down on the bed, naked on top of the sheets. He poured hand-cream onto his palm, not sure how much lubrication the book was recommending. It was cold against his skin, unpleasantly slick. He was shivering. All right, then, he thought, and reached down to take hold of himself.
The hand was hard where he was tender and its grip hurt. The moon-silvered man laughed, his face too close to Hisoka’s. No-one ever came this close to him. He couldn’t start to name the emotions swamping him, but they felt like his softness stiffening inside an alien fist and they smelled like sakura and blood. He wanted to scream, he wanted to get away, he wanted to wake up, and the murderer’s hand moved faster...
Hisoka leapt from the bed across the room, slamming his back against the wall. “Stop it,” he heard himself panting, “stop it, stop it, stop it, stop...” He cut himself off, furious. That bastard, that utter bastard, he’s still here. It doesn’t matter what happened after that, I can still feel him. Hisoka’s scars hurt, pulsing all over his skin, and he could feel the blood running down from them...
No, he reminded himself, he couldn’t. They weren’t bleeding. He wasn’t bleeding. He wasn’t thirteen and Muraki was nowhere near him. He focused his staring eyes on the dresser next to the bed, making himself see what was really there. I’m fine, he thought firmly, forcing himself to move away from the wall. He unwrapped his hands from his shoulders and formed fists by his sides. I’m eighteen years old, he thought. I’m a shinigami. If Muraki tried that again, I’d kill him. I’d take a sword and slice him in two. The thoughts felt foolish, like swearing to turn the sky red. He’d never managed to do anything to Muraki before. No, he’d just let the psychopath walk in and hurt him, hurt Tsuzuki, hurt Tsubaki-hime, hurt anyone he’d cared to. Hisoka had just watched.
I’m not watching now, he thought. Enough. He doesn’t get to control me again. Hisoka crossed the room and lay down on the bed. I can do this, he thought, and closed his eyes.
The tree tossed in the wind above him, shaking like the rest of the world. Petals rained onto Hisoka’s face, into his mouth, and he coughed through his scream...
The phone woke Hisoka into a groggy half-consciousness. “Yes?” he grunted, blinking in the dimness of the room, lit only by sunlight poking at the edges of the blinds.
“Hisoka?” Tsuzuki sounded worried, which was normal for him these days.
“Tsuzuki.” Hisoka’s hand was sticky on the phone. He glanced at the clock and swore.
“Did I wake you up?” Tsuzuki asked. “It’s 9:20. We’ve got a meeting in ten minutes.” Tsuzuki lowered his voice, making it hard to hear over the office noise. “Are you all right?”
“Yes,” Hisoka said. “I’m fine. I overslept.” He wanted a shower desperately, but then he’d be even later. “I’ll be there in ten minutes.”
“You overslept?”
“I was up late,” Hisoka said. “Tsuzuki, I have to get dressed. I’ll be there soon.” Tsuzuki hesitated. “I’m fine.”
“All right,” Tsuzuki said doubtfully. “I’ll see you in ten minutes, then.” Hisoka didn’t need empathy to hear the implied or else I’ll come over there whether you want me to or not. Hisoka sighed and hung up.
The phone was sticky now, Hisoka noticed. He gagged. This was all so repulsive. He couldn’t remember when he’d passed out, only that it couldn’t have been very long ago. That had been one of the most appalling nights he could remember. He’d lost track of how many times he’d tried. It had become mechanical after a few hours; put his hand between his legs, crumble under the memories swamping him, panic, swear. After a while, he hadn’t even needed to try to touch himself for the reaction to set in. His eyes were red-rimmed, his face tear-stained, his voice sore. And I didn’t even manage anything, he thought bitterly, washing quickly at the sink. You’d think I could have at least managed to do something-- ejaculate, whatever-- once, after all of that. The book had made it sound so easy. So there is something wrong with me, Hisoka thought, angry but not surprised. He picked up the book on the way out of the apartment, leafing through the table of contents. There had been something about abnormality, hadn’t there? A whole chapter. It would probably tell him something about himself. He scanned the pages, trying to find it quickly. Then he slowed. Sexual Coercion, the chapter heading said in block green letters. A few lines below that, toward the end of a list of subheadings in gentle italics, were the words Men as Victims of Rape.
Hisoka stared at the page for a long moment. Then he hurried out the door.
