brigdh

Title: Summer’s Day
Author: Brigdh
Email: Brigdh@yahoo.com
Content/Rating: NC-17. Yaoi. Slash. m/m. If graphic gay sex offends you, DO NOT read this story. Seriously. You’ve been warned.
Pairing: Hisoka/Tsuzuki
Summary: Hisoka, Tsuzuki, and some ice cubes. You know you want to read it.
Spoilers: Vague allusions to the Kyoto arc.
Distribution: Phantom Moon, here.
Others ask.
Author’s Note: Mmmm, Hisoka. Love him. Thanks to Pepsi for the commercial about the girl who orders a bottle of Pepsi in a bar and all the guys stare at her as she drinks it in one gulp. It was the inspiration for this fic. And a million million thanks to Sephy, who beta’d this for me and fixed all the mistakes. Here ya go, within 48 hours! ;)
Feedback is a good thing, maybe the best of things.

Summer’s Day
“Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?
Thou art more lovely and more temperate.”
-William Shakespeare, Sonnet XVIII

It was hot. No- hot was too mild a word for it. Tsuzuki imagined that this was what being in hell felt like: fiery, inferno heat and so humid that the walls were damp with it, steam and dew misting on their cool surfaces. The sakura on the trees outside still bloomed, as if someone had forgotten to tell the gods that flowers didn‘t do so well in this weather. The ground was littered with their dead petals, brown and limp and curled into little twists, roasting in the sun. They smelled cloying, sickly-sweet, choking in heat. There was no wind to scatter them, and they piled on the ground beneath the trees like an obscene snow. Breathing was like being muffled with a hot, wet pillowcase. Nothing was stirring, and even sitting at a desk felt like too much effort.

And Tatsumi had come to work today in a t-shirt and shorts.

All the Shinigamis had forgone their usual suits and uniforms for new ones with as little material as possible. People who hadn’t changed their outfits since they’d died had discovered the current era’s joy in exposed skin and sheer fabrics. Shorts, halter tops, sleeveless shirts, bathing suits- they had dressed for the temperature with a vengeance. Pale skin nearly glowed in the sun with all of the Shinigamis’ preternatural perfection as they lounged throughout the office, avoiding work at all costs. A fight was breaking out for space in front of the one ancient, rusting fan, while others cat-napped in the creaking plastic chairs or fanned themselves with manila folders that usually held crime scene photos and police reports. The heat had sucked away everyone’s energy, leaving only a lazy complacency.

Except for Hisoka, who’d reverted back to the anger he’d worn in his first days among them, snapping at everyone, shrugging away from the slightest casual touch, irritation glittering dully in his eyes. He’d worn a long-sleeve shirt and it had quickly grown damp from sweat and humidity, had clung to his skin. He’d plucked at it again and again, nearly ripping the shirt as he grew more frustrated and yanked at it violently, as if he could pull it hard enough to keep it from sticking to him. But when someone had suggested that something summery might have been more appropriate, Hisoka only glared at him for a long moment before muttering that he wasn’t bothered by the heat, his voice low with the obvious lie. He’d eventually stopped even attempting to be civil, retreating to the office he shared with Tsuzuki to finish a report, slamming the door to make some point.

Tsuzuki had waited before following him, not eager to put himself in the face of Hisoka‘s wrath. He paused outside the door, leaning his head against its cool surface for a moment. It was solid and thick, but he imagined that he could hear Hisoka through it, muttering at the report, maybe, or just sighing in frustration. He was so quiet when others were around. It was only when he thought no one was listening that he made the little noises that came so naturally to everyone else.

Tsuzuki sighed. He could hate himself for this, he knew, if he only bothered to stop and think on it. For the familiarity of the heat and the way part of him still wanted it, reveled in the pain and the simplicity of it, desired its finality even now. For the fact that he was crawling after Hisoka yet again, undone by the reminder of black flames and armored with the barest of excuses, desperate just to be near him for a little while.

He pushed the door open, preparing himself with a wide grin. No need. Hisoka didn’t even bother to look up. The smile didn’t droop. Tsuzuki had nearly a century of practice at grinning in the face of far worse. He walked to stand behind Hisoka, moving closer and closer as he continued to be ignored. He leant over him, then splayed one hand flat across the report Hisoka was writing. Tsuzuki couldn‘t see his face from this angle, but he imagined the expression, the exaggerated eye-roll. Tsuzuki leaned a little closer, feeling the press of Hisoka’s arm underneath his own. Hisoka turned in the chair, twisting his body around and away to try to look at Tsuzuki. Before their eyes could meet, Tsuzuki remembered what he was doing, and pressed something to Hisoka’s cheek.

It was ice. A whole cupful of ice, all that had been in the refrigerator in the break room. And it was cold, steaming in the heat and turning Tsuzuki’s hand numb. It had made popping noises when he’d taken it from the freezer, the ice cracking in protest of the warmth of the day. He’d stuffed as much of it into the cup as would fit, loving the rough-slick feel of the ice and how they’d clung to his skin, their raw coldness freezing to his fingers before he’d shaken them loose.

He’d thought of Hisoka as soon as he saw them, tucked away in their trays in the back of the freezer. He hadn’t fooled anyone. No one wore long sleeves on a day like this because they didn’t mind the heat; they wore them because they had things to hide. Tsuzuki had always hated the scars he’d barely glimpsed, but this seemed worse than their true intention, this petty, mundane evil. Long sleeves on summer days.

But of course, Hisoka didn’t want pity and would have hated to see it. And Tsuzuki felt burnt away by the heat, too sore and tired to bleed for him in silence. This ice, this teasing, was just another game, but one Tsuzuki was willing to play. Things were always complicated, and at least he knew the rules here. Knew just how to smile and glance away, knew just how close he could come to touching before Hisoka would start to watch him with that careful look. Tsuzuki had caught him with it often lately, turning to see Hisoka staring at him like Tsuzuki was a new and unknown person. Like Hisoka half-feared what he might do.

Hisoka wasn’t looking at anything right now. He seemed to melt into his chair, turning his head more fully against the cup, a sigh escaping his lips.

Tsuzuki yanked the cup away and held it over his head. “Ha! You were hot!”

“Hey!” Hisoka tried to grab for the cup, but Tsuzuki danced back out of reach. “That’s not fair!”

“Of course it is. I went and got the ice, I get to keep it.” Tsuzuki warily lowered the cup to hold it against his own cheek. It stung, the bite of the cold sharp. “I might give you one, if you ask nicely…”

Hisoka glared. “Please,” he spat out.

“Mmmm… nope. Not nice enough.”

Obviously annoyed, Hisoka didn’t answer him, turning back to the still-unfinished report.

“It’s so cold…”

Hisoka ignored him. Tsuzuki bit his lower lip, trying to think of some way to draw him back out. He set the cup down on the edge of the desk. Hisoka’s eyes darted to it, but he didn’t dare make a grab. He kept writing though his attention was clearly elsewhere. Tsuzuki pulled one ice cube from the rest, turning it in his fingers before letting it drop to his palm. Hisoka’s gaze followed him, a look of desire focused on the ice, but Tsuzuki knew he was too proud to ask again. He considered popping the ice in his mouth, but took pity on him, pressing the ice to the back of Hisoka’s neck.

Hisoka exhaled gently, his eyes fluttering closed as the pencil slid unnoticed from his hand. Tsuzuki slipped the ice across Hisoka’s neck, moving slowly so that it had a chance to melt. And it did, square lines quickly rounding in the heat, growing smaller and smaller. The water left a slick trail behind, beading on the smooth skin before sliding away to disappear beneath the collar of the shirt. Tsuzuki moved slowly, so slowly. He wanted to stand here forever, sweating, his fingers numb, the hum of the office a distraction mere feet away, but with Hisoka so close, calm and still, a smoldering fire that Tsuzuki could feel through the shirt, in a long line against his arm and side. He paused for a moment over the small curve in Hisoka’s neck that should have become an Adam’s Apple, just watching as the water swelled around the diminishing ice. Hisoka arched his neck, letting his head fall back against his chair to expose more of the pale skin. The movement disturbed the tension of the water gathering against Tsuzuki’s fingers and it spilled away, pooling in the hollow of his throat.

The water was no warmer than the ice, a bitter, painful cold. Tsuzuki nearly shivered to see it there, caught and shimmering as Hisoka breathed. He dashed it away with his thumb and it fell over the lines of Hisoka’s collarbones, blotching his shirt with miniscule drops of a darker color. Hisoka inhaled sharply, and the sound was slightly harsh, as if the cold had seeped in to his lungs. Tsuzuki breathed in time with him, suddenly needing the air. He realized he was staring. He realized that he hadn’t moved for nearly a minute. He realized that there was nothing he wanted to do more than lick that patch of skin, to feel the warmth of Hisoka beneath the chill left by the ice.

Then he realized that Hisoka probably knew everything he was thinking.

He started abruptly, shaking his head as if to dislodge his thoughts. He moved quicker now, hoping to distract them both, and the ice sometimes skimmed ahead of its water trail, its rough edges scratching briefly at Hisoka’s skin. Tsuzuki twirled the ice in his fingers, trying to keep as much distance as possible between them and Hisoka. But the ice was so small, a whispered breath the only thing keeping them from contact. Any second now, Tsuzuki thought, and he had to know. They were too close, Hisoka’s empathy too strong. And try as he might, he couldn’t stop himself from noticing the bend of Hisoka’s neck, the eyelashes scattered across his cheekbones, the slight part of his lips as he sighed in pleasure. He had to be able to sense it. To see all the graphic images that Tsuzuki’s imagination seemed only too happy to produce. Any second now and he would pull away in disgust.

Tsuzuki could pull away first. He could stop it before it was too late, toss the ice, all of it, to Hisoka and back away with nothing revealed. Hisoka would hate him, and with every right. He was Hisoka’s partner. He should be protecting him from this, from the unwanted attention that they were both too familiar with, from everything. He knew it. He knew what he should be doing, and felt sick at heart from what he was doing. It would only hurt Hisoka to see what he had tried to conceal. Tsuzuki had never wanted that.

And yet. And yet he couldn’t move away. No- he wouldn’t move away. It was so close to what he wanted, to stand here bare inches from Hisoka, to hear him breathing, to feel the slight movement of his shoulders as he settled more firmly into his chair. Tsuzuki stared at the ice in desperation. It was just a sliver now, so small and thin that it was perfectly clear, invisible in the water surrounding it. It was the only thing separating him from Hisoka, keeping their skin from touching and letting free what Tsuzuki was trying to hide away. It was the only thing that let him come even this close, well within Hisoka’s often-stated personal space.

He wasn’t thinking. That was the only explanation. The ice was nearly gone, nothing more than a slick hardness against his fingertips, shrinking rapidly. And just before it disappeared, before his fingers would have touched Hisoka’s cheek, he slid the ice to Hisoka’s mouth. Hisoka opened his lips and the ice fell inside, Tsuzuki’s fingers following it.

It clung to his skin for a moment, a wall of cold against the heat of Hisoka’s mouth, and then it was gone. His fingers had been numb from the ice and they burned in the sudden warmth, prickling like frostbite. He felt Hisoka’s tongue coil under his fingers before flicking against their tips, stealing the last of the chill of the ice. His tongue was rough after the slick of the ice, like sandpaper.

Tsuzuki yanked his hand back. “Hisoka-”

“Again.” The word was breathed so softly that Tsuzuki nearly missed it. Hisoka had not moved, his eyes still shut, his head still thrown over the back of his chair, mouth barely open, as if nothing had happened.

Tsuzuki paused, unsure of what to do, of what had happened, and then fumbled with the cup for another ice cube. He moved this one faster, drawing nonsense designs across Hisoka’s smooth skin, tracing his curves and edges with a water trail. He skimmed across his face, following the lines of the cheekbones, the jaw, the nose. Hisoka lifted his face to meet the ice, and Tsuzuki felt the need to half-sit on the desk, grateful for its support. He bent closer to Hisoka, drinking in the sight of him, his slow movements as he leaned into the touch of the ice, his face as it glistened wetly in the afternoon light. The water gleamed along the natural lines of his face, making him seem too clear, too bright, like something impossibly beautiful.

The ice seemed to melt too fast, burned away by the heat of the room and Tsuzuki’s fingers and Hisoka’s skin. Too soon, and there was nothing left of it, and Tsuzuki found himself bringing it to Hisoka’s lips again. Hisoka dipped his mouth to meet it, sucking in the last of the ice. Tsuzuki dropped his fingers away with an effort.

Hisoka opened his eyes and they seemed too green, almost unreal from the closeness. His cheeks were hollowed around the coolness of the ice, causing his lips to purse. His face was perfectly upturned to Tsuzuki’s.

Tsuzuki felt trapped, felt like a mouse before a snake. Something had changed since he’d entered the room, but he didn’t understand how or when. He didn’t understand the new rules of this game, and he was afraid of misunderstanding it all. He was too close, he’d dared too much. He should pull back. He wanted to pull back. But it was too much and too little all at once. Too near to pretend it wasn’t happening, not near enough to satisfy him. Their faces were too close. Tsuzuki had never meant for this to happen. He’d stopped moving, barely breathing, afraid to disrupt the balance.

Hisoka moved, tilted his chin slightly, and they were kissing. The ice was gone, but his lips were still cool against Tsuzuki’s and his tongue seemed frozen. He tasted like permafrost. Tsuzuki kissed him hungrily, desperately, wanting to feel his coolness in the heat of this day. Wanting to feel him.

Hisoka’s mouth was open under his somehow, and Tsuzuki didn’t understand how this was happening. His hands skittered across the desk and found Hisoka’s, clutched at them, wound their slender fingers through his own. Hisoka stood without breaking the kiss, their nearness forcing him to press against Tsuzuki to get out of the chair. Tsuzuki still sat against the desk, putting them level. Hisoka’s body pressed against him everywhere, white-hot, and Tsuzuki leaned back, turning his head away to gasp for air.

“Oh,” he said softly, and his voice trembled. He was terrified suddenly. Hisoka said nothing, watching him with that cautiousness, that guarded look like Tsuzuki had a power over him, and Hisoka didn’t know what he might do with it. Tsuzuki understood the feeling.

“What are we doing?” Tsuzuki said, his voice a whisper, afraid of breaking some spell.

Hisoka shrugged and Tsuzuki could feel the movement, Hisoka’s shoulders so near that they brushed against his own. “I don’t know. Do… do you not want…”

No, Tsuzuki wanted to say. No, a million times no. This wasn’t right. There was too much hanging by a thread here, too much history surrounding them both, too many problems to ever work past, and somewhere above it all, the specter of Muraki, tainting every feeling, every move they would ever make. There were better people, stronger and smarter and more gentle, that Hisoka would meet, that he could love with far greater ease. And, oh, the consequences of failure.

Tsuzuki had a sudden epiphany, as if he could see them from the outside. He saw Hisoka, alone again, angry and bitter again, driving everyone away to keep himself safe, rebuilding his walls and killing his power to keep himself from feeling the hate all around him, from feeling the love that could hurt even more. He saw himself, his own slow decline through partner after partner after partner, until the names and faces blurred and he could no longer care, until even the lives he stole as a Shinigami ceased to matter. He saw an end again, another in his line of suicides, of fires and knives, but this would be the last one. This was what they were risking.

He kissed Hisoka again, tasting his mouth, his lips, the corners of his eyes. His face was still faintly cool from the ice, and a drop of water had somehow caught itself in his eyelashes. It balanced there tenaciously, glittering like a diamond when he blinked. Tsuzuki pressed his cheek to Hisoka’s. They were sticky with sweat and the drying water, and Hisoka’s breath was harsh in his ear. He wrapped his fingers in Tsuzuki’s hair, trailing kisses across his shoulder and neck, everywhere he could reach.

Tsuzuki felt like crying suddenly, wanting this and wanting safety, wanting everything. He felt fatalistic with his decision, felt like someone knowingly heading into incredible danger but determined to do it all the same. He felt like he’d had too much to drink. “It’ll be alright?”

Hisoka pulled away gently, just enough to rest his forehead against Tsuzuki’s. The same look glittered in his eyes, a wildness bordering on hysteria. “I promise.” His voice was too high. He leaned into Tsuzuki, pressing him against the desk, and covered his face with kisses. Tsuzuki tried to catch Hisoka’s mouth, hold him still for long enough to pass back his own kisses, but Hisoka twisted in his arms, moving abruptly, erratically. They twined around each other, kissing like the sparkle of frost melting, like the red of flying embers above a fire, like relief from pain. Tsuzuki grabbed Hisoka’s shoulders to pull him closer and their curves fit into the palms of his hands like they’d been meant for each other.

Hisoka stretched his mouth to Tsuzuki’s ear. “It’s my turn,” he whispered, his breath warm even in the torrid heat. He licked Tsuzuki’s ear before drawing away, catching Tsuzuki’s hands to pull him along.

Tsuzuki stared at Hisoka as he was pulled to the floor, as he was pushed back until he was lying flat. Hisoka was trembling so hard that he was nearly shaking and yet he was grinning. He looked lost, overwhelmed, reverential. Tsuzuki closed his eyes, feeling the same things. This felt like a fever-dream, too hot, unreal and meaningless, but glorious in its colors and touches.

The first touch of the ice was colder than he’d expected and he gasped, eyes flying open. Hisoka was kneeling above him, brows furrowed in concentration. “Shhh,” he said distractedly. The sunlight poured through the windows behind him, turning his hair to white, hiding his face in shadow. It was too bright, too beautiful, and Tsuzuki felt blinded by it all. The sun burned everything away except for a moving shadow that was Hisoka. Tsuzuki caught only brief images- the line of a cheek defined against the leeched blue of the sky outside a window, a glimmer of green from the movement of Hisoka’s eyes, the way his hair hung down to surround his face like a fallen halo, and through it all the clear cold of the ice, sliding across his skin like a knife through the steam of the heat.

The ice was unbelievably, painfully cold, gone beyond cold until it felt like heat and then back again. The coolness of the water ran in quick drips to collect in pools above his cheeks and in the hollow of his throat. Tsuzuki could feel them there, shuddering with his movements, until they overflowed and spilled down to the floor beneath him. Ice after ice, and they all melted away to the touch of Hisoka’s fingers against his skin, felt briefly though the water before disappearing to return with more ice.

He felt Hisoka’s hands tug at his shirt, and Tsuzuki willingly pulled out of it. The ice seemed to be making him hotter rather than cooler, and he felt combustible, like he could burst into flames at any moment. The loss of the shirt felt nice for a second, before the stifling heat closed in again. The ice slipped across the new frontier of his chest. Hisoka’s mouth followed it, licked away the coolness of the water and left kisses like brandings. Tsuzuki felt suspended between the heat and the cool, torn by both sides to new extremes. He felt defined by the ice, newly created, like it was carving him out of the baking day and into a new clarity. He could feel everything so strongly. He flung back his head, a long, low noise coming unstoppably from him.

He had memories of this, of something similar and different. He remembered another’s hands and mouth, remembered being pressed to his back, remembered the sharp cut of coolness down his chest. But that had been so different. He’d wrapped himself in cotton fuzz and drowned himself somewhere deep inside his mind, so far away that he didn’t know what was happening to his own body. So far that neither the knife nor the kisses had hurt, so far that he hadn’t had to feel anything, so far that desecration and profanity and violence could all slide away unfelt. And even now, he couldn‘t remember the whole of what had happened, though he hadn’t tried, and wouldn’t ever.

Tsuzuki tried to shove his thoughts away. This was so different, so much more, so real and unforgettable. He felt stripped, as far as possible from sinking away, like his skin had been peeled away to bring him even closer to Hisoka. The lightest touch of Hisoka’s hand sparked nerves, sending them like shocks to dance behind his eyelids, catch in his throat, harden in his groin. Hisoka was wanted. Wanted and yearned for and desired and loved, and even with the darkness of the past clouding his head, Tsuzuki couldn’t imagine doing anything except kissing him again.

And then Hisoka was there, and the ice with him, as he slid it into his mouth and kissed him at the same time. Tsuzuki had only a second to curl his tongue around the ice before Hisoka’s mouth was on his, and it slipped from him, passing back and forth between the two as their tongues met. The ice melted like bleeding, filling their mouths and spilling out to run down Tsuzuki’s cheeks. Hisoka’s tongue skimmed the roof of Tsuzuki’s mouth, and it felt like winter.

Tsuzuki reached up to hold Hisoka’s face in his hands, and the skin was sticky-slick from the water and the sweat, clinging to his fingers and sliding away. His face felt different under his hands, both larger and smaller than it had seemed, the cheekbones more pronounced, the bone of the jaw pressing through the skin, the cheeks round and still baby-soft. His hair, the forever too long bangs, fell in their faces, brushing across the backs of Tsuzuki’s hands, his forehead, his eyelids. It was sweaty and clumped together, sticking where it touched skin. It was lighter, this close, all shot through with strands that caught the light and shone like gold, like bronze and copper and silver and spider-web, and soft as silk. Tsuzuki wanted to comb his hands through it, feel it flow whisper-quick between his fingers. He wanted to cup Hisoka’s face forever, memorize its curves and planes. He wanted to feel the rest of Hisoka, his shape hidden behind the stupid too-large shirt, his legs long and slender, warm and soft as melted butter against Tsuzuki’s own. There was nothing to do but touch and feel, as simple and necessary as breathing.

Hisoka lifted his head, finally, suddenly, stretched his neck back to drink in the air. Tsuzuki felt the distance between them keenly and he rolled to the side, half-trapping Hisoka underneath him. Hisoka laughed at him, softly, wildly, but Tsuzuki hardly heard him. Like this, looking up, Hisoka seemed to glow, the ice and water and sweat on his face reflecting the sunlight, the glare of the day making everything glisten and sparkle. Hisoka’s hands pressed against Tsuzuki’s chest, spread wide to touch as much as possible, skipping down the ribs, curling around the muscles, dipping again and again to the jut of his hips.

He was laughing still, uncontrollably, and Tsuzuki understood. He felt drunk with it all, with the possibility and the wanting and the chimerical feeling to the whole day. He didn’t dare to think about it too closely, unless it turned out to be a dream, a mistake. He scattered kisses across Hisoka’s chin, his neck, his throat. He felt the beat of his pulse fast and petal-soft against his lips, the rumble of his voice as he laughed, murmuring Tsuzuki’s name.

Tsuzuki pulled at the shirt that was, somehow, still on Hisoka. It covered too much skin. He fumbled with the buttons, but Hisoka pushed his hands away, scrambling back abruptly to distance himself from Tsuzuki. “Why?” he said, and his voice was harsh and bitter, the laughter turned and twisted with pain. He clutched the shirt to himself. “Why does it do this? Why should-” Hisoka shook his head. He seemed on the verge of hysteria still, but it was dark and angry, warped with confusion and desperation. “I know that I’m not reading you, I can feel my walls, and they’re still up. But every move you make I can feel, and it’s just touch, but no one ever said it was like this, that it was this much, and it almost hurts, it’s too much and not enough and,” his words tumbled over themselves, coming out too fast and too loud. “And I don’t think I can stop-”

“It’ll be alright,” Tsuzuki said, and he could hear Hisoka’s wildness in his own voice. He closed the distance between them quickly, left no room for words. Hisoka clutched at him, his hands so tight on his face that Tsuzuki wondered if there would be bruises. The kiss was hungry, teeth and tongue and swollen lips. Hisoka pulled out of his shirt, shrugging it away fiercely. Tsuzuki tried to help him, but his hands were too slow, catching up only to tangle in the now-empty cloth.

His skin was so pale- it had seen too little of the sun while Hisoka was alive and now that was unlikely to ever change, marred as it was. Crissed and crossed and spoiled by the even-paler lines of scars. Tsuzuki closed his eyes, but it didn’t help. He could feel them just as well, ropes and threads buried under the skin. They stretched their way across the flat plane of his chest- too small somehow, too young, surely Hisoka was not this frail, this childlike- wound down his arms, covered his back. They looked so close to words, so near to meaning. They dizzied Tsuzuki, like they were making sense in the corners of his eyes, but twisted again when he looked closer. It didn’t matter. He knew what they meant. Even if he hadn’t been told, he would have known. There was an evil to them that needed no translation.

“Oh, Hisoka,” he sighed, ghosting his fingers above the skin. He was almost afraid to touch the scars. They looked so painful.

Hisoka twisted against him, flipping Tsuzuki over and rolling on top of him. He lay flat, pressing their chests together, and kissed Tsuzuki lightly on the lips, moving away before he had a chance to respond. He rained kisses across Tsuzuki’s face and shoulders, pressing them harshly to the skin. Tsuzuki could feel Hisoka’s anger like it was a brand seared all through him, but it was directed elsewhere. Hisoka pulled away slightly to meet his eyes, straddling his waist with hands planted to either side of his face. He seemed to tower over Tsuzuki. His eyes flashed as he half-snarled, “Don’t you dare let Muraki take this from me, too.”

Tsuzuki nodded helplessly, wordless. He regretted every time he’d ever pitied Hisoka, because suddenly there was nothing *to* pity, not like this, with Hisoka strong and powerful above him, sure of his movements as he kissed Tsuzuki again and again.

“Don’t you dare,” Hisoka said, repeating the words over and over until they lost all meaning. His breath caught in his throat, making the words sound like sobs. The press of his lips against Tsuzuki slurred the words further, making them meaningless sounds, but Tsuzuki understood, catching Hisoka’s mouth whenever he could, trying to pass back his own kisses. Hisoka all but writhed above Tsuzuki, a velvet slide of lean muscles. He’d found the ice again, and they were both slick with it. The heat closed in around them like steam, too thick and hot to breathe. They pressed together, building their own heat to rival the day’s, and even the ice wasn’t cool enough, melting away before they could touch it to skin. Hisoka’s mouth seemed to spark against Tsuzuki, to singe like flames wherever he touched.

His hands were cold from the ice, glacial as they moved lower, curling around the waist of Tsuzuki’s shorts. Tsuzuki gasped and tried to arch his back, but only succeeded in pressing himself tighter against Hisoka. Hisoka kissed him hard in the corner where his jaw met his ear, his head curled on Tsuzuki’s shoulder to watch his hands without giving up any of their closeness. He slid the shorts away as Tsuzuki tried to turn his face far enough to kiss him. Hisoka turned to meet him, kissing him just as his fingers fell gently to the base of Tsuzuki’s cock. His touch was fire and frostbite, the heat from his hand, the cool from the ice, and oh so slippery.

Any thoughts still left in Tsuzuki’s mind were banished as he gasped into Hisoka’s mouth. Hisoka trailed his fingers up Tsuzuki’s cock, barely touching the skin. It raised the hair on Tsuzuki’s back, made him achingly hard. His cock was weeping already, and Hisoka smeared his fingers through it, spreading it across the skin. His touch was growing harder, surer. He raised himself to one elbow to watch Tsuzuki’s face.

Tsuzuki met his eyes, tried for sentences, for poetry. He wanted to say something to let Hisoka know what he looked like now, gleaming and snow-white in the sun, a slow smile curling his lips, smelling like clean-sweat and ice and summer and feeling like Eden and Hell combined. But he was having trouble forming words.

It was too hot for this. He was going to burst into flames any second now. Hisoka’s body was a banked fire pressed half-on, half-against him. His hand was wonderful, awful friction. Tsuzuki felt like he couldn’t get enough air.

Hisoka slid down his body, his hand never stopping, but twisting with his movements in a way that sent his thumb skimming across the head of Tsuzuki’s cock and driving a bolt straight through him. Tsuzuki moaned. The denim of Hisoka’s shorts scratched his side as he moved, a rough patch between the melting softness of Hisoka’s skin. Hisoka bent to kiss the skin in the hollow of Tsuzuki’s hips, his tongue running out to catch the last of the water. He watched Tsuzuki with careful eyes, and Tsuzuki felt caught by that gaze, unable to look away. His hand gripped tight around the base of Tsuzuki’s cock for a second before releasing him, and the air seemed too cool after that warmth. He smoothed one finger along the thick vein on the underside of Tsuzuki’s cock, a stream of pressure that pulled every nerve Tsuzuki had with it. Tsuzuki closed his eyes, panting for breath, for control. Hisoka’s lips were satiny soft as he moved lower to his inner thighs. Tsuzuki let his legs fall open, catching Hisoka between them.

Hisoka licked him, a long line running from beneath Tsuzuki’s knee past his hip. He blew on the line and it cooled sharply, a sudden line of frost on Tsuzuki’s leg. Tsuzuki bucked his hips into empty air, his hands scrabbling on the floor for something to hold.

Hisoka drew away, doing something. Tsuzuki groaned in frustration, denied of the climax he’d been so close to. He half sat, and pulled Hisoka back to him. They kissed hurriedly, hands busy elsewhere as Hisoka tried to escape from his shorts. His skin was flushed and he panted for breath. His eyes were open and dark, pupils dilated so far that there was only the slightest rim of green around all the blackness. Tsuzuki leaned into Hisoka, smoothing his hands across the bend of his waist. Hisoka kicked free of the last of his clothes and settled closer to Tsuzuki.

They fell flat to the floor. Tsuzuki felt a sudden splash across his stomach. It was so smooth, so slippery, and Hisoka pressed his hand into it, spreading it. It ran down and between them, cool as water, slick as ice.

“It’s tanning oil,” Hisoka said, his voice low and rough with desire and amusement. “You had it in your desk.” Tsuzuki said nothing, too busy with kisses to bother with words, and lifted his legs to settle them on Hisoka’s hips, twining his ankles together behind him to trap Hisoka closer. Hisoka’s hands were smooth and they spread the oil quickly, coating everything. They went beneath Tsuzuki, sliding fingers slick with it into him.

Tsuzuki arched his back, glad that Hisoka’s mouth on his muffled his shout. Hisoka turned his face, pressed his cheek tight against Tsuzuki’s. His breath was ragged in Tsuzuki’s ear, like he’d just come from a race. Their faces pressed together felt blistering, incandescent.

Hisoka worked his fingers for a moment longer, unsure and confident all at once. He pulled away and Tsuzuki felt the brush of Hisoka’s hardness against his thigh. He turned his face to watch him, but Hisoka had paused, balanced above him, looking like he didn’t know what to do. Tsuzuki dragged his feet across Hisoka’s back, feeling the skitter of the bones of his spine under his heels. He was lost, too far gone to stop now. Hisoka squeezed his eyes shut and slid forward abruptly. They both froze, drowning in the heat, until Tsuzuki’s legs suddenly shuddered around him and Hisoka rocked forward. It was rhythmic as a dance, though Tsuzuki couldn’t say who had started first, only felt their slow grace as they moved to a music older than either of them, tuned to heartbeats and gasps and the seasons. Hisoka’s body was slender between his legs, too small for the force of the soul that lived within it. Tsuzuki clung to him, fingers tangled in his hair, his hand cupped around the velvet skin of his face. They kissed again, like fire, like ice, like heat on a summer’s day. It was desperate and passionate, and he lifted his hips to meet with Hisoka’s thrusts, kindling pleasure deep within him.

Their bodies began to move faster, caught close and harsh. It was instinctual and elemental and *good*, good in a way Tsuzuki hadn‘t really expected. He was aware of nothing except Hisoka, over him and in him, skin to his skin and face in his face, the brush of his stomach against Tsuzuki’s cock, the pound and pressure of him inside, his tongue hot and sweet in Tsuzuki’s mouth like candy. It was friction and intoxication, again and again. Hisoka’s hands pulled at Tsuzuki’s thighs, traveling up their length to stop just underneath Tsuzuki’s knees. His fingers were hard and long against the sensitive skin there, angling Tsuzuki better. Each thrust came deeper, harder. Tsuzuki felt full, felt stretched and held, felt like he was throbbing, full of pleasure. His legs were pressed back nearly to his chest, forcing him to pant for breath. Hisoka’s thrusts were coming too fast and too close together, each striking against the center of him, until Tsuzuki wanted to scream. It was like polar winds, powerful and raw.

He could smell the oil, something tropical, like coconut. Tsuzuki was losing control, his body working without him as he neared the peak. Hisoka too was rushing to a climax, trembling in Tsuzuki’s arms. They gasped for air from each other’s mouths, foreheads pressed together like it was too much effort to lift their heads. Tsuzuki’s chest heaved and he strove for more- more air, more pressure, more of Hisoka to touch. He came suddenly, harshly, and threw his head back with a wordless keen. His legs tightened around Hisoka, pulling him deeper. He was distantly aware of Hisoka grinding his face against his neck, repeating Tsuzuki’s name over and over in a breathless whisper like a prayer, of his last few jerky drives before he came, silent, his breath caught in his throat.

Hisoka collapsed across Tsuzuki, not even trying to support his own weight. They kissed still, slow and sweet as warm honey. Tsuzuki let his hands fall away from Hisoka’s face to wrap his arms around him. Their chests pushed together as they breathed. Hisoka turned his head gently to let it fall against Tsuzuki’s cheek. He ran a hand across his chest, drawing a deep breath as if he would speak, but no words came. Some things were too big to say, too important to fit into words. He turned instead to kiss Tsuzuki once more. His hair dusted lightly against Tsuzuki’s cheeks, tickling, and Tsuzuki could glimpse the summer sky through the strands, a gleaming blue.

The heat of the day was stealing back, scorching and sizzling everything in its way. But Tsuzuki felt alright now, protected, like whatever the flames might have kindled had been drowned. It was just summer, though it was hot. No- hot was too mild a word. The day burned like a new kind of fire.