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brigdhTitle: Five Things That Never Happened to Hisoka
Author: Brigdh
Fandom: Yami no Matsuei
Pairings: Hisoka/Hijiri, Tsuzuki/Hisoka, Random Man/Hisoka, Hisoka + Tsuzuki, brief references to Muraki/Hisoka. Yeah. There’s a lot of sex.
Warnings: Um, sex. Unsafe sex, unloving sex, teenage sex, almost-public almost-sex, and a whole bunch of gay sex. Unfortunately, none of it’s terribly graphic. There’s also adult language. And this story is pretty much one with the angst and darkness, though there are some happy spots.
Rating: Say NC-17 to be safe, but it’s probably closer to R.
Notes: Okay, I need to explain a few things or else this fic will make *no* sense. There’s been a challenge going around a few other fandoms I’m involved in (mainly in the Buffy, Angel and Smallville fandoms, if you‘re interested), called the ‘five things that never happened’ challenge. The idea’s pretty simple: choose one character, any fandom, and write five AU vignettes. Anything from wild, incredible divergences from canon, to stories that take just a small jump to get there.
Like the idea? There’s a site collecting the stories here:
http://strangeplaces.net/challenge/five.html (Note: this link is not quite work-safe, but just for the strange background of the site.)
This is my take on the challenge, and it’s all about Hisoka. Because if you haven’t yet figured out my favorite character, you haven’t been paying attention. Much love and props to both Amet and Sephy, for reading and not letting me rewrite for *too* long. Credit goes to Sephy for the beta and for the idea for the fourth story.
The titles are all song names, they come from:
"Kinda I Want To" - Nine Inch Nails
"Replaced" - Joydrop
"Swan Song" - Joydrop
"A Change Would Do You Good" - Sheryl Crow
"Somewhere Over the Rainbow" - The Wizard of Oz
This story has been remixed by![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
ravenbell: In the Warmth of the Darkness (The "And One Thing That Did" Remix)
Feedback: Yes, please! Brigdh@yahoo.com
1. Kinda I Want To
Hijiri kissed him suddenly. It was awkward, fumbling and quick, more a mashing together of their faces than an actual kiss, but Hisoka still jerked away. He hadn’t been prepared, hadn’t even known to expect it, and hit the wall behind him jarringly, hard enough to hurt. Hijiri hurriedly stepped away, obviously as startled as Hisoka. “Whoa. Okay, sorry, I didn’t mean-”
Hisoka cut him off. “I’m fine.”
He shrugged roughly, then shook his head. He had nothing to say to this boy. Hijiri didn’t need a crash course in Hisoka’s sordid past, and Hisoka had absolutely no interest in giving one to him. It’d be better if he could forget it all himself, but it was a bit late for that now.
Three years and he hadn’t changed. All it took was a kiss, a stupid, meaningless kiss and he was reduced to nothing more than a weak and terrified child. He hated it. Hated that every day seemed to flaunt something else he couldn’t do, a shirt he couldn’t wear unless he wanted to display his scars to the entire world, a hand on his shoulder that would never be the comfort it was meant as, the sakura trees that weren’t the peaceful sight they were for everyone else. And he hated himself for giving Muraki this much power over him, for still being so helpless that he could barely resist.
“Yeah, well. I didn’t mean to… to scare you. Or whatever.” Hijiri quirked one corner of his mouth up at Hisoka, a little half-grin that made him look younger. He took another step back, putting his hands in his pockets as he did so, his body language interested but polite. His forearms pulled at the corners of his shirt, making it ride up just enough to reveal a thin cream-colored strip of skin, his belly flat and taut. He stood there patiently, legs spread and shoulders slouched, the image of the perfect, typical kid, watching Hisoka.
Hisoka met his eyes reluctantly, still surprised by how much it was like looking into a mirror. One of those mirrors they had at circuses, maybe, the ones that warped how you looked just a little. This was him if he was tall, short, fat, skinny. This was him if he was still alive.
The thought forced him forward finally. Fuck memories and weakness and the way his stomach was churning, he wanted to *do* something, just once. He shoved down the feeling that this wasn’t the best idea he’d ever had, and wrapped his fingers around Hijiri’s biceps to hold him still as he kissed him firmly. He could feel Hijiri laugh against his mouth, and then the boy melted into him, serious for once, confident and wanton and sexy. His hands caught briefly in the trap of his pockets, then came out to circle around Hisoka, skimming up his sides roughly, fingers sure and hard over his waist and ribs, nearly groping. It made Hisoka shiver, and he pressed tighter against Hijiri, torn between wanting and not wanting. Hijiri’s hands roamed possessively, mapping out the contours of his torso, before settling at last around his neck, bumping shoulders against elbows as they slid together like counterparts. One hand wormed into his hair, petting the scalp beneath it and twisting the strands through its fingers, the other gripped the back of his neck just hard enough to hold him in place, the thumb resting right where Hisoka could feel his pulse beat against it. He’d never thought about what playing a violin did to your fingers, but he could feel it now, strangely shaped calluses, rough patches to skin delicate enough to be satin or silk. It was different than his own fingers, different from what he remembered of Tsuzuki’s small touches.
Hijiri leaned into him, touching everywhere and forcing Hisoka to support his weight. They fit, matched in every way, chest tight against chest and thighs sliding between thighs, and his mouth was warm and wet and open under Hisoka’s onslaught. Hijiri shimmied his hips a little, deliberately swaying into him, and it was just enough to feel that he was already hard. Hisoka’s breath caught in his throat, his body reacting quicker than he’d expected , his own hips jerking out to meet Hijiri’s. He growled into the kiss and whirled them around, pressing him harder than necessary into the brick wall of the building.
“Hey,” Hijiri said admonishingly, but it was more of a sigh than a word, too distracted to be truly angry. He tilted his face up and his hair brushed the rough wall, straggled wisps that caught and clung to the tiny peaks and hollows of the ancient bricks. Hisoka turned his head to kiss his way across Hijiri’s cheek, a quick trail of small kisses that curved from the corner of his mouth across the ridge of his jawbone, ending where the soft skin of his ear broke away from his neck. He bit the earlobe gently, nothing more than a quick scrape of teeth, then licked the small mark he’d made. Hijiri moaned, whatever he might have intended to say dissolving into incomprehensible sounds. Hisoka watched him carefully, a passive, intense interest, feeling out the emotions that let him know to kiss right *there*. Hijiri shuddered against him, his fingers briefly clenching in Hisoka’s hair tight enough to pull his head back.
It was easier than he would have guessed to do this, to make Hijiri gasp and buck. Hisoka knew nothing about sex; his one experience not exactly what anyone could call enlightening. He was flying on instinct, doing whatever seemed right and following the increasingly loud demands of his body. He wasn’t like Hijiri, who’d probably been meeting girls- or boys, or both- behind the school since he was old enough to smile at them, to blink his oh so green eyes. It had made him arrogant, so self-assured that Hisoka had barely kept himself from hitting the boy. It had simply never occurred to him that Hisoka hated every single one of his attempts at flirtation. All day he’d pointedly brushed against him, taking every opportunity to pose for a photo, to swing Kazusa up and show off his arms, to catch Hisoka’s eye and ‘accidentally’ lick his lips.
He hadn’t thought. He hadn’t thought, and Hisoka hated that he hadn’t needed to. It was only too obvious that Hijiri was his echo in appearances only, free to offer affection and sex and music and laughter, and every one of his words, his movements, reminded Hisoka of that fact. They had the same eyes in the same face, the same body, the same number of years, but none of it mattered. Hisoka had suffered, had bled and hurt and died, all for that face, and Hijiri had never known a second’s pain. His hair was darker, his cheek just a little more curved. Apparently that was all it took to save him.
“You wanna make out?” he had asked, casual and confident and heedless, and Hisoka had just wanted to be that, even for a single moment. He’d never known kisses that didn’t bruise.
It should have been Tsuzuki here. It should have been him forced to deal with this stupid, misguided seduction. He would have known better than to say yes.
It was his fault that Hisoka was even in this situation. Tsuzuki had been the one to make the sightseeing plans with Hijiri and Kazusa, to get their hopes up, and then had called off with barely an excuse. Hisoka had wanted to leave them at the office for the day, angry that his partner would shove this off onto him, but Tatsumi had insisted that ‘children’ were too distracting.
It would serve Tsuzuki right if he showed up now, apologetic and most likely hungry, to see his partner in an alley, licking a path down the neck of one of their charges while the other napped alone in the building behind them.
Hisoka knew he shouldn’t be doing this, knew just how wrong it was. He was taking advantage of Hijiri, or Hijiri was taking advantage of him, or something which definitely wasn’t right, but he wasn’t stopping. He didn’t even *like* Hijiri. He was annoying and arrogant and hyper and too cheerful and optimistic and talented and he flirted constantly with Tsuzuki, who seemed to think it was cute, and no matter how many times people stared at the two of them, shocked by their similarity, he was nothing like Hisoka. He wasn’t.
But Hisoka found he was quickly ceasing to care. It was complicated, and it was confusing, but at least it probably wasn’t outright reprehensible, and right now he was more concerned with getting off than understanding himself. He dropped his hands from Hijiri’s arms, sparing a thought, now that it was too late, that he’d probably bruised the mortal. He opened the first few buttons of Hijiri’s shirt, laying open-mouthed kisses across the revealed skin, warm and soft and unscarred. Hijiri moaned and arched his back, pressing into Hisoka’s touch. His hands dropped away from Hisoka’s neck and tightened on his shoulders for support as his hips pressed hard to Hisoka’s, rocking back and forth for friction. He ducked his head down, butting Hisoka’s face until he turned, seizing his mouth in another kiss. Hisoka matched him, turning the kiss feral. He wanted this, wanted it so much, but Hijiri was too short and his hair was black instead of chocolate brown, and really, he didn’t look anything like Tsuzuki. Hisoka squeezed his eyes shut and tried to imagine a different person, different circumstances, but the only thing that came to mind was Tsuzuki’s voice on the phone this morning, cool and disinterested as it asked couldn’t Hisoka give up his free day to go sight-seeing and besides, it wasn’t like he’d had anything planned, right?
Right. Of course not.
Hijiri was panting into his mouth and nearly vibrating against him. He hooked one leg around Hisoka’s hips, grinding against him. Hisoka couldn’t help but buck into him, their jeans rough enough against each other to make him tear his mouth away with a gasp and throw a hand up for balance, scratching his palm against the rough bricks. His other hand dropped without a thought to slide under the curve of Hijiri’s thigh, hitching him a few inches higher. Hijiri moaned, writhing between him and the wall, his hands opening and closing on Hisoka’s shoulders. Hisoka closed his eyes, forced his mind further back, to purple eyes and large hands on his shoulders and laughter- God, the way Tsuzuki sounded when he really laughed- and tried to feel nothing more than the rhythm, to just feel and not need to think anymore. It was jerky and wild, but it worked. It was almost perfect, in a way that wasn’t really perfect at all, but was close enough to make him cry out against Hijiri’s shoulder and his knees tremble. And then it was over and he didn’t feel anything other than flushed and immature and idiotic and slightly sticky.
Hijiri made a choked sound in his ear and then stilled, his leg sliding down to thump against the ground in their sudden quiet. Hisoka couldn’t quite catch his breath and his heart was racing fast enough that he could almost hear it, pounding in his temples. They stood without words until Hisoka abruptly pulled away, nearly stumbling as he reestablished the distance between them. He tried to look calm, but couldn’t keep from wrapping his arms around himself, his breath still coming too quick. He hadn’t meant to do that, he hadn’t meant to do any of it. But he had just- he had wanted-
Not Hijiri. He hadn’t wanted him, but that hadn’t stopped him from using him.
Hijiri frowned, his brow creasing and his mouth turning down cutely. He stepped forward, concerned. “Are you alright?”
Hisoka took a breath, trying to make himself seem detached and casual. He kept his eyes focused on the ground, pointedly not even bothering to look at Hijiri. “I’m fine. Don‘t touch me.”
“Um. Okay.” Hijiri shifted his weight from one foot to another, fidgeting with his shirttails. “We could talk about it, if you want. Or not. I mean, I’d understand if you don’t want to tell me, if it’s personal or something.” He trailed off, clearing his throat uncomfortably as Hisoka refused to respond to him, then lunged forward without warning, grabbing Hisoka in a hug. It was friendly enough, but Hisoka lashed out reflexively, a psychic blast sending Hijiri flying hard enough to slam into the wall. He fell to the ground, one hand going to the back of his head where it had crashed against the bricks, the other singed where he had lifted it to protect his face. He looked up at Hisoka accusingly. “Ow! What did you do that for?”
Hisoka hunched in tighter on himself, digging his fingers into his shoulders. “I said, ‘don’t touch me’.”
Hijiri gaped at him, speechless, then snapped his mouth shut. “Okay, whatever. ” He climbed to his feet, keeping a hand carefully pressed behind his head. “That really hurt, you know. Maybe you could have mentioned that you had issues before taking them out on me.”
“Fuck off.”
“Freak,” Hijiri sneered, walking away. “I’m going to go check on Kazusa. You can stay here, make sure no one ‘touches’ you.”
Hisoka slid slowly to the ground, burying his face in his knees. The front of his jeans were stiff and cold, drying scratchy against him. Hijiri’s scent was all over him, clean-smelling soap, medicines from spending the night in Watari’s ward, and the slightest reek of the demon. He wanted to forget that this had happened. He wanted the last fifteen minutes of his life back so he could relive them without being an idiot. He could taste bile in the back of his throat. He wanted to stop thinking that he could still feel hands on him, larger and rougher than Hijiri’s. He needed to find somewhere to vomit.
*********
2. Replaced
Hisoka’s partner calls him. Hisoka thinks it’s the first time. The sound of the phone ringing is harsh and sudden in the quiet of the early morning, and it pulls Hisoka from his bed, still half-asleep and disoriented. For a moment, he can’t place the sound. It’s been so long since anyone called him. His partner has important news, his voice excited and nearly eager, and Hisoka’s absolutely certain that he has never wanted to talk to him so much before. It turns out that Tsuzuki-san died. Hisoka pauses, tries to remember. He comes up with nothing more than dark hair, and eyes an unearthly color.
“It was suicide,” his partner says, obviously expecting him to be surprised, but Hisoka only wonders that even Shinigami can die. He shrugs, forgetting that it can’t be seen over phone lines, and his partner hangs up, muttering about heartless and empathy and ironies.
The quiet closes back in around him. Hisoka listens to the dial tone until the recorded voice of a shrill woman comes on, telling him that if he’d like to place a call, he should hang up and try again. He sets the phone down carefully, settling it into its cradle like an infant, and watches it, almost expecting it to ring again. Nothing happens.
It’s still very early, and he has the day free to do whatever he wants. In an hour, the library will open and he will be able to sneak into the Classified Files section, and no one will stop him. They’re all so used to seeing him with a book in hand that not a one of them will even think about it if they catch him walking between the stacks.
He hasn’t found anything yet. Not a name. Not a picture. Not a mention of what spell it is, torn into his skin and tied to his bones. But Hisoka’s immortal now, which tends to make one patient, and anyway, there’s nothing else to occupy his time. He’ll find his murderer, eventually, and until then the search gives purpose to his strange not-quite-life. It’s a reason to wake up every morning, to come to work and try to listen to his partner, to stay here at all. The whole thing is probably a mistake and he’s sure he should have passed on long ago, but he can’t, not yet. Hisoka needs his revenge first.
Purple. It comes to him suddenly. Tsuzuki-san had purple eyes.
*********
3. Swan Song
Hisoka is well known at the club, though he likes to pretend otherwise. Even with his hair dyed unnatural fluorescents and contacts in his eyes, he’s recognizable as the Kurosaki heir. And just in case they didn’t know him by his face or his long legs, there are the scales growing in the space between his mesh shirt and leather pants, delicate as any tattoo. The people from the town know what it means, and they leave him alone. It’s the outsiders who find him fascinating, the people who are just passing through and don’t know any better than to ignore the boy dancing by himself in the center of the floor.
Hisoka dances very well and he knows it. He closes his eyes and wishes himself far away from here. Away from the townspeople who sacrificed his life generations before he was born, away from this backwater club that plays songs only after they’ve been on the radio for months, away from the people who crowd close enough to watch but never, never to touch. Far enough away that there’s nothing left but him and the beat. And it’s the beat he lives for, the pure thump of the music, the bass turned up loud enough to make his bones vibrate and the guitars soaring high enough to make the glass inside him shatter.
Hisoka has a partner tonight, a man he’s never seen before. He’s probably here on business- he looks old enough for it, though not too old to seem out of place in the club- just looking for some entertainment before he heads home again, wherever that is. He’s not a very good dancer, truthfully, but Hisoka hardly needs a partner to spin his magic, the dance that gets him into the club every night, though he’s still years younger than the age posted out front, and looks even younger than that. The man’s not bad either, and just talented enough to be interesting.
His hair is dark, but it’s too dim and smoky for Hisoka to tell if it’s black or brown. His eyes are the same; they could be black or brown also, or even a dark blue or green. He’s handsome, though, and just tall enough that Hisoka has to look up without craning his neck. He’s feeling restless tonight, and wonders what he can tempt this man into. He knows what he looks like, slender and dangerous and untouchable, because he’s been told it over and over by men just like this one.
He wonders what the townspeople think about that one, that their beloved god-killer is whoring himself to death with random men in a club where the windows are nailed over with boards curling and peeling with ancient paint and the bathroom floors are streaked with mud from the last time it rained. None of them have cared enough to tell his parents or bar him from the door, so Hisoka assumes they reckon it’s his fair trade. He’s still going to die for them, so what does it matter?
Not that this man knows any of that, of Hisoka’s part in an ancient contract, bound to this town by his parents and by the grave that bears his name, though it holds another body, of just how blood-soaked this place is. All he sees is a beautiful body and the dance Hisoka throws himself into, writhing with rhythms that, really, he is too young to know. But then, his sister was too young to know any of it, and they killed her anyway.
It’s death and sex, and no one could ever resist that. Hisoka can always get what he wants, if he doesn’t want too much. It ends up the way it always does, barely making it out of the door before they’re on top of each other, clothes coming off as much as they’re going to, and thank God, at least this one has a car. Last night Hisoka had ended up getting fucked in the bathroom, old toilet-paper rolls and empty bottles scattered around his feet.
Hisoka can taste sake in the man’s mouth, the cheap stuff, bitter with too much alcohol. He fumbles with the car door handle, trying to reach it one-handed while Hisoka sucks on his tongue and works his way into his pants. It opens finally, and Hisoka tumbles inside, landing flat across the backseat. The man is a silhouette of shadow in the doorway as he pauses, pulling something from his wallet. A condom and lube. Hisoka wants to laugh at the absurdity of it all suddenly, at the man’s stupid attempts at normality. But if he wants to pretend that this is something more than it is, something better than a grope in a backseat, like high schoolers on their first date, Hisoka doesn’t care enough to tell him otherwise.
Quickly enough now, and the man’s gotten back in the act, moving so fast that even Hisoka can’t complain. They’re both hard and ready, sweat-soaked from the heat of the club, and the man’s just rough enough that it almost hurts, and Hisoka arches his back in relief. It’s alright for a minute, only the rhythm and the movements that are just part of another dance, and a silence that lets Hisoka hear the music of the club over their panting. As long as he keeps his eyes closed, he doesn’t need to think of anything except the beat and the rhythm, the steady thump-thump, like a heart beating or a snake coiling. But then the man feels the need to make conversation. “How old are you?”
“Sixteen,” Hisoka says, practically growls, because he doesn’t want to talk, he doesn’t care about ages or names, he just wants a little bit of pleasure before it’s too late.
“Sixteen,” he echoes, the word barely a breath across Hisoka’s ear. “*Fuck*.”
“Exactly,” Hisoka says, pressing his hips up harshly. It’s a fumble in the tight confines of the car, but he manages to turn them over, straddling the man’s hips, his legs scrunched tight against the backs of the front seats. It’s better this way, where he can throw back his head and really move, and not need to worry about the man. Hisoka settles into the rhythm quickly, knows just how to twist his hips so everyone gets what they need. The man doesn’t seem to mind the change in position, slamming a hand up to press it into the window behind him for leverage, his face pulled tight in pleasure. One of the parking lot’s lamps throws a thin strip of neon blue-white light across them, just enough to reveal a shoulder, a chin, a wrist. Hisoka can see scars on that wrist, thin lines pale against the skin. He lets his head fall back so all he can see is the car’s roof, strands of hair falling across his open eyes. They look plain black now, in the darkness, but under the lights of the club they’re streaked, red and lime-green and white, anything but sandy blond.
It’s over just as quickly as it began. Hisoka wipes himself off as best as he can, and twists for the door, planning to head back to the club. It’s not even midnight, and he has no more intention of staying here than he does of going home. “Wait.”
Hisoka glances over his shoulder at the man. He hopes he won’t ask for his name, he hates it when they try to get to know him. The man’s risen up to his elbows, looking disoriented and crestfallen. The strip of light falls across the center of his face, distorting it and leaving the chin and forehead in shadow. He blinks, and Hisoka notices that his eyes are purple, really purple, not colored contacts like the sort Hisoka wears.
“What?” Hisoka finally asks, impatient.
“Are you leaving?”
“What did you think this was?” Hisoka would have laughed at him on another night, but he doesn’t have it in him today. He’s tired of the same thing, over and over. “I’m not your partner, or your boyfriend, or whatever you’re thinking about. We fucked. It doesn’t mean anything.”
The man draws back slowly. “Of course.” He closes in on himself, and Hisoka can nearly see it happening, watch as he shuts off. He’s impressed. It’s a talent, after all, and one that Hisoka’s very familiar with. Not impressed enough to stay though, and he gathers his clothes before stumbling from the car. The man watches as he makes his way back to the door of the club, and Hisoka can feel those strange eyes following him. He turns back once before going through the door, but he can’t pick the right car out from the others crowding the lot, and he doesn’t know why he tried.
*********
4. A Change Would Do You Good
They say that you should count your blessings whenever you’re having a bad day, but Hisoka really, really didn’t think that was going to help. The only blessings she had to count looked a lot more like curses.
Like the fact that she was pregnant. Thirteen and alone and pregnant with absolutely no idea who the father could possibly be and stuck on the road halfway between home and Tokyo and she hadn’t eaten in what seemed like hours and her backpack was starting to hurt her shoulders. But it only seemed heavy until she reminded herself that every single thing she owned anymore was in there. Then it seemed a hell of a lot lighter.
But it *was* sort of a blessing. She was farther away from her house and her parents than she’d ever been, and every minute put more distance between her and them. And once she got to Tokyo she could hide forever, just another face in the crowd. Hisoka was pretty sure that no one in the city had ever heard of the Kurosaki name. And even if they had, they certainly wouldn’t know why it was so important.
Blessing number two. She was alive. Hisoka knew that most people didn’t really count that as blessing, since it was so obvious, but she had to. She wasn’t supposed to be alive, as her parents loved to remind her. In the Kurosaki family, daughters were not born before sons. And if nature had other ideas… well, someone would be quick to correct the mistake. But when Hisoka had arrived, her mother was half-insane and getting worse, and her father wasn’t exactly what she would call stable. He’d already dug one grave with Hisoka’s name on it, and besides, no one was sure if they were even capable of having more children. So… Add it all together, and someone- probably a servant, they were the only ones who ever deigned to speak to her- had made the decision to convince him to let Hisoka live, just for a few more days. And then a few more. And then a few more. And then she could walk and talk, and it seemed too late to do anything about it. Her whole life started with a blessing. A lucky chance, more like, that she had somehow made it through infancy, the years when she was faceless and defenseless and so easy to hide in the records and the family’s graveyard.
Not that things had gotten much better since then. Her mother saw ghosts and snakes and forgot her own name. She could hardly be expected to raise a child. Her father- when he remembered that she existed- mostly just lectured Hisoka about the brother that would come one day, a brother that she would have to give everything to, even her name. He was never born. Hisoka hated him anyway.
Moving on. She was pregnant. She saw it as a blessing, even though she‘d just realized it that morning, because it was the reason she’d walked out the door that afternoon. She’d thought about leaving before, lots of times. But it was such a big step, with nowhere to go and always the chance that she might get caught and dragged back, where it‘d be worse than before. But there was no way that her baby was going to grow up in that house, where nothing changed and no one ever laughed or spoke above a whisper. Hisoka would die first.
She didn’t remember ever having sex, but she wasn’t stupid. About three months ago, she’d woken up one morning, outside and alone and sore, and hadn’t known how she’d gotten there. She’d brushed it off at the time, blaming the whole thing on sleepwalking or something, and forgotten about it. It had been right after that when her period stopped.
Okay, maybe she was a little stupid. She should have put it together at the time. But she knew what she was doing now. It had to have been one of those drugs- the ones that wiped your memory. Hisoka had seen a news show about them, watching it in the kitchen with a maid and some time stolen out of her room. The show hadn’t really worried her, for all its flashy footage and the deep, ominous voice of the narrator. She’d figured that you probably needed to occasionally leave your house to be in danger. Looks like she was wrong.
She did know that it was not a good thing to be unmarried and pregnant. When it had happened to the cook’s daughter, she’d been sent away to Tokyo. So that was where Hisoka was going, too. She figured she was doing her family a favor, saving them the money it would have taken to drive her there. And if doing it this way meant the bastards would never figure out where she had gone, well, that was a side bonus.
Hisoka had big plans for her and her baby. An apartment right across the street from a park, and lot of toys and the latest, prettiest clothes for both of them. Hisoka’s friends would all coo and squeal over how cute her baby was, and then they’d go out to eat at a nice restaurant, maybe one with a sidewalk café so she could watch the people as they walked by. Hisoka would have a job, of course, in a library or a store or an office. She thought she could handle being a secretary, but she wasn’t sure if they hired thirteen-year-olds. Maybe she could be a waitress, and work surrounded by the smell of fresh food and the sound of people laughing and chatting as they ate.
And while she was working, her baby could go to a day care with lots of other babies, and play all day. Her baby was going to have so many friends that Hisoka wouldn’t be able to keep track of their names. And her baby wouldn’t need a father, because Hisoka would get them both everything they wanted. Her baby would never, never be locked alone in a room, just in case someone might notice she wasn’t the male firstborn heir her parents had promised.
Never. Hisoka was going to the city. And she wasn’t coming back.
*********
5. Somewhere Over the Rainbow
It was that early-spring sort of warmth, the kind where it seemed warmer than it really was just because everyone was so glad for the proof that winter was actually, finally ending. They’d rolled down the windows of the car, letting in a cool breeze and the music from a car stopped on the street. It overwhelmed their own radio briefly, the two songs mingling into something new, but then the light changed and the car roared off, its music fading quickly into the hum of other noises from the city.
“Do you want fries?” Tsuzuki asked, drawing Hisoka’s attention from the bumper of the car in front of them. The line was moving so slowly that he’d fallen half-asleep, lost in a daydream. A drive-through was monotonous at best, but this was ridiculous. They’d barely moved in ten minutes. Up ahead, a driver leaned through the window, shouting into the order box, which responded with an indecipherable crackle of static. At this rate, they’d get their food just in time to keep from starving to death.
He shook his head, brushing against Tsuzuki‘s arm, which lay across the back of the seat, partly curled around him. “No.”
“No?”
“No. McDonald’s fries suck. They’re soggy and they squish when you bite into them. Fries are supposed to be fried. Hence the name.”
“Oh.” Tsuzuki sighed. He drummed his fingers quickly on the steering wheel and edged the car forward, letting it roll to mere centimeters from the car in front of them. He studied the distance, looking prepared to try and close it even further, but Hisoka shot him a look and he stepped back on the brake. “You could get them anyway and give them to me.”
“What do you need two helpings of fries for?”
Tsuzuki shrugged, purposely bumping his shoulder into the back of Hisoka’s head to annoy him. “I’m hungry.”
Hisoka rolled his eyes. “You’re going to get fat.”
“Hey!” Tsuzuki said, offended. Hisoka glanced away, trying to hide his grin. Tsuzuki hooked a hand into the waist of his jeans and pulled, yanking Hisoka across the car seat and half into his lap and trapping him there. He bumped their noses together, making big puppy eyes. “You’d still love me, though, right?”
Hisoka laughed. “Well, maybe.” He shifted, rearranging himself to sit more comfortably. He pulled one leg around Tsuzuki’s waist so he was facing him, balanced on Tsuzuki’s thighs with his knees pressed into the back of the car seat and the steering wheel jabbing his spine. It wasn’t the most comfortable position, but you worked with what you had when you were stuck in a McDonald‘s drive-through. “But if you keep eating all that greasy food you’re going to die of a heart attack before you’re fifty and I’ll be all alone.”
Tsuzuki smiled up at him, his hands already at work untucking Hisoka’s shirt and exploring the skin beneath. “I’d leave you all sorts of stuff in my will.”
“Yeah, that really makes it better,” Hisoka said, flicking at Tsuzuki’s hair so it fell into his eyes.
“So you’re not just after my money?” Tsuzuki faked surprise, shaking his head to toss his bangs back.
“What money?” Hisoka covered Tsuzuki’s mouth before he could answer, a light peck that quickly grew deeper than he‘d intended. Tsuzuki seemed to have no problem with that, answering the kiss eagerly. Hisoka put his fingers in Tsuzuki’s hair again, feeling its softness and the warmth of the skin beneath, then slid his hand down to cup Tsuzuki‘s cheek. Tsuzuki’s hands were climbing higher and higher on his back, dragging his shirt up with them. They kept him pulled tight to the man beneath him, running over and over his skin like they were magnetized. The kiss grew still more urgent, turned open-mouthed as they as they moaned into each other. Tsuzuki tasted like Hisoka’s own mouth, like the toothpaste they shared, but better somehow.
Hisoka pulled away and Tsuzuki followed him, catching his lower lip and sucking it into his mouth. Hisoka whimpered, eyes sliding closed, but tried again, leaning back as far as the steering wheel would let him. “Stop,” he said raggedly. “We’re in a drive-through.”
“Let ‘em wait,” Tsuzuki said, shoving Hisoka’s shirt up to his neck. He kissed the exposed chest, tracing the line of a collarbone with his tongue. He slipped one hand between their bodies, cupping Hisoka through his jeans. Hisoka gave up and rubbed shamelessly against Tsuzuki’s hand, distantly hoping that he wasn’t going to accidentally bump the horn.
He nodded, his voice unsteady as he tried to get his hands to work long enough to unbutton Tsuzuki‘s shirt. “Yeah, that… that sounds good.” Tsuzuki sucked at the base of his throat, working slowly up to Hisoka’s mouth.
He was almost there when something slammed against the side of the car. They both jumped, turning to look. It was large, and purple, and backed up to their window by a very angry, very loud woman.
“Is that…” Hisoka swallowed and started again, whispering. “Is that Barney?” Tsuzuki nodded, speechless. He sat frozen where he was, hands unmoving, which was not helping Hisoka to keep still.
Barney looked desperately from side to side, trying to avoid the woman screaming at him. Hisoka caught a glimpse of his face, skin that had obviously never seen the inside of a tanning booth and long hair so platinum blond that it was nearly silver, and realized that it was just a man in a Barney costume, like those who wandered around the kids’ play area.
The woman was in the middle of an impassioned rant, poking Barney in the chest and completely unaware of Hisoka and Tsuzuki. “…and I never want to see you near my daughter again, do you hear? I don’t want you to touch her, I don’t want you to look at her, I don’t want you to even *think* about her. And if I catch you anywhere around here again-”
Barney held up his hands in a placating gesture. He started to protest, and his voice wasn’t the sort of voice that normally worked at a McDonald’s in the costumes of make-believe dinosaurs. It belonged to a lawyer, or a politician, or one of those psychopaths who dissolved their victims’ bodies in vats of acid and ended up getting their own special on the History Channel. “I assure you, Madam, you must be mistaken-”
“Mistaken?” she screeched, and Hisoka winced sympathetically. “How *dare* you!? I know what I saw, and I don’t care what kind of doctor you are -- I know a pedophile when I see one-” Barney gave up and made a break for it, running for freedom. The woman followed, her screams by now mostly incoherent, though a ‘sick bastard’ and ‘sue your ass’ managed to drift back.
Hisoka blinked at Tsuzuki beneath him, unable to think of a single thing to say.
Tsuzuki cleared his throat and let his hands fall away from Hisoka. “That was… surreal.”
Hisoka snorted. “Yeah.” He slid off of Tsuzuki, facing forward again. He stared blankly for a moment before he registered that there was no car in front of them. “Um. It’s our turn to order.”
“Right.” Tsuzuki shook his head and grabbed the steering wheel, driving up to the order box. “So did you want those fries or not?”
*********
Author: Brigdh
Fandom: Yami no Matsuei
Pairings: Hisoka/Hijiri, Tsuzuki/Hisoka, Random Man/Hisoka, Hisoka + Tsuzuki, brief references to Muraki/Hisoka. Yeah. There’s a lot of sex.
Warnings: Um, sex. Unsafe sex, unloving sex, teenage sex, almost-public almost-sex, and a whole bunch of gay sex. Unfortunately, none of it’s terribly graphic. There’s also adult language. And this story is pretty much one with the angst and darkness, though there are some happy spots.
Rating: Say NC-17 to be safe, but it’s probably closer to R.
Notes: Okay, I need to explain a few things or else this fic will make *no* sense. There’s been a challenge going around a few other fandoms I’m involved in (mainly in the Buffy, Angel and Smallville fandoms, if you‘re interested), called the ‘five things that never happened’ challenge. The idea’s pretty simple: choose one character, any fandom, and write five AU vignettes. Anything from wild, incredible divergences from canon, to stories that take just a small jump to get there.
Like the idea? There’s a site collecting the stories here:
http://strangeplaces.net/challenge/five.html (Note: this link is not quite work-safe, but just for the strange background of the site.)
This is my take on the challenge, and it’s all about Hisoka. Because if you haven’t yet figured out my favorite character, you haven’t been paying attention. Much love and props to both Amet and Sephy, for reading and not letting me rewrite for *too* long. Credit goes to Sephy for the beta and for the idea for the fourth story.
The titles are all song names, they come from:
"Kinda I Want To" - Nine Inch Nails
"Replaced" - Joydrop
"Swan Song" - Joydrop
"A Change Would Do You Good" - Sheryl Crow
"Somewhere Over the Rainbow" - The Wizard of Oz
This story has been remixed by
ravenbell: In the Warmth of the Darkness (The "And One Thing That Did" Remix)Feedback: Yes, please! Brigdh@yahoo.com
1. Kinda I Want To
Hijiri kissed him suddenly. It was awkward, fumbling and quick, more a mashing together of their faces than an actual kiss, but Hisoka still jerked away. He hadn’t been prepared, hadn’t even known to expect it, and hit the wall behind him jarringly, hard enough to hurt. Hijiri hurriedly stepped away, obviously as startled as Hisoka. “Whoa. Okay, sorry, I didn’t mean-”
Hisoka cut him off. “I’m fine.”
He shrugged roughly, then shook his head. He had nothing to say to this boy. Hijiri didn’t need a crash course in Hisoka’s sordid past, and Hisoka had absolutely no interest in giving one to him. It’d be better if he could forget it all himself, but it was a bit late for that now.
Three years and he hadn’t changed. All it took was a kiss, a stupid, meaningless kiss and he was reduced to nothing more than a weak and terrified child. He hated it. Hated that every day seemed to flaunt something else he couldn’t do, a shirt he couldn’t wear unless he wanted to display his scars to the entire world, a hand on his shoulder that would never be the comfort it was meant as, the sakura trees that weren’t the peaceful sight they were for everyone else. And he hated himself for giving Muraki this much power over him, for still being so helpless that he could barely resist.
“Yeah, well. I didn’t mean to… to scare you. Or whatever.” Hijiri quirked one corner of his mouth up at Hisoka, a little half-grin that made him look younger. He took another step back, putting his hands in his pockets as he did so, his body language interested but polite. His forearms pulled at the corners of his shirt, making it ride up just enough to reveal a thin cream-colored strip of skin, his belly flat and taut. He stood there patiently, legs spread and shoulders slouched, the image of the perfect, typical kid, watching Hisoka.
Hisoka met his eyes reluctantly, still surprised by how much it was like looking into a mirror. One of those mirrors they had at circuses, maybe, the ones that warped how you looked just a little. This was him if he was tall, short, fat, skinny. This was him if he was still alive.
The thought forced him forward finally. Fuck memories and weakness and the way his stomach was churning, he wanted to *do* something, just once. He shoved down the feeling that this wasn’t the best idea he’d ever had, and wrapped his fingers around Hijiri’s biceps to hold him still as he kissed him firmly. He could feel Hijiri laugh against his mouth, and then the boy melted into him, serious for once, confident and wanton and sexy. His hands caught briefly in the trap of his pockets, then came out to circle around Hisoka, skimming up his sides roughly, fingers sure and hard over his waist and ribs, nearly groping. It made Hisoka shiver, and he pressed tighter against Hijiri, torn between wanting and not wanting. Hijiri’s hands roamed possessively, mapping out the contours of his torso, before settling at last around his neck, bumping shoulders against elbows as they slid together like counterparts. One hand wormed into his hair, petting the scalp beneath it and twisting the strands through its fingers, the other gripped the back of his neck just hard enough to hold him in place, the thumb resting right where Hisoka could feel his pulse beat against it. He’d never thought about what playing a violin did to your fingers, but he could feel it now, strangely shaped calluses, rough patches to skin delicate enough to be satin or silk. It was different than his own fingers, different from what he remembered of Tsuzuki’s small touches.
Hijiri leaned into him, touching everywhere and forcing Hisoka to support his weight. They fit, matched in every way, chest tight against chest and thighs sliding between thighs, and his mouth was warm and wet and open under Hisoka’s onslaught. Hijiri shimmied his hips a little, deliberately swaying into him, and it was just enough to feel that he was already hard. Hisoka’s breath caught in his throat, his body reacting quicker than he’d expected , his own hips jerking out to meet Hijiri’s. He growled into the kiss and whirled them around, pressing him harder than necessary into the brick wall of the building.
“Hey,” Hijiri said admonishingly, but it was more of a sigh than a word, too distracted to be truly angry. He tilted his face up and his hair brushed the rough wall, straggled wisps that caught and clung to the tiny peaks and hollows of the ancient bricks. Hisoka turned his head to kiss his way across Hijiri’s cheek, a quick trail of small kisses that curved from the corner of his mouth across the ridge of his jawbone, ending where the soft skin of his ear broke away from his neck. He bit the earlobe gently, nothing more than a quick scrape of teeth, then licked the small mark he’d made. Hijiri moaned, whatever he might have intended to say dissolving into incomprehensible sounds. Hisoka watched him carefully, a passive, intense interest, feeling out the emotions that let him know to kiss right *there*. Hijiri shuddered against him, his fingers briefly clenching in Hisoka’s hair tight enough to pull his head back.
It was easier than he would have guessed to do this, to make Hijiri gasp and buck. Hisoka knew nothing about sex; his one experience not exactly what anyone could call enlightening. He was flying on instinct, doing whatever seemed right and following the increasingly loud demands of his body. He wasn’t like Hijiri, who’d probably been meeting girls- or boys, or both- behind the school since he was old enough to smile at them, to blink his oh so green eyes. It had made him arrogant, so self-assured that Hisoka had barely kept himself from hitting the boy. It had simply never occurred to him that Hisoka hated every single one of his attempts at flirtation. All day he’d pointedly brushed against him, taking every opportunity to pose for a photo, to swing Kazusa up and show off his arms, to catch Hisoka’s eye and ‘accidentally’ lick his lips.
He hadn’t thought. He hadn’t thought, and Hisoka hated that he hadn’t needed to. It was only too obvious that Hijiri was his echo in appearances only, free to offer affection and sex and music and laughter, and every one of his words, his movements, reminded Hisoka of that fact. They had the same eyes in the same face, the same body, the same number of years, but none of it mattered. Hisoka had suffered, had bled and hurt and died, all for that face, and Hijiri had never known a second’s pain. His hair was darker, his cheek just a little more curved. Apparently that was all it took to save him.
“You wanna make out?” he had asked, casual and confident and heedless, and Hisoka had just wanted to be that, even for a single moment. He’d never known kisses that didn’t bruise.
It should have been Tsuzuki here. It should have been him forced to deal with this stupid, misguided seduction. He would have known better than to say yes.
It was his fault that Hisoka was even in this situation. Tsuzuki had been the one to make the sightseeing plans with Hijiri and Kazusa, to get their hopes up, and then had called off with barely an excuse. Hisoka had wanted to leave them at the office for the day, angry that his partner would shove this off onto him, but Tatsumi had insisted that ‘children’ were too distracting.
It would serve Tsuzuki right if he showed up now, apologetic and most likely hungry, to see his partner in an alley, licking a path down the neck of one of their charges while the other napped alone in the building behind them.
Hisoka knew he shouldn’t be doing this, knew just how wrong it was. He was taking advantage of Hijiri, or Hijiri was taking advantage of him, or something which definitely wasn’t right, but he wasn’t stopping. He didn’t even *like* Hijiri. He was annoying and arrogant and hyper and too cheerful and optimistic and talented and he flirted constantly with Tsuzuki, who seemed to think it was cute, and no matter how many times people stared at the two of them, shocked by their similarity, he was nothing like Hisoka. He wasn’t.
But Hisoka found he was quickly ceasing to care. It was complicated, and it was confusing, but at least it probably wasn’t outright reprehensible, and right now he was more concerned with getting off than understanding himself. He dropped his hands from Hijiri’s arms, sparing a thought, now that it was too late, that he’d probably bruised the mortal. He opened the first few buttons of Hijiri’s shirt, laying open-mouthed kisses across the revealed skin, warm and soft and unscarred. Hijiri moaned and arched his back, pressing into Hisoka’s touch. His hands dropped away from Hisoka’s neck and tightened on his shoulders for support as his hips pressed hard to Hisoka’s, rocking back and forth for friction. He ducked his head down, butting Hisoka’s face until he turned, seizing his mouth in another kiss. Hisoka matched him, turning the kiss feral. He wanted this, wanted it so much, but Hijiri was too short and his hair was black instead of chocolate brown, and really, he didn’t look anything like Tsuzuki. Hisoka squeezed his eyes shut and tried to imagine a different person, different circumstances, but the only thing that came to mind was Tsuzuki’s voice on the phone this morning, cool and disinterested as it asked couldn’t Hisoka give up his free day to go sight-seeing and besides, it wasn’t like he’d had anything planned, right?
Right. Of course not.
Hijiri was panting into his mouth and nearly vibrating against him. He hooked one leg around Hisoka’s hips, grinding against him. Hisoka couldn’t help but buck into him, their jeans rough enough against each other to make him tear his mouth away with a gasp and throw a hand up for balance, scratching his palm against the rough bricks. His other hand dropped without a thought to slide under the curve of Hijiri’s thigh, hitching him a few inches higher. Hijiri moaned, writhing between him and the wall, his hands opening and closing on Hisoka’s shoulders. Hisoka closed his eyes, forced his mind further back, to purple eyes and large hands on his shoulders and laughter- God, the way Tsuzuki sounded when he really laughed- and tried to feel nothing more than the rhythm, to just feel and not need to think anymore. It was jerky and wild, but it worked. It was almost perfect, in a way that wasn’t really perfect at all, but was close enough to make him cry out against Hijiri’s shoulder and his knees tremble. And then it was over and he didn’t feel anything other than flushed and immature and idiotic and slightly sticky.
Hijiri made a choked sound in his ear and then stilled, his leg sliding down to thump against the ground in their sudden quiet. Hisoka couldn’t quite catch his breath and his heart was racing fast enough that he could almost hear it, pounding in his temples. They stood without words until Hisoka abruptly pulled away, nearly stumbling as he reestablished the distance between them. He tried to look calm, but couldn’t keep from wrapping his arms around himself, his breath still coming too quick. He hadn’t meant to do that, he hadn’t meant to do any of it. But he had just- he had wanted-
Not Hijiri. He hadn’t wanted him, but that hadn’t stopped him from using him.
Hijiri frowned, his brow creasing and his mouth turning down cutely. He stepped forward, concerned. “Are you alright?”
Hisoka took a breath, trying to make himself seem detached and casual. He kept his eyes focused on the ground, pointedly not even bothering to look at Hijiri. “I’m fine. Don‘t touch me.”
“Um. Okay.” Hijiri shifted his weight from one foot to another, fidgeting with his shirttails. “We could talk about it, if you want. Or not. I mean, I’d understand if you don’t want to tell me, if it’s personal or something.” He trailed off, clearing his throat uncomfortably as Hisoka refused to respond to him, then lunged forward without warning, grabbing Hisoka in a hug. It was friendly enough, but Hisoka lashed out reflexively, a psychic blast sending Hijiri flying hard enough to slam into the wall. He fell to the ground, one hand going to the back of his head where it had crashed against the bricks, the other singed where he had lifted it to protect his face. He looked up at Hisoka accusingly. “Ow! What did you do that for?”
Hisoka hunched in tighter on himself, digging his fingers into his shoulders. “I said, ‘don’t touch me’.”
Hijiri gaped at him, speechless, then snapped his mouth shut. “Okay, whatever. ” He climbed to his feet, keeping a hand carefully pressed behind his head. “That really hurt, you know. Maybe you could have mentioned that you had issues before taking them out on me.”
“Fuck off.”
“Freak,” Hijiri sneered, walking away. “I’m going to go check on Kazusa. You can stay here, make sure no one ‘touches’ you.”
Hisoka slid slowly to the ground, burying his face in his knees. The front of his jeans were stiff and cold, drying scratchy against him. Hijiri’s scent was all over him, clean-smelling soap, medicines from spending the night in Watari’s ward, and the slightest reek of the demon. He wanted to forget that this had happened. He wanted the last fifteen minutes of his life back so he could relive them without being an idiot. He could taste bile in the back of his throat. He wanted to stop thinking that he could still feel hands on him, larger and rougher than Hijiri’s. He needed to find somewhere to vomit.
*********
2. Replaced
Hisoka’s partner calls him. Hisoka thinks it’s the first time. The sound of the phone ringing is harsh and sudden in the quiet of the early morning, and it pulls Hisoka from his bed, still half-asleep and disoriented. For a moment, he can’t place the sound. It’s been so long since anyone called him. His partner has important news, his voice excited and nearly eager, and Hisoka’s absolutely certain that he has never wanted to talk to him so much before. It turns out that Tsuzuki-san died. Hisoka pauses, tries to remember. He comes up with nothing more than dark hair, and eyes an unearthly color.
“It was suicide,” his partner says, obviously expecting him to be surprised, but Hisoka only wonders that even Shinigami can die. He shrugs, forgetting that it can’t be seen over phone lines, and his partner hangs up, muttering about heartless and empathy and ironies.
The quiet closes back in around him. Hisoka listens to the dial tone until the recorded voice of a shrill woman comes on, telling him that if he’d like to place a call, he should hang up and try again. He sets the phone down carefully, settling it into its cradle like an infant, and watches it, almost expecting it to ring again. Nothing happens.
It’s still very early, and he has the day free to do whatever he wants. In an hour, the library will open and he will be able to sneak into the Classified Files section, and no one will stop him. They’re all so used to seeing him with a book in hand that not a one of them will even think about it if they catch him walking between the stacks.
He hasn’t found anything yet. Not a name. Not a picture. Not a mention of what spell it is, torn into his skin and tied to his bones. But Hisoka’s immortal now, which tends to make one patient, and anyway, there’s nothing else to occupy his time. He’ll find his murderer, eventually, and until then the search gives purpose to his strange not-quite-life. It’s a reason to wake up every morning, to come to work and try to listen to his partner, to stay here at all. The whole thing is probably a mistake and he’s sure he should have passed on long ago, but he can’t, not yet. Hisoka needs his revenge first.
Purple. It comes to him suddenly. Tsuzuki-san had purple eyes.
*********
3. Swan Song
Hisoka is well known at the club, though he likes to pretend otherwise. Even with his hair dyed unnatural fluorescents and contacts in his eyes, he’s recognizable as the Kurosaki heir. And just in case they didn’t know him by his face or his long legs, there are the scales growing in the space between his mesh shirt and leather pants, delicate as any tattoo. The people from the town know what it means, and they leave him alone. It’s the outsiders who find him fascinating, the people who are just passing through and don’t know any better than to ignore the boy dancing by himself in the center of the floor.
Hisoka dances very well and he knows it. He closes his eyes and wishes himself far away from here. Away from the townspeople who sacrificed his life generations before he was born, away from this backwater club that plays songs only after they’ve been on the radio for months, away from the people who crowd close enough to watch but never, never to touch. Far enough away that there’s nothing left but him and the beat. And it’s the beat he lives for, the pure thump of the music, the bass turned up loud enough to make his bones vibrate and the guitars soaring high enough to make the glass inside him shatter.
Hisoka has a partner tonight, a man he’s never seen before. He’s probably here on business- he looks old enough for it, though not too old to seem out of place in the club- just looking for some entertainment before he heads home again, wherever that is. He’s not a very good dancer, truthfully, but Hisoka hardly needs a partner to spin his magic, the dance that gets him into the club every night, though he’s still years younger than the age posted out front, and looks even younger than that. The man’s not bad either, and just talented enough to be interesting.
His hair is dark, but it’s too dim and smoky for Hisoka to tell if it’s black or brown. His eyes are the same; they could be black or brown also, or even a dark blue or green. He’s handsome, though, and just tall enough that Hisoka has to look up without craning his neck. He’s feeling restless tonight, and wonders what he can tempt this man into. He knows what he looks like, slender and dangerous and untouchable, because he’s been told it over and over by men just like this one.
He wonders what the townspeople think about that one, that their beloved god-killer is whoring himself to death with random men in a club where the windows are nailed over with boards curling and peeling with ancient paint and the bathroom floors are streaked with mud from the last time it rained. None of them have cared enough to tell his parents or bar him from the door, so Hisoka assumes they reckon it’s his fair trade. He’s still going to die for them, so what does it matter?
Not that this man knows any of that, of Hisoka’s part in an ancient contract, bound to this town by his parents and by the grave that bears his name, though it holds another body, of just how blood-soaked this place is. All he sees is a beautiful body and the dance Hisoka throws himself into, writhing with rhythms that, really, he is too young to know. But then, his sister was too young to know any of it, and they killed her anyway.
It’s death and sex, and no one could ever resist that. Hisoka can always get what he wants, if he doesn’t want too much. It ends up the way it always does, barely making it out of the door before they’re on top of each other, clothes coming off as much as they’re going to, and thank God, at least this one has a car. Last night Hisoka had ended up getting fucked in the bathroom, old toilet-paper rolls and empty bottles scattered around his feet.
Hisoka can taste sake in the man’s mouth, the cheap stuff, bitter with too much alcohol. He fumbles with the car door handle, trying to reach it one-handed while Hisoka sucks on his tongue and works his way into his pants. It opens finally, and Hisoka tumbles inside, landing flat across the backseat. The man is a silhouette of shadow in the doorway as he pauses, pulling something from his wallet. A condom and lube. Hisoka wants to laugh at the absurdity of it all suddenly, at the man’s stupid attempts at normality. But if he wants to pretend that this is something more than it is, something better than a grope in a backseat, like high schoolers on their first date, Hisoka doesn’t care enough to tell him otherwise.
Quickly enough now, and the man’s gotten back in the act, moving so fast that even Hisoka can’t complain. They’re both hard and ready, sweat-soaked from the heat of the club, and the man’s just rough enough that it almost hurts, and Hisoka arches his back in relief. It’s alright for a minute, only the rhythm and the movements that are just part of another dance, and a silence that lets Hisoka hear the music of the club over their panting. As long as he keeps his eyes closed, he doesn’t need to think of anything except the beat and the rhythm, the steady thump-thump, like a heart beating or a snake coiling. But then the man feels the need to make conversation. “How old are you?”
“Sixteen,” Hisoka says, practically growls, because he doesn’t want to talk, he doesn’t care about ages or names, he just wants a little bit of pleasure before it’s too late.
“Sixteen,” he echoes, the word barely a breath across Hisoka’s ear. “*Fuck*.”
“Exactly,” Hisoka says, pressing his hips up harshly. It’s a fumble in the tight confines of the car, but he manages to turn them over, straddling the man’s hips, his legs scrunched tight against the backs of the front seats. It’s better this way, where he can throw back his head and really move, and not need to worry about the man. Hisoka settles into the rhythm quickly, knows just how to twist his hips so everyone gets what they need. The man doesn’t seem to mind the change in position, slamming a hand up to press it into the window behind him for leverage, his face pulled tight in pleasure. One of the parking lot’s lamps throws a thin strip of neon blue-white light across them, just enough to reveal a shoulder, a chin, a wrist. Hisoka can see scars on that wrist, thin lines pale against the skin. He lets his head fall back so all he can see is the car’s roof, strands of hair falling across his open eyes. They look plain black now, in the darkness, but under the lights of the club they’re streaked, red and lime-green and white, anything but sandy blond.
It’s over just as quickly as it began. Hisoka wipes himself off as best as he can, and twists for the door, planning to head back to the club. It’s not even midnight, and he has no more intention of staying here than he does of going home. “Wait.”
Hisoka glances over his shoulder at the man. He hopes he won’t ask for his name, he hates it when they try to get to know him. The man’s risen up to his elbows, looking disoriented and crestfallen. The strip of light falls across the center of his face, distorting it and leaving the chin and forehead in shadow. He blinks, and Hisoka notices that his eyes are purple, really purple, not colored contacts like the sort Hisoka wears.
“What?” Hisoka finally asks, impatient.
“Are you leaving?”
“What did you think this was?” Hisoka would have laughed at him on another night, but he doesn’t have it in him today. He’s tired of the same thing, over and over. “I’m not your partner, or your boyfriend, or whatever you’re thinking about. We fucked. It doesn’t mean anything.”
The man draws back slowly. “Of course.” He closes in on himself, and Hisoka can nearly see it happening, watch as he shuts off. He’s impressed. It’s a talent, after all, and one that Hisoka’s very familiar with. Not impressed enough to stay though, and he gathers his clothes before stumbling from the car. The man watches as he makes his way back to the door of the club, and Hisoka can feel those strange eyes following him. He turns back once before going through the door, but he can’t pick the right car out from the others crowding the lot, and he doesn’t know why he tried.
*********
4. A Change Would Do You Good
They say that you should count your blessings whenever you’re having a bad day, but Hisoka really, really didn’t think that was going to help. The only blessings she had to count looked a lot more like curses.
Like the fact that she was pregnant. Thirteen and alone and pregnant with absolutely no idea who the father could possibly be and stuck on the road halfway between home and Tokyo and she hadn’t eaten in what seemed like hours and her backpack was starting to hurt her shoulders. But it only seemed heavy until she reminded herself that every single thing she owned anymore was in there. Then it seemed a hell of a lot lighter.
But it *was* sort of a blessing. She was farther away from her house and her parents than she’d ever been, and every minute put more distance between her and them. And once she got to Tokyo she could hide forever, just another face in the crowd. Hisoka was pretty sure that no one in the city had ever heard of the Kurosaki name. And even if they had, they certainly wouldn’t know why it was so important.
Blessing number two. She was alive. Hisoka knew that most people didn’t really count that as blessing, since it was so obvious, but she had to. She wasn’t supposed to be alive, as her parents loved to remind her. In the Kurosaki family, daughters were not born before sons. And if nature had other ideas… well, someone would be quick to correct the mistake. But when Hisoka had arrived, her mother was half-insane and getting worse, and her father wasn’t exactly what she would call stable. He’d already dug one grave with Hisoka’s name on it, and besides, no one was sure if they were even capable of having more children. So… Add it all together, and someone- probably a servant, they were the only ones who ever deigned to speak to her- had made the decision to convince him to let Hisoka live, just for a few more days. And then a few more. And then a few more. And then she could walk and talk, and it seemed too late to do anything about it. Her whole life started with a blessing. A lucky chance, more like, that she had somehow made it through infancy, the years when she was faceless and defenseless and so easy to hide in the records and the family’s graveyard.
Not that things had gotten much better since then. Her mother saw ghosts and snakes and forgot her own name. She could hardly be expected to raise a child. Her father- when he remembered that she existed- mostly just lectured Hisoka about the brother that would come one day, a brother that she would have to give everything to, even her name. He was never born. Hisoka hated him anyway.
Moving on. She was pregnant. She saw it as a blessing, even though she‘d just realized it that morning, because it was the reason she’d walked out the door that afternoon. She’d thought about leaving before, lots of times. But it was such a big step, with nowhere to go and always the chance that she might get caught and dragged back, where it‘d be worse than before. But there was no way that her baby was going to grow up in that house, where nothing changed and no one ever laughed or spoke above a whisper. Hisoka would die first.
She didn’t remember ever having sex, but she wasn’t stupid. About three months ago, she’d woken up one morning, outside and alone and sore, and hadn’t known how she’d gotten there. She’d brushed it off at the time, blaming the whole thing on sleepwalking or something, and forgotten about it. It had been right after that when her period stopped.
Okay, maybe she was a little stupid. She should have put it together at the time. But she knew what she was doing now. It had to have been one of those drugs- the ones that wiped your memory. Hisoka had seen a news show about them, watching it in the kitchen with a maid and some time stolen out of her room. The show hadn’t really worried her, for all its flashy footage and the deep, ominous voice of the narrator. She’d figured that you probably needed to occasionally leave your house to be in danger. Looks like she was wrong.
She did know that it was not a good thing to be unmarried and pregnant. When it had happened to the cook’s daughter, she’d been sent away to Tokyo. So that was where Hisoka was going, too. She figured she was doing her family a favor, saving them the money it would have taken to drive her there. And if doing it this way meant the bastards would never figure out where she had gone, well, that was a side bonus.
Hisoka had big plans for her and her baby. An apartment right across the street from a park, and lot of toys and the latest, prettiest clothes for both of them. Hisoka’s friends would all coo and squeal over how cute her baby was, and then they’d go out to eat at a nice restaurant, maybe one with a sidewalk café so she could watch the people as they walked by. Hisoka would have a job, of course, in a library or a store or an office. She thought she could handle being a secretary, but she wasn’t sure if they hired thirteen-year-olds. Maybe she could be a waitress, and work surrounded by the smell of fresh food and the sound of people laughing and chatting as they ate.
And while she was working, her baby could go to a day care with lots of other babies, and play all day. Her baby was going to have so many friends that Hisoka wouldn’t be able to keep track of their names. And her baby wouldn’t need a father, because Hisoka would get them both everything they wanted. Her baby would never, never be locked alone in a room, just in case someone might notice she wasn’t the male firstborn heir her parents had promised.
Never. Hisoka was going to the city. And she wasn’t coming back.
*********
5. Somewhere Over the Rainbow
It was that early-spring sort of warmth, the kind where it seemed warmer than it really was just because everyone was so glad for the proof that winter was actually, finally ending. They’d rolled down the windows of the car, letting in a cool breeze and the music from a car stopped on the street. It overwhelmed their own radio briefly, the two songs mingling into something new, but then the light changed and the car roared off, its music fading quickly into the hum of other noises from the city.
“Do you want fries?” Tsuzuki asked, drawing Hisoka’s attention from the bumper of the car in front of them. The line was moving so slowly that he’d fallen half-asleep, lost in a daydream. A drive-through was monotonous at best, but this was ridiculous. They’d barely moved in ten minutes. Up ahead, a driver leaned through the window, shouting into the order box, which responded with an indecipherable crackle of static. At this rate, they’d get their food just in time to keep from starving to death.
He shook his head, brushing against Tsuzuki‘s arm, which lay across the back of the seat, partly curled around him. “No.”
“No?”
“No. McDonald’s fries suck. They’re soggy and they squish when you bite into them. Fries are supposed to be fried. Hence the name.”
“Oh.” Tsuzuki sighed. He drummed his fingers quickly on the steering wheel and edged the car forward, letting it roll to mere centimeters from the car in front of them. He studied the distance, looking prepared to try and close it even further, but Hisoka shot him a look and he stepped back on the brake. “You could get them anyway and give them to me.”
“What do you need two helpings of fries for?”
Tsuzuki shrugged, purposely bumping his shoulder into the back of Hisoka’s head to annoy him. “I’m hungry.”
Hisoka rolled his eyes. “You’re going to get fat.”
“Hey!” Tsuzuki said, offended. Hisoka glanced away, trying to hide his grin. Tsuzuki hooked a hand into the waist of his jeans and pulled, yanking Hisoka across the car seat and half into his lap and trapping him there. He bumped their noses together, making big puppy eyes. “You’d still love me, though, right?”
Hisoka laughed. “Well, maybe.” He shifted, rearranging himself to sit more comfortably. He pulled one leg around Tsuzuki’s waist so he was facing him, balanced on Tsuzuki’s thighs with his knees pressed into the back of the car seat and the steering wheel jabbing his spine. It wasn’t the most comfortable position, but you worked with what you had when you were stuck in a McDonald‘s drive-through. “But if you keep eating all that greasy food you’re going to die of a heart attack before you’re fifty and I’ll be all alone.”
Tsuzuki smiled up at him, his hands already at work untucking Hisoka’s shirt and exploring the skin beneath. “I’d leave you all sorts of stuff in my will.”
“Yeah, that really makes it better,” Hisoka said, flicking at Tsuzuki’s hair so it fell into his eyes.
“So you’re not just after my money?” Tsuzuki faked surprise, shaking his head to toss his bangs back.
“What money?” Hisoka covered Tsuzuki’s mouth before he could answer, a light peck that quickly grew deeper than he‘d intended. Tsuzuki seemed to have no problem with that, answering the kiss eagerly. Hisoka put his fingers in Tsuzuki’s hair again, feeling its softness and the warmth of the skin beneath, then slid his hand down to cup Tsuzuki‘s cheek. Tsuzuki’s hands were climbing higher and higher on his back, dragging his shirt up with them. They kept him pulled tight to the man beneath him, running over and over his skin like they were magnetized. The kiss grew still more urgent, turned open-mouthed as they as they moaned into each other. Tsuzuki tasted like Hisoka’s own mouth, like the toothpaste they shared, but better somehow.
Hisoka pulled away and Tsuzuki followed him, catching his lower lip and sucking it into his mouth. Hisoka whimpered, eyes sliding closed, but tried again, leaning back as far as the steering wheel would let him. “Stop,” he said raggedly. “We’re in a drive-through.”
“Let ‘em wait,” Tsuzuki said, shoving Hisoka’s shirt up to his neck. He kissed the exposed chest, tracing the line of a collarbone with his tongue. He slipped one hand between their bodies, cupping Hisoka through his jeans. Hisoka gave up and rubbed shamelessly against Tsuzuki’s hand, distantly hoping that he wasn’t going to accidentally bump the horn.
He nodded, his voice unsteady as he tried to get his hands to work long enough to unbutton Tsuzuki‘s shirt. “Yeah, that… that sounds good.” Tsuzuki sucked at the base of his throat, working slowly up to Hisoka’s mouth.
He was almost there when something slammed against the side of the car. They both jumped, turning to look. It was large, and purple, and backed up to their window by a very angry, very loud woman.
“Is that…” Hisoka swallowed and started again, whispering. “Is that Barney?” Tsuzuki nodded, speechless. He sat frozen where he was, hands unmoving, which was not helping Hisoka to keep still.
Barney looked desperately from side to side, trying to avoid the woman screaming at him. Hisoka caught a glimpse of his face, skin that had obviously never seen the inside of a tanning booth and long hair so platinum blond that it was nearly silver, and realized that it was just a man in a Barney costume, like those who wandered around the kids’ play area.
The woman was in the middle of an impassioned rant, poking Barney in the chest and completely unaware of Hisoka and Tsuzuki. “…and I never want to see you near my daughter again, do you hear? I don’t want you to touch her, I don’t want you to look at her, I don’t want you to even *think* about her. And if I catch you anywhere around here again-”
Barney held up his hands in a placating gesture. He started to protest, and his voice wasn’t the sort of voice that normally worked at a McDonald’s in the costumes of make-believe dinosaurs. It belonged to a lawyer, or a politician, or one of those psychopaths who dissolved their victims’ bodies in vats of acid and ended up getting their own special on the History Channel. “I assure you, Madam, you must be mistaken-”
“Mistaken?” she screeched, and Hisoka winced sympathetically. “How *dare* you!? I know what I saw, and I don’t care what kind of doctor you are -- I know a pedophile when I see one-” Barney gave up and made a break for it, running for freedom. The woman followed, her screams by now mostly incoherent, though a ‘sick bastard’ and ‘sue your ass’ managed to drift back.
Hisoka blinked at Tsuzuki beneath him, unable to think of a single thing to say.
Tsuzuki cleared his throat and let his hands fall away from Hisoka. “That was… surreal.”
Hisoka snorted. “Yeah.” He slid off of Tsuzuki, facing forward again. He stared blankly for a moment before he registered that there was no car in front of them. “Um. It’s our turn to order.”
“Right.” Tsuzuki shook his head and grabbed the steering wheel, driving up to the order box. “So did you want those fries or not?”
*********
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2003-05-09 01:01 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-05-09 01:37 am (UTC)And yes, that was a fun story, but I think the first one I saw was the Buffy/Spike one. The whole thing's a great idea, and way more fun to write than I would have thought.
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Date: 2003-05-09 11:35 am (UTC)And I'll send you an email when I have the time to sit down and be long winded. ;)
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Date: 2003-05-09 03:00 pm (UTC)Yay!
no subject
Date: 2003-05-09 01:55 pm (UTC)Ow. I'm not sure if it's the second one or the third one that hurts the most, the near misses, the way they slowly and inexorably destroy themselves without each other. (And they /would/; I can't convince myself otherwise, though I would like to convince myself instead that they would find each other eventually.) The fourth one is frightening for the foreshadowing of the curse and the knowledge that it can't possibly be that easy, but it's not quite as painful. Still trying to decide what I think of the first one. And the last one, well, I kind of needed that. And Muraki! *dies quietly of laughter*
Very good stuff. All kinds of wheels turning in my head now.
no subject
Date: 2003-05-09 02:59 pm (UTC)I think the third one's my favorite, just for the forcefulness of the club-Hisoka muse. I could write epics for him. They all hurt, though, which wasn't really my intention. But in my world, if you split up Hisoka and Tsuzuki, things just can't go well. I'm a sappy, sappy romantic, but I couldn't pull them apart and not show how wrong it would be.
Which is why the whole thing pratically turned into an ode to Tsuzuki-Hisoka-ness. Even the fourth was almost there, I had to convince myself that Hisoka did not need to get offered a ride by a certain purple-eyed man. I suppose other people would have used the five things as a way to actually show Hisoka in relationships with other people, but I'm too much of a shipper. I don't really want to see him with anyone else. Even when he's having sex with Hijiri, it's still all about Tsu.
And the last story was my attempt at fluff and humor after all the darkness. I'm glad it worked. Muraki-Barney. There should be a doll.
Still trying to decide what I think of the first one.
But in a good way, right?
no subject
Date: 2003-05-10 02:01 pm (UTC)And yeah, I found myself resisting the temptation to think that pregnant!Hisoka might someday run into Tsuzuki. There are a million stories in that segment. There are a million stories in all of them, really, when one is as high on inspiration as I've been lately. but I'm trying to resist letting too many of the larger and more ambitious ones take hold all at once.
Very much with you on the shipperness. At the very least, they need each other as partners and friends, and I tend to fall into the camp of wanting my best friend, partner, and lover to be one person, not two or three, so the leap to hopeless shipperness from there is a very small one.
*cowers before your feet*
Date: 2003-05-10 04:00 am (UTC)1. Awww. Pretty and angsty. So like real teen sex. I still remember when rubbing up was da bomb. Ah, anyway. Very original, for once Hijiri wasn't all over Tsuzuki. What a slutty boi.
2. This took two readings to "get", and I loved it. Totally tragic and made me feel without spreading the angst all over the place.
3. This... this is the best smut scene I've ever read. Truly. Even if it wasn't really descriptive and shit, I... Well hotdamnit. It's so damn tragic. And me luffs clubslut-Hisoka ^_^
4. ...speechless. I don't know whether to think it's tragic or hopeful. I love the youthful optimismn it has, Hisoka being a pregnant teen and planning how her friends will adore the baby. OMG, this touched me. I'm a (grown-up) teen mother, so that may explain.
5. AAAH! More car-makeout! Almost as hot as #3. And I bet it would've surpassed #3 if it wasn't for the...interruption. A perfect ending of lighthearted cuddle after all the angst and tragedy.
...how many times did I refer to "tragic"? D00d, too many.
So now you know I loved it. Please write more, and don't be so shy about it! You write excellent stuff. Creative and easy-flowing.
Re: *cowers before your feet*
Date: 2003-05-11 08:39 am (UTC)But it was such a tragic story, though! The last one was practically a necessity for me too, after all that angst. Not to mention that it was neat to write something fluffy, for once. I was starting to wonder if I could. ;)
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Date: 2003-05-11 09:48 am (UTC)I just wanted to tell you that I *loved* this collection of ficlets - and the bit in the 5th story with Muraki in a Barney suit is just total brilliance!!!
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Date: 2003-05-11 08:26 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-07-26 11:05 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-07-26 02:26 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-07-26 06:36 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-07-26 07:24 pm (UTC)OMG that actually works really well and now I shiver from the creepiness of combined serial killers.
And have I told you how much I <3 that icon? *pets pretty, pretty tough boy*
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Date: 2004-07-27 04:37 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-07-26 11:23 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-07-26 02:19 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-07-26 06:33 pm (UTC)