BY : minami63
Category: Descendents of Darkness/Yami No Matsuei > General
Dragon prints: 2908
Disclaimer: I do not own Descendants of Darkness (Yami no Matsuei), nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.


Disclaimer: I am not Muraki, in spite of the results from every personality test I have ever taken that say otherwise. He doesn’t even belong to me (sniffle). Neither does Tsuzuki, nor does any other character from Yami no Matsuei. They all belong to Matsushita Yoko and I’m jealous. I want Muraki… I really, really, REALLY want Muraki!

“Ah, amethyst … so absolutely breathtaking; it’s no wonder I can’t get the memory of those eyes out of my mind. Glittering like polished gems, yet belying such melancholy. I can still remember the first time I gazed into those piercing eyes, as vividly as though it were only yesterday; the Oura church in Nagasaki. Images of those times race through my mind in a whirling montage. It was my first face-to-face encounter with Asato Tsuzuki. How I desired him then, from that very first moment. The cat-and-mouse game we played, through Nagasaki, aboard the Princess Camellia then again through Kyoto. Each denial only made my desire for him increase exponentially. I will win him in time; ah yes, he will be mine. If I must break that exquisite spirit of his completely to do so, then it shall be done. This time there will be no denying. I will make him mine.”

Kazutaka Muraki, doctor, warlock … serial killer … has finally met his match, in love anyway, in his antithesis, Asato Tsuzuki, Shinigami, Guardian of Death. In a world bound by darkness, where pleasure is so hard to come by, he finds his in the exquisite forms of pain and deliverance he bestows. Yet the greatest pleasure he could imagine continues to elude him.

It had been almost a year since their last, near fatal encounter with Dr. Muraki; ten blissful months of nothing but “normal” cases. Tsuzuki had long-ago recovered from his injuries and was back to his “old” self, driving everyone else in the Enma-cho crazy, particularly his young partner, Hisoka.

“You’ve got to try this, Hisoka,” Tsuzuki mumbled through a mouthful of sugar-glazed turnover oozing with lemon filling, offering a forkful of the pastry for his partner’s scrutiny.

Hisoka shook his head, fighting to hide a slight smile as he pushed the fork away. “You eat such rubbish, Tsuzuki. It’s amazing you’ve managed to live as long as you have with your diet.”

“Tsuzuki, Kurosawa! The Chief wants to see you,” announced Tatsumi.

“Now,” whined Tsuzuki, shielding the precious dessert with his body.

“Now, Tsuzuki,” chided the Division Secretary.

“But Tatsumi …” continued Tsuzuki, futilely.

“Give it up, Tsuzuki, you know you always lose this argument,” countered Hisoka. “Just let Tatsumi have the pastry and let’s get going.”

“I can’t believe you’re against me too, Hisoka,” moaned Tsuzuki as he and his partner turned and made their way down the hall to the Chief’s office, Tatsumi strolling a few paces behind them, triumphantly finishing the last few morsels of Tsuzuki’s lemon turnover.

No sooner had they walked through the door to the semi-darkened office when Chief Konoe got right down to the reason he had called this particular meeting.

“We’re sending the two of you to Nara with Watari.”

Tsuzuki and Hisoka exchanged furtive glances before turning back to the Chief.
Anticipating their questions, Watari answered them before they were even asked. “There have been three young girls murdered in Nara in the last five days. The method of death for each has been the same as our case in Kyoto ten months ago. I may be going out on a limb here, but I’m pretty certain we’re dealing with the same person.” He avoided saying Muraki’s name as though the mere mention of it would cause the doctor to materialize on the spot.

“Muraki,” Tsuzuki hissed through his teeth, having no such apprehensions.

“We know he didn’t die the last time, but how can we be sure this is him?” queried Hisoka, skeptically.

“We can’t. This is just a hunch, but the similarities between the cases are a little too ironic. By the way, Tsuzuki … those arrived for you this morning,” stated Tatsumi flatly, brushing some stray crumbs away from the corner of his mouth and adjusting his glasses before gesturing to the large vase of red roses sitting on a desk next to the door. Just the sight of the flowers made Tsuzuki’s spine stiffen and his blood run ice cold. “I assume we all know who they are from?”

“He’s back,” whispered Hisoka.

Tsuzuki nodded, placing a steady hand on his partner’s shoulder. “Don’t worry, Hisoka. We’ll get him this time.” He strode over to the desk, swept the vase off it and into a nearby trash can. A small card detached itself from the bouquet and fluttered silently to the floor. Snatching it up, Tsuzuki was about to tear it in half when Hisoka stopped him. Taking the card from Tsuzuki’s hand, Hisoka turned it over and read the inscription. “Hmph,” was his only reaction, as he handed the card back to Tsuzuki and walked out the door. After watching his partner leave, Tsuzuki glanced at the little rectangle of paper, reading it. It stated simply, in an elegant hand, “Come find me.”

A chill shot up Tsuzuki’s spine as he crumpled the card and tossed it in the trash.

… He didn’t know her name or anything else about her for that matter, nor did he care. He just knew that she walked this same path alone every night, crossing the road that led to the Nara Park at around eight in the evening; so predictable, so foolish. She should be happy that her life would become a very special sacrifice, though. Tsuzuki was in Nara. He’d sensed the Shinigami’s presence the very moment Tsuzuki arrived. The boy was here too, of course, but he was of no consequence this time. It was Tsuzuki he was after and there would be no escape for him this time. All Tsuzuki needed to do was follow the trail of roses and he would find his way straight to the one who loved him. And all Muraki had to do was part with a few more of the fragrant blossoms and wait …

It was quite easy to discover where they were staying in Nara; he was Dr. Kazutaka Muraki after all. He was not without influence. He passed the day in eager apprehension, waiting anxiously until dusk was about to fall before setting out to implement his devious plan. Muraki always seemed to work better under cover of darkness.

Flowers in hand, he watched as the Shinigami went about their business for the evening. It was a familiar scene. They were waiting for the boy to return from the store and preparing to have dinner. He softly placed the single long-stemmed bloom on the landing, smiling slightly, before backing away. At the top of the walkway, he paused to tuck another rose in the fence of the inn. Down the lane and all the way to the road that led to Nara Park, he positioned roses in strategically located spots, certain that Tsuzuki would be able to find them and follow. Then he waited for the hapless young lady he’d selected to wander predictably across his path.

Tsuzuki had had a bad feeling all day, but now that evening was nearly upon them his apprehension was beginning to escalate; a strong sense of foreboding that he just couldn’t shake. It was at that moment that a paler than usual Hisoka came through the door. “What is it, Hisoka?”
The boy didn’t answer, he just held out the single red rose he’d found, large green eyes connecting with Tsuzuki’s amethyst ones.

“Where did you get this?” Tsuzuki demanded, seizing the flower from Hisoka’s grasp, nearly crushing it in the process.

“It was outside the door.”

Tsuzuki’s eyes widened, “You mean he’s been here?”

“I would guess so. I thought I saw another one in the fence, but I didn’t think anything of it until I found this one.”

“Let’s go, Hisoka. We have a murderer to catch,” Tsuzuki shouted, already heading out the door.

“Tsuzuki, wait! Let me tell Watari!” Hisoka shouted after him, too late. Tsuzuki was already out of earshot, standing by the rose Muraki had woven through the poles of the bamboo fence.

“Okay, Muraki, what are you up to this time?” Glancing around he spotted another rose tucked into a neatly trimmed pine several houses up the road. Once he reached it, he saw another one poking out of a bonsai another few buildings away. By then Hisoka and Watari had rushed out to join him. Pointing to the flowers he told them, “He left us a trail this time.”

“I wonder what his game is,” Watari mused.

“I don’t know, but I’m going to find out. It’s getting dark, so we’ll have to hurry. Keep an eye out for more of these damn roses,” replied Tsuzuki, angrily.

The moon was just beginning to rise; eerily luminescent in the darkening sky. Hisoka abruptly stopped running, staring at the glowing sphere, his eyes wide, and his mind struggling to control the tremors racing through his small frame.

“What is it, Hisoka,” Tsuzuki asked, pausing beside him.

The boy pointed at the rapidly climbing orb, his arm wavering under the strain, “Look at the moon, Tsuzuki, it’s red; Muraki’s moon.”

“Which is why we have to find him, now,” Tsuzuki stated softly, “Come on, Hisoka, we’ve got to hurry.”

As quickly as they could, they followed Muraki’s flowered trail until they entered Nara Park and neared the path to Todaiji Temple. Just as they were searching for the next rose clue, they heard a short, shrill scream, followed by an unnatural silence. “Up there,” Tsuzuki shouted as he rushed in the direction of the sound.

How trusting she was; how foolish; she came to him without argument or question. She was quite beautiful, in a classical sort of way. She didn’t even put up much of a struggle as he slid the knife through her ribcage, the blade gliding right in as if it were slicing through butter. She did scream, briefly, but the sound was abbreviated. A single, sharp exhalation of breath as she sagged in his arms and it was done. “Such a sad little doll,” Muraki mused, less interested in his victim than he was in the bigger prey he hoped to capture with her demise.

And his wish was granted just moments later as Tsuzuki burst onto the grounds of the temple, having followed the path of roses Muraki had surreptitiously left for him.

“Muraki, stop,” he yelled.
The doctor smiled. “I’m afraid you’ve arrived a little too late to do anything for the young lady, my dear Mr. Tsuzuki,” he replied as he allowed the limp body of the girl to descend to the leaf-covered ground. “You see, she was a mere distraction. It’s you I’ve been waiting for.”

“… a distraction! Damn it, Muraki!”

“Yes, she was the simplest means I could think of to get you to come to me.”

“And the other girls …”

“Of course, Mr. Tsuzuki; the other girls were also a part of my plan. You see, you would never have come to me if I hadn’t gotten the Enma-cho’s attention, now would you?” Muraki grinned devilishly, a wolf in sheep’s clothing. “You see, Mr. Tsuzuki … everything I do, I do for you.”

Tsuzuki lunged for Muraki, but the taller man was too quick. Drawing on a protection spell Tsuzuki began chanting, but Muraki, possessing a multitude of his own tricks, cut Tsuzuki’s recitation off in it’s midst.

“What the hell …” Tsuzuki began, as the doctor’s form vanished into thin air.

“Behind you,” shouted Hisoka, as Muraki reappeared.

Tsuzuki wheeled around to find Muraki hovering behind him just as Hisoka had predicted, a cunning grin playing at the corners of the doctor’s mouth.

“Come find me, Mr. Tsuzuki,” the ghostly apparition murmured, fingertips lightly tracing the contours of Tsuzuki’s face like a whisper, before vanishing from sight again. All that remained was the sound of laughter, echoing up the walkway, leading toward the Great Hall; laughter and a trail of crimson roses. “I’m waiting for you … my love.”

“Get back here, Muraki!” Tsuzuki demanded, as he rushed over to the lifeless body of Muraki’s most recent victim. Her blood pooled on the ground beneath them, coating everything it touched in a deep red lacquer. Tsuzuki fell to his knees beside her still form, picking her up and cradling her in his arms, a river of tears streaming down his cheeks. “Not again,” he moaned, his voice crackling with frustration, “Not again.”

“Damn you, Muraki!” he sobbed into the darkness as the hushed echo of maniacal laughter drifted back to him.

“It’s over, Tsuzuki,” Hisoka said quietly. “Let’s go.” He carefully took the girl from his partner’s arms, laying her back down on the ground. Then he helped his partner stand shakily as they turned and began to walk away.

“The girl …” Tsuzuki began, as Hisoka took his arm and gently steered him in the opposite direction.

“Watari is here. He can take care of her.” Hisoka glanced at Watari who nodded in wordless comprehension.

Tsuzuki turned toward his young partner, his eyes overflowing with tears, his gaze vacant. Hisoka hated that look, the one that crept into Tsuzuki’s eyes every time Muraki did something like this. It was as though he was slicing tiny bits of Tsuzuki’s soul out with each needless death and the pain of it was somehow reflected in Tsuzuki’s eyes every single time. This grated against Hisoka’s nerves much more than anything Muraki might have done to him personally in the past. Why did Muraki derive such pleasure from torturing Tsuzuki like this? “Everything I do, I do for you.” Every person Muraki killed was only an innocent pawn slain to draw Tsuzuki’s attention. How Hisoka hated Muraki at that moment, with all the passion and intensity the youngest Shinigami in the history of the Enma-cho could muster.

Tsuzuki couldn’t remember how he got from the temple grounds to the room he had taken in the inn, but he was certain it must have had something to do with Hisoka. That kid was all right, definitely the best partner a guy like him could ask for.

Falling on his futon still fully-clothed, he closed his eyes, trying to get the image of the murdered girl out of his head. But every time he managed to block it out, it was merely replaced with that of Muraki’s smirking visage and a trail of blood red roses. He used to love roses; their fragrance, their fragile beauty, but now, thanks to Muraki’s machinations, the mere thought of them turned his stomach.

Sleep would not come easily to Asato Tsuzuki that night. Soaked in sweat, he tossed back and forth on the futon, flailing wildly to fight off the intruder invading his subconscious mind. “Muraki,” he groaned.

“I’m here, Mr. Tsuzuki,” replied a voice from the distance.

“Where are you, Muraki? Show your self,” Tsuzuki demanded.

“In good time, Mr. Tsuzuki,” Muraki replied. “My, my, we are impatient, aren’t we?”

“What are you playing at, Muraki?” growled Tsuzuki.

“Oh, I assure you, this is no game, Mr. Tsuzuki. I have been patient long enough and now I have come for what is mine.”

“What? What are you talking about?”

Muraki smiled, “Why, you, of course.” A burst of white feathers showered down upon him as the shimmering image of Muraki appeared, resplendent in his customary white ensemble, leering above him like a deranged angel. “As I vowed, Mr. Tsuzuki, this time you are mine.” Without giving Tsuzuki another second to react, Muraki wrapped his arms around Tsuzuki’s shoulders and in an explosion of radiance, both men vanished.

Seconds later Tsuzuki felt Muraki’s warm breath against his ear as the doctor whispered, “You can open your eyes now, Mr. Tsuzuki,” as though coaxing a child. The surroundings were no longer familiar to Tsuzuki, though he had the strangest feeling of déjà vu. In the semi-darkness, it was difficult to discern anything, but it appeared they were in an old abandoned church. Of course it had to have been a church … with Muraki, it was always a church. How Muraki loved his churches. What an insane parody he was.

“You are so beautiful, Mr. Tsuzuki; did you know that?” breathed Muraki huskily, his tongue snaking over his lips in anticipation of things to come. “I have waited a long time for you, my love.”

Tsuzuki shuddered involuntarily at the words. The strong arms were still wrapped around his shoulders, as Muraki dipped his head to savor his first tantalizing taste of the man he hungered after, the tip of his tongue slowly gliding up one side of Tsuzuki’s neck. “Ah, sweet, as I knew you would be,” Muraki mused, grinning evilly. “You are to me just as one of the desserts you so adore. I have waited long enough …I must have more.”

Long fingers threaded themselves through Tsuzuki’s dark hair, not tight enough to cause pain, but just tight enough to control, turning the young man to face his captor. The amethyst eyes widened in alarm as the doctor moved in closer. Muraki’s lips imprisoned Tsuzuki’s as a shockwave coursed through Tsuzuki’s body. The kiss was warm, unexpectedly so. He had imagined Muraki’s lips would be as cold and hard as his heart, but they were warm, soft and inviting. A throaty moan escaped Tsuzuki before he had time to realize what he was doing. Encouraged by the young man’s response, Muraki deepened the kiss, his fingers tensing against Tsuzuki’s scalp, his tongue plundering Tsuzuki’s mouth.

“Mmm,” was the only sound Tsuzuki could muster, as he struggled feebly against the taller man’s chest.

The icy fire of Muraki’s eyes enveloped Tsuzuki, as the doctor shook his head, taking Tsuzuki’s wrists and pinning them behind the young man’s back. The subtle movement brought both of their bodies in full contact with one another, as Muraki resumed their passionate kiss. The pressure of Muraki’s body contouring to his own bent Tsuzuki backwards over the remains of a stone bench. Amethyst eyes snapped open once again as Tsuzuki began to fight against his abductor. “Oh ho, Mr. Tsuzuki, do not worry, I will not hurt you … much,” the mad doctor purred into Tsuzuki’s ear as he nipped at the sensitive lobe, sending chills down Tsuzuki’s spine and bringing a halt to his struggles.

Pressed to the bench by the weight of the doctor’s body, Tsuzuki gave the appearance of a sacrifice upon the altar of Muraki. The doctor’s hands were roaming freely now, shoving the black overcoat aside and sliding under Tsuzuki’s shirt to caress the smooth skin beneath. Another stunning revelation ... the doctor’s hands were even warmer than his lips. Tsuzuki fought against his response, trying to will himself to immobility when what he really wanted to do was be swallowed whole by the overwhelming feelings he was experiencing.

A palm brushed lightly over the bulge forming at the front of Tsuzuki’s pants, making it swell even more, sending his body arching stiffly off the slab and back into the doctor’s powerful embrace. Muraki smiled again, the corners of his mouth twisting upward as the silver of his eyes sparkled wickedly. Catching the young man’s hands in his again, he drew his mesmerized captive to his feet, guiding him across the room toward a darkened alcove. It only took a moment for Tsuzuki to realize that there were mirrors mounted on the walls, as he stared, dazed and confused, at his own reflection. They were such a stark contrast of one another, the lithe, raven-haired, dark-clad Shinigami, wrapped in the arms of the taller, silver-blonde, deceptively angelic-looking doctor. “A striking pair, wouldn’t you agree?” mused Muraki, his arms still surrounding the younger man, their eyes meeting in the glass. Embarrassed, Tsuzuki cast his eyes downward. “Oh no, Mr. Tsuzuki, do not look away. This was done specifically for your benefit.”

A few hushed words and an ominous metal frame materialized.

“I should get the hell out of here. Why can’t I move?” thought Tsuzuki in a panic. “What the hell is going on?”

His only response was Muraki’s evil grin. “Do not worry, Mr. Tsuzuki. I have waited far too long for this moment to do you any harm.” In a sudden rush of clarity, Tsuzuki found himself shackled to the rack by his wrists and ankles, sturdy iron cuffs and chains drawing him back and restraining his movement, arms and legs splayed to the four corners, the tips of his shoes clearing the floor by mere centimeters. Yet, he felt no discomfort, no pain, just an all-encompassing sense of detachment. Once again the protective spell didn’t find the opportunity to leave Tsuzuki’s lips as they were seized by Muraki’s in another punishing kiss. Placing a hand under Tsuzuki’s chin, Muraki turned the young Shinigami’s head to face the mirror in front of him. “Look, Mr. Tsuzuki. Let those beautiful amethyst eyes of yours absorb everything we are about to do. Observe … and enjoy.”

Muraki circled Tsuzuki like a predator assessing its prey, trailing wet kisses over the smooth flesh as his hands resumed their worship of the young Shinigami’s body, pushing Tsuzuki’s shirt up and gliding over Tsuzuki’s satiny fair skin, running his impeccably-manicured nails down Tsuzuki’s spine, all the while making the young man writhe and moan, but never once allowing Tsuzuki to drop his gaze from the mirrors surrounding them. “Such perfection,” Muraki mused appreciatively, stopping now and again to evaluate Tsuzuki’s flawless skin and muscle tone, touching his lips to a shoulder blade, the hollow at the base of his throat, the small of his back, everywhere that Tsuzuki was the most susceptible and responsive. “It is no wonder that I have loved you since the very first time I saw you. You are perfect.”

Stepping back from Tsuzuki for a moment, Muraki slowly removed his glasses and placed them in the pocket of his coat. Then he removed the coat, folded it carefully and put it aside. Rolling up his sleeves, he paused briefly to study the sweaty and very worn-looking Tsuzuki, carefully taking in the results of his handiwork. Then, seemingly from thin air, he produced a very long, very sharp, very scary looking knife. The sharpened steel glinted in the moonlight as he brought one side of it in contact with Tsuzuki’s cheek.

“Wha …,” cried Tsuzuki, when he felt the chill of the blade and renewed his struggles to break free. “What are you doing?”

Muraki’s fingers pressed to Tsuzuki’s lips, quelling the young man’s frightened protests. “I said I would not hurt you, Mr. Tsuzuki. I did not lie. Everything I do will bring us both the greatest pleasure. This is my promise to you.” Tsuzuki fought to curb his rising panic as Muraki’s fingers reverently traced the contours of his face. The arch of his brow, the curve of his cheekbone, the fullness of his lips, swollen from Muraki’s ravaging kisses. Tsuzuki closed his eyes tightly, warring within his mind, trying to shut down his responses to everything that was being done to him. Suddenly, the warmth of Muraki’s fingers was replaced by the jarring cold of metal and the amethyst eyes snapped wide open in alarm. A sharp pain as the blade slid lightly across his cheek was instantly replaced by a soothing warmth as Muraki closed his lips over the wound, drinking in the blood that flowed from the small cut. The doctor moaned euphorically, savoring the taste of Tsuzuki’s afterlife as Tsuzuki’s remarkable powers of healing caused the cut to disappear almost instantaneously. Muraki trailed the back of the blade over Tsuzuki’s still clothed body, mindful to stay away from the young man’s bound wrists, as Tsuzuki writhed against his chains. When at last he tired of this foreplay, Muraki once again set himself to the task at hand.

The doctor’s lips curled into a wickedly delighted grin as the tip of his knife toyed with the buttons of Tsuzuki’s white shirt. Tsuzuki’s struggles ceased as the unforgiving chains tightened once again, binding him with absolutely no means of mobility. “So good,” Muraki murmured under his breath, as he ran the blade under each of Tsuzuki’s buttons, popping them away with a flourish and bending to touch his lips to each area of newly exposed flesh. Tsuzuki’s skin was so smooth, unblemished, as he knew it would be, absolutely superb. Tsuzuki quivered slightly, whether in fear or in pleasure, Muraki was oblivious. He was lost … lost in his exploration of the one thing that had haunted and yet eluded him for so very long. He was lost in his need to bring this beautiful young man to the brink of madness, then to plunge over that very ravine with him. He was lost in his blinding desire for Tsuzuki. Nothing else mattered but this very moment. Trailing his lips over Tsuzuki’s chest, he paused at one hardened nipple, laving it with his tongue before drawing it between his teeth, errant strands of silky platinum hair brushing across Tsuzuki’s sensitized skin, making him moan involuntarily. One corner of Muraki’s mouth curled up cynically as the lust-glazed silver eyes met with misty amethyst ones, Muraki’s mechanical eye almost perfectly mirroring the desire of his real one. Releasing the nipple with a flick of his tongue, Muraki pierced the rock hard nub with the point of his knife, causing Tsuzuki’s body to arch against the rack with a howl and a small drop of blood to well at the tip. Dipping his head once again, he lapped Tsuzuki’s blood into his mouth, savoring the salty, copper taste before moving on the Tsuzuki’s other nipple. The process was repeated as Tsuzuki fought to maintain his sanity. What was Muraki doing to him? And why was he reacting this way to the doctor’s ministrations? Why couldn’t he just turn himself off, as he had before, the last time this madman had kidnapped him?

Before he could divine an answer he hazily realized that the cold steel of the knife had vanished and two hands were working at the front of his pants. The button and zipper were undone and a warm grasp brought him forth, stroking and caressing. Without a thought, he groaned in relief at the release from his confinement. “So beautiful,” repeated Muraki, in awe. “You are a picture of perfection, Mr. Tsuzuki and you are mine.” With a light squeeze that sent stars shooting through Tsuzuki’s brain, the doctor said, huskily, “I must see all of you.” With the precision of a surgeon, Muraki used the rematerialized knife to slice all of the remaining clothing from Tsuzuki’s body. Shredded material scattered on the ground around them, until, finally, all that remained before him was Tsuzuki strung upon the rack, completely naked. He could barely meet his own reflection in the mirror, ashamed of himself as he dangled from the torture device in a mocking semblance of Leonardo da Vinci’s Vitruvian Man.

“Breathtaking,” the doctor mused, appreciatively, as he circled Tsuzuki’s suspended form, placing strategic little nicks and cuts across the flesh then licking off the blood. A small cut on the inner thigh, a thin slice across the buttocks, flecks of blood trailing across the abdomen, all of this attention lavished upon Tsuzuki was driving Muraki into a heightened state of ecstasy. The front of his well-tailored pants was bursting, a clothed reflection of Tsuzuki’s own erection which jutted out stiffly from his body. Gliding one arm around his captive’s waist, Muraki grasped Tsuzuki’s swelling hardness in one hand while sliding the fingers of the other hand between Tsuzuki’s slack lips, cautious to remain behind the young man so that Tsuzuki continued to have an unobstructed view of their reflection.

“Unh,” was the agonized response as Tsuzuki bucked against his chains once again, making Muraki’s smile widen. “Yes, Mr. Tsuzuki, our time draws near.”

The slender fingers invading his mouth slid back and forth, back and forth, mimicking the movements of the hand between his legs. Tsuzuki’s head lolled back as he could no longer fight, his will completely taken over by his burning desire. The slow, torturous stroking continued as the fingers were drawn out of his mouth and placed at his puckered rear entry. Muraki savored the young man’s feeble struggle and gradual surrender as he slid a long, elegant finger into Tsuzuki, slowly turning and inching it forward until it was lodged up to the knuckle. Withdrawing the invading digit just as deliberately, he then placed two fingers at Tsuzuki’s entrance and renewed his actions. An anguished sob issued from Tsuzuki’s throat as he felt as though he was being torn apart. The grip on his erection tightened and the sensation it caused immediately drew his mind away from the assault. The two fingers stretched and opened him, the pain dulling very slowly as saliva, no matter how copious, is a poor substitute for actual lubrication. Then Muraki pressed a third finger into Tsuzuki, pushing and twisting all three to prepare the way for the bigger and better things to come. “Let go, Mr. Tsuzuki. Release your self to me,” Muraki purred, as he continued to take Tsuzuki from both sides, driving Tsuzuki harder and faster until the young man could no longer control himself. Suddenly, the feeling of intense pleasure began rolling through his body as the doctor’s skillful, sinful fingers worked their magic. Milky fluid shot from him, splattering against the mirrored walls as he slumped in his bonds, his shout of ecstasy echoing through the stone enclosure. “How wonderful,” Muraki smirked; raising a sticky palm to his lips as he licked off a bit of the liquid, savoring yet another taste of Tsuzuki. Undoing the front of his pants, he drew his own erection out, coating it with the lube he finally produced from his pants pocket. As he readied himself, he waited for the young Shinigami to recover. There would be no gratification in it for Muraki if Tsuzuki weren’t cognizant enough to know what was happening. And while he relished the thought of the young Shinigami writhing in pain, permanent damage was completely out of the question. After all, you can’t have an encore if you break the instrument.

Finally, after several moments had passed, Tsuzuki moaned and stirred in his shackles, his eyelids rising to reveal a hint of glazed amethyst. As he struggled to focus on the image before him, his eyes filled with tears at the sight of himself in all of his corrupted glory, the splattered line of cum across the mirror a poignant reminder of just how far he had fallen.

“Do not mourn, Mr. Tsuzuki. You are positively magnificent,” breathed Muraki, as he too studied Tsuzuki’s reflection. Running a tender finger under Tsuzuki’s eyes, Muraki caught his tears, bringing the finger to his lips to relish their salty taste. Those expressive eyes caught Muraki’s in the mirror, pleading as Tsuzuki strove to find his voice. The look of abject despair made Muraki’s heart pound wildly in his chest until he steeled himself once again and returned to bringing their escapades to their preordained conclusion.

He ran his fingernails down Tsuzuki’s spine again and grinned when the young man’s body wrenched in his restraints, nerves highly sensitized from the force of his orgasm. “Well, Mr. Tsuzuki …I believe you’re ready,” he observed, as Tsuzuki whimpered weakly.

Grabbing a handful of Tsuzuki’s hair, Muraki yanked his head back into another forceful kiss, as he guided himself into Tsuzuki’s opening. He stabbed his tongue into Tsuzuki’s mouth just as he made his penetration, plunging himself mercilessly into the Shinigami’s body with a smack. The mouth opened wide in a soundless scream as the amethyst eyes overflowed with tears once again. Muraki’s fingers dug painfully into Tsuzuki’s hips as he forced himself deeper and deeper into the young man, the sound of flesh hitting flesh filling the air. Tsuzuki hung limply in his chains, unable to move, unable to protest, unable to control the overwhelming feeling of delirium blazing through every nerve ending in his body. He just couldn’t seem to tear his gaze away from the reflection in the mirror, the image of himself strung up like a licentious sacrifice, Muraki’s hands grasping him cruelly, intimately as he caught brief glimpses of the doctor’s erection driving in and out between his legs. He was hard again. Try as he might to deny it, it seemed that he was actually enjoying this … this act of degradation.

Muraki could feel it, the battle going on in Tsuzuki’s soul and it made him even more zealous. He pounded relentlessly into Tsuzuki, driving himself harder, attempting to merge the pain and the pleasure. A subtle wave of his hand and the rack disappeared, allowing Tsuzuki to fall to the floor, his limbs too weak to support him. But it wasn’t the cold ground that rushed up to greet him. What he landed on was too soft to be a stone floor. It took a while for his addled brain to realize that the two of them were now on a bed, courtesy of another of Muraki’s parlor tricks. Gauzy curtains filtered streams of moonlight, reflecting off the stark white of the linens as Tsuzuki shook his head to clear it.

The doctor drew himself out of Tsuzuki briefly, hauling the young Shinigami upright and turning him around so that they were now facing one another. He sat back on his haunches, his legs tucked beneath him, as he pulled Tsuzuki onto his lap like a small child. “I want to watch your face as I take you, Mr. Tsuzuki,” Muraki whispered in his ear, combing his long, slender fingers through the raven disarray of Tsuzuki’s hair and tracing the contours of the young man’s face, before running the tip of his tongue from the base of Tsuzuki’s throat to his ear and nipping at his earlobe. “You have such a lovely face, so very expressive.”

Placing Tsuzuki’s legs on either side of his waist so that Tsuzuki was now straddling Muraki’s lap, Muraki positioned himself at Tsuzuki’s opening again then wrenched Tsuzuki forward sharply, driving himself back into the young Shinigami. All Tsuzuki could manage in response was a faint whimper. His resistance all but washed away in his debauchery, Tsuzuki wound his legs tightly around Muraki’s body as his arms found their way around Muraki’s neck and he dropped his head to the doctor’s shoulder, sobbing. “N … n … no …”

“Shh …” the doctor hushed, uncharacteristically, gently cradling Tsuzuki as though he were one of Muraki’s prized antique dolls. “Hush, my beautiful Asato.” He moved slower now, sliding in and out almost reverently, as Tsuzuki struggled to retain the tattered remains of his sanity. Closing his eyes, he began to move with the doctor, arms tightly clutching his neck, knees drawn up and ankles locked behind Muraki’s back. Tucking his hands under Tsuzuki’s hips, Muraki aided in his movement until they found a synchronous rhythm. Then they rocked together, Tsuzuki’s lips seeking out Muraki’s as the doctor accepted the acknowledgment in silent glee. The kiss was salty as Tsuzuki’s tears mingled with their saliva. Muraki savored it all the more. Then Tsuzuki shocked him by whispering, “Kazutaka …”

“What is it, my love?” Muraki answered, a few seconds later.

The tear-filled amethyst eyes rose to look directly into his. “Why? Why are you doing this to me? Why?”
Muraki smiled that sinister smile of his again and replied, simply, “Why … because I love you, of course,” as he reached between their grinding, sweaty bodies and brushed the pad of his thumb over the moistened tip of Tsuzuki’s hardness, causing the young man to cry out, his body twitching with spasms, his rear channel tightening around Muraki’s erection. This was all the incentive the doctor needed.

Flipping Tsuzuki onto his stomach, he pulled the young Shinigami to his knees; then slammed back into him, filling him completely. The muscles in Tsuzuki’s shoulders bunched as he clutched helplessly at the sheets, burying his face in their softness, hoping they would mute the guilty sounds of his pleasure. The tip of Muraki’s erection brushed over the sensitive nub deep within Tsuzuki’s body, causing the young man to cry out once again. “Did you like that, Mr. Tsuzuki?” Muraki mused. When Tsuzuki didn’t respond to his question, Muraki repeated the action. “Aaahh,” Tsuzuki gasped, bucking wildly. “Yes, I thought you might,” Muraki answered himself, smiling, as he now carefully aimed his thrusts to bump up against that same spot, over and over again. With that, Tsuzuki’s body began to spasm violently.

Had he been even remotely sentient, Tsuzuki might still have tried to think of a way to fight back, but at this point, all hope was lost. The only thing on Tsuzuki’s mind was the wave after wave of intense pleasure his most reviled enemy was pouring over him, a swirling black pit of it, closing in on him like the ocean around a drowning man. And just when he thought he couldn’t take any more, Muraki did the one thing Tsuzuki was praying he wouldn’t. The doctor leaned forward over the young man’s back, wrapped a hand around Tsuzuki’s renewed erection and began swirling feather-light circles over the now hyper-sensitive head. The dual stimulation was overwhelming as Tsuzuki shouted Muraki’s name and his world exploded; a multitude of fireworks going off behind his eyelids and his cum spraying through Muraki’s fingers and across the bed. The seizing of Tsuzuki’s muscles as he came brought Muraki to the edge and he burst in Tsuzuki’s rear channel, coating the young man’s insides with threads of milky white, as he continued to thrust into the young Shinigami until neither man could move. Then he limply collapsed upon Tsuzuki’s back, driving him prone into the mattress, both men shuddering from the force of their exertions, Muraki’s body draped possessively across the form of the young Shinigami.

Muraki was the first to regain his senses, as he pulled out of Tsuzuki and sat up. Placing himself back in his pants, he straightened his clothing, then took the young Shinigami in his arms and pressed his lips to the raven hair that clung in wild disarray to the damp forehead. Tsuzuki’s eyes remained tightly closed as he continued to tremble, insensate, from the aftershocks of their passion.

“Sleep now, my love,” Muraki whispered, as he felt Tsuzuki’s body slowly relax and his breathing return to normal. Muraki placed a final, chaste kiss upon the young man’s lips as light permeated the room and everything began to spin. “We will meet again soon, Mr. Tsuzuki.”

Even in his sleep, he swore he could hear the sound of his name continuing to echo in his mind, “Tsuzuki … Tsuzuki … Tsuzuki …”

“Tsuzuki …”

“Hey, Tsuzuki … come on, wake up,” muttered Hisoka. “We’ll be late to meet Tatsumi and Watari, again.”

“Muraki …”

“Muraki’s vanished, Tsuzuki. He’s not in Nara anymore. Watari and I even went to Kyoto to talk to Oriya, but he didn’t know anything. He said that Muraki never even stopped at Kokakuro this time. I don’t know what the hell is going on. It’s like he was never here.”

Asato Tsuzuki opened his eyes, trying to focus on the green-eyed youth standing at the foot of his futon. Then his consciousness flooded back and he sprang bolt upright. “It was a dream,” he gasped, breathing a sigh of relief, “It was just a dream.”

“Yeah, whatever Tsuzuki …just hurry up; we have to go,” Hisoka replied, turning and walking out of the room.

Combing a hand through his hair, Tsuzuki shook his head, trying to clear out the cobwebs still clouding his mind, “Phew, what a dream … or should I say what a nightmare.”

“At least it’s over.” Turning to stand, Tsuzuki pushed himself up with one hand braced on the futon behind him.

“Oww,” he yelped with a start, jerking his hand back to find that the palm was bleeding. Throwing back the sheet, his heart leapt, pounding wildly as sweat began to bead on his forehead and a mist began forming in those wonderfully expressive amethyst eyes.

There, next to where he’d been sleeping lay a single red rose. And somewhere, in his all-encompassing darkness, Kazutaka Muraki smiled.

You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story