In the House of Lies

BY : antilogicgirl
Category: Descendents of Darkness/Yami No Matsuei > General
Dragon prints: 1792
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.

A/N: Hello again. I have another chapter for you, just in time for Thanksgiving! So load up your plate with turkey and cranberry sauce, pull up a chair, and read on.

Thank you so much for your reviews. They are always appreciated, and give me good fuel to keep writing! There are a few things I should let you know right now. While the Manga covers a good deal of topics, I am not certain that I will be going into Hisoka’s trials in the ‘imaginary’ world in this particular story. It really doesn’t have very much to do with what I have in mind, though another story treating his situation might be in order, and unless Matsushita has decided to start writing again, I’ll just continue on my merry way.

Warnings:

LI—
Lime, hetero
S-ai—Shounen-ai

--

Chapter 2: Malediction

“Master,” came a feminine voice from the other side of the room.

Nagare’s head tilted slightly to the side as he set down his teacup. “Yes, Miya?” He motioned that she enter and shut the door, and the young woman complied with alacrity. Her footsteps approached, and from the vibrations of the floor, he felt that she stopped approximately four paces in front of him. Listening intently, he heard the rustle of cotton as she knelt and settled herself onto the backs of her heels.

“Master,” she said again, “I am sorry to disturb your solitude.”

He gave the servant a small smile. She always said that. “Nonsense. You care for me too well, Miya. Please, tell me what is troubling you.” Nagare rested his hands in his lap, one finger rubbing absently at the bandage that covered his left hand. The girl shifted, a restless, nervous sound.

Her voice was still hesitant. “Please, master, forgive me.” Nagare’s brow furrowed. What was she speaking of? Had she done something? “I have overstepped myself, master.” The young woman lowered her voice, and she spoke more urgently, shifting closer to him. “But I had to, master. It’s the doctor’s assistant. He has become very curious about Doctor Hazama’s death. And I am unsure how, but he found a photograph of Rui-sama…and that woman…”

Nagare opened his mouth to ask how she knew these things, but he felt her hand touch his arm, gently gripping at the bandaged area. “He…I followed him to the school. He was in there for a long time, master. And he seemed very interested in the family’s history. While he helped me arrange the storage area last night, he spent close to ten minutes examining the family tree. I do not know what to do, master. If he discovers the truth—“

A sudden pain in his stomach nearly caused the man to double over, his breathing speeding and muscles tensed. The demon within him gained a larger foothold every day. His body obeyed his commands, but his flesh had begun to change. With each time the snake visited him, driving him slowly mad with its claims on his body, more of his skin became covered in a fine mesh of scales. Up until now, they had stayed on his chest and arms, but this morning, he had discovered a line of larger, almost bony scales running down his spine.

Nagare drew in a sudden breath, tasting the air as the pain shot through him again, and Miya’s worried voice was no more than a vague echo. She was holding him up, now. At this rate, I will not last much longer…Soon, through him, the demon would rise again. He had no heir. The curse would die with him, because when Kurosaki Nagare ceased to be, taken over completely by the creature that grew inside him, all that would remain would be the filthy snake.

Another breath brought to his tongue the flavor of violets; a clean, womanly taste that must be coming from Miya. It had a strange effect on him, ensnaring his mind, every bit as intoxicating as fine sake. And in that moment, the solution to his problem presented itself. His wife…there would be no more children with her. But Miya was young. Nagare could taste in the air that the girl was ripe, and he could feel her slight form pressed against his side as she clutched at him, trying to keep him upright. Small breasts rested against the crook of his arm, and her thighs were parted as she knelt to give her better balance. His heart was beating faster now, at the thoughts that formed in his mind of testing the flexibility of those slender legs. Though he was sure that some of the images floating around his mind were inspired by the darker desires that the demon inside him harbored, he could not rid himself of them.

A pleasing burn started to form in the pit of his stomach, blood beginning to rush into his groin. Nagare shifted his body so that he was facing her, wedging his knee between hers.
Perhaps this was beneath him, but this was something he did for the good of the village, of the family. “Miya…” Nagare groaned, his hands seeking until they found the shoulders of her kimono. They gripped hard, and he knew he was causing her pain. “Miya…I need…”

Miya’s gasped, saying in a tearful voice, “Please, master…you’re hurting me…” Her breathing was harsh against his face, and even these things drove his need on. Nagare lowered his mouth to Miya’s neck, his tongue darting out to taste her skin. The girl panted in anxiety, her hands flying to seize at his wrists, attempting to push him away. Growling, he gripped the cloth of her kimono tightly, pulling it back from her neck and down, exposing skin that his fingertips found immediately. Roughly, he ripped the kimono open. Miya whimpered, and Nagare felt her shift, her hands trying to close the folds of skewed clothing over her body.

“Miya,” his voice was coarse now as he spoke against her skin, teeth grazing the pulse at the side of her neck. Blood sped through his veins when her breath caught, stuttering out in a small moan that did not sound altogether voluntary. Nagare nipped at supple skin, feeling his desire rise as her body arched against him. “I need you, Miya.” This, at least, was true. He needed her in that moment, his desire growing with each passing second. But Nagare also required Miya’s assistance in another way. He needed someone he could trust, someone unflinchingly loyal, to help him contain the curse that plagued his family.

His right hand gripped hers, forcing her fingers to release their hold on her clothing. “M…Master,” she whispered when his hands moved over exposed skin, massaging roughly, “I can’t—we shouldn’t—“ Nagare silenced her with his fingers, which moved more gently, becoming almost loving in their caress. Miya’s body jerked, and she let out a small, surprised sound that was something between a whimper and a squeak.

She trembled in his grasp as one hand slipped behind her back, holding her where she was, the other continuing its abuse of the sensitive flesh of her breast. Barely allowing his lips to touch her skin, he moved them up her neck, over her jaw. “Miya,” he whispered against her mouth, “I need you to help me.” His mouth hovered over hers, the phantom sensation of lips tingling over his. Nagare almost gave in to the desire to crush his mouth against hers, but he must explain the situation. Never ceasing his gentle torture, he continued, “My blood is cursed…when I am devoured by it, the monster will return, unless I have an heir. A strong heir to take my place when I am gone, and shoulder this burden.”

Her breathing was ragged now, and her heartbeat was thundering in his ears. The moment must be perfect when the question was posed. “I must have an heir, Miya. The mistress cannot bear children…” Finally, when he had pressed her as close as she could, Nagare allowed his lips to graze hers. Miya whined, her body going nearly limp in his hands. “Give me a child, Miya.”

--

“So…” Tatsumi said slowly, watching Watari smugly sipping his tea, “So you’re saying that this is like with Sagatanas?”

The scientist gave him one of his infuriating grins, leaning on one hand. “Yes, and no. This particular demon stays contained if the family has a successor. The village inhabitants back when Kurosaki Ren was alive…they ensured that the demon was bound to Kurosaki blood. So long as Nagare had an heir, the family—and consequently, the village—remained relatively safe.” Watari’s unsettling gold eyes fell onto him, twinking in amuseument. Tatsumi controlled his urge to shift on his cushion. He did not understand what precisely about the scientist sent his usual implacable balance so off-kilter, but he wanted it to stop. Right now. His thoughts on that subject were interrupted when Watari finished toying with a long, wavy section of hair to look up at him again and say, “But just like with Sagatanas, the demon fuses with the flesh of the host body. In essence, the only way for him to regain his own body, and return to rule the region would be for Kurosaki Nagare to be devoured by him. And because he has had no heir for some time now, the process has already begun.”

Tatsumi looked around the room, thinking. This made a certain amount of sense. But if it were true, then where was the contract? Who had struck the bargain? And how on earth were they ever to discover these things? He could not simply ask Kurosaki-san. There was no way he’d get a straight answer out of the man.

“I see,” the secretary intoned quietly, setting his cup down upon the table. “And what about what happened to me? The woman in the water? Who is she, a ghost? A ghost that looks just like the woman in the basement…Watari, I’m starting to have my doubts that our ‘patient’ is actually Rui.” He just could not find any proof of that. It was more like a feeling in his guts, one of those niggling sensations that you got toward the middle of watching a slasher film. Just after he started getting those feelings, he usually heard someone in the theater telling the stupid female lead not to go into ‘that room’.

A sly, secretive smile stretched at Watari’s full mouth, catching Tatsumi unaware. The scientist leaned across the table, touching a fingertip to the end of Tatsumi’s nose. He was so stunned by this unexpected contact that for a moment, he froze. Then Watari said in an amused tone, “Bingo, Mr. Secretary.”

Blinking in surprise, he batted the hand away and snapped, “What do you mean, ‘bingo’? You have no proof of that, do you?” Watari frowned and shook his head, causing hair to fall over his face before he pushed it away again. “There are still too many things we don’t know. All we have is a photograph.” This was completely ignoring his gut instinct, but he couldn’t just go on that. Tsuzuki did that constantly, and look where it had landed him…so deeply in debt that it would take selling his body to the Lord of Hades to get him out. That was a position that Tatsumi was in no way desirous of being in. Gut feelings weren’t admissible in written reports, either, which was why he needed something more conclusive. This seemed to annoy his partner, though.

Watari made an annoyed sound in his throat. He began unfastening his fingerless gloves, and peeling them off, the motion seeming quite mechanical, as if it were a calming ritual. Once he had done this, he tossed them in the direction of his futon. Tatsumi’s eye twitched when they instead bounced and landed in the middle of his bed. The blonde shinigami was notoriously messy, and it drove the fastidious secretary near to madness. “Tatsumi Seiichirou…I thought you were more observant…” The taller man’s blue eyes jerked back to Watari, who was now sitting in his shirtsleeves, having shrugged off his lab coat (which Tatsumi noticed was tossed aside just as carelessly as his gloves). He drummed his fingers on the table impatiently, frowning once again at Tatsumi, eyes narrowing with what seemed to be exasperation. “Did you not tell me, when I had you repeat your tale, that the woman indicated she had woven the kimono herself?”

“Yes, but—“ Tatsumi tried to interject, but those golden eyes flashed, shutting him up. Watari was having none of his protests.

Watari’s fist came down on the tabletop, the sharp pounding sound startling Tatsumi enough to make him jump, banging his legs on the underside of the table. “Who else other than his wife might weave a kimono specifically for him? And she called you by a name, having identified the owner of that kimono! Damn it, Tatsumi, you call me an idiot?”

Now, that was uncalled for. Tatsumi drew himself up even as he sat, his hands fisting at his sides. “Now see here—“ Amber eyes burned with irritation as Watari leaned heavily on his hands, hauling himself onto his knees and towering over Tatsumi, and the secretary’s voice suddenly died in his throat. There was every promise of violent action in those volatile yellow eyes if he continued.

What on earth had gotten into him? Watari’s sudden movement had caused the secretary to stop speaking, and it also allowed Watari to go on with what looked to become a tirade of epic proportions. “Oh, put a sock in it, Tatsumi…Mr. ‘I’m superior to you’ accountant…” The title was all but spat from Watari’s mouth as he leaned closer, “You’re always right, aren’t you? Always yelling at me for overspending on the research budget…I’ll have you know that my gender-switching potion has been paid for strictly using my salary. I do not—unlike what you seem to think—misappropriate funds for my own use. My research is by no means useless. And I’m not an idiot, either.”

Tatsumi’s heart was in his throat. He wondered for an instant how Watari had discovered his most private thoughts, and known exactly what to say to hit so close to home that a little thread of guilt had started worming its way through his consciousness. And then, there was the fact that the blonde man was so intimidating at the moment…With every sentence, the irate man had pushed his face closer, the fire in his eyes building until his final words were growled across Tatsumi’s lips. “I’m sorry if I’m not your old partner, Tatsumi. I’m not Tsuzuki, but I’m all you’ve got, so get used to it.”

Unable to say anything, barely able to breathe, Tatsumi simply stared into eyes that threatened violence if he spoke a single word. Had he any less sense than he did, he might have been tempted to think that Watari’s eyes were glowing. Hair was tickling the sides of his face, since Watari had effectively climbed onto the table, causing Tatsumi to lean away, but that had not stopped the livid man from advancing. Those burning eyes narrowed. “You wanted him…didn’t you, Tatsumi?” That feeling…the one of horrified anticipation from the movie theater broke suddenly, giving way to something so very much worse.

A shock so severe that it was almost painful went through Tatsumi’s body, and his heart suddenly began to hammer in his chest. “I…” He had kept that to himself, from everyone, for so long that he’d almost forgotten. Why, if Watari knew…had guessed somehow…why was he bringing it up now? Tatsumi felt sweat start to form on his palms. What was he scared of? He was not frightened of Watari Yutaka (not really afraid). So what was it? Was he scared of what he might say next? That he was letting his professional behavior be clouded by his old sentiments? That idea was dismissed as soon as it had come. It was obvious to everyone, now that he thought on it, that he had a soft spot for Tsuzuki Asato. For the love of God, it was hard not to. He could hardly think of anyone who would not melt when Tsuzuki turned the puppy-dog eyes on to full strength…

If he was not afraid of what Watari was going to say, as he hovered over him, what was he scared of? It occurred to him, just then, that he was dreading what the scientist might do. He was so close, Tatsumi could feel the heat from his body, could smell the citrus scent of Watari’s shampoo. And there was this strange almost-but-not feeling itching over his lips…that was something he had not felt in a very long time. That feeling was not what scared him. The fact that Watari might decide to take advantage of his dominant position and kiss him did not faze him either. It was the prospect that he might like it if those constantly talking lips pressed against his. He could not imagine it being pleasant. After all, this was Watari.

Frenetic, flighty, flaky, and altogether frustrating…but not passionate. Tatsumi almost slapped himself, right there in front of Watari. Why was he even thinking about this crap? It had to be frustration over the case, eating away at his mind. The fact that the partner he had been given was more annoying than anyone had a right to be might factor in there somewhere, but he could write it off as stress. Stress had caused problems in his life for a long time, and this was no different. He’d had a traumatic experience. He was working a case where he felt close to useless. He had a man still leaning over him, tension crackling in the air like static electricity after taking off a wool sweater…

Watari’s voice cut across his thoughts again, “You did want him…” he breathed, his head tilting slightly, as it might if the man were examining a specimen of some kind. The skin of the other man’s nose brushed his, and Watari said in an almost dreamy way, “…but you don’t anymore.” He had heard that tone before. It was the one the scientist used when he was particularly fascinated with something. Tatsumi last heard Watari talk like this when he was trying to decode the contract on Minase Hijiri’s cornea. What was he so mesmerized for? He had been all but shouting a few seconds ago, and now…Oh, shit, Tatsumi thought, just before his greatest fear was realized.

--

Moments slid by, a blur of warm sensations, quickening heartbeats, and stuttering cries. Nagare’s mind was both repelled and fascinated by the dark, almost violent desires with which he had become filled. This must be due to the ever-growing connection with the beast within, but he could do nothing but let go, and satisfy these urges. After what must have been hours, he finally collapsed atop Miya, feeling her body shaking, her hands clinging to his bandaged arms.

The girl’s mouth moved over the skin of his neck, placing indolent kisses in a random pattern there. He smiled slightly, allowing himself to take in the feeling of a warm body against his. It had been a very long time indeed. But he could not dwell on such things. A moment or two later, he was standing, shrugging back into his clothing. “I will need you again,” he said quietly.

Miya’s fingertips grazed lazily over the back of his leg. Her voice came sleepily, “Yes, Master.”

--

Watari pulled away from Tatsumi’s mouth. It had been a chaste kiss, a simple brushing of lips, which had garnered absolutely no reaction. Just like I thought, “Stiff as a board.” He finished his thought aloud, watching the surprise in the other man’s blue eyes fade into an indignant anger. It was disappointing, really. The tension…it had been there, hadn’t it? He’d been so angry he could have spit nails, when he finally recognized the horrible tension for what it was. But now that he’d experienced the absolute lack of anything that was kissing Tatsumi, he felt like he might have been wrong.

After all, this was Tatsumi. The guy probably couldn’t loosen up even if he were drugged. Watari sighed, vexed with himself for misreading the situation, and prepared to look apologetic and feel awkward. He’d even climbed up onto the table! There was no explaining that away. God, I hate feeling awkward…

He started straightening up so that he could hop off of the table, but his attention was suddenly hijacked when large, strong hands gripped the front of his purple sweater and yanked. A feeling of weightlessness overtook his body, and the detached, scientific part of his brain told him that it felt like he was flying through the air. The less analytical sections were panicking. Tatsumi had pulled him off of the table, and was flinging him across the room! No, that wasn’t it, he discovered quickly when his back hit the floor, too close to the table to have been thrown by the larger man.

The wind temporarily knocked out of his lungs, Watari almost didn’t notice the weight on his thighs. Even winded, he noticed when a handful of his hair nearly got ripped out. Tatsumi grabbed a chunk of hair at the back of his head and pulled him up off of the floor. He still looked pissed as he leaned down to let his mouth hover over Watari’s. “I am not stiff,” Tatsumi growled. It suddenly felt like there was a jackhammer going at full tilt in Watari’s chest, and it only got worse over the few seconds that the other man’s lips stayed there, seemingly indecisive. Lips that were so often set in a grim line brushed over Watari’s gently, teasingly, before pressing firmly and parting to let out a tongue, which licked at the scientist’s lower lip.

His brain still wasn’t processing things correctly, but his body was right on top of things, seeing as how his mouth opened just a little, taking Tatsumi’s lip in and sucking slightly, before letting go when the other man groaned, settling more of his weight onto him. Those angry blue eyes slid closed, and the hand at the back of Watari’s head relaxed, releasing his hair and simply cupping his neck to pull him closer. When his brain caught up to what his body was doing, he couldn’t help his surprise at the warmth of the other man’s mouth. He let Tatsumi’s tongue past his lips, and the kiss began deepening dangerously. There was no battle for dominance between them; only Tatsumi invading his mouth and Watari teasing back with clever sweeps of his tongue over areas that he theorized might be sensitive.

When Tatsumi finally released him, Watari blinked, still slightly surprised. In a quiet, secretive tone, he made his answer. “No…you’re not stiff, Tatsumi.” His hands loosened from the secretary’s shirtfront, where he hadn’t known they’d gone. That one little slip of memory and motor control could be allowed. His mind was otherwise—and much more pleasantly—occupied. “But if you do that again, I might be.”

The dark-haired man snorted, and nipped Watari’s lip. Then his voice turned back to what it normally was: cool, and distant. He had his defenses up again. “Later, Watari. We need to deal with business right now.”

Tatsumi started to lift himself up, but the blonde took hold of his wrist. “All work and no play makes you a very dull boy, Tatsumi.” It was said in jest, but the strangely sadistic light that kindled in the shadow-manipulating shinigami’s eyes told him he should shut his mouth. That went double when the man spoke again.

“I am anything but dull, Watari. You will discover this…later.”

--

A/N: Oh, dear. They’re going to be the death of me. Review.


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