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comment_fic's Any; any; Red moon, dead moon. Hisoka, with mild hints of Hisoka/Tsuzuki and Muraki/Hisoka
A moonlit night, a night when Hisoka lay with Tsuzuki, the taller shinigami lying beneath him, content to be made love to, to be possessed by the younger, slighter man with the sharper temper. Tsuzuki would agree to nothing else: he worried that Hisoka might feel confined or that the lower position would bring back memories that he did not wish to recall. Hisoka accepted that, but he did not let on that he found the argument moot.
Nothing Tsuzuki could do would remind him of that fateful night, the night of the blood red moon that bathed the land in a crimson flood, the pale man with the mad eyes who turned a night of wonder to a night of pain and fear and blood. The night when the moon ceased to be a beautiful innocent sphere to him, and when it became a lifeless rock standing for madness and fear and a loss of stability. The face of the moon could remind him of that night, the night when he started to die, if he felt low enough, but not tonight, not while his lover lay nestled beside him.
Hisoka sat up, watching the night sky, the clouds crossing the face of the moon, dimming the moon light for a moment.
And then one especially large cloud moved in, masking the moon for nearly a minute. And in that time, the cloud seemed to darken, turning crimson, the faint rays of moonlight that escaped around its edges seeming to turn into smears of blood.
Hisoka nearly shrank back from the window, but he forced himself not to. Wherever Muraki was, he might well be able to sense his fear and disgust, by way of the psychic link via the curse which the mad sorcerer had carved into his soul. Nor did he want to disturb Tsuzuki, lest the other shinigami should awaken and see this sight, which would anger him and send him on the warpath again, wanting to wipe Muraki out of existence. Though it rather pleased him to think that his lover was ready to slay his attacker.
But he pulled these thoughts into his heart, just in case Muraki could read them through the link.
Something rustled in the fabric of space and time and he thought he could hear an inbreath inside his head. "Thinking of me, even as you lie with another?" Muraki's sardonic voice asked, inside his head. He tsked, and Hisoka could hear the sound as clearly as if the man were in the room with him, leaning over the bed, leaning across Tsuzuki's prone form sprawled on their pillows. "You're nearly as much of a lecher as I."
"I only thought of you because you turned the moon to blood," Hisoka replied, softly.
"Hmmm, yes, the demon within me craved a life in order to sustain the life of its host," Muraki's voice replied.
"What are you talking about?" Hisoka asked.
"I know you hate me for what I do, the lives I have taken," Muraki's voice replied. "You may as well hate wolves for slaying sheep."
"Stop it, you're a human being, you're more than you appetite," Hisoka said.
Muraki laughed, sending a ripple through Hisoka's head. "You're just as naive as Mister Tsuzuki, thinking that I'm merely a common garden human being. The next time that you see me, look deep into my soul: you may see another face behind my own, something as old as time and space, something born from the darker side of heaven."
"Stop it, your arrogance is boring me," Hisoka said, withholding some of the truth. Muraki's words were enough to light a pilot light of anger in one corner of his heart.
"Hmmf, I suppose that it is well past your bed time, young man," Muraki's voice replied. "Go back to sleep: don't let the bloodied face of the moon keep you awake. You need your sleep to keep your youthful beauty, but I suppose that since you're dead, thanks to me, you don't need beauty sleep."
"Whatever," Hisoka muttered, laying back down beside Tsuzuki. Muraki's mad chuckle rippled through his head, then the sound died away into the far corners of the room.
Tsuzuki nestled against him, warm and oblivious to what had happened, lively despite being dead, lying at peace next to him, in the bleeding light of the dead moon...
comment_fic's Any; any; Red moon, dead moon. Hisoka, with mild hints of Hisoka/Tsuzuki and Muraki/HisokaA moonlit night, a night when Hisoka lay with Tsuzuki, the taller shinigami lying beneath him, content to be made love to, to be possessed by the younger, slighter man with the sharper temper. Tsuzuki would agree to nothing else: he worried that Hisoka might feel confined or that the lower position would bring back memories that he did not wish to recall. Hisoka accepted that, but he did not let on that he found the argument moot.
Nothing Tsuzuki could do would remind him of that fateful night, the night of the blood red moon that bathed the land in a crimson flood, the pale man with the mad eyes who turned a night of wonder to a night of pain and fear and blood. The night when the moon ceased to be a beautiful innocent sphere to him, and when it became a lifeless rock standing for madness and fear and a loss of stability. The face of the moon could remind him of that night, the night when he started to die, if he felt low enough, but not tonight, not while his lover lay nestled beside him.
Hisoka sat up, watching the night sky, the clouds crossing the face of the moon, dimming the moon light for a moment.
And then one especially large cloud moved in, masking the moon for nearly a minute. And in that time, the cloud seemed to darken, turning crimson, the faint rays of moonlight that escaped around its edges seeming to turn into smears of blood.
Hisoka nearly shrank back from the window, but he forced himself not to. Wherever Muraki was, he might well be able to sense his fear and disgust, by way of the psychic link via the curse which the mad sorcerer had carved into his soul. Nor did he want to disturb Tsuzuki, lest the other shinigami should awaken and see this sight, which would anger him and send him on the warpath again, wanting to wipe Muraki out of existence. Though it rather pleased him to think that his lover was ready to slay his attacker.
But he pulled these thoughts into his heart, just in case Muraki could read them through the link.
Something rustled in the fabric of space and time and he thought he could hear an inbreath inside his head. "Thinking of me, even as you lie with another?" Muraki's sardonic voice asked, inside his head. He tsked, and Hisoka could hear the sound as clearly as if the man were in the room with him, leaning over the bed, leaning across Tsuzuki's prone form sprawled on their pillows. "You're nearly as much of a lecher as I."
"I only thought of you because you turned the moon to blood," Hisoka replied, softly.
"Hmmm, yes, the demon within me craved a life in order to sustain the life of its host," Muraki's voice replied.
"What are you talking about?" Hisoka asked.
"I know you hate me for what I do, the lives I have taken," Muraki's voice replied. "You may as well hate wolves for slaying sheep."
"Stop it, you're a human being, you're more than you appetite," Hisoka said.
Muraki laughed, sending a ripple through Hisoka's head. "You're just as naive as Mister Tsuzuki, thinking that I'm merely a common garden human being. The next time that you see me, look deep into my soul: you may see another face behind my own, something as old as time and space, something born from the darker side of heaven."
"Stop it, your arrogance is boring me," Hisoka said, withholding some of the truth. Muraki's words were enough to light a pilot light of anger in one corner of his heart.
"Hmmf, I suppose that it is well past your bed time, young man," Muraki's voice replied. "Go back to sleep: don't let the bloodied face of the moon keep you awake. You need your sleep to keep your youthful beauty, but I suppose that since you're dead, thanks to me, you don't need beauty sleep."
"Whatever," Hisoka muttered, laying back down beside Tsuzuki. Muraki's mad chuckle rippled through his head, then the sound died away into the far corners of the room.
Tsuzuki nestled against him, warm and oblivious to what had happened, lively despite being dead, lying at peace next to him, in the bleeding light of the dead moon...
