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tampered2007-09-03 07:11 pm
empathed.livejournal.com) wrote in tampered2007-09-03 07:11 pm
Log; Complete
When; September 2nd [Evening].
Rating; R [Non-Con].
Characters; Kurosaki Hisoka [![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
empathed], Muraki Kazutaka [roy_de_epee], & Miibu Oriya [kyotodollmaster].
Summary; Muraki feels like emotionally scarring Hisoka at work, but Oriya steps in before things go too far...supposedly.
Log;
Hisoka; Hisoka really hated his job. It wasn't how most people hated their jobs, in the my-boss-is-a-prick or overworked-and-underpaid type of ways. He hated his job because this tea house was a place that mentally and physically disgusted him. He hated to be around the girls to feel what they were feeling... and the customers were even worse.
The place was lewd, even if that wasn't what it was 'officially' about. Not to mention, both of his enemies were constantly in it. Oriya might have acted friendly, but he was still Muraki's friend, and Hisoka could never think of him as neutral when he was friends with a rapist and murderer. Even if it had been his own idea, and even if it was for a good cause, he still loathed it.
It was that very thought that drew out a low growl as Hisoka rubbed at a stubborn spot on the tatami in one of the guest rooms. What was this? It couldn't have been tea. Was it wine?
Muraki; It had seemed as though a certain patron had taken to some rather foolish conduct - such disharmony normally created more headaches and frowns than it did a sense of pleasure. But when one was bestowed the power by which one could weed out such troublesome elements, it was no wonder the occasion was fittingly a sweet sort of victory. There were no exceptions, at least with the man who had been bestowed such interesting names by the man he had shot in cold blood. Angel of death... perhaps so. And the thought made Muraki smirk a bit in triumph as he moved silently down the emptier hallways of the tea house. Even though the blood upon his conscience had been washed off for a while now, he still felt a certain residual warmth about the affair.
And so he had taken up the evenings of his days in such a manner, playing the helpful doctor as always at the hospital only to roam about the higher-end whores and sleazes and act as something of a threat to those who misbehaved. Even though not often seen, he still had a way of making his presence well-known. Curious, in a sense - psychological control was easy when a gun rested in your hands.
The evening had seemingly calmed - even still, Muraki took to skulking the tea house, just on the off-chance of finding an odd misdeed or two. More of a security precaution, really, and Oriya had believed it to be a rather decent idea even in the past. He thought himself lucky when he saw a silhouette of someone bent over darken the paper partitions of one room - instantly, he paused where he was, watching it intently. But there were no others in the room, so it seemed... and the silhouette didn't fit the usually stocky build of more distinguished gentlemen who often came on a call. How curious....
Hisoka; It started with a strange feeling on the edge of his subconscious. Nagging...and dark. Somewhere inside of him, it was like falling into an endless pit of black, and it felt disturbing familiar.
Then the pain set in, followed by the revulsion at understood what it implied. The marks tattooed along his body were flaring up, and even though his clothes mostly hid them, the burning sensation was impossible to ignore. It made him gasp and hunch over rather suddenly, the rag on his hand clumping up under his tight grip.
Muraki was not only near, but he had been active. Who had he killed? What had he done to them? When had it happened? Was Hisoka already too late?
With a shake of his head, the young shinigami jumped up as if to run out of the room, only to freeze when he saw the silhouette. Apparently Hisoka wouldn't need to go looking.
Muraki; It was almost as though the other had some odd sense that he knew who was there. Truly, it was almost a shock to Muraki, but nothing too unexpected. And he certainly didn't feel that threatened by such a slim physique... one he had surely seen before, now that he had thought of it. And even though suspicions remained floating around in his head, Muraki took not another step, and the hand that had rested at his side near the small derringer pistol he had seemed to twitch in anticipation.
"Is anyone there?" he asked, his voice almost certainly giving away his amusement at the ordeal. It was almost like a hunt - the thrill of a hunt was always such the adrenaline rush. He smirked to himself, still watching the form's shadow from the distance he had chosen to maintain. Perhaps his vague suspicions would be confirmed - and oh how he had hoped he was right.
Hisoka; The voice practically made him snarl in response, but he held back and just clenched his fists with a glower. He knew that Muraki frequented this place, but he rarely made himself public about it. For Hisoka to just happen upon him seemed like pure luck. It would be so easy to simply pull his gun and fire a bullet through his heart, then bury him fifty feet so that he never returned.
But then he would lose his job and any further chance of spying so easily. So it was with a grimace that the boy took a step back and sunk down to grab the rag again, shoving it into the bucket and ringing it out. His hands were practically trembling as he tried to stay in control of his own emotions.
"Go away," the shinigami hissed out in response. "Unless you want to die again."
Muraki; The voice gave it all away more than the words, and it caused a pleasant, triumphant grin to spread in place of the intrigued smirk while he approached the partition in slow, stalking movements. "Merely, ah, checking on the workforce," he explained, almost as though not acknowledging that it was, indeed, the boy - even if he did use such explicit, direct words. It was all a game, such an amusing one, and only more so because of that interesting reaction he could produce from that small shinigami.
"You see, it's not good to have disharmony in the workplace...," he trailed off, sliding the partition further open. Still looking smugly satiated with himself, Muraki seemed to half-peek into the room and chose to lean against the frame with a casual stance. "Isn't that right, boya?"
Hisoka; Hisoka's jaw clenched, and he scrubbed at the spot even harder, and it was a miracle he hadn't worn a hole in the tatami by now. "I agree," he muttered out before shooting a glare over his shoulder that would have terrified weaker men. He knew it wouldn't do a thing to Muraki.
"That's why I'm telling you to get lost. Get any closer and there will be a lot of disharmony." He was so grateful once again that Tsuzuki wasn't in the City. Even if he missed him terribly and worried about him, he was somewhat at peace with the fact that Muraki was here and Tsuzuki was not. It meant his partner was safe, even if he was alone.
Why did Oriya let Muraki walk around here when he knew how much Hisoka hated him? Was he hoping to get Muraki killed?
Muraki; The glare, he knew, was meant to deter anyone further - it only seemed to have the reverse affect upon Muraki, however, and he took an emboldened step forward, out from behind the sliding door to finally step upon the tatami mat within that small room. "If you scrub harder, perhaps you might be able to sufficiently ruin the tatami," he remarked casually, still smirking even while watching the boy work so hard.
"Of course, you're using the wrong cleaning agent, aren't you?" he continued. And he took another step forward - just how much closer would he get without provoking any further reaction? Now he was very curious. "Rather hard to get blood out with what you're using."
Hisoka; The teen's shoulders hunched and he suddenly yanked his hand away with a grimace. Blood? He had been hoping it was just wine, but had been very careful about not touching it directly just in case. Honestly, the images that came to mind at the thought were not pleasant. From a woman losing her virginity, maybe? That thought made him ill. How could women degrade themselves so?
Still, now he actually wanted to touch it just to prove Muraki wrong. He was probably bluffing... So much talk and so little action, unless Tsuzuki or Tsubaki were involved.
It was with another glare that he shoved the rag aside and rested his hand flat against the stain. There was enough residue to suddenly make his eyes completely glaze over at the mental images that flashed through his mind. The images...and the pain. This had only just happened, just earlier that day.
He could feel the knife as if it were twisting right into him, and the fear nearly drove him out of his mind. Muraki's face was still there, burned there, and then there was a woman screaming. No, that wasn't right. He was screaming.
It took all of his strength to yank his hand away, causing him to fall back and immediately halt his screams. Panting and looking utterly drained, the shinigami looked up to see Muraki still standing there. He had murdered one of the girls, simply for stealing! And the way he had stabbed her... Oh God, he felt like throwing up.
"Bastard...," he hissed out, rolling onto his side and quickly reaching for the gun in his jacket.
Muraki; How curious... Muraki watched on, looking almost entertained while seeing Hisoka writhe about so, as though he were in as much pain as the harlot he had slain. It was a curious sort of mirror image... and it almost distracted him well enough. Once he saw that hand reach, by all appearances, for his hip, Muraki knew he was reaching for a weapon. Quickly he moved to the boy, kicking at the drawing arm before shoving him flat on his back and stabilising such with the heel of his shoe at the back of the boy's neck.
"Boya wants to play rough, is that it?" he muttered, lightly grinding his heel into Hisoka's neck threateningly. "Seems every old acquaintance of mine here wants to put a bullet in me...." Muraki chuckled, more to himself than anything else as he kept a stare on the boy. Then, with a metallic click, he had his own gun out, pulling it out to point at his head, just in case.
Hisoka; He yelped when the shoe made sharp contact with his arm, forcing his hand away from the pistol still stuck in it's holster. Suddenly he was stilled by the heel against his throat, and he gasped from the sudden pain. More crippling than that, though, were the emotions rippling off of Muraki from the contact. All dark, and all sinister.
Once again, the boy felt ill.
With a glower directed at the gun pointed in his direction, Hisoka's eyes narrowed. "You think a gun is a threat to a shinigami?" he rasped out weakly, a flicker of power beginning to emanate from his fingertips. Oh yes, he had been practicing with Konoe's help. Hisoka didn't have to depend on his pistol to injure this bastard. A spell could do the trick. He just needed to concentrate.
Muraki; Oh, how amusing. Things like this were exactly the reason why Muraki had time and time again found the boy so amusing - entertaining, really. Most others would have - should have - been a little afraid, even hearing warning bells at the sparks of energy glowing at Hisoka's fingertips. Yet, Muraki thought it clearly a delight. A chuckle escaped him, turning slowly into a rather dark laugh. No, what threat was there to a dead man who would merely rise again from the ashes?
Dying twice and living (more or less) to tell the tale was enough damning evidence to have one considered a phoenix.
"Silly boya," he replied, cocking the gun now. He wasn't going to back down. He had no reason to, did he? Death no longer was something to be feared - not when he knew just what it was like. "Injure me enough, and I'll just heal. But if you want so badly to kill me...," he paused now, letting his heel kick at the boy's jaw threateningly, challenging him to make a move. "Go ahead."
Hisoka; The kick nearly made him bite through his tongue, but the bruise was disappearing almost as soon as it formed. With a growl, Hisoka's eyes sparked and his fingers twitched, the power spreading. If he could just concentrate well enough to properly blast the man...then he could find a way to keep him dead...or at least keep him out of action.
Buried beneath the earth a hundred feet, maybe, restrained with ofuda. Surely that could work.
Before he could act on it, though, something else completely different flooded his senses. Something human and yet...not. Higher or lower? Hisoka couldn't tell. The spark in his eyes had died, giving way to the same glazed look that resulted in him touching that woman's blood.
Somewhere in the city, someone with a powerful aura was screaming with every fiber of their being, and Hisoka's empathy was a filter. His hand instantly dropped and twitched as he stared at nothing, doing his best to keep a hold on his sense of self.
Muraki; Once that blank, glossy-eyed look overtook the boy, Muraki decided to make the move. Whatever the distraction was, he had to be grateful for it at such a time. Smirking to himself, he slipped his pistol back to his side. And now he could take an advantage over this... and certainly bring a stain upon the shinigami who so violently opposed him.
He had a cold, almost conspiratory look in his eye while he slid down to the boy who lie on the floor. If he was correct, then Oriya wasn't going to approach this area for a while - not when a rather important guest had graced the tea house with his presence and the girls with his greedy hands. The opportunity was so well-planned that Muraki had to wonder at the fortitude of it... especially when he hadn't really planned it to begin with. But he had plenty of time to think about that.
"Such a fool," he muttered, finally managing to hover over Hisoka and pin his wrists to the mats. Oh, he had him now. And it would be a good lesson for the boy.... Muraki never did like interference, much less when it wasn't at all entertaining.
Hisoka; The close contact brought enough revulsion that it helped return him to his senses, if only a little. He was now aware that he was in fact Hisoka, and not whoever that painful cry had come from. The feeling was passing, but the aftermath still made him shudder.
In the darkness of Muraki's heart, there was no peace or comfort. Hisoka did not find anything electrifying like anger or any normal sort of emotion. It was just too dark to see or feel or sense. It was smothering and yet empty at the same time, and it made his restrained hands jerk in a subconscious attempt to free himself.
He had to get himself in order. He could probably scream... but what would that do? Bring Oriya running? Hisoka didn't trust the man enough to think he could possibly be any help. There was always the tiny remote in his pants pocket, but he would have to free his hands. As much as he detested calling for help, he would prefer that over whatever Muraki had planned.
Quickly, the boy jerked his knee up against Muraki's side, trying to free himself just long enough so that he could press the button.
Muraki; He could feel the pain in his side... a clever boy, truly, he was dealing with, and he wasn't afraid of confrontation. Sadly, though, neither was Muraki - and he was far cleverer than the one who writhed so beneath him. Muraki grinned, again chuckling with a dark sort of mirth while he tightened his grip upon those wrists in his confining hold. Yes, he had been hit, but his reflexes were more in line with his mind, and he knew well not to let go.
"You better save that energy for later, boya," he addressed his victim-to-be, smirking widely while he let the full weight of his body settle upon the much slimmer body underneath him. He had him now - and he would be damned if the shinigami was going to get away so easily, if at all.
Hisoka; Anger flashed across his gaze again as he tried to separate Muraki's repulsive emotions from his own. He was Hisoka. He hated this man. And that hate ran red hot, not black and cold like the man on top of him.
It was with a hiss that he began struggling with all of his might, kicking and yanking at his hands. Again he wanted to scream, but knew that would do nothing. Nobody here could help him. He just needed to gain control of himself and recall the spell he was going to cast.
Just a couple minutes was all he needed, and then he could end this. Muraki couldn't stop him... He was stronger now, and he wasn't afraid!
Muraki; And still he persisted and tried to get out of it. Muraki would have found it annoying, if he hadn't been in a rather good mood to begin with - now, it all seemed so amusing. It was almost as though Hisoka knew what was coming... but struggling so against a predetermined outcome wasn't going to help. At this point, Muraki hardly seemed to notice the struggle and the plight below him, even though he had been hit a bit by the kicking. It was inconsequential to him at this point.
His grin was wide now, almost to the point of looking like a demented Cheshire cat's cunning smile while he merely took one hand to hold down both those wrists and the other to firmly grip at the boy's throat. He wasn't going to lose this round. "I hope you're this energetic for a little longer," he murmured, leaning in rather close before finally taking advantage and slipping a very intense kiss to Hisoka. What better way to temporarily place the other in a stupor?
Hisoka; The touch to his lips practically burned as badly as the marks along his body that suddenly flared up. Muscles seized and vision doubled. Even before, Muraki had never done something this intimate. Kissing was supposed to be innocent, wasn't it? Even Muraki could tarnish something like that. Faintly, he could recall Tsubaki...
Which just drew out a furious growl, and while trying to twist his hands again to free them, he lashed out and bit down on the doctor's lower lip as hard as he could. He wouldn't be satisfied until he tasted blood.
If he was going down, he was going down with dignity, not as some lady of the night!
Muraki; It had worked somewhat well, even though it seemed to bring out a more feral nature in the other. The bite to his lip caused Muraki to jerk back slightly, but it merely made him chuckle while the hand that had rested on Hisoka's neck reached up to brush at a small trickle of blood on his lower lip. How cute - he had managed to break the skin.
"Boya likes it rough," he mocked, shooting a dangerous, malicious look to Hisoka before he moved back where he was. Still with such a dark grin on his face, the same hand moved to skim over the side of the boy's waist. He knew every touch would feel like a high-intensity inferno... and not merely for the spell he had so lovingly cast upon the now-shinigami. "I can be as rough as you like," he crooned mockingly, the hand at Hisoka's wrists tightening as though to crush the bone there.
Hisoka; The pain was enough to make him nearly howl, but he bit his own tongue to keep it in. Not only because help wouldn't come, but because he wouldn't give Muraki that kind of satisfaction. Surely he wanted to hear him cry out.
Besides, that pain would heal. As soon as Muraki let go, the bruises would fade. Whatever he did, Hisoka could recover from it. He knew that he could. He wasn't a victim anymore.
Still, the pain seizing his body and the utterly sick feeling that Muraki was bringing out was making him break into a sweat as he kept twisting, finally regaining enough of his senses to hiss out words again.
"It figures, the only way you'll ever get anything like this is by force, Muraki. Do you really enjoy being so repulsive?"
Muraki; And he truthfully was so disappointed in not hearing a scream. But, of course, Muraki could turn the tide to his favour - especially if he used his entire force upon the boy. The game had just begun, and the opening moves hardly contributed as much to the overall game as the latter ones did. A wicked little smirk played at his mouth, and he pulled those wrists up to smash them rather violently into the tatami mats. He wasn't going to let the boy get away so easily.
"Such a pretty little voice," he remarked, moving to the other's ear to lick at the rim suggestively. His eye caught the brilliant peridot of the other's, and he took a challenging bite upon his earlobe. "And you'd scream so well, I bet...."
Hisoka; His body was reacting, but even he wasn't sure what it was reacting to. Surely not the man's actions. He had more self control than that... Hisoka might have been a teenager, but he was not like most boys in the way he thought. The fault of that could easily be blamed on his upbringing and Muraki's torture.
Still, there was an odd flicker in his emotions that mingled with the hate and disgust. ...Arousal buried deep in that black amusement. It was with a sick horror that he realized he was experiencing Muraki's emotions, and of course the pervert would like this.
Sick sick sick sick sick. "Stop!" he suddenly yelled out, fury lancing across his clouded gaze as he twisted once more to try to snap at Muraki, to bite anything to make him bleed, while his slender fingers curled to try and dig his nails into the man's hands. Even if he was a sick bastard, he was only human, and if Hisoka could just cause enough pain, surely he would be halted long enough for Hisoka to escape.
And escaping was the only thing he could think of then. Not murder, or vengeance. He just wanted to get far far away from these muddled emotions.
Muraki; Muraki was rather tempted to simply pull out his gun and shoot those hands that worked so fiercely to injure him in some way. But it would hardly do much in the way of deterring that boy... shinigami were rather pesky like that. And even though he was sorely tempted into taking matters into his own hands by quicker methods, he knew that the conquest would be even better if he managed still a victory even without some additional help. The idea drove him to use his free hand to grip threateningly at the boy's throat, tightening with each second.
"It's not nice to be so violent, boya," he reprimanded almost mockingly, still smirking with a demented sort of amusement. He again tightened his hand as it remained on Hisoka's throat, nearly threatening to collapse his entire throat while he smirked with malicious humour. Shinigami couldn't feel death, unless by special circumstances. But they still could understand the language of pain.
Hisoka; The pressure against his wrists and throat did still him somewhat. His entire body was already screaming from pain, but the pain brought on by his cursed marks were different than any normal pain. They burned his skin, but more than that, they burned his mind. The more Muraki touched him, the worse it felt.
It should have made being strangled a walk in the park, but once more, the pain was different. This pain was more human, and it was not a pain he had been training himself to get used to. Lack of breath was not so very important, but getting his windpipe crushed would hurt more than he cared for at the moment.
Instead, Hisoka tried a different tactic. His instincts screamed for him to fight and snarl and snap, but he knew that he needed to think a few steps ahead. Fighting back wasn't doing anything but worsening the situation. Maybe if the boy relaxed and let Muraki do what he wanted for awhile, the sick doctor would relax.
Then it would be easy to escape.
It took all of the shinigami's willpower to keep his mouth shut and his body still then, but the fire in his eyes still blazed as he glowered up at the man with a fierceness that couldn't be tamed. He wouldn't be broken, not ever again.
Muraki; So now he was complacent and even willing to cooperate - but Muraki hadn't missed the look in his eye even while he remained as still as he did. Still keeping such appearances, even in while so helpless a position as he was. And the defiant little glare he received just made it that much more amusing. It merited his grip upon the boy's throat loosening and that hand slid down, keeping a light touch as it moved down that thin neck.
"Good boya," he muttered, his voice almost purring while his hand moved then to the collarbone. Swiftly, though, it swooped down to the thigh and squeezed rather tightly. The more he could make it enjoyable for himself, the more humiliation he would be able to get from Hisoka. Humiliation was the name of the game now - the inherent arousal, just a bonus.
Hisoka; It was with a grimace that he stayed still, gritting his teeth and turning his face away. His stomach lurched at the invasive touching, trying not to think about it too much. All he had to do was concentrate on letting Muraki relax so that he could get free and run.
And certainly not on the complex emotions inside battling one another. Still, even if he knew he was only mirroring Muraki's arousal, shame still flooded the shinigami's features. No matter what happened, no matter what he had to do, he couldn't let anyone find out about this. Especially Tsuzuki, if he ever showed.
Muraki; This half-compliance was more of a turn-on, really, that Muraki would have thought, and even though he liked a good struggle every now and then, this almost was even more interesting than the usual. He let out a low, smooth moan inside his throat, that hand moving up the boy's thigh and then back down again. Oh, he was enjoying this so much. And it was obvious in how quickly he had then managed to remove the shirt Hisoka had been wearing, only to toss it aside haphazardly.
And now he could see those marks... they glowed so invitingly even while his hands traced over them. The curse still remained - the boy still was his. And the thought merely spurred Muraki onward, even as his fingertips moved along the waistband of those pants he wore. Then, giving a playful lick underneath the waistband, his hand worked deftly at undoing the enclosure there. So close... so very close.
Oriya; Distinguished guest or no, every man fell into the pit of stupidity once there was a certain amount of alcohol in their bloodstream. This one in particular showed even less tolerance than most and he had warned his girls that he would not get any favors without paying. He then stepped out, not wanting to be in there any more than necessary, though he never usually stayed for too long. It was bad enough having to deal with the arrogant girls, but customers who thought the world owed them favors, well. If it wasn't for the income... ah, he might have chosen a better profession. Something that actually involved putting his medical degree to use without having to resort to actually bothering to interact with folk he cared nothing for. Perhaps he'd practice a little with his sword, it had been a while since he'd done his katas and after stepping into his room to retrieve it, he decided to take a check around just for good measure before he went outside.
It was by chance that he happened upon one of the corridors that he hadn't quite had the time to explore yet. This place was larger, much larger than the one he had back home, yet still very much the same. It still wasn't home though, so observation helped. Pausing when he heard the sounds of activity, he had to frown. Was one of the girls here? He knew Muraki was, he'd felt his presence not too long back, but he found himself suddenly hit by a surge of shock, eyes widening. Muraki-- and someone else.
A feeling of dread followed by a wave of tension went through his form and he found himself running, until he found himself stopping at the place he was getting the feeling from. The door was slid open without a second thought, and what Oriya saw confirmed what he'd been feeling.
And then there was the anger.
It wasn't so much as what Muraki was doing, rather than the fact that he was doing it to Hisoka who Oriya had told he would not be bothered during his work time here. Not only that, there were just some things he did NOT want happening in his tea-house, especially with men. The situation wasn't exactly one he believed consensual, knowing Muraki, and that broke the third rule. No forcing his employees, and with that, Oriya had moved. His sheathed sword was out, and before they could even form a protest, he swung it out to hit Muraki on his arm and shoulder, aiming to dislodge his hold on the boy, and the second hit to throw him off him, intending to move between Hisoka and him once distance was gained.
"Bastard!" he hissed, rage showing in his bronze eyes. "I warned you once before with the other!! You idiot!!" he was referring to Tsuzuki, that one time back in Kyoto. And right now, he felt angry at, disappointed in even, his best friend.
Muraki; Normally, a hit on the shoulder certainly wouldn't have impeded Muraki from his work. However, he knew just when the sheer amount of force used was enough to topple him over that he was dealing with a special sort of person. And when he looked up as he slowly rose to his feet, his suspicions were confirmed. His luck had run out for the day, so it seemed, but he was lucky enough that the sword still had remained sheathed. But Oriya's wrath was certainly something to be feared, and even though he had no regrets about what he had managed, he still has a blank look of shock while he stabilized his stance.
"O-... Oriya...," He remained as he was, staring the enraged face that stood now between him and the boy. Even if it looked odd, he knew well enough that it wasn't out of a personal interest in the boy... just business, as it had been with Tsuzuki. And the thought made him half-smirk. He knew well enough that if he stayed any longer, he'd be a dead man. Quickly, he shot a look over Oriya's shoulder to Hisoka, a smirk that held a sort of covenant - a promise that he would come back. "I believe I have other business to attend to," he remarked almost flippantly, stepping away and then out of the small room.
Oh, he had been so close. So very close - at the least, he could use it as leverage against the boy. After all, this wasn't the end of that.
Oriya; The look that Muraki gave Hisoka, even if it wasn't aimed at him, sent him into a little more than an annoyed rage. The bastard. Despite everything, was still aiming to cause even more trouble that would put him at risk with these bastard Shinigami. The anger, though aimed at him, was also one that he had expressed to Muraki towards them, and as he moved away, he growled, "Hold it, Muraki!" before marching forward and grabbing him by the lapels of his coat and forcing him around.
Not a moment was wasted before he curled his fingers into his palm tightly and with the strength only a swordsman managed to gain with intensive training, he smashed his fist into Muraki's jaw with a strength just short of breaking it. Sparing him from being kicked out quite literally, he then shoved him out.
"Don't let me catch you touching my employees again!" he snarled, with a look that said he would speak to him in private later. Then, turning his back to him, face red with anger, he waited for his best friend to leave before he even bothered paying any heed to Hisoka.
Muraki; Muraki almost looked stunned once he was pushed back from Oriya. He was no stranger to anything Oriya ever had to toss his way, and yet this was almost excessive force he was using against him. For a little while, he stood, stupefied, and looked at Oriya while his hand rested on the area where he had been punched. And then he seemed to chuckle - almost interesting how his luck had played out for the day.
"Fine, fine," he retorted, giving a casual shrug as he eyed Oriya and then turned back around. He knew damn well that he would have a talk with Oriya later, but hopefully he wouldn't have to resort to any extreme measures. As he walked away, he gave a small sound of satisfied amusement. Even though it seemed to have turned out poorly, really, the progress that he had made certainly outweighed the hindrances.
Hisoka; With his shirt gone and Muraki's venemous mouth straying far too low, Hisoka had been on the verge of losing control and kicking him right in the chest when Oriya had shown up seemingly out of nowhere. The boy was shocked that he hadn't even sensed him coming, but maybe it had something to do with how the pain was flooding his senses.
He could only stare blankly as Muraki was knocked away from him. He thought he heard some yelling, and the look on Muraki's face was...priceless, until the doctor pinned Hisoka with a look that nearly made the boy lose his lunch. He quickly looked away again, not watching when his 'boss' punched Muraki and more or less threw him out.
Perhaps he should have been grateful, but he simply couldn't muster up anything like that. Muraki's sinister intent had soaked into him like a sponge, and he was still gasping and trying to sit up as the assailant finally left. The marks twisting along his body were practically glowing, but by now the pain was nothing. Nothing in the world could match his shame and horror.
Someone had seen his disgrace.
Oriya; Oriya wasn't looking at Hisoka, having seen enough to know what the boy's condition was and he moved, only enough so that he could stand in front of him without actually having to face him. His arms folded, expression livid, Oriya maintained the silence before he removed the haori he was wearing, it wasn't a long one for him but just right for Hisoka's height, fortunately and moved past Hisoka, draping it over his front, still careful about meeting his gaze. He knew if he looked, he'd see the cursed symbols on his body that Muraki had so often boasted of, and he wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of piking his curiosity.
Then, turning around, he went to retrieve the sword he'd dropped while punching the doctor, and strapped it back to the side of his body, moving a hand absently through his hair, as he leaned an arm against the door frame and finally spoke, "He wasn't supposed to be here." It was an apology in disguise, that much was for certain.
His eyes were dark with anger, and he took a few quiet breaths to calm himself. Even though he spoke softly, it was clear he was furious, and then he chanced a glance over his shoulder. "Are you alright, Bon?" he asked, merely out of obligation than concern for the boy's emotional state. He was still an employee here, after all. "No, of course you're not. You're shaking. Go into the private rooms and gather yourself. You don't want to be seen like that by those arrogant girls."
Hisoka; It felt like pity, though Oriya's anger was real enough from what Hisoka could sense. That wasn't a comforting thought, though. He still couldn't believe a maniac like Muraki could be tamed by this man. Why had he let Oriya boss him around? Did he actually care what his 'friend' thought.
He wanted to snap out a nasty retort, but instead held his tongue. Regardless of his reasons, Oriya had saved Hisoka for the moment, and his silence was the most he could offer in thanks. The haori was shoved off, though, and he was quick to fasten up his pants before glancing around for his shirt. In seconds he had scrambled over to grab it and yank it on. Fully-clothed, it was easier to pretend he was calm.
Or at least attempt. The marks still burned, but not as much as his eyes did. Face flushed, he gave the older man a long threatening look, much like a dog when it's been cornered, before shaking his head and hissing out, hoping his voice didn't sound too hoarse.
"He killed one of your girls for stealing." A hand was waved in the direction of her blood stain next to the bucket of soapy water before it was clenched into a fist. He wanted nothing more than to curl up and die, as much as a shinigami could. But even now, he had more pride than that.
He wanted to threaten Oriya to not tell a soul, but had a feeling that wouldn't sway him. All he could do was hope Oriya had more sense than that. This was Hisoka's fight, and he didn't want to make it anyone else's. Jaw set, the shinigami didn't even cast him another passing glance as he stalked off.
Oriya; Having kept his back to him the entire time, Oriya respectfully kept his gaze averted, even as he heard the boy dress again. Hisoka's glare was felt, but not seen for the very same reason, and he thought of Muraki. He thought of the madness the bastard put the shinigami through, it wasn't enough that he was obsessed with Tsuzuki but Hisoka? The boy's powers were no secret to him, which made him wonder about his friend's sadism yet again. It was unbelievable that he still wanted to go through the wrath of the shinigami just for his own personal satisfaction. It wasn't as though he could gain anything here! Especially not for the purpose he wanted to.
And had he known Hisoka believed him to ever tell anyone, he would have certainly felt offended, but it was his luck. Once Hisoka was gone, he turned to walk over and pick up the haori that Hisoka had so rudely thrown away, and dusted it off, before carrying it on an arm and going over to observe where the boy had gestured to, on assumption and finding the spot on the mats.
With a dismissive shake of his head, the only thing he muttered then was, "And I told him not to stain the mats... that bastard."
Rating; R [Non-Con].
Characters; Kurosaki Hisoka [
empathed], Muraki Kazutaka [roy_de_epee], & Miibu Oriya [kyotodollmaster].Summary; Muraki feels like emotionally scarring Hisoka at work, but Oriya steps in before things go too far...supposedly.
Log;
Hisoka; Hisoka really hated his job. It wasn't how most people hated their jobs, in the my-boss-is-a-prick or overworked-and-underpaid type of ways. He hated his job because this tea house was a place that mentally and physically disgusted him. He hated to be around the girls to feel what they were feeling... and the customers were even worse.
The place was lewd, even if that wasn't what it was 'officially' about. Not to mention, both of his enemies were constantly in it. Oriya might have acted friendly, but he was still Muraki's friend, and Hisoka could never think of him as neutral when he was friends with a rapist and murderer. Even if it had been his own idea, and even if it was for a good cause, he still loathed it.
It was that very thought that drew out a low growl as Hisoka rubbed at a stubborn spot on the tatami in one of the guest rooms. What was this? It couldn't have been tea. Was it wine?
Muraki; It had seemed as though a certain patron had taken to some rather foolish conduct - such disharmony normally created more headaches and frowns than it did a sense of pleasure. But when one was bestowed the power by which one could weed out such troublesome elements, it was no wonder the occasion was fittingly a sweet sort of victory. There were no exceptions, at least with the man who had been bestowed such interesting names by the man he had shot in cold blood. Angel of death... perhaps so. And the thought made Muraki smirk a bit in triumph as he moved silently down the emptier hallways of the tea house. Even though the blood upon his conscience had been washed off for a while now, he still felt a certain residual warmth about the affair.
And so he had taken up the evenings of his days in such a manner, playing the helpful doctor as always at the hospital only to roam about the higher-end whores and sleazes and act as something of a threat to those who misbehaved. Even though not often seen, he still had a way of making his presence well-known. Curious, in a sense - psychological control was easy when a gun rested in your hands.
The evening had seemingly calmed - even still, Muraki took to skulking the tea house, just on the off-chance of finding an odd misdeed or two. More of a security precaution, really, and Oriya had believed it to be a rather decent idea even in the past. He thought himself lucky when he saw a silhouette of someone bent over darken the paper partitions of one room - instantly, he paused where he was, watching it intently. But there were no others in the room, so it seemed... and the silhouette didn't fit the usually stocky build of more distinguished gentlemen who often came on a call. How curious....
Hisoka; It started with a strange feeling on the edge of his subconscious. Nagging...and dark. Somewhere inside of him, it was like falling into an endless pit of black, and it felt disturbing familiar.
Then the pain set in, followed by the revulsion at understood what it implied. The marks tattooed along his body were flaring up, and even though his clothes mostly hid them, the burning sensation was impossible to ignore. It made him gasp and hunch over rather suddenly, the rag on his hand clumping up under his tight grip.
Muraki was not only near, but he had been active. Who had he killed? What had he done to them? When had it happened? Was Hisoka already too late?
With a shake of his head, the young shinigami jumped up as if to run out of the room, only to freeze when he saw the silhouette. Apparently Hisoka wouldn't need to go looking.
Muraki; It was almost as though the other had some odd sense that he knew who was there. Truly, it was almost a shock to Muraki, but nothing too unexpected. And he certainly didn't feel that threatened by such a slim physique... one he had surely seen before, now that he had thought of it. And even though suspicions remained floating around in his head, Muraki took not another step, and the hand that had rested at his side near the small derringer pistol he had seemed to twitch in anticipation.
"Is anyone there?" he asked, his voice almost certainly giving away his amusement at the ordeal. It was almost like a hunt - the thrill of a hunt was always such the adrenaline rush. He smirked to himself, still watching the form's shadow from the distance he had chosen to maintain. Perhaps his vague suspicions would be confirmed - and oh how he had hoped he was right.
Hisoka; The voice practically made him snarl in response, but he held back and just clenched his fists with a glower. He knew that Muraki frequented this place, but he rarely made himself public about it. For Hisoka to just happen upon him seemed like pure luck. It would be so easy to simply pull his gun and fire a bullet through his heart, then bury him fifty feet so that he never returned.
But then he would lose his job and any further chance of spying so easily. So it was with a grimace that the boy took a step back and sunk down to grab the rag again, shoving it into the bucket and ringing it out. His hands were practically trembling as he tried to stay in control of his own emotions.
"Go away," the shinigami hissed out in response. "Unless you want to die again."
Muraki; The voice gave it all away more than the words, and it caused a pleasant, triumphant grin to spread in place of the intrigued smirk while he approached the partition in slow, stalking movements. "Merely, ah, checking on the workforce," he explained, almost as though not acknowledging that it was, indeed, the boy - even if he did use such explicit, direct words. It was all a game, such an amusing one, and only more so because of that interesting reaction he could produce from that small shinigami.
"You see, it's not good to have disharmony in the workplace...," he trailed off, sliding the partition further open. Still looking smugly satiated with himself, Muraki seemed to half-peek into the room and chose to lean against the frame with a casual stance. "Isn't that right, boya?"
Hisoka; Hisoka's jaw clenched, and he scrubbed at the spot even harder, and it was a miracle he hadn't worn a hole in the tatami by now. "I agree," he muttered out before shooting a glare over his shoulder that would have terrified weaker men. He knew it wouldn't do a thing to Muraki.
"That's why I'm telling you to get lost. Get any closer and there will be a lot of disharmony." He was so grateful once again that Tsuzuki wasn't in the City. Even if he missed him terribly and worried about him, he was somewhat at peace with the fact that Muraki was here and Tsuzuki was not. It meant his partner was safe, even if he was alone.
Why did Oriya let Muraki walk around here when he knew how much Hisoka hated him? Was he hoping to get Muraki killed?
Muraki; The glare, he knew, was meant to deter anyone further - it only seemed to have the reverse affect upon Muraki, however, and he took an emboldened step forward, out from behind the sliding door to finally step upon the tatami mat within that small room. "If you scrub harder, perhaps you might be able to sufficiently ruin the tatami," he remarked casually, still smirking even while watching the boy work so hard.
"Of course, you're using the wrong cleaning agent, aren't you?" he continued. And he took another step forward - just how much closer would he get without provoking any further reaction? Now he was very curious. "Rather hard to get blood out with what you're using."
Hisoka; The teen's shoulders hunched and he suddenly yanked his hand away with a grimace. Blood? He had been hoping it was just wine, but had been very careful about not touching it directly just in case. Honestly, the images that came to mind at the thought were not pleasant. From a woman losing her virginity, maybe? That thought made him ill. How could women degrade themselves so?
Still, now he actually wanted to touch it just to prove Muraki wrong. He was probably bluffing... So much talk and so little action, unless Tsuzuki or Tsubaki were involved.
It was with another glare that he shoved the rag aside and rested his hand flat against the stain. There was enough residue to suddenly make his eyes completely glaze over at the mental images that flashed through his mind. The images...and the pain. This had only just happened, just earlier that day.
He could feel the knife as if it were twisting right into him, and the fear nearly drove him out of his mind. Muraki's face was still there, burned there, and then there was a woman screaming. No, that wasn't right. He was screaming.
It took all of his strength to yank his hand away, causing him to fall back and immediately halt his screams. Panting and looking utterly drained, the shinigami looked up to see Muraki still standing there. He had murdered one of the girls, simply for stealing! And the way he had stabbed her... Oh God, he felt like throwing up.
"Bastard...," he hissed out, rolling onto his side and quickly reaching for the gun in his jacket.
Muraki; How curious... Muraki watched on, looking almost entertained while seeing Hisoka writhe about so, as though he were in as much pain as the harlot he had slain. It was a curious sort of mirror image... and it almost distracted him well enough. Once he saw that hand reach, by all appearances, for his hip, Muraki knew he was reaching for a weapon. Quickly he moved to the boy, kicking at the drawing arm before shoving him flat on his back and stabilising such with the heel of his shoe at the back of the boy's neck.
"Boya wants to play rough, is that it?" he muttered, lightly grinding his heel into Hisoka's neck threateningly. "Seems every old acquaintance of mine here wants to put a bullet in me...." Muraki chuckled, more to himself than anything else as he kept a stare on the boy. Then, with a metallic click, he had his own gun out, pulling it out to point at his head, just in case.
Hisoka; He yelped when the shoe made sharp contact with his arm, forcing his hand away from the pistol still stuck in it's holster. Suddenly he was stilled by the heel against his throat, and he gasped from the sudden pain. More crippling than that, though, were the emotions rippling off of Muraki from the contact. All dark, and all sinister.
Once again, the boy felt ill.
With a glower directed at the gun pointed in his direction, Hisoka's eyes narrowed. "You think a gun is a threat to a shinigami?" he rasped out weakly, a flicker of power beginning to emanate from his fingertips. Oh yes, he had been practicing with Konoe's help. Hisoka didn't have to depend on his pistol to injure this bastard. A spell could do the trick. He just needed to concentrate.
Muraki; Oh, how amusing. Things like this were exactly the reason why Muraki had time and time again found the boy so amusing - entertaining, really. Most others would have - should have - been a little afraid, even hearing warning bells at the sparks of energy glowing at Hisoka's fingertips. Yet, Muraki thought it clearly a delight. A chuckle escaped him, turning slowly into a rather dark laugh. No, what threat was there to a dead man who would merely rise again from the ashes?
Dying twice and living (more or less) to tell the tale was enough damning evidence to have one considered a phoenix.
"Silly boya," he replied, cocking the gun now. He wasn't going to back down. He had no reason to, did he? Death no longer was something to be feared - not when he knew just what it was like. "Injure me enough, and I'll just heal. But if you want so badly to kill me...," he paused now, letting his heel kick at the boy's jaw threateningly, challenging him to make a move. "Go ahead."
Hisoka; The kick nearly made him bite through his tongue, but the bruise was disappearing almost as soon as it formed. With a growl, Hisoka's eyes sparked and his fingers twitched, the power spreading. If he could just concentrate well enough to properly blast the man...then he could find a way to keep him dead...or at least keep him out of action.
Buried beneath the earth a hundred feet, maybe, restrained with ofuda. Surely that could work.
Before he could act on it, though, something else completely different flooded his senses. Something human and yet...not. Higher or lower? Hisoka couldn't tell. The spark in his eyes had died, giving way to the same glazed look that resulted in him touching that woman's blood.
Somewhere in the city, someone with a powerful aura was screaming with every fiber of their being, and Hisoka's empathy was a filter. His hand instantly dropped and twitched as he stared at nothing, doing his best to keep a hold on his sense of self.
Muraki; Once that blank, glossy-eyed look overtook the boy, Muraki decided to make the move. Whatever the distraction was, he had to be grateful for it at such a time. Smirking to himself, he slipped his pistol back to his side. And now he could take an advantage over this... and certainly bring a stain upon the shinigami who so violently opposed him.
He had a cold, almost conspiratory look in his eye while he slid down to the boy who lie on the floor. If he was correct, then Oriya wasn't going to approach this area for a while - not when a rather important guest had graced the tea house with his presence and the girls with his greedy hands. The opportunity was so well-planned that Muraki had to wonder at the fortitude of it... especially when he hadn't really planned it to begin with. But he had plenty of time to think about that.
"Such a fool," he muttered, finally managing to hover over Hisoka and pin his wrists to the mats. Oh, he had him now. And it would be a good lesson for the boy.... Muraki never did like interference, much less when it wasn't at all entertaining.
Hisoka; The close contact brought enough revulsion that it helped return him to his senses, if only a little. He was now aware that he was in fact Hisoka, and not whoever that painful cry had come from. The feeling was passing, but the aftermath still made him shudder.
In the darkness of Muraki's heart, there was no peace or comfort. Hisoka did not find anything electrifying like anger or any normal sort of emotion. It was just too dark to see or feel or sense. It was smothering and yet empty at the same time, and it made his restrained hands jerk in a subconscious attempt to free himself.
He had to get himself in order. He could probably scream... but what would that do? Bring Oriya running? Hisoka didn't trust the man enough to think he could possibly be any help. There was always the tiny remote in his pants pocket, but he would have to free his hands. As much as he detested calling for help, he would prefer that over whatever Muraki had planned.
Quickly, the boy jerked his knee up against Muraki's side, trying to free himself just long enough so that he could press the button.
Muraki; He could feel the pain in his side... a clever boy, truly, he was dealing with, and he wasn't afraid of confrontation. Sadly, though, neither was Muraki - and he was far cleverer than the one who writhed so beneath him. Muraki grinned, again chuckling with a dark sort of mirth while he tightened his grip upon those wrists in his confining hold. Yes, he had been hit, but his reflexes were more in line with his mind, and he knew well not to let go.
"You better save that energy for later, boya," he addressed his victim-to-be, smirking widely while he let the full weight of his body settle upon the much slimmer body underneath him. He had him now - and he would be damned if the shinigami was going to get away so easily, if at all.
Hisoka; Anger flashed across his gaze again as he tried to separate Muraki's repulsive emotions from his own. He was Hisoka. He hated this man. And that hate ran red hot, not black and cold like the man on top of him.
It was with a hiss that he began struggling with all of his might, kicking and yanking at his hands. Again he wanted to scream, but knew that would do nothing. Nobody here could help him. He just needed to gain control of himself and recall the spell he was going to cast.
Just a couple minutes was all he needed, and then he could end this. Muraki couldn't stop him... He was stronger now, and he wasn't afraid!
Muraki; And still he persisted and tried to get out of it. Muraki would have found it annoying, if he hadn't been in a rather good mood to begin with - now, it all seemed so amusing. It was almost as though Hisoka knew what was coming... but struggling so against a predetermined outcome wasn't going to help. At this point, Muraki hardly seemed to notice the struggle and the plight below him, even though he had been hit a bit by the kicking. It was inconsequential to him at this point.
His grin was wide now, almost to the point of looking like a demented Cheshire cat's cunning smile while he merely took one hand to hold down both those wrists and the other to firmly grip at the boy's throat. He wasn't going to lose this round. "I hope you're this energetic for a little longer," he murmured, leaning in rather close before finally taking advantage and slipping a very intense kiss to Hisoka. What better way to temporarily place the other in a stupor?
Hisoka; The touch to his lips practically burned as badly as the marks along his body that suddenly flared up. Muscles seized and vision doubled. Even before, Muraki had never done something this intimate. Kissing was supposed to be innocent, wasn't it? Even Muraki could tarnish something like that. Faintly, he could recall Tsubaki...
Which just drew out a furious growl, and while trying to twist his hands again to free them, he lashed out and bit down on the doctor's lower lip as hard as he could. He wouldn't be satisfied until he tasted blood.
If he was going down, he was going down with dignity, not as some lady of the night!
Muraki; It had worked somewhat well, even though it seemed to bring out a more feral nature in the other. The bite to his lip caused Muraki to jerk back slightly, but it merely made him chuckle while the hand that had rested on Hisoka's neck reached up to brush at a small trickle of blood on his lower lip. How cute - he had managed to break the skin.
"Boya likes it rough," he mocked, shooting a dangerous, malicious look to Hisoka before he moved back where he was. Still with such a dark grin on his face, the same hand moved to skim over the side of the boy's waist. He knew every touch would feel like a high-intensity inferno... and not merely for the spell he had so lovingly cast upon the now-shinigami. "I can be as rough as you like," he crooned mockingly, the hand at Hisoka's wrists tightening as though to crush the bone there.
Hisoka; The pain was enough to make him nearly howl, but he bit his own tongue to keep it in. Not only because help wouldn't come, but because he wouldn't give Muraki that kind of satisfaction. Surely he wanted to hear him cry out.
Besides, that pain would heal. As soon as Muraki let go, the bruises would fade. Whatever he did, Hisoka could recover from it. He knew that he could. He wasn't a victim anymore.
Still, the pain seizing his body and the utterly sick feeling that Muraki was bringing out was making him break into a sweat as he kept twisting, finally regaining enough of his senses to hiss out words again.
"It figures, the only way you'll ever get anything like this is by force, Muraki. Do you really enjoy being so repulsive?"
Muraki; And he truthfully was so disappointed in not hearing a scream. But, of course, Muraki could turn the tide to his favour - especially if he used his entire force upon the boy. The game had just begun, and the opening moves hardly contributed as much to the overall game as the latter ones did. A wicked little smirk played at his mouth, and he pulled those wrists up to smash them rather violently into the tatami mats. He wasn't going to let the boy get away so easily.
"Such a pretty little voice," he remarked, moving to the other's ear to lick at the rim suggestively. His eye caught the brilliant peridot of the other's, and he took a challenging bite upon his earlobe. "And you'd scream so well, I bet...."
Hisoka; His body was reacting, but even he wasn't sure what it was reacting to. Surely not the man's actions. He had more self control than that... Hisoka might have been a teenager, but he was not like most boys in the way he thought. The fault of that could easily be blamed on his upbringing and Muraki's torture.
Still, there was an odd flicker in his emotions that mingled with the hate and disgust. ...Arousal buried deep in that black amusement. It was with a sick horror that he realized he was experiencing Muraki's emotions, and of course the pervert would like this.
Sick sick sick sick sick. "Stop!" he suddenly yelled out, fury lancing across his clouded gaze as he twisted once more to try to snap at Muraki, to bite anything to make him bleed, while his slender fingers curled to try and dig his nails into the man's hands. Even if he was a sick bastard, he was only human, and if Hisoka could just cause enough pain, surely he would be halted long enough for Hisoka to escape.
And escaping was the only thing he could think of then. Not murder, or vengeance. He just wanted to get far far away from these muddled emotions.
Muraki; Muraki was rather tempted to simply pull out his gun and shoot those hands that worked so fiercely to injure him in some way. But it would hardly do much in the way of deterring that boy... shinigami were rather pesky like that. And even though he was sorely tempted into taking matters into his own hands by quicker methods, he knew that the conquest would be even better if he managed still a victory even without some additional help. The idea drove him to use his free hand to grip threateningly at the boy's throat, tightening with each second.
"It's not nice to be so violent, boya," he reprimanded almost mockingly, still smirking with a demented sort of amusement. He again tightened his hand as it remained on Hisoka's throat, nearly threatening to collapse his entire throat while he smirked with malicious humour. Shinigami couldn't feel death, unless by special circumstances. But they still could understand the language of pain.
Hisoka; The pressure against his wrists and throat did still him somewhat. His entire body was already screaming from pain, but the pain brought on by his cursed marks were different than any normal pain. They burned his skin, but more than that, they burned his mind. The more Muraki touched him, the worse it felt.
It should have made being strangled a walk in the park, but once more, the pain was different. This pain was more human, and it was not a pain he had been training himself to get used to. Lack of breath was not so very important, but getting his windpipe crushed would hurt more than he cared for at the moment.
Instead, Hisoka tried a different tactic. His instincts screamed for him to fight and snarl and snap, but he knew that he needed to think a few steps ahead. Fighting back wasn't doing anything but worsening the situation. Maybe if the boy relaxed and let Muraki do what he wanted for awhile, the sick doctor would relax.
Then it would be easy to escape.
It took all of the shinigami's willpower to keep his mouth shut and his body still then, but the fire in his eyes still blazed as he glowered up at the man with a fierceness that couldn't be tamed. He wouldn't be broken, not ever again.
Muraki; So now he was complacent and even willing to cooperate - but Muraki hadn't missed the look in his eye even while he remained as still as he did. Still keeping such appearances, even in while so helpless a position as he was. And the defiant little glare he received just made it that much more amusing. It merited his grip upon the boy's throat loosening and that hand slid down, keeping a light touch as it moved down that thin neck.
"Good boya," he muttered, his voice almost purring while his hand moved then to the collarbone. Swiftly, though, it swooped down to the thigh and squeezed rather tightly. The more he could make it enjoyable for himself, the more humiliation he would be able to get from Hisoka. Humiliation was the name of the game now - the inherent arousal, just a bonus.
Hisoka; It was with a grimace that he stayed still, gritting his teeth and turning his face away. His stomach lurched at the invasive touching, trying not to think about it too much. All he had to do was concentrate on letting Muraki relax so that he could get free and run.
And certainly not on the complex emotions inside battling one another. Still, even if he knew he was only mirroring Muraki's arousal, shame still flooded the shinigami's features. No matter what happened, no matter what he had to do, he couldn't let anyone find out about this. Especially Tsuzuki, if he ever showed.
Muraki; This half-compliance was more of a turn-on, really, that Muraki would have thought, and even though he liked a good struggle every now and then, this almost was even more interesting than the usual. He let out a low, smooth moan inside his throat, that hand moving up the boy's thigh and then back down again. Oh, he was enjoying this so much. And it was obvious in how quickly he had then managed to remove the shirt Hisoka had been wearing, only to toss it aside haphazardly.
And now he could see those marks... they glowed so invitingly even while his hands traced over them. The curse still remained - the boy still was his. And the thought merely spurred Muraki onward, even as his fingertips moved along the waistband of those pants he wore. Then, giving a playful lick underneath the waistband, his hand worked deftly at undoing the enclosure there. So close... so very close.
Oriya; Distinguished guest or no, every man fell into the pit of stupidity once there was a certain amount of alcohol in their bloodstream. This one in particular showed even less tolerance than most and he had warned his girls that he would not get any favors without paying. He then stepped out, not wanting to be in there any more than necessary, though he never usually stayed for too long. It was bad enough having to deal with the arrogant girls, but customers who thought the world owed them favors, well. If it wasn't for the income... ah, he might have chosen a better profession. Something that actually involved putting his medical degree to use without having to resort to actually bothering to interact with folk he cared nothing for. Perhaps he'd practice a little with his sword, it had been a while since he'd done his katas and after stepping into his room to retrieve it, he decided to take a check around just for good measure before he went outside.
It was by chance that he happened upon one of the corridors that he hadn't quite had the time to explore yet. This place was larger, much larger than the one he had back home, yet still very much the same. It still wasn't home though, so observation helped. Pausing when he heard the sounds of activity, he had to frown. Was one of the girls here? He knew Muraki was, he'd felt his presence not too long back, but he found himself suddenly hit by a surge of shock, eyes widening. Muraki-- and someone else.
A feeling of dread followed by a wave of tension went through his form and he found himself running, until he found himself stopping at the place he was getting the feeling from. The door was slid open without a second thought, and what Oriya saw confirmed what he'd been feeling.
And then there was the anger.
It wasn't so much as what Muraki was doing, rather than the fact that he was doing it to Hisoka who Oriya had told he would not be bothered during his work time here. Not only that, there were just some things he did NOT want happening in his tea-house, especially with men. The situation wasn't exactly one he believed consensual, knowing Muraki, and that broke the third rule. No forcing his employees, and with that, Oriya had moved. His sheathed sword was out, and before they could even form a protest, he swung it out to hit Muraki on his arm and shoulder, aiming to dislodge his hold on the boy, and the second hit to throw him off him, intending to move between Hisoka and him once distance was gained.
"Bastard!" he hissed, rage showing in his bronze eyes. "I warned you once before with the other!! You idiot!!" he was referring to Tsuzuki, that one time back in Kyoto. And right now, he felt angry at, disappointed in even, his best friend.
Muraki; Normally, a hit on the shoulder certainly wouldn't have impeded Muraki from his work. However, he knew just when the sheer amount of force used was enough to topple him over that he was dealing with a special sort of person. And when he looked up as he slowly rose to his feet, his suspicions were confirmed. His luck had run out for the day, so it seemed, but he was lucky enough that the sword still had remained sheathed. But Oriya's wrath was certainly something to be feared, and even though he had no regrets about what he had managed, he still has a blank look of shock while he stabilized his stance.
"O-... Oriya...," He remained as he was, staring the enraged face that stood now between him and the boy. Even if it looked odd, he knew well enough that it wasn't out of a personal interest in the boy... just business, as it had been with Tsuzuki. And the thought made him half-smirk. He knew well enough that if he stayed any longer, he'd be a dead man. Quickly, he shot a look over Oriya's shoulder to Hisoka, a smirk that held a sort of covenant - a promise that he would come back. "I believe I have other business to attend to," he remarked almost flippantly, stepping away and then out of the small room.
Oh, he had been so close. So very close - at the least, he could use it as leverage against the boy. After all, this wasn't the end of that.
Oriya; The look that Muraki gave Hisoka, even if it wasn't aimed at him, sent him into a little more than an annoyed rage. The bastard. Despite everything, was still aiming to cause even more trouble that would put him at risk with these bastard Shinigami. The anger, though aimed at him, was also one that he had expressed to Muraki towards them, and as he moved away, he growled, "Hold it, Muraki!" before marching forward and grabbing him by the lapels of his coat and forcing him around.
Not a moment was wasted before he curled his fingers into his palm tightly and with the strength only a swordsman managed to gain with intensive training, he smashed his fist into Muraki's jaw with a strength just short of breaking it. Sparing him from being kicked out quite literally, he then shoved him out.
"Don't let me catch you touching my employees again!" he snarled, with a look that said he would speak to him in private later. Then, turning his back to him, face red with anger, he waited for his best friend to leave before he even bothered paying any heed to Hisoka.
Muraki; Muraki almost looked stunned once he was pushed back from Oriya. He was no stranger to anything Oriya ever had to toss his way, and yet this was almost excessive force he was using against him. For a little while, he stood, stupefied, and looked at Oriya while his hand rested on the area where he had been punched. And then he seemed to chuckle - almost interesting how his luck had played out for the day.
"Fine, fine," he retorted, giving a casual shrug as he eyed Oriya and then turned back around. He knew damn well that he would have a talk with Oriya later, but hopefully he wouldn't have to resort to any extreme measures. As he walked away, he gave a small sound of satisfied amusement. Even though it seemed to have turned out poorly, really, the progress that he had made certainly outweighed the hindrances.
Hisoka; With his shirt gone and Muraki's venemous mouth straying far too low, Hisoka had been on the verge of losing control and kicking him right in the chest when Oriya had shown up seemingly out of nowhere. The boy was shocked that he hadn't even sensed him coming, but maybe it had something to do with how the pain was flooding his senses.
He could only stare blankly as Muraki was knocked away from him. He thought he heard some yelling, and the look on Muraki's face was...priceless, until the doctor pinned Hisoka with a look that nearly made the boy lose his lunch. He quickly looked away again, not watching when his 'boss' punched Muraki and more or less threw him out.
Perhaps he should have been grateful, but he simply couldn't muster up anything like that. Muraki's sinister intent had soaked into him like a sponge, and he was still gasping and trying to sit up as the assailant finally left. The marks twisting along his body were practically glowing, but by now the pain was nothing. Nothing in the world could match his shame and horror.
Someone had seen his disgrace.
Oriya; Oriya wasn't looking at Hisoka, having seen enough to know what the boy's condition was and he moved, only enough so that he could stand in front of him without actually having to face him. His arms folded, expression livid, Oriya maintained the silence before he removed the haori he was wearing, it wasn't a long one for him but just right for Hisoka's height, fortunately and moved past Hisoka, draping it over his front, still careful about meeting his gaze. He knew if he looked, he'd see the cursed symbols on his body that Muraki had so often boasted of, and he wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of piking his curiosity.
Then, turning around, he went to retrieve the sword he'd dropped while punching the doctor, and strapped it back to the side of his body, moving a hand absently through his hair, as he leaned an arm against the door frame and finally spoke, "He wasn't supposed to be here." It was an apology in disguise, that much was for certain.
His eyes were dark with anger, and he took a few quiet breaths to calm himself. Even though he spoke softly, it was clear he was furious, and then he chanced a glance over his shoulder. "Are you alright, Bon?" he asked, merely out of obligation than concern for the boy's emotional state. He was still an employee here, after all. "No, of course you're not. You're shaking. Go into the private rooms and gather yourself. You don't want to be seen like that by those arrogant girls."
Hisoka; It felt like pity, though Oriya's anger was real enough from what Hisoka could sense. That wasn't a comforting thought, though. He still couldn't believe a maniac like Muraki could be tamed by this man. Why had he let Oriya boss him around? Did he actually care what his 'friend' thought.
He wanted to snap out a nasty retort, but instead held his tongue. Regardless of his reasons, Oriya had saved Hisoka for the moment, and his silence was the most he could offer in thanks. The haori was shoved off, though, and he was quick to fasten up his pants before glancing around for his shirt. In seconds he had scrambled over to grab it and yank it on. Fully-clothed, it was easier to pretend he was calm.
Or at least attempt. The marks still burned, but not as much as his eyes did. Face flushed, he gave the older man a long threatening look, much like a dog when it's been cornered, before shaking his head and hissing out, hoping his voice didn't sound too hoarse.
"He killed one of your girls for stealing." A hand was waved in the direction of her blood stain next to the bucket of soapy water before it was clenched into a fist. He wanted nothing more than to curl up and die, as much as a shinigami could. But even now, he had more pride than that.
He wanted to threaten Oriya to not tell a soul, but had a feeling that wouldn't sway him. All he could do was hope Oriya had more sense than that. This was Hisoka's fight, and he didn't want to make it anyone else's. Jaw set, the shinigami didn't even cast him another passing glance as he stalked off.
Oriya; Having kept his back to him the entire time, Oriya respectfully kept his gaze averted, even as he heard the boy dress again. Hisoka's glare was felt, but not seen for the very same reason, and he thought of Muraki. He thought of the madness the bastard put the shinigami through, it wasn't enough that he was obsessed with Tsuzuki but Hisoka? The boy's powers were no secret to him, which made him wonder about his friend's sadism yet again. It was unbelievable that he still wanted to go through the wrath of the shinigami just for his own personal satisfaction. It wasn't as though he could gain anything here! Especially not for the purpose he wanted to.
And had he known Hisoka believed him to ever tell anyone, he would have certainly felt offended, but it was his luck. Once Hisoka was gone, he turned to walk over and pick up the haori that Hisoka had so rudely thrown away, and dusted it off, before carrying it on an arm and going over to observe where the boy had gestured to, on assumption and finding the spot on the mats.
With a dismissive shake of his head, the only thing he muttered then was, "And I told him not to stain the mats... that bastard."
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I feel so bad for Hisoka T_T But omg, you guys write so well - both in terms of linguistics and character portrayal. Kyaa~ ♥
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