Title: Something Normal
Author: Ria <
B>Rating: NC-17; explicit sex, masturbation, slight dominance
Pairing: Tsuzuki/Hisoka
Warnings: Explicit sex, masturbation, slight dominance
Comments: Um, PWP here. My first offering for when I remarked a few days ago that Tsuzuki/Hisoka rarely has any dark sex along with mind-fucking, angst and general dark stuff. So... if you want anything done, do it yourself, eh? :) General spoilers. It's been a while since I've written any lemon of some sort, so I could be a bit rusty. Forgive me and enjoy!It�s nights like these, when the moon glows red and Sakura dances through the night sky, that he comes to me.
Before, I would have been asleep and he would have surprised me into a conscious state, but now his nightly habits have become familiar to me and I'm always awake when he comes. My front door opens silently and he enters like the ghost that he is.
I stand on top of the stairs and we looks at each other, unable to say anything and yet knowing that the unspoken words are evident in our eyes.
I�m scared; I need you; I don�t know what�s going to happen.
Before, I felt guilty, convinced that I was taking advantage, but now I no longer give a damn, mindful of the fact that part of him secretly craves this. For a boy determined to become so strong, his greatest weakness is his need to be dominated like this. Cruel, perhaps, but there are so many times that I grow so weary of being � gentle.
He takes the first few steps, like he always does, gliding up the steps until he�s standing before me. We gaze at each other until my hand darts out, lightning-fast. His face snaps to the side with the force of my blow.
�Coward.�
He needs this, the insults and the pain, to feel wanted. I have to constantly remind myself of this, when my chest swells as the sight of the reddening mark on his pale cheek. I have to swallow my impulse to cry out and pull him to me in a remorseful embrace and beg for his forgiveness.
He wants this. He needs this. I can never forget.
Instead, he laughs softly, his shoulders trembling. He looks at me, green eyes burning as he focuses on me. �Yes,� he whispers hoarsely, �I am.�
Then he leaps.
His grip is iron-hard, his kiss forceful, but I welcome the aggression. I lock my arms around him as the kiss deepens, his arms winding around my neck as his tongue slides into my mouth.
Outside, the moon has turned the colour of blood.
Stumbling into my bedroom, I press him against the wall, hard enough to bruise, our tongues plundering the other�s mouth. He yanks at my clothes, fumbling at them and tossing them to the floor. I do the same to him, then step back until I�m sitting on the bed.
He comes to me immediately, all lithe muscle and pale skin that will never reach its full potential. He kneels obediently, mouth closing over my hardening cock.
I moan, exciting him.
Time has made him far too experienced at this, his tongue lapping slowly up and down, his fingers brushing my balls with teasing strokes until my moans are deep and painful. His mouth is warm and wet, his tongue swirling at my head and making me buck.
�Yes,� I hiss, closing my eyes as I throw back my head. �Yes! Harder!� When I tangle my fingers into his hair and tug, the sound he makes is not unpleasant.
Muraki has changed us, made us seek pain in our pleasure � it�s the only way we can feel fulfilled, now. His taint has spread to us, corrupting us as he is twisted. Can we ever have what others consider �normal� between us? Doubtful.
My bucking has become more insistent � it is only experience that�s keeping him from gagging, I think � the desire in me raging closer and closer to the surface. My breathing is harsh and ragged, as is his, and when at last I topple over the edge, spending myself in his mouth, I can�t help a long cry spilling from my throat. I collapse back onto the bed, my breathing harsh, too languid to move.
He crawls slowly up beside me, collapsing with a heavy sigh. But he�s clearly not as exhausted as he seems, I notice, trailing a hand down his stomach and lower, if his painful arousal is any indication.
He whimpers as I pump him lazily, thrusting roughly into my hand. He�s panting already; he�s close, then.
I take my hand away. �Touch yourself.�
He pouts, but obeys, caressing himself slowly and gently; a show for me, more than pleasure for himself. But after all, we know best how to pleasure ourselves. He�s soon moaning, rocking back and forth on the bed.
I realise I�m touching myself, furiously and hard, and snarl, �I want to see you come! Now!�
He calls out my name as he spills onto his own hand.
But I�m not finished. We lie for a while on the bed, neither speaking, as I watch the Sakura swirl past the window, and wonder, just for a few moments, what we�re really doing to ourselves and why. But then I dismiss it, as I always do, turning to grasp the tube of lube and twist it open.
When we first started this, he protested my fingers, at first, finding the sensation just too strange; now, however, he twists and pants and moans as I leisurely taking my time in stretching him. I�m in no hurry, after all, unlike him. He wants his pleasure; he wants to be filled; he wants to forget. And perhaps he does, for the briefest amount of time that I can grant him his temporary memory loss in a haze of sex-musk, come and pleasure.
He lets out a strangled cry when I sheathe myself inside him, wriggling and squirming on his knees as he tries to make himself more comfortable. I grant him only the quickest moment of rest, before moving in and out in brisk, rough movements, the sadist in me delighting in his moans and keening cries that quickly succumb to primitive panting. He wants this, he wants me � I certainly can�t complain.
And if the part of me that I can�t get rid of delights in dominating him this way, on his knees, well, so be it. I can try to forget, though I never can, and I will never allow that part of me to gain control. If it did, this attempt of ours to forget and stay sane will turn into a twisted perversion of pain with no meaning� and I won�t be able to control myself.
No, I have to stay focused, have to remember why we do this. I have to.
He�s screaming now, his voice rising to a grating crescendo that tells me he�s close. �Tsuzuki! Tsuzuki!� I grasp his penis, pump it once, twice, fingertips sliding in pre-come and �
His voice cracks at the end of the scream, as his legs buckle and he nearly collapses underneath me. His muscles clench around my own cock, making my breath hitch, and it�s only a matter of time before everything explodes in my head and I lose myself for a few, shining moments. He cries out, my own emotions hammering into him and making him come again, before I collapse, still inside him, and all is quiet, save for our own breathing.
I hold him, pressing my face against the nape of his neck as we both try to calm down and breathe normally. I slide out of him, padding to the bathroom and coming back with a cloth to clean ourselves up. He looks at me with desperate eyes and kisses me, nipping my mouth in frustration, and I know that it wasn�t enough. He hasn�t forgotten; he never does; he can�t.
I hold him when we lie in bed, his face buried in my chest so he can�t see the moon and the Sakura outside. When we wake up, things will be awkward, our interactions hesitant, and we�ll both pretend that our sex was purely normal and had absolutely nothing to do with Muraki.
It never does, but it�s easier to blame him than admit we do these things because, secretly, we both enjoy them. But no one can know, no one can ever know.
And in the morning, I will hate myself for what I have done to him, yet again.